It’s been a whirlwind week-and-a-half here in Cannes, and my last day has sadly arrived. The days fly by quickly when you’re having fun, indeed. It’s been a fabulous, stimulating and unbridled second year in the festival, and a significant step-up from last year’s coverage. Overall, I’ve seen twenty films (compared to last year’s fifteen), and just about managed to stay awake through most of them. But I do confess I took an unprecedented ten-minute power nap somewhere in the middle of Nuri Bilge Ceylan’s 196-minute
snoozefest Winter Sleep. It ain’t called Winter Sleep for nothing, y’all.
My last film in the festival is Ken Loach’s purported swansong Jimmy‘s Hall, which might as well be shot in black-and-white with its Manichean politics. There’s an admirable, potentially rousing paean to community and the joys of dancing somewhere in this anti-establishment, true-to-life tale, but Loach’s approach is so stiflingly conventional, his execution banal, his writing a little dastardly. After the audacious films that played previously the Official Competition strand, this is so artistically unadventurous.
But despite the final mediocre film, I went out on a high-note back to the flat, guzzling some leftover wine while I pack my bags and eventually made my way to the airport. I was in Cannes a day less this year due to other blasted commitments, but I blogged, reviewed, ranted and tweeted the shit out of the festival within an inch of my life. My film passion has been the single driving force that pushed me to this corner of the Earth, and it’s been such a rewarding pleasure to report all the latest in the world’s most prestigious film festival right into your desktops. I shall miss a few other hotly anticipated Competition entries, Andrei Zvyagintsev’s Leviathan and Olivier Assayas’ Clouds of Sils Maria. I’ll make it up to Juliette Binoche later, I swear.
Now, if you can excuse me, I’ll fly back to London and get some well-deserved sleep. Good night.