On location in the French Riviera, GAUTAMAN BHASKARAN reports from the 60th Festival de Cannes.

THE CANNES FILM FESTIVAL, the world’s single most important cinema event, ignored British and American movies on its prize-giving day. The festival, which ended its 12-day run on May 27, honoured a Romanian film, Four Months, Three Weeks, Two Days with the top Golden Palm. Helmed by Cristian Mungiu, the movie dramatises the horror and dilemma of two university students, one forced to abort her child and other helping her to carry it out during the stifling dictatorship of Nicolae Ceausescu. Through stark images, Mungiu builds up the tension the two girls face in a regime where abortion is a crime. Termed “pitch-perfect” and “brilliantly acted” by Variety, the film often conveys unbearable suspense without undue political sentimentality. That the suspense does not eventually lead to unpleasant or frightening consequences may be seen by some as somewhat flat or even disappointing. But Ceausescu’s remarkable ability to achieve precisely that can also be seen as an eloquent testimony of his directorial genius.

On location in the French Riviera, GAUTAMAN BHASKARAN reports from the 60th Festival de Cannes.

The second half of the Cannes Film Festival threw up some more motivating cinema. Faith Akin’s Turkish movie, The Edge of Heaven had an interesting story to tell us, though I did find the narrative style a little longwinded, even somewhat circuitous. In what often appeared like coincidences, the film places four Turks and two Germans on the screen and shows us how their lives crisscross with tragic results. The most poignant part of the The Edge of Heave is when it underlines the relationship, not quite platonic though, between a German girl and a Turkish illegal immigrant she befriends. The Turk, also a young girl, Ayten (played with great panache by Nurgul Yesilcay), is a political activist on the run from Istanbul, and the movie, divided into three chapters (a style that I first saw in the works of the Danish director, Lars von Trier), paints the horror of a tragedy brought about by Ayten’s relationship with Lotte, the German girl. Akin’s work looks impressive without being overtly glossy, and he travels from Turkey to German with consummate ease.

On location in the French Riviera, GAUTAMAN BHASKARAN reports from the 60th Festival de Cannes.

FOR 15 YEARS I have seen this at the Cannes Film Festival. Half way through the 12-day event, the punting begins. I really do not know whether people bet with money, but they sure challenge each other to dinner or a drink. Little wonder then, that restaurants and cafes are full after the Golden Palm has popped out of the envelope.

On location in the French Riviera, GAUTAMAN BHASKARAN reports from the 60th Festival de Cannes.

OFTEN, the Cannes Film Festival sparkles not so much for its cinema as it does for its newsmakers. Three years ago in 2004, when Bush basher and documaker Michael Moore came to the French Riviera with Fahrenheit 9/11, he caused enough fire and heat to make the American President uneasy across the Atlantic. When the jury crowned Moore with the Golden Palm, it seemed like the French were gleefully agreeing with the helmer’s view of all that was wrong with America’s First Man.

On location in the French Riviera, GAUTAMAN BHASKARAN reports from the 60th Festival de Cannes.

SOMETIMES, I am struck by the power of Bollywood. Imagine watching an eminently French movie at the ongoing Cannes Film Festival, and having it remind you of Bollywood cinema, replete with songs and even dances, at least of sorts. Yes, the characters in the French movie, Christophe Honore’s Love Songs (Les Chansons d’Amour), do not run around trees and across picturesque meadows, but Ludivine Sagnier, Chiara Mastroianni (that Italian legend’s daughter) and Louis Garrel skip, hop and play around to lilting music, melody and some great songs across the breathtaking boulevards of Paris, and often by night, when the city is asleep and the glow from the street bulbs cast a soft, romantic radiance. Add a dash of rain and you have a prefect mood for love and songs.

On location in the French Riviera, GAUTAMAN BHASKARAN reports from the 60th Festival de Cannes.

CHINESE director Wong Kar-wai had a dream. He always wanted to make an English language film, and grew up watching American cinema. He loves Memphis, whose summer is quite like that in his native Hong Kong, where he moved from Shanghai’s when he was just five. It is not quite surprising that he loves A Streetcar Named Desire and all that is Tennessee Williams. And had he been born earlier, he might have just cast Marlon Brando in the role of Jeremy, the guy who runs a small cafe in New York in Wong’s latest movie, My Blueberry Nights, which set the 60th Cannes Film Festival rolling on May 16.

On location in the French Riviera, GAUTAMAN BHASKARAN reports from the 60th Festival de Cannes.

THIS YEAR, Cannes turns 60. When the Festival unrolls on May 16, few would have any doubt that it is the world’s best, where cinema and celebrity produce magic and mirth.

Established to counter the Venice Film Festival that often served as a platform for Nazi misinformation, Cannes had a rough takeoff. Its first edition on September 1, 1939, could barely last 48 hours before Hitler’s army began its destructive march. Cannes screened just one film, Hollywood’s Hunchback of Notre Dame, and the guests had to return.

Belatedly recognised as an Official Language of New Zealand last year, Sign of the Times documents the deaf and sign language community’s constant forge for that recognition. Screening at the Human Rights Film Festival, BRANNAVAN GNANALINGAM looked at its significance.

Screening at this year’s edition of the Human Rights Film Festival, Rosita documents the aftermath of a nine-year-old Nicaraguan girl’s rape, her subsequent pregnancy, and the fight by her Costa Rican parents to gain approval for a “therapeutic” abortion in a country where termination is strictly illegal. HELEN SIMS asked co-director Janet Goldwater to shed further light on Rosita’s plight via email.

Director Fernando Kalife’s Monterrey is a Mexican city rife with Mafia activity. In some ways, it’s not a surprise that doggedly determined but irritatingly naïve hero Claudio Caballero (Eduardo Arroyuelo) turns to its seedy underworld when he’s desperate for cash. It is from this point that 7 Days’ (7 Días) premise gets convoluted and a little far-fetched. Claudio is living in the shadow of his deceased older brother who was once a prolific concert promoter – something that doesn’t become clear until much later in the film. Claudio clearly feels he has something to prove when, moments into the film, he declares that he wants to bring U2 – “the best band in the world” – to town. What ensues is a misguided bet, and a half-hearted race to pull together some old friends to fund the concert – and hence save Claudio from the vengeful Mafia. Although sedentary in parts, the film’s moments of tension are carefully crafted, drawn out – and then rapidly diffused by some backhanded comment. As a result, the Mafia never turn out to be as tough as they look – but then again, they do have a bit of a penchant for U2. The strongest scenes are the ones without dialogue, allowing the creative cinematography and soundtrack to deliver some of the pace that the action does not. It is enjoyable to watch, but did leave me wanting, in U2’s own words, “to hear the things you haven’t said”.—Kim Choe