RSS Feed

Category Archives: Uncategorized

My first TIFF

IMG_1344.JPG For a few years now I’ve been wanting to go to the Toronto International Film Festival but could never quite manage to fit it in. This year, TIFF’s 40th, happily coincided with a trip to Toronto for another reason – and now I understand that TIFF is the event you should clear your schedule for.

I had spent some time going through the program and choosing the films I really wanted to see. I bypassed films with major Hollywood stars and glitzy primeres, figuring I’d never get in. But the first day tickets went on sale to the public, all the films on my list were off-sale, which is TIFF for sold out. Realizing that you can’t really go wrong with the incredible programming, I was happy to get a ticket to a late night screening of a French-language film.

Robin, the incredibly helpful desk clerk at my hostel, recommended heading out to early to enjoy the festival atmosphere, so I set off into the rain to grab a streetcar down Spadina Avenue to King Street.

I quickly realized that one of the special things about TIFF is the sheer number of films being screened in Toronto’s Entertainment Disctrict, an area of a few blocks that is filed with classic stage theatres and TIFF’s beautiful Lightbox theatres. With the streets closed to traffic, and the lines of film goers waiting to get into nearly a dozen venues, there’s an incredible energy and excitement in the air. Walking down the street to the main box office, I passed red carpets, official media cameras, and a sizable crowd of people huddled under umbrellas in for the chance to see Matt Damon and Jessica Chastain leave the gala for “The Martian.”

Back at the Lightbox, I picked up my ticket. The lady next to me wanted to do an exchange and wondered about Les Cowboys. “I’m going to see that!” I jumped in.

“What’s it about?”
“It’s in French.”
“I’ll take it.”

We were directed to stand in a line. This wait was actually one of the unexpected pleasures of TIFF, with people passing the time chatting about films on their list of have or to be seen.

I was behind two older gentlemen who had already been to four films since the festival had opened the previous day, including the Hebrew feature directed by Natalie Portman, a Spanish caper, and a Kiwi documentary about preserving early 20th century films in Afghanistan. They were full of tips on how to buy tickets to your favourite films (check at 7 a.m. the day of, and last but not least, RUSH!)

Finally it was time for our film. The stadium seats of the Lightbox ensure an unobstructed view for everyone. The film was introduced by the director of programming for the festival, and by the director himself. Having already won several Cesars (the Oscars of France), and known internationally for films such as Rust and Bone, Saint Laurent, and La Famille Belier, Thomas Bidegain told us he was very excited to present his film to a real audience (as opposed to the journals of Cannes).

The first line of the film is “Where’s Kelly?” (Ou est Kelly?) and we see how Kelly’s decision to live a new life has profound effects on her parents and brother. It had the audience gasping, crying, shocked, and laughing. In other words, all the feelings. The Q&A after the film highlighted the director’s goals, and I’m confident that he accomplished them through his storytelling.

As I headed back out into the rainy night, I saw Mr. Bidegain just ahead of me, and without a second thought, ran ahead and fangirled him. No doubt he was in a great mood after the screening and cheerfully agreed to a photo, wrapping me in a giant hug. It was an unbelievable moment. That’s the magic of TIFF.

Advertisements

15 minutes at the gates

Seventy years ago today, the Red Army released the last inmates of Auschwitz. Approximately 7,000 people lived to see that liberation, but over a million did not. Today Auschwitz is a museum, and seven years ago I spent a quarter of an hour outside its gates.

It was the end of a glorious summer trip: by train from Moravia through Slovakia to Kiev, up to Moscow and then Helsinki; by ferry across the blue and white waters of the Gulf of Finland to Old Town Tallinn and a Baltic road trip to Art Nouveau Riga, to medieval Krakow with its flowers, horse-drawn carriages and the best dumplings in a stiff contest.

Of course the trip was going to end in Auschwitz; there was no question of missing it. However, I was sure I could not take the tour. I could not see the exhibit of shoes. So we agreed to drive by Auschwitz at the very end of the day, after the gates had been shut.

Auschwitz is a UNESCO World Heritage Site, but it is not like Quebec City or Česky Krumlov or the Cathedral at Chartres. And while I knew this, I was still not prepared for the drive through the Polish countryside on a summer afternoon, following the signs for “Muzeum” to the town of Oświęcim, down a street where children played in the shadow of their communist-era flat blocks that abruptly gave way to fencing and the dorms of the concentration camp.

We pulled up in front of the gates. It was not the infamous sign that got me, it was the innocuous railroad tracks: the end of the line for interminable cattle car rides across Europe that ended far too soon for all the mothers and lovers and sisters and brothers who had the last look at their loved ones at that spot. “Work Makes You Free” was the destination for some, the rest were immediately sent to be gassed.

I stood by those tracks and thought of Sophie’s choice. I thought of Anne Frank. I thought of the countless other stories and accounts I’d read, the names I’d forgotten, the names I’d never know.

It was a passing cloud that darkened the sky and blocked the light. It was the setting sun that made the air suddenly grow cold and the windows of the buildings black out into big blank eyes. It was not the memory of millions of tears, but fresh ones that made my face wet.

My travel companions were still trying to take the perfect picture of themselves in the dying light. I had to ask them to go. We drove away in silence, but I thought how the buildings were in remarkably good condition and could easily be used again.

I didn’t stop crying until we were over the Czech border. I never saw the pictures my companions took that day. I never took any pictures of my own, but those fifteen minutes, standing outside of Auschwitz, are indelibly etched in my eyes.

IMG_0981.JPG

Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe in Berlin, Germany
photo credit: Bust it Away photography

The Berlin Wall and Me: 25 years of history

In August 1989, I visited Europe for the first time ever. In school we had learned about the Cold War and spent hours discussing the Bomb. On my trip I started in London and was taken to France, Andorra, Switzerland and Germany.

Two months after I got home, the Wall fell. My whole family stayed up to watch the late night news and watch round-eyed as Germans chipped away at the Wall and danced on top. My mom cut out the newspaper article the next day and stuck it to the side of the fridge with a colourful magnet. It remained there, surrounded by kids’ school portraits and postcards, turning deeper shades of yellow over the years. A pen pal in Germany sent me some pieces of the Wall, which I kept on careful display in a cubby of my roll-top desk.

Three years after the Wall fell, the Soviet Union was history. Six years after that, I was living in Moscow. Since then, I’ve spent more than four years of my life in countries of the former Soviet Union (Russia, Ukraine, Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania) and the former Communist Eastern Bloc (Czech Republic, Slovakia, Poland, Hungary, Slovenia, Croatia).

The Fall of the Berlin Wall has affected me personally in countless ways, from the history I’ve studied to the languages I’ve learned and the wonderful people I’ve met along the way. My eyes still get wet when I watch the TV footage from twenty-five years ago.

But I’ve never been to Berlin. I will go there one day, and I can’t wait.

IMG_0847.JPG

a section of the Berlin Wall on display in Montreal. Can you guess which side faced East?

A little sunshine … read all about an amazing adventure to Istanbul and beyond on this blog!

anniecr8on

Intrepid 2 Ephesus to Karakoy

After we left Ephesus, we went to a restaurant where we learnt how to make Gozleme – which is like a very flat bread that gets filled with spinach, cheese, eggplant and/or meat. We ate them quite often – good, and filling. We all got a chance to make them.

View original post