Day 4: September 11

Late start to the day thanks to a freed-up schedule due to the annual Film Centre lunch. Was lovely to get an invitation directly this year without begging, although I'm sad to say the magic of shmoozing the glitterati of Canada's film scene has lost a bit of lustre, and the lure of free food is not as compelling as it used to be. Still, it's a fine tradition, and I can only hope that everyone had a lovely time in the rain-free late summer heat.

Instead, I was in what proved to be a packed screening for Brothers of the Head. It's reasonably rare for an audience in a public screening to walk out, of course, as most have paid good money to be there, have made wise choices from their handy festival guides, read reviews in papers or online (ahem), and have selected a film to their liking. You can normally tell if the film's a surprise bomb, or more offensive than expected, when the numbers of those leaving steadily increases throughout the screening. For press and industry screenings, it's an other kettle of fish - many sales reps and other sundry executives get tipped to an "edgy" or "daring" bit of contemporary cinema. The result is a long line to get one of the fast-disappearing seats at the screening of choice. Some ten minutes is spent finding open seats for those latecomers squeezing in. The lights dim, expectations still high, and the film unfolds...

About three minutes in, just after the credit sequence, some have already had enough and need to clamber out to wherever else they have to go. The few in the rush line then get their space, and stumble in the dark to take a spot. This goes on for a few more minutes, until people are leaving but no one is coming to replace them. At the obvious hour marks where other films may be scheduled larger groups will get up and march out together. Inexplicably, some last some 9/10ths the way through the film, and still mosey out on their way. A word to any nascent filmmaker - never, ever sit in one of these screenings for your own film. It could mortify you.

Today also brought two Bono-related updates. First, with relation to yesterdays story of the Bono siting - it is now being reported that the Bono who showed up at the Tommy Chong party was in fact a (gasp) IMPOSTER! Now, my friend who reported this to me is enough of a pragmatic empiricist to withhold judgement, but I for one would like to believe it was really him. Hell, if there were a Bono impersonator that good, why not show up at last night's screening as well? THAT would have been the place to do it, sending security in a tizzy. God knows the Toronto Star's gossip section can't be wrong, can they?

Which brings us to tonight, the second confirmed Bono siting - he gave an extremely heartfelt and poetic (in a good way) introduction to the Cohen doc. Of course, my verified meeting yesterday was confirmed by the fact that a) he was in the same hat as today, and b) he talked to Neil Jordan in front of me, something I'd expect that a faux Bono would be unable to do quite so casually. Then again, maybe I'm thinking about this all a bit too much.

I stuck around for the next film at the Bader, and Abel Ferrera and Matthew Modine were there. The Q&A was dubbed "acoustic" as Ferrera et. al. eschewed the mic in favour of sitting on the stage and rambling about the film. Got a chance to talk to Modine about Full Metal Jacket for all of two seconds, and he let me know about this. Get it whilst you can, folks, it sounds like it's going to be good.

Bailed on MM to get some sleep, another long day tomorrow...

Brothers of the Head
Directed by: Keith Fulton, Louis Pepe

Grade: B+

A punk Siamese-twins mock-biopic. Interested? File this one in the "could have sucked but didn't" drawer, these guys have crafted a pretty special film. Refreshingly, there's little ironic or tounge-in-cheek about the whole affair, it does play with a great deal of insight and compassion for the tale much like a "real" film would. There are cheeky elements to keep it light, such as the inclusion of a supposed "lost" Ken Russel film on the subject, completely with Russelian overwrought scenes and interviewed commentary by the master himself.

What makes the flick particularly good is that the music is so right-on, it could easily have charted in the proto-punk days. Kudos to the musical craftspeople for giving the film such a degree of authenticity that it ties the entire story together. Quirky, interesting stuff.

Seven Swords
Directed by: Tsui Hark

Grade: B-/C+

Rumours hold that Hark wanted this to be a 4+ hour epic. At two hours, it feels both too short and too long - short in that it misses a vast majority of back story that must be told in ridiculous little 6-second flashbacks near the climax of the film, and too long because, well, it creeps at a snails pace for an action flick. It's not as colourful or sumptuous as a Hero or even Ran, but it's pretty enough to keep you at least mildly concerned about where things are headed.

Leonard Cohen: I'm Your Man
Directed by: L. Lunson

Grade: C

They really dropped the ball on this one - despite unfettered access to L.C. himself, you get a rambling interview interspersed with what for the most part are poor cover versions of the man's songs. With exceptions by Rufus Wainright and U2, the rest of the performers (including the likes of Nick Cave) stumble over their own interpretations of Cohen songs, either making them seem bland at the least, or screechingly out of tune at the worst. In the end, save the confirmation that indeed Janis sucked his cock at the foot of a Chelsea hotel bet one night, there's little to be gained from this film other than the hope that one day a better one will be made about this man's music and poetry.

Mary
Directed by: Abel Ferrara

Grade: D-

Oy, what a mess. Granted I thought that Bad Lieutenant lost much of its power with Kaitel screeching for much of the last half, but I went in hoping with this edeavor for at least a semblance of good flick in there somewhere. Alas, my hopes were dashed when a fine cast is wasted in this weird, tangential tale of religious reawakening in the fact of personal tragedy. Obvious references to Gibson's Passion are littlered throughout. The only redeming element for me was the generally interesting interviews that Forrest Whitaker does with real-life theologians about the nature of Chrisianity. Frankly, this Charley Rose-type talke could have sustained me for much of the film, and I could have done without the rest of the crap littered through the rest of the flick.