A funny thing about coming into a film festival at mid-point: You're still fresh but everyone around you is starting to snap. I didn't see " The Woman in the Fifth," the third film from the talented-and-knows-it young director Pawel Pawlikowsky ("My Summer of Love"), but I saw the audiences streaming out of the screening, and, boy, were they mad. An employee of a well-known Boston-area art-house termed it "ridiculous" and cited one audience member who left screaming imprecations at the onscreen Ethan Hawke; this turned out to be a well-known industry blogger not necessarily known for his restraint.
Toronto, Day 6: Goons and Gals
I also ran into a fellow critic who went into the Brad Pitt baseball film " Moneyball" after seeing nine movies in three days and just not getting into the film's very special tone -- a sort of lackdaisical front-office zen. Well, of course he didn't get it; his brain was full of nine other movies. Such are the perils of attending this "festival of festivals" and taking the concept seriously.
As Wesley has noted, it's a different Toronto this year. The switchover to a location farther downtown and centered around the new Bell Lightbox cinema complex has both concentrated the Toronto experience and made it possible to shut out the city itself. You can now travel the world in 300+ films without ever leaving a ten-block radius. That's progress, I think. At least it's easier on my feet.
I managed only a paltry three movies, but in fairness I didn't get off the plane from Boston until 11:30 this morning. And the three I caught hinted at the gamut: One sports documentary with a broken back, one eerie, inconclusive Swedish drama, and one genuinely bizarro American independent movie that plays like it takes place on a small island floating somewhere between here and France.
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