Most festivals make you choose between the movie and the party. This one flatly refuses, and that refusal is the entire personality of the thing.
Eight days on the Orange County coast, hundreds of screenings, and a nightly ritual nobody else runs the same way: the country spotlights. Irish night, French night, Latino night, Pacific Rim night — each anchored by a film and then walked straight into a party, so a screening becomes an evening and the evening becomes three conversations you did not plan on having.
It is prestige cinema with sand in its shoes. International work that will not surface anywhere else nearby, the people who made it standing in the room, and the particular coastal glamour of toasting a movie under string lights when it ends.
Send it to the friend who believes a great film deserves a great party. They have been waiting years for somebody to agree with them out loud.