Mile End Kicks

TIFF REVIEW: BY EDEN PROSSER

September 14, 2025

3.5 OUT OF 5 STARS

While the Toronto International Film Festival may hold renown for its acclaimed world premieres, recognized as a launching point for some of the buzziest titles to break onto the world stage, one oft-undervalued highlight is its spotlight on those who, instead, were born closer to home. In 2022, Toronto native Chandler Levack emerged into the cultural conversation with critically-adored debut I Like Movies: a wonderfully meta coming-of-age romp, steeped in the honey-tinged nostalgia of Blockbuster reminiscence, suburban Canadiana. This festival, Levack has returned to that same stage, accompanied by yet another slice of 2000s Canadian charm—this time, lauded as one of the festival’s most anticipated. An ode to music criticism, artistic dreams, and the throes of adolescent self-discovery, Mile End Kicks sees Levack spinning the record of 23-year-old Grace Pine (Barbie Ferreira), a burgeoning music critic torn between ambition and independence during a Montreal-set summer—a deliciously engaging romp, underscored by the most effervescent compositions of original independent rock.

Levack, herself a former music critic, harnesses the brushstrokes of her own youth to deepen the lived impact of her feature. Temporal quirks—the rise of Alanis Morrisette, the neon-drenched grime of a warehouse rave—situate the viewer distinctly into the age of the aughts, producing a setting as distinct as the players within. Montreal, through Levack’s sun-soaked lens, seems almost animate in its own way, veracious in its lived familiarity. A focus on exteriors deepens the sensation: staircases, winding like poetry around brick homes, twisting mahogany reflecting the push-and-pull of yearning neighbours. A poetry reading, framed under a tunnelled bridge, graffiti lifting off the cold, foreboding concrete. Harnessing the city as not simply a backdrop, but a reflection of interiority, not only strengthens the cinematic setting—it deepens the emotive effort, transformational, as a simple locale becomes an animate presence all its own.

That’s certainly not to say that the locale remains the sole contributor to captivation. At the helm of the feature is Grace, whose singular wit, awkward charm, and burgeoning confidence simply transfix, natural in performance, delivery. Gone is the familiarity of a known face; Ferreira melts into the role, unrecognizable in a charismatic well of sheer veracity. It’s a career-best performance: a star-making turn, comparable to Hudson in Almost Famous, or The Devil Wears Prada’s Hathaway. Her charm is met—matched, even—by lead guitarist Archie (Devon Bostick), whose bashful aptitude lives up to the actor’s cult-classic reputation: separate, they compel; together, they’re electric. Band frontman Chevy (Stanley Simons), inelegant in stature, provides a fitting foil; though perhaps more ‘cautionary tale’ than ‘desirable heartthrob,’ his bullish boyishness, dialled beyond prototypical expectation, magnifies his every quality, deepening the complexity of Grace’s romantic intent.

More polished than her celebrated debut, Levack harnesses technical excellence to elevate her effort into a sophomore success. The injection of original independent rock, penned by Tops, a Montreal-established staple, injects exhilaration, a shock of electricity that jolts through every stage-set moment. Bone Party, from its opening moments, feels not like a ‘band created for a fictional narrative,’ but a genuine staple of early-2000s indie grunge. Moody lighting, cramped blocking, further contribute to the authenticity of the appeal.

Mile End Kicks is, above all, a coming-of-age effort: a familiar melody, yet one that hits all the correct notes nonetheless. As Grace moves to her new city, notes app brimming with a set of dreams, we, the audience, are invigorated by her wide-eyed optimism. The subsequent introduction of not one, but two love interests, opening her worldview as they pull her from her path, expands her hero’s journey: the subsequent loss of self, rediscovery of independence, bookends the archetype, resolute. Though new ground may not be broken—the unique spin on the narrative stems from the authenticity under Levack’s pen, or perhaps the specificity of the Montreal indie critic scene, not the narrative itself—the commitment to such a celebrated genre ensures that any fan of such would, here, discover much to love. Shades of Almost Famous shimmer off the plot; so, too, is there a whiff of Sing Street, crowd-pleasing favourites whose cult following seem an ideal audience for this similarly-valenced effort.

That said, what provides Mile End Kicks, specifically, with such remarkable compulsion is the dubiety of its scripted lead. Grace, in so many regards, holds a candle to the prototypical mid-20s dreamer: head in the clouds, ambitions sky-high, a bottomless well of untapped talent simply brimming for purchase. There is, however, added depth that gleams through her consequential floundering. Distracted by the ‘hot’ one, irregardless of the glaring bundle of red flags; dismissing critical invitations for fleeting hits of dopamine: alongside any prototypical ‘protagonist’ conventions, Grace, too, displays a near-outweighed aggregate of foibles. With each err, uncharacteristically appalling, the script is, in fact, elevated: bolstered, in rawness, authenticity, as Levack imbues such on the page. Yes, at times, the narrative becomes equally as compelling as appalling. Decisions elicit just as many groans as grins. The decision-making displayed throughout is reckless; still, this elicits genuine emotion from the viewer, while simultaneously humanizing its lead. It is a risk, one Levack has boldly taken: penning a protagonist who straddles the line between ‘genuine’ and ‘frustratingly pitiful,’ making it all the more impressive that such a line is conserved as the film continues to progress.

Perhaps there could have been an added taste of originality. Though Levack does, in the occasional voice-over, glean a shard of professional opinion, depicting the uphill battle of the female critic, the struggle to command respect in such a male-dominated role, such discussions are relegated to nothing more than snapshots: fleeting, despite the compulsion wrought through their deliverance. The dissolution of Grace’s planned ambitions, though brought about by her own actions, is seldom referenced by its consequence. When thoroughly investigated, the film’s denouement seems not triumphant, but bittersweet: a symphony unfinished, in which one is left pondering if the protagonist would, beyond the final frame, be happy after all. Still, perhaps such extrapolations are unnecessarily pedantic. The film itself, within the bounds of its intended runtime, remains so gloriously authentic, so wonderfully melodic, that such qualms are able to be deftly brushed aside.

As gorgeously authentic as her debut, Mile End Kicks immortalizes Levack as a Canadian auteur, proving that she has what it takes to amuse, to engage, to compel. The nostalgia-soaked slice of indie sleaze presents a gloriously lightweight jolt of 2000s Canadiana, led effervescently by a star as graceful as her name suggests. Laughter; levity; authenticity; sheer cringe: eliciting the entire spectrum of adolescent evocation, there’s simply such humanity throughout, culminating in a feature that’s impossible not to love. In fact, it may indeed become a breakout moment for Levack, elevating the filmmaker from national treasure to international acclaim: for despite the familiar locale, the authenticity seeped throughout is universal, packaged in such a tight tale of self-discovery that it can’t help but touch the heart—nor elicit such a soft-hued grin. A stellar sophomore success for the Canadian icon.