On Thursday, Noel Murray and I take off for another 10 days of bleary-eyed
bliss at the Toronto Film Festival.
Just like last year, we’ll be blogging the hell out of it on these virtual
pages, giving you some early thoughts on this annual smorgasbord of superstar
auteurs, Oscar wannabes, and notable obscurities as it unfurls. I won’t
speak for Noel, who has a few reservations about this year’s line-up,
but I can’t recall a year with so many international heavyweights, including
new films by Pedro Almodovar, Tsai Ming-liang, Apichatpong Weeratheskul, Hong
Sang-soo, Hirokazu Kore-eda, Jafar Panahi, Paul Verhoeven, Ken Loach, Alain
Resnais, Werner Herzog, Aki Kaurismaki, Benoit Jacquot, Hal Hartley, Takashi
Miike (okay, he’s around every year, but still), Nuri Bilge Ceylan, Bruno
Dumont, Kim Ki-duk, and Anthony Minghella. There’s also the already-controversial D.O.A.P., a political fantasy that ponders the aftermath of George
W. Bush’s assassination (pinch me, etc.), and low pleasures like the highly
anticipated (by me, anyway) Borat. But what I’m looking forward
to most are the unknown pleasures, those under-the-radar entries from new or
unheralded filmmakers that completely knock you out. So to the Mementos
of tomorrow, I salute ye.
If you’re at the festival and have any buzz items for us, drop me a line
at [email protected]. Last year, I offered that address to viewers interested
in discussing the ending of Caché, and after a year and about
300-400 queries, I’m still getting emails. (As a sidenote, I apologize
to anyone who’s written within the last few months and hasn’t gotten
a response. You can find all—or some, or none—of the answers to
your questions at this webpage.)
Look out America, Jr., here we come!