Olivier Assayas‘ Carlos, which screened earlier today, is a fascinating, never-boring, you-are-there masterwork of a certain type. Not exactly a levitational thing and more in the realm of long triple than a home run, but exquisitely done in so many small and great and side-pocket ways that there’s really no choice but to take your hat off and say “sure, yes, of course.”

Carlos star Edgar Ramirez (r.) during the OPEC hostage-taking sequence, which occupies a sizable portion of Act Two.

This is a politically crackling, intrigue-filled saga of Carlos the Jackal (a.k.a, Ilich Ramirez Sanchez) with a no-bullshit, this-is-what-it-was, rock-solid authority in every line and scene and performance — no Hollywood crap of any kind, no comic relief and nothing artificially heightened. And it boasts a riveting, never-alienating but never-sympathetic lead performance by Edgar Ramirez, whom I know from relatively recent roles in Che and The Bourne Ultimatum (in which he played a bad guy who cut Matt Damon a break at the end).

It’s essentially a portrait of a hard-charging, true-believing, very impressive type-A asshole who loved guns and blowjobs and Marlboros and being forceful and committed, and who enjoyed a kind of haunted celebrity for a few years during the 1970s when anti-capitalist revolution and terror were in fashion, at least in some overseas circles.

Carlos doesn’t exactly throb with emotional poignancy or resonance, or deliver what you might call a ground-level universal theme. All it “says,” really, is the same thing that any film about a terrorist or a gangster says, which is basically “live hard, burn brightly and enjoy the passion and thrills while you can, pal, because you’re looking at an early death or being sentenced to a very long jail term before you hit middle-age.”

But then it’s hardly fair to expect this kind of film — an exacting, fact-based account of the life and times of a fierce and somewhat chilly sociopath who doesn’t laugh or smile much or pet kittens or make friends with homeless children — to swim in streams of emotionality or meditation, even. Like Che, Carlos is simply about “being there” and believing everything you hear and see, although it delivers much more in the way of urgency and tension and thrills that Steven Soderbergh‘s film did. It occasionally settles down for brief periods, but it never drops the ball.

Carlos director Olivier Assayas (l.) and star Edgar Ramirez absorbing applause inside the Grand Lumiere following this afternoon’s screening.

I told a video crew on my way out of the screening that I’d be interested to see if Assayas can make the shorter U.S. theatrical cut — reportedly expected to come in around two and a half hours — work. I don’t see how it can. I would think that this version would have to be at least three hours, although even that sounds like a difficult feat. All I can say is that when the intermission came at the end of Act Two, which was somewhere close to the three hour mark, I was fully engaged and in no way yearning for a time-out.

The final act, being about changing times, the ebbing of leftist revolutionary fervor and Carlos-friendly governments in the ’80s, the collapse of communism and Carlos losing his headline-grabbing favor as the world’s most audacious terrorist, is the least engrossing. But again, it’s never dull — just not as charged.

There’s one recurring element that Carlos doesn’t quit on and is almost fanatical about, and that’s cigarettes. So many effin’ Marlboros and Gitanes are smoked during this thing that I felt as if my own lungs were aching with first-stage cancer by the time it was over. Everyone except the Muslim characters, it seems, is also gulping whiskey in every other scene. No Frescas, Cokes or Perriers — straight booze all the way.

Ramirez, who resembles the younger real-life Carlos, has a face that could almost be Johnny Depp‘s if Depp gained 20 or 25 pounds. He also looks a bit like Nick Lachey (i.e., Jessica Simpson‘s ex) and Neville Brand, who played Al Capone on the old Untouchables series. As with any noteworthy performance Ramirez never seems to be “acting.” That’s also how Benicio del Toro‘s Che Guevara played, of course, and yet Benicio was delivering a somewhat warmer, gentler fellow. As Soderbergh depicted him, I mean.

The story is the story is the story. I always go to the appropriate Wikipedia page after seeing any kind of history-based film, and this was no exception. In fact, do that now.

The real Carlos is now doing a life sentence in La Sante prison, which is located in the 14th arrondisement of Paris. I wonder if he has TV privileges (probably) and whether or not Assayas or IFC’s Ryan Werner will send him a DVD of the long version, and whether Carlos and his cellmates (including Manuel Noreiga) will be allowed to watch it together in the TV room. Throw in some soft drinks and a couple bags of tortilla chips…why not?

Having seen Olivier Assayas‘ Carlos a couple of weeks ago, Indiewire‘s Todd McCarthy today posted his review — an over-the-waterfalls rave that’ll probably seem like the most incisive and carefully measured assessment coming out today, as everyone else is writing their reviews as we speak (the big Cannes screening ended about an hour ago) and at best taking stabs at the range and sprawl of the thing as best they can, myself included.

Edgar Ramirez as the infamous terrorist whose life is given an epic treatment in Olivier Assayas’ Carlos.

“Carlos is everything Che wanted to be and much, much more — a dynamic, convincing and revelatory account of a notorious revolutionary terrorist‘s career that rivets the attention during every one of its 321 minutes,” be begins. “In what is certainly his best work, Assayas adopts a fleet, ever-propulsive style that creates an extraordinary you-are-there sense of verisimilitude, while Edgar Ramirez inhabits the title role with arrogant charisma of Brando in his prime. It’s an astonishing film.

“Like Che, Carlos carries with it an unwieldy running time that will limit wide theatrical release, although it will thrive on television and DVD; the work’s roots as a French TV production are what cost it a competition berth at Cannes, where it world premiered as a non-competing title in the official selection. On the other hand, the vast majority of people keen to see Carlos will certainly want to opt for the full five-hour-plus wide-screen experience rather than the two-and-a-half-hour theatrical version Assayas has prepared.

“And for all its rigor, Carlos, unlike Che, produces real movie-movie excitement, action, sex and suspense, which will help generate a considerable worldwide public.”

Excellent news about David Fincher‘s Se7en coming to Bluray on 9.14. I remember a couple of details about the Los Angeles all-media screening for this 1994 landmark film. I recall that it happened at the Mann Village, and that Don Murphy was there, and that after it ended a couple of guys on the street were imitating Brad Pitt yelling “what’s in the baahhx?”

The Weinstein Co. threw a rooftop party last night for Derek Cianfrance‘s Blue Valentine, the time-shifting relationship drama starring Ryan Gosling and Michelle Williams. It’s now seven minutes shorter than when it played Sundance 2010. Here’s a quote from my 1.26 Sundance Film Festival review: “[It’s] a pretty good film, or certainly one made by some undeniably talented folks who would rather shoot themselves than make another relationship movie in the same old way.”

Blue Valentine‘s Ryan Gosling and costar Faith Wladkya (who plays Gosling and Michelle Williams’ daughter) doing red-carpet routine at the post-midnight soiree on roof of Cannes’ Hotel Stephanie.

Last night The Wrap‘s Steve Pond posted an amusing summary about the recent Battle of Biutiful. “At the moment, Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu‘s film stands as the second most divisive in the short history of indieWIRE’s criticWIRE poll,” he reported, “trailing only Harmony Korine‘s Trash Humpers.

“Among the critics polled, Sasha Stone gave it an A+; Robert Koehler gave it an F. In between: an A, an A-, two C+s, two C-s, and a D+.

“And Anne Thompson, who liked the film quite a bit, was left wondering what its commercial prospects could be: ‘This movie will be lucky to land a micro-distributor, much less Sony Pictures Classics or Focus…a movie like this needs a tsunami of critical praise to draw any audience at all. It will be lucky to pass the $1 million mark in the U.S.’

“In other words, reaction was all over the map. And that’s when things got ugly.”

Meanwhile, the L.A. Times Stephen Zeitchik reported that the Weinstein Company will probably make a deal to distribute Inarritu’s film.

A nice breakfast and a lot of walking around pour moi before settling down with Olivier Assayas five-and-a-half-hour epic (including, I’ve heard, two intermissions) at noon. Backsides will be tested, but I’m told it’s the genuine shit.

Passing scooters cut into the commentary at times, but otherwise well said by L.A. Times critic Kenneth Turan and Chicago Tribune critic Michael Phillips.

After throwing an anger fit over the inexplicable Biutiful hate vented over the last 28 or 30 hours, I’ve come to accept that the naysayers are just too numerous and persistent to push back against. Just a feeling that began to sink in about an hour ago.

I’m finally watching David Robert Mitchell‘s Myth of the American Sleepover — about a half-hour in — and it’s clearly as sharply cut and well-observed as SXSW reviews have claimed. Nothing feels written or faked. Each and every scene has a natural ease and honesty.

But if I was under fire and taking cover in Afghanistan, I’m wondering which of these kids, if they were also there, would have the cojones to shoot back like Val Kilmer did in Heat? They all seem so passive, so low-energy whatever. They’re all about whim and instinct and going with dreamy feelings. That’s the realm and the psychology, of course, but what is life at any age without tests of character in hairy (or at least semi-hairy) situations? You know, like with Richard Dreyfuss and the Pharoahs?

Fair Game director Doug Liman, who arrived in Cannes last night, did an American Pavillion q & a about two hours ago with USA Today‘s Anthony Breznican. In the clip below he talks about his reasons for casting Naomi Watts as outed CIA spy Valerie Plame, above and beyond physical resemblance.

Factual and emotional truths were the things he adhered to above all, he said. He decided firmly against using any Oliver Stone-like speculation or invention. And he didn’t try to emulate the tone or pacing or mood of any previous Washington, D.C.-based fact thriller (i.e., All The President’s Men) as he began filming, he said, although he acknowledged that stylistic influences have a way of seeping in regardless.

He mentioned to me before the interview began that a hush-hush earlybird screening of Fair Game (i.e., an opportunity to let numerous journalists who will have flown the coop by the time of Thursday morning’s press screening to see it) was out due to festival rules about competition films.

Fatigue and whatnot prevented my seeing Lucy Walker‘s Countdown Zero on my flu-recovery day (i.e., Sunday, 5.16) . I’d try again if there was a makeup screening. For some reason the premise didn’t kick in personally until a director friend mentioned a few weeks ago that it’s all but certain that terrorists will one day get hold of a nuclear device. And all of a sudden that feeling was there.

I did a ten-minute chat late this morning with Inside Job director Charles Ferguson. It happened at the semi-outdoor (i.e., ceilinged) atelier on the Majestic Beach. Weak sound, so-so photography, decent questions (especially the one about whether some of his rich-banker subjects may have agreed to speak to him because Ferguson himself is a rich guy). Here’s my original review.