Cannes: Day Three
My final day at Cannes and the last day of the festival, covering Wes Anderson’s The French Dispatch, Les Olympiades, and partying on the beach with Spike Lee.
All good things must come to an end, so here we are. The third and final day of my Cannes accreditation; the last day of the festival. Two days in and I was five films, a Steve McQueen Q&A, and a Bill Murray and friends live performance deep, yet film fatigue and theatre seat backache had yet to really surface. I felt surprisingly fresh on the morning of day three, despite needing to double up on late night pints after my new acquaintance – Thomas, from France – needed to make a swift exit from the pub to catch the last train to Nice, where he was staying during the festival. I feigned disappointment as Thomas made hurried apologies and left, more than happy to hoover up his fresh drink after finishing my own.
The lack of film fatigue may have been because of the hype and excitement surrounding the first film that I was scheduled to see on day three. Wes Anderson’s The French Dispatch really was the talk of the town – not necessarily because it was seen as a contender for the festival’s Palme d’Or, or because it was earmarked as a future all-time classic; really just because Wes Anderson’s films are an artsy, stylish, quirky party, with a cast containing a list of heavyweight names that is too long to be appropriate to actually type out.
But fuck appropriateness, it’s worth spelling out why certain members of the 3 jours à Cannes WhatsApp group were ready to resort to murder or gardening to get into a screening of The French Dispatch. In no particular order, Anderson’s latest film features Bill Murray, Frances McDormand, Benicio Del Toro, Timothée Chalamet, Léa Seydoux, Tilda Swinton, Adrien Brody, Owen Wilson, Jeffrey Wright, Edward Norton, Willem Dafoe, Saoirse Ronan, Christophe Waltz, Liev Schrieber, and probably a few more which I have forgotten.
The film has been sitting finished and ready for release for over a year and was originally scheduled to premiere at Cannes in 2020. As last year’s edition was cancelled – like everything else – due to COVID-19, Anderson agreed to withhold release, let the film gather dust on a shelf for a year and premiere at this year’s Cannes instead. Who said Netflix, Amazon, and other streaming services were turning the tide? Who said COVID could kill cinemas (except from me…)? Who said pomp and circumstance was dead?
The French Dispatch centres on a (fictional) magazine of the same name based in a (fictional) French town, home to some of the greatest and most intellectual (fictional) writers of the period. The film is parody and tribute of iconic magazine The New Yorker, and is structured in the form of three vignettes that cover the content of the Dispatch’s final edition, following the death of its editor. It’s a fun ride that is typical Wes Anderson; less substance, but much more style. If you are in the theatre to be pulled into a tense and gritty plot that resonates with your own life experiences, then a Wes Anderson film is not for you. But if you like laughing at tongue-in-cheek, self-referential filmmaking that oozes the cult director’s favoured personal style, then The French Dispatch will do nicely. Review below.
Post-French Dispatch, I grabbed lunch with Thomas and his friend from Lebanon. Luckily, Thomas had no issues finishing his drink this time, and he was even happy to act as my personal translator when the stubborn waitress continued to persevere with asking me questions in French that I didn’t understand. Still or sparkling water? How would I like my cheeseburger cooked? Way above my paygrade and my Scottish Standard Grade 3 in French. Merci, Thomas.
Up next was the last new film that I would see at the festival; Les Olympiades (Paris, 13th District), from director Jacques Audiard. The film focuses on three late-twenties/early-thirties adults who navigate life in Paris. Despite the film’s Paris setting and black-and-white cinematography, this is not La Haine 25 years on. Rather than be a social or political commentary on Paris, a focus on the struggle of the poor and the affluence of the rich in France’s premier city, Les Olympiades is an understated study of young, middle class professionals as they navigate life and (in typically French fashion) love in modern-day Paris.
Les Olympiades was decent; not amazing or life-changing, and not one I’d likely go out of my way to watch again, but a reasonably entertaining film that probably tried to cover too much ground within two hours. Maybe that day three film fatigue was starting to set in? Or maybe it was the anticipation for what would surely be an uplifting party to wrap things up at Cannes 2021.
Before we made it to the beach screening of American Utopia, Cannes’ jury president Spike Lee’s concert film that captures a theatre performance of ex-Talking Heads frontman David Byrne’s latest tour, we picked up a couple of new recruits to join us for the curtain closer; the final night’s sunset soirée.
Having overheard Thomas and I speaking English in the queue for Les Olympiades, an American girl wearing a full leopard print outfit and matching leopard print mask introduced herself, expressing her relief at finally hearing some fellow English speakers. Without anything to compare this year’s festival to, it did feel like the vast majority of people here were from continental Europe, clearly benefitting from the EU’s freedom of movement that remains despite COVID; those able to travel to the South of France without the same amount of hoop-jumping that UK and US citizens face, both on arrival in the EU and when returning home. With the matching animal print outfit, our American friend gave herself the title of the New York Bamm-Bamm, in reference to the youngster in the Flinstones, so that’s what we’ll call her.
Our trio made our way to the Cinema de La Plage; Cannes’ cinema on the beach, consisting of a huge temporary screen and deck chairs emblazoned with the festival’s palme logo placed on the sand next to the sea. I had arranged to meet the only other Brit that I had come across in Cannes – Daniel – in the queue, and the trio became a quartet, taking our seats/deckchairs in front of the huge screen.
Spike Lee – director of American Utopia and this year’s jury president at Cannes – appeared on stage to introduce his concert film; addressing the crowd in typical Spike Lee New York fashion. ‘What’s up! Cannes in the house!’ Lee reminded the crowd that we shouldn’t be scared to get up and dance, and told ‘whoever is doing sound: turn it up!’
I had already seen the American Utopia film, and had been to David Byrne’s gig at The Hydro in Glasgow on the same tour, but ending my festival experience with a screening-slash-party on the beach, soundtracked by great music from Talking Heads and Byrne’s solo releases, introduced by Spike Lee – it was special.
And just when it couldn’t seemingly get any better, Talking Heads’ biggest hit – ‘Once in a Lifetime’ – sparks a spontaneous uprising of attendees, who turn the area directly in front of the screen into a makeshift dancefloor. Then comes a flurry of commotion from the back of the dancing crowd, as four stone-faced tuxedo-clad men appear to be shielding a small, eccentrically-dressed child from the rest of the crowd; the child’s matching hat and suit giving Bamm-Bamm a run for her money in the coordinated outfit stakes.
It turns out it wasn’t a small child, it was all five-feet of Spike Lee himself, who had taken his own advice and joined the crowd to dance. At this point, the song title and Byrne’s lyrics felt particularly fitting: in Cannes, attempting to dance on beach as my feet slipped in the sand, being a few metres from Spike Lee, when any sort of mass gathering or crowd had almost became a lost memory from a time gone by; it really felt like once in a lifetime. As Byrne says in the song: ‘and you may ask yourself, well – how did I get here?’
What an ending to an amazing few days. We emptied the sand from our shoes and made our way to a lively street a few blocks behind the beach; some final drinks to toast the end of the 74th edition of the Festival de Cannes.
One final, bizarre twist was to come in the form of meeting a Serbian producer who Bamm-Bamm had randomly spoken to earlier in the day, when he had asked her if she knew how to connect to the Palais Wi-Fi. It turns out that this Serbian producer was Mladen Velimirović, who was attending the festival to introduce a remastered version of his father’s 1961 film ‘The Fourteenth Day’, which premiered at Cannes in 1961 and was being shown this year in honour of the 60-year anniversary. Velimirović looks suspiciously like Nigel Farage – which would be a hilarious cover story for the former UKIP leader; posing undercover as a Serbian film producer to attend a flagship European event on the French Riviera.
A shite shirt, Bamm-Bamm, Farage
As the pubs in the street began to close at around 4am, there was one thing left to do. Buy a bottle of wine for the road and head home. Having picked a few bottles from the fridge, the shopkeeper randomly typed in €45. For two bottles of bog-standard wine. I know we’re in the South of France, but come on. We’re talking about a small newsagents-style shop, a 24-hour off licence.
After questioning where he had plucked the amount from, he started from scratch and charged €30. A 33% saving. Result. You can learn more about this world-class negotiation technique and much more by purchasing Donald Trump’s The Art of the Deal here, on Amazon.
‘And you may ask yourself, well – how did I get here?’
And with that, Cannes was fini.
The French Dispatch
Wes Anderson’s The French Dispatch centres on a fictional magazine of the same name. In typical so-quirky-that-it’s-almost-laughably-unbelievable Anderson style, the magazine is based and produced in a French city, yet is shipped backed to Kansas, in the American Midwest, which is home to the magazine’s entire readership.
The film is structured as a series of vignettes that represent the various segments of the magazine’s final edition, following the death of the Dispatch’s editor, Arthur Howitzer, Jr. (Bill Murray). Each section is introduced with an illustration representing each article as it appears in the magazine, presenting each article’s title, the author, and even which pages each article is published on. As viewers, we are effectively reading the magazine on-screen, being presented with unrelated features as we move through the pages of the last edition of The French Dispatch magazine.
‘The Concrete Masterpiece’ is the first of three main segments in the film, told by the magazine’s arts and culture writer J.K.L. Berensen (Tilda Swinton). Her piece focuses on Moses Rosenthaler (Benicio Del Toro), an inmate in the city’s prison who is serving a lengthy sentence for double murder. Rosenthaler also happens to be a world-renowned abstract expressionist painter, whose muse is his female guard and lover (played by Léa Seydoux). Rosenthaler’s critical acclaim can be attributed to the crafty ingenuity of Adrian Brody’s Julian Cadazio, an art dealer who looks to cash in on Rosenthaler’s talent.
This first segment sets the tone and ticks all of the typical Wes Anderson boxes; the near-never-ending conveyor belt of A-list acting talent, the whimsical and connotatively highbrow character names, the quirky story. All of Mr Anderson’s criteria is satisfied, and the other two vignettes continue in the same vein.
Next up is ‘Revisions to a Manifesto’, from the Dispatch’s investigative and political journalist, Lucinda Krementz (Frances McDormand). Her search for a story leads to her befriending (and possibly more) her friend’s son, Timothée Chalamet’s Zeffirelli, who is leader of a group of young rebels who are planning a revolution in France. Zeffirelli’s revolutionary manifesto, his list of demands and a guide for the new way of life in France, is not particularly well written, so Krementz infiltrates young Zeffirelli’s inner circle and helps him re-write his call to arms.
The French Dispatch concludes with ‘The Private Dining Room of the Police Commissioner’, by the magazine’s food critic Roebuck Wright (Jeffrey Wright). Wright reminisces about how a straightforward assignment involving a chef – Nescafier (Steve Park) – whose speciality is cooking for high-ranking police officials, the Ennui-sur-Blasé police commissioner (Mathieu Amalric), and a kidnapping plot executed by Ed Norton’s nameless criminal. I should clarify, when I said straightforward, I meant straightforward for a Wes Anderson film.
Anderson masterfully crafts his most stylish film to date, so much so that it feels like a parody of all of the stylistic choices he has made in his films up to and including The Grand Budapest Hotel. He is self-referential, practically winking at the camera when he re-uses a trope that he has already been recognised for doing in a previous film: his obsession with symmetrically square camera shots, the use of theatre setups within the film, the miniature sets, even Saoirse Ronan demonstrating an affection for a younger male of colour, which practically comes with a wink to the camera given how close it imitates her story arc in Grand Budapest Hotel.
The film uses the overall setting and various vignettes to deliver Anderson’s personal satirical take on various 20th century creative industries, and a few things in between: modern art and the act of suave art figures convincing the public what is good and important; mid-century magazines and newspapers and the importance placed on their writing staff, way above the actual content in each edition (a particular reference to a Dispatch staff writer who hadn’t produced a single article in over three years was a notable comedy highlight); France’s reputation as a country of protestors and revolutionaries, shining a light on the union spirit that is thought to be ever-present in the country’s young adults; and even a good old-fashioned kidnapping caper.
Anderson wraps up the film with the obituary to Murray’s Howitzer, Jr., written by all of the staff in collaboration, a tribute to their old boss. When describing how The French Dispatch came to be, one staff writer notes that ‘it started as a holiday’. Fitting, as I sit in France, reflecting on the film.
Les Olympiades
Jacques Audiard’s Les Olympiades follows three young professionals as they navigate through their late-twenties and early-thirties in Paris while searching for someone who they can connect with on a deeper level than just roommate, colleague, or friend.
Émilie (Lucie Zhang) is looking for a new roommate to take on the spare room in her grandmother’s apartment in Paris’ 13th District. Despite her advertisement being specific about a female only policy, very-much-a-man Camille (Makita Samba) manages to blag his way to a viewing due to his female-sounding name. He convinces Émilie to allow him to stay, and they conveniently combine splitting their household bills with a casual sex arrangement. Things begin to sour when Camille makes it clear that he isn’t going to be readily available to satisfy Émilie’s urges, and has a view to pursue other romantic interests outside.
Nora (Noémie Merlant) is returning to university as a mature, 32-year-old student. The younger students seem uninterested with befriending Nora, treating her with contempt as she tries to integrate into the class. Feeling uncomfortable and unaccepted in her own skin, she attends a student rave wearing a blonde wig; something fun for the big night, that will hopefully let her let loose and enjoy the night. She has a striking similarity to an infamous Paris cam-girl Amber Sweet (Jehnny Beth) and is mistaken for the online sex-worker by some of the male students at the rave. Nora confusedly accepts their request for a selfie and is horrified to stumble across her picture tagged as @AmberSweet, then faces a backlash from the other university students who are convinced she has a raunchy side-gig.
Audiard’s film deals with each character’s struggle through their personal and professional lives, and how they cross paths while living in the same district of Paris. It’s a slow burner that peaks with Nora’s attendance at the student rave, then tries to do a little too much across all three characters and the various personal issues they need to deal with.
The central performances from Zhang, Merlant and Samba are all extremely accomplished, making the film charming and watchable, without having enough tension, romance, or drama to be truly sucked in and desperate for more beyond Les Olympiades very French conclusion.
American Utopia
I’ll keep this one short, because I had already seen David Byrne on this tour and Spike Lee’s concert film version of the same performance, so I now know this as one of the most creative live shows that you could ever come across, and didn’t go into the Cannes beach screening with a critical head on my shoulders.
Lee presents David Byrne’s performance of Talking Heads and solo hits – plus a cover of a rousing Janelle Monáe protest song – live from the Hudson Theatre, on Broadway in New York. The performance really needs to be seen to be appreciated; words cant really do it justice. Byrne merges music with theatre, delivering a flawless vocal performance while mastering semi-comical dance choreography, moving both in sync with-, and in between-, his live band.
Byrne and his band all perform whilst fluidly moving across the stage, with every instrument played wirelessly so that each member of his band can move from side to side and in formation. It’s quite difficult to really describe this, and you might just be thinking of a guitar player walking up and down the stage; something that wireless guitar packs make common in most concerts these days. In this performance, we have drummers, keyboardists, guitarists, bassists, and backing vocalists all moving with their instruments strapped to them, and nailing the choreography from frequent Byrne collaborator Annie-B Parson.
Byrne combines breath-taking performances of classic post-punk and new wave hits like ‘Once in a Lifetime’, ‘Burning Down the House’, ‘This Must Be the Place’, and ‘Road to Nowhere’ with over-the-top theatrical numbers, and uses his platform to shine a light on America’s ever-present racial issues with a cover of Janelle Monáe’s ‘Hell You Talmbout’. Monáe’s song runs through an unimaginably long list of black Americans who have unfairly lost their lives as a result of encounters with law enforcement in America. The performance is touching and – despite only being on the Cinema de La Plage’s screen and not in the flesh – resulted in everyone in attendance chanting along with the chorus of the film.
A spectacular way to end the festival – a massive musical celebration on the beach. If you haven’t seen it; go and watch it.