After a massive, all-night bidding war, Variety's Anne Thompson reports that Fox Searchlight has snagged The Wrestler for roughly $4 million, marking the first big purchase of the 2008 Toronto International Film Festival. Following its Golden Lion win in Venice and a Toronto premiere that left folks buzzing up a storm, Searchlight, along with Overture, Lionsgate, Weinstein Co. and Sony, began bidding on the flick, which some say solidifies a sure-fire Oscar nod for Mickey Rourke. In the end, it would appear that Searchlight won out ... and after a very successful marketing campaign last year for Juno (which landed all sorts of recognition), it should be interesting to see what Searchlight does with this.

So far all the talk has surrounded Mickey Rourke, with folks calling him the comeback kid, what have you -- but not for nothing, I think we have a nice little comeback story for director Darren Aronofsky as well. Great vibes with this one; I look forward to seeing it. Remember when Nic Cage was signed on to this? Heh. Bangkok Dangerous. Double heh. Check out this preview video from Venice, and look for much more on The Wrestler from Cinematical in the next couple of days.

Cinematical goes to Cannes, so when it comes time for the fall festivals, we mostly ignore the movies we've already covered there. But since I didn't go to Cannes, the many holdovers from that festival are new to me, and a big part of the fun. (Less fun: complaining about being conflicted out of a movie only to be met with "oh, I saw that at Cannes." Thanks, jackass.)

One such holdover is the Dardenne brothers' very good Lorna's Silence, an(other) study of guilt and self-deception. The Dardennes' approach can be charitably termed "narrative economy," or less charitably "a pathological refusal to let important events happen on screen." For that reason, Lorna's Silence plays like a mystery, except that the mystery is what the hell is going on, with the filmmakers dropping tidbits of information at their leisure. It's an unusual way of generating suspense – a bit tyrannical, but also a recognition that real life generally does not contain expository dialogue. Though the film contains plenty of conventional what-happens-next suspense as well, its nature makes virtually any plot description a spoiler. If you like the Dardennes, or are just interested in the current art film vanguard, don't read much about Lorna's Silence but just go see it. Sony Pictures Classics will release it in North America.

Paris 36 tries to do a dozen different things, and does none of them well. But even that description may not be harsh enough, because it makes the film sound ambitious. It's not. Director Christophe Barratier, whose The Chorus was a quality rendition of an age-old formula, doesn't even pretend to give much thought to any of the disparate elements he assembles here. This is one of those middlebrow period-piece comedies that mistakes frenzy for energy and spotless soundstage gloss for visual style. It may play well with certain audiences for whom "arthouse" is synonymous with "no explosions," but there's really nothing to see here.

Well, in theory there's a lot to see, including but not limited to the following: a would-be portrait of the French Popular Front in the 1930's; the story of a bunch of unemployed workers banding together to put on a show and save a historic theater; the tragedy of an old workhorse (Gérard Jugnot) who loses custody of his accordion prodigy son to his cheating wife when the theater first closes down; a romance between a communist rabblerouser (and stagehand, and actor!) and a singing ingénue (Nora Arnezeder) taken under the wing of a fascist loan shark (Bernard-Pierre Donnadieu); the spiritual rebirth of an old orchestra conductor who has spent the last 20 years alone with his radio; a no-talent comic (Kad Merad) who sinks to performing for the Nazis after being booed off stage by everyone else, though he is of course much too lovable to actually be an anti-Semite.

Long day tonight on about three hours sleep, but somehow James and I managed to push through to make it to both the party for Richard Linklater's film Me and Orson Welles and the Midnight Madness screening of Detroit Metal City.

The Orson Welles party was great by my personal film fest standards, which include preferring not to be crushed in a crowd of starlet wannabes tottering in high heels. There was a decent-sized, but not overwhelming crowd; appropriate, but not overly loud music; and tasty, but not overly messy snacks being circulated on trays. The film's star, Zac Efron, was on hand, as was Linklater. Geoffrey Rush was also there circulating around.

We had to ditch the party a bit early to allow time to grab a bite of dinner, then headed over to the Ryerson; when Detroit Metal City director Toshio Lee and the film's star, popular Japanese actor Ken'ichi Matsuyama, showed up, a pack of Japanese girls and women who'd been allowed to gather to get an up close view went absolutely wild, screaming so loudly that a guy passing by in front of the red carpet wondered aloud, "Who is it? Brad Pitt?"

The Telluride Film Festival has wrapped up and we're gearing up for our non-stop coverage of the Toronto International Film Festival, which starts tomorrow. Just in case you missed any of our coverage from the Telluride Film Festival, here's a roundup of what we saw there. Most of these films will also be playing at Toronto as well; if you attended Telluride or are going to TIFF, be sure to let us know which films you love or hate -- we always enjoy hearing what our smart Cinematical cinephiles think about the films they catch at fests.

Slumdog Millionaire (dir. Danny Boyle): Fans of director Danny Boyle's work will find much to appreciate in his latest film, Slumdog Millionaire, a sweeping, hopeful story about a boy in the slums of India who becomes an instant celebrity after he wins millions on India's version of Who Wants to be a Millionaire? ... read more

Adam Resurrected, adapted by Noah Stollum Stollman from the book of the same name by Yoram Kaniuk and directed by Paul Schrader, is a darkly abstract and haunting film featuring Jeff Goldblum in his finest, most layered performance ever. Goldblum portrays Adam Steiner, a tragic clown shattered by the horrors of the Holocaust. A clown and ringleader of his own highly successful circus act in pre-War Berlin, Adam finds himself, his wife, and their two young daughters caught in the roundup of Jews. Ironically, his audience was once full of soldiers in Nazi uniforms; now the very people Adam spent his life making happy are just as happy to see him and his family exterminated.

Adam in the present is a prisoner of his memories of those terrible years, and now resident ringleader of a fictional asylum for Holocaust survivors in the Israeli desert. He's a man with a fractured soul, and as a result of his unrelenting anguish and guilt, he astounds the doctors in charge of the asylum by the ability of his mind to make his body bleed and even grow malignant tumors as he repeatedly dies and is reborn.

Oh yes, you heard that right -- and I almost slapped myself when, during a Toronto Fest meeting earlier today, I unfortunately had to inform our team that coverage of Paris, Not France was a top priority. Congrats Ms. Hilton, you've successfully found a way to turn all the attention toward your documentary by making it look like you want nothing to do with it. Of course, that's not the case at all -- heck, it's not like the chick ever pulled something like this before (cough ... sex tape ... cough). But let's back up for a minute ...

... there's a Paris Hilton documentary playing Toronto? Yup, it's called Paris, Not France, and it marks the first feature for music video and commercial director Adria Petty (daughter of Tom). What's it about? Apparently, the flick follows Paris around for a year and provides us with one of those intimate looks into the life of blah blah .... and then she says "That's hot" about a gazillion times ... the end. So why is everyone talking about it?

Well, because Paris (and her "people") somehow managed to get the festival to pull all but one screening of the doc for reasons they're not willing to disclose at this time. So what's up? Is Paris really that upset with the way she's portrayed in the film that she doesn't want it shown? Or, is this whole "pull the screenings, threaten lawsuits" thing just a ploy to get people (like us) talking and wanting and needing? I'd say it's certainly suspicious, especially since we're talking Paris Hilton here, who, whether you like it or not, is pretty smart when it comes to marketing herself as a larger-than-life personality.

What do you think? And does all this hoopla make you want to see the film even more?

[via Risky Biz Blog]

For the cinephile, discovering a new film by famed Swedish director Jan Troell (one of this year's Telluride tributees) is a lot like eating a perfectly made truffle after a lifetime of mass-produced candy bars. His latest effort, Everlasting Moments, was like that for me; it's that rare cinematic experience that you settle back, bite into, and then savor as the subtle richness of the film cleanses the palate and fills the soul.

Based on the real-life story of Troell's wife's grandmother, the film takes us through the life of Maria Larsson (Maria Heiskanen, in a remarkable performance), a belabored mother of a large brood in the early days of the 20th century who finds renewed passion and intellectual independence through a Contessa camera she wins in a lottery. The camera sits for many years unused until one day, Maria takes it into the shop of the local photographer, Sebastien Pederson (Jesper Christensen), to sell it to help pay the rent.

The kindly Pederson shows Maria how to use the camera, and once she starts using it, she begins to see the world through a whole new lens. Finding herself unable to resist continuing to learn and improve her eye as a photographer, Maria becomes obsessed with capturing the little moments of life around her through the miraculous ability to capture living moments in still images.

With his latest effort, Happy-Go-Lucky, director Mike Leigh takes a departure from the dark mood evoked by most of his films with a charming little tale about an eternally optimistic school teacher, Poppy (Sally Hawkins, previously seen in smaller roles in Leigh's films Vera Drake and All or Nothing), who breezes through life, always seeing the glass half full. Poppy is one of those people who never seems to get down about anything. She smiles at surly strangers, strikes up conversations with people who'd clearly prefer to be left alone, and puts a positive spin on everything.

When her bike is stolen, Poppy shrugs it off and decides to take driving lessons; her driving instructor, Scott (Eddie Marsan, also a Leigh alum from Vera Drake) is Poppy's polar opposite. Some of the film's best moments are when she's interacting with Scott and we have the dramatic tension of his simmering anger to contrast with Poppy's perkiness. Scott is intensely uptight, seems to hate everyone and everything, and adheres firmly to the belief that if only everyone would follow a strict set of rules (his rules, of course), all would be well. Naturally, the two clash.

Fans of director Danny Boyle's work will find much to appreciate in his latest film, Slumdog Millionaire, a sweeping, hopeful story about a boy in the slums of India who becomes an instant celebrity after he wins millions on India's version of Who Wants to be a Millionaire?. Adapted by Simon Beaufoy (The Full Monty, Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day) off the novel Q &A by Vikas Swarup, the tale is framed within an interesting narrative structure that revolves around the young man, Jamal, being interrogated for fraud by the police, who cannot believe that a "slumdog" orphan could possibly have known the answers to the questions on the show.

Boyle uses this conceit to take us back and forth from the police station, where Jamal (Dev Patel) is tortured to get him to confess how he cheated, to his appearance on the show, to the events throughout his youth that led to him knowing the answers to the game show questions. How did a boy growing up in the slums amid piles of garbage and filth know which US president is on the one hundred dollar bill, or who invented the revolver? Boyle takes us back through Jamal's life story to show us the mean-streets education that led to him knowing the answers, while managing to avoid making the set-up feel contrived.