Here’s my kind of funny story: When I was a post-collegiate punk with an afternoon to burn, I would often spend hours riding the single ticket I bought at the very cineplex where most of the TIFF screenings are taking place into and out of two or three different movies. It feels eerie to see many of my New York colleagues clamoring at the scene of the crime, and even stranger to hop from film to film not furtively but as festival workers smile and wave me in. I have to say: The thrill has been compromised.
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It’s Kind Of A Funny Story Is Also Kind of a Disappointing One
