Early last evening I saw Michael Haneke‘s Happy End, another of his icy, misanthropic meditations about the corroded human condition. Whatever you may think about the film as a whole, the hypnotic performances by the oldest and younger members of the cast — Jean-Louis Trintignant, 86, and Fantine Harduin, 12 — are worth the price and then some.

I should have gone straight home and tapped out some kind of review, but I wanted the passing satisfaction of attending a fine, opulent party rather than the lasting satsifaction of having filed a well-written (or at least a well-judged) piece. So I took a shuttle up to the lavish Netflix party in the hills above the city and “partied” — stood around, chatted and took pictures while eating hors d’oeuvres and sipping Badoit and Diet Coke.

I got back around midnight, and managed to post some photos of the event, blah blah blah. And now it’s 8 am and I have to catch an 8:30 screening of Yorgos Lanthimos‘ The Killing of a Sacred Deer, which costars Colin Farrell and Nicole Kidman. And then there’s a Meyerowitz Stories luncheon at noon. I can begin to file about these and other Cannes diversions by mid afternoon, I suppose.