From a hot mess in Montreal:
(thanks Dallas for the photos)
My final dispatch from the London Film Festival is up on indieWIRE, and I’ve officially moved on from the experience, which was beyond lovely. A great thanks is due to both the festival staff and to my non-festival London friends (you know who you be) who showed me their city’s true fabulosity.
In the 72 or so hours since I left my temporary London abode, I’ve incurred the rather exhausting (but complaint-proof, I promise) itinerary of flying across the Atlantic via a horrifically turbulent flight (the pilot said it was one of the roughest flights he’s ever experienced… me and the British lady next to me survived with a turbulence-proof mix of valium, red wine and “Bruno”); spending 28 errand-running hours in New York City, and then avoiding anymore air terror by relying on an old faithful to get back to Canada: the 13 hour Amtrak train from NYC to Montreal, where I am now in anticipation of celebrating my favourite holiday in my favourite city with a few of favourite people this coming weekend (she’s baaack)
I will briefly recommend, though - despite its confusing 13 hour length (the drive goes for 6 or 7) - the NYC->MTL train ride. First off, it’s only 60 bones. That’s half the bus and a third of the flight. Second, they redid the trains and you get yourself leg room the size of a typical New York apartment bedroom. And no one ever takes it, so you are nearly guaranteed a double seat to yourself. People always think I’m insane for not just weathering - but downright enjoying - the 13 hour ride. But download yourself a few movies (or, in my case yesterday, a half dozen episodes of “Mad Men,” “Curb Your Enthusiasm” and “Gossip Girl,” which I’m sorry but with regard to the latter, I’ve officially quit watching), and if it happens to be late October, you can physically watch the evolution of fall outside your window. What’s green in the Hudson Valley is yellow, orange and red before Plattsburgh, and completely bare by the time you hit the Canadian border. Just definitely bring your own food, because hamburgers in plastic wrappings microwaved by a suspicious old woman with a lisp did not go over well for me.
On top of hearing about a large-scale Canada Day celebration every year in Trafalgar Square, and wandering into a “Canada Store” where you could buy Kraft Dinner, Ketchup Chips, Swiss Chalet sauce, etc… I came across these two very Canadian establishments while wandering London:
A Tim Horton’s in a Piccadilly Circus(!):
And a otherwise unspectacular bar aimed at ex-pats:
London, you know how to make a Canadian boy feel welcome.
Nicholas Hoult, Tom Ford, Colin Firth and Matthew Goode in London last night for the UK premiere of “A Single Man”:
Last night the doc “Racing Dreams” had their Hamptons Film Festival afterparty at Grey Gardens. And I had the remarkable privilege of attending. Owned by Ben Bradlee of “All The President’s Men” fame since 1977, it doesn’t exactly have the raccoons and cat shit vibe anymore, but you could still completely orient parts of the house in memories of the film. It was pretty awe-inspiring… standing on those infamous stars or in the bedroom where Big Edie once laid for days on end (there was also Grey Gardens paraphernalia all over as a reminder). Here are a few pics, though it was dark so the glory that was the outside went undocumented.
A few more photos after the jump.
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