Like all festival-goers, I was preparing to spend a peaceful closing evening…
With half a dozen films that could make very presentable Palme d’Or contenders, I was ready to commend the likely wisdom of the Coen brothers and their jury. In the end, none of that happened, and the easy-going festival-goer that I am found myself stunned by the harshness of a slapdash awards list.
The Palme d’Or was awarded to a film, Dheepan, which is far from being the best of its director (Jacques Audiard). A film unbalanced in its timeline (promising first part, the rest spiraling…), falsely concerned with a troubled society, with a finale that’s at least ambiguous.
The same bewilderment for the award for directing (the third prize in the Cannes hierarchy) for Nie yinniang by Hou Hsiao-Hsien, a film understood only by the critic from Libération.
The award for best screenplay for Chronic is also odd, even its director Michel Franco implied that it was not the film’s strong point.
The best actress award to Rooney Mara (Carol) is justified, but she should have shared it with Cate Blanchett, her luminous and troubling partner. Not with the sometimes grating Emmanuelle Bercot (for the mediocre Mon roi).
From this wreckage, only the immense Vincent Lindon (The Measure of a Man) and The Lobster, Jury Prize, can be saved. And probably Son of Saul, which we missed due to a political engagement.
So, to calm my wrath, I followed an excellent therapy with the last episode of the first season of HBO’s True Detective. Sublime. And besides, the Coen brothers weren’t there to prefer Julie Lescaut over him.
by Patrick Mottard
