Festering at the Toronto International Film Festival
Ladies and gentleman, I have officially landed at the Toronto International Film Festival- the epicentre of the oft snowy Canuck film industry, the Hollywood North that has Governator Arnold Schwarzenegger's posing suit in the twist for diasporic, cheap movie production costs, and most importantly, the home of every melancholic Atom Egoyan film to emote from this fair northern climate. Although I have not been accredited, nor plundered a fake festival pass off eBay, I aim to take in as much wanton cinema as possible. In fact, I was at one such film last night at the Cumberland, watching actors Jacob Tierney and Emily Hapshire covort through themes of prostitution, bisexualism, heroin junkie relapse, S&M and, naturally, incest. It is, after all, the Toronto Film festival and no film would be complete without the youthful nubile bodies of preternaturally underaged looking actors dialogue on-screen in various states of undress under the watchful eye of an older, male director with a closet or two to kick open.
The film itself was highly engaging- no mean feat for one shot using minimal cuts, only two principal actors and a screen play adapted from a heavily dialogue driven play. Jacob Tierney is engaging as the sexually confuse heroin survivor turned priest wannabee. Emily Hampshire plays the crude jukie sister prostitute to type. In fact I don't think she has quite left character a, during the Q&A she tettered like a drunk and espoused four lettered words like a sailor. Not too classy, I fear. Director Jerry Ciccoretti graciously answered questions posed by "look how clever I am" festival dorks despite how pretensiously ass the questions actually were. I would have like to hang out after the show to schooze the cast, particularly that Jacob lad, but alas, I had to dash with my retiring entourage of Friday workday burnouts. Ahh... Toronto!