Happy 20th anniversary WIFF, and Opening Night

It’s the 20th anniversary of the Windsor International Film Festival (WIFF) and it’s my 20th anniversary attending it too – kind of. I tend to travel in the Fall and have missed one or two editions. I remember how excited I was when a Windsor film festival was first announced in 2005, and I enthusiastically attended screenings in what used to be Armouries. Its vast parade hall was turned into a makeshift theatre with a giant inflatable screen (before it was rebuilt and now houses a state of the art small cinema). I remember watching movies at the four-screen former Palace Theatre on Ouellette Ave., since turned into the (ironically) now-closed Windsor Star newsroom. In fact, I even collected two seats from the old Palace when they were giving them away during renovation. The festival, started under the auspices of people like Peter Coady and Mark Boscariol, continued to grow and grow, and eventually re-established on a solid footing under Vincent Georgie and a host of government grants and private sector institutional funding (thanks especially Toldo Foundation and LiUNA625) that it now has the trappings of a newfound Windsor industry, presenting films on a year-round basis. It rivals festivals in much larger cities and in fact often outshines them in terms of volume, seminal titles and ease of access. Why would I want to go to the Toronto festival and deal with the circus-like atmosphere and hard to see films when I can watch many of the same features two-month later here, in a more intimate and people-scaled environment? In some ways WIFF's growth has been surprising, since so many people, often natives, used to put Windsor down as "lunch bucket uncultured town.” The joke’s on them. Not only the festival one of the most attended in Canada but it has partly enabled growth of a filmmaking industry, with numerous local cineastes displaying their wares through festival fixtures like this year’s four editions of Local Shorts and the Mark Boscariol 48-Hour Flockfest.   

Notes on last night’s Opening: I hadn’t seen so many people dressed-up since I was at a wedding five years ago. I loved it! ..Vincent Georgie is certainly to be congratulated for how he took the festival to another level after its first years under a different leadership and he was the logical keynote speaker....Among Georgie’s remarks was a Land Acknowledgement, the de rigueur newish and political  “woke” value signal which has permeated  public arts – and other - institutions and which to my mind is vacuous and won’t do a thing to help Indigenous people.....I was puzzled by the choice of the opening film, Shepherds, by Sophie Deraspe of Quebec. A kind of bohemian back to the land tale of an ad man who eschews the corporate world – and Canada – for a lifestyle of rural shepherding in France, as it was cliched and lacking the oomph I would have liked from a gala.  

My top picks for this festival: Maria (Pablo Larrain) - the Maria Callas story starring Angelina Jolie,  Bonjour Tristesse, a remake of the 1958 film starring David Nevin and Deborah Kerr (based on the Françoise Sagan novel) this time starring Chloë Sevigny and directed by Durga Chew-Boss; A Different Man, Aaron Schimberg’s dark comedy starring The Apprentice’s Sebestian Stan (who played Donald Trump); Firebrand (Karim Aïnouz) - intrigue in the bloody court of Henry VIII; It’s Raining Men (Caroline Vignal) –  the perfect vehicle for French star Laure Calamy; Anora, the current sensational hit by Sean Baker crossing a Brooklyn sex worker with a Russian oligarch; The Battle of St. Leonard ( Félix Rose), a documentary about a seminal event in Quebec’s language wars and as a native Quebecer I lived through it; and Conclave (closing film), Edward Berger’s  acclaimed hit starring Ralph Fiennes, Stanley Tucci and John Lithgow.  

Under the radar London Film Festival attracted big names

The London Film Festival was a delight. I only caught the last six days of it and made 12 films. But what was interesting was the buzz. The event, in its 68th year, skews a little under the radar, at least to other major film festivals. In fact, it doesn’t even register. Not like Cannes or Venice or Berlin or Locarno, or even Toronto. It seems to have the same status as that of the other of the world’s two greatest cities - New York. Does anyone even know there’s a New York Film Festival? But Londoners seem to enjoy it. And perhaps that’s all that matters. Alongside the sprawling British Film Institute (BFI) on London’s Southbank the red-carpet event packed in hundreds on the carpet itself, not to mention hundreds more standing on balconies overlooking (photo). Someone cares! And some big-name stars came out. Saoirse Ronan and Steve McQueen kicked it off with Blitz. Angelina Jolie there to showcase Maria, Cate Blanchett for Rumours. Canada (and Hollywood’s) Denis Villeneuve showed up for a lecture. As did Mike Leigh. The theatres were (mostly) packed. The cinemas themselves were of a wide variety – from the spectacular and voluminous Royal Festival Hall to the neighboring BFI’s four screening rooms, to several commercial cinemas on the other side of the river in the theatrical West End. I made it to screenings at the Curzon Mayfair and the Curzon Soho. Mayfair being the city’s most elite neighborhood where black cabs kept circling the block looking for fares from the affluent customers of upscale bars, people spilling into the street. I gazed at the buildings and thought of the modern (post war history) of the area, when Mayfair was a center of the British New Wave and subsequent cinema including origins of the 007 franchise. I kept imagining Dirk Bogard and Wendy Craig in The Servant (Joseph Losey 1963), set in the kind of high end buildings that dot the area with their large square mullion windows. And Soho the traditional nightclub district between Piccadilly Circus and Leicester Square, on Saturday night virtually every square foot seemingly occupied with tourists and raving club goers. 

London Film Festival: Marriage traps, disability and being derivative

There have been a couple of movies at this year's London Film Festival which dealt with the prison-like conditions of marriage. One, Nightbitch starring Amy Adams and directed by Marielle Heller (based on the novel by Rachel Yoder) is a delight though that sounds bizarre given the subject matter. It's a black comedy about a woman being trapped in motherhood. Adams plays a one time semi-famous artist who gives it all up for marriage and to raise a family - er, one two-year-old boy. Yet her life is drudgery, totally taken over by the 24-hour travails of sleeplessness, mess-cleaning and the mind numbing meeting of other moms in the park or at library singalongs, which the character despises. One day she finds dogs are increasingly attracted to her and she's growing fir and developing more nipples. OMG, what is happening!? You'll find out if you see the movie. Another was Sister Midnight, Karan Kandhari's take on India's arranged marriages. Uma (Radhika Apte) finds herself with a man (Ashok Pathak) who is a total stranger and in no way appealing. She acts out her frustration in a number of bizarre ways, which also have overtures to animals. The difference between Nightbitch and Sister Midnight (similar titles though) is that the first had a semblance of reality and nuance, the second goes for fake laughs with ridiculous scenarios. The audience lapped it up, however, cheering wildly at the end. One of the finest films of the 11 I've so far seen at the festival is French director Anne-Sophie Bailly's My Everything (photo). Her directorial debut is a subtle yet enduring portrait of a mother's relationship with her developmentally disabled son. Laura Calamy (Mona) of French TV series Call My Agent, and Charles Peccia Galletto (a developmentally disabled actor) take you into a very real story about the joys and frustrations of such bonding. Calamy is absolutely terrific as an everyday working class mom, trying to keep house and home together under sometimes trying circumstances. The entire film is brilliant and hopefully presages more wonderfulness from this director. I've never been a fan of French avant garde directior Leos Carax (Boy Meets Girl, 1984 and Holy Motors, 2012) - too disparate in their story telling and plainly pretentious. This 41 minute film is stirring but absolutely derivative in the tradition of Jean-Luc Godard, a Carax hero, with the audience hit with image after image of everything from the meaning of film to modern catastrophes, all stamped with huge sans-serif text. The best of the night came after the movie when Carax, on stage, mumbled short responses to long-winded audience questions that said more about the questioners' egos than anything. 

At the London Film Festival: The Apprentice is Hollywood's October Surprise

The Apprentice is obviously Hollywood's October Surprise on the Donald Trump campaign. Coming just a few weeks before the Nov. 5 critical presidential vote it's designed to level a torpedo blow to Trump, someone whom liberal (Democrat) Hollywood loves to hate. An October Surprise, by definition, is an attempt to lob a major bomb (i.e., revelation of a scandal) against a US presidential candidate to cripple their ability to win an election. Though indeed a powerful film The Apprentice doesn't seem to succeed. For one thing, it has done pittance at the box office, garnering only $1.6 million from 1700 theatres in its first week. For a second, the people most likely to see it are those who already despise Trump and lap up more of its alleged revelations. It may convince a few independent voters (neither Trump or Harris) but how many of those will see it? However, as far as cinema goes, The Apprentice is a riveting film, a combination of fast-paced images, bombastic score, superb recasting of the 1980's and 90's, and amazingly true-to-life characters in personas of Donald Trump (Sebastian Stan) and lawyer Roy Cohn (Jeremy Strong). This is a filmmaker's tale of a young Donald Trump, starting out in the real estate business from his father Fred. It focuses on the relationship between Trump and the wickedly devious Roy Cohn, an aid to the notorious 1950's anti-Communist McCarthy Un-American Activities Ctte. According to the movie, Cohn took Trump under his wing, as the two fought city hall ordinances using dirty tricks to, among other things, blackmail politicians. The script was written by New York magazine journalist Gabriel Sherman, a well known anti-Trump rabble rouser. It was directed by Ali Abbasi and stars Stan, Strong and Maria Bakalova as Trump's first wife Ivana. None of these people were familiar to me. But Abbasi's direction is amazing and, whether you agree with its political view or not, the film is a tour de force. And Stan does bare an uncanny resemblance to Trump including in some of the facial expressions like Trump's oh-so-identifiable smirk. One comes away from the film thinking Trump will do anything corrupt to succeed including running for president. The Trump campaign has denoucced the movie in no uncertain terms. My question is: why are these movies always directed against Republicans? Where are the movies about the Kennedy brothers' corruptions and affairs, even allegations that John F. cheated in Chicago, courtesy infamous former Democrat iron-fisted Mayor Richard Daley, to initially win in 1960? Why nothing on Bill Clinton's myriad affairs? Why indeed nothing on Joe Biden's alleged profiting from son Hunter's business dealings? Well, as I started out saying, it's Democrat Hollywood.

Other movies I've seen at the London (UK) Film Festival this week:

Joy - a Brit dramatization of the homegrown team which performed the first IVF transplant, directed by Ben Taylor and starring Bill Nighy, Thomasin McKenzie and James Norton. The movie does well re-creating the period of the late 1960's and 70's and the social and political forces the medical team was up against - including being accused of being Frankensteins - though having a little too much scientific verbiage for the average mind, including alas mine, to always grasp.

When Fall is Coming - French director François Ozon's take on the decline that can come with age, with star Hélène Vincent, makes you at once sympathize with the story's characters while questioning how many tragedies can befall two close knit families within a short period of time.

Twiggy - a superb documentary by Sadie Frost, it depicts a multidimensional star, an icon of London's Swinging Sixties but unbeknownst to me, a star who kept performing as actor (Ken Russell's The Boy Friend, 1971) and singer, now 75 and continuing performing right up to the present day. Down to earth and always ready to take on artistic risks, Twiggy (Lesley Hornby) is hardly the plastic persona one might imagine.

Off to see some movies, old chap!

I’m headed to the London Film Festival - London, England, that is. I missed it last year when spending a couple of months in the British capital, unaware it was on at the same time and most of the screenings sold out. But something peculiar happened this year. The film festival emailed me and offered media credentials. I couldn’t believe it. How come? I did mention the fest in my blog last year so maybe the British Film Institute (BFI), which hosts it, scraped all – and I mean all – internet coverage and put me on their invite list. Even at that I didn’t necessarily expect to get accredited. But I applied - what the hell? - and within 48 hours got approved! Unlike other festivals where I’ve received credentials, I had to pay a little upfront - $166 Can. I guess this is to root out unserious applicants. This entitled me to a pass to all press screenings held mornings to mid-afternoons. It also allows me access to public screenings the rest of the day, but I must apply separately for each one, something I haven’t done yet as there is a calendar window so don’t know how easy it is. I can also pay for screenings like the rest of the public and get a discount with a special code. I purchased one ticket (just in case) to Manji, Japanese director Yasuzo Masumura’s “sexploitation classic of obsessive desire.” Other films I’m interested in seeing are We Live in Time, John Crowley’s romantic drama with Florence Pugh and Andrew Garfield, Blitz, Steve McQueen’s take on British life during WW II starring Saoirse Ronan and Paul Weller, and Conclave (Edward Berger) starring a staller cast of Ralph Fiennes, Stanley Tucci, John Lithgow and Isabella Rossellini (photo) - intrigue at the Vatican in the selection of a pope. Festival guests this year include Brit icon Mike Leigh, Canadian Denis Villeneuve and the aforementioned Steve McQueen.  Press screenings are at the Picturehouse Central, one block from Piccadilly Circus and immediately accessible when I arrive Tuesday morning on the Tube straight from Heathrow Airport on the – appropriately named - Piccadilly Line. Many are concentrated at the outstanding BFI Southbank complex and others scattered throughout central London. Cheerio, old chap – let’s go see some movies!

Megalopolis: what was Coppola thinking?

The overall conclusion from watching Francis Ford Coppola’s swan song Megalopolis is “what was he thinking?” Yes, we’ve all read that this $120 million (of his own money) flop on a grand scale is a mess of direction and plot, to say the least. But it’s more than that. The whole thing is ridiculous, way over the top. Obviously Coppola, who’d dreamt of this film for decades, wanted to make an epic film in the tradition of  Intolerance (D.W. Griffith, 1916), Citizen Kane (Orson Welles, 1941) or Ben Hur (Billy Wyler, 1959). There is a stentorian narrator in the style of Citizen Kane and ridiculous carved tablets with supposed profound messages to punctuate various sections of the movie, like in ancient Rome. Of course, the movie is set in an updated Rome, New Rome, which is very obviously New York City. The protagonist Cesar (get it?) Catilina’s (Adam Driver) office is in the iconic art deco Chrysler Building, for Pete’s sake. And there are numerous visuals of what is assuredly Manhattan. But the atmosphere has a slightly otherworldly or time warped look, sort of what you see when watching a movie like Joker (Todd Phillips, 2019) and the soon to be released Joker: Folie à Deux by the same director. Partly it looks like the present, at other times the future and still at others the past, like it’s the 1950s, evidenced by men wearing fedoras and photographers with flash bulbs. But there’s no doubt this is a hedonistic “Roman” world as evidenced by the orgy-like parties and so many of the women dressed in togas. In fact, the film most made me think of a real classic, The Fountainhead (King Vidor, 1949). The themes are similar. Based on the Ayn Rand novel an architect with grand visions and uncompromised principles is stymied by the corrupt political class. I prefer that movie, starring Gary Cooper as Howard Roark. But the $120 million paid for something because the sets are lavish indeed. One critic called the movie a “beautiful mess.” But what’s the point? It’s an over-the-top affair that provokes guffaws when it’s so obviously meant to be taken seriously. The characters speak ridiculously, if even unintelligently, the plot is indeed all over the place, and there’s the on again, off again stentorian voice.