Rushfield: Sorry Tale of Two Letters
The Memo Wars of 2023 reveal how far apart this remains for all the wrong reasons
The view from Toronto started out gloomy enough, but by the end of the first weekend it was almost looking like some kind of Danse Macabre — the film festival at the end of the world.
And I write that with all due apologies for hitting the end-of-the-world button again here. Believe me, I've gloomed out even myself here. Even my goth soul is crying out, how about some pink or a powder-blue kerchief with that squid's ink burka?
I've vowed to look for the sunshine that still pokes through (and let the record show I did a whole issue digging up those rays of hope not three weeks ago).
But I'm also sworn to talk about the world as I find it, and as far as this week goes…