Toronto is a star-watcher's delight this week. There are probably more celebrities concentrated around the Sheraton Center than at any place other than Cannes (during the festival there) and the Academy Awards Ceremony. Either I or someone I know has spotted Robert Duvall, Robin Wright Penn, Amy Madigan, William Hurt, Russell Crowe, Roger Ebert, Kevin Spacey, Christopher Walken, Anthony Hopkins, Ethan Hawke, Helena Bonham Carter, Moira Kelly, Jonathan Pryce, Timothy Dalton, Jeremy Irons, Kevin Kline, Tom Selleck, Campbell Scott, and Donald Sutherland.

What does all this mean? Absolutely nothing, if you're like me and don't care one way or another about whether someone is well-known or not. But there's no denying that a huge number of people are fascinated by celebrities, and, for them, Toronto is a paradise this week. (It should be noted that catching a glimpse of these people becomes much more difficult if you don't actually attend screenings...)

Meanwhile, today was an inordinately frustrating day for me. I had hoped to see Drive, She Said, Mina Shum's followup to the delightful Double Happiness. In fact, I had intended to do a special feature on the film (complete with interviews, a review, etc.). That won't happen, since, despite standing in line for the better part of 90 minutes, I got shut out of the screening. Press credentials ain't everything. I have a friend who saw the film, and hopefully he'll report back to me on its relative quality, but I'll have to wait until it's released (probably next Spring) to see it. Incidentally, judging by the crowd at the screening, Drive, She Said may have surpassed The Hanging Garden as the festival's hottest property.

As for what I did manage to see, I finally was exposed to a real "keeper" (for those who can't figure it out from the write-up, it's C'est la tangente que je prefere).

Wings of the Dove (UK, 1997, dir: Iain Softley) represents the latest "modern" adaptation of a classic book. In this case, it's screenwriter Hossien Amini's (Jude) liberal interpretation of the Henry James novel of the same name. However, regardless of how many liberties Amini and director Iain Softley take with James' material, it's difficult to argue with the depth, effectiveness, and emotional power of the finished product. This is one of the most satisfying films that I've seen during the festival. It's not the best, but it is an unqualified success. Wings of the Dove takes place on the eve of World War I (a lot of films at this festival transpire during that decade) and tells the sad tale of two lovers, Kate and Merton (Helena Bonham Carter and Linus Roache), who are separated by class and wealth. Kate hatches a clever scheme that will allow them to be together, but, even though it is entirely successful, the tragic consequences eclipse the results. Wings of the Dove is a beautifully photographed and acted motion picture, and, although the script is literate and intelligent, this movie is aimed more at the heart than the mind.
Rating: out of

Chinese Box (Hong Kong, 1997, dir: Wayne Wang) is not the first film to deal with the British to Chinese transition in Hong Kong, nor will it be the last. This sudsy melodrama, directed by the man who recently helmed both Smoke and Blue in the Face, takes place during the weeks and months preceding the fateful day of July 1, 1997, when Hong Kong reverted to China. The political and economic climate becomes an important part of the film's backdrop. The main story, which is extremely soap opera-ish, involves the doomed love affair of a British journalist (Jeremy Irons) and a Chinese bar owner (Gong Li), who are pushed together and pulled apart by the changing political tides as well as secrets that both of them harbor. Meanwhile, in a separate-yet-related subplot that's actually more interesting that the cliched love story, Irons' character tracks down a street hustler (Maggie Cheung) and attempts to learn her tale. Plot-wise, Chinese Box is a little too lean to be fully satisfying. There are a lot of underdeveloped ideas here, as if director Wayne Wang tried to fit a lot of material into the movie while keeping the running length manageable. One of the real reasons to see the film is for a chance to see actress Gong Li in a rare contemporary role. Gong, who we're used to seeing in the historical films of Zhang Yimou and Chen Kaige, is luminous in jeans and sunglasses, while speaking heavily-accented English, proving that she has the screen presence to stand out in any time period. Unfortunately, this film is not one of the best showcases of her talents.
Rating: out of

C'est la tangente que je prefere (aka Love, Math, and Sex) (France, 1997, dir: Charlotte Silvera) is the best film that I've seen thus far at the festival. It's smart, witty, erotic, poignant, and (most importantly) highly original. No matter how many films you see this year, you won't see one quite like C'est la tangent que je prefere. For romances, it's in a class all its own as it takes risks with content and consequences that no film produced on this side of the Atlantic would ever dare attempt (which makes North American distribution an iffy prospect, at best). The basic subject matter isn't all that unusual: a teenage girl falls in love with an older man. It's the frank and sensual manner in which the film handles the material that is both surprising and satisfying. Not only are both 15-year old Sabine (stunning newcomer Julie Delarme) and 40-year old Jiri (Georges Corraface) both highly-believable characters caught in a seemingly-impossible situation, but there are all sorts of quirks to their relationship. She's a mathematical whiz; he's an artist. She relies on logic, trying to place every aspect of her life into an equation; he relies on emotion. The script is littered with little twists and surprises, and director Charlotte Silvera has managed to get the best out of the story and the cast. The program guide for this film notes that "Silvera throws many balls up in the air... and never drops any of them", and I couldn't agree more. This is a captivating motion picture.
Rating: out of

Marianne (France, 1994, dir: Benoit Jacquot) is the first of two films that director Benoit Jacquot made using actress Virginie Ledoyen, but, due to legal complications, it remained unreleased until now (the second film, A Single Girl, has already been distributed theatrically on both sides of the Atlantic). Arguably, the movie isn't worth the wait. For the most part, it's a traditional French costume drama, focusing on the efforts of a orphaned girl, Marianne, to survive in world where a fortune and pedigree mean everything. For the first half of Marianne, the film is hopelessly mired in tradition costume drama cliches. Only during the final 45 minutes does the plot begin to blossom as it develops an interesting avenue for conflict. By then, however, a certain amount of dissatisfaction about the film's lack of originality has already crept in. The one thing that keeps us interested in the lead character throughout is actress Ledoyen, who captures the camera as effortlessly here as she does in the far superior A Single Girl.
Rating: out of

© 1997 James Berardinelli