What's he on about now?

In case the articles, essays and opinions throughtout this site just weren't enough for you, here's my online diary (a.k.a. 'blog'). It's as close as you'll come to the inside of my head, so don't say I didn't warn you
(and remember, you can always e-mail me if you love or loathe anything you're about to read)...


   Friday, September 17, 2004

YOU WIN SOME, YOU LOSE SOME

At the end of the workday last night, I was offered a pair of tickets to last night's gala premiere of "Modigliani" at Roy Thompson Hall. I was thrilled to accept them but I had half an hour's notice to find a date. I drove several of my friends crazy as I called to say, "Movie. Now." All wanted to go, none was able to go. Most of us just aren't that spontaneous.

So I went solo and basked in the splendor of RTH, settling into a balcony seat. The movie stars Andy Garcia, who's one of those actors everyone admires but no one gets excited about. I was standing a few feet away from him as he walked in, patiently signing autographs. My reaction to most celebrities is either indifference or a fear of bothering them so I'm not an autograph-hound.

His performance as the bohemian icon Modigliani is wonderful, however -- topped only by that of French actress Elsa Zylberstein, playing his mistress. While the movie irritated me with its stylistic flourishes and more of that 'artist-as-rock-star' routine, it was her performance that ultimately won me over. By the end, I was as teary as anyone else in the theatre and happily joined in the standing ovation at the end.

I overheard a woman talking to her friend about the film as I walked down King Street afterward. "These people are icons to us now," she said, referring to the film's depictions of Picasso, Rodin, Cocteau and other Montemarte denizens, "but back then, they were living on the margins." Nice, I thought, maybe the film will draw attention to the 'starving' part of 'starving artist.'

I continued up Yonge Street past Wellesley and -- for the second time this week -- ran into Steve, one of the pub managers. While I was desperate to stop working there, I still enjoy running into many of the people. He was out with his boyfriend and I told them how I'd just come from a 'gift' movie. "Want another one?" he shrugged, handing me two tickets, "We can't go." For the second time yesterday, I was handed tickets to a movie with twenty minutes notice. I thanked them and ran.

I tried three people from a phone booth on Charles, reaching only my ex who was already in pyjamas. "At 9:45?" I teased, "Well throw some jeans over them. It's a dark theatre -- no one cares what you're wearing." I was half-kidding. Half.

I ran to the Cumberland theatre, walked up and said hello to the volunteers, and found I had nothing to give them. Where the hell did the tickets go? "You've still got a couple pockets left," suggested one of them but I knew they were gone. I couldn't believe it -- I'd won and lost within minutes of each other! I could only laugh at my own (mis)fortune as I walked through Yorkville.

As I passed that phone booth again on my way home, I stopped and looked around and, unbelievably, the tickets were lying on the Charles Street sidewalk. The time was 10:05 pm. Do I go back? Do I go home? I laughed out loud and sprinted back to Avenue Road. An usher at the theatre led me to a seat in the very last row of the theatre. The movie had started only a few minutes ago.

The film was a German thriller called "Hotel," clearly influenced by David Lynch, Stanley Kubrick's "The Shining" and "The Blair Witch Project." The film unfolds at a glacial pace as its timid main character, a Gwyneth Paltow lookalike, walks through the hotel and its surrounding woods. One hallway ends in darkness and she walks away from the camera, disappearing into the black. I remember David Lynch doing a shot like that in "Lost Highway" and found it both beautiful and creepy. Here, however, that motif is repeated, not once but again and again until it becomes a bit ridiculous.

Clearly, the director was more interested in the heroine's inner conflict but even Polanski's "Repulsion" had a plot! By the time the movie drifted to its spooky but obvious conclusion, I was itching to leave the theatre -- making my whole dashing-about-the-city drama that much sillier in retrospect. Still, any movie seen at the film festival is always a treat -- I even remember the terrible movies I've seen there with fondness -- and it's always nice to see my luck hold up.