Results tagged “soi”

If there’s something that all critics know, it’s that it’s great fun to rip apart something that’s incredibly bad. Especially if you know the person who made it deserves it. So as a result there’s a regular bounty of great criticism thrown at Roland Emmerich’s 10,000 B.C. The guy has foisted some of the worst, laziest, most idiotic films on the public ever (his take on Godzilla should have had him tried in the Hague) and just the trailer of 10,000 B.C. seemed like it was intentionally trying to make us stupider.

A massive fire at a townhouse complex on Jarvis Street near Mutual resulted in the death of an unidentified victim on Saturday night. Construction on the townhouses had been abandoned for ten months and the building was being inhabited by squatters, says a resident at the adjacent Radio City condo tower.

This year, Hot Docs honours Toronto-based film maker Kevin McMahon with its Focus On retrospective. McMahon, whose films are noted for being playfully intellectual, accepts the accolade in that same spirit. "Geoff Pevere said to me, 'a retrospective—now you have to die.'" says the director, "So I'm focusing on the mid-career part."

At the end of the second verse of one of Bright Eyes' new songs, "Reinvent The Wheel"—a eulogy for a dead musical idol, possibly Elliott Smith—lead singer Conor Oberst laments to his fallen hero that "you never understood what we loved you for." Coming as the line does in the song, with guitar chords and drums emphatically struck together to highlight Oberst's voice and the backing vocals, the moment is both uplifting and tragic, a beautiful example of the ambivalence and catharsis that runs through much of Bright Eyes' work. But standing in the Opera House at the band's concert last night, surrounded by an ocean of half-drunk couples with side-bangs awkwardly making out, half-pretty under-aged girls wondering when the slow sad songs were going to start, and most of the rest of us just wondering when it was going to get good, it was hard not to feel that Oberst's lyrics lamenting the misunderstanding of a crowd's love might very well apply to him.

The most unusual aspect of Monday night's quiet jam at the Drake Underground was the absence of annoying chatter during three folk-rock solo sets. Everyone knows Toronto keeps it real by keeping still, but normally a quieter show means restless drinkers hoping to catch up with friends while they absently watch a show as if it's background music. Astoundingly, the audience remained almost completely and respectfully silent throughout Baby Eagle, again through Woolly Leaves, and again for Sackville, New Brunswick's Julie Doiron.

Artists have to be resourceful. So when Toronto-based photographer Jamie Campbell ended up with a bunch of mascot heads from a failed photo shoot, he put them to good use.

Calling any and all artists, illustrators, and part-time doodlers! Your help is requested to aid in Toronto artist Margaret Flood's latest project: the Shapetionary.

Overheard at the intersection of Bloor and Spadina last night where two women were talking, walking east.

When Canadians want satire we turn TV figures like Rick Mercer, but satire, that most difficult of comedic genres, is virtually dead in CanLit. Or is it? Randy Boyagoda's debut novel The Governor of the Northern Province is a satire so dark that you can almost hear all of the squirming amongst those expecting the typical Canadian novel. Boyagoda tells the story of Bokarie, an African war criminal who somehow escapes to Canada and finds his way into the circle of a small-town woman eager to make it to Parliament Hill and power. The novel skewers the peculiarities of small-town Canada, and some of the more ridiculous aspects of multiculturalism and immigration. In Boyagoda's hands literary satire isn't dead, it just might have a fighting chance.

Overheard on the 211 bus, Montreal, highway 20, direction Ouest. Sandy-haired teen: At the last Just For Laughs, this comic told this joke. He said:      "I travel in America and people ask me, 'what's the story with Toronto and Montreal?' So I tell them, it's like you have two brothers. One is an accountant. The other is a womanizing alcoholic."      And before he gets to the end of the sentence, the crowd starts cheering,...

I first met Jem Rolls as I left Desperate Housepets. He was giving out fliers and trying to get people to go see the show. Meh, why not check it out. I haven't heard much about the character.

So I had to go buy some lettuce today. A Price Chopper is down the road from where I live, at Dundas West & Runnymede (and its prices! They're ).

Sure New York based writer Jonathan Ames looks like a badass in this photo, with his fists up in the air like he's ready to deck Torontoist. But after reading his collection of essays I Love You More Than You Know we know that Ames, can be a big softie (he dedicates the book to his great-aunt and the title of the book is inspired by something she said to him). Heck, Ames even describes himself as "Kerouacish on the outside, but somewhat Woody Allenish on the inside."

No, not really. But apparently it's true: Lots of birds are flying into office windows. But not necessarily during corporate board room shananagans, as suggested, but moreso at night. Birds are attracted to light at night, and fly into high-rise windows. But are we sure we're not talking about giant moths here? Mothra, even? And if our feathered friends are in fact dying from these collisions, why isn't Bay Street and the like littered with dead birds? Sounds like more squawking from bird lobby groups.

like Yung Sing's almond cookies. They're buttery and crumbly in that wonderful fireworks-in-your-mouth way that only certain cookies can pull off. And at 80 cents a pop, we're not sure we want to share. Of course there are many other reasons to pay Yung Sing a visit. It's one of the few remaining places in the city where you can get an honest, filling lunch for well under three dollars (we're always done in by the beef patty, and have it on good authority that the curried beef is even better). And Yung Sing has other sweeties (all under a buck) worth a bite, too - we're a sucker for a good egg or coconut tart. So I guess we'll reconsider our initial hesitation and encourage you to give this Baldwin Street standby a visit. Just save an almond cookie for us, ok?

Sharp-eared correspondent Ann on the Street (or, in this case, on the subway) overheard a healthy, happy, well-dressed, and all-round extremely non-drug-addicted-looking teenage girl talking to a friend about her new favourite candy on the TTC in the west end this morning.

After hearing this bad boy, Torontoist dashed toward a pen and paper so never to forget the lively exchange. As is usually the case, two little guys were talking casually after eating pizza. Here's what we overheard, then maybe overwrote:

Tall Poppy Interview - Jason & Bertrand, Amuse-Bouche Chefs & Owners

"So I said to myself, 'If they can do it with a photograph, why can't I do it with a bar of chocolate?'" - Willy Wonka

Joel Plaskett, Musician

Calling TO Craft Service Screenwriters! If you need a push getting that film out, Vin Diesel is on the job. Thank heavens TOist had a cup of coffee to keep us sane in this weird world of overheards.

At a party last Saturday night, I ended all my conversations with the snappy phrase, "You're Fired!" I thought this was a pretty funny way to exit a conversation, what with the popularity of the Donald Trump's new show The Apprentice. You see, in The Apprentice, Trump asks losing contestants to leave the show by telling them "you're fired" at the end of each episode. So I just took the line "you're fired" and put it in the context of a conversation. For example, I would be talking to someone, and he or she would say something like, "it was nice talking to you," and I would reply, "you're fired!"