Is the Toronto International Film Festival upon us already? I still have poutine stains on my shirt from last time! Yes, the 2009 fest is less than three months away, and TIFF has just announced the first batch of films that will play. All 24 will be making their North American premieres, so unless you've been to the festivals at Cannes, Venice, or Berlin, it's unlikely that you've seen any of them. Exciting!

In the "Masters" category are films by three directors who qualify for that distinction. Portugal's Manoel de Oliveira -- who is 100 years old (!) and has made 50 films, most of them in the last two decades -- has a new one called Eccentricities of a Blond-Haired Girl, about a man enchanted by a woman he sees from his window. Alain Resnais (Last Year at Marienbad), the 87-year-old Frenchman who got a lifetime achievement at Cannes this year, has Les Herbes Folles (The Wild Grass), a romantic adventure that begins with a lost wallet. And Hirokazu Koreeda, a Japanese spring chicken at 48, will present Air Doll, about a sex doll that becomes a real person -- Lars and the Real Girl meets Pinocchio? Koreeda made the haunting Nobody Knows a few years ago, so I'm onboard for whatever this Air Doll thing is.

The other 21 films announced today are from filmmakers ranging from the old and venerable to the new and enthusiastic. They span, the globe, too, representing countries you expect to see at international film festivals (France, Germany, Italy, etc.) as well as some with much smaller film industries, including Kazakhstan, Colombia, Malaysia, and Uruguay. The complete list of films and their descriptions is in TIFF's press release, as is information about buying passes. The festival runs Sept. 10-19. We'll see you there, right?

Stop me if you've heard this one before. A womanizing cad doesn't believe in true love, even though he makes his living writing novels about it. He sleeps with one beautiful woman after another, never getting attached, always pleased when the women leave before he wakes up in the morning. But his whole world is turned upside-down when, out of nowhere, he actually falls in love with one of them.

Yes, it's the ol' "education of a douchebag" story, going by the title Mercy this time around and starring Scott Caan, who also wrote the screenplay. (It's actually his third script; he directed the other two himself, and the first, Dallas 362, won the jury prize at CineVegas in 2003.) One is tempted to find autobiographical elements in Caan's swaggering character, especially since his real-life father, James Caan, plays his dad in the movie, but I don't know if that's accurate. But it might be the more charitable interpretation, since without a personal connection there's no reason to tell a story this generic.

It's at the release party for his third novel that Johnny Ryan (Scott Caan) meets Mercy (Wendy Glenn), a gorgeous, slender brunette who, unlike most heterosexual women (or so we're led to understand), is not instantly bowled over by Johnny's smooth cocky charm. Nor, it turns out, does she like his writing. This wouldn't normally bother Johnny -- he prefers women who can barely read anyway -- but in this case it's troubling because she's a New York Times book critic. Now with two reasons to pursue her (the usual one, and her negative opinion of his work), Johnny redoubles his efforts to get close to her.

The Twitters were abuzz a few nights ago, when the CineVegas Film Festival hosted an event at the Sapphire Gentlemen's Club and people saw Jack Nicholson there. It seemed reasonable. Nicholson's old pal Dennis Hopper is the fest's honorary chair, so it was plausible that Jack would be in town. No one had a problem believing he'd turn up at a strip club, either.

But it wasn't him. It was a guy who looks a lot like him, a guy whose shtick seems to be dressing and grooming himself to look like Nicholson and hanging around CineVegas. He's been everywhere: at festival headquarters, at the post-screening parties, in the theater lobby, everywhere. He really does bear a striking resemblance to Nicholson, at least until you look closely. Then you realize the suit is kind of shabby, the hair is unkempt, and the general air is that of Homeless Guy, not Jack Nicholson. Who knew the line between Nicholson and Hobo was so thin?

Turns out his name is Norman Deesing, an actor who appears in a CineVegas documentary called Youth Knows No Pain, about plastic surgery. When he's not dressing up as Nicholson, he looks only vaguely like him, and doesn't resemble a bum at all. Again, it's alarming to realize that you could see the real Nicholson and mistake him for a vagrant. Do you suppose that ever happens to Jack? Like maybe he shows up at the VIP entrance for a Lakers game, and the security guard says, "Hey, buddy, the free scraps of food are around back, in the alley. Oh! I beg your pardon, Mr. Nicholson!"

It's a rarity for a director's first film to be as confident and effective as Easier with Practice is. And for any film, let alone a debut, to address difficult subjects with this much insight, humor, and humanity is almost miraculous. There are filmmakers who couldn't produce something this good on their tenth try, and here Kyle Patrick Alvarez has done it right out of the gate.

Alvarez's screenplay is based on a GQ article by Davy Rothbart, and it concerns an introverted 28-year-old writer named Davy Mitchell (Brian Geraghty) who is driving around the southwest United States with his brother, Sean (Kel O'Neill), to promote his book of short stories. This book hasn't actually been published, mind you, but self-produced copies are available after the readings.

While at a hotel in Albuquerque one night, Davy gets a random phone call from a woman named Nicole (Kathryn Aselton) who seductively asks what he's wearing. Nonplussed, he replies, "Clothes, I guess." Apparently quite skilled at this, Nicole soon has Davy engaging in a bit of steamy phone sex with her. She gets his cell number (this first rendezvous was on the hotel phone) and says she'll call again.

It becomes a regular thing. Every night, while Sean sleeps in a hotel bed, Davy stays out in their station wagon and talks to Nicole. It's mostly about the sex, but it becomes a relationship of sorts, too, with post-coital conversations -- the equivalent of cuddling, in Davy's words. Nicole's primary interest is dirty talk, though, and she won't ever give Davy her number, which is blocked from his caller ID. Everything is on her terms. Davy is smitten, and stuck.

Redland is an art film in the most literal and complimentary sense. Every frame of it looks like an Impressionist painting or an exquisite photograph, and the dialogue is overheard in snippets, the way you half-hear conversations when you're drifting to sleep. The story is non-linear and dreamlike. The film's substance, its actual content, is good, but its style is nothing short of astonishing.

The setting is a rural, isolated mountain home during the Great Depression. These are not the Waltons, though. The unnamed family is dirt-poor, living in a ramshackle house and barely staying ahead of starvation. They subsist on the few chickens and other animals kept on their property. You know the old cliché about how we were poor but we didn't know it, because we were happy? Not these people. These people are poor and miserable.

Worse, the teenage daughter, Mary-Ann (Lucy Adden), has been having a sexual affair with Charlie Mills (Toben Seymour), a neighbor boy her age ("neighbor" means he lives a few miles away), and has been trying desperately to keep it hidden from her father (Mark Aaron) and mother (Bernadette Murray). Father suspects something is wrong with his daughter and asks her brothers -- older Job (Sean Thomas) and younger Paul (Kathan Fors) -- if they've noticed any visitors lurking around, but they say they haven't.

When the family's plight becomes truly life-threatening, with Mother on the brink of death from malnutrition, Father and Job set off on a dangerous trek across the river in search of wild game. Charlie Mills is invited to accompany them, though Father has already grown suspicious of him. (When you live in desolate isolation, the list of possible secret boyfriends for your daughter is short.)

In the past, the CineVegas Film Festival has spanned nine days, starting on a Thursday night and running through the following Saturday. This year, though, the fest has been compressed -- streamlined, really -- so that it started Wednesday and will run through Monday. The number of films has decreased only slightly, meaning we're essentially getting the same amount of content in six days rather than nine.

It's hard to overstate how much this decision, which was partly due to economic concerns, has improved things. Screenings start earlier in the day and run later into the night. Where you used to have only two movie options in a particular time slot, now there are three, which means less downtime if you've already seen (or really don't want to see) something. The overall energy is higher. There's more hustle, not to mention bustle.

I've noticed a lot more Sundance-style promotions, too. There's a zombie film on the docket, called The Revenant, and several beautiful, scantily clad women have been all over the place handing out fliers to remind people about it. And when I say scantily clad, I mean they're in tiny little tops and tiny little shorts, both parts very tight-fitting. They are practically nude. In Vegas, no one notices. This is how people dress to go to church.

Hey, speaking of The Hangover (weren't we?), the 11th annual CineVegas Film Festival kicked off last night at Planet Hollywood, on the world-famous, super-classy, not-at-all-gaudy Las Vegas Strip. The setting was a large theater above the casino floor that normally hosts a live production called Peepshow, the posters for which emphasize its primary assets and boobsets.

But the showgirls had the night off, and CineVegas took over. Festival chairman Dennis Hopper kicked off the event in true Vegas style, rising from a trapdoor in the stage to the accompaniment of "Born to Be Wild." I noted that he pronounces the festival's name "sinny-vegas," rather than "sin-uh-vegas." His version sounds more cheerful. Vegas is sinny! Come visit!

The opening-night film, a comedy called Saint John of Las Vegas, was introduced by its writer/director, Hue Rhodes, who reiterated Sinny City's showbiz roots. Good or bad, funny or serious, scary or tame, Las Vegas is all about puttin' on a show. He said that his own film "is not always gonna be a safe ride," but assured us it would be a crazy one.

Which it is. Steve Buscemi (pictured) stars as a former gambler who now works at an insurance agency and must return to Vegas to investigate a possibly fraudulent insurance claim. What's interesting, perhaps, is that the movie is set up as a parallel to Dante's Divine Comedy: Buscemi's character's last name is Alighieri, same as Dante's, and his partner is named Virgil; they encounter people and situations similar to those described in the old Italian poem you were supposed to have read in high school. Buscemi and co-star Romany Malco are good, of course, but the film feels slight and forgettable. I wonder if greater familiarity with Inferno would increase one's enjoyment of it. Curse my inattentiveness in eleventh-grade English!

The Cannes Film Festival drew to a close on Sunday evening with the presentation of the Palme d'Or to Michael Haneke's The White Ribbon. Filmed in black and white, it's "a two-and-a-half hour parable of political and social ideas set entirely in a north German village in 1913 and 1914," says Dave Calhoun at Time Out London. Haneke "solidly resists answering the 'what's it all about?' question and makes you work hard to make sense of what you're seeing." David Hudson at IFC's The Daily has gathered the reviews, some of which endeavor to answer the "What's it all about?" question.

As is often the case, the nine-member jury passed out awards to as many films as possible. The Grand Prix (or runner-up) went to Jacques Audiard's A Prophet; Special Jury Prize to Alain Resnais for Wild Grass; and Best Director to Brillante Mendoza for Kinatay. Christoph Walz won Best Actor for his performance in Quentin Tarantino's Inglourious Basterds and Charlotte Gainsbourg won Best Actress for Lars von Trier's controversial Antichrist. The complete list of winners can be easily viewed at indieWIRE. The festival's official site has a great set of award ceremony photos.

Here's a roundup of Cannes films we can expect to see in coming months. Corrections and updates will be appreciated.

CANNES TITLES WITH U.S. DISTRIBUTION

• Antichrist (IFC)
• A Prophet (Sony Pictures Classics)
• Bright Star (Bob Berney and Bill Polhad)
• Coco Chanel & Igor Stravinsky (Sony Pictures Classics)
• Drag Me to Hell (Universal)
• Humpday (Magnolia Pictures)
• I Love You Phillip Morris (Consolidated Pictures Group)
• Inglourious Basterds (Weinstein Co.)
• Looking For Eric (IFC)
• Precious (Lionsgate)
• Taking Woodstock (Focus Features)
• Tales From the Golden Age (IFC)
• Thirst (Focus Features)
• Up (Disney Pixar)
• The White Ribbon (Sony Pictures Classics)

You can access all our Cannes coverage via this handy link.

It's all over but the shouting. The last two titles in Competition for the Palme d'Or, which will be awarded on Sunday, screened on Saturday to general disinterest as industry attendees continued to flock home. But some were still happy just to be able to see a movie -- any movie -- at Cannes; Roger Ebert tells of a young man who followed the example of Ebert's granddaughter and "begged" for a ticket. He was happy and proud to get in. Ebert shares some photographs; he says: "I have no idea why they are all of beautiful women."

Key Screenings. Competition: Tsai Ming-Liang's Face (Taiwanese filmmaker makes a movie in France), Isabel Coixet's Map of the Sounds of Tokyo (Tokyo fish market employee also works as a hit woman).

Awards. Some observers felt the Un Certain Regard section featured higher-quality selection than the main Competition, so it's of note that Yorgos Lanthimos' Dogtooth won the top prize, according to indieWIRE. The Greek film received warm praise from the few reviewers who have seen it. Karina Longworth of Spout says it's the only narrative she's seen in Cannes "that really feels like it represents the work an emerging new talent." The film revolves around an odd family, in which the three 20-something children have never even left their house, while their parents "have created a complex mythology ... to keep the family together." She called it a "dark comedy," though she also noted that "its depiction of forced incest, two explicitly not-fake images of sex acts, liberation via very bloody self-harm and the on-screen disemboweling of a housecat."

As the festival enters its final weekend, things have grown quieter. That doesn't mean Friday lacked excitement, though. Undoubtedly, the big title of the day was Terry Gilliam's The Imaginarium of Dr. Parnassus, featuring Heath Ledger's final performance. Erik Davis rounded up the first reactions. The director and Verne Troyer (AKA "Mini Me") appeared in support of the film.

Another eagerly-awaited title also debuted: Gasper Noé's Enter the Void. Of course, the interest in Imaginarium has more to do with the stars (Johnny Depp, Colin Farrell, and Jude Law stepped in to finish the film after Ledger's untimely passing). Void, on the other hand, created anticipation because it is Noé's first feature-length work since his Irreversible generated considerable controversy at Cannes seven years ago.

Via David Hudson at IFC's The Daily, we learn that Enter the Void has already been compared to the Wachowskis' Speed Racer and Stanley Kubrick's 2001: A Space Odyssey and The Shining (by Daniel Kasman in The Auteurs' Notebook). Manohla Dargis of the New York Times also notes the borrowings from Kubrick, while describing it as an "exceptional work [by] an artist who's trying to show us something we haven't seen before." Eugene Hernandez of indieWIRE called it "an endurance test [that] stirred both boos and bravos."

Other Key Screenings. Competition: Elia Sileiman's The Time That Remains. Un Certain Regard: João Pedro Rodrigues' To Die Like a Man, Jean Van de Velde's The Silent Army. Directors' Fortnight: Scandar Copti and Yaron Shani's Ajami, Mikhael Hers' Montparnasse. Special Screenings: Fanny Ardent's Ashes and Blood.

Awards. Xavier Dolan's Canadian film I Killed Your Mother won three of the four prizes awarded by Directors' Fortnight, reports indieWIRE, beating out higher-profile US titles Tetro, I Love You Philip Morris, and Humpday. The complete list can be viewed at indieWIRE.