I don’t want to really dig in here or anything. It’s just a mark of time. There was an open sore in lower Manhattan tied up by bureaucracy, partisan nonsense and greed that became embarrassing, a symbol for a country so gridlocked by internal machinations that perhaps the truly poignant thing would have been to leave things undone. Because so much is still undone and unaccomplished and halted that a formerly proud beacon of progress is being lapped.
I hear the aircraft flying in formation above my house. I know as soon as I flip on the TV it will be wall-to-wall coverage, lazy and disingenuous in its stance of looking back, remembering and reflecting. But the only reflection I can muster is on a country that thinks it’s special for the tragedy of 2001. Welcome to the world, America, where terrible things happen every day.
That’s more negative than I really want it to be. But I’ve already mourned. I’ve already reflected. And I’m just bracing myself for a day that is used as an excuse to fill broadcast time and empty column inches (like these). We cover the world of filmed entertainment here, and even in that frame, I find it fascinating that it’s been nearly nine years since a truly impactful piece built on the specter of that day has landed. Paul Greengrass’s “United 93” was brave but clinical. Oliver Stone’s “World Trade Center” was moving but rote. Mike Binder’s “Reign Over Me” was thoughtful but contained.
One of the joys of my life is the 10 days in September I spend at the Toronto International Film Festival, bringing the film world to our city, the world press, and enough stars to take over Hollywood. The little festival that could, as it was known in the 1970s and early-1980s, The Festival of Festivals has become a world cultural event, perhaps the most important film festival in the world, and certainly rivaling Cannes for prestige.