The Ankler

Movie Freaks, Producers and Hope: Postcards From TIFF

From presidential suites and midnight screenings to $800 tickets, I spend four days among the dreamers

I’ve been going to festivals longer than some Ankler employees have been alive (and yes, this time, the cliché is actually true).

From the first one I went to in the 1990s to my visit this week to the Toronto International Film Festival, I’m instantly struck by the same question every time: 

Who the hell are all these people?

If anything, that question has been ringing in my head even louder lately — given that everything I’ve read for a decade now tells me the movie industry is dead or dying, barely on life support; the whole business is organized around desperately fighting off this imminent demise.

So given that: What are all these thousands and thousands of people doing here? How are so many people still working in this supposedly dead business — making, buying and selling films and doing a million things in between to service the people who do all that?

These are questions that I’ve asked hundreds of times at festivals — and answers that have been given to me many times more — but the cognitive dissonance between an industry enveloped in a thick cloud of gloom and a major city filled with happy, even ecstatic, moviemakers and moviegoers throws me for a loop every time.

I love coming to TIFF because it sits right in the heart of this paradox — living somewhere between Important Industry Event and local celebration of cinema. Which one is it: an excuse for glitzy red carpets and Oscar season launches? A chance for Canadian audiences to get their own peek at what’s out there? A filmsnob/Letterboxd hive or the most populist, unpretentious of festivals?

It’s all of those, and somehow they co-exist, mashed together in Toronto — and it all kind of works brilliantly.

In Toronto, I love standing in line for a premiere — maybe for a film no audience has ever seen before — because you’re lined up between critics and retirees, goth kids in T-shirts and high tops, local socialites in gowns and tuxes, publicists and producers. Indie icon Sarah Polley showed up for so many screenings, lined up with the fans — at least once with Stranger Things superstar Finn Wolfhard — as they filed in together for crowd-pleasing Oscar hopefuls and moody imports from abroad.

And in that chaos lies the answer to the riddle of the film industry — undead and still proudly on display here in Toronto — in a way that really, no other medium on Earth can compete with.

So all that established — here are some postcards from my week north of the border, as I searched for the truth of cinema circa 2026.

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