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Far Out Magazine, 2025
It’s a strange thing to be a part of something while also being firmly detached from it, a gnawing feeling that stuck with me throughout my time at the Cannes Film Festival. As one of the most fabled and exclusive industry events, there’s a certain air of mystery around the festival that allows few to be truly included in its madness. After watching Die My Love, Lynne Ramsay’s highly anticipated venture after a seven-year creative hiatus, I left with nothing but a cereal bar for my dinner and a distinct feeling of melancholia about being a very tiny fish in an overwhelmingly huge pond. A few doors down, an intense bidding war was waged, with Mubi winning after paying $25 million for the distribution rights for the film. There’s a whole other world occurring just beneath your nose – you’re in the bubble, but so far away from the heart that you might as well not exist.
For those who are in the inner sanctum of the film industry, perhaps the Cannes Film Festival is a glamorous and affirming experience; a red carpet rolled out beneath your feet, room service in a five-star hotel and exclusive parties where everyone knows your name. But visiting as an outsider was an entirely different experience. People stand on the street in ball gowns holding up bits of paper that proclaim something like “Please give me a ticket to Alpha!”, hoping that by wearing the correct attire, they might be granted entry. I sprinted across town to make each screening, and almost threw up more times than I care to admit due to hunger and having not drunk anything but double-shot espressos. You briefly try to ‘mingle’ at an industry beach party but arrive to see that it is closed off by an ominous-looking barrier, much like the entirety of the British film industry.
But despite the initial impostor syndrome, it soon dawned on me that the glitz, glamour and red-carpet photos are only a small part of the festival and a glossy exterior for something much larger than chiffon dresses and palm trees. Beneath the exhausting veneer of show business, with actors and filmmakers bracing themselves under the glare of the spotlight and the side effects of fame, what matters most is the celebration of cinema and contagious excitement as a crowd of people buzz around a dark screen that will soon be lit up with a story.
While trivial aspects of the festival are often highlighted online, I eventually felt comforted in my being there in the simple knowledge that I love film, and that when you’re watching one, everyone else is there for the same reason. You might not be inside the rooms where important things are happening, but the most important thing is happening in the cinema as a story speaks to a room full of people, united in a love that exceeds the excess of celebrity culture and all that comes with it. And so, without further ado, here are my picks for the best and worst of the 2025 Cannes Film Festival.
Given that it is the most prestigious film festival in the world, it is hard to find a genuinely bad film. However, it is easy to find resounding disappointments without looking too hard, something that is to be expected when you have some of the most talked-about auteurs in the business taking creative risks that don’t always pay off.
The Phoenician Scheme
Wes Anderson might be one of the most beloved directors working today, with a huge cult following that has only spiralled since early classics like Moonrise Kingdom and The Grand Budapest Hotel, but his latest film has all of the beauty but none of the substance of his former masterpieces. The Phoenician Scheme, starring Benicio Del Toro and Mia Threapleton (who, it turns out, is Kate Winslet’s daughter), is a loosely personal story inspired by Anderson’s wife and her eccentric father, something that the director explained at the press conference when asked about the role of family in his work.
While it is undeniably gorgeous to look at, with plenty of quirky moments and a few jokes that will tickle some, it was sadly my least favourite film of the entire festival as a result of the bland and entirely uncompelling story. The plot chugs along while introducing new characters and familiar faces every now and then, but after about 40 minutes, it began to feel flat, with Anderson just repeating an old formula and reusing his bag of reliable yet frustratingly familiar tricks.
Die My Love
As an avid Lynne Ramsay fan, there was no one more excited for her latest film, and the announcement that both Jennifer Lawrence and Robert Pattinson would be starring in the project sent ripples throughout the cinephile community. But after the intense anticipation and preparation to see something that would make up for seven years of creative radio silence, I left feeling frustrated by just how close the film is to being great, but somehow edges the outskirts of mediocrity.
Lawrence’s performance is nothing short of spectacular, and something that will certainly generate a lot of awards buzz, but the construction of the film does not match the heights of her performance. The structure becomes repetitive and predictable, watering down the inherent madness of the story as it falls into the trap of documenting Grace doing something crazy, and then Jackson’s reaction to it. Rinse and repeat for the entire film. The editing was all over the place, with one montage that made me want to pull my hair out as we see a collection of random images that are jumbled together, with the editor clearly hoping that by aiming for ambiguity, the audience will create their own meaning from it. However, it just felt like they had no idea what they were going for, and it resulted in a scrambled mess.
There were many loose ends and inconsistencies that could have been cut, and the story was not strong enough for any nuance to shine through about the subject matter being explored, leaving for a weak exploration of a fascinating character and the nuances of motherhood, sexual identity and creativity. I desperately wanted to love it, but it just felt rushed and distinctly lacking in the qualities that make Ramsay’s work so arresting.
However, amongst the films that didn’t quite manage to stick the landing, there were also a few that had some interesting strands but faltered as a result of their flaws. Yet despite this, they aren’t completely forgettable, with one great example being Ari Aster’s latest film.
Eddington
Eddington is a remarkable accomplishment given that so few filmmakers have attempted to capture the madness that was 2020. In a year plagued by a pandemic, riots, police brutality and climate disasters, there has seemingly been an unspoken agreement that we would collectively move on and try to avoid stories that tackled the chaos of one of the most resoundingly awful years in recent memory.
However, Aster is certainly not a director to play it safe, and he bravely took on a thematic battlefield through his exploration of what happens when conflicting ideologies clash in the outside world after being formed in isolated bubbles. The film works best when capturing the absurdity of internet culture, performative activism, misinformation and conspiracy theorists, but falters towards the end when it takes a nosedive and becomes a Tarantino-esque shoot-out that abandons the most interesting elements of the first half. While it flounders after the introduction of the murder subplot, you have to applaud Aster for what he achieves at the beginning of the film, capturing what happens when people who have been living in different realities collide, and the consequences of an increasingly disconnected world.
Pillion
There is much to love about Pillion, with a classic British sense of humour and countless moments that had the whole auditorium roaring with laughter. As well as this, you have the unlikely yet charming pairing of Alexander Skarsgard and Harry Melling, with the Swedish actor returning to his roots of playing broodingly sexy yet very odd men. The story follows a shy man called Colin who is taken on by a handsome biker as his submissive, charting the ups and downs of their relationship and the liberating freedom of complete intimacy.
However, it is not a typical love story, and it leaves many questions at the end that I am struggling to answer, mainly one scene towards the end in which we wonder whether this type of sexual relationship is actually something that Colin wants, or if he is just doing it to please Ray. But then, Colin’s character continues this type of relationship with someone else, leaving me wondering what the director was saying about this type of relationship and Colin’s sexuality as a whole. Is this something he actually wants? Or is he moulding himself into being what he thinks will be accepted by others? I left feeling confused by what the director was saying about BDSM relationships, ending on a note that felt slightly more negative and counteracting the sex-positive undercurrent of the film as a whole.
And lastly, amongst the thematically confusing or meandering stories, there were some that took my breath away. Interestingly enough, many of these came from first-time and lesser-known directors, just showing that sometimes the most highly anticipated films are not always the ones you should watch.
Urchin
Harris Dickinson is one of the most sensitive and thoughtful actors working today, and it is because of this that I was completely unsurprised that these qualities translated into an assured and beautiful directorial debut. Urchin is a story that we have all witnessed in real life on countless occasions but rarely see on screen, taking us on a slightly surrealist and fairytale-esque journey through the ebbs and flows of someone who is doing his best to stay afloat, yet despite his best efforts, often finds himself sinking.
The film felt alive with compassion and care, with Dickinson making us feel for someone who is so incredibly endearing, while also acting cruelly to some of the people who try to help him. However, beneath these actions, we have seen glimmers of someone with a beautiful soul, and know that none of this is his fault. It’s both heart-wrenching, strange, raw and hilarious, and undoubtedly marks the beginning of an illustrious career for Dickinson behind the camera.
The Plague
After reading the synopsis for The Plague, another directorial debut from Charlie Pollinger, I was immediately sold. Taking place at a water polo summer camp for boys who are on the cusp of puberty, the story follows a socially anxious teenager called Ben, who finds himself being excluded from his friend group after being accused of having ‘the plague’ – a made-up disease that supposedly originated from an eccentric boy called Eli.
The film descends into a suffocating echo chamber that captures the intensity of growing up and the desperate desire to fit in, with individuality being viewed as the biggest plague when conformity is expected of everyone. Pollinger masterfully explores how violence can often be the price we pay to fit in, both to ourselves and to others, what happens to people who try to resist this, and the freedom that comes from letting go.
The Love That Remains
Given the deliberate and sometimes harsh tone of his other films, The Love That Remains sticks out in Hlynur Pálmason’s filmography in the most delightful and unsuspecting way. I have perhaps never felt more content while watching a film, with Pálmason demonstrating complete mastery over the medium through what feels like his most personal and daring film yet, as he follows one family over the course of a year as they navigate a new equilibrium after the parents’ divorce. Each element merges together to create a stunningly tender cacophony that celebrates life in its entirety, with no moment too big or small to be overlooked.
While all his other films are incredibly measured, The Love That Remains is incredibly playful and free-spirited, with a sense of magical realism as he captures the adventure, magic, and wonder in everyday moments through the intimacy that we share with our families. Everything about it is so warm and curious, flitting between images and memories to create something that feels so authentic and lived in, building a tapestry of moments that slowly washes over you and brings you into this family. It is ultimately a love letter to Pálmasons own family and the beauty of his home, capturing the power of personal filmmaking at its best.