When Lars von Trier claimed to be suffering from depression two years ago, I assumed the illness was caused by his (then) most recent film, The Boss of it All. Not only did the office comedy fail to make as much noise as his prior features, but it actually earned a lot of favorable reviews. Some even called it (gasp!) enjoyable. For a guy used to polarizing critics with his often controversial and groundbreaking movies, that reception had to be tremendously dissatisfying.

But the filmmaker is back at Cannes this year, and I mean back. His latest movie, Antichrist, is apparently as audacious, shocking and misogynistic as everyone expects von Trier’s work to be. And even though it’s getting a lot of negative reviews, it’s still the talk of the festival this year. No wonder the filmmaker is looking so jolly in photos from Cannes; the attention, both good and bad, must be doing wonders for his mental health.

Nobody from Spout has seen Antichrist yet, unfortunately, but don’t doubt we’re trying. Desperately. And we know you’re looking forward to Karina’s take as much as The Brothers Bloom director Rian Johnson is. Today he Tweeted: “Waiting for @KarinaLongworth to see & review Antichrist the way a drunk man waits for a hint of blessed equilibrium.” She responded that she hopes to prove male reporters wrong in their belief that no woman will like it.

While we wait for her anticipated response, we’ll just have to settle on reading other reviews from around the blogosphere. I’ve highlighted some of my favorites, both positive and negative after the jump:

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Variety reports that Luc and Jean-Pierre Dardennes will give this year’s Cinema Masterclass lecture/conversation at the Cannes Film Festival, which begins this week. Last year’s Masterclass was, uh, taught by Quentin Tarantino.

If you’ve been paying attention to any of the pre-Cannes speculation this year, you won’t be surprised to see that Quentin Tarantino’s Inglorious Basterds, Ang Lee’s Taking Woodstock, Lars Von Trier’s Antichrist, and Pedro Almodovar’s Broken Embraces made the competition lineup. You may be surprised by just how many modern masters, globally recognized provocateurs and early-to-mid career boldfaced names will be showing work alongside them: Michael Hanneke, Jane Campion, Park Chan Wook, Johnny To, Isabel Coixet, Gaspar Noe, Jacques Audiard, Tsai Ming-liang, Andrea Arnold, and Alain Resnais. This leaves little room for emerging talents — and in fact, a couple of small American films gossiped about in recent weeks as being Cannes-bound were not included in the Competition or Un Certain Regard lineups. But there’s always Director’s Fortnight; the slate for that and Critics Week will be announced tomorrow. The full ineup so far after the jump.

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For all the talk about how this was a mediocre year at the Cannes Film Festival, I think I personally saw a higher ratio of good to garbage than is my festival norm. Maybe I’m being Pollyanna-ish; maybe I just went in with lower expectations. Regardless: though certainly I saw films too mediocre to merit mention, it seemed like every day brought at least one new movie that deserved to have the living hell championed out of it. The following list is thus not ranked necessarily by absolute quality, but by how fervently I feel the need to shout the praises of the film in question––in some cases, in opposition to overwhelming derision or indifference.

1. Everything is Fine (above) — This French-Canadian drama, about a suicide pact between four teenage friends and the enigmatic boy left behind, was the true undiscovered gem of this year’s Market. Both cautiously romantic and devastatingly sad, its greatest achievement is the way in which it naturalisticaly depicts a teenager’s personal tragedies (those legitimately large and those that just seem that way) without condescension nor nostalgia. As far as I know, it left the Marche without any form of U.S. distribution.

2. Frontier of Dawn –– It wasn’t the most maligned film in competition––nothing could top the press corps’ universal disdain for Wim Wenders’ The Palermo Shooting––but Philippe Garrel’s richly-layered story of the ultimate doomed romance may have been the most misunderstood. Those who complain of the supernatural turn taken by Garrel’s epic in its third half (and, particularly, the silent-era effects used to achieve it) mostly refuse to engage with the film on its own terms. See my full review here.

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“Did everybody see the film?” Abel Ferrara cried at the jump of the Cannes press conference for Chelsea on the Rocks, compulsively putting on and pulling off a pair of black wraparound sunglasses, sipping on a can of Budweiser. Several journalists coughed in response. Said Ferrara: “What is this, avian flu? Everybody cough, yeah. We got a Howard Hughes complex as it is.”

The press conference as a whole was a woozy, half-sickly, half-populated affair…maybe typical of anything involving Ferrara meeting journalists, but definitely emblematic of the Festival itself at this point. But! But! Ferrara twice talked about Werner Herzog’s alleged Nicolas Cage-starring remake of his Bad Lieutenant––once in response to a question from a reporter, and once just because he apparently felt like he needed to vent.

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I didn’t see Che. Last night was the first night since I’ve been here that I had an opportunity to go to bed at a reasonable hour and, after a week of dozing off in screenings on three hours of fitful sleep, I took it. Regrets? Reading the recaps and reviews, I have a few. I mean, if Anne Thompson is right, the Cannes cut will, like the Cannes cut of Richard Kelly’s Southland Tales, never again see the light of day. Comparing Che to that film and others which were brought to Cannes straight out of the oven and half-raw, she blogs:

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I’m watching the red carpet arrivals for the Che premiere right now via the Festivals closed circuit TV station. “Steven Soderbergh looks somewhat worried,” says the English translator. No shit. The director, wife Jules Asner and Che star Benicio Del Toro not only looked like they were walking into a hanging, but they couldn’t contain their apprehension when asked totally innocuous questions by the official red carpet interviewer. Examples:

Red Carpet Guy: “Steven, why did you want to make a movie about Che?”

Soderbergh: “I didn’t want to do it. They made me do it.”

Red Carpet Guy: “How did you become Che?”

Benicio Del Toro: “I don’t think I did it. But we tried.”

Soderbergh: [looking around] “It’ll be an interesting evening, one way or an other.”
Red Carpet Guy: “Are you nervous?”
Soderbergh: “Yeah!”

It’s Che day. Steven Soderbergh’s Guevara epic has its world premiere this evening at 6:30, and as of this 9am writing, ticket-less gawkers are already lining up outside the Palais, some with Cuban cigars, all with signs declaring their need for tickets. From a press and industry perspective, people are definitely talking about the film, but everyone seems less interested in what’s going to be on screen tonight than in how it’ll eventually be seen.

Che is screening here for the press and the public as a single, four-hour film, but it’s playing in the market for buyers as two separate pieces, The Argentine and Guerilla. This leaves open a number of possibilities: a) the film(s) could be released franchise style, ala Kill Bill; b) the two films could be picked up by different distributors (unlikely, but not impossible); and c) one half of Che could be seen theatrically whilst the other does not. Rumor has it that the second half of the story is currently in better shape than the first; it remains to be seen what would be lost if half of Che was demoted to straight-to-DVD.

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It’s Sunday afternoon, and I’m sitting in a big, round room at the top of the Palais called Le Club, listening to hundreds of people scream. There’s a balcony encircling Le Club which looks out on docked yachts straight ahead, and the artist’s entrance for the red carpet premieres down below. The Indiana Jones and Harrison Ford’s Public Pension Collection premiere begins shortly, and every few minutes, the paparazzi mob down below erupts into a guttural, multi-lingual wail, each one greater than the last, as another celebrity gets out of another car.

Meanwhile, a large group of notebook-clutching press types have started to gather around two flat screen monitors inside Le Club, watching simulcast coverage of the arrivals. I would be making catty comments with them if I sensed that we spoke the same language––and if they seemed just a tiny bit less star-struck. Frankly, I’m slightly appalled. At least George Lucas had the decency to wear a sports coat––Spielberg, decked out in a baseball cap, a pink shirt and what appears to be a sweater vest made out of berber, is an embarrassment. Shia LaBeouf looks embarrassed. Shia LaBeouf, by the way, is extremely attractive for a 12 year old.

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photo by Karina Longworth

France loves James Toback, and James Toback loves France right back. The New York auteur, whose work is more often than not unfairly maligned stateside, has already seen Fingers, his first (and best) film, remade by French director Jacques Audiard. The original is one of two Toback films screening at Cannes this year; the other, his documentary on long-time friend Mike Tyson, premiered to more than one standing ovation last night.

If France loves James Toback, Cannes, apparently, wants to take Mike Tyson behind the middle school and get him pregnant. Applause for Toback at last night’s screening was sufficient and polite (and, after the screening, it drove the filmmaker off the stage in tears); reaction to Tyson’s entrance verged on hysterical. So it’s fitting that Toback’s Tyson is a film that requires its audience to learn to love its subject, and even feeds on that love. I’m conflicted about the film’s ultimate value, but maybe Cannes got the Mike Tyson documentary it deserves.

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My trip to Cannes begins at a bar at JFK––a Chili’s Too!, to be precise––where I flip through an abandoned issue of VOGUE whilst waiting to board. It just so happens that this issue of VOGUE exists to promote the Sex and the City movie––which, not so long ago, was rumored to be premiering at Cannes, before its gala debut was inexplicably bumped up a few days and over the English Channel (for coverage, Google “‘Sarah Jessica Parker’, ‘crazy hat’”).

This issue of VOGUE is the ultimate work of movie marketing synergy. It’s not just that Sarah Jessica Parker is on the cover, it’s not just that there are pages and pages of ridiculous photos inside, most of a couture-clad Parker canoodling with on-screen love interest Chris Noth, both ostensibly in character (more on that later). The story and the pics were literally baked into the movie itself, with the actual author of the story and the actual photoshoot’s actual director playing themselves in a VOGUE shoot scene in the film. Meta, right? Not really––it seems to be a matter of pure economics, and rather than be cynical about, sitting in that Chili’s Too! I decided to embrace it.

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I’m running off to the airport shortly and will be away from the computer until Friday afternoon Cannes time, but here’s a quick look at the news coming out of the festival as of Thursday morning:

• Un Conte de Noel, Surveillance, and The Pleasure of Being Robbed have been picked up. The former two were bought by IFC; the latter two deals were all but confirmed before the festival began.
• David Lynch’s production company is putting together ALejandro Jodorowsky’s next film. Described as a “metaphysical spaghetti gangster film,” it’s set to star Nick Nolte, Asia Argento, Marilyn Manson and Udo Kier. Also, Lynch himself will allegedly team with the so-hot-right-now (tee hee) Werner Herzog on My Son, My Son, “a horror-tinged murder drama based on a true story,” set for a “guerrilla-style digital video shoot on Coronado Island” in March.
• People are, apparently, freaking out over Waltz with Bashir, that Israeli animated doc that I wrote about yesterday.

Above: the construction of a giant Tropic Thunder ad outside the Carlton Hotel in Cannes, captured by Variety. More pictures of Hollywood’s billboard invasion of the resort town at the Circuit blog.

Twitch has a trailer for Tokyo!, the omnibus film with contributions from Michel Gondry, Leos Carax and Bong Joon Ho which will premiere next week at Cannes (ed. note: ahhh! I’m going to the South of France next week!). As far as trailers go, it’s not much of anything––it’s basically just footage of the directors working, interspersed with the title flashing on the screen––but I know a lot of people are excited about this movie, so I thought it was worth a re-blog.