For years Toronto was the only film festival that was covered regularly
by a party critic. The intrepid Sylvia Train actually reviewed the festival
parties for the Toronto Sun, using the same star rating system favored by
many movie critics.
The pixie-like Train would prowl the festival's post-screening parties,
scouting the room for guests who might be famous enough to mention in her
column. Displaying the gruff determination of a crackerjack investigative
reporter she would taste test the food and rush off to file her review.
Train always insisted that hers was not an easy job. No one believed her
of course. Not too long ago she officially retired and I thought I would
try to take her place. What a mistake. After a mere two days as Film Scouts'
party critic I'm ready to demand hazardous duty pay for this assignment.
For the festival bashes, which invariably take place in abandoned shopping
malls or other large cavernous building, have about as much Hollywood glamour
as the average frat house party. Pounding pre-recorded rock music makes
conversation totally impossible. Half the time you feel as if you're reluctantly
participating in the toga party scene from "Animal House."
As such Toronto's premiere party giver would appear to be an out-of-towner
- Hollywood Reporter columnist George Christy. His annual luncheon at the
Four Seasons Hotel is more difficult to crash than a White House State dinner.
The menus, which are carefully pre-tested by Christy, vary each year but
the basic ritual remains the same. Cocktails are served promptly at 1 PM.
Christy invites a number of guests to come simply for cocktails after politely
but firmly informing them that they cannot stay for lunch. This year's guests
seemed to take this rejection with amazing good grace. They were clearly
happy just to be in the same room with Kevin Spacey, Matthew Broderick,
Martin Short, Rob Morrow and Billy Baldwin, all of whom made the guest list.
In one corner of the room Stellan Skarsgard and Katrin Cartlidge, two of
the leading players in Lars von Trier's "Breaking the Waves,"
happily discussed the overwhelmingly positive reaction to their film. "90
percent of the audience loved it," said Skarsgard. "Three percent
did not." The film, which features an unforgettable performance by
a total unknown named Emily Watson, is extremely haunting and brilliantly
executed.
Albert Brooks made a late entrance, firmly guiding Debbie Reynolds towards
the nearest TV camera. Reynolds is returning to the big screen after far
too long an absence as the star of Brooks' new comedy "Mother."
She plays Brooks' mother in the movie but for the moment the actress appeared
to be taking orders from her director. "You know who went up in smoke
when he heard Debbie Reynolds was here - Trevor Nunn (the British stage
director)," declared Christy.
"Isn't that amazing?"
Emilio Estevez remained at the luncheon after his father Martin Sheen put
in a token appearance. He's here promoting "The War at Home."
"My father plays my father in the movie," Estevez explained. "It's
the best work he's done since "Apocalypse Now." Dusty Cohl, a
co-founder of the festival, teased Estevez about being the only newcomer
at a table full of luncheon regulars. "I'm a virgin," Estevez
admitted.
Later after relishing "the old-fashioned chicken pot pie with fresh
vegetables" and "the peach and blueberry upside-down cake"
Estevez announced "I'm de-virginized." Heading for the elevator
Martin Short seemed to be in a more philosophical mood. "Longevity
is the key to success," Short wistfully observed. "And I've been
around," said the deliciously funny Canadian-born comedian who began
his career as a band singer.
On reflection being a party critic may not be such a tough job after all.
Perhaps I should continue to "bowl for bolds," which is how Rita
Zekas, the gossip columnist for the Toronto Star, describes her work - her
constant search for celebrities whose names are fit to print in bold type.
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