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I Watched Rob Ford’s Film Debut with Rob Ford and It Was Terrible

Racism, sexism, homophobia. What more could you ask for out of Toronto's signature buffoon?

Photos by Jake Kivanc

This article originally appeared on VICE Canada.

When I got word a few days ago that former national buffoon/Toronto mayor Rob Ford was starring in a mockumentary set to premiere this week, I knew had to attend. After spending four hours in a VIP theater with a boozed-up Ford Nation, I can assure you that the entire experience lived up to Ford's epic standards for inanity.

Pegged as a "dysfunctional comedy" set in the vibrant scenery of The 6ix, Toronah is a film created by Rick Smiciklas, founder and former owner of chicken wing franchise Wild Wing Restaurants. (To get an idea who he is, when asked about Drake's recent success in putting the city on the map, Smiciklas expressed distaste at Drizzy being from "the left"). Quite unsurprisingly, the film is a sexist, racist, homophobic, transphobic escapade that seems to have been created by a group of old guys with way too much money and time on their hands. Loaded with jokes about Asian men's penises and being sexually assaulted by a transgender person, the film was, at best, mildly smirk-worthy due to its utter ignorance; at worst, it was highly-offensive and a gross waste of the format it exists on.

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Despite the call time for media being at 7:30 PM, I arrived at the theater at 6:45 in order to get a head start in hopes that I could possibly nab a one-on-one with the disgraced mayor, who still has yet to answer a number of questions about his time in office and general tomfuckery.

Stepping into the press lounge, I noticed that I was the only person there aside from the staff. It was at that moment I realized that I had either got ahead of everybody or there was no media coming. I knew Ford's star had fallen since the crack-fueled heyday of insane press scrums and campouts outside his office, but I figured a bizarre film like this might attract a little more attention.

I sat down at a window-side chair to charge my phone. While fumbling with a bent USB cable, I began to toss my hand around the gift bag they had gave me. What I pulled out surprised me—a bobblehead of one of the main characters, Ricky: a fat, tropical shirt-wearing sleazebag who wears a fedora, of all things. There were also four more bobbleheads included, one of which—obviously touted as the prize possession, being that it was in a special box—was of Rob Ford himself. They also threw in a watch that seems to sell for $500 (like, thanks, but don't they usually give out Snickers or Starbucks cards in these things?), right beside a pair of cheap sunglasses, which is a good analogy for the production quality of the film compared to its actual contents.

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By 8:15—the time Laura, the film PR person, assured me Ford and his cohort would be showing up at—dozens of overweight men wearing poorly-matched blazers and button-ups filled the lounge to sip on wine and gin while yelling loud affirmations of friendship and manliness at each other.

There were more than a few people who seemed to be fervent Ford fans. One guy, a man with a mullet and a baseball cap, made a loud yelping noise as Councillor Ford himself swooped from around the corner with his chief of staff Dan Jacobs. Jacobs, a tall, loafy-looking man, seemed to scan the audience like a hawk as Ford looked toward me as I snapped a picture of him talking to a fan.

While doing the usual round of greetings, selfies, and signature awkward faces, Ford was showing clear signs that he's still recovering from his recent surgeries. His energy seemed low, his eyes fluttered, and he appeared to struggle to keep up pace with the various people berating him for attention.

When it was announced that the screening was about to begin, I caught up to Ford as he was heading into the theater with one his friends and nabbed a seat right behind them. For the next two hours, I was essentially a sponge for everything Ford and his pal had to say, which surprisingly—devastatingly—wasn't much.

About 20 minutes later, Smiciklas leaned into Ford's row to ask him if he was ready to take questions. "What questions?" Ford asked, seemingly unaware that there was a press panel involving him on the schedule of the invitation. "Just follow my lead," Smiciklas told him.

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The former wing chain owner then fired up the mic and hobbled down to the front of the theater where he welcomed the audience and thanked them for coming out.

After giving us his life story and the absolutely absurd journey—which involved him waking up in the middle of the night to "take a leak," during which he dreamed up the name of the movie and his plan to become a filmmaker—that led to him creating Toronah, it was time for questions. Looking to see if I could evoke a reaction out of Ford himself, I raised my hand and asked, "If Rob wins in 2018, will you give him permission to rename the city Toronah?" Both Smiciklas and Ford laughed while noting that they have plans to insert a reference to the film when Ford wins the next municipal election, an outcome they said they were confident was going to happen.

After Smiciklas stepped down from the mic, the crowd placed their orders for the various food and alcoholic items that were available on the VIP menu. The smell of wine, margaritas, and burgers began to fill the theater as the lights dimmed and a blue screen reading "HDMI OUT" blared in our faces. Smiciklas then raised his voice to note that the film was only "85 percent finished" and that if anyone wanted their name in the credits, all they would have to do is approach him afterward to get a spot in the movie.

As the film began, I was immediately taken aback at the quality B-roll: beautiful flyovers and pans of Toronto's urban core as classic rock blared in the background. The signature car in the film, a blue 1977 Pontiac Grand Prix, cruised through the streets with camera angles that would make a Drive fan swoon. Truly, the filmmakers hired to shoot Toronah were skilled, which makes it such a shame that the rest of the film turned out to be a monstrosity.

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Only occupying a cameo role in the film, Ford played himself as the Mayor of Toronto and was the first face to fill the screen. The catalyst for the ensuing (albeit incoherent) plotline, Ford's "character" lends his friend Ricky (played by Smiciklas) his blue Grand Prix in order for Ricky to find his cousin Mickey—a bumbling European man who is in need of serious financial help. After giving Ricky a hug and handing him the keys, Ford really isn't seen in the film again. In fact, his role was so minor that it became apparent that Smiciklas had probably just got Ford on the cast list in an effort to draw media attention to his attempt at filmmaking. (OK, yes, you got me.)

Read on Noisey: Here Is Rob Ford Making a Beat

As you can probably expect from a cast of people who use the word "gay" as an insult multiple times within the first 20 minutes of the film, the entirety of Toronah (which was apparently unscripted—suggesting that the people in the film weren't just playing assholes) consisted of a dozen or so old, white men living out their dreams as wannabe Trailer Park Boys: boozing it up, spending lots of money, and yelling obscenities at each other while making jokes about fucking various women.

I love a good edgy comedy as much as the next guy, but I couldn't help but feel dirty and squeamish while watching the film, which was essentially a showcase for the bar-side jokes of the middle-aged men who ran the show. Throughout the entire film, the level of race jokes, extreme sexism, and blatant trans/homophobia was appalling.

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For starters, a character central to the film and pegged as a token comedy piece—an overweight Asian man by the name of Johnny Kim—was used as a wall for the all-white cast to bounce jokes off of for the entire film. From making cracks about the the length of an Asian man's penis, to having him be secretly bisexual, all the way to one of the most offensive scenes in which he was essentially raped by somebody the film refers to as a "transvestite," the whole of his character was, in essence, the embodiment of the various prejudices and deeply-rooted ignorance of the actual people who played their actual selves in the film.

Sexualized women were also key to the film, and there were a lot of them. A new blonde model with big breasts in a skimpy outfit was introduced every ten minutes or so, and usually with a camera leeringly panning up from her ass to her face. There were many moments in the film in which the characters called the women bitches and told them to shut up. The only character who notably fought back was Mickey's wife—the same character who turned out to be trans and had emphasis placed on her masculine features.

Other characters in the film, such as Boss Hogg, a bowling-ball shaped man dressed in an all-white suit and large cowboy hat, shouted "Fuck" as much as possible while hiring prostitutes to service his friends constantly. It was clear the women who were in the film had no interest in being there aside from being paid for their role, as their unenthusiastic acting was evidence in itself as to how much of a ragtag operation this whole production was.

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By the end of the film, I was so lost with how many characters had been introduced that I basically just stopped caring about what little storyline there was left. What I do remember is that the word "backdoor" was used incessantly as a way to plug in another gay joke, something that I suspect was done in an attempt to retain audience attention, and that Doug Ford made a brief appearance at the end to retrieve his brother's car, because Rob had shot the opening scene a mere two days before his surgery back in May and was not actually able to complete the rest of the film, according to Smiciklas.

And like that, it was over. The audience rose and gave applause, with people shouting things like "Fantastic job" and "That was hilarious," all of which I had a hard time believing. With a look to Ford's row, Smiciklas motioned for the former mayor to approach the microphone. It's at this moment that the media finally appeared from the shadows—recorders and a TV camera flipped on throughout the audience. Wanting to get a few questions in, I pushed my way out of the row and approached the podium where Ford was standing.

Although Smiciklas said that Ford would be taking only a few questions, the former mayor has always been a talker. After answering some questions from what seemed to be conservative bloggers and/or Ford's yes men in the audience, I cut in and asked him the question I had burning me for the entire night.

"Rob, with all of the stuff that's happened to you in the last year…continuing with politics despite the fallout from being mayor: do you ever think that this is going to affect your health? Why do you keep doing it?"

"I don't think of my cancer," Ford told me. "They say go home and relax—that's just not my nature. It's to get out there and help people out. Y'know, if people call, I'm at their front door. It's all about customer service and I sincerely love my job."

After confirming to me that "it's no secret" he is preparing for a 2018 run at reclaiming the mayoral seat, I came to the obvious conclusion of the night: beside his sobriety and health issues, Ford is the exact same guy he always has been and probably always will be. He is the guy who will star in a shitty, horribly-offensive b-movie mockumentary with his friends despite (still!) holding public office in Canada's biggest city.

In a way, while he doesn't play a large part in the movie, Toronah is a peek into Rob Ford's life. It's a peek into the man who rode international headlines like a mechanical bull until his deteriorating health forced him out of office. It's also a very sad testament to the fact that, despite all the privileges and power the men involved in the film presumably hold, their lives can be reduced to a depressingly embarrassing two hours of gluttony, discrimination, and childishness.

Follow Jake Kivanc on Twitter.