So I attended a TIFF Party! To help those who couldn’t make it feel like they were there, I completed this comprehensive post-party questionnaire.
What was the party for?
Beautiful Boy, a film that follows the memoirs of father and son David and Nic Sheff—played by Steve Carell and Timothée Chalamet–about Nic’s drug addiction and its impact on their family.
What brands were present as partners?
Hugo Boss and Soho House.
Which celebrities were supposed to be in attendance?
Timothée Chalamet, Steve Carell and Amy Ryan.
Which celebs did you actually spot?
Sadly, I somehow didn’t see all American heartthrob, Timmy Tim. I saw him earlier in the night, and I know that I spent a good chunk of time breathing the same air as him at Soho House…but I admit I didn’t actually see him at the party. I’ve come to the conclusion that this is a good thing: seeing your idols up close makes you realize that they’re merely human. I would like for Timothée Chalamet to remain a God-like figure in my mind.
However, here’s who I did see: Dan Levy, Hari Nef, Armie Hammer, Chloë Grace Moretz, Maika Monroe and Dylan O’Brien. (Again! Those hot young kids seem to really like this place.) I also saw the real life Nic Sheff, whom Chalamet plays in the film.
Having seen said celebrities, what did you learn about them? How did they seem? How are they doing, you know?
Nic Sheff was looking really good. Like, if someone didn’t tell me I was staring at the man whose heart-wrenching life story I just saw recreated for film, I would have though he was a movie star. Which honestly was the small spark of unanticipated joy I needed after sobbing through 75% of Beautiful Boy.
Scallop crudo, Korean Fried Chicken, aged cheddar and truffle grilled cheese bites, salted caramel ganache tarts and Soho House’s oh-so-delicious wood-fire pizza. Even Elizabeth Chambers couldn’t help but rave about the freshly made, gooey za on social media.
Describe the general vibe.
Everyone was either famous or looking for Timothée Chalamet. This was the premiere party of the festival to be seen at.
Please repeat one conversation you overheard.
“Scale of one to ten, what’s my outfit?” A paraphrase of what Chloë Grace Moretz asked Maika Monroe while I was washing my hands in the women’s washroom. (I pitched in and said: “Twelve!”) In other celebrity-related restroom news: Dylan O’Brien asked me where the men’s toilet was, which is pretty cool. I think I’m in their crew now?
If you had to title the party as if it were a film, what would it be called?
Did the party adequately drown the rapacious loneliness that follows you around—follows all of us around—like ghosts, unwilling to let go of a world that no longer needs them?
Yes. By association, I felt very famous and good looking.