The Review/Short Read/
#InfiniteViews TIFF Diary 3: The Party Person
On day three of TIFF, Randi Bergman runs into Michael Shannon, watches The Bleeder, parties at The Thompson with Zachary Quinto and Snapchats the hell out of it
9AM: I wake up after the greatest Dolly Parton concert of MY LIFE (also: the only Dolly Parton concert of my life). Elated by my non-hangover and the new pink sequined cowboy hat I bought at the show, I make myself a v. healthy smoothie.
10AM: Before my day gets taken over by TIFF, I hop on my bike and head over to a local flower market—as a newbie freelancer, I’ve become obsessed with making my apartment extra attractive. My doorman’s like, “it’s about to pour,” but I roll my eyes. Exactly five minutes later, I’m huddled in the doorway of a bakery absolutely drenched. Silver lining: NOW Magazine’s boss lady entertainment editor Susan G. Cole is stuck too and we chat TIFF ‘till it lets up.
12PM: I meet my friend Halen and head to the interview studio Variety does every year with Holt Renfrew. Since I’m usually working from the office all day, this is the first time I’ve ever been and I seize my opportunity to gawk. The cast of Transparent is hanging out, but I resist the urge to tell Gaby Hoffman that Now & Then was a hallmark of my childhood and also that I love her.
2PM: I head back to my apartment, where a Stila makeup artist and Phyto hairstylist are waiting to make me look pretty for the day. I realize a #glamsquad visiting my home is the closest I will ever feel to Kim Kardashian, so I Snap like 400 times.
4PM: They leave a goodie bag of beauty products from Shopper’s Drug Mart, a bottle of Veuve and a box of six macarons from Nadège, which I inhale in a matter of seconds like they’re goddamn cucumber slices.
6PM: I use my window of free time to get some groceries done. As I’m walking back from Loblaws with toilet paper in one hand and an open bag of rice cake chips in the other, I spot Michael Shannon in an insanely bright Hawaiian shirt and Elvis glasses casually strolling along like his outfit and immense height don’t make him a bright pink target for the celeb-spotters who’ve invaded King Street for the weekend. (He’s been filming in my ‘hood, so I’ve spotted him a few times recently. He’s usually exercising, eating fruit or giving extreme face).
7PM: I lay in bed eating bocconcini while watching Gossip Girl. With my face and hair did, I literally have nothing to do except pull my way too-short skirt over my butt.
8:30PM: My friend Briony picks me up and we head to Soho House for the post-premiere party for Lion. Of course as we open the cab door, a torrential downpour ensues. We butt the line and scam some space under the umbrella, yelping like two whiny bitches. Once inside, I down two of my favourite TIFF cocktails: the Grey Goose “Le Fizz” (I like it mainly because its French name negates my déclassé double fist).
9PM: Nicole Kidman arrives in a red sequined turtleneck dress. She gleams like a bonafide Amazonian. Seriously, she’s just got that “I’m a star,” aura about her and it’s very glamorous to be in the same room with her. Dev Patel and Rooney Mara are there too.
10PM: I steal someone’s umbrella (sorry!) and we jet over to Princess of Wales for the premiere of The Bleeder, which contrary to my original belief is not a Tampax origin story. Going to an actual movie is also usually rare for me, so I am pumped even though I’ve never actually seen Rocky (the film is based on the life of the IRL Rocky Balboa, Chuck Wepner).
12PM: We head over to the after-party to catch a glimpse of Chuck Wepner, whose glad-handing with just about everyone, including the film’s stars, Liev Schreiber and Naomi Watts. I double fist more Grey Goose. Someone who I think is a very famous boxer walks in, but I have no idea who it is — The Bleeder’s the most boxing I’ve seen in my entire life.
2AM: I head over to the rooftop of the Thompson Hotel for a nightcap with my friend Sabrina. Zachary Quinto is in the house and so are many regular folks just trying to get a pic of the skyline so they can tag it “Views.” There are also slippers in supply for the ladies who’ve given up on their heels.
3:30AM: As I leave, I spot Saturday Night Live’s Vanessa Bayer and I’m juuust drunk enough to attempt my best "Bar Mitzvah Boy" imitation. I get into the elevator and try to exit on my floor (fun fact: I am the Eloise of Toronto) but I am trapped with the extra TIFF security measures. After laughing off the slippers, I hobble around the building looking for a working entrance.
4AM: I get into bed and write three sentences of this draft. I am drooling on my mouth guard a minute later.
Randi Bergman has written about fashion and pop culture for Vogue, Toronto Life, Flare and FASHION. She owns more crop-tops and metallic platforms than Cher herself. Follow her on Instagram here.