Checking off a major goal on my cinephile to-do list, I was lucky enough to attend this year’s Cannes Film Festival – my first time at the legendary French celebration of international cinema. The experience was everything I’d heard it was and so much more than I expected. I was totally taken by and even emotionally impacted by the traditions of the festival and the deep respect that the attendees and officials so clearly have not just for cinema as an art form, but specifically for the filmmakers who craft them. At Cannes, directors are given the respect they deserve in the same way as is afforded, say, Van Gogh for when discussing painting or Beethoven when discussing music.
Every person I spoke to was eager to talk about which films they enjoyed and, perhaps even more interestingly, which they didn’t. The general sense, at least for the first few days of the festival, was that the lineup of films was proving to be somewhat disappointing, especially in the slate of competition films up for the Palme d’Or – arguably the most important and valuable prize a director can possibly be given in their career. This complaint started to dissipate later in the festival as more impressive titles had their premieres, and although I don’t have any other years to compare it to first-hand, I feel that with the festival’s close, it can be said that this Cannes was a success.
I managed to see 41 films in total during my 11 days at the festival, including every single one of the 22 competition titles. Now that the festival is done, let’s take a look at all 22 of those films and see how they measure up against each other.
22. The Unknown (L’Inconnue) (dir. Arthur Harari)
One of the more unwelcome trends at this year’s festival was the abundance of movies that revel in keeping the audience at a remove, swapping out seemingly obvious cinematic elements like well-structured dialogue and creative filmmaking choices for vacancy, plainness, and a haughty feeling of remove, as if an audience craving a more compelling film experience is asking too much. The most risible example of these amongst the films in competition was “The Unknown,” directed by Arthur Harari, the Oscar-winning co-writer of “Anatomy of a Fall.” Starring an admittedly (and unsurprisingly) excellent Léa Seydoux, the film begins with an incredibly creative concept, wherein Seydoux’s character, after having sex with a stranger named David (Niels Schneider), wakes up to find that they’ve swapped bodies. But once this French Freaky Friday goes down, Harari abandons any interest in exploring the provocative questions that this situation raises, instead having Seydoux wander around aimlessly, staring into nothingness for minutes on end—a total waste of an interesting idea and of a talented actress’s abilities.
21. The Dreamed Adventure (Das Geträumte Abenteuer) (dir. Valeska Grisebach)
Like “The Unknown,” Valeska Grisebach’s drama set on the border of Bulgaria and Turkey eschews the apparently vulgar idea of making a film with the audience in mind. Forgetting that film is a visual medium that must capture the attention of the eye, Grisebach is content to let her camera follow her main character (an impressive debut by Yana Radeva) as she slowly ambles through her environment. Every now and then, she stumbles upon other humans, and the film maintains its languid pace by simply observing these groups in rambling, circular conversation. And of course, it’s numbingly almost three hours long. There are interesting ideas about a nation reckoning with and still recovering from its difficult recent history, but “The Dreamed Adventure” isn’t interested in engaging with them beyond brief mentions and obtuse references.
20. Sheep in the Box (箱の中の羊) (dir. Hirokazu Koreeda)
An expert at sensitively-told dramas, Koreeda’s latest leans far too aggressively into this intention, coming across instead as manipulative and cloying. “Sheep in the Box” takes place in the near future and depicts two parents who, before the events of the film, lost their young son. Thanks to advances in humanoid robot technology, they bring home an artificially intelligent version of their son who’s visually identical to him. It’s a little bit “Hamnet,” a little bit “After Yang,” and entirely too predicated on forcing an emotional reaction from its viewers. It feels as if the film is staring at its audience, demanding to know why they aren’t crying.
19. A Man of His Time (Notre Salut) (dir. Emmanuel Marre)
One of several movies about occupied France during World War II, Emmanuel Marre’s “A Man of His Time” has two factors going for it that separate it from the others exploring the same time period. One, the titular man at the film’s center isn’t fighting for the Resistance; instead, he shamelessly wiggles his way into a position of governmental power in Vichy France. And two, that man, Henri Marre, was the director’s real-life great-grandfather. Like “The Unknown,” it’s an instantly attention-grabbing concept, but executed in a way that wastes this notable hook. To make his far-from-original point about the banality of evil, the director consumes most of the film with seemingly-endless scenes of bureaucratic operations, told through blandly administrative dialogue. The enigmatic Swann Arlaud plays Henri not as obnoxiously opportunistic but instead quietly agreeable, helping give the film some sense of compelling throughline in its extended runtime.
18. The Birthday Party (Histoires de la Nuit) (dir. Léa Mysius)
On paper, “The Birthday Party” sounds like the kind of crime-based thriller that would more likely be found on TNT rather than at the Cannes Film Festival. Drawing comparisons to “Funny Games” and “The Strangers,” it’s the story of a home invasion that’s far from random or intended as a robbery. Instead, one of the character’s wicked past deeds literally comes barging into their present. It’s not the highest of artistic achievements, nor is it as entertaining as one would hope it would be, but it’s effectively tense, building to a cathartic finale.
17. Parallel Tales (Histoires Parallèles) (dir. Asghar Farhadi)
Absolutely the biggest disappointment of the festival, coming from one of our great masters of contemporary drama. Asghar Farhadi’s “Parallel Tales” is a missed opportunity in many regards. It wastes Isabelle Huppert, relegating her to the role of a kooky shut-in, which is admittedly enjoyable to watch in an almost perverse way (in one scene, she lights a cigarette in the most unusual, camp way possible). And once the film reveals its true narrative intentions, Huppert disappears, as if there’s no place for her in the central dramatics. What follows is a sloppy, occasionally entertaining mess. It’s a totally shocking miss for one of the greatest assemblers of tightly-structured human dramas.
16. Fjord (dir. Cristian Mungiu)
Of the films that got near-universal praise, “Fjord” is the one that worked for me the least. It’s a successfully upsetting, intentionally frustrating story about a Romanian family (led by acting power pair Sebastian Stan and Renate Reinsve) who’ve recently immigrated to Norway and find themselves facing a potentially disastrous legal battle that puts differing national traditions and religious beliefs under the microscope that is Cristian Mungiu’s camera. It’s a calmly constructed, chilly movie (literally – the peaks and waterways of the titular geological feature loom behind the characters in many scenes), intentionally placing the audience miles away from the humanity of the characters in a way that failed to connect with me, emotionally or intellectually. Mungiu’s shrugging perspective is also no accident, but it makes it hard to get drawn into the film’s difficult talking points.
15. Fatherland (Vaterland) (dir. Paweł Pawlikowski)
In a festival full of movies that pushed beyond two and even three hours, Paweł Pawlikowski served up an easily consumable film in only 82 minutes (including credits!) But that doesn’t mean that “Fatherland” is light on ideas, using a fantastic pair of performances from Hanns Zischler and Sandra Hüller to examine how people move through changing times, reckoning with the past while being forced to keep moving forward. As with Pawlikowski’s “Ida” and the extraordinary “Cold War,” Lukasz Zal’s black-and-white cinematography creates stunning screen images. But it’s decidedly the weakest of this unexpected trilogy. While its abbreviated length was undeniably a relief for those of us who spent the better part of two weeks in darkened theaters, the film accelerates to a sudden ending in a way that makes the film feel as small in impact as it is in number of minutes.
14. Nagi Notes (ナギダイアリー) (dir. Koji Fukada)
Small and slow, Koji Fukada’s film uses minimalized execution better than some of the lower entries on this list that revel in withholding enjoyment from their audience. “Nagi Notes” centers on two women in contemporary Japan, played by Shizuka Ishibashi and Takako Matsu, as they reunite after many years apart and find that their connection is not only just as strong, but it may have unexpectedly deepened with time. It’s not the most dynamic film, but the intelligent screenplay brings up big, conversation-starting ideas without too much self-importance.
13. Bitter Christmas (Amarga Navidad) (dir. Pedro Almodóvar)
“Bitter Christmas” doesn’t rank with the greatest achievements of the genius of Spanish filmmaking that is Almodóvar, and Pedro seems to know that. He uses a dual narrative: one about a screenwriter (Leonardo Sbaraglia) and the other showing the actions of the screenplay he’s writing in real time across the course of the movie. It’s a clear self-examination of the director’s creative process, concluding in a manner that’s part brilliant, part cop-out. He essentially tells viewers that he’s aware of the shortcomings of the film itself, but that any act of creation should be valued, even if the output is less-than-exceptional. A bit self-indulgent? Perhaps, but if anyone has earned the right to self-critique in a way that still comes across as proud of his own achievements (and what a queer thing to do!), It’s Pedro.
12. Paper Tiger (dir. James Gray)
The word that comes to mind when watching “Paper Tiger” is “sturdy.” One of the least challenging films in competition, it’s a classic small-scale crime story, choosing to focus on a family that tumbles onto the wrong side of the law totally by accident. Some of the filmmaking choices aren’t perfectly executed (Joaquín Baca-Asay’s cinematography feels improperly lit for the type of story being told), but James Gray’s screenplay keeps the grounded tale focused. The performances are kind of all over the place; Adam Driver’s opportunistic former police officer who ties his brother (a steady Miles Teller) up in a criminal enterprise is the appropriate mix of assuredness and surprising dopiness, with Driver’s performance smartly hiding the naivete that his character’s behavior indicates. And then there’s Scarlett Johansson as The Wife™ of Teller’s character, giving one of the broadest performances at this year’s Cannes. She has a huge, but not inaccurate, accent, and she’s so literally shaky that she risks her unflattering wig tumoring off her head. But it can’t be said that whatever she’s doing, whether you call it good or bad, is anything but totally enjoyable to watch.
11. The Beloved (El sur querido) (dir. Rodrigo Sorogoyen)
Everybody was comparing Rodrigo Sorogoyen’s film to last year’s Cannes sensation “Sentimental Value,” and based on the plot, there’s good reason to do so. Javier Bardem (in one of his most excellent, powerful performances ever) plays a film director who has a reputation for being difficult to his cast and crew in the name of making great art. But with his latest film, he hopes to soften his reputation, choosing to cast his actual – and estranged – daughter (a wonderful Victoria Luengo) in the lead role. Some of the filmmaking choices that Sorogoyen uses distract more than elevate his material, especially the overly showy cinematography. But thanks to Bardem and one absolute knock-out of a scene later in the film that depicts a difficult shooting day, “The Beloved” is effective in its drama and compelling throughout.
10. Moulin (dir. László Nemes)
As usual with László Nemes, his latest film explores World War II, this time embedding its audience in the French Resistance. Most interestingly, the liberation fighters are shown to be in a state of internal turmoil, struggling to align their many members’ interests and perspectives. Gilles Lellouche gives an extraordinary, fully lived-in performance as Jean Moulin, the real-life figure who was tasked with unifying the Resistance. Most of this film about him takes place after his arrest by the Gestapo; at first, he’s questioned as if it were all a misunderstanding, but eventually, the film becomes a harrowing prison drama, showing the different types of torture he went through. One stunning sequence calls to mind a rousing moment from “Casablanca,” but turned on its head, conveying despair instead of hope. “Moulin” is harrowing, bleak, unnerving, and basically every other dour-sounding adjective you can think of, made cinematically engrossing by Lellouche’s excellent work.
9. Coward (dir. Lukas Dhont)
After his last film, “Close,” received an Oscar nomination for Best International Feature, young filmmaker Lukas Dhont is back at Cannes with another exploration of queer identity under less-than-ideal circumstances. It’s a gorgeously shot film about a performance troop made up of Belgian soldiers, tasked with entertaining their fellow soldiers to boost morale. Centered around two young men brought together by circumstance but drawn together by desire, both Emmanuel Macchia and, especially, Valentin Campagne give captivating performances. Crafted with an eye for beauty that aligns with the characters’ romantic perspectives (the costume designs are particularly good), “Coward” is gentle in execution but powerful in its story.
8. A Woman’s Life (La Vie d’une Femme) (dir. Charline Bourgeois-Tacquet)
If the title of “A Woman’s Life” sounds simple and non-specific, that’s because the film itself is as well. The fantastic, magnetic Léa Drucker plays the titular role: a surgeon named Gabrielle whose life begins to move in unexpected directions when she meets Frida (Mélanie Thierry), an author shadowing Gabrielle at work for research. The film is broken up into chapters (arguably, way too many for its humble runtime), moving swiftly through this period of Gabrielle’s life, showing that life’s unpredictability can strike at any time. It’s a well-observed, very funny, small film that’s a simply enjoyable, impactful watch.
7. Another Day (Garance) (dir. Jeanne Herry)
Fairly similar to “A Woman’s Life” in structure and execution, but with a more defined central concept, “Another Day” follows Garance (Adèle Exarchopoulos), an actress not so much struggling with alcoholism as fully accepting of her condition. She tosses off the fact of her addiction laughingly to anyone who will listen. Herry’s greatest achievement is the slow, subtle way in which she reveals the true depths of Garance’s drinking problem. At first, we only see her having a few excessive glasses of wine with no worrying behavioral effects. Then we start to see her stumbling, but only in the safety of her own home. And as the film goes on, her issues become more and more pronounced, powerfully mirroring the ways that alcoholics like Garance are good at hiding their addiction, with clues slowly revealed to her acquaintances and the audience at the same time. Exarchopoulos is powerful, charming, and darkly funny in the lead role.
6. Gentle Monster (dir. Marie Kreutzer)
In her follow-up to “Corsage,” Marie Kreutzer goes in a completely different direction with “Gentle Monster,” telling a straightforward domestic drama set in the present day. Here, Léa Seydoux plays Lucy, a woman who, with the unexpected arrival of the police to their house, learns that her husband (Laurence Rupp) has been accused of one of the worst crimes imaginable: the possession and distribution of child pornography. Smartly, the audience only ever knows as much information as Lucy does at any given time, making us experience the same levels of doubt and relief with every revelation and explanation that she does. It’s a powerful, darkly compelling exploration of the evils of which men are capable.
5. The Man I Love (dir. Ira Sachs)
Ira Sachs fans won’t be surprised to learn that his latest film, “The Man I Love,” focuses on a difficult, prickly, gay protagonist. The stalwart of queer cinema is never interested in exploring gay men who are blandly sympathetic, instead turning his camera on characters on those who, in a way that’s true to life, have a habit of behaving poorly, with an emphasis on themselves over others. Here, his central figure, named Jimmy, is brought to life by Rami Malek, who gives what’s easily his best performance ever. Jimmy is an actor dying of AIDS, not letting the disease slow down either his creative spirit or his self-centered behavior. Given that he’s playing an inherently dramatic character, Malek’s trademark acting ticks, which can usually be distracting, make perfect sense here. The film is wonderfully melancholy and totally beautiful in its unshowy sadness.
4. Hope (호프) (dir. Na Hong-jin)
South Korean director Na Hong-jin made a splash with his 2016 horror film “The Wailing,” and this year, he returned to Cannes with what’s undoubtedly the oddest, most unexpected inclusion in the competition lineup. “Hope” is a lengthy, unabashedly enjoyable monster film, with notably little in the way of actual substance or grounded characterization. But what it lacks in depth, it more than makes up for in superb action filmmaking. The first hour of the film is one long chase scene, given an epic feeling by a dextrous camera and overwhelmingly chaotic production design, drawing comparison to George Miller’s masterpiece “Mad Max: Fury Road.” The middle of the film sags a bit, but the conclusion is just as thrilling as the opening, ending on an admittedly strange note. This was a divisive film, but for anyone looking for an achievement of pure filmmaking prowess, it’s a total blast.
3. Minotaur (Минотавр) (dir. Andrey Zvyagintsev)
With his Oscar-nominated films “Leviathan” and “Loveless,” Andrey Zvyagintsev showed that he’s supremely adept at combining domestic drama and wide-ranging, societal themes. “Minotaur” is no exception, using an overwhelmingly bleak approach in the tone and the filmmaking (the film’s color palette is almost entirely made up of moody blues and grays), Zvyagintsev uses an unhappy couple as a jumping off point to explore the way that his home country of Russia unceremoniously tosses its men into the meat grinder of war, without care for how it affects them or their loved ones. And though it’s a cinematic exercise in misery, it’s entirely captivating, thanks to Zvyagintsev’s ingenious filmmaking and propulsive narrative. He even has a strangely enjoyable sense of irony, as the film’s greatest instance of levity occurs during its most violent moment.
2. All of a Sudden (Soudain / 急に具合が悪くなる) (dir. Ryusuke Hamaguchi)
Clocking in at 196 minutes, or nearly two and a half hours, “All of a Sudden” is a cinematic challenge in actual physical stamina. But, as with his similarly lengthy “Drive My Car,” it’s best to sink into the exquisitely intellectual, deeply emotional world that Ryusuke Hamaguchi crafts, letting its many, many discussion points and themes wash over you. The film focuses on the coincidentally established and sudden friendship between two women: the French Marie-Lou (Virginie Efira) and the Japanese Mari (Tao Okamoto). The former is a manager at a retirement home going through a crisis of morale amongst the employees, and the latter is a theater director on death’s doorstep thanks to a stage four cancer diagnosis. After their early meeting, the film follows them as they have a series of long, long conversations about, well, kinda everything. But ultimately, it’s a stunning, powerful film that, thanks to rather than despite its leg-cramping runtime, builds to a final act that’s an overwhelmingly emotional experience. I basically had a steady stream of tears flowing down my face for the entire final 45 minutes.
1. The Black Ball (La bola negra) (dir. Javier Ambrossi and Javier Calvo)
In a festival defined by restrained and measured, unshowy filmmaking, the directing pair known as Los Javis shook things up in a major way in one of the later premieres with their ultra impressive, big in every way “The Black Ball.” A decades-spanning triptych that leaps between timelines, it tells the stories of three different Spanish gay men whose lives become – and in some ways always have been – unexpectedly intertwined. It’s a refreshingly epic film, using classic large-scale filmmaking techniques like big crowds, huge sets, and literally explosive sequences to tell a powerful tale of the resiliency and necessity of art, even in and especially during times of seemingly unending strife. It’s a truly major work, calling to mind “The English Patient” by way of “The Hours,” and it’s sure to be a defining piece of film whose achievement bursts past the confines of queer cinema, marking a landmark accomplishment for the art of cinematic storytelling for all time.
What did you think of this year’s Cannes competition titles? Which ones are you most excited to see? Please let us know in the comments section below or on our X account.
