Cristian Mungiu’s Cannes winner echoes the news story of a Romanian couple whose children were taken by the Norwegian government. As it heads to London film festival, two writers explain how the film exposes real hypocrisies

When Cristian Mungiu’s Fjord was shown in Romania as a one-day preview this June, the reception was extraordinary. Across 53 towns and 96 cinemas, the film reportedly pulled in over 40,000 viewers in a single night, a number arthouse cinema rarely sees in Romania. But the response here had little to do with cinema. It felt instead like a reopening of a familiar fault line about the clash of values within the EU itself.

Famed for playing loners, cranks and wayward angels, the Hollywood star is now a wolfish 90 – but he still jogs daily. As he takes his latest film to Edinburgh, we meet the man Hitchcock called ‘the golden calf’

‘Can you take another story?” asks the veteran actor Bruce Dern towards the end of our talk, as though every tale is a drink and the landlord has called last orders. He doesn’t want to keep me and knows we’re running out of time. It’s just that one memory sparks another and these tales won’t tell themselves. He says that the next one is a doozy. “It’s about Marilyn Monroe.”

Throw out all the questions and turn the clocks to the wall. One does not interview Dern so much as say hello, hit record and sit back. The man began his career acting alongside Montgomery Clift and Mary Astor and has collaborated with everyone from John Wayne to Tom Hanks, Hitchcock to Tarantino. He’s the lawless survivor of American movies, blown in from the past, and talking 19 to the dozen. “I’m 90 fucking years old,” he tells me. “So I’m not going to be around to see all this AI shit or whatever. But I don’t consider myself old. I still walk and jog every day.”

After winning the Grand Prix at Cannes film festival, the exiled auteur sent a direct message to the Russian president urging him to stop the war

Accoladed director Andrey Zvyagintsev has sent a direct message to Vladimir Putin urging him to start listening to the Russian people and end the “senseless” war in Ukraine, continuing a war of words between Russia’s most revered living film-maker and the Kremlin that started at the Cannes film festival awards ceremony over the weekend.

“Except for the limbs torn off from your fellow citizens in the name of an illusory goal, except for the massacre of young people that the country needs to build life and the future – nothing good is on the horizon if we don’t stop,” the exiled auteur said in a message sent to the Russian president’s press secretary through official channels on Tuesday.

As La Croisette closes for another year, here are the most memorable looks from its final week

Film about a couple on trial for child abuse isn’t a patch on the director’s previous Palme winner, while other disappointing films seemed to grab the jury’s attention

These were the prizes for a Cannes under pressure. The Hollywood A-listers and big-hitters were A-listing and big-hitting at home this year. And what about the international heavyweights from Europe and Asia that highbrow festivaliers are always saying are loads better than the Americans anyway? Well, many of those only showed up in the physical sense. For me, most of the films from the accepted laureates and auteurs were very moderate, and I have to confess being sceptical about this year’s Palme d’Or, Fjord, by Romanian film-maker Cristian Mungiu (who won the Palme nearly 20 years ago with his searing abortion drama 4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days).

Fjord is, in fact, a perfect example of an established European star director using a big Hollywood name: Sebastian Stan, playing a grumpy and religious Romanian IT engineer, his hair shaved into dull male pattern baldness for the part, and photographed largely in austere longshot.

Darren Aronofsky among proponents of using technology, while Guillermo del Toro says he would ‘rather die’

Under a white marquee on Cannes’ Croisette beach, with the Mediterranean glistening behind him and superyachts drifting across the horizon, the director Darren Aronofsky addressed an audience of executives and tech evangelists gathered for an “AI for Talent” summit.

“There’s so much pushback against AI,” said Aronofsky, who has faced criticism over his embrace of generative AI projects though his new studio, Primordial Soup, at a time when artificial intelligence has become one of the film industry’s most divisive fault lines.

English-language debut by Romanian director who triumphed in 2007 with 4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days takes top prize

Nineteen years after his searing abortion drama 4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days won the top prize at the Cannes film festival, Cristian Mungiu’s English-language debut, Fjord, has repeated the trick.

The film – which stars Renate Reinsve and Sebastian Stan as Romanian religious parents who relocate to Norway, where they find themselves accused of child abuse – makes Mungiu, 58, the 10th director to have received two Palmes, following Alf Sjöberg, Francis Ford Coppola, Bille August, Emir Kusturica, Shōhei Imamura, the Dardenne brothers, Michael Haneke, Ken Loach and Ruben Östlund.

The conservative tycoon’s grip on media and cinema is unhealthy. An EU fund could protect democracy in perpetuity

The shadow of Joseph McCarthy’s “red scare” loomed over the storied steps of this year’s Cannes film festival. Echoing the mid-20th-century blacklist, which shut out about 300 suspected communists from Hollywood, the French media group Canal+ announced an effective ban on twice that many French cinema professionals, including actors such as Juliette Binoche and film directors such as Jean-Pascal Zadi and Arthur Harari. Their crime? An open letter denouncing the growing influence on French media and cinema of conservative tycoon Vincent Bolloré, Canal+’s main shareholder.

The Canal+ chief executive, Maxime Saada, justified punishing the signatories on the basis that their claim was an “injustice” against the staff of Canal+ – who were, he said, committed to the organisation’s independence.

Cannes film festival: This could be better paced but the crisis which descends on an up-against-it dairy farm is delivered by some very memorable goons

There’s nothing like a home-invasion suspense thriller to provide a change of pace in the Cannes competition, and Léa Mysius’s film – adapted from the French bestseller Histoires de la Nuit by Laurent Mauvignier – isn’t at all bad, although it runs out of narrative steam in the third act and one particular shock-twist appears to unshock and untwist itself. Yet the film certainly delivers some sinister rural strangeness in the France profonde countryside and some gonzo shootouts; plus there is a ripe turn from Benoît Magimel, who with every film seems to morph further into a cross between Gérard Depardieu and Christopher Walken.

In a very remote bucolic village, Thomas (Bastien Bouillon) is a hardworking dairy farmer who took over the family smallholding after his father killed himself. After a whirlwind romance, he married Nora (Hafsia Herzi), a rather glamorous city-slicker of a woman who just showed up in the neighbourhood; they have a daughter, Ida who has recently irritated Nora by posting a wacky video of the three of them doing a goofy “family dance”, which has gone viral. The family gets on very well with an elegant artist who lives alone next door, played by Monica Bellucci on pretty stately form. Thomas has clearly got money worries; we see him on the phone trying to borrow cash from someone who has reluctantly helped him out before, as he needs €300 to pay for Nora’s approaching 40th birthday party. On the day itself, three sinister tough guys show up in the house, played by Magimel, Paul Hamy and Alane Delhaye. We might think we know who they’ve come to see and why – but things are a little more complicated than that.

Cannes film festival: Valeska Grisebach’s complex drama tracks an archaeologist whose mountain dig is interrupted by an old friend with rather dirtier hands

The digging up of the past – and the hiding of secrets in the present – are the themes of Valeska Grisebach’s complex, subtle, opaque new drama which seems to withhold some of its narrative meaning from the audience, moment-by-moment. It is set, like her previous film Western, in Bulgaria’s remote and beautiful mountainous country, where memories of the Balkan wars (and the communist era before that) are still fresh and where there is money to be made and resources to be exploited for those who are ruthless enough.

As with Western, Grisebach uses nonprofessionals for many very likable supper-and-drinking-and-reminiscing scenes with people gathered round tables shooting the breeze, scenes that don’t need a particular reason to exist, other than their easy, garrulous energy. And as before, Grisebach shows an interesting reluctance to conform to conventional narrative templates – though while this film actually does conform to Chekhov’s ancient rule about what happens to the gun produced in act one (well, act two in this case), the denouement isn’t the usual arthouse flourish of violence. I felt however that in the course of this film, Grisebach was feeling and improvising her way through all this ambient detail towards a meaning that she (and we) didn’t really reach.

Cannes film festival: Lukas Dhont’s first world war-set gay romance is a heartfelt examination of cowardice and lives lived in secret amid the brutality of battle

The word of the title is not used at any time in this film, but the relevance is clear. On the western front in the first world war, Belgian soldiers get permission to form a theatrical troupe, often in drag, to entertain their comrades when they are behind the lines and raise their morale (not entirely unlike the now despised 70s BBC TV comedy It Ain’t Half Hot Mum). The director is Lukas Dhont who explored gay and transgender issues in movies such as Girl and Close, and this story of a gay affair in the army is heartfelt and well acted, if rather earnestly researched.

The motley “band of rejects”, evidently excused frontline combat duty for various reasons, is led by Francis (Valentin Campagne), a tailor in civilian life who has now ecstatically flowered in the new role the war has given him. He is exuberant, mischievous, imaginative and genuinely committed to his theatrical art. The resulting entertainments look professionally accomplished. (Did these first world war gang shows really have people playing flute and clarinet?) One stolidly handsome, shy soldier called Pierre (Emmanuel Macchia) is fascinated by these theatrical types and by Francis himself; he deliberately stabs his own hand with a bayonet on the field of battle so he can join their group.

Cannes film festival: Threading together three stories from distinct eras of Spanish life, this narrative triptych is superlatively acted and beautifully shot

The Black Ball is a narrative triptych about the lives of three different Spanish men at various times: a meditation derived from Lorca about the secret history of gay men’s sexuality, which has been erased, excluded or denied – sexuality transfigured into a mysterious, restorative poetry of the soul. In Lorca’s words, “only mystery keeps us alive” and in fact the small regret I have about this superlatively acted and beautifully shot film is that once the connection between the three narrative strands is explained, some of the mystery and poetry is lost.

In 1932, Carlos (Milo Quifes) is a young man of a good family in Granada, who applies for membership of the elite “Casino” club but is turned down on the grounds of his rumoured homosexuality, blackballed in an oppressively elaborate ceremony presided over by politicians and clergymen, in which the white and black balls are solemnly rolled down a special chute. In 1939, Sebastián (played by the actor and musician Álvaro Lafuente Calvo) finds himself chaotically enlisted into the pro-Franco nationalist army during the civil war and falls in love with the wounded Republican prisoner-of-war that he is supposed to be guarding. This is Rafael (Miguel Bernardeau), an actor and footballer with Atlético Madrid, an impossibly handsome, captivatingly vulnerable man whose bandages ooze blood like the tears of a miraculous statue.

Cannes film festival: Swann Arlaud is excellent as Henri Marre, the director’s great-grandfather, as he finagles his way into a job at the Vichy ministry of labour

This, oddly, is the second film in the Cannes competition about the Nazi occupation of France, and it is more interesting than László Nemes’s rather mainstream drama Moulin – a complex, ambiguous study of national humiliation from writer-director Emmanuel Marre. He has created an absorbingly intimate, novelistically detailed procedural about the day-to-day, moment-by-moment lives of the Vichy administrators after the fall of France, mostly shot conventionally, sometimes jolting into an anachronistic dreamlike scenario on video.

It is centred on the director’s own great-grandfather Henri Marre, who held a minor but important post in the Vichy ministry of labour. The film is in fact unsparing of this conceited, petty, but weirdly sensitive and vulnerable man: Swann Arlaud plays him as a sociopathic mixture of haughty idealist, salon intellectual and conman predator, a man who doesn’t really believe in anything but his own survival and has only the vaguest idea about what such survival could mean.

Cannes film festival: Sachs’ film about an HIV-positive actor in the homophobic Reagan-era 80s is well-intended, but Malek’s mannered performance is hard to love

This film from writer-director Ira Sachs gives us premium-strength, undiluted Rami Malek – but I have to say that his overripe performance and self-conscious mannerisms here are perhaps even more oppressively insistent for being conveyed relatively quietly in spoken dialogue. And not quietly at all in the singing scenes. Malek is a performer whose style is as distinctive as those of John Malkovich or Jeff Goldblum. But it works best with a light touch in the direction and material. Things never really come together here.

The Man I Love is a film about gay culture in 1980s New York, at the height of the reactionary homophobia of Reagan’s America, with HIV-positive men coming to terms with their condition and with the callous bigotry of the political zeitgeist. In one hospital scene, we see the authorities’ icily unsympathetic attitude. Malek plays Jimmy George, a much admired and charismatic actor and performance artist in New York who has just emerged from a three-week stay in hospital after a life-threatening HIV-related crisis. Now he is starring in a new stage piece based on André Brassard’s 1974 film Once Upon a Time in the East, playing the stormy and defiant Hélène, who sings with a band.

‘Europe must never be subjected to Trump’ says Spanish film-maker at a Cannes press conference for his new film, Bitter Christmas

Pedro Almodóvar has argued that film-makers have a “moral duty” to speak up about politics or they will enable the kind of stifling of free speech taking place in the US, warning that “Europe must never be subjected to Trump”.

Speaking at the Cannes premiere of his new film Bitter Christmas, the veteran Spanish director was responding to questions about previous comments in which he had remarked on a lack of protests at the Oscars earlier this year.

Cannes film festival: Clio Barnard’s absorbing tale depicts five friends who grew up together in Birmingham but now face divided destinies

With warmth and heartfelt passion, and a quintet of outstanding performances from young actors shot in looming closeup for so much of the time, Clio Barnard has created an absorbing and moving social-realist picture. It’s a film whose mix of poignancy, defiance and contaminated euphoria stayed with me hours after the closing credits.

It is about five young people from Birmingham who grew up together, reaching the end of their 20s, sensing a looming crisis and on the verge of a tragedy that is mysteriously growing from within their own increasing disparity. It is adapted by screenwriter Enda Walsh from the novel of the same name by Kieran Goddard, the statically rendered pentaptych of five consciousnesses in Goddard’s book being transformed into a fraught and dynamic home town drama with a sense memory of Fellini’s I Vitelloni.

The first-time director admitted he wore a beret to channel ‘old school’ auteurs at Cannes – though mimicry can only take you so far

It happened, as most of the best fashion moments do these days, at Cannes. I’m not talking about Demi Moore wearing a pink bow the size of a dog, or Jane Fonda sparkling in Gucci to the point of blindness, but John Travolta, of all people, who appeared at the festival this week to debut a new film and a new look, the centrepiece of which was a beret.

He actually had three in rotation, in black, brown and cream. On the seafront boulevard La Croisette, he paired them with wire-frame spectacles and a beard that appeared to have been applied with a felt-tip pen. A beret, beard and specs you say? Hardly a radical glow up for a 72-year-old celebrity. But that didn’t stop images of Travolta from going viral, sparking some lively online conversations comparing him to – in no order – a barista, a Bond villain and a character from Guess Who?.

There’s nothing wrong with film-makers leaving their comfort zone but the Japanese director’s latest effort just doesn’t work

Hirokazu Kore-eda’s new film is a bafflingly unsatisfying and unconvincing muddle of ideas and moods; it is a futurist fable of AI-humanoid robot children, unpersuasively performed in a returning keynote of bland serenity. It is perhaps comparable to Kore-eda’s 2009 film Air Doll, a more adult story of man whose sex doll secretly comes to life.

Otone (Haruka Ayasi) – an architect who appears to work from home, with no office scenes or colleagues visible – is an educated woman married to down-to-earth Kensuke (Daigo Yamamoto), a carpenter who likes beer and playing baseball. Two years previously, their seven-year-old son, Kakeru (Rimu Kuwaki), was killed by a hit-and-run driver who has never been caught. They are approached by a company called REbirth, whose offices are huge and white with creepy logos and designs, like all sinister corporations in the movies, although the question of whether REbirth is supposed to be sinister is one of the film’s many unanswered questions.

Cannes film festival: The great Russian director’s first film for almost a decade is tremendous drama following the ill-deeds of a mini-oligarch who comes up with a toxic new way to feed Russia’s war machine

Life during wartime is the theme of Andrey Zvyagintsev’s film. It is set in provincial Russia, a portrait of a nation paralysed with disillusionment and fear, slowly coming to terms with, or retreating into collective denial about, the terrible mistake in Ukraine. It’s an inspired variation on Claude Chabrol’s La Femme Infidèle from 1969, mixed with Gogol’s Dead Souls and the 14 sacrifices required for the Minotaur in Greek myth. It is also a noir thriller of infidelity and vengeful murder, lent a new meaning by the context of deadly cynicism and political bad faith, a world in which powerful people, gloomy with self-hate, have made covering up misdeeds their way of life.

There is a telling early scene in which the male lead, mini-oligarch businessman Gleb (Dmitriy Mazurov), goes out for an expensive restaurant meal with his boorish plutocrat friends and their spouses and girlfriends, including Gleb’s elegant, beautiful wife Galina (Iris Lebedeva) who is almost catatonic with unhappiness. One girlfriend there tells a racy joke about a guy applying for a job on an adult movie, despite having a tiny penis unlike all the other well endowed applicants – because, he says, “all films need anti-heroes”. Minotaur is full of anti-heroes.

Cannes film festival: Refn’s film eludes definition as it moves through time and space, from doomy reality to strange dream worlds populated by quasi-Lynchian characters

The title’s first word should probably be “His”. Nicolas Winding Refn has returned to Cannes with a bizarre new fantasia moodscape, a midnight movie of fear and dreamy disquiet, meaning … what, exactly? The setting of the film – a twist on the 60s pulp shocker of the same title by Norman J Warren – morphs and shapeshifts from place to place, with the antilogical procedure of a dream, from a supposedly real outer world to the inner space of hallucination and memory. It starts in a giant, empty hotel (whose colossal Stygian corridors are not unlike those in Refn’s Only God Forgives) in the middle of a digitally rendered dystopian city, wreathed in the kind of mist that tends to conceal a serial killer, and people here are frightened of someone called the “Leather Man”.

We move to the fictional action of a movie the hotel’s inhabitants are (possibly) planning to make, or perhaps to the world of their fears and imaginings, their ideas occasioned by this ostensible realist premise. And then we move to a situation from the past in US-occupied postwar Japan, where a haunted GI is looking for his daughter. This is a story populated by quasi-Lynchian characters and gargoyles with strange nicknames – the whole imagined landscape, lit by Refn’s throbbingly neon purples, reds and blues, looks like a nightclub in hell. And yet it is less violent and explicit than his earlier adventures. The pace is doomy, sepulchral and slow; like Refn’s TV series Too Old to Die Young, it moves at the pace of a zombie which has been shot but still keeps on shuffling forward. Or perhaps it is more like that of a sleepwalker who walks and talks slowly, but has a clearer idea of what is happening than those who are, in a more banal sense, awake.