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So I’ve spent more than two days at TIFF, and I know what you’re dying to know—but no, I have not run into George Clooney and I don’t know how much more time I will be here because I have to get back home fast because I was going to receive the best roofing experts to do my new roofing, see this here.
George is the talk of the fest—where he’s been, what he’s done, who he’s been seen with. He’s even bigger than Brad. And, apparently, he’s pretty much omnipresent. So you’d think, after wandering around the city for a while, I would have run into him—and he would have invited me out for drinks with him and Stacy Keibler. But alas, that has not happened. Maybe tomorrow.
Instead, I spent today in the most mundane, unglamorous way: stuck in crowds. First up, the public transit system (a.k.a. the TTC). Since it was a week day, I decided to leave the house half an hour early, to make my way through rush hour traffic. I left at 9:00 for my 11:00 screening of Rampart—once again at the Elgin—hoping that the line would be less than three blocks long when I got there. Instead, I was just lucky to get there in time.
The trip to Kennedy station was slow but uneventful. I eventually found a parking lot at the station (paying in mostly quarters, since the machine didn’t take bills) and got down to the tracks just as they were making an announcement about some kind of delays. A couple of minutes later, we were told that we’d all need to go up to the bus level to be shuttled to the next station—all two trains’ worth of us. Needless to say, the majority of my morning was spent pushing through crowds or squeezed into tight spaces with way too many sweaty, anxious people. By the time I got back above ground, it was 10:45. I didn’t even bother trying to get a seat on the main level; I just went straight to the balcony. Fortunately, it wasn’t too crowded. I even found a row in the nosebleeds that was occupied by just three people—so I figured that I’d be able to stretch out after my claustrophobic TTC experience. Much to my dismay, I was followed by some random woman who felt the need to sit down right next to me—in the middle of an otherwise empty row.
The film itself was interesting—and Woody Harrelson was incredible, as always. But it wasn’t quite as powerful as I’d expected—not quite the depth of The Messenger. It probably didn’t help that I had a couple of chatty guys sitting behind me, either. And it was disappointing that I paid $20 to see the movie (and battled about 5 million TTC passengers to get there) and not a single member of the cast and crew showed up. For me, that was a TIFF first.
Once the screening was over, we were once again herded back to the street—and I made my way north to the AMC. I had a few minutes to spare—or at least I thought I did—so I decided to get a quick lunch at the food court. Unfortunately, all of the tables were full, but I managed to squeeze into a bar-style seat, and I read for a couple of minutes while I scarfed down a burger and fries (and, more importantly, a soda). Then I ran off to my 2:00 movie at around 1:30. I was about to go up the escalator to the theater when I was stopped and directed back to the theater box office, where a massive line was building. Again.
I did some reading in line until it finally began to move. Then we were herded up the escalator and through the theater to the next screening. Once again, I found myself a nice big block of seats toward the back of the theater—and, once again, I was followed by someone who felt the need to sit down right next to me. To make matters worse, he was a hardcore festival nerd.
The festival nerds are an interesting breed. These are the guys who make a point of wearing the festival T-shirt from 2007 to the festival, just so you know that they’re hardcore. They’re pretentious and snobby, and they tend to talk as loudly as they can, dropping the titles of as many obscure films—and as many art house actors—as possible, in an attempt to impress and overwhelm those around them. Little do they know that it rarely works. Instead, they usually just sound kinda pathetic—which was the case for this guy.
The guy next to me (a short, bossy guy) and his friend (a quieter, beefy guy, with long blonde hair that went out of style in 1990) even had some kind of app for their phones, so they could keep track of their nerdy friends’ TIFF schedules. The loud guy was clearly the leader of the pack, as he did all the talking, commenting on what his friend had chosen to see—and what he expected his friend to enjoy. He was condescending and obnoxious to his own friend, so I can only imagine how he’d treat a total stranger—especially one who was interested in seeing something (gasp!) more mainstream.
Finally, the lights went down, and the usual TIFF staffer headed toward the stage, closely followed by Extraterrestrial writer/director Nacho Vigalondo, who was eager to chat up the audience. The Spanish director introduced the film in somewhat broken English, apologizing as he did, explaining that the film’s premiere was last night, followed by a party with free drinks, which came with today’s free hangover.
The introduction set the stage for a movie that was every bit as quirky and entertaining as Vigalondo himself—a zany romantic comedy posing as science fiction. It wasn’t quite what I was expecting after seeing his last film, Timecrimes (which, I’ll admit, I crammed in on Friday night, before we left). But I enjoyed it anyway. I also enjoyed the Q&A that followed, during which Vigalondo practically did his own stand-up act. It was the perfect way to end a short day at the festival.
Once the Q&A was cut, we were once again herded out of the theater. The next movie was apparently following closely behind, so the staffers were telling people to use the bathrooms downstairs instead of the ones outside the theater. There was, however, a crowd building around Vigalondo, who left the theater with us and was immediately mobbed by fans who wanted to shake his hand and get his autograph. He was happy to oblige, only stressing out the staffers even more.
I chose to avoid the mobs—or at least the mob inside the theater—heading straight for the escalator out, which would take me down to the subway station in the basement. As expected at 4:00, it was pretty crowded, but I managed to squeeze into the two trains needed to get back to my car.
Today could have been a lot busier. I could have done another interview or two, and I was invited to a dinner reception tonight for Bunohan director Dain Said (which, incidentally, is what TIFF is really about: the parties). But after two days of crowds, followed by evenings full of family time, I think it’s time to call it a day. After all, I have reviews to write and interviews to transcribe—and I have three more movies (and another trip on the subway) tomorrow.
