Cannes: Breakouts, Boo Birds and 8 Other Festival Takeaways

My eyelids are heavy, my derriere is sore and if I drink any more complementary Nespresso my aorta is going to burst right out of my chest. I've made it to the end of the Cannes Film Festival, and the last thing I can do before I collapse is lay out my 10 top takeaways. The rumors are true. The French (and those pretending to be French) really do boo if they don't like a movie at the Cannes Film Festival. They don't care if the director and stars are right there in the theater. Heck, maybe that eggs them on. But it must be said that with the boos (and hisses, whistles and ironic claps) there are always applause mixed in. I've never experienced a full-on bombardment of anger. This year there was some audible hating on Michel Hazanavicius' The Search, Ryan Gosling's Lost River and, most of all, Olivier Dahan's Grace of Monaco starring Nicole Kidman. Don't weep for any of these people, they all have cars that cost what you make in a year. 100 Hottest Chicks on Instagram However, when the Cannes crowd likes something, they really like something. The Sundance hit Whiplash was given a ten-minute standing O and the love-in after Melanie Laurent's film Respire (Breathe) would have lasted as long had not the actress-turned-director not bashfully shooed everyone away. French Canadian director Xavier Dolan's Mommy elicited an enormous standing ovation that brought many to tears. There was also a mid-film break into enraptured applause when his winning drama, shot in the unusual Instagram-y 1:1 ratio, stretched out for a brief respite of glorious widescreen. Another mid-show round of huzzahs came during Jean-Luc Godard's highly experimental Goodbye to Language. The legendary 83-year-old director shot his newest movie in 3D, and when a gag that featured two images crossing over one another (giving everyone an eye-ache) finally "corrected” itself in tune with the story, it was a trick that even this jaded crowd had never seen before. New fortunes were made in 2014. Among them David Robert Mitchell (above right, with stars Daniel Zovatto and Maika Monroe), who followed up his teen indie The Myth of the American Sleepover with a wonderfully unique horror picture, It Follows, which got far more attention than anyone was predicting. (Its simple hook of a sexually transmitted haunting really sings.)

Another new name to learn is Damián Szifrón, an Argentine director whose anthology film Wild Tales shows a deft hand at comedy, over-the-top action blocking and heightened drama. In a rare move for this type of movie (essentially collected shorts) it was bought for distribution by Sony Pictures Classics. Yet another new name — and you may need a pen for this one — is Myroslav Slaboshpytskiy. His weird crime drama The Tribe won three awards in the Critics' Week sidebar. The dark and disturbing Ukrainian production is done entirely in sign language. It'll never play the multiplex, but those who seek odd movie experiences will go nuts for it. And then there's this new actor named Steve Carell. Turns out the joker from Anchorman 2 has real acting chops, as you'll see when he puts on a fake nose and plays John DuPont in Oscar-nom ready Foxcatcher. It's an amazing departure for the comedian, and will surprise mainstream audiences later this year. Like the Hotel California, you can check out but you can never leave. Once a Cannes director always a Cannes director, and this is the only way to explain why Atom Egoyan's truly awful film The Captive played the festival. A disaster of illogic and tonal mismanagement, this Ryan Reynolds kidnapping drama (alleged drama, I should say) is a candidate for worst film of the year. To see it in the world's finest theater, the Grand Lumiere, just made no sense.

Another unfortunate pick from a repeat competitor was David Cronenberg's Hollywood satire Maps to the Stars. Bon Appetit Late at night, after all the restaurants have closed shop and people are stumbling from the bars, Cannes' action turns to a square near the train station where two kebab stands vie for the Palme d'Order Out. Succulent slices of meat wrapped up with lettuce, tomato, onion and fries and covered in your choice of spicy sauces are wolfed down by the world's most discerning cinephiles. My favorite is the Sauce Algerienne, which is like a mayonnaise enhanced sriracha. Vive le France (and its North African immigrants!) Everyone is beautiful in Cannes. The girls, the boys, the elderly, even the jerks cutting you in line. Even the dogs, some of whom have very expensive haircuts. There are more well-groomed dogs in Cannes per capita than anywhere else in the world.

A Caste Of Kings The rigid social order in Cannes feels as old as the landed gentry's titles. The big divide is between the Blue and Pink badges (you don't want the Blue) but it goes deeper than that. Blue, as annoying as it may be — because you can't get seated until all the Pinks are in — is still better than the Yellow. The White is for royalty, but those are pretty rare. Then in between there's the Pink with a Yellow Dot — just to make things difficult. (My flatmate had the Dot to best my own Pink. It's a tiny little thing but it really is like salt on a wound.) The major performances this year were all women. Marion Cotillard in the Dardennes Brothers Two Days, One Night, Anne Dorval in Xavier Dolan's Mommy and (believe it or not) Kristen Stewart in Olivier Assayas' Clouds of Sils Maria.

There were also, by Hollywood standards, a high showing of women directors. Among them were Melanie Laurent's aforementioned Respire (Breathe), Shira Geffen's Self-Made, Alice Rohrwacher's The Wonders, Naomi Kawase's Still The Water and Party Girl, which had three French co-directors, two of whom were women whose names I don't feel like looking up right now. (When you have three directors on one movie, you don't get to be individually named, sorry folks.) Sawing Logs Every movie at Cannes is, at one time or another, accompanied by the sound of snores. And at one point, those snores will be coming from YOU! It's impossible not to nod off at some point. The seats are really cushy and comfy, you've been out late and up early (first screening is always 8:30 am), chances are you've had a glass of wine the night before and prior to each screening you're baking in the sun and shoving your way through on a poorly organized line. Also, let's be frank, these movies are hardly part of the X-Men franchise. These are frequently quiet, contemplative pictures. Imagine the chutzpah of Turkish director Nuri Bilge Ceylan, who presented a three hour and 15 minute movie of wall-to-wall talking and actually called it Winter Sleep!

A fascinating symptom of mass hysteria occurs every year at Cannes. People stop calling movies by their title and start referring to them by the name of their director with a “the” in front of it. So Jean-Luc Godard's Goodbye to Language ceased to be Goodbye to Language. It became “The Godard.” Mommy became “The Dolan” and Two Days, One Night became “The Dardennes.” Yes, even Lost River became “The Gosling.” It's the most obnoxious thing in the history of the world and at first you roll your eyes at it but by day three I swear you'll catch yourself doing it, too. There are, of course, some exceptions. Only the most daring changed The Search to “The Hazanavicius,” Leviathan to “The Zvyagintsev” or The Tribe to “The Slaboshpytskiy.” Prognostication What are you gonna do while you are waiting in line, stare at all the young, fit people in their gowns and tuxes? Well, yes, but you need to be sly about this, so there has to be conversation — and all anyone does is try to figure out what will win the top three prizes. (Best Director is, essentially, the Bronze Medal; the Grand Prix is the Silver and the Palme D'Or is, well, the Gold.) Comparisons are made to years past. What was programmed in what slot? How much buzz is the movie getting? Who is due? Who needs it most? Would it be cool for the Dardennes to win for a record third time? The funny thing everyone forgets is that it really is dependent on the whims of a very small jury (led this year by Jane Campion) and it's hard to know what they are thinking. After all, it's unlikely they're waiting in line and grabbing midnight kebabs.