Since Friday, I’ve been in Dallas for the American Film Renaissance film festival. Jim and Ellen Hubbard—who organized the festival—performed a top-notch job at putting together a fun, interesting and well-polished three-day event.

I came down here not knowing what to expect; a first-year festival, I assumed, might be poorly attended and plagued with operational glitches. But the festival—which at times ran concurrently in two theaters—was packed to the rafters, and it seemed that every detail was executed flawlessly. If I hadn’t known that this was AFR’s inaugural year, I would have thought the festival had a 20-year history behind it.

On Saturday, my new film Brainwashing 101 was shown for the first time to a live audience that wasn’t comprised solely of friends or relatives. It was tremendously gratifying to hear the laughs, applause, and the occasional gasp of horror from a sold-out theater reacting to the film.

When you’re editing a film of this length, by the time anyone else sees the finished product, you’ve seen all the footage yourself hundreds of times. As a result, it loses its impact, so it’s often difficult for the filmmaker to have an accurate sense of how other people will feel about the work. Although this festival does not award prizes, the reaction from the crowd and the comments I got after the film was shown made me feel as though I had won one.

On Sunday, a film called Michael Moore Hates America premiered. I had commented before about the choice of title, but noticed that the film’s website said “isn’t a hatchet job on the filmmaker.” It is not. In fact, it is a very well done film, and I think it has the potential to be quite successful. I hope it is, because the film deserves to be seen. When it hits theaters—the date is up in the air, but apparently not too far away—I would encourage you to check it out. It was fun, uplifting, and at times very moving.

Lastly, the Young Conservatives of Texas deserve some praise. Not only did they volunteer to handle a lot of the grunt-work during the festival, but they threw a hell of an after-party at our hotel. If anyone ever tells you Texans can’t drink, don’t believe them. (Then again, I don’t think that accusation has ever been lodged against Texans.) And on behalf of the attendees of that party, our apologies to Michael Medved, who had the unfortunate luck of trying to get some sleep in the suite next door.