Petrov’s Flu, directed by the dissident Russian film-maker Kirill Serebrennikov, who’s laying the chaos on thick and fast.
I’m liking the movie but many others are not. They keep breaking for the exit, pushing the back door to escape. They think the whole thing’s too fevered; too malarial to make sense.
Or maybe it’s that Serebrennikov’s story lands a little too close to home. Red Rocket's breakneck, mongrel energy runs rings around the competition's thoroughbredsCannes turns scary midway through its second week, as though the festival’s simmering subtext has suddenly become text.
The punters are barely recovering from Petrov’s Flu when Titane sends them into a vertical, white-knuckle relapse.
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