The Underground at UTSC

Movies move me. Perhaps a bit too easily.

BY: ARTHUR DENNYSON HAMDANI

After three months of summer job applications and rejections, I finally landed one before school started. When summer began, I had a list of summer jobs that I’d hoped to get: Footlocker, H&M, Indigo, Starbucks, and so on. On a separate list, one dubbed my “Toronto Bucket List,” was a goal to attend the Toronto International Film Festival (TIFF).

Known as one of the “Big Five” of film festivals, Toronto stands alongside Venice, Cannes, Berlin, and Sundance in screening highly-acclaimed films before their public release everywhere else. Before TIFF became “TIFF” in 1994, the world knew it as the “Festival of Festivals.” Now it is an annual festival characterized with a friendly atmosphere amidst prestigious film screenings. With King Street being filled with red carpet glamour, screaming fans, and free brand samples, TIFF puts Toronto on the map of the international entertainment industry and sparks life into the city.

In my virtual first-year of university, I took an English course titled “How to Read a Film.” As a movies-over-books type of person, I was ecstatic to analyze films and learn how context can impact the value of movies. I had to write a scene-to-scene analysis of a movie of my choice for my final assignment. My memory is blurred as to how I came across Jojo Rabbit. Directed by Taika Waititi, Jojo Rabbit is an aesthetically beautiful film that tackles the irrational Nazi ideology through the eyes of a ten-year-old boy, Jojo. The movie that made me jump down a rabbithole of YouTube video essays. The movie that I wrote two essays about for classes. The movie that introduced me to TIFF.

When I listed my goals to accomplish in Toronto weeks prior my flight, I wanted to experience the festival that introduced the world–and me–to my favourite film. Unknowingly, I would experience it not as an avid moviegoer, but as a Front of House Assistant managing the lines and the public outside the theatre one year later.

2022 marked the first time I spent summer away from home. The Fall-Winter 2021-22 academic year was enough to keep me busy from feeling a rush of homesickness. So, when the four months of summer began with no courses holding back the dam of yearning, my summer felt blue.

Alongside my Toronto bucket list, I wrote my parents a letter before I left, promising that I would make great strides toward financial independence so that they could redirect their funds to my younger brother who had begun high school. My summer blues were rooted in the existential realization that I was nowhere near that goal. The continuous summer job rejections had only made me realize how difficult the real world was. I lost sight of all my other bucket list items, until June.

I had already applied to be a volunteer when my friend told me about TIFF’s hiring post. Despite not having any festival experience, I wasn’t willing to end my summer without accomplishing my goal to get a job. After a few days of rearranging my resume and writing cover letters, I submitted my application. Not long after, the hiring team emailed me to schedule an in-person interview at the TIFF Bell Lightbox around mid-June.

Not only was I unfamiliar with the job but this was also my first in-person job interview. It was during that interview that I realized what TIFF meant to me. I was introduced to the festival while living halfway across the world. I built my goal to be part of TIFF with bricks of curiosity and a drive to do something younger me would be proud of; something that is foreign to me in a foreign land that relates to my love of films.

Every step of this journey was a step out of my comfort zone. A step closer to transforming into the person I promised my parents I’d become.

The interviewer told me that they will release the results to every candidate on July 17–two days before my birthday, so I was surprised with an early birthday gift from TIFF in the form of a summer job. I got hired as a Front of House Assistant managing lines for the day shift at the Royal Alexandra Theatre (we called it “the Royal Alex” for short). I found it very fitting how every single aspect of my journey was filled with firsts. This year, TIFF added the Royal Alex in their roster of locations and, as a result, our training sessions and group meetings had a repeating emphasis on trial-and-error. Every day was a new lesson to be learned.

My first day was the toughest. In my one-hour commute on the GO train my mind continuously circled the countless possibilities of problems and how I’d solve them. “Is it annoying if I kept asking people to have their tickets ready?” “What do I have to say to the ticket holders in line?” “When do I start a conversation and when do I not?” As soon as I arrived, I clocked in and pointed my TIFF badge to the security guard at the backstage door. My worries gradually lifted as I left the staff room wearing a headset and a walkie-talkie for the first time, and a granola bar with a note, “Happy first day!”

I was the only international undergraduate student in a team of TIFF veterans, semi-retired film enthusiasts, and festival experts. Without any TIFF or any festival experience, I was far out of my comfort zone. I came into this experience without knowing anyone and anything. However, my eyes and ears were open to any advice and to build relationships.

My teammates reassured me that the entire festival functions on teamwork and communication. Everyone was willing to help and answer any questions. Despite all our training sessions, carrying out a tangible plan for the Royal Alex’s first TIFF year requires plenty of trials and errors. We were all learning and helping each other map out a clear plan.

I was on the outside team that deals with everything that happens before the audience enters the theatre. This includes the public who are not TIFF customers. Due to constant red carpet events during the opening weekend, sidewalk closures happened before every screening. For anyone who isn’t going to watch a movie and simply wants to reach the subway station or their apartment at the corner, it is frustrating to cross the street and go around the block.

As a line formed for our second movie of the day, I stood and managed the front of the line with two volunteers. While I was chatting with them about my first day, a man rushed towards me from the back of the line questioning if I was the police. After I said no, he began lecturing me about the definition of a public sidewalk and how he needs to reach the subway station immediately. I looked at the volunteers with mirrored confusion.

If he needs to be at the station quickly, why was he wasting his time yelling at me?

I must’ve stared at him blankly for five seconds before telling him about the red carpet that’s currently happening. Without giving me a chance to answer, he stomped away and called me an “asshole.” There’s another first and not a pleasant one.

A lady in the line, however, showed me the friendliness of TIFF that everyone told me about. As the line entered the theatre, the lady stopped beside me just to tell me that I wasn’t an asshole.

It was perhaps the most uplifting thing to hear on my first day at the job.

As the festival progressed, I got used to the busy nature of the public: tickets going off sale, the talent entering the building, or general shouts of “where is [insert name of talent]?”

After each screening, the team would come together and debrief the previous shift. We reflected on the structure of the lines and any issues we encountered from the ticket holders and the public. One of our biggest problems was structuring an increasingly long ticket holder line with very limited space outside the theatre. It’s one thing to manage a line of people. It’s another thing to manage the tail of the line from behind the building and smoothly move them to the front of the theatre. Towards the end of the festival, we collaborated with the night shift team to make a plan to keep the lines as close as possible to the front of the theatre.

Other days went by and I continued to come across unexpected occurrences. As part of TIFF’s protocols, staff on duty were not allowed to take photos of any celebrities they came across. That didn’t help the fact that Lily James got out of her car and stood next to me on the sidewalk while I was rearranging ticket holder line signs. I’m not sure where else I could experience such spontaneous excitement like seeing Jordan Peele walk down King Street on a rainy Sunday morning and Finn Wolfhard walking past me as I managed the lines.

The downtime between screenings became the main reason we strengthened as a team. From getting excited over unexpected celebrity encounters to assigning which cupcake flavours each of us should eat, I felt like I was a part of the TIFF family.

I was a newcomer to Toronto and the youngest person, both in age and experience, in the team. Every colleague never hesitated to make me feel welcome in this new foreign experience. For my first summer in Toronto that was filled with job rejections and homesickness, TIFF was a satisfying and fulfilling conclusion. As a movie-over-book type of person, I deeply resonated with TIFF’s mission to “transform the way people see the world through film.”

Movies move me. Perhaps a bit too easily. My love for films made me unconsciously transform my homesickness and fear of discomfort into stepping stones to reach my goal to make a name for myself away from home. I didn’t realize how big of a stride I made during the last few weeks of summer as it bled into the first two weeks of school. I worked seven-hour shifts and balanced school work while creating a community outside of school. The buzz of the festival, support of my teammates, and the excitement for films transformed my first TIFF from a job to an experience and a story. And it transformed me.

TIFF may have been checked off my bucket list, but the relationships, lessons, and movies I experienced will continue to transform me into the person I promised my parents I’d become.

A TIFF-erent Perspective: How a Summer of Films Transformed Me

Movies move me. Perhaps a bit too easily.

BY: ARTHUR DENNYSON HAMDANI

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