Master-Baiting in Toronto

Good people of the interweb, I have just returned from my first ever trip to Canada and I am disappointed to say that I did not encounter one flapping head, no beady-eyes, and not a single episode of "Terrence and Philip". However what I did encounter was the 2012 Toronto International Film Festival (TIFF), which was absolutely mental. Never have I been to a place where you're happily walking along having a chat and a coffee, when a black suburban pulls up next to you and out steps Johnny Depp...into a throng of screaming fans. It was like that at every turn. Like I say, mental.

I was there to accompany my dear friend, and cast member of my own film, Jennie to the North American premiere of another (and, some may say, better) film she's in, which happened to be none other than Paul Thomas Anderson's "The Master". As we arrived in town on Friday, to say I was a little excited about the event would be grossly ignoring the damp spot forming in my undergarments. I was giddy as a fawn. As the day progressed my excitement slowly crept further and further up the scale until there was nowhere left to go but alcohol-land...and go there I did. It was all free, after all. 

By the time all the pre-party and red carpet and screaming fans and famous mugs and VIP status and oddly-named cocktails had settled, it might be a safe assumption to say that I was not in the most coherent state I'd ever been in. Then, all of a sudden, the man himself appeared. PTA took the stage to mass applause, saying a very brief hello before the lights went down and the show began. 

What then followed was the single most absurd cinematic experience I had ever witnessed. Here was I, a lowly piss-ant, sitting in this grand old theatre in downtown Toronto, watching the premiere of PTA's new film, sitting among the glitterati. I was severely struggling to simply get over that fact. Luckily the film soon took effect and all that other shite was a distant memory.

In the first five minutes, the first obvious thing that struck me, and I'm sure I'm not alone in saying this, was the absolute gorgeousness of the thing. It was shot on 65mm film (basically an old-school version of IMAX) and projected on 70mm. The results, in a time where film is slowly but surely being phased out, were absolutely astonishing. If it doesn't win every Cinematography award under the sun, I'll eat my hat. For those who think digital is the future (both filming and projection) shame on you. My only gripe being that there weren't more shots of glorious epic landscapes to enjoy in this spectacular format.

The reason for that was the story itself, which is about two-men locked in a mental power struggle. Those two men are the sole focus of the film, so much so in fact that almost every other character who appeared seemed to be soft-focus somehow - just part of the backdrop. Joaquin Phoenix puts in one of the most unhinged, deranged performances of all time, however my opinion was that Philip Seymour Hoffman stole the show. His performance, as the silver-tongued leader of a semi-religious 'group' called The Cause, was the best I've seen him give in a career littered with amazing performances. My only hope is that he'll get the credit he deserves. 

When the credits rolled, I felt as if I'd been beaten about the skull. Three days later and I still find myself thinking about it, which in my eyes, is a thing sorely lacking in cinema today. I can't really offer any kind of conclusive "was it good or not" type summary - it was, after all, a VERY strange night - but I will be seeing it again soon, and if any film needed seeing more than once, it's this one. Meanwhile, the below track (from the mighty Jonny Greenwood) sort of sums it all up in the space of four minutes. Enjoy.

Cheers,

JB.