Cannes Diary Day 4 Pt 2: Hilary & Tommy Promote "The Homesman"

Diana Drumm reporting from Cannes for The Film Experience

 

At today’s The Homesman press conference, Tommy Lee Jones and Hilary Swank lived up to their public personas, the former as a well-meaning curmudgeon and the latter as diplomatic would be sweetheart. This dynamic was evident when Jones made the off-putting comment that editing is time consuming but “it’s not hard work” and Swank, spotting the possible faux pax in front of a room of international movie press, swooped in by clarifying maybe not for someone like him with his great mind and thoughtful vision, but she’d be lost and that editing is indeed hard work.

Well-trained in the art of dodging cringe-inducing questions, Swank managed to pivot from a meant-to-be-complimentary question about the disparity between her beauty in person and her plainness onscreen to an empowering impromptu speech about the subjectivity of attractiveness. She shared that some people have told her that they found her characters Maggie (Million Dollar Baby) and Mary Bee Cuddie (The Homesman), to be attractive because of their strength. Considering that the film tackles the issues of female subjugation and objectification, it was all the more uncomfortable when multiple professional journalists either commented on her physical appearance or prefaced their question with a comment on her physical appearance.

What did these reporters expect? She’s a movie star at Cannes promoting a film, the very definition of a glamorous day's work. And isn’t that a pretty tired narrative for Swank, dating back over a decade?

To Swank’s left, Jones bordered on ornery, not understanding a number of questions (giving unrelated answers or asking reporters to rephrase) or speaking in vague, sometimes dismissive, terms about cast and production (“The difficulty was the weather.” … “It’s not real research, we’re not curing polio.”).  As for both directing and acting on this film, he deadpanned:

As a director, I can tell you that I do everything I tell myself to do.”

Dodging the more thematic  and film-specific questions, Jones repeatedly answered “The movie speaks for itself,” without further explanation. On a rare upbeat note, Jones did spark to a question about the film’s music (plugging his son, the film’s music consultant) and went into a long-winded explanation about finding era-appropriate tunes and building wind organs.

In response to a HuffPo reporter’s line of questioning about women’s issues in the 1800s (when the film is set) relating to those of today, Jones said,

 I don't think there's a woman in this room that has never felt objectified or trivialized because of her gender. There's a reason for that and a history of that, and I think that's an interesting thing."

A smattering of applause. Jones won back a few of the hearts he may have lost.

Day 1 Arrival & Opening Night | Day 2 Grace of Monaco | Day 3 Mr Turner & Timbuktu  | Day 4 Amour Fou & The Blue Room |  Day ??? The Homesman Review 

Cannes Diary Day 4: Amour Fou & The Blue Room

Diana Drumm reporting from Cannes...

The Blue Room and Amour Fou, two films in the Un Certain Regard section, examine the pitfalls of unrequited romance. A French modern noir, The Blue Room centers on an extramarital affair between a farm equipment rep and a pharmacy employee that leads to a murder investigation. A German Romantic period piece, Amour Fou also centers on an extramarital affair, though this time between poet Heinrich von Kleist and wife of a businessman Henriette Vogel which also leads to violent crime. The former film's narrative goes in and out of its protagonist’s recollections, while the latter follows its protagonist’s determined trajectory. Neither man actually loves his mistress, with one outrightly denying and the other unwilling to admit, but both end linked inextricably to their “beloveds” through tragic means...

Click to read more ...

Cannes Diary Day 3: Mr Turner & Timbuktu

Diana Drumm is reporting from Cannes for The Film Experience on two new films that have won strong reviews.

Timothy Spall as Mr. Turner

Mr. Turner
Mike Leigh’s latest (and the current Palme d’Or frontrunner though we're only a few days into the festival) opens on a pastoral landscape of seemingly neverending fields. A windmill in the middle-ground and sunlight speckling through the vastness give hints of perspective. As the camera lingers, two women ease their way into frame and jolt the viewer into the 19th century. Chatting back and forth and carrying their errands’ loads, they breathe human life into the painterly image (lensed by Leigh's regular cinematographer, Oscar nominee Dick Pope). The camera follows this humble pair until it spots a graying stout figure staring off into the field and sketching near-furiously. Sticking out like a sore crooked-toothed thumb in this panorama, this is J.M.W. Turner (Timothy Spall), the controversial but influential British painter best remembered for his Romantic oil painting landscape and seascapes though he also worked in watercolor.

Spanning the final quarter decade of the artist's life, Mr. Turner eases through the artist’s autumn loves, losses and disappointments. The film opens with Turner leading the life of a discontented bachelor. His ex (Ruth Sheen who led Leigh's last, Another Year) and two daughters live elsewhere, though they call on him regularly enough to nag and harbinger guilt about his lack of involvement in their lives. His two main companions are his father (Paul Jesson), who acts as his studio assistant buying paints and hosting potential clients, and his housekeeper (Dorothy Atkinson), who he occasionally rogers from behind. Their relationship resembles a bizarrely reticent S&M relationship more than institutionalized employer-employee rape.  

More after the jump...

Click to read more ...

Cannes Diary Day 2: Or, How I'm Still Grappling With 'Grace of Monaco'

Diana Drumm is reporting for The Film Experience from Cannes

As you should know by now, thanks to mid-screening tweets, prompt reviews and Nathaniel being awesome as always, Grace of Monaco is bad. So bad that Cannes critics are being divided into indifference, dislike and rollicking hate. I, for one, fall into a fourth category, that of the now-jaded hopeful still grappling with how it all could have gone so horribly wrong. It’s from the director behind La Vie En Rose and... NICOLE KIDMAN. And I do mean grappling, I’ve barely eaten since that lovely sandwich or slept since nodding off on the Nice-Cannes commuter and my attempts at writing an actual review have gone the way of nonsensical jibberish with many ‘rather’s, ‘while’s and ‘thereby’s. Plus I’ve missed multiple opportunities to stow-away on champagne and celebrity-laden yachts. (Well, maybe not, but you get the gist – me, bedraggled by disappointment.) It could be the jet lag typing, but I wish I could go back to the before time, before I knew for certain that Grace of Monaco was a bad film. 

For weeks, I’ve been hushing naysayers, lah-lah-lahing the latest Weinstein cut rumors and ignoring the strawberry blonde Nicole Kidman as Grace press photos. With its synopsis reading like My Week with Marilyn meeting Evita for cucumber sandwiches to discuss an upcoming charity event and swap stories about who was handsier, Ari Onassis or Alfred Hitchcock, I kept telling myself that whether Grace was good or bad, it would be nice to see Grace Kelly’s story onscreen. I was wrong, so wrong. This isn’t to say that the film’s downright awful, or even amongst Cannes’ worst (Splitting Heirs, anyone?), but as someone with only love in her heart would say, it’s not that I’m angry, it’s that I’m hurt and disappointed. 

Princess Grace and Old Hollywood fairy tales after the jump...

Click to read more ...

Cannes Diary Day 1: Trains, Badges, and Nicole Kidman

Diana Drumm is reporting from Cannes for The Film Experience

After delays, a cancelled train and discovering the local bus line just went on strike, I hurried from the Cannes train station in an ill-chosen bulky trench coat, swooping up my overfilled laptop bag. Following my newly made acquaintance-guide who I'd bonded with over the inefficiency of French trains (as you do), we scurried through the maze of narrow boutique and cafe-lined streets. The city is brimming with people: the tanned and about to be sunburned, the stiletto-heeled and Doc Marten-ed, the maddening tourists and the maddened locals. After approximately two turns and nearly body-checking at least three walkers of a more leisurely pace, she stopped and I looked up. There was Guido Contini (Marcello Mastroianni in Fellini’s 8 ½) peering over his sunglasses seductively, with a look that falls somewhere between cheekiness and contempt (let’s just call it “rawr”), plastered on the Palais des Festivals. 

Regaining my breath, heart still pacing, I got into the queue. Four of them actually (bag-check, press badge, press queue, another bag-check) all the while terrified as the clock struck closer and closer to the festival’s first press screening. Praying and stroking my good luck charm (a piece of Errol Flynn’s suit) I made my way up three flights of stairs to a seat in the center of the balcony. The lights dimmed, the curtains separated, and the festival’s Opening Night film, the already much-maligned Grace of Monaco, began to roll. (Full review forthcoming)

Though no one booed, there were enough ill-placed guffaws, lit-up mobile phones and hushed chatter mid-screening to indicate that this crowd was less than enamored with Olivier Dahan’s latest about model turned actress turned princess Grace Kelly. As the credits rolled (sappy music over images of red and white roses), I attempted a mad dash to the stairs in order to get to the Grace of Monaco press conference and catch Her Highness Nicole. Unfortunately, almost everyone else had the exact same idea and the handsome security men proved unbribable.

I was one of those left in the celebrity-less cold. Although tempted to leap over the blockade, I'll save that one strike surely ban-worthy offense for Michael Fassbender. But there she was… An ethereal vision in white, with slightly curled longer-than-shoulder-length blonde hair and oh-so-fair skin (lips as plump as cherries), Nicole Kidman walked briskly by the throng of still-waiting and exiled press, surrounded by a posse and giving off her characteristic aura of A-list-seclusion grace. In the midst of my awe, I attempted to snap a few photos of La Kidman, but all three turned out too blurry for your visual consumption.   

Eating my feelings of slight disappointment, I scarfed down a “Croisette” sandwich (smoked salmon, cucumber, radishes, cream cheese and lettuce on ciabatta bread) and the best tasting in-plastic chocolate mousse ever at a film festival food counter. With time to kill before the next screening (not enough for writing, plenty for wandering), I got my bearings around the International Village and the film market -- look out for Jail Caesar starring Derek Jacobi, not coming to a theater near you. Then I queued up yet again for Timbuktu, which, unlike Grace of Monaco, got laughs in the appropriate places and warm, appreciative applause.

Onto Day Two!

Cannes Diary: Day 2 Grace of Monaco | Day 3 Mr Turner & Timbuktu  | Day 4Amour Fou & The Blue Room | Day 5? The Homesman Press Conference and The Homesman Review | Day 7 Mommy, Maps to the Stars &  Two Days One Night

Diana Drumm, who recently completed a stint as one of 8 young critics to take part in the 2nd annual NYFF Critics Academy became a member of our team this February. You can follow her on Twitter or visit her home page. See her previous posts for The Film Experience here.