The Toronto International Film Festival is stupid. I mean, good for them that they have so many movies but if someone actually wanted to watch them all, it would be physically impossible. Even if you managed to travel backward in time a couple of times. And then, just to really make it impossible, they throw in a bunch of well-known people who fart around town attracting onlookers and photographers.
Anyhow, there it is. Guess I’ll just have to deal with it. Medication, maybe.
I don’t think I could ever tell you more about the festival than the actual website, but one of the things that does seem to be lacking is a useful celebrity list. The Toronto Star has a very complete list but much of the time I couldn’t put name to face. I’m usually not great with names, more of a faces guy. Do you suffer from the same affliction? You may find this somewhat useful:
That took more than a few pee breaks, but — it’s complete! Or at least as complete as it’ll get. Some of the names were either a bit too obscure or their web presence wasn’t very strong. By that I mean that if I had to click more than once to find out who it was, it just wasn’t worth it. I don’t get paid by the click, you know!
I figured it could be used as an “Oh shit, is that who I think it is?” list.
Yep. Now you know it’s someone famous. You just don’t know who.
And who cares?! Take a picture, take one more … nnnnnn Run! Push everyone aside – grandma can go straight to hell — leap over hoods of cars – here’s my indicator, buddy!! — figure it all out later.
Well, maybe not so much for me. I know that the moment I’d go to run, I’d slip on something and come straight down on my chin and camera and all. One big flubby smash, digitally stored in a multitude of devices and angles, many of which would be capable of playing it all out in slo-mo. And the blood. Lots of it. People would panic, some guy in front of me would faint. I’d be a mess, bawling from the awfulness of it all. The celebrity now long gone having been whisked into a waiting car even as I was still coming down. Probably the scream. And the photographers — pissed. I’d just cost them the day’s wage.
So, yeah, I hope to be there.