I mean, certainly writing, painting, photography, dance, architecture, there is an aspect of almost every art form that is useful and that merges into film in some way.
A great movie evolves when everybody has the same vision in their heads.
Have a very good reason for everything you do.
I think with all directors there are ideas that recur, at least for the ones that have creative control of their films.
It’s quiet behind the Roy Thompson Hall. I’m standing here in the friends and family section, just beside the red carpet. I’m watching Penelope Cruz and Emile Hirsch start and stop their way past over a dozen reporters and camera men, but what shocks me the most is how quiet everyone is.
They’ve long since pushed through the other side of the Hall, where escort cars dropped them off before screaming fans; all pushing for a photograph or signature.
That side of the Hall is everything but silent.
In post-production these interviews will be layered with a bed of crowd noises, probably the audio from just moments ago. A high tempo music bed will accompany the footage, and everyone will sound like they’re screaming to be heard.
But the truth is the media and celebrities have this agreement: Quiet is best.
Emile and Penelope finally leave the carpet and descend into the covered entrance where presumably they will find their seats in the Hall.
After they’re gone. It’s our turn.
Sara, Chantelle, Bianca and I are next, and last to walk the carpet. The media has packed up and gone; no one notices us.
We have to hurry.
The red carpet descends into a covered extension, where erected tents obscure any more photographs or publicity.
The carpet ends and you turn a corner into what must be the employees entrance of the Hall. There are lockers and benches that line the walls and large maintenance doors for us to go through.
In front of you now is a large stack of ladders. Any glamour left here is all in what you’re wearing, now you’re just finding your seat.
We open to a fork in the road. Penelope, Emile and the cast and crew of Twice Born have made their way to the left, towards the mezzanine and their seats near the front row.
Not us. We turn right, and have to climb.
Two flights of stairs we climb, up the very very top of the Roy Thompson Hall. We are not permitted to sit near the Hall’s front. Not yet anyways.
After the film is finished we leave the Hall like the rest of the public. As we walk through the foyer, I see spectacular glass walls, a slick fancy bar, and a beautiful white Audi.
The red carpet is fabulous, but everyone who walks through it are here to work. They’re employees.
The good stuff, the most beautiful part of the Hall, is saved for the audience.
Mezzanine or Balcony
Tee Shirt or Sport Jacket
Protest or Party
Truth or Illusion
During TIFF’12 I got to travel through its dualities, and that it revealed itself this way to me, I am grateful. Thank you to The Grid Does TIFF, Grolsch beer, and of course my Collective.
I could never begin to explain to you why TIFF’12 played out for me this way, but I can only thank it for always revealing to me its two sides.
My dentist said to me the other day: I’ve enough problems in my life, so why should I see your films?
A script is always about two things.
What it’s about and what it’s REALLY about.
In Rear Window, a photojournalist with a broken leg thinks his neighbor’s a killer, but it’s REALLY about his bruised ego putting everyone he loves in harm’s way.
In Seven Samurai a desperate village hires a team of warriors to defend it from bandits. But it’s REALLY about seven lost soldiers finding one last meaning to their life.
One is the text of the film. The other is the sub-text. Two stories, happening at the same time. One is superficial; the other full of meaning.
As a rule real life should never be compared to fiction. Real life is subject to random chaos. Anything can happen in our life, many times without meaning or closure. This idea terrifies us, and that’s why we, as a species, created fiction.
But as a screenwriter experiencing the two sides of TIFF ‘12. I can’t seem to help it. I feel split in two.
If you haven’t guessed by now, I am one of the 112 BellTV employees that were locked out after failed contract negotiations.
We were at the Lightbox to picket TIFF. And in front of their Bell Fibe display we completely shut their advertisement down.
Here I am on John Street passing out fliers and picketing with signs. I’m wearing my Lockout t-shirt, which has become camera repellant since we came down here. If we get near a lens, it turns away like we were the plague. Sometimes they just can’t turn away.
I love the politics of what’s kept in and what’s left out of the frame.
My stargazing has been passing leaflets to Voldermort (Ralph Fiennes) and General Zod or Bernadette (Terance Stamp). Not the behavior of a typical TIFF cinefile.
But there’s the other side of my TIFF life. The side that comes out at night in nice shirts and sport-coats. Where stargazing is finding Michael Pitt’s ordered the same drink as you, and standing in the ‘friends and family’ section of the Roy Thompson Hall while Penelope Cruz and Emile Hersch push their way through one press interview after another.
My film collective and I have sprung to life this year, and I have been having a TIFF like never before. And after filming our first short (and about to shoot our next two in the coming weeks) we have met industry reps with the wind in our sails. Our collected dreams are within reach.
But which tale is the text and which is subtext. Which part of my life is real, which is superficial?
I toss and turn both ideas until they give me a headache, and in the end I must return to my original statement. Real life and fiction should never be compared.
For the first few weeks of Sept 2012, this was the lot in life that the universe gave me. Both sides of TIFF are real for me, because when compared, they make no sense. One is not more important than the other.
Both the lockout tee and the sports-coat.
To my fellow Bell Lockout employees: Everything I did was been provided by Grolsch beer, The Grid magazine (thanks to Siobhan Kelly), and through my collective (Sara, anotherBrad, Rose and Jake). Bell has not paid me, nor have I been paid by them.
My only rule: complete honesty with everyone.