by MARK SLUTSKY

Thursday, September 8 (Opening Day)

Five thousand mild revellers are swaying elbow-to-elbow in the Liberty Grand, a monumental, two-story semi-Victorian palace. This would-be bacchanal is the opening-night party of the Toronto International Film Festival, and it's ostensibly to celebrate Deepa Mehta's Water, the opening film of the fest. Entering this immensely crowded but strangely tame party, me and my peeps keep our eyes peeled for the famous, for what is the TIFF without incessant minor celebrity spotting?

I scan the crowd. Nothing so far... Wait... A murmur spreads through the crowd... Miss Canada Petite is here!

But where is she? The little lady is nowhere to be found - maybe she's too petite for the throng. But just when I've given up hope, my eyes alight on someone possibly even more exciting: none other than Miss Toronto Tourism 2005, a pert blonde vision in white! I can't reach her through the crowds, but I take her presence as a good sign: I am going to be schmoozing with celebs at this festival, big time.

Every year, the TIFF opening party is notoriously lame, but earlier, at the film's actual premiere at Roy Thomson Hall, the celeb pickings weren't quite as slim. There, my Automatic Vaudeville partners Daniel Perlmutter and Seth W. Owen and I were busy trying to "cover" the event for the TV arm of a certain downtown Toronto boutique hotel, our somewhat dubious reason for being here for the fest. Dressed in borrowed tuxedos, I manage a brief chat with a very excitable and talkative Jian Gomeshi, who's thrown off by my fake moustache, and later I talk with Atom Egoyan and wife Arsinée Khanjian, who visibly cringe when for some reason I describe them to the camera as "Canada's hottest film couple." What? They are!

Friday, September 9

"Your moustache is melting."

And so it is. A kindly older lady is alerting me to the fact that my 'stache, born of a burnt cork, has started to drip and distort on my sweaty face. Hell, you try wearing a 1940s-era tuxedo with thick wool pants in yet another absurd thousands-strong mega-party filling most of the interior and exterior of the CHUM City building. This is the "Schmooze," an industry bash where stars most certainly are present (the gigantic red carpet outside is testament to that), though they're cordoned off in a very important VIP area that even my charm skills can't penetrate. But I can feel their aura. Or maybe it's just the free drinks.

Earlier we hit the party for Danis Tanovic's L'Enfer. There, I manage to completely embarrass myself in a couple of different ways. First, I spit food all over Blue Rodeo's Jim Cuddy after a publicist drags him over to me for an interview on camera. Then, as Cuddy is just introduced to me as "Jim," I have to pretend that I know who he is. A smart guy, he takes about two seconds to figure out how clueless I am and calls me on it on camera. Ah, the varied humiliations of showbiz! Cuddy is actually a prince about the whole thing and he laughs it off. But I'm beginning to wonder what the hell I'm doing pretending to be a broadcast entertainment journalist.

Later, my partner Dan has a long conversation with Ashley MacIsaac. The famous fiddler reveals he's hoping to party with Robert Downey Jr. later. Dan expresses a wish to be invited along. MacIsaac doesn't seem enthusiastic about that.

Saturday, September 10

Saturday night offers a chance to witness festival hysteria in full bloom, as a tour of the streets in T.O.'s tony Yorkville neighbourhood (TIFF ground zero) reveals. At the prime celeb-friendly hotels, gawkers crowd around the entrances like revolutionaries at the barricade. Instead of muskets they carry glossy photos which they hope to get autographed.

Not that I'm any better than them, of course - I wanna see some movie stars too! I got an article to write! I have to do make do with Ethan Hawke, spotted hanging outside some fancy eatery, and we just catch Danny Aiello getting into a cab. Exciting! But my closest brush with "fame" Saturday night is also my latest humiliation, as up-and-coming Canadian director Jacob Tierney accidentally spills red wine all over my new suit.

Sunday, September 11

One perennially hot event on the TIFF social calendar is Norman Jewison's annual Canadian Film Centre BBQ, a prime locale for dehydration, minor celeb-spotting, and of course, for me, another chance at total humiliation at the hands of Canadian B-listers. This time it's two of the judges from Canadian Idol who are my undoing, Farley Flex and Zach Werner.

First, they tell me what a bad job I'm doing. Then they call me on the fact that (as with Cuddy) I don't know their names, which they don't seem happy about. Then they insult my moustache. Then they accuse me of not being able to grow a real moustache. Then they make me start over again. Then they kick me out of my own interview. I am... ashamed. What am I doing here? Who do I think I am? Why am I interviewing these jerks? What makes me think I'm an "on-air personality"? What am I doing with my life?

Later, Seth has more luck talking to Shawn Ashmore* (Iceman of the X-Men movies fame) and his girlfriend Michelle Trachtenberg (of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Eurotrip), both of whom are sweethearts. I get Ashmore to sign my chest, though we only have a pencil, and the ordeal is a little painful. Also painful is the realization that I've missed the Tommy Chong party with the table of hash brownies. Later I feel slightly redeemed by a nice conversation with Bruce McDonald, who reveals he's moving to Montreal soon (incidentally he's looking for a place if anyone knows of anything good).

Monday, September 12

Well, my redemption was short-lived, as I realize due to camera error that my McDonald bit, the one interview where I don't completely disgrace myself, has accidentally been erased. And to be perfectly honest, my deadline is fast approaching and I'm getting nervous: where are the, like, Hollywood-style celebs?

Thankfully, at Atom Egoyan's movie café, Camera Bar, I meet Isabella Rossellini and totally shake her hand. I nearly swoon from the excitement (and, again, the heat of my thick wool tuxedo). She's there to promote her new film with Guy Maddin, My Dad Is 100 Years Old. Of course I don't actually see it, like every other movie at the festival; I haven't seen one yet. And later, at a party at our boutique hotel HQ for Larry Clark's Wassup Rockers? we spot the Clark-man himself holding court behind a velvet rope, as well as Nick Cave*, Hugo Weaving* and Elijah Wood*. Plus I get a gift bag with jellybeans and stuff. A gift bag! Celebrities! Schmoozing! Gift bags! Jelly beans! I almost feel like I'm really at a film festival. Maybe I'll even see some movies or something.

*All asterisked celebrities were pointed out to me by Seth, who is much better at recognizing famous people than I am, bless him.

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