Star sighting

Just passed Eddie Redmayne in Hells Kitchen. He was lighting a cigarette . I missed the appropriate .5 second long window too ask 'How was that threesome with Hugh Dancy and Julianne Moore in Savage Grace?'

How would one rehearse such a scene?

Best Description of an Actress Ever.

Last night at dinner, The Boyfriend was all excited to tell me about his latest celebrity sighting. He never knows their names just that they're famous so it's always a guessing game. 'Oh you know who... she's got blonde hair'. Uh, thanks. That really narrows it down, babe. 'Squishy face.' Hmmm...'I think she made a movie about dancing once?' Hahaha. Then it became so obvious and I shouted out her name. He was talking about __________.

TIFF: Toronto's Ego and Iran's Politics

Hi, I'm MattCanada, the new guest blogger from Toronto. My first mission is to relay information on the Toronto International Film Festival, but because I have just started a new job at a talent agency my ability to see hoardes of amazing films has been seriously diminished. I am only going to four films this year (very dissapointed!), but I thought I might give impressions of TIFF from a Torontonians perspective.

It is always an incredible experience being in the city for the festival. Films, celebrities, and film critics routinely make the front page of the major papers. Yorkville, the hub of upscale Toronto and thus the festival, becomes overrun with celebrity spotters, international media types, and, to be honest, a lot of tacky women and sleazy looking men looking to party and eat beside people like Oprah. At work people from LA and NYC are constantly dropping in, and relaying what they think about the latest ten films they've seen... that day. Everyone is always talking about what party they were invited to, or who they saw at some gala. Basically for ten or so days the laid back, unshowy, casual Toronto I know turns into something more akin to New York City or Montreal. This is all amazing but a little disconcerting, especially when all the stars pack up and head home, and Toronto's papers are once again filled with news of boom out West and bust out East. I love the festival, not only for the films, but also for turning the city I love into a lovably egotistical place.

Map from Metro News

Last night I saw my first film, the North American premiere of Hana Makhmalbaf's Green Days. The film is a clandestinely filmed dramatisation of the events leading up to the 2009 Iranian election protests, or Green Revolution. Makhmalbaf, the 20 year old daughter of famed director Mohsen, filmed without a permit during the demonstrations leading up to the election. She weaves a story about a woman's attempt to put on a play and search for answers to her country's political situation around the demonstrations. She also intercuts footage of the post-election governmental violence and repression. This film is powerful despite Makhmalbaf's contrived and unsubtle plot involving the play director. The film's power comes from its disturbing post-election images (especially the use of the now famous footage of Neda/"voice of Iran" being shot), juxtaposed with the optimism of the pre-election Mousavi supporters. Everything that is fictional is sub-par, and feels distinctly like student drama and student film. Having recently graduated with a degree in Film and Drama I do not use these dreaded, horrible terms lightly. I swear to God there is a scene where three women dressed as mimes (white face, black clothes) are literally silenced by an offscreen presence taping over their mouths. Subtle? No. Cliche? Yes, and of the highest order.

It has to be said though, that everything that is documentary has a gravitas and power that far outweighs the narrative and technical shortcomings. I saw this film with a theatre mostly packed with people wearing green bracelets and armbands in support of Mousavi and the Green Revolution, and their response was very positive. When I arrived at the theatre it seemed like everyone knew each other, people were embracing everywhere and everyone was speaking Farsi. When the film ended there was a nice (not overwhelming) round of applause. This leads me to the conclude that they admired the politics, but understood its faults. Overall, a mediocre film with some very powerful scenes.

Tonight I'm seeing the Cannes hit J'ai tué ma mère, and I'm so excited. It's a Québécois film from a cute gay 20 year old which is enough to make me call it my favorite film of the year, without even having seen it.
The director/writer/star Xavier Dolan is even the current coverboy for Toronto's fag rag Xtra. I'll get back to you with my thoughts.
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Tribeca, Marianne, Supermodels

<-- Ciarán Hands and Aidan Quinn on the town to promote The Eclipse.

I'm on assignment for Tribeca covering Q & As over the next few days, so last night I saw the ghost story The Eclipse from playwright Conor MacPherson. Calling it a ghost story is reductive but it's the easiest hook to get your attention. The new film is juggling a lot of balls at once (grief drama, love story, literary comedy, character study) and it's coming to a theater new you just as soon as... well, you never know with these festival films. But the audience really liked it so maybe distribution won't be that far away. John Patrick Shanley (Doubt) was a few rows behind me. I guess these playwrights eye each other like hawks.

And two celebrity sightings to tell you about. Before leaving Nashville I had a chat with Marianne Jean-Baptiste at the festival after-party downtown. She was in great humor and much shorter than I expected her to be. We talked about Mike Leigh, the film she directed Ink and Happy-Go-Lucky. She was absolutely convincing when telling me that she's not sick of people telling her how great she was in Secrets & Lies. So she's either still a fine actress or 13 years later she still doesn't really mind being recognized as "Hortense".

Back in Manhattan 17 hours later, I was grabbing a quick bite after an exhausting day of airline travel, bag problems and running around Manhattan for press arrangements before The Eclipse. Who should sit kitty-corner from me in the diner but Ronnie from Make Me a Supermodel. Remember him?

Since we were both alone I felt there was no harm in saying "hi" though I have never interrupted a celebrity at a restaurant. I only share this with you because I'd venture to say that he's the nicest semi-celebrity I've ever met: Sweet as can be, talkative and (rather impossibly) even better looking in person. Some people have all the luck. But when they're as nice as they are pretty, who could ever hold it against them?

If you're in NYC are you attending Tribeca?
For those of you outside the isle of Manhattan, any movie plans over the next few days?
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Cat Bath

Film Experience regular E Dot sent me this photo of his bathroom from his stay at Planet Hollywood in Vegas. Catwoman thinks she'll give herself a bath.... right here.


I didn't know that they had movie star themed room (I have eaten in Planet Hollywood but once and avoid tourist traps when travelling) but had I known that if I stayed there Michelle Pfeiffer might be bathing with me? ...change of plans.

<-- On the other hand, La Pfeiff once had some terrifying paralytic trouble in a tub by way of evil schemer Harrison Ford (or was she just paralyzed by the memory of sharing a hot tub with crazy Mel?) so perhaps a bathroom isn't the best place to celebrate her.

Pssst. In other 'jpgs in my inbox' news, a friend from London recently sent me a photo of Tilda Swinton's leg saucily dangling over a blushing journalist at a party in London. I'm not allowed to post it (privacy is so annoying!) but it made me love Tilda even more. Possible?!? Apparently so.
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Bardem Schmardem. Celia Weston!!!!

I thought about calling this post "I am Me" but conjuring unwelcome Ashlee Simpson thoughts is not what I'm about. Yet I am, no matter the circumstances or environment, always who I am. Last night I saw No Country For Old Men a second time with frequent partner in crime Susan P and The Boyfriend. Afterwards: cocktails and num-nums with cast and crew of the movie and a couple hundred other industry and media types. The Coens were there including Frances McDormand (younger and prettier in person), Kelly Macdonald, David Strathairn, Javier Bardem, Josh Brolin. Who am I most excited to see in this room? Who do I make a beeline for in the overcrowded space? Celia Weston. She's not even in the movie. But I have this incurable actress problem...

Celia, all humble and --I'm guessing here-- not accustomed to wild eyed groupies approaching her, actually attempted to tell me her name after I expressed my admiration. Um... 'I know who you are!' I say with duh! amusement. We talked about Far From Heaven and Junebug, I told her about my "Actress of the Aughts" list on The Film Experience and how high she placed. 'I don't even have a computer Nathaniel' she says. Oh, Celia

Later in the night Josh Brolin called Susan and I geeks (lovingly I assure you. The topic: Grindhouse) but nobody called me an actressexual -- maybe because I made up the word. But that is who I am. The movie is great. Javier Bardem is still sexier than you can possibly imagine in person. The food was delicious. Whatever. I met Celia Weston!

Angelina Sighting (With My Own Two Eyes)

True story: Angelina Jolie criss-crossed my path yesterday. She smiled at me... or at least in my direction. Who knows why. I believe that our eyes met but through a double layer of glaze who can be sure. My vision was obscured by stardust; her expression veiled with a benevolent mask that read 'Yes I Am She'. For a split second we were but an arms length apart. I was so stunned I can't recall what she was wearing (light simple dress?)

She floated by me with arm bent at the elbow, hand raised up but dangling from a limp wrist --a royal being waiting for her subjects to kiss it? Here, alas, my story ends. I am unable to share the where and the why since I'd like to keep my day job.

(Must read link for new readers: A History of... Angelina Jolie)
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