One extremely positive thing about autumn in Toronto is that it signifies the arrival of Doc Soup. I love my monthly documentary dates at the Bloor Cinema and adore their popcorn, best in the city by far.

This month’s documentary offering was The September Issue, about Vogue magazine’s telephone book sized tome that is the most anticipated glossy of the year. The film is a behind the scenes look at what goes into developing the magazine, offering a glimpse of terrifying ice queen Anna Wintour in action.

Clad in a grubby old t-shirt, I dug into my extra buttered large popcorn, prepared to roll my eyes and guffaw at pin-thin models. I expected to do a lot of smirking at self important fashionistas pontificating about the importance of fashion, how it is high art and is changing the world.

I have to grudgingly admit that I have a new regard for the hard work and artistry that goes into Vogue magazine. The photo shoots looked beautiful and every detail is examined with a  fine toothed comb. I was in awe of creative director and genius Grace Coddington, a feisty redhead who refuses to tremble before the force that is Anna Wintour. It was intriguing to witness the power struggles between these two strong women which stood in sharp contrast to the other minions too afraid to voice any opinion not already sanctioned by the mighty Anna herself. Grace also seemed to be the only one wearing comfortable footwear. She was like a cool hippy grandma among a sea of uptight, coiffed sycophants.

Anna Wintour’s reputation as a frosty figure remains intact. Meryl Streep’s portrayal of her as a terrifying ice queen in The Devil Wears Prada seems to be accurate. She has intimidation down to an art with her stony silence and withering stare. I am certain I would turn into a pillar of salt if I came within a two block radius of her, but I came away from the film with a lot of respect for her as a decisive editor. Maybe our focus should be on Anna Wintour the brilliant editor rather than her icy persona. An arrogant blowhard male mogul would be judged first by his accomplishments. His personality would not be scrutinized or derided to the same extent that it is with powerful women like Anna Wintour or Martha Stewart. I may not want to go shopping at Goodwill with Anna, nor would I want Martha to come over for dinner, but they are certainly worthy of respect and admiration for thriving in male dominated industries.

Overall the first Doc Soup offering was a success. The popcorn was stellar, the movie was fantastic and I came away with a new found respect for scary Anna Wintour and acceptance that fashion can be art after all.

Big River Man was my favourite documentary at Hot Docs this year. The programmer who introduced the film summed it up perfectly - it is a combination of Borat meets Apocalypse Now. I was on the edge of my seat the entire time.

The subject is Martin Strel, an overweight, alcoholic Slovenian endurance swimmer who decides to swim the Amazon, crocodiles, piranhas and evil fish that can swim up your penis be damned. Already a world record holder for having swum the Mississippi, Danube and Yangtze rivers, he wanted to draw attention to pollution and the rapidly declining rain forest. What starts as a quirky and funny movie about a portly fifty three year old swimmer quickly transcends into something frightening, strange and utterly fascinating. The river plunges him into madness, where he may be swimming from his own demons or becoming one himself.

It is a riveting and odd film. We don’t get a clear idea of what drives this swimming madman, he is remote throughout most of the film and he doesn’t seem to be interested in fame or fortune. It is a thoroughly quirky ride. I hope it gets a wide release because I can’t wait to see it again.

Here is a great read about Martin from The Guardian and it is worth checking out the movie’s website to see the trailer.

Oh. My.

The tears. So many tears. It was unanimous amongst the french fry toting debaters at the Hot Docs round table that The Way We Get By was a sob-fest.

The film is touching and heartbreaking and inspiring. It follows three self-appointed airport greeters who welcome soldiers returning from Iraq. It is a sensitive portrait of how people find a sense of purpose and belonging after they have outlived society’s perception of usefulness. It is about loneliness and finding purpose and connection and love.

One of the greeters, Joan, was at the screening we attended. I was desperate to say hello and shake her hand. The Sweetie, having seen me in action when overwhelmed with emotion and on the verge of gushing, cautioned me before I approached. “Don’t scare her okay? She’s an old woman, try to keep it together. And let me say a few words to her first in case you completely fall apart and we have to leave quickly.” I was fine while The Sweetie spoke and told her how pleased he was to meet her and how much he enjoyed the movie. I was fine while our friends also expressed their gratitude and admiration. I was fine until I grasped her hand and started bawling and babbling something about “such an honour, sob sob sob, such an inspiration, sob sob sob, oh such a movie , sob sob sob,” until The Sweetie gently pulled me away.

In case you missed it the first time around, get some tissues ready and enjoy the trailer again.

This week I congregated with my fellow documentary nerds at the Victory Cafe on Markham Street. It has become a post Hot Docs tradition where we compare our favourite documentaries from the festival and make a case for our top choices. There were clashes and emphatic nods of agreement over beer and tasty fries (latest diet proclamations thwarted for the sake of documentary debates). It is amazing that so often someone else’s favourite is a film that didn’t even show up on my documentary radar. So many great movies, so little time.

Because I cannot fully say good-bye to Hot Docs and I am still basking in documentary afterglow, I will do a quick recap of my top pics from this year’s Hot Docs festival. I will then resume my humdrum life that is painfully ordinary compared to what I have witnessed on the screen over the past ten days…

Three movies today. I am armed with lentil bulgur salad for protein, brownies and lots of kleenex. I suspect I will be seeing a heart breaker today considering I was in tears just from watching the trailer.

The Way We Get By Trailer:

Oh joy and bliss! Hot Docs, North America’s largest documentary film festival is here! Spring has finally arrived, the trees are budding, Torontonians are gradually emerging from their winter cocoons blinking their eyes in the sun and it is documentary season again!

Documentaries are always capable of provoking strong emotions. Often the films I expect to love infuriate me and those I had originally dismissed move me the most.

A couple of years ago there was a Hot Docs spotlight on Eastern Europe and I was excited to take my mom and her best friend to see a Latvian documentary. Unfortunately it was the worst documentary I have ever seen, featuring endless scenes of potato peeling and squalor. Horrible. I began to hear deep and progressively more aggravated sighs from my mom and her friend. Suddenly in a wild clatter of canes, my mom and her friend stomped out of the theatre. Climbing over tsking patrons, I followed sheepishly to hear my mom’s friend yelling at the poor Hot Docs volunteers, “I’m Latvian and I have never been so insulted in my life! This is not how Latvians live. They dropped a potato on the floor and didn’t clean it. We are a clean people! We would never do that!” My poor mom and her friend were upset for weeks, convinced that the film was a Communist plot to show Latvia suffering since gaining freedom from Soviet occupation.

On the other hand, Anvil was one of my favourite documentaries last year and I had almost overlooked it. A film about a washed up Canadian heavy metal band did not sound particularly intriguing. By the end of the movie, however, I was humbled and in tears, cheering with the rest of the audience, giddy like a teenage groupie.

 
At this year’s festival I have fifteen movies lined up over eleven glorious days. I will be sustaining myself on popcorn, hot tamales and inspiration and expect to be delightfully exhausted by the end.