The 42 nd Toronto film festival was notable for a very strong appear of female expertise not least an charming coming-of-age comedy directed by Greta Gerwig
It may not have the glamour and sense of moment of Cannes, the romance of Venice or the boutique cliquishness of Telluride, but for sheer volume and scope, the Toronto international cinema festival( or Tiff, to give it its perkily approachable abbreviation) is hard to beat. Even having cut its programme by 20% this year( about 60 films fewer than previous instalments ), Toronto is a monster of an event.
This symbolizes several thoughts. The first, and least accepted, of these is queues. Miles of them, snaking around the streets of the city for cubes and be administered by systems that border on the Kafkaesque. Punters join them automatically, sometimes without knowing what they are waiting for. But the queues are there for a reason, which draws us to the second point: the sheer number of buzz names. The timing of Toronto and its sizing means that it is an ideal platform on which to test whether a prominence deed has the legs to make it a hopeful in the honors race.
Early clues suggest that it’s going to be another hard-fought duel in best available actress category, with a fortune of meaty, female-driven legends. And the crowd-pleasing Battle of the Sexes , the most recent from the Little Miss Sunshine directing duo of Valerie Faris and Jonathan Dayton, is top of the list. Starring Emma Stone as tennis participate Billie Jean King, the movie tells the story of the much-publicised 1973 tennis parallel between King and ex-champion, and self-proclaimed male-chauvinist boar, Bobby Riggs( Steve Carell, all tragicomic bluster and condescension ). But more than that it’s a love story, in which King, hopelessly smitten with hairdresser Marilyn( Andrea Riseborough ), was necessary to periods with her own sexuality. Stone is terrific, throwing King a steely sweetness and a disarming vulnerability. And while some of the overt antediluvian sexism from the commentators reaped audible gasp from the gathering, the themes- equal remuneration and equal opportunities for women, LGBT acceptance in boast- persist depressingly timely.
Another powerhouse female conduct comes from Jessica Chastain, playing the eponymous center persona in Aaron Sorkin’s directorial debut, Molly’s Game . This is pretty much the archetypal Sorkin project- a slick firework exhibition of showy dialogue and jostling ideas and a primary character with a banter that Chastain brandishes like a switchblade knife. Based on a real-life attribute, Molly is a former Olympic-standard skier rotated hostess of unlicensed, high-stakes poker games, who ascertains herself at the centre of an FBI investigation. While Sorkin panders in a few too many self-congratulatory segues and prosper, as long as Chastain is on screen- and she’s rarely off- the movie has a crackling power and propulsive drive.