The Jutras make my hands hurt

Alex and I went to the Jutras last night, and boy are my hands tired. We sat in the Bon Cop Bad Cop section, which was right next to where the Jutra show’s producer worked the crowd. He urged us at the end of every commercial break to clap like maniacs. After a while, I just started fake-clapping, and I now realize that’s what everyone probably does at the Oscars, too, having bruised their palms before the Best Short Documentary winner is done talking.

There was a lot to applaud, though. The big winner of the night was the auteur film Congorama, which I hadn’t seen but am going to rent now. It won for best screenplay, best actor, best director, and best film. (Is there a word for trifecta that involves four?).

Lots of glam, both onstage and in the audience. I’ve never been to the Genies, but the people who had were adamant that Montreal throws a more stylish bash.

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