The 42 nd Toronto film festival was notable for its strong manifest of female flair not least an endearing coming-of-age humor directed by Greta Gerwig
It may not have the glamour and feel of occasion of Cannes, the romance of Venice or the boutique cliquishness of Telluride, but for sheer volume and scope, the Toronto international film carnival( or Tiff, to give it its perkily approachable abbreviation) is hard to beat. Even having cut its programme by 20% this year( about 60 movies fewer than previous instalments ), Toronto is a monster of an event.
This necessitates several concepts. The first, and least accepted, of these is queues. Miles of them, snaking around the streets of the city for blockings and managed by methods that border on the Kafkaesque. Punters join them automatically, sometimes without knowing what they are waiting for. But the queues are there for a reasonablenes, which accompanies us to the second point: the sheer number of buzz deeds. The timing of Toronto and its length means that it is an ideal platform on which to test whether a esteem entitle has the legs to make it a competitor in the gives race.
Early marks suggest that it’s going to be another hard-fought duel in the best actress category, with a money of meaty, female-driven narratives. And the crowd-pleasing Battle of the Sexes , the latest from the Little Miss Sunshine aiming duo of Valerie Faris and Jonathan Dayton, is top of the list. Starring Emma Stone as tennis participate Billie Jean King, the cinema tells the story of the much-publicised 1973 tennis equal between King and ex-champion, and self-proclaimed male-chauvinist swine, 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 expressions with her own sexuality. Stone is terrific, returning King a steely sweetness and a disarming vulnerability. And although some of the overt antediluvian sexism from the commentators reaped audible gasps from the audience, the themes- equal offer and equal opportunities for women, LGBT acceptance in sport- abide depressingly timely.
Another powerhouse female lead comes from Jessica Chastain, playing the eponymous central role in Aaron Sorkin’s directorial introduction, Molly’s Game . This is pretty much the archetypal Sorkin project- a slick firework display of showy talk and jostling ideas and a primary persona with a banter that Chastain exerts like a flick knife. Based on a real-life reputation, Molly is a former Olympic-standard skier revolved hostess of unlicensed, high-stakes poker games, who determines herself at the centre of an FBI investigation. While Sorkin indulges in a few too many self-congratulatory segues and flourishes, as long as Chastain is on screen- and she’s rarely off- the film has a crackling intensity and propulsive drive.