Tuesday morning: with each breath, my sinuses ballooned bigger. And just as my head is about to Louis Del Grande, I get out of bed, and commit to being more productively ill at the T.I.F.F.. Fest-goers have the same motto as the USPS; they ought to put us in decompression chambers afterwards.
You know where this is going. All I can say is that I turned on the television and grew a whole lot sicker as America was violated before my eyes--everyone's eyes. Over and over again, from impossible angles. We with the sniffles should count our blessings.
I support the T.I.F.F.'s decision, made late Tuesday and subject to change, to mush on; as festival director Piers Handling told press, cancelling the remaining days outright would be "allowing terrorists to control an agenda as opposed to us controlling our own agenda." In the name of security and respect, Roy Thomson Hall, where galas are shown, has been stripped of its red carpet, and there will not be any more press conferences--except for the Awards Brunch, which has been combined with Saturday's traditionally crammed closing speeches. Screenings are continuing as planned, and their distraction is keeping some people sane.
I skipped Tuesday, one of the lucky few whose choice it was to do so, and returned to the Festival yesterday afternoon (Wednesday), where I saw a new film starring Nicole Kidman called Birthday Girl. It was the intentionally funny version of Original Sin, a semi-clever, efficient tease. Then came a scene in which a character effortlessly pulls the wool over an airport security guard's eyes, and backs throughout the audience stiffened. On September 11, we were re-sensitized to movies.
Fasten your seatbelts. -Bill Chambers
