The Toronto International Film Festival (which, some claim, now is more influential than Cannes ) is underway. Never before had Charity and I lowered ourselves (or were to busy!) to go out to see if we could spot any stars, but last night we decided to give it a go.
After finding out where some films were playing, we walked up Yonge Street (the main downtown street) towards the famous, historic Elgin Theatre. There, for the length of the block, we could see a massive crowd gathered, kept back by sawhorses and police. We didn't know who everyone was waiting for, but decided anyhow to push through as close as possible to the front. The reality is, we could hardly see a thing and everytime a car drove up the restricted zone to the front of the theatre, people would start whooping--until they realized it was someone they didn't recognize, and then would shout, "Who are you??
After standing for a long while (20, 30 minutes) we decided to bail out and worked our way out. Catching snatches of conversation as we exited, we learned that the person they waited for was...Brad Pitt. For some reason at this point we decided to walk counterclockwise around the block, past the line of ticketholders snaking around the building--until we heard a great roar go up, far louder than all previous roars. So at that we decided, "why not give it a whirl?" and we hot-footed it the rest of the way around the block, coming at the scene from another angle altogether. But now we were very far back from the action.
However it was then I spotted numerous (ten? fifteen?) tops of heads, including those of some police, in the no-man's land, moving in our direction, with the crowd nearest the heads erupting as they passed. So, since we were far enough back now that we could move at will, we decided to follow the heads (and the eruptions) up the street until we got to a place where the crowd was thinner and, looking through, we caught sight of The Man Himself, smiling and waving and generally, it seemed, being a good sport about the whole thing. In fact, we had several good looks at the fellow, who was looking all trim and, I do believe, sporting a fine haircut.
Though we had told ourselves it all was utterly meaningless on most scales of measurement, still, well, we went home somehow satisfied. Why is that?
After finding out where some films were playing, we walked up Yonge Street (the main downtown street) towards the famous, historic Elgin Theatre. There, for the length of the block, we could see a massive crowd gathered, kept back by sawhorses and police. We didn't know who everyone was waiting for, but decided anyhow to push through as close as possible to the front. The reality is, we could hardly see a thing and everytime a car drove up the restricted zone to the front of the theatre, people would start whooping--until they realized it was someone they didn't recognize, and then would shout, "Who are you??
After standing for a long while (20, 30 minutes) we decided to bail out and worked our way out. Catching snatches of conversation as we exited, we learned that the person they waited for was...Brad Pitt. For some reason at this point we decided to walk counterclockwise around the block, past the line of ticketholders snaking around the building--until we heard a great roar go up, far louder than all previous roars. So at that we decided, "why not give it a whirl?" and we hot-footed it the rest of the way around the block, coming at the scene from another angle altogether. But now we were very far back from the action.
However it was then I spotted numerous (ten? fifteen?) tops of heads, including those of some police, in the no-man's land, moving in our direction, with the crowd nearest the heads erupting as they passed. So, since we were far enough back now that we could move at will, we decided to follow the heads (and the eruptions) up the street until we got to a place where the crowd was thinner and, looking through, we caught sight of The Man Himself, smiling and waving and generally, it seemed, being a good sport about the whole thing. In fact, we had several good looks at the fellow, who was looking all trim and, I do believe, sporting a fine haircut.
Though we had told ourselves it all was utterly meaningless on most scales of measurement, still, well, we went home somehow satisfied. Why is that?
posted by Ted | 3:25 PM
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