Toronto International Film Festival: Jake Gyllenhaal, human wrecking ball, opens Toronto

David, the guy who’s renting us his apartment in Toronto, is a Canadian variation on the Venice Beach type, and when we arrive an hour early on the day before the festival, he greets us at the door barefoot, with shoulder-length hair, a muscle tee, and a brace over his left leg. (“Karaoke accident,” he explains, barely.) David’s two-bedroom is art-department spot-on, from the mix-and-match mid-century furniture to the dream catcher on the lamp switch. The walls are hung with vintage movie posters and autographed soul records. Even the keychains are beaded.

It’s an improvement over last year’s accommodations, the impersonal and vaguely J.G. Ballard-sounding “largest hotel in Canada.” For the next week, I’ll be staying here with Alex—better known as A.V. Club film editor A.A. Dowd—as we cover the Toronto International Film Festival. (He has the bedroom with the …

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