I’ve more or less said it already: George Miller‘s Mad Max: Fury Road (Warner Bros., 5.15) is one of the finest action films ever made — phenomenal, triple-A, pulse-pounding, perfectly performed by a live-wire cast topped by Tom Hardy and Charlize Theron, occasionally hilarious and superbly cut, timed, captured and choreographed…a grand slam if there ever was one for this type of thing. And what would that be? Call it an apocalyptic chase thriller with heart and humanity (underneath the rubber and fire and flying bodies it’s about wounded characters rediscovering their compassion and trust). And it’s extra special, I feel, because of the respect and allegiance it shows for women as leaders, fighters, nurturers, survivors. Without taking anything away from Hardy, who brings the legendary Max Rockatansky to life just as winningly as young Mel Gibson did 30-plus years ago, Fury Road is very much a woman’s action film, and all the richer for that.

I saw this epochal film for the second time this morning and was studying Miller’s schemes (visual, structural, thematic) all the more closely this time. It’s just brilliant, dawg — almost too much to fully appreciate in a single setting.

A few weeks ago the deranged Vin Diesel declared that Furious 7 is Best Picture material; Fury Road actually is that. Fury Road so puts Furious 7 to shame that if director James Wan is any kind of man he’ll collapse in sobs after seeing it and do the usual-usual (put on a fishing hat and dark shades, drive out to Palm Springs and register in a nondescript hotel under a fake name for the next three or four weeks). Miller has probably forgotten more than Wan knows about how to make a great action film.

And yet a fair-sized portion of those who worshipped Furious 7 are reportedly hesitant or undecided about seeing Fury Road. You can lead a horse to water…

This is one of the most visually striking action flicks I’ve ever seen. Each and every shot is exquisitely balanced and radiantly artful in a way that Vittorio Storaro will probably appreciate more than most, as Fury Road uses a deliciously robust (some would say intense) color scheme. Many of the all-desert, all-the-time images (particularly the nocturnally-tinted blues) reminded me of Storaro’s work on The Sheltering Sky (’90). The great John Seale definitely earns consideration for a Best Cinematography Oscar. Each and every shot has been painted by a master.

The last time a documentary presented an argument suggesting that Courtney Love was in some way responsible for or a contributor to the 1994 shotgun-suicide death of her then-husband Kurt Cobain was Nick Bromfield‘s less than conclusive Kurt and Courtney, which I saw at Sundance in 1998.  From a producer friend:  “I asked Broomfield at a friend’s party if there was anything he left out of Kurt and Courtney.   He immediately lowered his voice and said, “Yes, something I found out later. Courtney had him cremated and put in a jar which she then put in a small backpack. She wore the backpack everywhere she went for years.”  Wait…Love wore a backpack to parties and premieres?  Producer: “I said ‘she wore him? Why?’  And he said,  ‘Because she finally had him.”

A sizable number of foo-foo Cannes critics have creamed over Matteo Garrone‘s Tale of Tales following Wednesday evening’s 7 pm screening. These responses have struck me as overly obliging, to put it gently. Due respect to Garrone (Gomorrah) and 17th Century Italian author Giambattista Basile, whose “Pentamoronem,” a collection of 50 dream fables published posthumously in 1634 and 1636, inspired many classic fairy-tales we’re all familiar with, but for all its compositional delights and atmospheric richness, Tale of Tales is a tale told by an idiot, signifying nothing save that Garrone is a highly skilled, grand-vision director.

Yes, I enjoyed the fact that the three tales are adult-angled, which is to say dark, gloopey and completely unrelated to “happily ever after,” and I felt satisfied by their perversity as far as it went, but they don’t lead anywhere or echo anything — they’re just diseased and obsessive and aggressively illogical little sagas about royals who want what they want and then have to pay for their obsessions or blindnesses or over-reachings.

Out of the original 50 they seem to have been chosen by Garrone more for their confounding perversity than anything else. And I’m saying this as a fan of Fellini Satyricon (’69), which at least seemed to be saying something about the libertine culture of the late ’60s whereas Tale of Tales seems to be about nothing more than the fact that Garrone and his team had zilch to say. Except maybe that life is full of pitfalls and trap doors and at the end of the day the odds are that you’ll wind up fucked if you resort to magic to solve your problems.

Gus Van Sant‘s The Sea of Trees, which has been acquired by Roadside Attractions, will debut at the Cannes Film Festival the day after tomorrow — Friday, 5.15. A not-euphoric-minded American guy (Matthew McConaughey) travels to Japan’s Aokigahara forest with the intention of sinking a razor-sharp blade deep into his lower abdomen. Or maybe to hang himself…what do I know? He eventually meets up with a Japanese guy (Ken Watanabe) who’s arrived at the base of Mt. Fujiyama for the same reason. I’ve written this same synopsis seven or eight times now. I’m presuming along with everyone else that Roadside will be giving Trees an award-season release.

Following this morning’s 10 am screening of Emmanuelle Bercot‘s La Tete Haute (which is nothing special — not bad but a bit of a snore), I went home to file and maybe grab an hour’s nap before hitting the 2 pm Cannes jury press conference (i.e., co-chairs Joel and Ethan Coen, Rossy de Palma, Xavier Dolan, Sienna Miller, Sophie Marceau, Jake Gyllenhaal, Rokia Traore and HE’s own Guillermo Del Toro). When I returned to the pad around 12:15 pm I figured I’d get the nap first (I awoke this morning at 3:45 am) and then file. I sank to the bottom of the pond and woke up three and a half hours later. It’s now 6:05 pm and I’m racing to finish this post before catching the 7 pm showing of Matteo Garrone‘s Tale of Tales. [Update: It’s now 6:18 pm.] The best quote of the conference came from Gyllenhaal when he said that each juror had been divided into either the Joel or Ethan team. “We are not allowed to talk about who is in what group,” he said. “[It] was based purely on personality.” Second best quote from GDT: “I feel that we are not the judges. We are here to defend the works we appreciated against other jurors.” I’m presuming that Guillermo is going to be a big fan of Yorgos Lanthimos‘s The Lobster because it’s a kind of surreal Bunuelian social-criticism deal and because it includes transformations from humans into animals…yes! Animals in clothes.

Ethan, Joel Coen during today’s pre-press conference photo call.

(l. to r.) HE’s own Guillermo del Toro, Sophie Marceau, Rokia Traore.

Yesterday morning (or early last evening in Cannes) a Ramin Setoodeh-authored Variety interview with Cate Blanchett came online, and the immediate takeaway was that Blanchett, the star of Todd Haynes‘ lesbian-themed Carol, said she’s had relationships with women “many times.” She didn’t specify if these dalliances happened before or during her marriage to Andrew Upton, but it’s an intriguing confession any way you slice it.

Quote: “When asked if this is her first turn as a lesbian, Blanchett curls her lips into a smile. ‘On film — or in real life?’ she asks coyly. Pressed for details about whether she’s had past relationships with women, she responds, ‘Yes…many times’ but doesn’t elaborate. Like Carol, who never ‘comes out’ as a lesbian, Blanchett doesn’t necessarily rely on labels for sexual orientation. ‘[I’ve] never thought about it,’ she says of how she envisioned the character. ‘I don’t think Carol thought about it.'”

Add to this beliefs about Blanchett’s Carol costar Rooney Mara having known similar intrigues, and you’re talking about a possibly interesting on-screen chemistry.

Not to mention (a) the script of Carol having been written (and re-written and re-written) by “out” playwright Phyllis Nagy, (b) the casting of “out” Carol costars Carrie Brownstein and Sarah Paulson, (c) the film having been produced by the same-oriented Christine Vachon and directed by Todd Haynes, and you have…I don’t know what you have or how good Carol will be or anything. But at least you have a good portion of the creative team coming from a similar place.

No quotes or sourcing, but during last night’s Cannes Film Festival journalist dinner at La Pizza it was sincerely, semi-convincingly asserted that Pete Docter‘s Inside Out (Disney, 6.19) is “almost” Best Picture-level good and an all-but-assured hit. I immediately turn the dial down when I hear something like this because I’m incapable of really loving animation…tough. But I believe the person who passed along the enthusiasm — she really meant it. Two people also discussed Brad Bird‘s Tomorrowland, and one of them gave me one of those looks that said “forget it.” The other wasn’t trying to “defend it,” exactly, but his attitude is/was a little more forgiving or compassionate. So there you have it — Tomorrowland thud, Inside Out ascending.

In the wake of yesterday’s post about Kent Jones‘ Hitchcock/Truffaut, I’ve been thinking about Alfred Hitchcock‘s legendary dismissal of the “plausibles,” and particularly that quote about plausibility in one of his films not being allowed “to rear its ugly head.” I’ve been a hard-core plausible all my life, but I’ll occasionally accept implausibility under one condition — i.e., as long as a scene’s substitute for plausibility is sufficiently attractive or mesmerizing.

Four years ago I discussed an example of this in a riff about an early scene in Hitchcock’s Notorious (’46). It specifically concerns the famous back-of-the-head scene that lasts from 3:06 to 4:39.

Stealth introductions of a lead actor or actress (i.e., a behind-the-head shot or an insert of his/her hands or a shot of walking shoes before allowing the audience a sustained view of his/her face) are a staple of commercial cinema, I noted, “but no one ever kept a star’s face from being shown as long as Alfred Hitchcock did during an early scene in Notorious.

The first two days of the 2015 Cannes Film Festival — Wednesday, 6.13 and Thursday, 6.14 — seem to mainly be about films of a weak, marginal or not-so-much vibe. Tomorrow is Emmanuelle Bercot‘s La Tete Haute, Kore Eda-Hirokaazu‘s Unimachi Diary and Matteo Garrone‘s Tale of Tales (Il Racconto dei Racconti). Thursday’s lineup includes George Miller‘s Mad Max: Fury Road (seen it), Naomi Kawase‘s An (nope). Lazlo Nemes‘ Son of Saul…maybe. By my yardstick Friday is the first day of real intrigue — Yorgos Lanthimos‘s The Lobster (which I’m expecting to be annoyed by if not hate), Woody Allen‘s Irrational Man, Gus Van Sant‘s The Sea of Trees. And then Todd Haynes‘ Carol screens on Saturday.

I awoke in Paris this morning at 4:45 am. My train arrived in Cannes at 12:30 pm. I was unpacked and picking up the pass by 2:30 pm.

There was a producer in his mid 30s standing behind me in the credentials line who was speaking in uptalk. (Uptalk = statements as questions.) Chalk on a blackboard. It’s irritating enough when younger women do this, but guys…forget it. I’ve never uptalked once in my entire life.

Yesterday morning in Paris I attended a screening of Kent Jones‘ edifying Hitchcock/Truffaut, which Jones directed and co-wrote with Cinematheque Francaise director Serge Toubiana. Slated to show on 5.19 at the Cannes Film Festivals, the 80-something-minute doc is a sublime turn-on — a deft educational primer about the work and life of Alfred Hitchcock and, not equally but appreciably, Francois Truffaut. Efficient, well-ordered, devotional.

No, it didn’t tell me anything about Hitchcock or his many films or Truffaut’s renowned “Hitchcock/Truffaut” book (a feature-length q & a interspersed with frame captures from Hitch’s films) that I didn’t already know, but that’s okay — almost every detail of the book’s material was absorbed into my system decades ago. 

The bounce, if you will, comes from the talking heads — David Fincher, Martin Scorsese, Olivier Assayas, Wes Anderson, Richard Linklater, James Gray, Arnaud Depleschin, one or two others — each enthused and semi-aglow in their own way. Memories, associations, gratitude.

To me Hitchcock/Truffaut seems good and wise enough to seduce the novice as well as the sophisticated cineaste. It’s a fully absorbing, excellent education. As you might expect, it made me want to read the book all over again.

It contains many snippets of interview audio between the two men. My favorite Hitch quotes: (a) “Logic is dull” and (b) “Plausibility was not allowed to rear its ugly head.”

I sat up in my seat when Jones revealed a brief glance at contact sheet images of Hitch shooting the Phoenix hotel room scene (Janet Leigh, John Gavin) in Psycho — images I’d never seen before. I asked Jones if I could somehow post a few of them but he wasn’t encouraging. Apparently they’re under some kind of copyright lock and key.  Which of course is nonsensical at this stage.

Imagine attending the Cannes Film Festival for the first time. Going with your pores wide open, determined to see anything of potential value you can possibly fit into your schedule. Leaving for the airport now, planning to land at Nice airport tomorrow afternoon. With nothing better to do you decide to re-review the list of official selections, and you start thinking a little harder about the latest from oddball Dogtooth director Yorgos Lanthimos — The Lobster. Some kind of parable about singlehood, conformity and totalitarianism, pic is about a society in which being single is illegal. Singles are routinely arrested and sent to “The Hotel”, where they have 45 days to pair up with someone. If they fail, they’re transformed into an animal of their choosing and released into “The Woods.” Now, does this sound like something an impetuous, none-too-bright drunk would think up around 2:30 am? What are the odds Lanthimos was going through a romantic dry spell when he wrote the script? And who, to get back to the premise, could possibly fail to find a mate under these circumstances? Obviously singles would find someone on at least a pretend basis, if for no other reason than to avoid being turned into a four-legged beast of some kind. I found a place in my head for Dogtooth and I know Lanthimos is a kind of late-Bunuelian, crazy-salad type of guy but The Lobster just sounds whimsical and undeveloped. Colin Farrell, Rachel Weisz, John C, Reilly, Olivia Colman, Ben Whishaw and Lea Seydoux. What, honestly, would your reaction be to this thing as your France-bound flight taxis onto the runaway?

I decided against seeing Alan Rickman‘s A Little Chaos, a 17th Century landscaping romance dramedy, at last September’s Toronto Film Festival because it was chosen as the closing night attraction — always an “uh-oh” indicator. Focus Features initially slated a theatrical opening on 3.27.15, but then they bailed on that plan on 1.29.15. Rickman’s film, which costars Kate Winslet and Matthias Schoenaerts, is now set for a simultaneous theatrical-and-VOD release on 6.25.15. I’m mentioning this because it’s playing in Paris right now (Le Jardin de Roi), and I was asking myself earlier today “why not see it?” The answer is (a) I’m as enthusiastic about this film as Focus is, (b) I don’t go out of my way to see movies with a 59% Rotten Tomato rating and an even shittier rating on Metacritic, and (c) I have to write and pack tonight. It’s 9 pm now and I have to crash no later than 11 pm to get up at 5 am to catch the 7:19 am train to Cannes.

Kate Winslet and Matthias Scheonarts portray landscape architects working for King Louis XIV.