2025 Cannes Report Part 4: The Past
Reaching back with mixed results: Nouvelle Vague, Sound of Falling, The Mastermind, The History of Sound
I detected four major through-lines in my nine days and sixteen movies at the Cannes Film Festival: plagues, politics, the personal, and the past.
The films I saw have much more nuance than can be described in just a word, but for the sake of helping you understand what these movies represented, this is the systemized classification I've come up with.
So far, we’ve covered plagues, politics, and the personal.
Wrapping up the series is Part 4, The Past
In this edition: Nouvelle Vague, Sound of Falling, The Mastermind, The History of Sound
And just posted today, the podcast version of the series, which also includes my rankings:
The Past
It’s always tricky to go into the past. On one hand, it’s incredibly intoxicating—you’re reimagining a world that came before us, without phones, that was arguably slower and more cinematic. On the other hand, reaching into the past prevents you from engaging with the present. Unless you’re explicating new truths about the current condition, you can too easily make something that feels stale. Some of these films fit into the former category, and some, sadly, fit into the latter.
Kind of splitting the difference of the above is Richard Linklater’s latest, Nouvelle Vague, a love letter to the making of Breathless, one of the most groundbreaking movies ever made. The film is a super smooth, gorgeous, black-and-white, “let’s put on a show” film that features Jean-Luc Godard (Guillaume Marbeck) wrestling with his place in French cinema—making this film and breaking every orthodoxy along the way to deliver something that felt new and full of life.
As adept as Linklater’s filmmaking is—and there are moments here I genuinely forgot I was watching a movie (part of the very effective metaness of the film)—I did find myself wishing I was watching the genuine article and not this Xerox. Yet as a Xerox, it’s a perfect copy and a real crowd-pleaser. The French obviously loved it, as it is such an homage to their artistic history, like Avengers: Endgame for the Cahiers crowd. Linklater really did well with this, so well that, in a wicked twist of irony, Netflix, of all buyers, snapped this up for $4M, smelling an awards play à la Emilia Perez.
As for Linklater, between this and Blue Moon, a poignant, stagey take on Lorenz Hart (Ethan Hawke) that premiered at Berlin, he’s made two strong films this year, both reaching back into the past and shining light on artists and artistic achievements that mean something to him. Both films are good, not great. But the fact that he seeks to preserve talented, potentially forgotten artists in amber—I think there’s something to be commended in that.
One of the buzzier titles at Cannes was Sound of Falling, the debut feature from German director Mascha Schilinski. It’s a multi-generational trauma drama about four generations of Eastern German women. It’s as sad and dour as it sounds, but filled with endless grace and beauty. It really reminded me of RaMell Ross’s Nickel Boys or the work of Terrence Malick in terms of how imagistic it is and how textured it feels. It’s a little wispy and ungraspable, perhaps too impressionistic for mainstream audiences. But as tough as this was to watch, it’s a film that just kept gaining in estimation for me. The further I got away from it, the more it lingered. It really was the most striking, most beautifully photographed film I saw at Cannes.
I love multi-generational stories. Books like One Hundred Years of Solitude or The House of the Spirits are two of my favorites, and they connect their timelines, no matter how painful the events within them, with humor and happiness. That, however, is nowhere to be found here. I was, if anything, a little put off by the self-seriousness. These are intense (read, German) stories of trauma.
Thankfully, anchoring this is a wonderful lead performance from a truly mesmerizing actress named Lena Urzendowsky. MUBI saw a lot of merit in Sound of Falling, picking this one up early, and I could definitely see this being nominated for Best Foreign Film at next year’s Oscars.
And then we get to Josh O’Connor starring in two films that take place in the past. One was okay; the other was really one of the worst films I remember seeing in quite some time.
The first is Kelly Reichardt’s The Mastermind, pitched as a heist drama set in the art world. It is technically that, but it doesn’t deliver anything of what that sounds like. It’s really the anti-heist film, the anti-genre film, dealing with the aftermath of the heist. Set in 1970, Josh O’Connor plays a scruffy dude who steals some art and really has no idea what to do next. It’s kind of like watching a Breaking Bad episode, which is so process-oriented, but without any of the payoff or dramatic stakes.
I found this to be a challenge. I’m a huge fan of Kelly Reichardt’s work. Showing Up was one of my favorite movies from a couple of years ago, and I thought First Cow was maybe her best film overall. But I found this tedious and challenging. I can recognize that she’s trying to subvert the genre and form with this film, but that doesn’t make it any more exciting to watch.
I was really taken, though, with the filmmaking. I thought her shot composition was perfect. I loved the look of America in 1970 and how the period details are spot-on but also subdued. I felt the bone-chill of a Northeastern day, as this is set in New England, evoking a bit of The Friends of Eddie Coyle. Ultimately recommendable, but not amounting to what I wanted to see—especially with a sterling supporting cast, including favorites of mine like Alana Haim and Bill Camp.
And then, saving the worst for last, The History of Sound was dreadful. So moribund and lifeless. This is a gay romance set across the early decades of the 1900s, starring Paul Mescal and Josh O’Connor as forbidden lovers. I thought that this was turgid and dull, and truly—I couldn’t believe how passionless this was. This comes from Oliver Hermanus, who directed Living.
It’s about music and singing—ironic, because nothing in the film sings. I found every minute excruciatingly painful. I couldn’t detect any feeling behind it. It was easily my least favorite sit at Cannes and genuinely made me angry that such talent was wasted in a film so icy and emotionless. I thought nothing could replace Megalopolis last year as the worst movie I’ve seen at Cannes—but at least that was a hot mess. This is a cold mess, with nothing to even shout out or recommend.
Thanks for reading this series! See you at Cannes 2026 (and, of course, here in the days to come)
Great to hear your perspectives on these films. Really looking forward to the Linklater film.
Thanx! This has been the best and most insightful Cannes coverage I’ve read this year!