I Cannesae Believe It

There's magic among the mess

Right after Cannes ends, it’s time for the Monaco Grand Prix. For the ultra-rich and famous — the Gstaad lads, the Macau men, the Grand National and Henley Boat Party guys, summer in the northern hemisphere, summer again in the southern hemisphere types — it makes perfect sense. Monaco is a mere hour east of Cannes. And from there you can cross into San Remo, living a life of plenty, surrounded by big boats, fabulous people, easy access to class-A drugs, and endless bottles of champagne.

It’s a nice life. Probably boring in the end, though. Then way down at the bottom of the food chain, behind producers, actors, directors, screenwriters, etc, sitting on the floor due to lack of available space, are the film critics. They queue, they eat bad food, they sleep terribly — they stumble out of movies at 1 am, they have to get back to Antibes, or Nice, or somewhere else far away. Most of them get paid a pittance. Hardly any make a profit. Its perceived to be a job of immense privilege, therefore basic labour rights aren’t important. Awful! Especially not at Cannes, itself a dystopian movie about the vast inequalities embedded within the film world.

But hey, there are lots of wonderful films knocking about, by directors with things to say and skilled ways to say them. It’s unsurprising that both the new Ceylan and Glazer films, About Dry Grasses and Zone of Interest, are receiving rave reviews. But sadly, as I am below even the yellow badge — I’m simply a guy in Berlin replying to PR emails — I do not have rarefied access to such films. I’ll probably have to go and pay to see them in the cinema like a schnook. Like this dude below. Look how sad he looks.

But what I have seen is still exciting, and so we plod on, with both epic pieces and small. On the gargantuan side is my ACID round-up, checking out the most forgotten of all Cannes sidebars: check it out here.

And also:

Gonna Burst into Flames, It’s Raining in the House

There’s a whole genre of film called Kids Smoking Cigarettes. Usually European, often seen in the Berlinale Generation section, often a first or second-time feature, usually taking place over that Last Summer of youth. The kids are always a bit too young to be smoking cigarettes, or fending for themselves, or dabbling in crime, or drinking alcohol, but they have no choice: they are stuck in the social realist film genre. And after perhaps the UK, Belgium are the kings of social realism: enter It’s Raining in the House (Paloma Sermon-Daï, 2023). 

The Rapture Isn’t Arriving Today, Sorry.

If someone tells an innocuous lie at the opening of a movie, they’re certainly likely to tell a much bigger lie later on. When Salomé (Nina Meurisse) asks her best friend Lydia (Hafsia Herzi) in The Rapture (Iris Kaltenbäck, 2023) to check her pregnancy test, Lydia initially tells her that it’s negative. After scanning Salomé’s disappointed reaction, she actually admits, no, it’s positive. 

Sound familiar? Find out why.

Uncomfortable. Upsetting. Brilliant. Creatura.

There are two reasons why I don’t rewatch certain films. There are those that are so bad, I have no intention of revisiting. Then there are those occasionally brilliant films that are simply far too uncomfortable to ever want to watch again. The Catalonian Creatura (Elena Martín, 2023) is certainly the latter; a deeply discomforting and distressing exploration of female sexuality that uses horror tropes to gnaw away, and turn inside-out, concepts of shame, male violence and internalised hatred. It’s totally engaging; I’m never watching it again.