Daily

12:15 pm update: The system has suddenly begun functioning. Over the last hour or so I’ve able to fill my Saturday and Sunday calendars for the most part. The trick seems to be to avoid trying to access the system in the early morning.

Trouble In Mind, Ethan Coen‘s doc about Jerry Lee Lewis, is unavailable. Under the old system this wouldn’t have happened.

Earlier: This is why journalists travel thousands of miles to Cannes…so we can get shut down by moronic or overwhelmed software coding when we try to log in for updates at 7:10 am…a sense of humor is necessary in such situations. [Posted on Wednesday, 5.18 at 7:35 am.]

Michael Hazanavicius’ Final Cut (aka Coupez! aka Z) is a kind of Noises Off -like farce blended with zombie hellzapoppin’ blended with Tom DeCillo’s Living in Oblivion (‘95). Allegedly a nearly line-by-line remake of Shin’ichirō Ueda’s zom-com One Cut of the Dead (‘17), I found it thin, exhausting, odious and unfunny. And a tiny bit sad. I didn’t hate it, but my basic attitude was a combination of “who cares?” and “lemme outta here.”

And that’s all I have to say for now as it’s midnight and I’m bushed.

https://vimeo.com/710957097

The Old Man, an FX thriller series debuting on 6.16.22, “was two-thirds of the way into shooting when production shut down in mid-March 2020 as a result of the COVID-19 pandemic. Production resumed in the fall with three episodes remaining to film, but was halted in October 2020 when star and executive producer Jeff Bridges was diagnosed with lymphoma and left to undergo cancer treatment.

“The show stayed in production for a short period after Bridges’ diagnosis in order to shoot scenes from the remaining episodes that do not feature Bridges’ character. In September 2021, Bridges announced his cancer was in remission. Production ultimately resumed in February 2022.”

In the realm of gender identity and not Presidential politics, Matt Walsh is my idea of a sensible conservative. He’s been very heavily and logically focused on the refusal of many progressives to acknowledge basic gender biology. We all understand there are gender variations among the trans community (which represents roughly one half of one percent of humans) but c’mon, man…we all understand what men and women are.

During confirmation hearings Supreme Court Justice Ketanji Brown Jackson said she couldn’t define what a woman is because she’s “not a biologist.” As much as I admire Jackson I recoiled the instant she said that — millions did, I imagine. Jackson said this, I gather, because she knew it would be dangerous to answer honestly. She knew that progressive loons would get their backs up.

Simply put: “Typically, women have two X chromosomes (as opposed to men’s XY chromosones). Between puberty and menopause they’re naturally capable of pregnancy and giving birth. Female anatomy is primarily distinguished from male anatomy by the female reproductive system, which includes ovaries, fallopian tubes, uterus, vagina and vulva.

“Plus the adult female pelvis is wider, the hips broader, and the breasts larger than that of adult males. Women have significantly less facial and other body hair, have a higher body fat composition, and are on average shorter and less muscular than men.”

Tuesday (5.17) 1 pm update: Between 7 and 9 am this morning I was blocked from reserving tickets for almost all screenings on Saturday, 5.21. (The Cannes system purportedly allows journos to reserve screenings four days hence.) But I tried again a few minutes ago and was able to reserve tickets for Riley Keough‘s War Pony, Ruben Ostlund‘s Triangle of Sadness and Cristian Mingiu‘s R.M.N. — progress!

Note of concern: Yesterday I received emailed confirmation of reserved tickets (including a PDF’ed bar-code ticket) within an hour or two. No emailed confirmations of today’s tickets have arrived as of 2:45 pm.

I’m still blocked from booking tickets for George Miller‘s Three Thousand Years of Longing and two or three others films of interest. It’s still a fucked system, and for decades to come people will speak of the Great Cannes Online Ticketing Fiasco of 2022.

Earlier: The Cannes Film Festival press office has told attending journalists to log on to the online ticket request site at 7 am to order tickets for films screening four days hence. This is what I did this morning, but despite repeated efforts I couldn’t access the site, presumably because the traffic had overwhelmed the press office server.

It’s now 8:10 am and I still can’t get onto the ticket ordering site. It’s frozen, inert, defeated. How am I supposed to see Ruben Ostlund‘s Triangle of Silence? Or Cristian Mungiu‘s R.M.N.?

This is completely ridiculous — a calamity. This is a non-functioning festival in terms of one of the most essential services — allowing credentialed journos to see films.

Journalist friendo in Cannes: “It’s insane. A disaster. Totally agreed with your post yesterday — worst situation I’ve ever seen at a festival. The tech ‘revolution’ is going to be the death of all of us.”

During the first day of the 1969 Woodstock Music & Arts Fair the ticket system collapsed. The organizers had originally expected 50,000 people to attend. Around 186,000 advance tickets had been sold just before the festival began. But an avalanche of non-ticketed music fans (roughly 200,000) quickly flattened the fences and the festival was declared free and wide open. Because the producers — Michael Lang, Artie Kornfeld, Joel Rosenman and John P. Roberts — thought fast and adapted to the situation.

The Cannes Film Festival needs to terminate the online system right now. Reserved tickets will be honored, of course, but otherwise the festival needs to quickly revert to the traditional line-up system. It won’t be easy, but it’ll be semi-manageable. There’s no question that the online reservation system is a bust, and that journos who’ve travelled many thousands of miles to attend are now faced with the distinct possibility of not being able to see the most in-demand films, or at least not in a timely fashion.

Wait…Austin Butler is doing his own singing in Baz Luhrmann‘s Elvis? He doesn’t sound like the Real McCoy. Lacking that unique vocal signature (smooth tones, purry phrasing, Memphis inflections), Butler is just another Elvis imitator.

I had presumed all along that Lurhmann would make a concerted effort for Butler to actually sound like Presley. Nope!

A biopic of a famous singer can’t work unless the singing voice sounds just so. Bohemian Rhapsody was a bull’s eye in this respect with Rami Malek sounding almost exactly like Freddie Mercury. (Malek did some of his own singing but was mostly dubbed by a Freddy imitator + Freddy himself.)

Butler’s Presley crooning is roughly on the same level as Taron Egerton‘s not-good-enough imitation of Elton John‘s singing in Rocketman (’19).

Jordan Ruimy: “Egerton imitating John was a big mistake, and so is this. Elvis’ voice was unique and unforgettable — a range and passion that can’t be replicated. It’s a fool’s belief to think that Butler’s voice could believably stand in for something this iconic. Didn’t they blend Malek and Mercury’s voice (as well as a Freddy imitator) in sound mixing for Bohemian Rhapsody?”

To me nothing says “welcome to France” like jars of Bolognaise sauce (which can’t be bought stateside) on grocery store (alimentation) shelves. That and other sundries. For decades European commercial culture has been soothing my soul.

I’m sorry but the Cannes Film Festival online ticketing system, instituted last year because of Covid, is easily the worst I’ve ever encountered at any major festival, ever.

They need to go back to the old system of just letting journos line up before a showing and admitting them based on badge colors. Not a perfect arrangement, but far better than this current clusterfuck.

Ticket reservations can be made four days in advance, but for many titles the festival’s response is “pending” — festival code for overbooked.

Until a few minutes ago I couldn’t get into any screenings happening tomorrow (Tuesday, 5.17) or Wednesday (5.18), although I’ve managed access to a few on Thursday.

Update: Last-minute reservations have opened up for Michel Hazanavicius‘ out-of-competition zombie movie, Coupez!, and Christophe Castagne and Thomas Sametin‘s For The Sake of Peace.

Screenings for Saturday (5.21) can be booked tomorrow morning (5.17) at 7 am, Sunday (5.22) screenings can be reserved on Wednesday morning (5.18) at 7 am, and so on.

I’ll probably wind up seeing all I want to see, but I hate the tedium and rigamarole, and I really miss the simplicity of the old system.

Chris Rock’s Amber Heard riff was pretty funny, but it happened in London last Thursday (5.12) — way too many days ago.

The best time to respond to a joke is either minutes after the fact or within 12 hours. If the joke is more than 24 hours old, it’s slightly less funny. If it’s 36 to 48 hours old, it starts to flirt with “amusing but not hilarious.” If the joke is three to four days old, you can almost forget about it.

According to LadBible’s Daisy Phillipson, Rock said the following at a 5.12 London show: “Believe all women, believe all women…except Amber Heard. What the fuck is she on? She shit in [Johnny Depp‘s] bed! She’s fine but she’s not shitting fine.

“She shit in his bed. Once you shit in someone’s bed, you just guilty of everything.

“She shit in his bed. What the fuck is going on there? Wow. And they had a relationship after that. It must be amazing pussy. I’ve been with some crazy bitches but goddammit.”

Naturally the feminist brigade has attacked Rock for belittling Heard, etc. Example: “I never liked Chris Rock, always thought he was overrated, and he is trash for attacking Amber Heard.”

For a solid ten years of Cannes-ing (2010 through 2019) my press badge was Steve Buscemi-plus — pink with a yellow pastille. That yellow dot meant a lot in terms of screening access; it was almost the same as having a Harvey Keitel pass (aka Mr. White).

Three years ago the Cannes press office downgraded my pass to plain pink, but I begged them to once again give me a yellow dot, and they obliged.

A couple of hours ago I was plain-pinked again. I went up to the press office to request the usual usual, but the staffers assured me that with the relatively recent pain-in-the-ass online ticket request system (no more lineups) there really isn’t much difference between pink and pink-yellow. Full access to all press conferences, etc.

I don’t know why but I didn’t fight it this time. In the parlance of David Mamet, I “imperceptibly slumped.”