Strong winds have besieged Cannes for days now. Cafe chairs are flying, wine glasses are sweeping off tables, elaborate hairdos have been blown into Natasha Lyonne-ian tangles. At least it has (mostly) been sunny; Cannes can withstand some gusts, but rain is another matter entirely.

Word on the street here, which really has been the word since the lineup was announced, is that this edition of the festival is one that will have to struggle to distinguish itself. The Americans have largely stayed home, the star-wattage is low, certain auteurs seem to have not brought their A-game. Well, okay, thus far it’s only one major auteur who has notably stumbled: buzz from Thursday morning’s off-the-books press screening of Asghar Farhadi’s French-language film Parallel Tales was so bad that many people, including myself, canceled our tickets for the evening screening. So, I am sorry that I cannot tell you anything concrete about that apparent Isabelle Huppert misfire, but sitting through a 140-minute-long film that is terrible is just not a good way to spend one’s time here. 

Such a stumble from a revered director (who does tend to falter when he works in Europe) would maybe seem to confirm the nervous speculation that this is a dreaded “off year,” that some combination of production woes, politics, money, and timing have hobbled the lineup. But the last time that Farhadi premiered a dud European movie with big stars early at Cannes, that same festival premiered the following: Ash Is Purest White, BlacKkKlansman, Burning, Cold War, Happy as Lazzaro, Shoplifters, Long Day’s Journey Into Night, and Leave No Trace. (All terrific movies, in case that wasn’t clear.) So I won’t be daunted by an early bobble. 

And, in fact, some great stuff has already played. Perhaps the biggest surprise, for me and I think a lot of other half-begrudging gay guys here, is that Jordan Firstman’s directorial debut, the Baby Boom-esque dramedy Club Kid, is really winning.