TIFF 2024 opened not with a glamorous party, but with my tears shed on the floor of a condo showroom, a stark contrast to the festival’s usual opulent reputation. Here, surrounded by the remains of what was once the most exclusive gifting lounge of seasons past is now a relict, with little more to offer than cotton candy flavoured water, a sign up sheet for the false promise of an IV Vitamin drip service that would never hit the inbox and a mid-range women’s clothing retailer fat shaming me in the nucleus of yet-to-be-released size 6 smart casual clothing.
The assignment was to understand the culture of the festival, and clearly if it was ever here, it had long left the building. With 11 days of films, panels, parties, suites, and interviews ahead, there was no room for a self-pity pop-up in my quest to re-examine the relevance of Toronto International Film Festival. So if the culture of the festival isn’t found in exclusive lounges and gifting suites, then how has the ‘Festival of Festivals’ continued to stand as a testament to the enduring allure of the communal cinematic experience, drawing over 700,000 attendees annually – in light of seismic shifts in how the public consumes media?
The Dual Nature of TIFF
It may simply be that TIFF is a public celebration of cinema. Unlike Cannes’ exclusivity or Venice’s storied history, TIFF is where the heart is. Well it is once you look past the embedded hierarchy defined by connections, influence, and clout – something my earlier tears proved I lack, and which the superfluous letter from a publicist, confirming I was welcome to a film premiere but not to the after-party, absolutely reinforced. Despite these charming anecdotal snubs, navigating TIFF revealed two sides to the festival: the industry side, with its parties, lavish gift bags and networking, and then the fan experience, with its public screenings, pre-show traditions and while it’s unlikely fans with get a chance to rub shoulders with Hollywood’s elite, audience members will absolutely see A-list actors, writers and directors at the end of the screening, and if their press agents allow, maybe even ask them a question.
As I made my way to the next screening through the fans waiting by red carpets and in rush lines, it’s becoming clearer that this is the appeal of TIFF in the age of in-home on-demand viewing TIFF’s unique blend of accessibility and prestige, is what transforms Toronto into a vibrant hub of cinematic culture. It’s been this for 48 years, a proving ground for films from around the globe, a place where early buzz and distribution deals are forged and the only awards are People’s Choice awards.
Even the defining moment for TIFF 2024 centred the fan experience after the screening of The Tragically Hip’s docuseries, The Tragically Hip: No Dress Rehearsal. Audience members and fans alike found themselves in the midst of a sing-along with band members that led fans through a block of downtown Toronto, starting from the Royal Alexandra Theatre and moving onto Festival Street.
“It made a lot of sense to premier it at TIFF,” shared Jake Gold, The Hip’s longtime Manager and “No Dress Rehearsal’s” Executive Producer, “I wanted Choir! Choir! Choir! to come in and lead the people in the theatre to the street where other fans were waiting. There were close to 10,000 people singing along with members of the band.”
According to Gold, “TIFF’s programming director, Geoff Macnaughton, said that was best opening they could have ever asked for.” The festival defining event brought together, fans, band members, Choir! Choir! Choir! and Amazon Prime for an event that would be such a success it would prompt the festival to add more screening times to the schedule as well as earn the series People’s Choice for Best Documentary win.
“There were no disruptions and people were hanging out with the band. Amazon Prime had brought up their security people up from the USA because they wanted their security team on site but when everyone was together on the street they looked around surprised. But, that’s Canada and That’s The Hip.” … and that’s TIFF.
Cultural and Social Impact
Sure, the crowds of starstruck fans can make King Street nearly impassable for those of us with appointment viewings, but this accessibility is central to the TIFF experience. This openness also extends to protests, which have become a recurring feature at the festival. This year, Pro-Palestinian and Ukrainian Canadians used TIFF’s high-profile platform to draw attention to their separate causes, leading to media coverage and the suspension of a documentary about Russian soldiers in Ukraine, criticized as propaganda. While TIFF itself isn’t inherently political, these protests are as significant as the films tackling pressing global issues. They highlight critical social and environmental concerns, urging both the public and influential figures in the film industry to reconsider their actions. For an event that prides itself on showcasing diverse voices and stories, TIFF often brings political and social themes to the forefront, reflecting our complex world. These protests underscore the festival’s intersection with broader social and political issues, making it a stage for activism as well as cinema.
Yet, at its core, TIFF is a celebration of the fan experience. Nowhere is this more evident than in the Midnight Madness program, a cornerstone of the festival. Midnight Madness showcases the wildest and most provocative films, drawing a dedicated crowd of enthusiastic film lovers. This program embodies the spirit of TIFF, where the heart of the festival beats loudest. It’s a place where fans come together to revel in the unconventional and the avant-garde, creating a unique blend of excitement and community that is quintessentially TIFF.
Midnight Madness
But let’s not get bogged down in the politics of it all. At its core, TIFF is a celebration of the fan experience, most evident in the Midnight Madness program. This is where the festival’s true spirit comes alive, showcasing the best in underground and cult films. Midnight Madness draws a dedicated crowd of film lovers who thrive on the unconventional. It’s here, in the witching hours, that TIFF’s heart beats loudest, where fans come together and the festival’s accessibility and prestige converge. This blend of wild energy and heartfelt connection makes Midnight Madness, and TIFF as a whole, so special.
“These are the movies you want to see,” shared the woman next to me at the Escape from the 21st Century screening. “You can’t say you’ve been to TIFF until you’ve been to Midnight Madness. It’s a whole other experience.”
The Midnight Madness experience is more than a packed theatre of enthusiastic film lovers. As the lights dim, the event transforms into something extraordinary. This isn’t about celebrities on red carpets; it’s about the fans. The audience has created an annual tradition of call-and-response reactions to the pre-show reels. It started years ago with a Bvlgari ad that prompted the audience to clap along, and has since evolved into a theatrical ritual. We shouted “ARRRRRRGH” like pirates during the piracy announcement, applauded the volunteer announcement, while some jumped up and saluted the screen, and the sponsor ad for Christie ends with at least one person shouting “We love you Christie!” while many others whisper it, and there’s a rhythmic clap to the beat of the Varda Café ad.
As the days unfolded, it became clear that TIFF’s true magic isn’t in its glitzy parties or exclusive lounges, but in its ability to bring people together. It’s a place where fans and filmmakers converge, where the lines between industry and audience blur, and where we come as a community to witness the world. TIFF isn’t just about the films—it’s about the shared experiences, the unexpected moments, and the collective reflection on global issues that unfold on screen. In the darkened theaters of Toronto, a community forms to engage with diverse voices and stories, making TIFF a stage for both cinema and activism. And that’s the real allure of TIFF: a festival that, despite its flaws and hierarchies, remains a testament to the enduring power of the communal cinematic experience.
Marie Nicola
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