Festival feelings were boosted with an outrageous horror starring Nicole Kidman, a brilliant art world wit, and a brutal challenger for Palme dOr
No visit to Cannes is complete without a trip-up to the market at the back of the Palais. Hidden from view, like a demented age-old aunt, sits the realm of zombie rabbits and erotical thrillers, a teeming tide pool of B-movie cinema. Except that this year Ive left the visit too late. When I stray down, early evening on the second Wednesday, the circus is already pulling out of township. It leaves behind a mess of abandoned stalls and plastic boxes and myriad screens broadcasting a movie called No Signal . Its lonesome in the market after the sale staff going to go, like strolling past a row of off-season beach shops, the dinghies and balls trapped behind wire mesh. Creepy, too, because on retracing my steps I find that the main exit is closed, which entails taking a circuitous route through a maze of underground walkways. Person should kill a horror flick put down in the Cannes market at the celebrations end.
Cannes develops age-old. The punters are tired. Its all they can do to keep themselves horizontal. The whisperings, meanwhile, are that this has been an uneasy publication, revealing a celebration in a fascinating state of flux. The independent film sector is in wane, subscription Tv is on the increases and the Netflix row been shown that Cannes is still procuring the best way of journeying both sides of the seesaw. Even its lavish 70th birthday galas( guests included Catherine Deneuve, Juliette Binoche, Charlize Theron and Claudia Cardinale) seemed a valiant attempt to enshrine the celebrations past, perhaps as a means of safeguarding its future. Cannes will endure; its too glorious not to. Right now, though, it remains a big analog beast, toiling be adjusted to a digital planet.