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They’re usually pretty courteous and … oh look! It’s Keanu Reeves!

Thanks, Keanu. You’re looking … well.

But Rebecca Miller, she’s too transfixed by someone’s scruffy locks to say hi to me:

Nice. Yes, that’s supposed to be sarcastic.

And Robin Wright also showed up but absolutely refused to be photographed in focus. You have to understand, if she’s gonna waste my time like that, I’ve got a toilet at home that needs scrubbing.

Besides, I was able to find real talent not too far away:

Note the blur on the guy’s foot with respect to objects behind, like moving vehicles. *fwoosh!*  Ball never touched the ground. Cool cool stuff.

Strangely, this guy and his partner weren’t busking. Next time I see them, I’m going to suggest that they should. It’d help to pay for their cleats and deodorant and whatnot. And that’s the other thing I want to talk to them about; what exactly did they mean when they said they were “practicing”? Sounds mysterious. Gives me something to follow up on tomorrow if Natalie Portman starts to annoy me.

Oh, as regards that real talent thing, I was referring to one of the three people I took time out of my busy schedule to see, not necessarily Robin Wright. I probably shouldn’t say his name or mention his gender. Let’s just say his name begins with “Kean” and ends width “eeves”. And it’s the only he in the group.

It’s Keanu Reeves.

I’m sure he’s a swell guy, but his acting often makes me long for unconsciousness.  His performance in Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure set an insurmountable precedent, really. It was his breakthrough role; he shone like a real star for the very first time. That part was his.

Anyhow, I still managed a surly post today so Robin, Keanu, and Becky didn’t spoil everything. I just hope that the bigshots understand just how valuable my time is before it’s too late. I only have a finite amount of patience. That’s all I’m gonna say about that.

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“Who’s here tonight?”

*mumble* ” Sheen.”

“Martin Sheen? Really? I didn’t know he was supposed to come.”

“Yeah.”

“Haha! You can’t handle the truth!”

“What?”

“You know … from that movie?”

“Oh. Yeah.”

I was sceptical.

I’m not very good with names, but I was pretty certain that no *mumble* Sheen was involved with A Few Good Men. The shrug that I got along with “Oh. Yeah”, also made me think that Martin Sheen wouldn’t be showing up. But before I had a chance to ask anyone else, people started to arrive for the premiere.

First to stroll up the path  (guess the locals walk — or take the bus), were a few members of Toronto FC, the city’s red-scarf-donning professional soccer club:

With Jim Brennan (the team captain), and his cadre making an appearance, I figured the movie had something to do with soccer. Or football, as the majority British crowd was calling it. Those were also important clues :)

While I waited for the search of the evening’s screening schedule to load up on my mobile, I exchanged pleasantries with retired general and current mayor, David Miller:

Many people think that because of Miller’s handling of the War on Trash, he might be out of a job come the next municipal election. I was also disappointed that after a forty day strike, he ended up giving the unions everything they asked for.

Oh well.

Let’s ask these people what they think:

Never heard of Miller. Who struck who now?

But, as it turns out, the British couple had seen The Damned United (the movie being premiered), a full six months earlier. The gentleman confirmed that it was indeed a football pic about Brian Clough, the manager of the Leeds United football club. Mr. Clough’s part was was played by Michael Sheen, which explained the earlier confusion about the name. Except that I still had no idea who Michael Sheen was. But then … oh look! It’s Michael Sheen!

Riiiight!

He played the leader of the Lycans in Underworld and, more recently, British TV personality David Frost in Frost/Nixon. No relation to Martin Sheen.

I like to think that if I’m ever being held hostage and threatened with my life unless I can identify who this actor is, I’ll walk away safe and sound. Not sure what circumstances would lead me to be in such a situation, or why my captors would ask such a question, but at least I’ll be prepared.

Of course, I’ll still stand around future red carpet events like an ignorant potato. I could find out who’s coming, but unless my life’s in danger, what’s the point?

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So now that I’ve been a-gawkin’ for the first time I can say that there’s an awful lot of standing around and scratching your butt. The stars come in piece-meal, irregularly spaced, and they don’t stick around long. Out of of the hour or so that I stood there, maybe five or six TIFF SUVs rolled bearing someone or other. A Toyota Camry also made an appearance; no idea who that was. But still, you had to stay on your toes because … oh look! It’s Jennifer Connelly!

Then, whoosh! Inside. Didn’t even autograph my butt cheeks; isn’t that kinda rude? I used to have a crush on you, Jennifer! *sigh*

And then more waiting. I quickly lost my illusion that the event was being televised live or something because even the hosts did a lot of standing around:

I could see how there can be a lot of alcohol involved in the live broadcast industry. Later, when I saw the edited broadcast at YDS, some of the responses that the interviewers got made me wince. Calling Jennifer “smokin’ hot” in front of her husband seemed inappropriate. And a lot of the questions really missed anything substantial, like what she thought of her dresses in Creation, the Charles Darwin biopic she was cracking the seal on. Paul Bettany was asked about his inspiration, his thoughts on Origin of the Species, etc. The bunch watching the rebroadcast at YDS were less enthusiastic than even Jennifer seemed to be:

So the delayed feed isn’t a crowd pleaser. It is better to be there live. But YDS did fill up once the band came on:

That’s DJ Champion on the decks. You can hear for yourself what it sounded like: http://www.djchampion.net/

I’m a big fan of deep house, and I don’t snub my nose at other styles of house, but this just didn’t catch me. Sounds like it’s trying to be all things to all people, so it comes across as a bit of a dud. To me, anyway.

Aw, who cares. Plenty of options out there; the Dixie Chicks are coming!

Haha! Nah, just kidding. My inner snob is alive and well there. I’m sure there’ll be more stuff; hope doesn’t die with a twang. And the butt cheeks may yet have a signature on them.

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The Citytv crew made a big to-do about how the station would now be in the actual heart of the city. They’re probably right, but I suspect they just wanted to be closer to my place. Either way, it was a wise decision.

The move has been in the works for about two years. Gord Martineau, Citytv’s sneering six o’clock news anchor, has pitilessly plugged his involvement in the move stating that he was the one who brought up the idea with boss Ted Rogers, the guy who owns every co-ax cable in Toronto (and then some).

The building itself was an Olympics-themed tourist attraction for a couple of years, hence the big cone-torch thingie at the top. Aside from the pleasantly phallic symbolism (granted, a horribly deformed phallus), the building also forms an interesting arch over the intersection of Victoria and Dundas. Streetcar tracks go through the arch but there are no open power lines, probably because the construction workers were afraid of electrocution. Babies. Anyway, I’m certain that once they open it up it’ll make for a great place to throw back a couple of swigs of paper-bagged hooch, away from scornful eyes.

But Gord’s masturbatory visions weren’t the only things making headlines on Tuesday. U. of T. and York U. put their first-year students through the wash for the first day of frosh week:

All the noobs were baptized in the waters of City Hall with a ritual involving a Kindergarten-style initiation. A girl on a megaphone shouted out some rhyming instructions with all the students acting out the directions while repeating what she said. The Universities were only mentioned a couple of times during the chanting; they spent more time pretending to be alligators, crabs, and sleeping monkeys. Hurray for our future workforce!

What a time to lose my internet connection! And with TIFF coming up ‘n all:

Couldn’t have come at a worse time. Despite George Clooney and I being best buds, I doubt he’ll postpone his arrival for my technical difficulties.  I bet he’s disappointed.

Sorry, George. You’ll have to takeit up with my ISP. I tried and I guess I’m just not famous enough.

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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:

http://www.torontocitylife.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/09/TIFF-celeb-list.jpg

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.

Get p-a-i-d!

Slick.

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.

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