About 100 minutes ago roughly 40 Cannes journos were shown longish reels from three late ’12 Weinstein hot tamales — Paul Thomas Anderson‘s The Master (10.12), David O. Russell‘s The Silver Linings Playbook (11.21) and Quentin Tarantino‘s Django Unchained (12.25). A screening of No starts in 30 minutes so this has to be quick. Can’t-think, can’t-breathe quick. Okay, here goes…the clock is ticking.

The Master reel was exciting but it’s clearly going to be a complex, somewhat-out-there drama that doesn’t play the game. An “audience film” if the audience is filled with people like myself, Drew McWeeny, James Rocchi, Sasha Stone, Ira Parks, Anne Thompson and Pete Howell, but I don’t know about Joe Popcorn…but who knows? The sound was too loud. I couldn’t hear half the things that Phillip Seymour Hoffman was saying. The footage was longer and more varied than the currently-up teaser. Hoffman is clearly going to be the charismatic megalomaniac — confidence, swagger, drill-bit eyes. Joaquin Phoenix and Amy Adams , it appears, are going to fully alive and beating with the heart pump.

The Silver Linings Playbook looks fast and sharp — a raggedy-jazz comedy about caustic humor, family, sex, anxiety, therapy, hurt, healing…all of that. Directed and written by Russell, and adapted from the serio-comic novel by Matthew Quick. Agitated and lacking-in-people-skills Bradley Cooper falls in love with Jennifer Lawrence. It feels edgy and crackling and push-pushy and what-the-fucky. Robert De Niro, Julia Stiles, Jacki Weaver and Chris Tucker costar. Looks good for guys like me and Joe Popcorn, but we’ll see.

Django Unchained played the hottest of the three — big laughs, applause, whoops. Popcorn-plus entertainment in an old-Southern setting. Audacious attitude, swagger dialogue, fast gunplay and best of all, a former slave (Jamie Foxx) coming back to the plantation and whoopin’ on the overweight slave master who made his slave life hell. An audience film in spades. Can’t miss. Big money in all markets, thumbs-up reviews, the whole shot. That’s it, no more time.

It was hinted to me earlier that Roman Polanski, here for tonight’s Cannes Classics screening of Tess, might appear at this afternoon’s Studio Babelsberg party adjacent to the Grand Hotel. Didn’t happen. But he’s expected to take a bow and say a few words before tonight’s 7:30 screening of his 1979 film. He never grants interviews, but I went down to the Carlton anyway to leave a note and ask for a minute or two. Yeah, I know — my handwriting is dreadful.

Electric muscle car parked in front of the Carlton — Monday, 5.11, 5:20 pm.

A half hour ago Weinstein Co. publicists sent out two pro-quality video clips of the cast of The Sapphires singing two Motown tunes at last night’s party for the film. Much better quality than the thing I posted last night. But they got a song title wrong and so did Guy Lodge in his Variety review, so let’s clear this up.

The name of the 1965 Four Tops hit sung here is “Can’t Help Myself” and not “Sugar Pie Honey Bunch.” SPHB is a secondary parenthetical title, which Motown producers stuck in to remind people of the lead-off lyric. You can call it “Sugar Pie Honey Bunch” (knock yourself out) but the songwriters, Holland-Dozier-Holland, or the rights holders will beg to differ.

Here‘s the other tune performed last night, “I Heard It Through The Grapevine.”

Sasha Stone and I discussed a few Cannes films over lunch a few hours ago. You’ll need to read the reviews and then listen. We meandered, Tom Luddy said hello, the waiter brought the food, lots of ambient clitter-clatter. We should’ve tried harder but what’s done is done. Here’s a stand-alone mp3 link.

Publicist Jeff Hill has announced that Sony Classics will release Michael Haneke‘s Amour in the U.S. under the original French title, and not Love, as David Poland and others have called it.

It may not be a home run or even a triple, but Abbas Kiarostami‘s Like Someone In Love has provided more pleasure and intrigue than any film I’ve seen at the 2012 Cannes Film Festival. It’s a trifle on one level, but it’s plain and true and masterful — a pitch thrown straight without a shred of pretension. I’m probably going to fail in trying to describe what it amounted to for me, but that’s okay. I only know I was mesmerized start to finish…even though I dropped off for about eight or ten minutes.

Tadashi Okuno, Rin Takanashi in Abbas Kiarostami’s Like Someone In Love.

Set in present-day Tokyo, it’s basically about a contest for the attention and affections of Akiko (Rin Takanashi), a young, drop-dead beautiful, none-too-bright student who moonlights as a prostitute. In one corner is her 20something garage-mechanic fiance, Noriaki (Ryo Kase), who’s basically about possessiveness and jealousy and rage. In the other is an elderly sociologist and author, Takashi (Tadashi Okuno), whom Akiko visits late at night for an erotic tryst that which doesn’t amount to much beyond her getting undressed and falling asleep in his bed.

(My lights also went out during this scene — odd. I was told what had happened after the screening by Eric Kohn and Owen Gleiberman.)

The next morning Takashi drives Akiko to her university, and witnesses a testy argument between her and Noriaki on the school steps. She goes inside and Takashi and his Volvo remain at the curb, engine idling. Noriaki notices the old gent, becomes curious, comes over and asks for a light. And then “who are you?”, and “how do you know Akiko?” The old man doesn’t exactly say he’s her grandfather — Noriaki assumes this because he knows Akiko’s grandmother is in town to visit — and he gradually suggests that he’s not. But of course, he doesn’t tell Noriaki what’s really going on.

They begin to talk. Noriaki explains his obsession for Akiko, and how he’s determined to marry her because she’s the perfect wife and he doesn’t want to lose her, etc. Takashi tells him he lacks experience, and that a wiser man wouldn’t badger Akiko about her whereabouts — he would open the cage and let the bird fly free. But Noriaki has found a business card with a photo of a woman who looks like Akiko (it’s actually her photo) offering her services, and can sense she’s constantly lying to him. Which she is, of course.

Noriaki is such a hardhead, such a hammer. Akiko, an empty Coke bottle who doesn’t know what Charles Darwin did and can’t be bothered to call her grandmother and make arrangements to meet her (she tells a cab driver to cruise by a public park where granny is waiting, watching but not stopping to get out and converse), has apparently led Noriaki on into thinking they’re engaged because he pays her bills, but why she’s picked such an uneducated, hair-trigger clod is a mystery. She’s breathtaking. She could have anyone.

In any event Akiko gets into the car with Takashi and Noriaki, the latter saying he’ll ride along for a bit. Noriaki then informs Takashi that his Volvo engine belt is worn down and needs replacing, and he persuades the old fellow to drop by his garage so he can replace it. At the garage an old student of Takashi’s happens to recognize him and says hello. This exchange concerns Akiko as Noriaki has overheard it and she’s told him that her grandfather is a fisherman. He might get wise. “But everyone has two grandfathers,” Takashi reminds her. “Oh, yes,” she says, slightly relieved but not entirely. How dumb is this girl? She never says boo. Putting more than five or six words together in a sentence seems like a tremendous effort for her.

Takashi and Nokiko leave the garage, leaving Noriaki to his clients. Takashi drops her off at a book store. And then she calls him a short while later, conveying anguish and stress. And then things escalate. I’ll stop here with the synopsis, but suffice that Noriaki smells what’s up and is determined to have it out.

The one problem I have with Like Someone In Love is the ending. It doesn’t really fit or pay off or anything. It just happens, and I’m not even sure what happens as far as a certain character’s health and fate are concerned. Kohn and Gleiberman weren’t 100% sure either.

The fact that I’ve just typed out seven paragraphs of story exposition obviously indicates my absorption. I could honestly watch it again right now (a repeat screening in the Lumiere begins in 15 minutes) if I didn’t have five or six things to do. More writing, a lunch, an encounter with David and Brandon Cronenberg, an Oscar Poker podcast recording, a Studio Babelsberg party, more filing, a Weinstein Co. preview reel.

The slowness of the pace of Like Someone To Love and the way this and that detail is revealed like cards in a solitaire game is fascinating. It’s the Yasujiro Ozu influence again, and I’ve always been a fan of that. I’ll definitely see this again. I’ve already decided to buy the Bluray.

The Weinstein Co. threw a party tonight on the roof of the JW Marriot (formerly the Noga Hilton) to celebrate The Sapphires, which everyone, myself included, has so far enjoyed to varying degrees. I wasn’t close enough to the bandstand to eyeball everyone, but Chris O’Dowd (who kills in the film) and at least three or four of the lead actresses (Jessica Mauboy, Deborah Mailman, Shari Sebbens, Miranda Tapsell) were singing basic Motown when I came in, half-soaked.

All those umbrellas clustered near the steps of the Salle Debussy prior to tonight’s 7:30 pm screening of Abbas Kiarostami‘s Like Someone To Love (which I found curiously spellbinding and in a sense “better,” for me anyway, than Certified Copy) reminded me of the Amsterdam assassination scene in Alfred Hithcock‘s Foreign Correspondent. Vaguely, I mean.