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Nicolas Winding Refn's intent for his new film, shown in competition this morning, is difficult to discern. Is "Only God Forgives" a send-off to his previous film “Bronson” with a (sustained) nod at David Lynch and liner notes from Eastern philosophies? It would be distasteful to call a film a styling exercise. Filmmakers get our admiration because they invest more into filmmaking than you or I can ever imagine. Moviemaking

“A villa in Italy” by French-italian filmmaker Valeria Bruni-Tedeschi provided a welcome dose of charm and comedy yesterday in Cannes. An exultant love letter to her brother, who died of AIDS several years ago, “Villa” is painfully autobiographical, in fact. Besides her brother (played by Filippo Timi) and her real-life mother (to whom former first lady Carla Bruni bears a striking resemblance) as…. her mother, Bruni-Tedeschi also puts her romantic wares on display, casting her real-life (former) lover Louis Garrel, the son of filmmaker Philippe Garrel (the two have since broken up, in 2012) . So many connections

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If “Blood Ties” by Guillaume Canet hits all the right notes it’s probably because the partition is a familiar one: an Italian-American family drama based in New York, the gangster’s life, one final hit before I retire. This is a genre in itself.

Starring in no particular order Mila Kunis, Zoe Saldana, Marion Cotillard and Billy Crudup, “Ties” also include Clive

I'd like to thank the Coen Brothers for giving me the opportunity to write this post. I've just waited sixty minutes in the pouring rain for a chance to get inside the Debussy theater and watch "Inside Llewyn Davis" but the theatre filled up and we got left out in the cold. Fortunately I was with my three colleagues from the French site Abus de Ciné so we got a chance to exchange about the day's discoveries (there was a lot to cover).

Noah Baumbach’s “Frances Ha” is, like Lena Dunham’s hit HBO series “Girls,” fixated on the insular, entitled world of artsy, twenty-something Manhattanites, where twenty-seven year-old bachelors are still bankrolled, unapologetically, by their parents, and barely employed comedy writers and sculptors refuse to relocate to cheaper, less happening outer-borough apartments. Like Dunham, Baumbach bravely