TIFF 2008—Triumph of the positive
Heading into the 2008 Toronto International Film Festival, the buzz was decisive: less Oscar bait, more fun. Perhaps sensing a prevailing shift in the international economy, and even in the political realm (goodbye Bush-ism, hello Obama-ania), the overall tone was light and cheery; even the darker films carried a modest sense of optimism. Perhaps the summer of ’08 offered some clues, with the big, fat successes of such films as Mamma Mia! (Abba!), Iron Man (comics!), and a fourth outing for Indiana Jones (fedoras!). While The Dark Knight was, in a word, dark, it still had a bounce not normally found in films about anarchy. (“Why so serious?” indeed.)
Slumdog Millionaire
This led right into TIFF 08, so let us compare. In 2007, the Coen Bros. brought with them the dusty, violent melodrama of No Country for Old Men. In 2008, they instead came with the sunny stupidity of Burn After Reading. (Okay, Burn was still violent—we are, after all, talking about the Coens.)
Trainspotting and 28 Days Later director Danny Boyle’s Slumdog Millionaire, took the Cadillac People’s Choice Award, and even this fit in with the overall vibe of positivity. The winner the year before? David Cronenberg’s dark, unsettling, and brilliant Eastern Promises. (We were not able to see Slumdog during our TO stay, but finally seeing it about two months later, it’s obvious why it took the People’s Choice honors. It’s a crowd-pleaser in the best sense, and actually earns its happy ending.)
Admittedly, TO 2007 also included such little miss sunshines as Juno and Across the Universe, but the prevailing mood from that year was one of doom and gloom—Michael Collins, Lust, Caution, Into the Wild—three great films, but certainly no cinema-goers idea of a party.
The Brothers Bloom
Cut to 2008. One film which I would call a party—a grand party, actually—was Rian Johnson’s follow-up to the extraordinary Brick, The Brothers Bloom. Imagine Wes Anderson taking on a David Mamet con-comedy (con-medy?), and you’re about halfway there. Bloom stars a mad-for-it Mark Ruffalo, contemplative Adrien Brody, and surprisingly vulnerable Rachel Weisz (I say surprising because she’s proven in films like The Shape of Things and The Constant Gardener that she can also pull off toughness like nobody’s biz). The trio are all wonderful, as is Babel’s Rinko Kikuchi, but what truly elevates Bloom is its twisty script, visual splendor, and, yes, its tone. It is this lightness that probably led to a postponed release date, away from the winter’s Oscar-bait to the happier landscape of spring.
Speaking of light, yeah, Richard Linklater’s Me and Orson Welles is positive. So much so that it kept a smile on my face from first frame to last. High School Musical dreamboat Zac Efron stars as a plucky theater fan, and the kid’s got talent—it’s a fine, likable performance. But it’s Christian McKay who steals the film. His Orson Welles is brash, bold, winking, and all-powerful; the Mercury Theatre moves to his beat, and this is why its performance of Julius Caesar was not just good, but utterly groundbreaking. How is it that this joyous, wonderful film has yet to find distribution? College and Sex Drive achieve major national release, yet this, an intelligent, fun film with a teen protagonist waits patiently? Grr.
Our big gala screening was L’Instinct de Mort, a film about famous French gangster Jacques Mesrine that features a meaty starring role for the always fab Vincent Cassell, as well as nice supporting turns from Gerard Depardieu and the “Rocket” himself, Roy Dupuis. More North Avenue Irregulars than Bonnie and Clyde, part one of the two-part crime saga was fun if forgettable—months later, I’m struggling to recall details.
I’m not having that problem with Paul Schrader’s Adam Resurrected, and should you ever see it, you won’t either. Say what you will about Adam—I found it strikingly bold but irredeemably grotesque, and one of the more unenjoyable experiences I’ve ever had at the cinema—it’s certainly unforgettable. An adaptation of the classic Holocaust novel, the film features a note-perfect performance from Jeff Goldblum, even when he is forced to act as, ahem, a Nazi officer’s dog. Yes, it’s that kind of film. While I really, really, really don’t want to ever see it again, I have to give kudos to Schrader, Goldblum, and co-star Willem Dafoe for creating such a dark, complex character study. This was indeed a dark film, and perhaps this was why its reception in Toronto and beyond has been so quiet.
The Wrestler
The Wrestler is not suffering from a somber response. No, this masterpiece is garnering the massive praise it deserves. Much of it goes to star Mickey Rourke, who is absolutely perfect for this role, as a down-and-out used-to-be-contender. (Almost sounds like The Mickey Rourke Story, doesn’t it). But I think the work of director Darren Aronofsky is just as important to The Wrestler’s success. It’s the first Aronofsky film that I’ve felt a deep personal connection to, as there seems to be a humanity that Pi and Requiem for a Dream somewhat lacked. (The Fountain had it, but the film was such a glorious mess that it was hard for me to find.) In all of his films before this, there’s been a distance that held me back from the characters. In Requiem, for instance, the entire film became so Greek-tragic that I simply forced myself not to become too emotionally involved. (Shock therapy, gang bangs, racist jail guards, and amputation?!) But The Wrestler is so utterly involving from first to last frame that I defy any cinemagoer—even one who finds the idea of a film about a wrestler as appealing as a film about a man forced to be a Nazi officer’s dog—not to care about the “Rammer.”
Che
Yes, the audience for The Wrestler seemed to stroll out of the theater on a high, and perhaps this is also why the overall response to Steven Soderbergh’s Che was less than enthusiastic. This, after all, is a film about struggle leading to small triumphs—each minor victory comes as a result of planning, preparation, and violence. For Jared and myself, Che was among our most eagerly-anticipated films, and the result, for us, was mixed. It is without question an achievement of merit, and Benicio Del Toro captures Guevara in a way I’m not sure any other actor could. But part one and two both seem to suffer from a lack of dramatic tension—they're films of action, not passion. I believe this was likely Soderbergh’s intent, yet for viewers, it makes truly loving the film difficult. I still believe that Che may be something special, but I cannot help but feel some disappointment at the result.
It’s hard to feel any disappointment for the two wildest films we saw at TIFF—Sexykiller and Vinyan. The former is a crazed Italian horror-comedy featuring a star-making performance Macarena Gomez, and her gorgeous serial killer is at once funny and gruesome, making this an ideal “Midnight Madness” selection. And what an experience it was! Beach balls, screams, and game appearances from Gomez and director Miguel Marti made a film that, without this context, might seem unbearable, instead feel like a real treat.
Vinyan
Vinyan is one of the more harrowing horror films I’ve seen in years, and I believe it is a great one. Featuring strong work from the always welcome Rufus Sewell and Emmanuelle Beart, director Fabrice Du Welz has followed up his almost unbearably disturbing Calvaire with a thriller that somehow manages to use the 2004 tsunami in a way that does not seem exploitative. If anything, this backdrop makes the story—of a couple who believe their son may be alive somewhere in the jungles of Burma—even creepier. It’s a dark one, with a dark ending, but is such a visceral and involving experience that I have no hesitation in calling it an absolute blast.
We had one last film to go, an American gangster picture called The Narrows, and it failed to involve me on any level. Feeling like a clichéd rehash of NBC’s canceled Black Donnellys, it’s well-acted but rather inert; we’ve seen this tale before, and better.
So for Jared and I, that was that. There were several biggies we missed, most eventually released to varying success. Spike Lee’s Miracle at St. Anna received pretty solid buzz while we were in TO, at least from Beth the annoying usher, who claimed the ending had her in tears. Cut to a couple weeks later, and Miracle opens nationally to tepid reviews and weak box office. Changeling also drew some acclaim, but now seems mostly forgotten, minus respect for Angelina Jolie’s performance. Rachel Getting Married, on the other hand, rode a tidal wave of TO praise to solid American box office and awards talk, as did Mike Leigh’s Happy-Go-Lucky. Blindness and The Lucky Ones? Not so lucky.
As with last year, we did learn several lessons. We’re probably two of the only fools in all of TO who honestly don’t care a great deal about seeing bright, shiny stars. We’re much more interested in seeing films that we can brag to our friends about months ahead of time. And planning is key. Know the times, know the locations, but also, prepare to throw it all away in an instant should something better suddenly appear. (That’s how we stumbled into the then-unknown Juno last year.)
Considering that the months following TIFF08 included both a massive economic crash and the joyous election of Barack Obama, it’s hard to say what direction 2009’s festival will take. If I had to guess, my money’s on depressed vibes, and, as always, utterly brilliant cinema.
Christopher Schobert is associate editor of Buffalo Spree
