September 4, 2003

When I arrive in Toronto each year, I am reminded what a territorial animal I really am. After checking into my hotel, I did “the walk,” cruising the turf that will be home for the next 10 days. I got a cup of coffee at the Starbucks I tend to visit every day. I checked out the new Bloor Street skyscraper that has been under construction during the last few film festivals. Past the Varsity, past the Uptown and down to the new host of the press office, The Delta Chelsea.

Ah, The Delta Chelsea… the certain seed of controversy and some irritation for the press corps this year. Why? It is far, far away from the primary festival venues… particularly the ones at which the press screenings take place. The move of the industry offices to The Sutton Place last year, where they will once again live this year, was a source of no small aggravation. The mixing of the press and the industry attendees was one of the charms of the old set up at the Park Hyatt. The one thing that we in the press corps don’t have when attending a key festival like this one is the extra time to include relaxed trawling that is well out of the way of the screenings. Neither facility allows casual stop-bys when there are 15 loose minutes between screenings. And that is a shame.

Ironically, I was a big defender of the press office last year when the shit hit the fat over Far From Heaven. It was just absurdly overblown. The press office acknowledged a problem and made a great effort to get feedback from attending journalists.

One tool was a survey, the results of which were sketchily reported in the press materials offered when signing in for the festival. The “executive summary” focused on the positive responses of most journalists in attendance, particularly those of us who have been attending the festival for many years. I am sympathetic to the press rele…uh, executive summary, as the press office has been remarkably responsive over the years and they have taken action above this “everything’s fine” note to make sure things go smoothly. There have been multiple screenings scheduled for some of the higher profile films and a new set of rules prioritizing real buyers and the press.

That said, they are still kind of missing the point.

Forcing journalists and others to choose between Matchstick Men and Lost In Translation makes little sense. Seeing either The Human Stain or The Triplettes of Bellville means that some people will miss one of the most important small pictures of the festival because they need to go see the upcoming studio release with Oscar buzz. Worse, seeing The Human Stain means skipping key docs like The Revolution Will Not Be Televised and Go Further. Saturday offers the choice of Lars Von Triers’ Dogville, current art house darling Guy Maddin’s The Saddest Music In The World and buzz film Touching The Void, all playing at 9 or 9:15am. Later that morning - 9:45am – John Sayles Casa de Los Babys and at 10am, Errol Morris’ The Fog of War. Those are five titles that have to be top priorities for journalists. And only one can be seen at a press screening. None of the titles above are among the repeats.

I can’t really argue much with the eight repeats currently on the schedule, but no less than four of them are being extensively screened by their distributors in additional screenings for press and, if they ask nice, industry types.

Also, the new rule is that press and sales delegates get priority access 20 minutes before the asterisked titles have their press screenings. I have to give it to the schedulers… the films they have prioritized do clear the movies in the earlier with enough time for more than the 20 early arrival demand. And they pretty much got the handful of films that will be effected – and a few more – in their sweep. Of the ones left off the list, I’d be wary of a single-screen showing of Intermission and maybe the single room screening of Wilbur Wants To Kill Himself. But then again, both are on September 10 and perhaps they know that many of the potential viewers will be gone by then. That doesn’t explain Sunday morning’s 21 Grams and Underworld single-screen showings. Perhaps they are figuring that people will be at the same-time-period screening of Carl Franklin/Denzel Washington’s Out of Time. But I don’t know of a single critic who would pass on their first shot at 21 Grams to see a strong, but familiar commercial movie.

Anyway… this is a bit inside… but let me finish…

Very few film festivals have the kind of press attendance and support that Toronto does. Compared to Cannes, where the press feels like they are part of something bigger than themselves, this festival’s treatment of the press is like being rocked to sleep by your mother. But some habits should be broken.

Very few of us cover the festival daily as it proceeds. Seeing a movie at 8:30am before a Gala is lovely (not really… it’s too early), but press screenings start thinning out on quality and priority after the middle point of the festival. Why? Small festivals cannot get prints for 10 days. They often have to ship the print the day after a screening. But this is Toronto. And it really sucks that I have to consider missing Elephant because I have to see Bright Young Things… I don’t care that it’s going to be screened to death in L.A. There are very few critical press screenings in the last days of this festival… and none currently scheduled for the final day. I don’t have to pick the movies, but damn, at least give me the best Canadian films, so great docs and a few added opportunities to round out the experience. Perhaps some of the folks who do leave early would stick around if being here on Friday were actually critical. I have a personal tradition of seeing the final film, at Midnight, on the second Saturday. But with due respect to the films I currently have on my schedule for those days, there is not one that I have to be here to see.

Okay… back to the surface a little…

I met a hottie girl genius tonight in the company of one of my favorite publicists. She qualifies as a girl genius because she reads the column daily and my ego always makes that a major qualification. The hottie part is her parent’s fault. In any case, she tipped me to an Italian film called I’m Not Scared, directed by Gabriele Salvatores. She qualified the pick by saying that it is her second favorite film here after Lost In Translation. That is fine company indeed. Of course, the press screening takes place during my one major festival break, when my beloved Miami Dolphins are playing the lowly Houston Texans. It should be a blow out. But still… the season is just starting. I will see the movie before I leave here. I just would like to figure out how to do it and watch my team start their season.

Earlier, while stalking the festival grounds, I got dinner at a favorite restaurant that was new to the city last year. The food was good, though there was a piece of cardboard next to the chicken and broccoli. It wasn’t really bothersome, but it did make my meal free, which was nice.

My first movie star sighting of the week was Sir Tony Hopkins, who was wandering around Yorkvile Ave with a cap on. His head seems to get bigger and bigger over the years. His literal head. He’s here with The Human Stain. Funny, he doesn’t look octoroon.

Tomorrow, I plan on seeing, amongst other things, Bon Voyage by Jean-Paul Rappeneau, who makes infrequent, but gorgeous films, like the Depardieu Cyrano d Bergerac. Then it’s The Girl With The Pearl Earring aka The Coronation of Scarlett Johansson. Then it is off to see Neil Young’s live performance of Greendale, which should get some serious heat building up around the film of the same name, directed by Young, that’s here at the festival. Who is the man behind the concert opportunity? The Dude, of course. (That’s Jeff Dowd to… well, his mom, I guess.)

I caught the opening night film, The Barbarian Invasions, in Los Angeles. I wish I could say it was a thriller. It’s not. The shortcut description is that it is deadly Canadian.

The story is based around a dying man and his estranged son, who comes home to do everything he can to reconnect with his father and to offer him every possible comfort. The tale opens up all kind of character relationships and insights. But for me, what was missing was any real passion. Denys Arcand keeps telling up that the characters had wild pasts and free spirits. But the movie seems to be gathering all that passion in an unseen colostomy bag.

What are “The Barbarian Invasions?” There are many possibilities offered up. And none have a complete case made on their barbaric behalf.

The performances are uniformly excellent and Arcand’s taste in eye candy remains near perfect. But the movie has the emotional build of a strip club where the women start naked and put on their clothes. Oh baby, I love when you don’t reveal anything!

If you’ve read me before, you know that I don’t mind movies that challenge viewers to do the work, to suss out the subtext. Not here. The pieces are there. A little emotional aggression from a dying guy who hangs out with two of his lovers and his wife, all of whom freely discuss his oral needs. Still… no bang, all buck. Eh?

E ME: Feel free to say “hi” and if you have a great comment for ROTD, go to town. But return e-mail will be slow, as it always is when I travel. Thanks for understanding.