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The Lead: Preserving Environmental HistoryOver four years in the 1820s, Charles Waterton built a 9ft-high, 3-mile-long wall around the parkland and lake of Walton Hall in Yorkshire, creating what could be the world's first nature reserve. Now, the overlooked achievements of this innovative reserve and the crumbling wall that still surrounds Waterton's former home are being remembered through WallFest, a programme of 60 community events organised by a charity dedicated to protecting the wall and preserving its legacy.The Historic Wall: Engineering Environmental ProtectionThe wall, built between 1820-1824, was designed to be fox- and poacher-proof, enclosing Waterton's estate and creating a sanctuary for wildlife. After completing the wall and banning hunting and shooting, Waterton recorded 5,000 wildfowl on his lake and 123 species of birds, including those widely persecuted at the time, such as herons and kestrels. The boundary allowed hedgehogs and so-called vermin, like weasels, to roam freely through his reserve.Waterton's Environmental Legacy: A Pioneer Ahead of His TimeWaterton, an eccentric, controversial and pioneering environmentalist, implemented innovative conservation practices long before they became mainstream. He built nest boxes, special banks for sand martins and innovative bird hides, and offered local people sixpence for every hedgehog they brought into his reserve. Unlike sportsman-naturalists of the day, Waterton abhorred shooting and got into fistfights with armed poachers, thwarting their attempts to kill birds by placing dummy birds made from metal and wood in the trees.Waterton's environmentalism began after experiencing the natural wonders of the rainforests of Guyana, where he managed his father's sugar plantations. Upon returning to his family home in rapidly industrializing West Yorkshire, he was dismayed at the polluted state of waterways, woodlands stripped of birdlife and workers looking ill.The Conservation Challenge: A Wall in PerilToday, the historic wall has collapsed in places and is in urgent need of repair. Some sections have completely deteriorated, threatening the physical boundary that Waterton created and the historical significance it represents. The Friends of Waterton's Wall charity was created after Covid when local residents realized the wall they walked beside daily might not last another century.Waterton also launched one of the first known environmental legal actions, against a nearby soap works for releasing pollutants that killed trees and damaged his lake. Despite his visionary environmentalism, Waterton is mostly remembered for his eccentricity rather than his groundbreaking conservation efforts.WallFest: Community Action for HeritageThe WallFest events, taking place during May around the village of Walton, West Yorkshire, and in Waterton's former home (now a hotel), will help raise funds to repair the crumbling wall. The festival includes a short film supported by David Attenborough and various community activities designed to raise awareness of both the wall's condition and Waterton's environmental legacy."We're keen to raise the profile of the first nature reserve in the world," said John Smith, the chair of trustees of Friends of Waterton's Wall. "Waterton was a pioneering environmentalist, probably the first in this country. We also want to raise the profile of the wall itself and the need to preserve our heritage for future generations."The Future Outlook: Rediscovering an Environmental PioneerAccording to Barbara Phipps, a local resident and author of a biography of Waterton, his historical portrayal as "an amusing and strange fellow," in the words of Charles Darwin, was partly because he was a Catholic and was discriminated against, being excluded from mainstream careers in politics, law and the military.John Whitaker, a curator at Wakefield council's museums and castles and a trustee of the charity, also attributed the lack of acclaim for Waterton to his Catholicism. "He was a marginalised aristocrat, which is a weird situation to be in. He was never in the establishment. He was massively affectionate and incredibly progressive in many ways but also hugely contradictory."As WallFest aims to raise both funds and awareness, there's hope that Waterton's true legacy as an environmental pioneer will be properly recognized and that the historic wall will be preserved for future generations to appreciate.

The Lead: Carla Simón's Unique Approach to Family DramaFamily reunions in European arthouse cinema are almost always unhappy events, on a scale of strife that ranges from simmering resentment to spectacular score-settling. Carla Simón, however, has a rare gift: she makes you leave the cinema with renewed faith that having relatives and keeping in touch with them may actually be a wonderful thing.No film-maker working in Europe now is as capable of turning birthday gatherings, garden parties or poolside barbecues into thrillingly sprawling canvases of human virtue and vice as this 39-year-old rising star. From a riotous water fight in the Berlinale Golden Bear-winning farming drama Alcarràs to a foul-mouthed dinner table singalong in her new film Romería, Simón directs kinship meetings with the attention to detail that other film-makers may invest in action sequences or dance routines.The Event Details: Romería and the Journey to Self-DiscoveryAmong the tricks Simón employs, she explains, is to ensure her actors only read the script once before the camera starts rolling, so they have to improvise to fill the gaps. She takes her casts to parties, for walks and on shopping trips, and if there are disagreements on the way, so much the better. The ultimate secret sauce, though, is to ignore WC Fields's notorious advice and always work with children and animals."I never get bored of working with kids," she says. "When you are only working with adult actors, shooting becomes more like executing an idea that you have in your mind, and I think that is not interesting. With children, you always have this feeling that that things are going to happen in front of the camera by chance. It keeps things alive."Her new film Romería, meaning "pilgrimage" in Spanish, dives deeper into the story of the biological parents she barely got to know. Eighteen-year-old Marina travels to her relatives in Vigo, in north-western Galicia, purportedly to find the death certificate of her biological father, which she needs to study film-making in Barcelona. The initial reaction is warm, but family is a room with dark corners and locked closets.The Personal Journey: Aids, Loss and Family SecretsSimón's fascination with freewheeling scenes of family life was undoubtedly honed through her own biography. Born in Barcelona in 1986, her father died when she was three and her mother when she was six. Both of them succumbed to Aids. She was 12 when her adoptive mother told her that her parents had been infected with the autoimmune disease through their use of drugs.All of her first three films have been strongly autobiographical: Summer 1993 tells the story of a six-year-old girl who moves to an unspecified location countryside to live with her aunt after the death of her mother, while 2022's Alcarràs is specifically set in the Catalan peach-growing community of her adoptive family.In the film, a cache of letters written by her late mother opens up a portal to the time when her parents met and discovered love – for each other, the Atlantic Ocean and drugs. The letters, Simón explains, are real. "She wrote to her friends and family while she lived in Vigo. Her Catalan is full of mistakes, because teaching Catalan was banned under the Franco regime. But they are the most important thing that I have from my mother, because suddenly I can hear her talking."The Impact Analysis: Spanish Cinema and the Legacy of AidsSpanish cinema has a track record in making films where child actors take centre stage: Ana Torrent's spell-binding turn as a young girl obsessed with the Frankenstein tale in Víctor Erice's 1973 film The Spirit of the Beehive is considered an all-time great performance by a minor, and Simón describes it as "a very, very important film for me".During the transition period after Franco's rule, Madrid gave birth to la movida, a countercultural movement that celebrated lifestyles that had been banned under military rule. "All these kids who were raised under Franco and religious oppression, suddenly freedom arrived and they embraced it", Simón says. "They didn't think much about the future or the consequences of what they were experimenting with. And then the drugs came in."When we talk about this generation in Spain, people sometimes use words like shame and blame, but I feel that's really unfair: people like my parents just had bad luck.The Future Direction: Beyond Family in Simón's Next ProjectHalfway through Romería there is a stylistic shift, from the Eurorealism she favoured in her previous works toward something more magical-realist: there is a mysterious cat you might expect to encounter in a Miyazaki film, and an unforgettable dance number set to Vigo punk rocker's Siniestro Total's song Bailaré Sobre Tu Tumba ("I'll Dance on Your Grave")."These three films I've made are kind of a cycle, because they all talk about my family, adoptive and biological. But since I became a mother a few years ago, I feel that my place in the family changed. When you have kids you feel it's a new period in your life, so I feel like maybe doing something that has nothing to do with my family."Her next film, she confides, is going to be a flamenco musical.

The Revolutionary Spirit of Zineb Sedira's Exhibition Zineb Sedira's exhibition at Tate Britain's Duveen Galleries is a vibrant ode to revolutionary cinema, intellectualism, and the power of art to inspire change. The installation, titled 'When Words Fall Silent, Cinema Speaks,' transports visitors to the iconic La Cinémathèque Algérienne in Algiers, a mecca for leftist filmmakers and intellectuals in the 1960s and 1970s. Recreating a Revolutionary Hub Sedira's meticulous recreation of the Cinémathèque Algérienne includes a model movie theater, vintage jukebox, and a cafe serving wine and couscous. The space is filled with books about leftist cinema, and clips from films like Agnès Varda's 'Salut les Cubains' play in the background. This immersive environment embodies the spirit of radical chic, where intellectual pursuits and pleasure are intertwined. A Tribute to Boudjemaâ Karèche and La Cinémathèque Algérienne The exhibition centers around Boudjemaâ Karèche, the director of La Cinémathèque Algérienne. Through a short documentary film, Sedira shares Karèche's stories of the cinema's heyday, when it was a gathering place for young idealists who debated revolutionary art and social change. The beret-wearing Karèche is portrayed as a charismatic figure who embodied the fusion of politics and creativity. The Challenge of Preserving Revolutionary Energy The exhibition's final film poses a poignant question: can revolutionary moments be preserved and rekindled in a museum setting? Sedira's installation suggests that by celebrating the past, we can inspire new generations to engage with art and politics. As Sedira shows, truly revolutionary art empowers people to express themselves and challenges the status quo. A Lasting Impact Sedira's exhibition is a testament to the enduring power of art to inspire and educate. By recreating a pivotal moment in cinematic history, Sedira invites visitors to reflect on the intersections of art, politics, and identity. The exhibition runs at Tate Britain's Duveen Galleries until January 17.

The Unlikely Hero of Normal Bob Odenkirk continues his new career as the everyguy action hero in this cynically bleak gonzo actionfest, co-written by Odenkirk himself with John Wick creator Derek Kolstad. The director is Ben Wheatley, who shows the same kind of gunplay that was exhibited in his single-location mayhem spectacular Free Fire from 2017. A Town of Deception The setting is a place of Fargo-esque wholesomeness: a little town in Minnesota called Normal where Ulysses, played by Odenkirk, shows up as the interim sheriff, a decent guy just filling in after the previous sheriff was found dead in the snow in strange circumstances. Ulysses is depressed and battling a drinking problem after an unexplained violent end to his last job, which caused him to separate from his wife. The Dark Secret Unfolds Yet something is very wrong: when a bank robbery happens in this one-horse town, events are set in train which reveal to Ulysses that everything about Normal, like the blandly prosperous law practice in Sydney Pollack’s film The Firm, rests on a single, awful secret that he is about to uncover. It’s entertaining and bizarre chaos, anchored by Odenkirk’s hangdog air of gloomy resignation to the violent mess which he has to clean up. The Film's Release Normal is in UK and Irish cinemas from 15 May.

The Cultural Phenomenon of Northern SoulAlan Byron's film is an absorbing docu-celebration of the northern soul scene that flourished from the late 1960s to the end of the 1970s. It was a fascinating, vernacular youth movement and a kind of regional open secret: a club culture, a zine culture, a music-and-fashion culture which uncynically invented and sustained itself without the need for any svengali figure from London to keep the show on the road. Northern soul fans were passionate about thumpingly sensual mid-60s American soul, a musical style which they kept alive on the all-night dancefloor by doing spectacular spins and drops, while the official voice of the music business decreed that disco or MOR rock or glam or heavy metal was where it was at.The Wigan Casino LegacyDJs would travel to the US to sort through the boxes and mounds of 7-inch vinyl which had been discarded by Motown and the radio stations – basically prospecting for gold – and bring it back to northern English clubs. The principal clearing house was the mighty Wigan Casino which mounted legendary all-nighters from 2am to 8am, attracting soul fans from miles around who knew that this was the only place where certain tracks could be heard. (No Spotify or Apple Music in those days.)Cultural Resistance and RecognitionLicensing laws meant that only Coca-Cola could be served, but dancers took amphetamine, a part of the northern soul scene that has perhaps only recently been acknowledged fully, and is in fact not looked into all that closely here. It carried on through the 1970s, all but ignored by the cultural gatekeepers of the south; that is, until documentarist Tony Palmer brought his cameras and lights into the club to make The Wigan Casino as part of Granada TV's This England strand, an outsider incursion grumblingly resented at the time but now treasured as a unique archive record.Understanding the Movement's IdentityWhat is fascinating about northern soul is the way it survived under the media-cultural radar and appears to resist larger interpretive analysis. It was not overtly political, unlike punk or reggae, and there is no consensus here about the status of the northern soul consumers. Were they unemployed, poor, alienated and angry? Not necessarily. Many here recall having good jobs and apprenticeships of the sort they wouldn't have now.Enduring Influence and MysteriesAs for whether it was revolutionary in any sexual sense, commentator Paul Mason suggests that there was something homoerotic in the male atmosphere. Maybe, yes: but no one here has any first-hand experience to share about that. As for the Wigan Casino itself, the building's lease was terminated by the council at the end of the 70s prior to planned demolition; just when the tenants might have disputed this, the building mysteriously burned to the ground. (Maybe we need David Peace to write a novel about that.) Northern soul was clearly the godfather of the club and rave scenes of the 90s and beyond, but for me, a question remains: what did the American acts themselves think of it? Were they ever tempted (or invited) to play live at the Wigan Casino?

The Cultural Phenomenon Returns On a chilly morning at a Silvertown studio behind London City airport, the sunburst intro to Jimmy Cliff's The Harder They Come is on repeat. Dancers run through a routine studded with reggae and dancehall moves. "Get high," commands associate choreographer Neisha-yen Jones with a smile. "Get low!" The ensemble rise and dip. They do the bogle and whine around each other as their watchful director Matthew Xia nods along. They circle Natey Jones who breaks out the opening line: "Well, they tell me of a pie up in the sky." In the distance, a plane leaves the ground. From Film to Theatrical Celebration It's eight months since The Harder They Come's full-throttle takeoff at Stratford East, where the musical was so popular that it is now returning for a second run which will also serve as a eulogy for Cliff who died in November. Playwright Suzan-Lori Parks' adaptation of Perry Henzell's 1972 Jamaican film is bolstered by a handful of her own songs as well as classics including Israelites and Wonderful World, Beautiful People – plus every number on the film's monumental soundtrack. Jones is reprising the role of Ivan (played on screen by Cliff and inspired by real-life outlaw Rhyging), who arrives in Kingston from the country and is dismissed and exploited, before becoming both a hit singer and a fugitive. The Evolution of a Cultural Narrative The original was akin to cinéma vérité, directly evoked spaghetti westerns and veered into blaxploitation territory; Ivan's tale has gained greater warmth, humour and protest spirit on stage. It was the best musical I saw in 2025. "The story is a tragedy but the theatrical event is a celebration," says Xia of his production. Twenty years ago, the film was adapted as a musical with a book by Henzell, also at Stratford East. "It all started at Ivan's Nine Night," Xia recalls. "There was a massive poster of Ivan on the wall, with everyone coming, and it was told in retrospect with vignettes." Choreography and Cultural Connection Shelley Maxwell, recently arrived from Jamaica, was watching the musical in the audience one night and has since become the choreographer of the new production. She has fused the folk dance forms of revivalism and pocomania, learned in her childhood, with reggae, dancehall and moves that today's teenagers can recognise. "I wanted to tap into the youth market," she says. It's brought some enthusiastic feedback from audience members who may not know the film. "Like: 'Oh my God, they did that step I always do at a party!' It allows them to form a connection." Authenticity and Cultural Representation Xia, wearing trainers in the Jamaican flag's colours, and Maxwell, whose tracksuit has the same black, green and gold trim, were intent on instantly transporting their audience to Kingston. The opening, says the director, is an "establishing shot" with characters coming and going on Simon Kenny's magnificent multi-level set, accompanied by Toots and the Maytals' hit Funky Kingston. To borrow from its lyrics, you really can believe everything they do. Even each move in the dominoes game we see is scripted, explains Maxwell, who mapped out the market scene with precision: "Where are you going to? How heavy is the item that you're holding? This is the swing of the hips." Social Commentary Through Performance Xia, whose father came to England from Jamaica in the 1970s, praises the freewheeling realism of the film. "Lots of the background performers are just whoever happened to be in the market that day, or walking through the shantytown. Lots of the actors were people that Perry knew, they had no training." Henzell, says Xia, showed "the part of Jamaica that had always been hidden, people living hand to mouth". The musical depicts a "quartet of oppression" against Ivan, as he takes a stand against individuals representing hypocrisies of the church, law, drugs trade and music industry. Universal Themes and Contemporary Relevance The Harder They Come was both a pioneering example of independent film-making for Jamaicans and a portrait of a newly independent country. Maxwell, who grew up glued to Hollywood musicals, says it was empowering to discover a film full of the Jamaican songs she loved. "I was probably way too young when I saw it. But what I saw was the world around me." She traces how different forms of music played a pivotal part in the country establishing its identity, moving from African forms and American R&B; to mento, ska, rocksteady, reggae and the rise of Bob Marley and Jimmy Cliff. Maxwell captures that chain reaction with a tantalizing question: "What's this groove becoming?" Transforming the Narrative for Modern Audiences The musical also makes its hero's actions more understandable. "In the film, Ivan becomes a kind of wanton murderer," says Xia. In the musical, "he accidentally shoots a police officer when he's under threat, is remorseful, yet also knows that if he gives himself in then that's the end of his journey". Another significant change is the depth given to the principal women – Ivan's mother Daisy and Elsa, with whom he falls in love under the eye of her authoritarian guardian, the preacher. "The moral heart of the piece now resides in those two women," says Xia. Maxwell transforms a brief sequence from the film, in which Ivan imagines a tryst with the devout Elsa, into a floor-trembling set piece when the preacher's congregation lose their robes to indulge in lustful fantasy. The male gaze of the original scene is duly excised: "it had to be like it was both of them in partnership in that fantasy world," says Maxwell, who adds that the nature of dancehall – "grinding, gyrating on another body" required her to use her skillset as an intimacy director.

Demi Moore warned at a Cannes press conference that the film industry “cannot fight” the rise of artificial intelligence, describing resistance as a losing battle and calling for collaborative approaches.The Cannes Jury’s Candid Take on AI’s Inevitable RoleDuring a Tuesday press conference, the actress – a member of the Cannes Film Festival jury – answered questions about AI’s impact on cinema. She said, “AI is here. To fight it is a battle we will lose,” and suggested that filmmakers should explore ways to work with the technology rather than oppose it.Absence of Quantitative Data Highlights Qualitative ConcernsThe discussion contained no specific financial figures or usage statistics, underscoring that the debate is currently driven by ethical and creative considerations rather than measurable market impacts.Implications for Filmmakers and the Regulatory LandscapeMoore expressed doubt that the industry is doing enough to protect creators, hinting at a need for stronger regulation.Fellow juror Park Chan-wook reinforced the idea that art and politics should not be divided, linking the AI conversation to broader questions of creative freedom.Screenwriter Paul Laverty warned of potential “blacklisting” in Hollywood, suggesting that AI‑driven content controls could exacerbate existing censorship pressures.Future Outlook: Collaboration Over ConflictMoore concluded that the “beautiful aspects” of AI can enhance filmmaking, but the “true art” will always come from the human soul. The prevailing view among the jury is that embracing AI as a tool, while safeguarding artistic integrity, will shape the next era of cinema.

Opening Verdict: A Spark That FizzlesThe Guardian’s review frames *The Electric Kiss* as a glossy, period‑set comedy that never fully ignites. Directed and co‑written by Pierre Salvadori, the film blends art‑world intrigue with a circus‑side electric act, yet its humor feels flat and its narrative momentum stalls.Plot Mechanics and Creative ChoicesThe story follows Suzanne (Anaïs Demoustier), a circus performer billed as the "Electric Venus" who is hired by a cunning gallerist (Gilles Lellouche) to impersonate a spiritualist at a grieving artist’s (Pio Marmaï) seance. As Suzanne fakes contact with the dead lover Irène, she discovers genuine feelings for the artist, while flashbacks reveal Irène’s own agency. The film leans on a Woody Allen‑style farce, but the extended flashback sequences disrupt the pacing.Financial Snapshot: Cannes Screening Without disclosed NumbersScreened at the Cannes Film Festival (official selection).No public budget or box‑office figures released at the time of review.Distribution details remain pending, limiting early revenue projections.Industry Implications: French Comedy’s Contemporary ChallengeSalvadori’s attempt to revive classic French farce highlights a broader tension: balancing nostalgic aesthetics with modern comedic timing. The film’s mixed reception may signal that audiences expect sharper wit and tighter storytelling from period comedies, especially when compared to recent Cannes entries like Cédric Klapisch’s *Colours of Time*.Looking Ahead: Potential Reception and LegacyIf the film secures wider distribution, its visual design and performances—particularly Demoustier’s charismatic turn—could attract niche viewers interested in stylized period pieces. However, without stronger comedic payoff, *The Electric Kiss* may remain a footnote in Cannes line‑ups rather than a breakout success.

The Unparalleled Experience of CannesNothing prepares you for the shock that is the Cannes film festival: the adrenaline, the fatigue, the elation and the emotion, but also the hunger, the anger, the magic and the ridicule. For young cinephiles, and for almost everybody who works in the film industry, it is the mecca of cinema and has been so for nearly eight decades. Anyone going for the first time this week, as I did 25 years ago, should not listen to the old grognards – Cannes' battle-worn veterans – who will lament that the festival has become an abominable circus and swear this year will be their last. It is a circus, and you can bet they will be back for as long as their knees can take it. For there is nothing quite like it.From Resistance to Global Cinema HubBorn to counteract Benito Mussolini's Venice film festival, its first edition was planned for September 1939, but Adolf Hitler had other plans. The previous year, under pressure from Berlin and Rome, the Venice film festival's top prize, the Coppa Mussolini, was handed to Leni Riefenstahl's propaganda film Olympia, prompting the French, British and American delegates to walk out. Hence Cannes, conceived as the festival of the "free world". More than 80 years later, for all its sins, it has remained faithful to that founding promise.The Expansive Scale of Modern CannesOver the decades, Cannes has mutated into an ever-hungrier mammoth, needing more space, and more venues, as it attracts an increasing number of journalists and professionals. A purpose-built Palais des Festivals had to be erected in the 1980s. "The bunker", as we have come to call it, is not exactly beautiful but brutally efficient at managing Cannes' mind-boggling crowds. This year, about 40,000 accredited festival-goers are descending on the French Riviera from 140 different countries, with dozens of films selected across all sidebars. At the same time, the Marché du Film, running alongside the festival since the late 1960s, is gathering about 16,000 participants, with thousands of films and projects up for sale. Cannes is both a summit for the cinema elite and a giant film bazaar.Three Worlds Colliding at La CroisetteFor 11 days in May, three different worlds lead parallel lives – critics, deal-makers and red-carpet royalty – colliding almost by accident on the seafront boulevard known as La Croisette. Hundreds of critics watch multiple films a day with monastic discipline. When they give in to parties, they bitterly regret it the next morning. You can spot some of us sleeping through entire screenings; how some colleagues manage to review films is a mystery. I remember a well-known French critic who had such vivid dreams in the darkness that he became convinced they were scenes in the films. His reviews were full of brilliant analysis of moments that did not exist.We critics rush between screenings, press conferences, interviews, our desks and the bunker's free espresso machines, often forgetting to eat or even pee. Downstairs, in the bunker's basement, and in hotel suites and rented apartments, the film market runs day and night: buyers juggle numbers, producers charm, directors and screenwriters fight for their vision. Above them floats Cannes' top layer – stars and "talent" spending hours in hair and makeup before climbing the 24 steps of the red carpet in borrowed couture and jewellery. When people in the industry groan, "oh God, it's Cannes again", it is this collision of financial anxiety, choreographed glamour and sheer exhaustion they are bracing themselves for.The Magic and Meaning Behind the GlamourThese worlds sometimes collide in the most poetic or grotesque ways. One morning, rushing to my first screening at 7.30am, I was walking along the Croisette when I saw, coming towards me, slightly dishevelled in a tuxedo, Jack Nicholson on his way back to his hotel after a long night. I smiled, he smiled back. He was alone, no bodyguards, no chaperones. Those were the days. I also shared a lift with Takeshi Kitano in full samurai attire, and I will never forget turning into a hotel corridor and finding myself nose to nose with Max von Sydow – Ingmar Bergman's medieval knight from The Seventh Seal. My cinephile heart skipped a beat.One of my favourite sidebars in Cannes, alongside the competition where you watch the year's best crop of films, is Cannes Classics, showing restored world masterpieces and documentaries about cinema. I always start the festival there: it is the best way to reset and begin afresh. Then I am ready for the 10-day onslaught of motion pictures, and for the magic moment that precedes each Cannes screening – the festival's own jingle, a palm ascending the red carpet from underwater and then into the sky, lifted by the ethereal arpeggios of Camille Saint-Saëns's Carnival of the Animals.Cannes: Enduring Symbol of Cinematic ResistanceIn 1955, Cannes gave its first official Palme d'Or to Delbert Mann's Marty; half a century later I found myself befriending its wonderful star, Betsy Blair, on the Croisette. I had the joy of seeing Ken Loach twice climbing those steps to collect the Palme, escorted by police outriders from Nice airport as if he were a head of state. I watched Iranian directors Jafar Panahi and Mohammad Rasoulof showing films at peril to their lives. For all the craziness of the red carpet and the samurai outfits, Cannes never forgets that it was founded as a gesture of resistance. That, as much as the glamour and the exhaustion, is why we keep going back.