Favorite: The poetry of the end of the world
I won’t tell you stories. The festival is advanced. The fact remains that no film has yet raised theaters or aroused critical consensus in competition. Yet the fact that Cannes exists, even transformed after the pandemic years, is a miracle in itself. Because great filmmakers in the race may not have signed their best works, their signatures remain. Cronenberg remains Cronenberg, the Dardenne brothers are faithful to their style. The seventh art still survives in its diversity. In addition, several filmings carried out during the confinements give birth to scenes of dark and deserted streets, without the armada of extras, giving them a kind of end-of-the-world poetry.
Rant: The cries of the photographers
Whether it’s in front of the red carpets or during photo ops before press conferences, like Cronenberg’s on Tuesday, you hear their cries before you see the pack. The photographers discover each other by ear, then the eye sees their massed silhouettes. They shout: Kristen! Leah! or Viggo! in hopes the star will notice them and send them a smoldering gaze in front of the camera. Sometimes it works. The star looks at them, and the picture will be more lively and successful. But such an almost aggressive collective rumble reminds us of the echoing sound of anti-mask protests that make you want to run away.
Odile Tremblay is the guest of the Cannes Film Festival.
To see in video