TIFF 2026: Day Two

With a pretty smooth drive into Toronto, the first day on the ground at TIFF brought few barriers with it. The woman at the press pass desk said she thought it was actually busier than the previous day, but we flew through a short line no problem—making me think all those complaints about two-hour waits came from market pass holders. Their line remained massive.

I think this was the earliest in the festival we've ever arrived and it showed. Everything on King Street was in differing stages of being unloaded, built, and operational. Even the TIFF sign was unplugged and still propped in its wooden palette transportation crate. There were only three food trucks too despite the promise of a "food market." We'll see if more arrive today.

I took advantage of two of those three trucks anyway with a smash burger and fries from The Ultimate Food Truck for lunch and some Banana Boat ice cream from Chill Delights for a dinner snack on the way back to the hotel.

Saw two movies as well in The Stunt Driver (review tomorrow) and Stuffed (review below). The latter had a great Q&A with director/co-writer Theo Rhys, co-writer/composer Joss Holden-Rea, and lead actors Jodie Comer and Harry Melling. So, it proved a successful first day.

Today's schedule:

• River, d. Joshua Giuliano | Midnight Madness | United States | English
• Iron Boy, d. Louis Clichy | Centrepiece | Belgium, France | French
• What Lies Between Us, d. Amalie Næsby Fick | Discovery | Denmark | Danish

Kotoko (Koyae Ami) and her father made a promise. The war was going to last six more months, Japan would prove victorious, and they would all meet again back home. That was her grand plan when begging him to sign the papers that would allow her to do her civic duty and evacuate Tokyo to the countryside. She'd continue her education, her brother would return a hero, and life would restart with orchestral concerts and laughter.

A lot of Japanese kids probably thought the same at the tail end of World War II. They were fed the propaganda and took on the identity of the war machine. They had faith that they were on the right side of history because the emperor wouldn't let them think otherwise. So, when the bombs dropped and the fight ceased, they prepared for the country's end of the bargain to be fulfilled. Reality, however, saw over 120,000 of them become orphans on the street instead.

Writer/director Miwa Nishikawa became fascinated by this startling statistic while making Under the Open Sky. She read the testimonies that proved many were school children from loving families who were simply forgotten. They were forced to learn how to fend for themselves in a world turned upside down. And the reason most of the photos depict them as all boys was because the girls quickly realized cutting their hair would save them from prostitution.

So, once we're situated with who Kotoko is and why she is where she is, it's not long before Children Untold reveals who she must become to survive. It's as much a matter of pride as it is selflessness that she refuses to return home with her friend Yuki's (Takeuchi Hinata) family or go to the orphanage their teacher Miss Sone (Nikaidô Fumi) is taking other classmates. She's determined to believe her parents are still coming and adamant about not being someone else's burden.

In some ways you could say Kotoko was lucky to be young enough to pass as a boy when she adopts the moniker "Shigeo" to embed herself in Shokichi's (Hayama Yuichiro) gang of children running scams for Yakuza boss Toru (Okada Junichi). She wasn't. Living on the streets as a thief hiding your gender so you don't get raped is a nightmare. But Sone, after giving birth to her baby, isn't afforded the same luxury. Satisfying Allied troops to stay fed is it.

Suffice it to say, this is a very harrowing post-war drama. We go from Yuki calling the mushroom cloud in the distance "beautiful" to Kotoko actually finding a loved one only to discover the horrors of battle have guaranteed he isn't long for this world. Her "Fagen" is a gangster buying the allegiance of kids with a quality meal. The white men offering chocolate are still hard-wired as the enemy to her brain. And government officials are too busy profiteering to help anyone.

Nishikawa is mining an infinite well of historical detail to flesh out this story with lingering Korean animosity, juvenile prison camps labeled as reformatories, and every character met eventually having it revealed that they've lost someone dear to their hearts too. All the while Kotoko steels herself from abject sadness by pushing away everything she once held dear. It's not lost on any of us that her playing the accordion and her brother the violin harms more than heals.

How could they fathom going back to a time when artistic aspirations were possible now that they've witnessed what they have? At a certain point, Kotoko must forget those who loved her then and put all her energy into those who care for her now: namely Shokichi, Ma-bo (Shibuya Soraji), and the other boys by her side. They have her back. They lift her up. They might even be keeping her secret once certain events beyond her control arise.

And what about Sone? The things she must do for her baby put her at risk of losing her own identity too. So, while it carries the anguish of having allowed herself to leave Kotoko at that train station so long ago, a letter asking for the girl's whereabouts rekindles that protective spirit to push forward and find her before it's really too late. Nishikawa runs their parallel journeys together as Sone gradually catches up with the people Kotoko just left.

Two of the best of these supporting players are a fisherman (Yakusho Koji) and his wife (Tanaka Yuko). They too become protectors, taking it upon themselves to serve those in need after having lost the children they wish they could serve instead. Bando Ryota's journalist plays an unwitting accomplice/savior while Kim Dong-won's Korean gangster adds some paternal care—albeit for one specific character only. Every role is fleshed out no matter how small.

That being said, with Koyae and Nikaidô shining in the lead roles, it's Hayama who really sticks out for me. Here's a kid who looks younger than his probable age while acting much older than it. The amount of responsibility he carries as gang leader is present in his expressions throughout while the wealth of empathy he wields to carry even more will have you fighting back tears. He knows exactly who everyone is and refuses to let them sacrifice it.

Does he end up sacrificing his own future as a result? Maybe. But embracing the need to leave morality by the wayside never spills over into sacrificing his humanity too. The same can be said about all the children in this film. They are forced to do unspeakable things and yet the innocence this world refused to let them hold onto remains at the ready to resurface if given the opportunity to finally exhale. Sadly, too many of the real orphans never got that chance.

From growing up in a conservative pocket of California to arguably becoming the most recognizable lesbian sports figure in America, it's tough to imagine that the journey could have ever been smooth. What's most fascinating about Megan Rapinoe's turbulent life, however, is that she probably would have said it was. That's what happens when you discover who you are early and unapologetically live every second to that identity no matter the outside noise.

It's why these sorts of documentaries demand external perspectives to provide context and a filmmaker who's unafraid to push further than initial, superficial answers. Rebeca Huntt does both with Rapinoe—a fact that shouldn't be surprising considering her feature debut Beba did it all while looking inwards at herself. There's no better calling card for what you'll bring to a project than evidence that you didn't shy from embracing the same scrutiny yourself.

We therefore receive the unvarnished truth from frame one of Megan rehabbing an injury before fast-forwarding to her penalty kick during the 2023 World Cup Round of 16 against Sweden. She takes her approach, swings her leg, and connects before Huntt cuts to black and rewinds to the beginning to show us how a little ham ruining her sisters' on-camera performance became a cultural and sports icon ... with some publicized speed bumps along the way.

We learn how much Megan and her twin sister Rachael looked up to their older brother Brian on the soccer field and how grateful he is that they didn't also follow his descent into drug use and jail time. We hear about how much Megan needed Rachael to lead the way pre-college (the latter having a heart-to-heart with their mother Denise about compromising dreams to ensure they went together) and how much campus life freed her to finally take charge.

It's this portion of the film that hits a lot of tough emotions because hindsight proves how difficult it was for everyone involved. Brian's experience in the carceral system. Rachael reconciling her religion with her sexuality. Denise and her husband Jim reckoning with Megan's unabashed coming out moment and acknowledging they didn't handle it correctly (nor do they necessarily agree with her views now despite fully supporting her choices).

I'm sure watching her rise the ranks of US soccer and shine in the public eye was as much a way to rally behind her as it was an excuse to perhaps let jealousies and confusion fester. Rachael definitely has reason to hold a grudge, but Megan also takes ownership of her impulsive act with the two seeming fine now. The film kind of moves away from the family post-college besides quick reactions—all of which are supportive, excited, and loving.

This shift in focus is unavoidable considering how newsworthy Megan's life became when she turned pro. Coming out to the world. Kneeling in support of Colin Kaepernick. Spearheading a fight against US Soccer in a bid for equal pay since the women had won World Cups while the men still haven't. Starting a relationship with basketball superstar Sue Bird. Whether ups or downs, Megan uses her greatest weapon to cope: an ability to dissociate from everything.

It becomes a sort of through line for Rapinoe. The ways in which Megan can simply shrug death threats away and ignore the MAGA boos while elevating her game to another level. Yes, it's effective in a survival sense, but it's surely not healthy. And she gets that. She talks about the realization that feeling fine about everything when everything is legitimately terrifying might be the exact reason why she should start seeing a therapist.

That candor is why Rapinoe is such a fascinating person beyond the accolades and celebrity. She's so in tune with who she is (old stories from her parents and coach Danny Cruz call her keenly aware of justice with the stubbornness to not back down until the scale is balanced) that reflexively speaking about her flaws is easier than commending her own successes. The resulting on-screen positivity isn't a product of hagiography. Megan is truly just that person.

She's honest enough and authentic enough and empathetic enough to be loved by those whose lives are made more difficult by her outspokenness. Because she's right when she says it's insane that the people cheering her for lifting USA soccer to great heights one day would be booing her the next because of their own hate. Megan didn't make these issues into a distraction, the people who refuse to let her speak her mind did. Good on her for never relenting.

And good on Huntt for letting the story lead. None of the participants feel a need to gloss over reality (they don't really need to) and all the vociferous bile eventually died down after Megan kept winning. She never injected herself into conversations to selfishly become the conversation. She's simply a woman with the conviction to hold strong when the trolls (President Trump included) tried to use her to make the conversation about them.

Bernie (Harry Melling) is so anonymous in his own life that the only people who know his name are his mother’s caretakers. She (Claire Novelli’s Maggie) is suffering from dementia and more often than not fears his presence because he’s little more than a stranger. His co-workers at a very dystopian-coded sandwich factory can barely recognize his face, so he brings in his own ten-year anniversary cake (common food is against company protocol). So, he might just be the answer to town pariah Araminta’s (Jodie Comer) dream.

Co-writer/composer Joss Holden-Rea joked before the TIFF world premiere that working five years on a taxidermist musical quickly attracts comments from friends and family to the tune of, “Is everything okay?” He and director/co-writer Theo Rhys didn’t just come up with Stuffed on a whim, though. This journey began with a short film they ultimately decided to strip down and start anew from its central idea of two loners discovering love in the other under the most “Sweeney Todd”-esque macabre circumstances.

This isn’t Araminta’s first attempt at enlisting a volunteer to “live forever” as the ultimate prize of her growing menagerie of stuffed creatures. She’s been searching for a while via a chat room asking for people who feel “overlooked” and ready to become “extraordinary.” The follow-up replies from past entrants are hardly cordial, so we can assume she pitched them her desire and received the appropriate rebuffs. Bernie’s initial post, however, is so sweetly depressing in its longing for purpose that she just knows he’ll be perfect.

Rhys and Holden-Rea do a great job fleshing out this fantasy world by going so far as giving Araminta an entitled superiority over other taxidermists who mount trophy busts for customers. “Where’s the rest?” is her reaction when seeing that type of work because she doesn’t do it to remember the act of killing. She does this to preserve the appearance of life. All her “friends” are whole and greeted in the morning by name and a pat. Yes, it’s weird. Yes, it’s unhealthy. But life isn’t easy and our proclivities are often rooted in trauma. Araminta is no different.

That’s part of the reason why this partnership is so endearing. The two cannot be more opposite in demeanor, but they work because they understand the sadness within the other that couldn’t be kept hidden even if they tried. It’s less that Bernie decides he wants to die than his acknowledgement of this rare gift being offered to him. And Araminta doesn’t want to kill him as much as accomplish the pinnacle of her craft (and fulfill a wish she couldn’t as a child). They are doing each other a profound service.

And, like all doomed lover stories, they gradually fall for each other despite it being the one thing that can undo the sole reason they’ve come together in the first place. This project excites them enough to pull them out from beneath their own self-loathing and insecurities. They’ve found someone they can unabashedly be themselves around and yet they are about to do something that will destroy the potential of living through life rather than through death. It’s tough to decide which is more romantic. Their newfound joy or their dark mission.

The filmmakers contain all the singing to these two characters (besides an opening number sung by a collection of senior citizens in differing stages of undress who live at the same home as Maggie). They shared their reasoning as a conscious effort to ensure the audience understands the music is part of their connection. Part of this fantastical journey that’s leading them to a grisly end bathed in genuine affection. It’s how they get their feelings out whether as epiphanies or release (Melling delivers a great number telling off his factory floor).

The cast is game right down to Araminta’s plaque engraver (Sian Gibson’s Debbie), the host of Maggie and Bernie’s favorite television about “regular” heroes and wild true stories, and a “victim” of Araminta’s roadkill procurement (Jonathan Aris’ Seb). But this is Comer and Melling’s show. They sell the humor and pathos with an intriguing overlap—courtesy of a wittily tragic script—that often has the audience laughing where they wouldn’t expect and devastated when expecting a punchline. And everything culminates in the only ending possible.

Things slow down a bit in the middle, but not due to any redundancy or disinterest. It simply finds a necessary plateau after Bernie and Araminta escape their malaise and start wondering how their initial goal might no longer be what their hearts want. We need that time with them to watch as they reconcile these feelings because it infers upon the actions to come. Actions that will see them realizing their love will never be conventional. That its power lies in their curiosity of the unknown. To co-create their own immortality.

It's Félix's (newcomer Félix Munger) birthday and he's ready for a rager. He and best friend Brandon (Brandon Truong) decide to hit a house party we assume is being thrown to celebrate the occasion, but no one wants to engage with him. As Félix acts out to get anyone to notice his presence, we quickly realize he was only even invited because of Brandon. So, when an empathetic impulse sees him accusing others of wrongdoing, he receives no benefit of the doubt.

You must commend the act of worrying about a young woman passed out on a couch. As two male partygoers begin piling pillows and other objects on top of her, Félix asks them to stop. He isn't about to watch their prank turn violent, but he doesn't really know these people and everyone sees his worry as another sad attempt to be the star of the show. The host (Mathieu Bourret) kicks him out as a result, sending him, Brandon, and Lou (Lou Thompson) into the night.

And that's when it happens. That's when Félix's eyes officially get wider than his sense of reason can contain. All amped up from the initial excitement and dialed even further after a reckless show of vengeance upon Bourret, he concocts a joke that sees him entering a nearby gas station with hoodie up and finger in pocket to rile the cashier. Not expecting his victim to just walk out and quit, the birthday boy says "screw it" and helps himself to the till.

This event is the gateway drug to what follows in Rémi St-Michel's "almost true story" Toy Gun Bandit. The crime proves too much for Brandon, but Félix's adrenaline is at an all-time high. Unable to just go to bed, he takes the chaos on the road and meets a new friend in Dave (David Beaudoin) when the two are forced to run from the police for a completely different reason. Always the pariah with his friends, Félix can't get enough of Dave calling him "cool."

So, what is there to be done tomorrow? Go back to his depressing life wherein no one but Brandon even wants him around? Or throw caution to the wind and see if he can replicate the rush of that robbery? We're talking about a teenager who can't even buy dive bar patrons a round without having to watch them enjoy it from outside, so youthful ignorance and a warped sense of invincibility have him all-in when Dave presents a plan to rob a bank.

It's an insane escalation in a very short period of time, but St-Michel plays it perfectly with a gang so ragtag that Félix becomes its de facto mastermind. Between Dave's temper, Sara's (Sara Montpetit) crack addiction, and Jenny (Jenny-Mark Turmel-Pichette as Dave's girlfriend) staying home with the baby, they need this teen's quick thinking to survive the arrival let alone the getaway. If only his Gen Z desire to post online and brag didn't keep taking the wheel.

That's where Dave's experience is supposed to intervene. While it does at the start, he might reveal himself to be even more of a child than Félix as the money keeps rolling in. Between Dave's libido, Félix's mouth, and Sara's cravings, it's only a matter of time before the police catch them ... or worse. They're not just amateurs. They're idealistic dreamers in way over their heads. If Félix was smart, he'd run far away from their vices. He's just too good of a friend.

Regardless of how much of the film is real, Munger's authenticity drives the action to the point where we wouldn't doubt a second. Because the crazier things get, the more apologetic and scared he becomes. Not in a way that makes him want to bail, though. It's the opposite. He begins to worry about everyone else. What if Jenny and the baby get wrapped up in the violent fallout of their mistakes? What if he's forced to choose between his life and theirs?

It's the sort of performance that proves some people just have the charisma and vulnerability to carry a movie on their back the first try. Munger embodies the purity of innocence and appetite for adventure that ensures those willing to get to know Félix will love him. Brandon still defends him despite being let down. Dave embraces his trickster energy despite the liability of his youth. And Sara trusts him to know he'll have her back when she can't.

We revel in the unadulterated fun that results from their highest highs while giving into the potentially horrific tragedy that always seems to be looming once their over-indulgent enthusiasm brings them crashing back down. The first half of the journey is so entertaining that it's impossible not to know the second half will grow pitch black with dread. Félix and company go from full control to none overnight, so their true selves all rapidly rise to the surface.

Seeing Félix staying true to his compassionate nature (maybe better due to the maturity growth that occurs from this trial by fire) while everyone else takes a "me first" approach is my main takeaway. Where so many crime films show a descent to hell that breaks even its strongest characters, Félix never gives in. Sure, he's forced to act, but always from fear and necessity rather than hate (save one instance). When faced with the abyss, he will not jump in.