TIFF 2026: ANCHORS AWEIGH, A LONG WINTER, TANGLES

      Absurdist comedy reaches a new peak with Matt Barats’ Anchors Aweigh, a just-over-70-minute comedy that starts offbeat and ends in a manner that’s equally as jarring. It’s far removed from the kind of comedy that would be typically found within a multiplex exhibition (the closest reference point I can think of is Gail Daughtry and The Celebrity Sex Pass; it takes David Wain’s tongue-in-cheek/absurdist maximalism and cranks it to the nth degree), and instead associates itself with the hyper-edited and fast-paced content that you’d commonly find on the average social media reels section. The comedy— which jumps between Infomercials-adjacent skits (Julie Miller’s Rate The Cookie specifically) and genuine archival footage from when Barats was a teenager, making video essays for high school credit about how it’s “not hard to find a good episode of Family Guy,” is just as bizarre as it is deeply inventive.

Within the context of Midnight Madness and its incredibly (I mean this in the best way possible) divisive and challenging line-up this year, Anchors Aweigh sticks out like a sore thumb, garnished with a pulsing blister of comedy on the fingertip that acts as a cherry on top. The laughs range from light nostril exhales to full-blown, rock-back-and-forth-in-your-seat squeals, largely thanks to the uncanny-valley narration and visuals; they consistently elevate the comedy to an unexpected level. No matter where you think a gag is going, you’re almost always wrong. It’s strange, it’s bizarre, and if you don’t find it funny, it’ll probably feel like a litmus test, but there’s no way this one is leaving my brain anytime soon. It’s “s’all good.”

        Haigh returns to the Toronto International Film Festival with a mood that he is no stranger to. His latest film, A Long Winter, which features The Bear’s Ebon Moss-Bachrach in a surprisingly subdued performance, follows various characters in a small community as they attempt to cope with the paranoia, depression, and anxiety related to the disappearance of a community member during a violent snowfall. Throughout the first act, the film’s shot composition and aesthetic are heavily reminiscent of Haigh’s last film, All of Us Strangers; the sound design remains vibe-heavy and powerful in a very subtle sense; however, Haigh seemingly exchanges the colourful longing of All of Us Strangers for a much more mood-heavy blue and white landscape, something reminiscent of a plain white canvas that has the faintest shade of light blue hanging over it.

It’s a film that truly sees Haigh in his element, as the meat and potatoes that propel the narrative events typically revolve around intimacy and longing. Anyone familiar with his previous films, like Lean on Pete and 45 Years, which capture internal conflicts and relationships under pressure with precise, individual perception, won’t be surprised to hear that A Long Winter is just as tender and emotionally resonant as anything he’s done before. Characters share near-silent space within various dimly candle-lit rooms, and the environments that surround them are often an indication of how they’re feeling, inevitably creating a dramatic atmosphere with a level of tension that's comparable to the average action film. All in all, it doesn’t ever reach the same emotional peak as some of his earlier works, but the third act ensures that the narrative sticks the landing. Haigh is entirely unique in the way he captures the icy mountains and snowy lands of Alberta. Those are always lovely to see on the big screen. 

    Everyone should do themselves a favour and remember this name, because when Tangles comes out in theatres (hopefully within the next few months), audiences will begin coming out in droves to rave over the film’s wildly successful sense of emotion and the singular, fun-loving style of its animation and character designs. The narrative being told is all too human, featuring the story of an elderly couple both experiencing the reality of growing older, told from the perspective of the family’s daughter. Never fear, the animation style does not compromise the emotional power of the story in the slightest. In fact, it amplifies the intensity of some of these scenes; there’s one particular moment in the third act that is devastating and very hard to watch, but that level of emotion and imagination could only be achieved through the guise of animation. 

Seth Rogen and Bryan Cranston are surprisingly wonderful additions to the stacked cast of voice actors, which also includes Sarah Silverman, Julia Louis-Dreyfus, and Wanda Sykes. The familiar, household-name voices seamlessly blend into their roles, including Rogen, who finds a way to make his trademark laugh feel entirely attached to his character. Virtually all of the boxes are being ticked throughout this film. You have deeply intimate writing that isn’t afraid to dive into the nitty-gritty of family relationships, and an animation style that continuously finds unique ways to display its emotional perspective. At the risk of giving too much away, I’ll cut myself off here, but I’m pretty sure this is the most upset I’ve been in a multiplex auditorium since The Iron Claw. 

Written By: Ben Scanga