georgechristy.us
September 14, 2007

By George Christy

If it’s September, it must be Toronto, where cinema cognoscenti of all ages gather annually to hold court at the Toronto International Film Festival. In it’s 32nd year, the festival is a filmmaker’s dream, attracting hundreds of stars, producers, studio tigers, PR handlers, stylists, arrogant screwupers and more journalists and paparazzi than there are in Hades or heaven, everyone text-messaging madly with BlackBerrys and frantically glued to cellphones. As of midweek (the festival wraps this weekend), more than $50 million was commited for pick-up deals. Invited by Helga Stepheson 28 years ago, I predicted then in my Hollywood Reporter columns that this was, indeed, the Festival of Festivals. And that Hollywood should come running. Time and again, I reiterated this, as my friend Michael Budman of the Roots stores reminded me this week. And the who-and-the-who heeded the call.

Why Toronto? The audiences are incorrigible movie fans, we speak the same language, and our dollar has had considerable value. The city is welcoming, with multiethnic mix that evokes a sophisticated aura. Beautiful women, classy shops, and restaurants like Yannick Bigourdan and chef David Lee’s Splendido, where CTV’s Ivan Fecan and Sandra Faire celebrated their 25th wedding anniversary last December with a posh black-tie dinner. Popular havens like Fernando Temudo’s Bistro 990, crowded, celebrity-filled trattorias like Marisa Rocco’s Soto Soto for her let’s-go-back-for Italian cuisine that’s a favorite of photographer Bruce Weber and Uma Thurman, while Canadian Idol host Ben Mulroney’s favors Vaticano, where he orders two pastas, never missing out on Felice Vacca’s spaghetti Bolognese.