I had my first TIFF-related dream last night. It was kind of like that dream where you show up for a final exam after skipping class all semester, except that, instead of sliding into a strange classroom, I was wandering around Toronto with no tickets because I’d forgotten to submit my out-of-town form. I woke up feeling anxious.
Some of that anxiety may stem from a rookie mistake I made last year. I had passes for three films on the evening I arrived but had failed to realize that my actual tickets were housed in an office somewhere on the ground floor of a building near Yonge and College rather than at the box office, where I arrived thirty minutes before the first film began — plenty of time, I assumed, to get in line, rest, grab a good seat, whatever. Instead, I went running (literally) out of the theater, cursing the volunteer who had politely — and I say “politely” only in retrospect — who had politely handed me a map and pointed me north. By the time I found the ticket office, I was sweating and the tops of my feet were bleeding. (Note: Don’t ever run in Birkenstocks.) I ran back to the Paramount in time to catch the last 45 minutes of Nobody Knows.
My TIFF dream was also related, I think, to Michael Apted’s 7 Up films, the first two of which I watched for the first time last night. We went to bed some time after midnight, and I spent the next two hours in that strange waking dream state. I don’t remember any specific details of the dreams, but they were full of those kids — Tony the Jockey, John the Reactionary, and Neil the Sad-Eyed Chess Player, in particular. Joanna and I were so moved by the films that we cheated. I looked up a few reviews of the later films to get snapshot updates of their lives. Part of me regrets doing so now, but I suspect that watching the other four films will actually be a better experience without the “suspense.”