I love film festivals. I don’t care how big or small they are, whether they have films from around the world or just in that neck of the woods. The chance to discover something new before anyone else is so addictive, I will easily overextend my budget for the experience. And this was certainly true for the two days I was able to attend this year’s CineVegas Festival.
Dick Hollywood’s misadventures in Las Vegas… or how I learned to love Vodka, CineVegas and Russian Beeeches
TIFF Survivor Dave Creighton reviews three films all with a Rock and Roll theme: Jack Black in “School of Rock”, director Alex Steyermark’s “Prey for Rock & Roll” and the documentary “End of the Century: The Story of The Ramones”.
Oh man, am I tired.
As if moving apartments and working a killer 9-to-5 isn’t a handful for early September, here I am covering the Toronto International Film Festival (TIFF) for FilmJerk.com. Not that I’m complaining, mind you. As many of you already know, this city is a cinephile’s wet dream, a town where a cornucopia of cinematic fellatio awaits you at every corner, stroking your celluloid desires with everything from indie hits to obscure foreign fare. The centerpiece of this silver screen Gotham is an annual festival that puts Cannes and it’s paparazzi-fucking to shame. Toronto’s fest is, and always will be, about the films, and as usual, this year’s lineup was a cut above. With the Academy’s move of the Oscars from April to late February, the TIFF moved another notch forward in prominence, marking it as the tentpole event for studios yearning to market their Oscar fare and local and international producers looking to hock their hidden gems. After 10 glorious days wolfing down cholesterol-jacking snacks in dark theatres, I’ve amassed a list of the films to see and the films to flee from this year’s fest, most of which will be released later this year for your own consumption. Enjoy.
The curtains have finally dropped on the 27th Toronto International Film Festival, considered by many, myself included, as one of the best editions ever. After an exhausting 10-day celluloid bash which featured 345 films, 180 of them world and North American premieres, from 50 countries, my retinas have closed down while caffeine has found a permanent home in my body.
September, 1999. Toronto. I’m sitting at the grand and glorious Uptown Theatre on Yonge Street on a sunny Sunday morning sipping down my java and reading some press clippings before the show. The room is jammed tight and a nervous chatter rolls softly in the air.