Going Out in Style As the Philadelphia International Gay & Lesbian Film Festival drew to a close on Tuesday, attendance was estimated at just over last year's 26,373 total, with final totals yet to be calculated. In his office Tuesday morning, a sanguine Ray Murray, the festival's artistic director, was already back at his other job, conferencing on the box art for an upcoming TLA Video release. The festival, he said, was running like a "well-oiled machine."

In the three years he's been running both, Murray has always characterized PIGLFF as a low-maintenance cousin to the Philadelphia Film Festival, although the former still had its share of heartbreaks. Having touted the festival's generous helping of lesbian films, Murray expressed disappointment with the feast-or-famine attendance, with Rise Above, a documentary about the lesbian punk band Tribe 8, ranking as the festival's lowest grosser. Even the well-attended Gasoline met with chilly audience ratings, though documentaries about lesbian activists Audre Lorde, Del Martin and Phyllis Lyon found favor with audiences.

C. Jay Cox's Latter Days garnered a thunderous opening night ovation, and not surprisingly emerged as the audience's choice for best gay male feature. April's Shower took home feature honors for the ladies, while No Secret Anymore and Brother Outsider split documentary honors, and master caster Mike Lemon was on hand to pick up the audience award for best gay male short. While the audience stuck with the mother tongue, the festival's jury favored foreign entries: Spain's Bulgarian Lovers and Japan's Lily Festival took home feature honors. Sisters in Cinema's Yvonne Welbon won $500 in film stock as the Best Documentary winner.

Absent any lifetime (excuse me, artistic) achievement awards, the festival did without many high-profile guests, though Jacqueline Bisset graced opening night's stage, graciously ceding the spotlight to her co-stars, and My So-Called Life's Wilson Cruz, looking a little like Curtis Sliwa, turned up for closing night's screening of Party Monster and confessed his secret crush on co-star Wilmer Valderrama. Also making something of a surprise appearance were the film's directors, Randy Barbato and Fenton Bailey, who'd earlier said they could, then that they couldn't attend. Something of a pattern there: Ken Park director Larry Clark confirmed, then canceled, then offered to fly himself out at the last minute. (The festival picked up the check.) A visibly nervous Clark took 15 minutes of positive questions, then excused himself, presumably wary that his detractors were just waiting for the right moment. The next day, Murray says, Clark pronounced it the best screening he'd attended for the film. "He was beaming, as much as he could beam." Ken Park returns for a run at the Roxy in August.

Fresh Frames (Thu., July 24, 8 p.m., $5, Prince Music Theater, 1412 Chestnut St., 215-569-9700, www.princemusictheater.org) The first of the next month's three Fresh Frames programs showcases the work of onetime Philadelphian Birgitte Staermose, who returns from Denmark with two elegantly shot short films under her belt: Small Avalanches, based on a story by Joyce Carol Oates, and Now, Look at Me, which likewise explores the threshold between girlhood and adolescence. Also on the bill is Sean McBride's Dreamscapes, which uses multiple animation styles to bring dreams to life, and Graham Hancock's Call Back, about a battle between a student and his acting teacher.

Solaris ($27.98 DVD) Steven Soderbergh's evocative version of Stanislaw Lem's novel doesn't last too long (92 minutes, not including credits), and didn't last too long in theaters, either, which is a shame, since the pricey views of the film's titular gas giant don't look nearly as stunning on the small screen. On their commentary track, Soderbergh and producer James Cameron express regret only for the film's hastily assembled marketing campaign, which all but guaranteed a bomb by grossly misrepresenting what's essentially a big-budget art house yarn as a spaced-out romance, which must've led to some pretty pissed-off first weekend viewers. Those people having been weeded out, perhaps the Tarkovsky fans who passed it by will give the film a much-deserved look. With Kubrickian restraint (but not Kubrickian pomp), Soderbergh successfully welds the original's philosophical quandaries to more earthly concerns, creating a story of interest to both head and heart. Fritz Lang would be proud.