TIFF 2013: Fassbender gossip! Plus 23 shots of Olivia Wilde, Dakota Fanning and more at the Variety Studio at Holt Renfrew
Critics were rendered speechless at Friday night’s premiere of 12 Years a Slave—and at the Variety Studio yesterday at Holt Renfrew, the same thing happened to us when Michael Fassbender, one of the film’s stars, entered the room along with director Steve McQueen and a few members of the cast. Wearing a black shawl collar sweater and dark jeans, Fassy (as we’re in the habit of calling him) sent our fangirl hearts racing in delight as we shrieked inside, trying to process that we were breathing in the same air as him. Also, dude has like the tiniest waist ever.
While waiting to be interviewed, we watched as Fassbender made a beeline for a tray of strawberries. Despite making a sour facial reaction, he gave the berry a thumbs up. No, like literally a thumbs up. Annnnd we’re officially jealous of fruit. Then he tilted back a glass of Moët, chatting with co-star Alfre Woodard and laughing at something she said before posing for a photo with her. Meanwhile the film’s lead, Chiwetel Ejiofor, sidled up to the British Airways bar and had a cup of something hot—hopefully having to say thank you to everyone complimenting his much-buzzed-about performance hasn’t made him lose his voice.
As Variety was taping another interview, Fassbender ignored the requests for quiet and chatted up two pretty girls in the lounge, at one point admiring the jewelry on one by touching her hand. Hate. Her. Then she tossed her hair. Dead to us. Woodward killed time by sitting down for a hand massage from Moroccanoil while we fantasized that Fassy would opt for one so that we could immediately masquerade as a masseuse.
Then the cast was summoned to the interview room, and we took that as our chance to quickly snap some photos while Fassbender answered questions. We noticed he sat with his knees spread far apart, in the way that’s really annoying when you want a seat on the subway. But we didn’t hold it against him because then we started thinking of him on the subway in Shame. But no TTC for Fassy; the next thing we knew, he was being ushered out to a waiting SUV on Bloor Street where a 100 or so rubberneckers looked on. The room now filled with just regular air, we wondered if there was a lung version of “I’ll never wash this cheek again.”