> ## Content Index > Fetch the complete content index at: https://regionfree.net/llms.txt > Use this file to discover other available public pages before exploring further. # TIFF 2026: Day three – Your Mother Your Mother Your Mother, Trash Mountain, I Play Rocky, The Stunt Driver - URL: https://regionfree.net/tiff-2026-day-three-your-mother-your-mother-your-mother-trash-mountain-i-play-rocky-the-stunt-driver/ - Published: 2026-09-13T12:31:40.000Z - Updated: 2026-09-13T12:55:56.000Z - Description: Reviews of Your Mother Your Mother Your Mother, Trash Mountain, I Play Rocky, and The Stunt Driver. - Author: Joonatan Itkonen - Tags: Festivals, TIFF Day three of TIFF was more of a mixed bag than most, but not without its highlights. We're not even halfway to the festival, so fingers crossed for something truly stunning to cross my path. Tomorrow (Sunday) includes a special screening of Zach Snyder's supposedly impossible-to-distribute The Last Photograph, so let's see how that goes. For now, here's Saturday, September 12th. ![](https://storage.ghost.io/c/0c/47/0c4798b4-e19d-4d8f-8475-ae0910a66a04/content/images/2026/09/Your-Mother-Your-Mother-Your-Mother_Still_HERO-1.webp) Image Credit: Courtesy of TIFF ## Your Mother Your Mother Your Mother As an aside, there is nothing funnier than watching hundreds of critics wander the halls of a mammoth convention center, asking everyone coming their way if this is the right direction to Your Mother. Yes, granted, it's not a high bar for humor, but you try sleeping two hours a night and see how you do. As for Bassam Tariq's follow-up to his stupendous Mogul Mowgli, Your Mother (x3) left me puzzled, frustrated, disappointed, yet just on the right side of curious that it's not a complete waste. Some of that positivity stems from the viewpoint, which highlights Mahershala Ali's Muslim character and culture in a light unseen in most, maybe even all, major Hollywood productions. This is a brave picture just for the material alone, especially as Tariq plays fast and loose with both Christian and Muslim iconography, highlighting the inherent hypocrisy of all characters involved. Ali, one of the great actors of his generation, plays Latif, a hitman who lies to himself that he's cleansing the earth and keeping the wolves away from his family and friends. In reality, he's a two-bit killer for equally despicable gangsters. Low-rent, even for the parts of Texas he operates in. Then, unexpectedly, Latif's wife dies, and he's left alone with three kids, one of them an infant. With no understanding of how to be a father, he handles daily routines with the same blunt effectiveness as his criminal work. Yet some things don't operate under the same vocabulary, and it's the language of compassion that betrays Latif. Unable to feed his youngest, Latif sets off to find her milk, no matter the cost. At the same time, his former employer has a problem requiring Latif's violent services. A local gang leader, masquerading as a born-again Christian healer, has declared open war on them. It's unclear why or to what end, but like most things in the film, the execution is broad and farcical enough that it's best not to bother with logic. Latif wants nothing to do with it. Naturally, he ends up right in the middle of a bloody war. Your Mother (x3) has the same offbeat sense of humor as Jim Jarmusch's brilliant Ghost Dog, yet rarely leans into it the same way. There's a lot of clever wordplay, and even some laugh-out-loud moments, but I struggle to define this as a comedy. There's only the slightest bit of action, and most of the choreography is notably poor. A big shootout at the end is downright glacial, and some of the terrible choreography has to be intentional. Perhaps it is a comedy, after all, but so stone-faced it sailed right over me. Yet it does have its charms. Every moment with Ali and the kids is wonderful. The great Tramell Tillman shows up in a bit part and once again lights up the screen with a warm and poignant performance. John Cho is deliciously hammy as the snake oil salesman of a pastor. And it deserves a second mention; we desperately need films that present other cultural and religious viewpoints with this level of respect and beauty. I'm not as enraptured by Your Mother Your Mother Your Mother as others, though I feel it will grow on me over time. There's a lot to like here, even some things to love. Ali is magnificent, and Bassam Tariq is a fine director who understands how complicated and simple people can be all at once. I haven't stopped thinking about it since my screening, which is always a good sign. 3/5 stars. ![](https://storage.ghost.io/c/0c/47/0c4798b4-e19d-4d8f-8475-ae0910a66a04/content/images/2026/09/TRASH_MOUNTAIN_Still_01.webp) Image Credit: Courtesy of TIFF ## Trash Mountain Gavin (Caleb Hearon) and Abbi (Zooey Deschanel) play siblings who reunite to clear out the house of their deceased alcoholic father, who was a hoarder. The titular trash mountain builds up on the front lawn because nobody is available to sort out the trash. It sits there as a less-than-subtle metaphor for all the baggage the duo has yet to shift through. Surprisingly, this is not some miserable drama with washed-out colors and mumbled performances. Instead, it's a life-affirming, wholesome, and immensely moving story about letting go of the past to move on. Full of witty banter, terrific performances, and subtly affecting direction from Kris Rey, Trash Mountain is one of the unexpected joys of the year. Hearon and Deschanel are wonderful as the loving siblings who've grown apart, even as they try their hardest to recapture the childhood energy and connection in the worst possible circumstances. Deschanel, in particular, is remarkable as Abbi, who buries herself under mountains of layers to hide how vulnerable and scared she is. Deschanel sheds her past mannerisms and easy charm, and reveals a heartbreaking performance that is easily the best she's ever given. Hearon, too, is a delight. His is a showier part as the DJ of a drag burlesque show, who has built a detached persona to keep his demons at bay. But watch how eloquently, with small mannerisms, he communicates the yearning for connection; or how his body shifts when the conversation turns personal. Then, in one of the film's best moments, watch as his entire self quakes as he remembers there was more to his father than he is willing to admit. Trash Mountain is a treasure of a film. It's one of those small, unassuming experiences that come around without fanfare, and steal your heart for good. It captures fundamental truths about coming home, and how much easier it is to fill the void of pain with snarky asides than goodbyes. It is one of my favorite films at TIFF so far, and one of the best films I've seen this year. 5/5 stars. ![](https://storage.ghost.io/c/0c/47/0c4798b4-e19d-4d8f-8475-ae0910a66a04/content/images/2026/09/I-Play-Rocky_Still_02.webp) Image Credit: Courtesy of TIFF ## I Play Rocky All movies are lies, biopics doubly so. That's just the agreement we have with this art. We accept that for the sake of entertainment, everything we see is bullshit in one way or another. The only thing we require in return is that the film never bores us, and never gives us a chance to question just *how much* of what we're seeing is utter fabrication. I Play Rocky is a fabrication of a fabrication built upon the nostalgia of a beloved sports film. It exists as a hagiography stitched together from PR spin, urban myth, and screenwriting so lazy, it may qualify as a mortal sin. Directed in the loosest sense of the word by Peter Farrelly, I Play Rocky is a collection of Facebook chain letters which swear they reveal some unearthed piece of film trivia, but are almost exclusively lies. Again, that's fine, to an extent. After all, movies are fake. But I Play Rocky extends beyond that. It attempts to rewrite history into an epic myth, one that Stallone has tried to make reality for decades. It would stink to high heaven on a good day, but even more so now, as Sly works as a lackey for Donald Trump. The insincerity of it all wouldn't be so galling if the film had any semblance of artistry to its name. We can overlook that [the story about Rocky selling his dog because he couldn't pay his bills is a fabrication](https://www.snopes.com/fact-check/stallone-sold-his-dog/?ref=regionfree.net), and the tale that he didn't have an agent and turned down 300k to star as Rocky are embellishments, to put it kindly. It's even possible to ignore an elaborate setpiece where Irvin Winkler hides a film crew from an inspector so he doesn't have to pay union fees, which the film plays off as a charming gag instead of the ugly abuse of labor it is. It's far harder to write them all off when they're depicted so flatly and lifelessly, and each moment is played with the laborious pomposity of a Greek epic. This is a film about how destiny guided Sylvester Stallone to brilliance, and nothing else happened in the interim. You can tell that story and make it fun; look at Rocket Man, where Elton John narrates his own life story at an AA meeting. Here, the script by Peter Gamble might as well be a Wikipedia page. Farrelly relies on the fact that Rocky is a genuinely great movie, so he clings to it like a barnacle. If he can re-create a visual cue or line from the original, he will, and he does so with the grace of a hippo attempting ballet. In a way, it's like watching a cover band cynically play the one hit, over and over, and then act like they've done something new with the material. Anthony Ippolito tries his best, but he's lost under Farrelly's guidance, leaving his performance as Stallone a mere imitation of Sly as Rocky, not as a person. It doesn't help that Farrelly dresses Stallone in Rocky's clothing throughout the film, as if the clothes themselves *meant something*. I Play Rocky has nothing to say about who Stallone was or who he became as a result of creating Rocky. It doesn't care why Rocky became what it is, only that we recognize the IP. There is no insight into the absurdity or artistry of filmmaking. You won't learn a thing about writing, either. Instead, it's a laborious remix of someone else's vision. It lacks every bit of the rough-and-tumble charm that made Stallone's picture an enduring icon. As a result, it comes off as a cynical reproduction – nostalgia bait as crass and plastic as the inside of a souvenir shop. You'd do better watching any of the making-of documentaries instead. 1/5 stars. ![](https://storage.ghost.io/c/0c/47/0c4798b4-e19d-4d8f-8475-ae0910a66a04/content/images/2026/09/The-Stunt-Driver_Still_HERO.webp) Image Credit: Courtesy of TIFF ## The Stunt Driver A small Canadian delight anchored by a career-best performance from the ever-reliable Jay Baruchel, The Stunt Driver is another sort of biopic more interested in the emotional truth than anything else. Some of the things in it happened; most didn't, but it's so much fun and told with such devilish charm that even the fabrications feel authentic. (Take note, Rocky, this is how it's done.) Set in the 1970s, where stuntman Ken Carter attempts to jump the Saint-Laurent River in a rocket car, a full mile across. Everyone tells him it's idiotic, and he'll probably die. But according to Carter, facts are for sissies, and he is not a sissy. After all, he's almost forty, and he needs people to remember him, come hell or high water. Following him is a documentary crew, who occasionally break into a film-within-a-film to interview Carter, still played by Baruchel, about why he does what he does. Every time, Carter remains evasive. His insights are superficial musings about the grand gestures and landmark moments, but we can tell he's just scared of growing old and being forgotten. It's a tremendous performance, and Baruchel nails the practiced swagger of someone who uses braggadocio as armor. In the rare moments when he is alone with Gloria (Laurence Leboeuf), we see the scared kid who never heard anyone say he was enough. Then, it's back in the suit, and headfirst into something that might kill him. The Stunt Driver is a brisk, breezy, and ultimately very charming film about misplaced ambition and how easy it is to get swept into someone else's madness. Carter is fun to watch, even when he's obnoxious. He has the same chaotic ability to rewrite reality for a split second, just long enough to lure others into doing something stupid, before we all collectively realize that no, you can't jump a car a mile over a river. Yet even as we do, we still go on with it, because sometimes reality isn't enough, and we have to create our own to make sense of life. The Stunt Driver captures these contradictory truths simply and beautifully, and is a whole lot of fun in the process. It's a tremendous film. 4/5 stars.