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Miraculously, the best of the lot Romanian director Cristian Mungiu's 4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days was bought by the adventurous American distributor IFC Films even before it received the Cannes' prestigious Palme d'Or from a jury headed by The Queen director Stephen Frears. A release date hasn't been determined yet, but 4 Months will roll out as part of IFC's ongoing "First Take" program, which opens movies in a handful of theaters on the same day it makes them available for purchase via on-demand cable television. Last year's Palme d'Or winner, Ken Loach's excellent The Wind That Shakes the Barley, was released in the same manner and even became a modest hit. Still, I'd wager that Mungiu didn't come to Cannes hoping that his film with its stunning, handheld wide-screen camerawork would make a beeline from the Grand Théâtre Lumière straight to America's TiVos.
These days, though, any foreign picture that doesn't star some gamine French ingénue or an Asian martial arts hero is lucky to get a U.S. release at all. So, as the world's most important film festival celebrated its 60th birthday, it was tough to shake the feeling that Cannes or maybe France in general has become an illusory oasis in an industry where the voice of art too rarely rises above the din of commerce.
Take, for example, this year's winner of the Grand Jury Prize (commonly considered Cannes' runner-up award, after the Palme): The Mourning Forest. Set in a rural retirement home, where an elderly widower yearns to be reunited with his late wife, this reserved, haiku-like movie, composed of a few terse dramatic scenes and many others of wind blowing against trees and grass, is the latest feature by Japanese director Naomi Kawase, who, at age 38, is already a Cannes veteran. In 1997, her debut feature, Suzaku, won the Camera d'Or prize for best first film, and in 2003 she returned to the festival with her third feature, Shara.
Thanks to Cannes' support, Kawase's work has been distributed in France and is now even produced with the aid of French funding. In the rest of the world, including North America, she is virtually unknown, which may partly explain why The Mourning Forest received a considerably more enthusiastic reception from French critics than from their international colleagues, many of whom filed out of the late-evening press screening before the end of the film's brief (97 minutes) running time. (Among those who stayed, several including one critic assigned to review the film for a prominent Hollywood trade publication were reportedly lulled into a deep slumber.) After catching up with The Mourning Forest the next day at the more reasonable lunchtime hour, I found myself of two minds about it. It is a film marked by lovely moments that falls short of the lyrical heights to which it aspires.
Hollywood was hardly absent from Cannes in 2007, though it sometimes spoke with a foreign accent. Five American films (including Zodiac and Quentin Tarantino's Grindhouse-liberated Death Proof) were featured in the festival's official competition, in addition to which there was My Blueberry Nights, a wan Jude Law-Natalie Portman romance shot in New York, Memphis, and Las Vegas by the Hong Kong director Wong Kar-Wai, and The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, a flamboyant, French-language biopic directed by the American painter Julian Schnabel. Meanwhile, the iconoclastic New York indie filmmaker Abel Ferrara went to Italy to make Go Go Tales and came back with one of his best films, its story of a ne'er-do-well club owner (Willem Dafoe) on the verge of bankruptcy serving as an endearing metaphor for Ferrara's own long career working outside of the studio system.