Awful! Awful! Awful! No, I didn't like it. It was obvious what the intent of the film was: to track the wheeling and dealing of the "movers and shakers" who produce a film. In some cases, these are people who represent themselves as other than what they are. I didn't need a film to tell me how shallow some of the people in the film industry are. I suppose I'm at fault really because I expected something like "Roman Holiday".<br /><br />I'm not a movie-maker nor do I take film classes but it appeared to me that the film consisted of a series of 'two-shots' (in the main) where the actors(!) had been supplied with a loose plot-line and they were to improvise the dialogue. Henry Jaglon makes the claim that he along with Victoria Foyt actually wrote the screenplay but the impression was that the actors, cognisant of the general direction of the film, extemporised the dialogue - and it was not always successful. Such a case in point was when Ron Silver made some remark which really didn't flow along the line of the conversation (and I'm not going back to look for it!) and Greta Scacchi broke into laughter even though they were supposed to be having a serious conversation, because Silver's remark was such a non sequitur. You get the impression too that one actor deliberately tries to 'wrong foot' the other actor and break his/her concentration. Another instance of this is when a producer tells Silver to "bring the &*%#@#^ documents" (3 times). Silver looked literally lost for words. I have seen one other film which looked like a series of drama workshops on improvisation and that was awful too!<br /><br />The fact that Jaglon was able to attract Greta Scacchi (no stranger to Australia), Ron Silver, Anouk Ami, and Maximilian Schell suggests it was a 'slow news week' for them. Peter Bogdanovich had a 'what-the-hell-am-I-doing-here' look on his face at all times and I expected to hear him say: "Look, I'm a director and screenwriter - not an actor" - which would have been unnecessary to state! Faye Dunaway seemed more interested in promoting her son, Liam. Apart from the jerky delivery of the dialogue, the hand-held camera became irritating even if it was for verisimilitude - as I suspect the "natural" dialogue was - and the interest in the principals became subsumed to the interest in the various youths walking along the strand trying to insinuate themselves into shot. That at least approached Cinema Verite. So that, along with the irritating French singing during which I used the mute button, made for a generally disappointing 90-odd minutes.<br /><br />I think we should avoid apotheosising films such as this. Trying to see value in the film where it has little credit in order to substantiate a perceived transcendental level to it is misguided. There was really nothing avant-garde about it. It didn't come across as a work of art and yet it wasn't a documentary either. I know, it was a mocumentary but the real test is whether it is entertaining. I was bored out of my skull! It did have one redeeming feature: it pronounced 'Cannes' correctly so I gave it 3/10.