The 62nd Cannes Film Festival opens today in France. American journalists whose outlets still have a dime to squeeze will squeeze into films that audiences back home will largely ignore when and if they ever win distribution stateside. I’d like to imagine a world in which the Wolverine brigade lines up to see Les Herbes Folles, the latest from 86-year-old New Wave pioneer Alain Resnais. Ain't happening. Besides, crass commerce is supposed to have no place here. Art is all on zee Croisette, the avenue of the “little cross” where festival goers stroll past the Mediterranean on their way to see films at the Palais. Of course, Hollywood’s greedy little hand is everywhere, especially at photo ops, hoping to give their latest scam job a little Cannes cred while the rest of us hope random French starlets will jump naked into a fountain. So, I hear you asking: Is there any good stuff?

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