TIFF is aptly named I think (Toronto International Film Festival), because it makes me feel tiffy with my city. Okay, a little lame, but it sets the tone.
I can’t help contrasting TIFF with the Hot Docs film festival. Hot Docs comes to Toronto with things to say. It attracts thoughtful audiences, and launches interesting films. TIFF is about star-power and “movies”, not films. It attracts starhunters (star-gazers isn’t accurate), and the whole city seems to develop an inferiority complex. Newspapers are full of articles like ”Where to shop with the stars!”, embracing my two great ”loves”: starhunters and blind consumerism.
For the duration of the festival I’m surrounded by this weirdness. I work on Bloor, just a hop skip and a jump away from Yorkville – the mecca of the stars out buying anti-aging cream and $795 jeans. People come breathlessly back into my office to report that Al Pacino is next door at Hugo Boss and someone turned a corner and almost poked Dustin Hoffman in the eye. Co-workers suddenly want to go north for lunch, to see if they can spot Ashton Kutcher or Sarah Polley. The desperation to find someone ’worthwhile’ is palpable.
I went out with two particularly tall, swanky looking co-workers, and suddenly we’re getting second looks as we line up for Starbucks coffee – people are literally camped out there and try to figure out if you’re ’somebody’.
At least then I get to come home. To the neighbourhood of The Drake Hotel. Which got featured on a tv special about where the stars will be while they’re in town.
I miss my lazy summer Toronto…