Totally forgot to talk about brother #1’s visit last Sunday. That’s been a rarity — living abroad has meant brother #1’s excursions to Toronto have been few and far between.
After picking him up at his hotel and escaping the hordes of Jays fans + World Cup of Hockey attendees, I took him on a gastro tour familiar to any Dickinson brother: Quantum for coffee, Wvrst for drinks, and Patria for some dinner. It was a beautiful fall day but did cool off a bit. Still, with Patria’s outdoor heaters it was just warm enough to sit outside, even in my t-shirt.
This year’s TIFF wrap-up was City Of Tiny Lights (imdb | rotten tomatoes | tiff), a rather disappointing closer. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t very good either. In fact, without Riz Ahmed, this would have been entirely unremarkable — except that he succeeded in making London look unlike London ever looks in films.
It didn’t help that some…off dude sitting next to us made it impossible to concentrate during the screening. Yo guy, just…just sit still.
There are times, reading through the TIFF program book, when you don’t even have to finish reading the description for a film before adding it to your shortlist. This was the first paragraph in the description of Prevenge (imdb | rotten tomatoes | tiff):
Alice Lowe (Sightseers) is a triple threat as the writer, director and star of this pitch-black comedy about a pregnant woman whose unborn child psychically spurs her on to murder.
Sold, to the man with the dark sense of humour. Sightseers was a perfectly weird black comedy, so I was excited about this one too. It didn’t disappoint: it was so funny and weird, with these bursts of horrific violence set in tacky British locales (a la Sightseers), and Alice Lowe was just so good. That she acted in and directed this nearly eight months pregnant was remarkable, and (this sounds weird to say) put to such good use. She was hilarious and sweet and weird in her Q&A after, so it’s safe to say she’s a sure bet for any of my future TIFF shortlists.
Our Midnight Madness selection for this year was The Belko Experiment (imdb | tiff), a near note-perfect MM experience from James Gunn, who wrote Guardians Of The Galaxy. It might have even redeemed last year’s Baskin fiasco. Black humour, insane violence, and mockery of office culture. I want ten sequels.
8.5/10 (for Midnight Madness; 7/10 in the real world)
Screening number two was at the Bloor Hot Docs theatre yesterday, and my vantage point was way the hell up in the balcony. From there I watched I Am the Pretty Thing That Lives in the House (imdb | tiff), a slightly weird and fairly chilling little ghost story. Ruth Wilson plays the main role quirky, which helps offset the creep factor and overall made it more interesting. Not great, but entertaining. Solid add to your Netflix scary movie queue when it comes out.
It won all the buzz at Sundance (and has gathered a fair amount of bad attention since, aimed at its director) and got a big ovation last night, but I admit I didn’t love it. It was deeply important subject matter, obviously incredibly relevant to American social issues of the day, and an interesting story. But there were some technical flaws, and the story dragged where it should have sped and sped where it should have lingered.
Certainly not a bad film, but I expect some of the strong reviews it’s getting have less to do with it being a great, skillfully-made movie than with the important message it carries. That may be enough to win it best picture at Oscar time; if that means thousands or millions more eyes and minds learn the story of Nat Turner, then the Academy may still have gotten it right, flawed or not.
As much as I love trying fun, new restaurants, there’s something to be said for familiar, steady standbys like Carisma. Just great food and service every time, from the burrata, to the pastas, to the wine recommendations. Last night it was a 2008 Mastroberardino Radici Taurasi, which was outstanding.
Simple, excellent, old-school Italian. Sometimes it’s all you need.
It occurred to me today how differently I order food now. I used to call a number, have an awkward conversation with someone about how I would like to customize their menu, and then wait impatiently for food to show up somewhere between 20 and 90 minutes later.
Now I open an app like Foodora (nee Hurrier) or Uber Eats and order what I want, and then get constant status updates (or live GPS icons on maps) as my delivery progresses. Or I do what I did just now, and order something from a nearby restaurant using Ritual; by the time I walk to the restaurant the food is waiting for me and the suckers waiting in line think I have magical powers.
Of course, Uber seemed magical to people at first, and now it’s ubiquitous (at least in downtown Toronto) so this won’t stay wonderous for long, but for now it’s pretty cool. And anything that saves me even a few minutes is a tiny lifesaver these days.
Now pardon me while I destroy this Blazin’ Hawaiian burger from Big Smoke.
.:.
Cover photo by tikitonite, used under Creative Commons license
Along with most Canadians between 30 and 60 years of age, I watched the final Tragically Hipconcert last night. The CBC, blessedly sensing the import of the moment, preempted Olympic coverage and aired the whole concert commercial-free. We knew we’d want to watch it surrounded by other people; luckily our friends JP and Sue invited us over to their backyard viewing party.
I’d seen them live three times — light, by Canadian standards — and would have been strangely okay if the Fully Completely anniversary tour in 2015 was my last time. I’d kind of drifted away from the Hip in recent years, paying less and less attention to their albums and tours, but there’s no denying how important they were to me through the 90s. I didn’t really pay attention to the first albums that won them fans, but I knew who they were. Ultimately what won me over was their performance of Locked In The Trunk Of A Car live on the Junos (I think?) in 1992. I struggled to process what I was listening to: a song about a car that eats…conquistadors? It was stuck in my head all night and the next day; I remember standing at the end of our lane the next morning, waiting for the schoolbus, hearing Gord sing “Let me ooouuuuutttttt!!!!!!!” over and over. To this day it’s one of my three favourite Hip songs.
By the time I got to university they were everyone’s unofficial soundtrack — Fully Completely was on constant rotation until Day For Night came out; I was at home on the farm one weekend, driving to Amherst with brother #2, when a radio station played Grace, Too for the first time. I have a clear memory of driving across the Southampton bridge as those first bass notes started, and I’ve loved the song deeply since. It too remains one of my three favourites.
My other favourite was a slower build over several years, buried halfway down Fully Completely, and so utterly drenched in Leafs history that I should hate it, but the simplicity and sadness and power of Fifty Mission Cap are special to me. Clearly, though, their music holds meaning for me, and for millions of other people. And while I’ve long felt that the Rheostatics might be even truer representatives of Canadian culture (at least to nerds like me) there’s no denying the Hip’s cultural importance in this country. I could hear it coming from strangers around me last night, and from CBC interviews before and after the show, and from all over the internet in the days leading up to the show. There was palpable weight to the moment before they took the stage, and it mattered to me what they played, and when.
That they started with Fifty Mission Cap was almost troubling — shouldn’t this be a powerful set closer? How could they possibly keep the momentum up? But they did, with songs carrying a different kind of weight — the weight of Gord Downie’s diagnosis. When he sang “Courage (for Hugh MacLennan)” we were all singing “COURAGE!” back at him. When he grumbled the bridge in “At The Hundredth Meridian” it tore at us.
If I die of vanity, promise me
Promise me they bury me some place I don’t want to be,
You’ll dig me up and transport me, unceremoniously,
Away from the swollen city-breeze, garbage bag trees,
Whispers of disease, acts of enormity
And lower me slowly, sadly and properly
Get Ry Cooder to sing my eulogy.
They played all their slow-song crowd favourites (Wheat Kings, The Last of the Unplucked Gems, Poets, Scared) which have never been my favourites, but they also played Fiddler’s Green, which no one seemed to expect. I didn’t, anyway. It was tough.
The first encore, predictably, was all Up To Here. There was no way they could leave without playing any of New Orleans Is Sinking, Boots or Hearts, or Blow at High Dough. The second encore is what got me though…but not Nautical Disaster or Scared. It was Grace, Too. It was how Downie broke down, completely, as he screamed the final words — “Now??! No!!!” — over and over. We were watching a dying man staring his own mortality in the face, in front of a whole country, and spitting rage back at it. I couldn’t deal with it. I felt tears on my cheeks. Judging by my social feeds, and the rest of that backyard, I wasn’t the only one.
That ended the encore, and the band walked off. I think they had always planned for another, but couldn’t count on Gord being able to continue. I glad he did; that might have been the most poignant end, but it wouldn’t have been the right one. They came back out and to my great joy played Locked in the Trunk of a Car. Finally, thankfully. I got to hear Gord screaming “Let me out!” one last time, and felt complete. Only the surprise appearance of Cordelia could have made it better, but of course that dark a song wouldn’t fit. They were back to say goodbye with a smile, or at least a smirk. They ended with Gift Shop — one last show of wit and power — and Ahead By A Century, so Gord had enough time and room to say proper goodbyes to the crowd. And they were gone.
Now that I’ve typed this far, my random ‘play all Tragically Hip songs’ playlist has served up Cordelia, so I almost got my wish after all. It must have been the one more thing I really needed. I don’t know what that will be for Gord, but I hope he gets it.
.:.
The set list, according to the CBC:
Fifty-Mission Cap Courage (for Hugh MacLennan) Wheat Kings At the Hundredth Meridian In a World Possessed by the Human Mind What Blue Tired as F–k Machine My Music at Work Lake Fever Toronto #4 Putting Down Twist My Arm Three Pistols Fiddler’s Green Little Bones The Last of the Unplucked Gems Something On Poets Bobcaygeon Fireworks
New Orleans Is Sinking Boots or Hearts Blow at High Dough
Nautical Disaster Scared Grace, Too
Locked in the Trunk of a Car Gift Shop Ahead by a Century
Skirl | Dan Dickinson 