I was attending TIFF last night and the strangest, most distressing thing happened. It was so unsettling that I was compelled to blog about it. Let me tell you the story.
My friend and I chose to see this particular film because it had been billed as “feminist sci-fi” with a “charismatic female lead.” It was set in a “dystopian future” but promised to have a redemptive quality.
As soon as the film started, it was obvious that this was patently false advertising. The female lead had nearly no dialogue and nothing to do. It really wasn’t clear what her role in the film was.
There was virtually no plot and the film meandered aimlessly from one indecipherable scene to the next, interspersed with scenes of random, horrific violence. It was relentlessly bleak and as the scenes unfolded, it was increasingly painful to watch.
What made matters worse was that this was the film-makers’ first feature film, and they’d been brought to Toronto for the world premiere at TIFF, along with the female lead and several of the male actors. They were brought up to the stage before the film began, right after the TIFF representative had extolled its many virtues. Then they were seated in the audience while the film played.
These young film-makers shared how honored and excited they were to be here, premiering their film at such an auspicious festival. Looking back, it felt akin to lambs being led to the slaughter.
As the film went on, the audience began to trickle out of the theatre. Scene after scene unfolded and more of the audience departed. I couldn’t imagine how badly the film-makers and actors must have been feeling. The word “devastated” comes to mind.
The film had been introduced by one of the biggest big-wigs at TIFF, who had high praise for it but sadly, it didn’t come anywhere close to deserving this praise. The audience gave their opinion of the work by voting with its feet. By the time my friend and I walked out, we were feeling like we couldn’t take one more minute of it, and we imagined that the audience members who’d preceded us must have felt the same way.
I was left with this jumble of emotions: sick to my stomach over the awfulness of the film; tremendously sad for the first-time film-makers who’d been lured to TIFF only to be mortifyingly humiliated by the mass exodus of the audience at their film’s premiere, and furious at the TIFF folks for not knowing any better.
“What were they thinking?” was the thought that kept running through my mind. “How could they have invited these film-makers to Toronto and put them in the awful position of being humiliated in this way?” By the reaction of the audience it was clear to me that my friend and I weren’t the only people who despised this film. How could the TIFF people – who are supposed to know film – not realize what they were doing?
I’m a student of screen-writing so I have some understanding of what a good script requires for it to be compelling to an audience. This film needed editing, so that the scenes had some energy and direction, and most importantly, so that there were moments of revelation for the viewers.
There needed to be more action so that the film’s point of view could be clarified and there needed to be more clarity with regard to the relationships of the characters. As it stood, the characters were all just thrown together and their interactions demonstrated very little meaning or purpose. After we left the theatre I had no idea what the film-makers had been trying to say.
This wasn’t a finished film that was ready to be screened, let alone premiered at TIFF. This was a script in progress that should never have been filmed. For so many artists, we suffer from a lack of people who’ll believe in our work. In the case of this film, the filmmakers had the misfortune of too many people seeing something in their work that simply wasn’t there, which then set them up for this horrible humiliation.
It reminded me of the heiress, Florence Foster Jenkins, whose wealth enabled her to perform at important venues when she was in fact, a terrible singer. It wasn’t fair to Florence to let her go up onstage and make a fool of herself. Although obviously TIFF had different motivations than the hangers-on around Ms. Jenkins, it wasn’t fair of the organizers to set up the film-makers in this way either.
The day after the film’s premiere, I’m left wondering what the film-makers are doing. Are they talking amongst themselves about the disaster at their premiere? Are they holed up in their hotel rooms refusing to take any calls? How is the person who introduced the film feeling? Do they regret their decision? Are they taking any responsibility for what they’ve done?
Being an artist is incredibly hard. Screenwriting is one of the most challenging forms of artistic expression. I don’t blame these first-time film-makers for coming up with a mediocre script. I do, however question the judgment of the producer who agreed to finance the film and the TIFF organizers who chose to screen it. The most important thing for any artist’s survival is that they keep on wanting to do their art.
Going through this kind of experience, in which they are so deeply and publicly humiliated, well, I wonder how it’s going to affect the film-makers’ ability to keep on doing their art. And they should keep on. Only next time, they need people around them who won’t let them release their next project until it’s finished and ready to be seen.
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