Come with a plan, but be prepared to pivot.
It’s the best piece of advice I can give as a first-timer on the festival pitch circuit. Because it wasn’t the hours I spent polishing my logline that got my foot in the door – it was the exclusive party I found my way into, simply because I decided to take a shot.
My plan was straightforward: attend TIFF: The Market, alongside the Access Canada Summit running parallel to it, to option the film adaptation of my unpublished sci-fi thriller and document the entire experience for an article.
When I first pitched the concept of covering the Market to my editor, the story I had in mind was a completely different beast: a gritty, behind the scenes look at pitching a film project at a festival. To my mind, there was a certain elegant parallel between TIFF’s inaugural Market ecosystem and my own first experience with pitching.
So, with my pitch deck prepped, logline memorized and an innovative stack of custom “pitch cards” in hand (business cards complete with a QR code linking directly to my project hub) I hit the Access Canada Summit and my first roundtable meeting. Coming to a film market from a literary background had me feeling distinctly out of place, but fresh voices and IP were what everybody was scrambling after, according to industry buzz, so here I was, putting myself in places to be found.
Because let’s be real, most industry success stories don’t rely solely on skill or diligence. Luck plays a huge part of the process. And luck sometimes looks like being in the right place at the right time.
This exact circumstance found me seated next to Luke Azevedo (CEO of Edmonton Screen) at the hotel bar my first night, while I was fine-tuning my itinerary. A casual drink quickly led to my first genuine, warm industry connection. Two days later, that same luck found me writing on the patio of my favourite Toronto cafe: French Made. I struck up a conversation with an off duty member of the security detail overseeing celebrity arrivals at the Bisha Hotel, complimenting his red tie. We met for drinks later that evening, where I interrogated him on the specifics of his job for an upcoming pilot I’m writing, and he shared his incredible origin story and budding acting aspirations. A man who was literally born in a tree in the jungle of the Congo surely deserves a role in my next screenplay, right?
But back to the pitch market itself. This is where my first major pivot of the festival occurred. Because hoofing it on foot between the Summit & Market venues proved to be a geographical and logistical nightmare. The frantic fifteen minute commute meant arriving at high-stakes meetings dishevelled and out of breath and missing out on critical panels. Given the peak atmosphere of the Access Summit, along with the elite programming and impeccable organization, the executive decision to spend the bulk of my time at the summit was an easy choice. It gave me an opportunity to actually strengthen those five-minute connections I’d made on day one during panel breaks and evening receptions.
Pivot number two came when a handful of colleagues and I tried organizing our hectic schedules to attend the same afterparty. As inevitably happens at a busy festival, events run late, people burn out and creators turn in early before hitting the next mornings red carpets. Or, in my case, you wind up at the wrong party.
There I was, perched upon a barstool in my best black dress, sipping a cocktail as realization slowly dawned that my friend was at the Women In Film reception a few blocks over, while I had made my way to the Women In Film after party hosted at Silent H. Despite this hiccup, the vibes at Silent H were, in fact, immaculate, and so I stayed to see what might transpire. I observed strings of fabulously dressed people slipping towards the back of the venue, which triggered a fuzzy recollection from the previous year's party of a basement restroom.
With no real plan, I made my way downstairs and was immediately greeted by a well dressed guardian of the gate asking if I was there for The Man I Love party. Over his shoulder I caught a glimpse of revellers dressed in shimmering gowns disappearing through the shadowy doorway of the super exclusive underground speakeasy, Aitch.
My reply? “I can be.”
Which pulled a grin from his lips, and we chatted amicably until the next wave of partygoers descended down the stairs. In the restroom, I took stock of my situation. My friends were still MIA. I had no other agenda for the evening and no early morning meetings the next day. An idea formed in my head.
I’m going to try to get in, I texted my husband. Because, why not? On my way back to face the door, the magic of TikTok intervened when I quite literally bumped into a prominent digital influencer I follow. We gushed, snapped selfies, I gained a new follower and perhaps, an extra pinch of social credibility.
When I returned to the speakeasy entrance, the original doorman had been replaced by Sarbjit Kaur, the powerhouse co-founder of Kapow Communications. I flashed my credentials, transparently admitted I wasn’t on the list, and asked if her team were looking for additional coverage of the film, and was graciously admitted through the door.
It was like stepping into another world. The atmosphere dropped instantly. Ambient gloom, textured music, and a showstopping tower of cosmos, lit up like a stained glass window. Described as a ‘chill’ gathering by host Shinan Govani, the distinct lack of frantic energy was bliss after the typical intense festival atmosphere. A true masterclass in experiential event curation by Kapow and Edery & Lord.
At this point, I still wasn’t entirely sure whose inner sanctum I had stepped into, until I noticed the room repeatedly gravitating towards a man in signature dark glasses and an impeccably tailored jacket standing on a raised dais. Rami Malek.
Seized entirely by the why not mindset that had steered my night down the rabbit hole, I stepped forward and shook his hand, congratulating him on the film. Bypassing the standard celebrity pleasantries, I mentioned how much I admired the work of his stylist Ilaria Urbinati, which unlocked a genuine connection. It felt fitting, chatting fashion with the star of Ira Sachs’ The Man I Love, in which Malek channels an intense, passionate artist navigating the shifting tides of creative survival. A theme that felt almost too on-the-nose as an independent writer standing in a room I’d essentially manifested my way into.
But luck wasn’t done with me yet. Shifting back to the crowd, sipping exquisite cosmos within a circle of established filmmakers and producers,the conversation turned to our respective projects. When asked what I was working on, I reeled off the logline for the sci-fi thriller I had spent weeks rehearsing, which garnered polite interest.
Here is where I impart my second piece of wisdom, which someone once shared with me: Always have more than one project.
The moment I sensed the atmosphere plateau, I smoothly pivoted to the second script in my notebook: a mythological thriller with a dual timeline. The shift drew immediate interest from a producer in the circle who pointed me directly towards a production studio that might serve as a good home for it. We agreed to reconnect the following morning for the final day of the Access Canada Summit, where I successfully secured the executive contact info for what has since turned into a highly promising, warm submission.
Luck. Whimsy. Kismet. Call it what you will. For me, the greatest takeaway from navigating this experience was that although coming prepared remains an essential foundation for your career, you must never underestimate the profound power of the ‘unofficial’ pitch. Be bold. Especially in circumstances you least expect. You never know which doorway will lead to Alice’s wonderland.
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