POSTED: September 9, 2007 10:26 | By: Carol Borden
Everybody have a good time at Diary of the Dead last night? There’s so much to write about it, but my brain is so dead a zombie wouldn’t even want a taste. I’m staggering around with a bit of a cold and a smidge of food poisoning and another late night. Dizzy, a little nauseous but still hungering, I wonder if this is how zombies feel all the time. Although, right now, I hunger for waffles. That might be transitional.
Anyway, seems like every year I cool my ass on the concrete right behind a couple who are slumming and getting their unwanted chocolate in my peanut butter. The weird thing is that the forms of their slumming are always the same and way too loud. They bitch about some movie that’s a Best Bet in the Now or the Star or The Globe in Mail. One that has an Oscar buzz. I don’t remember what I listened to a different couple bitching about last year, but this year I think I can say without spoiling anything that the Coen Bros. No Country for Old Men is no Barton Fink.
And this year, again, the slumming couple killed time in the ticket holder line by pontificating about various directors. It’s like Slumming Guy had some sort of Art House Tourette’s where he can’t help dropping names and then slamming them. This year, Aki Kaurismaki and Wong Kar-Wai suck, according to Slumming Guy and since Slumming Lady nodded vacantly, I guess she agrees.
The purpose of all the loud proclaiming is to inform everyone that these are serious cinephiles, not the kind of people who watch zombie movies. If they were there, Slumming Guy wanted us to understand, it was on cinephile business, ma’am. Seems pretty stupid in a line full of people who are the kind of people who watch zombie movies.
His partner, Slumming Lady, was more concerned about whether the Toronto Zombie Walk were paid for dressing up like zombies. “I hope they’re being paid to dress like that,” she’d say every time she saw one or just thought of them again. She was very concerned with letting everyone know she was not One Of Us. “These are all male geeks. Isn”t it a total male geekfest?” she asked the female geeks sitting behind her. Most of all Slumming Lady wanted to let everyone know that Slumming Guy had dragged her to the movie. She’d announce now and again, “This wasn’t my first choice.”
Look, there are people who traveled from Podunk, Nowhere just to sit in the rush line with almost no hope of actually getting in to see the world premiere of Diary of the Dead and to let George Romero know how much they love his work. And I swear that if I am ever in a position where I’m holding a ticket I don’t even want, I will have the decency to give some poor fan the damn ticket.
All the dressing up and shambling, Dario Argento and George Romero in the same room (again!) for the premiere, the chance to show George how much he and his work mean when it’s really unlikely he’ll ever get a lifetime achievement award or a gala premiere–it was Zombie Pride, baby. Eat it, Slumming Guy. Eat the brain and like it.
(This post originally appeared on the Toronto International Film Festival’s Midnight Madness Program Blog)