Cannes: Cinema as a Questioning of Reality

"Cinema is the art of capturing time, projecting a slice of reality onto the big screen. But what happens to reality when it is projected? For the audience, what is our 'reality' while watching a film? Do we truly possess any reality at all?"

This reflective query arises from Arnaud Desplechin's short film, "Spectateur!" (Filmlovers!), showcased out of competition at the 77th Cannes Film Festival. A film festival without a "film about films" would be incomplete. Desplechin’s semi-documentary, semi-fictional film is a love letter to cinema, and more specifically, to the experience of watching films in a theater. It was my most serene hour and a half at Cannes this year—no rushing, ample seating in the Bazin Theater. At the Cannes Film Festival, the most celebrated international event besides the Olympics, people assume many roles but are primarily spectators. What does it mean to watch a movie in a theater? How have people been doing this for over a century? There is no better opportunity to ponder this than at a film festival.

People and Film: Both Are Material

Watching movies is physically demanding. Over ten days, watching thirty films, each roughly two hours long, amounts to sixty hours of screen time. This number is modest; colleagues watched thirty-five films, and some media professionals binge-watched fifty films plus shorts. The festival incites a greediness, not just for the competition but for the sheer act of movie-watching.

It had been nine years since my last Cannes Film Festival, and much had changed. In 2015, I held a pink pass and received a "media package" upon arrival—a blue messenger bag filled with booklets, cards, notebooks, and pens about the festival. With a media pass, one could drink Perrier water freely throughout the Palais des Festivals and enjoy coffee and snacks. That year, film viewing relied heavily on queuing, but with a pink pass, I had almost unrestricted access, moving freely while others with different passes watched enviously.

However, media packages are a thing of the past. Before arriving, a Cannes veteran in France informed me that collecting the pass was now a mere formality. I still harbored some hope, but reality hit when I received a yellow pass. The French gentleman at the counter cheerfully wished me a great festival and pointed to some scattered Swiss chocolate balls, saying I could take more than one, even two.

With a single chocolate in my pocket, I began a routine of eating one proper meal a day, often going without water, and waking up after five hours of sleep to book tickets online. All screenings required reservations four days in advance, starting at 7 AM sharp. I missed the time advantage I had back in my home country.

Such days made every film a physical endurance test. Each captured moment of time, each frame of projected reality, was set against a backdrop of hunger, thirst, and fatigue. Although my film-watching record was average, I prided myself on embodying the festival's theme of merging physical reality with cinematic art. On May 19th, the "reality" of my left knee and right ankle's injuries were "projected" onto the X-rays at Cannes' emergency room. This “film” suggested that one should not run downhill when exhausted and mentally unclear. Only when you drag your injured body up the red-carpeted steps of the Palais des Festivals and sit in the Debussy Theater can you understand the extent to which cinema impacts "reality"—whether it soothes or exacerbates pain.

I limped through the second half of the festival, with each 2.5-hour film etched into my knees. The side effects of medication caused sudden diarrhea during two afternoon screenings, leading to a struggle between my body and the darker forces within. This personal battle mirrored the Portuguese director Miguel Gomes' "Tabu," which I watched for 120 of its 129 minutes before rushing out. Returning, I found the protagonist lying unresponsive on the ground, her body cold. Standing at the back to avoid disturbing others, I felt a sense of release and relief for myself and the protagonist.

Screen Illuminates Painful Reality

Desplechin answers his own question in "Spectateur!": When reality is projected, it shines. This year's Cannes winners put a particular reality under the spotlight—women's issues, a situation defined biologically but burdened by social attributes. These films were all very "physical," with viewers, especially women, feeling a bodily resonance alongside intellectual engagement.

"The Girl with the Needle" portrays early 20th-century women's fates tied to their bodies as production resources, exploring the contradictions between womanhood, motherhood, and humanity. When a woman's dignity and security as a person are compromised, how does she navigate her identities as a woman and mother? "All we imagine as light" delicately integrates class issues into a narrative of female friendship and secret desires. "Caught by the tides" revisits a woman's 20 years of silence, chronicling her journey from a sword-wielding adventurer to a dignified, simple life, reclaiming her voice and perspective. "Emilia Perez," which collectively won Best Actress, extends gender issues through a stylized story of a Mexican gangster's transgender journey.

Personally, I favored French director Coralie Fargeat's "The substance," which emerged as a festival hit with polarized reactions. Many viewers left unable to handle the last half-hour's intense imagery. I managed to catch a ticket for its final screening on the closing day, despite mixed reviews, and was pleasantly surprised. The rumored horror and disgust were merely surface-level gimmicks, serving a profound critique of societal beauty standards. The chains of social conditioning, twisted into forces tearing us apart, reflect the relentless drive for self-improvement. Is this driven by self-loathing or genuine progress? While horror isn't my genre, its power lies in the terrifying reality it mirrors every moment of viewing.

In recent years, gender and women's issues have been trendy topics, but Cannes proved they are not infallible formulas. The sincerity of the filmmakers' projections of "reality" is evident. At Cannes, two realities always coexist—artistic and political. Balancing these with skill and sincerity depends not just on talent but on how a creator lives and breathes the reality they depict. Only then can reality reflect on screen, casting light on those of us sitting in the dark.

Desplechin concludes in his film with a teacher passionately stating: Cinema is not an answer; it is a question, a way of challenging the world and art. Every viewer is unique and irreplaceable.

So, I cherish this ten-day experience of being half-awake, in pain, and deeply engrossed.