I’ve always suspected the releases of celebrity sex tapes are no accident. You’re a mid-level celeb who has decided to film yourself getting some kinky action (because it’s only real if the camera is focused on you) and somehow, when your home is burgled, the only thing stolen is the sex tape. Amazingly, the dirty criminals who made off with your homemade smut are well connected to adult video distributors, who quickly market it all over the web. Denials and horror ensue, soon followed by a piece of the action.

My suspicion was confirmed recently when, inexplicably, Saved By the Bell geek Dustin Diamond turned up in a video threesome, making many wonder how he managed to get two women. Then his manager, Roger Paul, spilled the beans: "Dustin has been trying to escape the Screech typecast. So this may help me get more bookings." But will it really help his career or will it just add a few seconds on to his “Where Are They Now?” segment? Let’s take a look and see…

Rob Lowe
Way back in 1988, a sex scandal could actually derail a career. Lowe was a sizzling member of the Brat Pack until a tape of him having sex with two women, one who was 17, emerged. That was it for him until his career was revived in 1999 when Aaron Sorkin cast him in The West Wing. He destroyed that revival by quitting the show under the mistaken impression her was talented and he’s mostly disappeared since then. Look for a new sex tape soon.
Impact: Almost a career killer

Pamela Anderson & Tommy Lee
The fact that Pam Anderson had a sex tape came as a surprise to nobody. Anybody who wanted to had already seen her spread-eagled in the pages of Playboy. The pair cut a deal with the distributor of their 1997 vacation video and Anderson’s career pretty much continued on as usual. The tape was much more of a success for Lee, a fading rock star living off the tawdry legend of Motley Crue. Once his, um, talent was exposed he became a reality TV star, appearing in Tommy Lee Goes to College and Rockstar.
Impact: Pam – negligible; Tommy – definite career boost

R. Kelly
In 2002, the Chicago Sun-Times received a tape of singer R. Kelly allegedly having sex with an underage girl, which quickly found itself on the file sharing networks. Kelly was charged and is currently awaiting trial, but continued his prolific recording career, selling millions of albums.
Impact: None so far, but a trial could change that

Vince Neil
A tape of Vince Neil, the former lead singer Motley Crue (are we seeing a pattern here?) and adult film star Janine Lindemulder was, you guessed it, stolen in 1999 and made its way to the internet. Lindemulder went on to film more porn, while Neil got a few more minutes of fame as a cast member on The Surreal Life.
Impact: Neil – Reality TV joke is better than nothing; Lindemulder – same old, same old

Paris Hilton
If there was any question that a sex tape could make a positive impact on a career, Paris Hilton’s experience erases all doubt. The hotel heiress was little know outside of party circles and paparazzi photos when she was cast with pal Nicole Richie in The Simple Life in 2003. Just before the debut episode, ex-boyfriend Rick Solomon leaked some grainy footage of the pair’s explicit coupling. Massive media coverage followed, all of which made reference to The Simple Life, boosting the shows ratings. In a remarkable “coincedence,” the DVD of the video, now aptly titled 1 Night in Paris, was released just before the second season of The Simple Life, touching off another round of coverage for Hilton and the show. Paris has since become a brand name, appearing in films, recording an album and releasing books, perfumes and whatever else she can attach her name to.
Impact: Massive – she wouldn’t have near the profile without the tape, making it appear a legitimate career move. (See South Park’s Stupid Spoiled Whore Video Playset)

Colin Farrell
In July of 2005, Colin Farrell sued his ex-girlfriend and former playmate Nicole Narin to stop her from releasing a recording of a sex romp he had foolishly assumed was "strictly private and confidential between them." He has good lawyers, as other than a brief surfacing on DirtyColin.com last January, the tape hasn’t seen the light of day. It’s existence had little influence on what people think of Farrell, exemplified by one of my female friends who said she would gladly wrap him in plastic and ride him into the sunset.
Impact: None, save for some fantasy material

Kid Rock & Scott Stapp
Another of Pamela Anderson’s men, Kid Rock, and former Creed lead singer Scott Stapp recorded some playtime with four groupies back in 1999, with the footage hitting the web this February. Rock called Stapp an idiot for letting the tape get out and has filed an injunction to get it pulled.
Impact: Rock – none, and who’s surprised?; Stapp – people talked about him again, however briefly

With the exception of Paris Hilton, sex tapes don’t do much for anyone’s fame and fortune. While they are no longer career killers, they either have no impact or at best get you a shot at reality TV. Dustin Diamond’s manager may be waiting by the phone for a long time.

Labels: celebrities, Colin Farrell, Dustin Diamond, Kid Rock, Motley Crue, Pamela Anderson, Paris Hilton, R. Kelly, Rob Lowe, Scott Stapp, sex tape, South Park, Tommy Lee, Vince Neil

Is an Oscar all that matters? Director Martin Scorsese is back in theatres with his mobster film The Departed, which is both a critical and box office success. Fantastic right? What more could you want? A little gold statuette, perhaps?

I don’t know that Scorsese sits awake at nights pining for an award that has never been, but if he isn’t, film writers are doing it for him. Wrote David Germain of the Associated Press last week: “Always a bridesmaid at the Oscars, Martin Scorsese is tied with four other filmmakers for awards futility: Five nominations, no wins.”

In an article titled “Has Scorsese finally arrived,” Ed Pilkington of the Guardian News Service opined that “he has not won the Oscar for best director, an honour that he has unashamedly coveted,” added later, “Come on Academy, give him his blasted Oscar.”

As a result, the relative merits of The Departed will be buried under a flurry of articles about how Scorsese is the Susan Lucci of the Academy – remember this goes on until February. It’s true that he has always been left empty handed when the director awards are handed out, missing for The Aviator, Gangs of New York, Goodfellas, The Last Temptation of Christ and Raging Bull. But he has had a stellar career, with a filmography anyone could be envious of. If anything, all it shows how wrong the Oscar voters have been – Kevin Costner for Dances With Wolves over Goodfellas anyone? An award would be fantastic, but it’s not the end all, be all it has been made out to be.

Of course it may not matter anyway. I do okay with my Oscar predictions, but I’m nowhere near the prognosticator that Nathanial over at Film Experience is. I think he tracks the races practically from the days after the statues are handed out and has an uncanny ability to pick the winners. According to his latest list, The Departed won’t even get a Best Picture nod, so Scorsese could be snubbed once again. Ah well.

Labels: Martin Scorsese, movies, Oscars, The Departed

There’s nothing better than spending a cold rainy day surfing other people’s blogs and posting your favourite finds in lieu of creating my own post.

I love pop culture mashups – the reworking and repurposing of entertainment icons until something new emerges fascinates me. It’s been going on for years of course – The Simpsons is built upon it, same with Family Guy, Robot Chicken and countless others.

Over at Worth1000.com there is a Photoshop contest of impossible tabloid couples, celebrities that could never have been together. Who hasn’t imagined Lauren Bacall, Johnny Depp and Marilyn Monroe out on the town? Or Elvis and Scarlett Johansson?


In (belated) honour of Friday the 13th and an early Halloween treat, there is Bubblegumfink’s set of trading cards for the first Friday the 13th movie. They are goretastic! They are all part of his series of cards that never were and never will be.

Popbytes pointed the way to Black Magic Thriller, a “spookylicious” mashup of Michael Jackson’s Thriller and Santana’s Black Magic Woman.







One of my favourite sites, Gallery of the Absurd, takes on the growing field of celebrity fragrances. Who wouldn’t want Britney Spears’ Le Fromage L'Orange? Smells like cheese, tastes like cheese.











And one last one to wrap up the day, from Harvey Birdman, Attorney at Law. What would happen if Fred Flintsone was in the mob? Meet the Dabba Don. (Thanks to The Hour for the heads up on this one.)

Labels: Britney Spears, celebrities, Flintstones, Gallery of the Absurd, mashups, pop culture

It takes something big to take on Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert on their own turf. I can’t say for sure what they are, but I think George Stroumboulopoulos got tagged in his.

The Hour returned to CBC this week after a summer hiatus and a blink-and-you-missed-it run at reality TV in the U.S. for George. But The One did not stick to Strombo who is back not only as the lead primetime show on Newsworld, but as the 11 p.m. show on the main network. That’s one tough slot when you are targeting young news junkies, but a good move for CBC. They are already running the show once, so rebroadcasting it instead of a shortened version of The National makes sense and shows great faith in Strombo’s ability to pick up some younger viewers for the Mother Corp.

It’s the second season and not much has changed – which is just fine with me. He still talks, as the segment says, a mile a minute, jumping from North Korea to hockey stars and inane minutia of celebrity culture. What has changed is the website, which still has a few glitches, is a vast improvement from the clips-only version from last year. The previous night’s show streams on the site, so you non-Canadian readers can see what I’m talking about.

So can he take on Stewart? All I know is I don’t have to make the choice – I have a PVR. (And those of you landing here looking for studio audience tickets, go here instead.)

Labels: CBC, George Stroumboulopoulos, Jon Stewart, TV

When you sleep in four-hour cycles, the primetime schedule doesn’t have much meaning to you. I have praised digital video recorders as amazing tools many times, but it is a pop culture life preserver when you are a new parent. I’ve been recording everything and am trying to catch up. Some more thoughts on the season so far:

Back when the fall season was announced it was a surprise that there was not one, but two shows paying tribute to Saturday Night Live, which is hardly breaking comedy ground these days. The only thing I’ve heard people talking about SNL in the past couple of years is Ashlee Simpson’s lip synch and Lazy Sunday. Anyway, it seems after 32 years they are again some sort of cultural zeitgeist.

The Aaron Sorkin created Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip is almost an exact replica of The West Wing, in terms of tone and pace. It is lightning quick and everyone is so damned sincere. It also appears that everyone who writes comedy are morose characters who never, ever laugh – clowns crying on the outside. I’ve seen three episodes so far and I’m willing to try more, but it could certainly lighten up a smidge.

Former SNL head writer Tina Fey’s 30 Rock, which debuted tonight, takes a very different tact, going for sitcom laughs to show the backstage workings of a live, weekly sketch show. Fey plays a head writer (natch) whose show is taken over by a network executive played by a bombastic Alec Baldwin, who is the best part of the show by far. It’s only been one episode so it may need to find its feet, but despite the different approaches, both shows are treading similar turf. Fey might have the comedy chops, but Sorkin has her on the writing.

This year we also decided to start watching The Amazing Race and I don’t understand why everyone thinks it is so, um, amazing – it seems more contrived than Survivor. All the players rush headlong towards a destination, freaking out along the way, only to be stopped at the entrance to a ticket booth that doesn’t open for hours. Soon all the teams have arrived and they all get on the bus at the same time, completely negating any advantage winning the last challenge had. How pointless.

I must admit that I do enjoy the image of the asshole American tourists (“I’m tired of talking to foreigners,” says Rob, while in Vietnam) and the conniving beauty queens – the casting is excellent. I just wish it were more of a race.

Labels: 30 Rock, Amazing Race, Saturday Night Live, Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip, TV

When is the right time to expose your child to the Dead Kennedys? Is the Forgotten Rebels’ Surfin’ on Heroin an appropriate lullaby? These are not abstract questions, but something I wondered while driving in the car with the six-day-old Tristan with the iPod on shuffle. He's already been surround by music during his few days on this world. We had the laptop in the delivery room and he came into the world listening to Metric, coincedentally arriving to Combat Baby.

Yesterday he sat in my arms while I was watching Robot Chicken and he seemed vaguely attentive as the Trix rabbit sold coke to the rest of the breakfast cereal mascots in a great parody of Blow. He’s not just getting pop culture moments, but meta references – not that they mean anything to him now. But I figure it will seep in at some point. I knew all The Beatles music when I was in high school, but not because I had listened to it, but because my parents had for years before. So I hope you like Sloan, kiddo.

Is that so bad? I don’t have any desire to hear in what manner the wheels on the bus rotate, or how many humps Alice the Camel (or Fergie for the that matter) has. That isn’t entirely true of course, as I will happily sing to Tristan, but I don’t feel the need to only play that kind of music around him.

So is there pop culture for babies? Is it those songs? Books that you read to them? I suppose I will find out soon. So far it’s just been stealth marketing. To date, Tristan has two outfits with Winnie the Pooh on them and an offer for Winnie the Pooh books that come with a Tigger clock – all from Disney. He also has Clifford the Big Red Dog on a quilt and Sesame Street characters on his Pampers. Who are they indoctrinating, him or me?

Labels: babies, Disney, pop culture, Robot Chicken, Sesame Street, Sloan, Tristan

We interrupt this blog to introduce the newest member of the Popped Culture family: Tristan Lyell Barker. He was in such a rush to get into the world, he arrived a full two weeks early.

Weighing in at a respectable six pounds and eight ounces, the little one was surprisingly quiet, considering his parentage. Tristan comes with the full compliment of fingers and toes, as well as all the other standard bits and pieces.

Mom – otherwise known as Gill – is doing very well and resting comfortably. I am wired to the hilt on coffee and nervous energy. We are both are overtired and in a vague state of shock that we are now parents.

In his first 24 hours of life, he’s already been mentioned on a scandalous blog (damn paparazzi!) and begun to be deluged by pop culture. Included in a welcome package dropped off in our hospital room were coupons for books by Dr. Suess (good) and Disney (not so much). At least McDonald’s hasn’t tried to get its claws into my child… yet.

It’s going to be an interesting journey for so many reasons, including all the new entertainment venues I’ll be able to explore. Who says I’m not in touch with youth culture?

Labels: babies, Disney, Dr. Suess, Tristan

Will Lost sink or swim this year? Can the castaways maintain the show’s red-hot status and avoid the sharks, both literal and figurative, that surround them? Only time and Wednesday’s premiere will tell us.

The greatest fear I have is that the show paradoxically becomes a victim of its own success. I love the drawn out mysteries – to a point. I was a huge fan of the X-Files, but by the time it came to revealing the secrets of why the aliens were on Earth, what happened to Mulder’s sister and who was the father of Scully’s baby, I no longer cared. I had moved on to the latest hot, new show in the timeslot – Alias – which is Lost creator J.J. Abrams’ previous hit. There is a lesson there and I hope they realize it.

There are a myriad of big questions to be answered (why are they on the island? what do the numbers mean? what’s healing the castaways?) but here are a few that I hope will be touched on soon:

1. How was Locke paralyzed? We’ve gone two seasons and had multiple flashbacks with him but they have ignored a central part of his character.
   
   
2. What’s with Lostzilla? Is the smoke monster the same thing that ate the pilot in the premiere, what Locke called the eye of the island?
   
   
3. If Jack is the only surgeon on the island, how will he ever get the giant stick removed from his ass?

There is a great recap on Entertainment Weekly, but for the diehards may I recommend my friend Nikki Stafford’s recently published book Finding Lost. Nikki has analyzed every episode of the past two seasons and, more impressively, read every book that was referenced on the show from Dickens's Our Mutual Friend to Dostoevsky's The Brothers Karamazov. I only suffered through reading Bad Twin, so I have no idea how she managed.

Nikki also blogs Nik at Night, which I don’t think she does enough of, but I forgive her because she not only watches more TV than I do, but she also finds time to write about it, all while having a two-year-old. There was a good interview with her in The Star this weekend and a blog interview from last week, among other things.

If you happen to be in Toronto tomorrow night (Oct. 3 ), the official book launch takes place at Type Books, 883 Queen Ste. West, from 6:30-8:30 p.m. If you can’t make that, watch for her on eTalk Daily, tomorrow at 7 p.m.

Labels: Lost, Nikki Stafford, TV

I hadn’t had much chance to peruse the new TV season – I’d been caught up in the film festival (ya, poor me) and I’d not paid much attention to what was on the dial. Lucky for me, new season debuts are scattered all over this month, so I’ve been able to catch a few that may become must-sees.

I stumbled across the premiere of Heroes on Monday, a show that I knew next to nothing about. It follows a group of ordinary people who discover they have extraordinary abilities: they can fly, regenerate and teleport, with more characters and powers to come.

It felt very similar to Lost, in the sense that it was showing multiple characters and storylines that are clearly destined to intersect. It also had characters from India and Japan, which is part of a trend for U.S. shows acknowledging there is a world outside its borders. It has also been influenced by Unbreakable and the X-Men series and is soundly grounded in the comic book genre.

“Every ten year old wishes he had super powers, and I got them,” says Hiro, a Japanese worker from a non-descript cube farm, who has discovered he can manipulate the space-time continuem. He’s right, and not just about ten year olds. I’ve often thought teleportation would be a great power and so much better than flying – none of that tedious getting there business. I’ve also always wanted the ability to turn invisible, but I don’t care to examine the psychological reasons behind that.

Will it be a hit? I don’t know. I watched Invasion last year and watched it get unceremoniously cancelled, but I’m willing to see where this one is headed. You can keep up with Hiro’s blog and read a weekly graphic novel on the official site – more evidence that the web is becoming an interagal part of the television experience.

Labels: Heroes, Lost, superheroes, TV, X-Men

The Simpsons is out of ideas and has been for years. Family Guy is pointlessly cruel. American Dad is derivative. Is this where the state of animation is these days?

It’s not that bad, but cartoons have certainly seen better days. The Simpsons has begun its 18th season, which means the show has been on air for the entire life of anyone in high school. With that kind of longevity, the quality was bound to decline, especially as at its height it was the best comedy on TV. I now view each new season like Saturday Night Live - it will always be on and some years will be better than others. It’s still better than most shows on TV, but it suffers when compared to its prime (Seasons 4-6). The Simpsons is my first animated love, but even a true believer like myself recognizes that it hasn’t been on the cutting edge for years.

Family Guy once was that edge. When it debuted in 1999 it was genuinely shocking, breaking taboos and pissing off many people. It was off the air in two seasons, a victim of poor ratings. I was a huge fan and I couldn’t believe what I was hearing in primetime and thought it was a travesty when Fox pulled it (as they do with most innovative shows). With constant reruns on Teletoon and the Cartoon Network and massive DVD sales, Family Guy got a reprieve. The first few episodes had the old flare, but something has changed. Now it’s just as likely to be cruel than funny. They continue to draw out scenes, repeating phrases and motions over and over and over again. It’s not funny. I get it, but it’s not funny.

As for American Dad, the less said the better. It is clearly a redo of Family Guy that Seth MacFarlane created when Family Guy was pulled off the air. It has grown more into its own lately, but the comedy bits are few and far between. I like Roger the alien though. I don’t see it breaking any longevity records.

So what’s working? South Park is going strong, still managing to generate headlines after 10 seasons. Last year they managed to infuriate Tom Cruise, Scientology and Muslims. They are equal opportunity offenders and still surprisingly sharp, if occasionally a little heavy-handed with the moralizing. I never thought Trey Parker and Matt Stone would be around for so long – and neither did they – but I’m glad they are.

This decade has produced some new and innovative shows that while they will never make a major network, are the cleverest work I’ve seen in years. Aqua Teen Hunger Force is a surreal show about a life-size Happy Meal – Master Shake, Frylock and Meatwad. They don’t really do much except hang out in their house and bicker while annoying their neighbour Carl. I think it is hilarious, but that may say more about me than the show.

Harvey Birdman, Attorney at Law is, like the Aqua Teens, a creation of Adult Swim on the Cartoon Network in the U.S. Harvey is a former superhero who had a show in the ‘60s and now acts as a criminal defence lawyer for a roster of Hanna-Barbera characters. Shaggy gets busted for drugs; The Jetsons sue the people of Earth for screwing up the planet; Grape Ape is charged with steroid use. It’s a show that you need to have spent your youth on a couch on Saturday mornings to appreciate fully. Luckily, I am well prepared.

In the same vein as Harvey Birdman but more a friend of those with ADD is Robot Chicken. Creator Seth Green and pals make minutes-long pop culture vignettes using stop animated action figures. Each episode is only 10 minutes or so long, but they pack a lot into each show. Jesus is The Bride in Kill Bunny; Emperor Palpatine gets a collect call from Darth Vader (see below); The Superfriends are the new Real Life cast; Santa is murdered in Christmas Town. This has only begun airing in Canada and I’ve only caught a few episodes, but I’m hooked. It’s like all the non-sequitur moments of Family Guy without the loosely written plot to slow it down. It’s great stuff and I encourage any pop culture fan to check it out.

Labels: American Dad, cartoons, Family Guy, pop culture, reality TV, South Park, Star Wars, The Simpsons, YouTube

1. You don't talk about fight club.
2. You don't talk about fight club.
3. If someone says stop, goes limp, even if he's just faking it, the fight is over.
4. Only two guys to a fight.
5. One fight at a time.
6. They fight without shirts or shoes.
7. The fights go on as long as they have to.
8. If this is your first night at fight club, you have to fight.

These are the rules, as established by Tyler Durden in Fight Club. There should be one more:

9. If you are a bunch of stupid teenagers beating the crap out of each other, don’t upload it to YouTube.

A bunch of kids at a school outside of Toronto filmed themselves smacking each other around in front of a cheering crowd and posted it on the web. Now everyone is falling over themselves, trying to figure out what’s these little brain-damaged freaks problem is.

I don’t care if they pound on each other – turns out that if a fight is consensual it’s not illegal. Sick, weird and disturbing, but not illegal. What bothers me is when this dumbass behaviour gets blamed on pop culture, often referred to as “the media.” When I saw the story on tonight’s newcast I knew someone would go after Fight Club before it was over. Sure enough, there was Brad Pitt all bloody and sweaty, with a cop blaming it all on what teenagers see on TV and the movies. Shades of last year, when a cabbie was killed by a couple of street-racing idiots in Toronto and video games took some of the blame.

Of course I’m sure those teens were just making a statement about how dehumanizing nature of modern society – oh how am I kidding? The sad-but-true fact is it’s not what teenaged boys are watching, but that they are teenaged boys. I can’t even begin to count the stupid, dangerous things I did in my high school days and it had nothing to do with what I saw on TV.

Teenagers will continue to do harm to themselves. What they are watching will make little difference.

Labels: Fight Club, movie violence, video games, what were they thinking?, YouTube

I`ve always loved swashbucklers. As a kid I used t' pick up stick an' make like I be sailin' th' high seas, plunderin' me way across th' Spanish Main.

It is International Talk Like a Pirate Day, and in honour of the scurvy dogs of yore, I’ve decided to explore my obsession. I don’t know where it started really. I do recall having pirates Lego – how odd that a company made kids toys out of murderers and rapists – and I’m pretty sure I saw an Errol Flynn movie with him as a pirate, but I don’t recall which one.

While in Disneyland I went on the pre-Johnny Depp Pirates of the Caribbean ride (and later thought it would make a terrible movie). I saw the Gilbert and Sullivan’s Pirates of Penzance during high school. In university I sat in a friend’s dorm room playing Sid Mier’s Pirates for hours when I should have been studying. I went Friggin’ in the Rigging with the Sex Pistols and was Rhymin’ and Stealin’ with the Beastie Boys.

Pirate movies haven’t fared as well. Geena Davis’ Cutthroat Island was one of the biggest movie bombs of all time, reportedly making pack only 10% of the budget at the box office and dragging down a studio as it sunk. The ‘90s also saw Muppet Treasure Island and Hook, none of which added much to the mythology. In fact Cutthroat scared everyone else off until Depp signed on the Captain Sparrow, the worst pirate you’ve ever heard of.

So how about some time-wasting links?

• Learn how to talk like a pirate.

• Get your own pirate name. I’m either the Dread Pirate Bonney, Buckaneer Sylvester or Pirate Walt the Back-Stabber, depending on which generator I used.

• And for a true time-sucker, translate your entire site into pirate lingo.

Labels: pirates, pop culture

Fourteen films in 10 days – it’s over too soon and not done soon enough. The Toronto film festival is always a blur of excitement and always welcome at the end of the popcorn season. Every year we get to see films way before they are widely released and some that never again darken a theatre. It’s all part of the fun, as we often know little more than the description in the TIFF guide when we pick them. But by the time it is over, we’re ready to spend a little time on the couch watching the small screen.

I read that the few honours awarded by the festival are from panels with as few as three people on them, so I figure the Popped Culture Awards, with a panel of two is almost as legitimate. (The PCA’s have no monetary value and even less prestige and are ranked by our enjoyment of them and little else. And each film is awarded, so they are a lot like the Gemini Awards.) Check out everyone we saw over at my Flickr site.

Fido – Our first film of the fest and our fave. A zombie comedy, it was not typical film fest fare, but stuck with me long after. It may have a chance at commercial success.

The Fall – A wonderful adult fairytale and the most visually stunning piece we saw this year. Look for it in theatres.

Dixie Chicks: Shut Up and Sing – I wasn’t expecting much from this and it turned out to be a fascinating look at the hell the band went through for the heresy of saying war isn’t the best option.

Everything's Gone Green – Like Garden State set in Vancouver, but with more laughs and less melancholy. Plus it has a kick-ass indie Canadian soundtrack.

This Is England – Another moving film by Shane Meadows as he mines his childhood for great stories.

Red Road – The last film we saw at the festival and I was impressed that the director was there on a Saturday morning. A Cannes winner, it follows a woman who works in the Glasgow closed circuit TV control room and spots a man she recognizes. How does she know him? What is she going to do? It has some truly uncomfortable moments as the story unfolds. “A real downer, you’ll love it,” said my friend James. He’s right.

Sharkwater – A passionate plea to save the shark population that has been cut by 90% since the 1950s. You’ll never eat shark fin soup again.

Citizen Duane – I didn’t see it as I was off blogging for the Schmooze Party so I missed it, but Gill said she had a good time.

Kabul Express – A political road movie, with more slapstick than insight, but fun nonetheless.

Congorama – An interesting take on nature versus nurture from a rising Quebec director. The province has a fantastic movie culture that we’re lucky to have.

Invisible Waves – A slowly paced, Thai yakuza film with little dialogue and less action. I’d hoped for more, but whatcha gonna do?

The Fountain – Darren Aronofsky’s follow up to Requiem For a Dream left me cold. It’s not a bad film when compared to most, but is pale when compared to his own work.

D.O.A.P. – This won the TIFF critic’s prize and I have no idea how or why. All concept and no follow through, Death of a President had one interesting idea – the assassination of the sitting president – and had little follow up as to what the consequences were. A huge disappointment that is getting by solely on controversy.

A Stone's Throw – A crusading photographer returns home to Nova Scotia to reconnect with his family as he is losing his eyesight. Far too long and painfully slow, it certainly puts the art film back into the festival.

Of course we had the problem with the no Q&As; at the Elgin Theatre - and we're not done with that campaign. And the festival was getting a little harsh with fan photos inside the theatres. I had a staff member tell me to erase my pics of the director of D.O.A.P., though they were hardly consistent in applying it. I know there are piracy concerns, but if stop fans (and bloggers) it will only hurt the festival. Maybe they need to put up shots fron the Q&As up on a website for all to access. It's a thought. Anyway, a great festival – I can’t wait until next year.

Labels: movies, Toronto Film Festival

In such a celebrity-obsessed culture, it’s actually a surprise to see a line of screaming fans and have no idea who they are calling for.

“Is there some big stars in this?” we asked a young girl standing in line, clutching an autograph book. “They’re big in India,” she answered. We had stumbled on to some Bollywood superstars in town for the premiere of Kabul Express, as John Abraham, Bipasha Basu and Arshad Warsi walked the Elgin’s red carpet, bringing some excitement to a usually dull end of the Toronto Film Festival. It was pandemonium. Girls were screaming and waving posters as a sea of camera flashes lit the length of the carpet. Theatre staff had to link arms to keep the crowd back, but another woman said if this has been India we wouldn’t have been able to get anywhere near them. Very entertaining.

The film itself was an odd mixture of road trip buddy movie and part political commentary on war and conflict. Kind of like Three Kings, but played more for laughs. Filmed entirely in Afghanistan (the crew was held at gunpoint during production) two Indian journalists are dropped, literally into Afghanistan just before the U.S. invasion, searching for an interview with the Taliban. They are promptly captured by a Talib, who forces them, their driver and an American photographer to take him to the Pakistani border.

They argue over who started the war, the best cricket players in the world and what’s better, Coke or Pepsi. "This is what the Americans do -- pump all the oil out of a country and fill it with Coke and Pepsi!" says the Talib, who is secretly part of the Pakistani military. Soon it becomes clear that political loyalties are paper-thin when it comes to war.

Pics:
Top: John Abraham and Bipasha Basu walk the red carpet; Bottom: John Abraham and Arshad Warsi before the film

Labels: Bollywood, movies, Toronto Film Festival

I know they can’t all be winners, but some of our Toronto film fest picks have been major letdowns. First up, The Fountain, the much anticipated film from director Darren Aronofsky – his first since Requiem For a Dream. I was hyped for this movie as his last two have had such an impact on me.

When we saw Requiem on a big screen I was sweating by the end, the images were so powerful. The quick-cut scenes of heroin use have since been copied by advertising and parodied in The Simpsons. And Pi made me feel like my head had been turned inside out – I thought and talked about the patterns in the numbers for days. It was a secular religious experience. So admittedly, The Fountain had a high bar to clear.

To my disappointment, Aronofsky limboed under it, barely breaking a sweat. The Fountain follows Hugh Jackman over three time periods and characters – a Spanish conquistador, a cutting-edge medical researcher and a 26th century astronaut (according to the synopsis, but I don’t agree) – all searching for immortality in some fashion. It’s a sprawling narrative, beautifully shot, but somehow cold and uninvolving. The tale of the doctor trying to save his wife from cancer had its emotional moments, but the so-called astronaut floating through space in a snow globe while communing with a dead tree and apparitions of his past lives added nothing. A lot of style, but unfortunately lacking an equal amount of substance.

As an aside, there was no Q&A; after the screening, which took place at the Ryerson Theatre – in fact nobody from the film showed up, despite Aronofsky and stars Rachel Weisz and Ellen Burstyn being in town for it’s premiere at the Elgin. Last weekend TIFF programmer Jesse Wente said Q&As for films that debut at the Elgin, which doesn’t allow them, would happen at their second showing. It didn’t, so we still hate the Elgin.

Following The Fountain, we headed over to the Paramount for another anticipated film on our list, Invisible Waves. In 2003 we saw Thai director Pen-ek Ratanaruang’s Last Life In the Universe, a surreal tale of an obsessive-compulsive, suicidal Japanese man hiding out in Bangkok with a free-spirited Thai woman. It was quirky and fun and a favourite from that year. An almost existential black comedy about a low level gangster who isn’t aware that his days are numbered, it was too slowly paced, with too little action. No Q&A for this one either.

Again, not a bad film, but not what I had been hoping for. I suppose they can’t all be winners.

Labels: Darren Aronofsky, Elgin Theatre, movies, Toronto Film Festival

“Just so you know, we're ashamed the President of the United States is from Texas.” And with those words three years ago, Natalie Maines of the Dixie Chicks ignited a political and cultural firestorm. At the time the U.S. was on the brink of war in Iraq and George W. Bush was riding high in the polls, backed by a wave of patriotism. The media was cowed and critics who questioned the war rationale were shouted down with accusations of anti-Americanism.

Into this climate the Dixie Chicks were seen badmouthing the commander-in-chief to a foreign audience (they were in London). At home they faced a boycott of their music, country stations stopped playing them, people protested outside their shows and the band received death threats. Luckily, if I can use that word, a documentary crew was following the band during the whole ordeal.

We picked Dixie Chicks: Shut Up and Sing for our Toronto Film Fest mostly because Gill is a huge fan. Who am I to judge? I made her go and see zombies. Turns out it was a fascinating piece about the backlash they faced for daring to disagree with Bush. I understand the people have the right to choose what they want to listen to, but what happened to the Chicks went far beyond. The virulence directed at them was stunning.

That’s what bothers me the most. If you disagree with someone, that’s fine, but to insist that people aren’t allowed to have a differing opinion, to label them traitors, to call for them to be killed is insanity. I see that happening here in Canada too, as NDP leader Jack Layton is attacked for calling for a troop withdrawal from Afghanistan, not debated about whether or not it is a wise decision.

But enough of that rant. The film follows the chicks as the face the protests and decide to carry on anyway. Says Haines, “Now that we've fucked ourselves, I think we have a responsibility to continue to fuck ourselves.” Three years later they are back and while maybe not on top of the world they are unbowed.

Labels: Dixie Chicks, movies, music, Toronto Film Festival

It was like watching a Douglas Coupland novel come to life. Which was appropriate as Everything’s Gone Green, which played at the Toronto Film Festival on Tuesday, was written by Coupland himself.

If I had to guess, I’d say that Green was either a discarded chapter of his recent novel jPod (which just got named to the Giller prize long list) or an early draft. There were the parents running a marijuana grow-op in their suburban Vancouver basement; the brother involved in selling real estate to absentee Hong Kong millionaires; the late 20-something slacker working at a job he doesn’t care about who gets involved with an Asian gang. I finished jPod this summer and so the similarities are fresh in my mind.

And it works. Coupland tells great stories filled with quirky characters and a clear love for Vancouver, which was all perfectly captured by first-time feature director Paul Fox. I’m not the only one who thinks so. Coupland visited the set and told Fox, "That's freaky, it's like stepping into my own brain.” Seeing as nobody has yet to bring one of his novels to the big screen, this counts as a huge achievement.

It was fun and I hope people get a chance to see it for themselves. For those out west, it will open the Vancouver Film Festival soon and it has Canadian distribution, so it will be interesting to see if it can find an audience.

Pics: Above, a scene from Everything's Gone Green. Below, Paulo Costanzo at the Paramount screening.

Labels: books, Canuck, Douglas Coupland, jPod, movies, Toronto Film Festival

One of my favourite parts of the Toronto film festival is you start to recognize directors as the return to the city every couple of years like long lost friends. Last night we were at the world premiere of Shane Meadow’s This Is England, a film about a young boy who falls under the influence of a charismatic skinhead during the early ‘80s.

For me, my festival experience and Meadows is intricately connected. The first year I lived in Toronto I was a TIFF volunteer and was working the door when a filmmaker a couple of years younger than me gave me his ticket and asked me where he was supposed to sit. That was my first introduction to Meadows, who was there with two shorts, Small Time and Where's the Money, Ronnie? He has since returned to Toronto every couple of years with realistically gritty films inspired by his rough and tumble upbringing in central England: Twenty Four Seven, A Room for Romeo Brass, Once Upon a Time in the Midlands and Dead Man's Shoes.

This Is England takes place during the Falklands War, when employment was high and Margaret Thatcher ruled with an iron fist. A young boy, who’s father has died in the conflict, is the constant target of local bullies and is befriended by a gang of skinheads. They are a genteel bunch who go swimming and party and appear more enamoured with the clothing and music of the movement than the politics. That is until an older member of the gang gets out of prison and starts preaching hate and violence. The comedic buddy film soon turns tense and explosive.

Meadows, who had just completed the film on Monday and was watching it for the first time with us, said he too had ran with skinheads when he was 11, but was essentially scared straight. "That night of violence is what turned me around," he told the audience. "That's probably the night the seed of a filmmaker was born.

On Monday we saw Philippe Falardeau’s Congorama, a Quebec director we have begun to follow. He was last at the festival with La Moitié gauche du frigo (The Left-Hand Side of the Fridge) which won the Best Canadian First Feature Film award back in 2000. It followed a Belgian man who, on discovering he was adopted, goes searching for his identity in rural Quebec and finds much more, but not necessarily what he was hoping for. It’s hard to explain without giving away some of the complexities.

Much of the tale wraps around moments from world fairs, one in Belgium and Quebec’s historic Expo ’67 and also appeared in last year’s festival fave, C.R.A.Z.Y. Neither director is old enough to have attended, so we asked him about it. He said the fair was so important to the province that it has become part of his own experience. “My parents went and took picture and films. When I look at these pictures now I feel like I’ve been there.”

Pics:
Top: A scene from This Is England; Centre: This Is England director Shane Meadows; Bottom: Congorama director Philippe Falardeau

Labels: movies, Shane Meadows, This Is England, Toronto Film Festival

Two shots ring out and a president falls to the ground as people scream, cameras swirl and chaos breaks out. But it’s not just any president, it was U.S. President George W. Bush.

Controversial? Without question. Provacative? Surprisingly not. Death of a President (or D.O.A.P.) is a fictional documentary about the purported assassination of Bush in 2007 outside of a Chicago hotel and perhaps the most buzzed about film at this year's Toronto Film Festival. The most controversial part about D.O.A.P. is the fact it uses a current president as its assassination target instead of a fictional character. Beyond that it was nowhere near as edgy or political as the hype led you to believe.

After taking the bold step to use the current president as a target, the filmmakers appeared to lose their nerve to explore the worldwide ramifications of what would happen if the U.S. president was assassinated in the current world climate. D.O.A.P. focused more on detailing security failures and legal procedures than making a political statement. It was surprisingly passionless. Yes, it showed that the in a case like this the U.S. would jump to conclusions and make the evidence fit the facts. A Muslim was the top suspect and remained so even after an American comes forward with evidence his Dad, a veteran of the first Gulf War, did it. Any remember the Oklahoma bombing? After screening so close to the anniversary of 9/11 and being set in the future, it all seemed so five years ago.

D.O.A.P. really didn't tell us anything we don't already know and can't get in the current media, which has finally become more critical of George W. Bush, his decisions and his administration. You can find a more hard-hitting critique of the current regime from Jon Stewart in almost any episode the Daily Show.

There was a lot of controversy before this film screened, before anyone had seen it, which appears mostly unwarranted upon viewing. People need to stop freaking out about films they not watched themselves. The controversy continues with some reports describing the audience as cheering, others indicating everyone sat in stony silence. Neither are true – it was an attentive and receptive audience who gave the film the same applause any film gets after a screening. No more, no less. Any other reports are an example of the fact manipulation the film focuses on.

The deficiencies of D.O.A.P. became all the more apparent the next day when we saw Sharkwater, a documentary with little to no advance press. Now this was a film that had impact, both dramatic and emotional, telling a real story about how humans are killing off the world's sharks.

Rob Stewart, a photographer, set out to make a film about sharks and what beautiful creatures we were going to lose if we didn't stop killing them. He ended with a tale of political corruption and greed, and showing us that we may destroy ourselves in the process as we shortsightedly kill off the top of the food chain of the ocean.

Stewart showed how governments are allowing the overfishing of sharks in sensitive ecosystems such as Costa Rica and the Galapagos with wasteful methods such as long lining — all due to the demand in Asia, in particular, for shark fins. The fins are sliced off the sharks while they're still alive and then the bodies of the maimed fish are tossed back into the ocean to drown and bleed to death.

Unlike D.O.A.P., it had a purpose, a call to action. Despite having slaughtered 90% of the world’s shark population over the past 50 years – creatures that have existed for over 400 million years – Stewart said there was still a chance to make a difference before it’s too late. Visit Sharkwater.com for more details.

Pics:
Above: A scene from Death of a President. Below: Gill and TBA pose with the Sharkwater mascot while I idiotically show what a shark will not do to you in the ocean.

Labels: Canuck, Death of a President, Jon Stewart, movies, Sharkwater, Toronto Film Festival

The world premiere of The Fall would have been a fantastic opportunity for filmgoers to ask director Tarsem about how he managed to pull off this multi-country epic. But it was screened at the Visa Screening Room, a.k.a. the Elgin Theatre, which, for whatever misguided reason, refuses to allow questions and answer sessions after the films. So he waved at us before the film and told us to enjoy it.

One of the best aspects of attending the Toronto festival is not only the chance to see great films from around the world but to speak to directors and actors about the film you've just seen. Some of our best film fest memories have occurred in the moments after a movie as we ask the cast about how their creation came to be. We usually try to avoid the Elgin, but weren’t able to this year.

Other than Galas at Roy Thomson Hall, it appears that the Elgin is the only other film fest venue that doesn't do Q&As; . Simply put, that policy tears the heart out of the film fest experience. Often the cast has flown in for the premiere of their film only to be allowed a cursory nod to the audience before being shuffled off stage. After The Fall, Tarsem and two of the main actors stood around to chat with appreciative fans in the few minutes before aggressive staff shuffled everyone towards the door.

We saw the dramatic Hotel Rwanda three years ago and hated the fact that Paul Rusesabagina, the heroic man the film was based on, was only able to acknowledge the standing ovation from a side balcony. That’s just cruel. Thankfully Michael Moore purposefully ignored the policy with Bowling for Columbine and held a great Q&A after his screening.

We’ve been pissed off about this policy for years but have done little other than grumble about it while in line for our next film. So this year we’ve decided to challenge it. We’ve already accosted two film fest directors this week to ask what was up. Noah Cowan, co-director of the festival, explained that while “we understand that interaction is integral to the festival experience, emptying the theatre is a logistical nightmare.”

Jesse Wente, part of the Canadian feature film selection committee, echoed the sentiment saying that getting 1,000 or more people out of the theatre was a “logistical nightmare” and suggested that instead of going to the Elgin, go to the second screening of any film (which would be at a different venue) that is shown at the Elgin first.

But is it really the logistics that are the problem? Ryerson Theatre seats upwards of 800 and there are Q&As; there. Yes, it’s a lecture theatre, but it doesn’t seem to empty out much quicker. The Uptown (we lament its destruction but not its scrunched seating) was massive, seating close to 1,000 people and Q&As were held there too. Yes, the Elgin is more a performance theatre than movie theatre and might take longer to empty, but why does it have to ditch the most enjoyable part of the festival? Why not just leave more time in between films so questions can be asked? Or set one mike up front so people can ask questions, and if you’re in the balcony, well, sucks to be you. Line up earlier next time. Even limit it to 5 questions if need be, or have a film fest director ask a few obvious questions to the director — anything is better than nothing.

So, is anybody else annoyed by this policy? Should we call for a boycott of the Elgin? Write cranky letters? Tell Visa they’re wasting their money by sponsoring the theatre since its money doesn’t support the true film fest experience? The festival will only change if we demand it.

Look out Piers Handling, we’re looking for you next!

Labels: Elgin Theatre, Michael Moore, movies, Tarsem, Toronto Film Festival