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TORONTO—Greetings from the Toronto film festival, where grown men will bull past you without so much as an “excuse me” to get into a high-profile industry screening, then watch 20 minutes of the movie and walk out. Last night’s screening of Rian Johnson’s The Brothers Bloom started a half hour late, a rarity at this impeccably well-managed fest, but the young woman who came in to explain the delay still got a face full of hostility from the crowd. Fortunately I’d come equipped with a saw-toothed survival knife and was able to cut through the sense of entitlement for a clear view of the screen.
It’s the sort of unapologetically self-conscious movie that requires a little generosity but also rewards it. Johnson is a witty writer, and he does a lot more with the camera here than he could afford to with Brick. Strangely, though, The Brothers Bloom seems less novel than its predecessor, which actually used the noir mythology to comment on the ruthlessness of high school kids. The Brothers Bloom is every bit as quirky and literate, but without the earlier movie’s edge, it kept reminding me of Wes Anderson’s comedies (Rushmore, The Royal Tenenbaums, The Life Aquatic With Steve Zissou). One Wes Anderson is enough for me—though, given the choice, I’d rather have another of him than another Michael Bay.
