As they say, it's a wrap (for me at least). My six days at the Toronto International Film Festival are up, and, after seeing 21 feature films and three shorts, I'm ready to pack my bags, head home, and get back to mainstream reviewing. I depart with a mixture of sadness and relief. Sadness that it's over, of course, but relief that I won't be under the constant pressure of getting from one screening to the next. Film festivals are like that - a mixture of the good and the bad, of exhilaration and exhaustion.

I suppose this would be the proper time to do some kind of retrospective of the festival, but, since I have been writing these columns daily, I think such an approach would be largely redundant. As for my overall impression of the quality of the festival's offerings, I found it to be on par with the best of the other festivals that I've been to. The final tally goes something like this: two excellent films, four very good ones, seven solid recommendations, and two truly awful entries (everything else was mediocre).

In general, I was able to see about 75% of what I was hoping to see (with regard to my biggest mishap, I have been reliably informed that Drive, She Said wasn't a big loss). Some of misses were John Sayles' Men with Guns, Michael Winterbottom's Welcome to Sarajevo, Kasi Lemmons' Eve's Bayou, David Mamet's The Spanish Prisoner, and Kieslowski's The Scar. But that's the way it is with film festivals - short of cloning yourself, you have to give up something to see something, and most of the titles that I missed will be coming to a theater near me sometime soon.

Overall, I'd like to commend the workers and volunteers at the festival for being consistently helpful and pleasant. Due to the large crowds, things didn't always go smoothly, but there were rarely cases when a member of the staff turned unpleasant. When I look back on the festival experience, this is what I'll remember more clearly than the missed opportunities, the so-so weather, and the many individual screenings.

Here's the last batch of films, which includes the strongest and the weakest movies of the six days:

Unmade Beds (USA, 1997, dir: Nicholas Barker) is one of those films that demands to be noticed. It treads a line between documentary and fiction by using real people to play themselves in real situations, while intermixing "reality" with scripted sequences. Barker mingles these elements so effortlessly that it's virtually impossible to determine where truth ends and fiction begins. In the director's own words, "I'd say 90% of the script was based on behavior and language I actually observed. The rest is a pack of lies." The film follows four New Yorkers who are involved in the personals scene: Brenda Monte, an ex-lap dancer who's looking for a man with cash to marry; Michael De Stephano, a "nice guy" who has been searching for a wife through the personals for the past 15 years; Aimee Copp, an overweight 28-year old who despairs of ever finding anyone to spend her life with; and Mikey Russo, who claims that he's only interested in beautiful women who will sleep with him. In Rear Window-like fashion, Barker's camera also peers into the windows of over a dozen unsuspecting New Yorkers, catching them arguing, having parties, getting dressed, and making love. From beginning to end, the film is fascinating, funny, and extremely engaging. The actors are all naturals, and their performances come across as unforced. The insights into their personalities generate well-rounded individuals who have more depth than one might initially suspect. Unmade Beds also functions as a commentary on an increasingly depersonalized society and the intense feelings of loneliness and isolation it can spawn. And, as always with a film that effectively blurs the lines between fact and fiction, Unmade Beds challenges the viewer to question just how accurate any documentary can be in portraying "truth" when the presence of any film making crew invariably changes the behavior of the individuals under the camera's scrutiny.
Rating: out of

Love and Death on Long Island (UK/Canada, 1997, dir: Richard Kwietniowski) represents a new twist on a very old concept - the "fish out of water." In his best performance in over a decade, veteran British actor John Hurt plays Giles De'Ath (spell it without the apostrophe), an "erstwhile fogy" who has yet to enter the computer age. He doesn't own a TV, isn't aware of the difference between a VCR and a microwave oven, and still does his erudite writing on a mechanical typewriter. One day, after deciding to get out of the house, Giles ventures into the local cinema in an attempt to see the latest motion picture adaptation of an E.M. Forster novel. By mistake, he ends up in a theater showing Hotpants College 2 - not quite the fare he was looking for. But, before he can walk out, the sight of up-and- coming hunk Ronnie Bostock (Jason Priestley) mesmerizes him, and thus begins Giles' long quest to become the world's leading expert on the star -- a search that culminates in a trip to Ronnie's home on Long Island. Love and Death on Long Island is a delightfully frothy comedy that takes the time to present a few substantial issues, such as a comparison of film as art versus film as entertainment. The movie is also a buddy picture and a love story (although the homosexual themes, while obviously present, aren't dwelt upon). Strong secondary performances support Hurt, but his inspired portrayal of Giles provides the glue for writer/director Richard Kwietniowki's uneven but enjoyable script.
Rating: out of

Keep Cool (China, 1997, dir: Zhang Yimou) is a definite change-of-pace for celebrated Chinese director Zhang Yimou. Working for the first time without Gong Li, Zhang abandons the kind of rural, historical tales that he is known for in favor of an in-your-face dramatic comedy set amidst the bustle of Bejing. Favoring hand-held shots and quick cuts that may remind some viewers of Wong Kar- wai (Chungking Express), Zhang makes a clean break with his past (although the film still exhibits the vivid colors that have characterized all of his films). The plot is rather slight. Xiao Shuai, a bookseller who is trying to get back together with his ex- girlfriend, angers her current boyfriend. There's a fight, and, during its course, Xiao is beaten up and a old man's computer is smashed. The old man wants Xiao to pay for the damages, but all Xiao is interested in is obtaining revenge. Keep Cool is a strange film, marked by extended periods of dialogue and very little action. The obvious focus of the film is on the true nature of friendship and the futility of revenge, but, since Zhang's films have always been political in nature, it seems likely that Keep Cool is an allegory. The only problem is, I don't know what he's really trying to say, and this makes watching the film a somewhat obtuse experience for any "unenlightened" viewer.
Rating: out of

Swept from the Sea (UK/USA, 1997, dir: Beeban Kidron) was a sad way to end the festival. This is one of those rare movies that it's almost physically painful to sit through - the film is horribly scripted, badly acted, and poorly directed. In fact, just about the only complimentary things I can say are that it's nicely photographed and features an impressively lush score by veteran composer John Barry. Based on a short story by Joseph Conrad, Swept from the Sea comes across as lifeless romantic tripe, with canned dialogue and flat performances. There is no chemistry between international hunk Vincent Perez, who plays the lone survivor of a shipwreck off the Cornish coast, and the equally- attractive Rachel Weisz, who portrays the woman who shows him kindness. Even fans of Harlequin romances may find themselves cringing at this too-predictable motion picture. And, worse still, it relies on an agonizingly bad voiceover narrative to move the plot along. No, Swept from the Sea was definitely not a good way to end the festival, nor is it worth seeking out when it comes to a theater near you.
Rating: out of

© 1997 James Berardinelli