The Cannes Film Festival is now more like a discussion between existentialist tragics in a smokey cafe as they wait for Satre and Simone Beauvoir to order a glass of wine and an expresso.
It has become a conversation about a festival rather than a festival itself. Deprived of the opportunity to actually screen films, it has published the official program and is hoping that other gatherings later in the year will take on the cuckoo program themselves. First cab off the rank may well be the Melbourne International Film Festival.
