Too tired for TIFF

This is the first year that I won’t be enthusiastically participating on the Toronto International Film Festival.  In the past, I’ve attended films for fun, stood in many lines, reviewed films for publications and even interviewed actors and directors.  I loved every minute of it.  Standing in line at the box office, chatting up other zealous cineophiles who shared my ardour.  With a smug grin, we’d proudly hold our tickets minutes after box office opening, while hundreds of other poor souls languished in line, punished for their inability to crawl out of bed before the crack of dawn.

However, last year, something changed.  Standing in line, I was tired.  The majority of films for which people were lining up involved some major Hollywood celebrity who would be attending the gala. "I’m here for Brad."  "I absolutely adore Russel Crowe."

Whatever.

For me, the beauty of the festival is in those rare gems of international cinema that we otherwise don’t often get to see.  Of course, living in Toronto, we are exposed to the big winners in international film, i.e. the ones that get nominated for the Best Foreign Film at the Oscars, but there are countless other fabulous movies that only get revealed to us through the Festival. 

I remember, when I was newly married and had little responsibilities other than deciding where to brunch on the weekend. My husband and I decided that we would buy somewhat random tickets to the Festival and leave our fate at luck’s door.  The experience was fabulous.  We saw a beautiful Italian film that featured the sultry Valerie Golino (who attended the screening at the old Uptown – I miss that theatre and its grandiose charm); an Almodovar film, and a great martial arts flick – not really my thing, but I appreciated its many attributes.

Another year, my dear friend who shares my love of film but who is also now confined by the lovely chains of parenthood, diligently researched the year’s offerings and entered the lottery system with rigorous planning and analysis. We loved every minute of it.  And when we were rewarded with many of our first choices, we proudly attended the screenings knowing we had earned your place with sweat and tears.  That was the year I saw Gurinder Chadha’s "Bend it like Beckham", a landmark film in Indo-British filmmaking that highlighted a group to which I proudly belong – second generation South Asians.

I like to see all the Indian films.  Often, Deepa Mehta and I are on the same schedule and even got to a point last year where we would nod politely to each other acknowledging our mutual good taste.  She sat directly in front of me at Vishal Bhardwaj’s Maqbool several years ago, and as tears streamed down both our faces at Irfan Khan’s brilliant portrayal of a Mumbai Macbeth, we gave a roaring standing ovation to a truly brilliant film.

But, either I’m getting too tired and old, or the Festival has gotten too big for me.  I know that, along with all the mega-blockbusters and George Clooneys, there are still the independent gems lurking beneath the hype.  Maybe next year I’ll summon the courage to dive back in.

Here’s a pic of me (purple shirt) with Indian superstar Shah Rukh Khan at TIFF in 2001!