
John Lennon and Yoko Ono in Cannes.
RAPH GATTI/AFP via Getty Images

On Friday nights, IndieWire After Dark honors fringe cinema in the streaming age with midnight movies from any moment in film history.
First, the BAIT: a weird genre pick, and why we’re exploring its specific niche right now. Then, the BITE: a spoiler-filled answer to the all-important question, “Is this old cult film actually worth recommending?”
The list of novelists turned great film directors is not long — in fact, as much as I love the spectacle of Norman Mailer chewing on Rip Torn’s ear and Torn going after Mailer with a hammer in Mailer’s directorial effort “Maidstone,” I feel pretty confident in saying that if you started counting examples on your hands, you’d run out of names before you’d run out of fingers. There’s Clive Barker, whose “Hellraiser” is a straight-up horror movie classic, and William Peter Blatty, whose “The Ninth Configuration” and “Exorcist III” have inspired devoted cults. On the artier side there are international art house darlings Ousmane Sembene, Lee Chang-Dong, and Catherine Breillat, all of whom, along with Alex Garland, are better known for their movies at this point than their books.
But that’s about it — for whatever reason, most novelists who achieve success tend to stay in their lane, selling the screen rights to their material off to others to adapt and, often, mangle. Yet it was probably inevitable that Stephen King would at some point have to try his hand at directing, given both his massive popularity and his own passionate sense of cinephilia. This is the guy, after all, who at the height of his early popularity took time out to write “Danse Macabre,” a critical study of the horror genre as a whole that celebrated all the movies King loved (and took time out to trash the ones, like the early works of Wes Craven, that he didn’t).

By the mid-1980s, King was both a prolific source of inspiration for major auteurs like Brian De Palma, Stanley Kubrick, David Cronenberg, and John Carpenter, and an often cranky critic of their adaptations. King was especially peeved by Kubrick’s “The Shining,” which he felt fundamentally misunderstood the essence of the book and was miscast, in spite of Jack Nicholson giving one of the most iconic horror movie performances of all time. In a typically elegant King analogy, the author compared the experience of watching “The Shining” to being jerked off in a car by a girl who wouldn’t let you finish.
In 1985, King decided to step up and cash the check his mouth had been writing for years, signing a multi-picture deal with financier Dino De Laurentiis to write and direct movies. The multiple films never materialized, except for one: King’s first, last, and only feature directorial effort, the 1986 killer truck movie “Maximum Overdrive.” Based on King’s short story “Trucks,” it’s a movie that depicts what happens when a comet passes by Earth and causes all machines to come to life and become homicidal, leading to delightfully gory murders committed by possessed lawnmowers, hair dryers, chainsaws, and more.
When “Maximum Overdrive” was released 40 years ago in the summer of 1986 it was roundly trashed, including by King himself — he called it a “moron movie” and later admitted he had been coked out of his mind the whole time he was directing. While his crew didn’t necessarily remember the cocaine use, there were reports of King cracking open beers at the 6am call time and drinking pretty much non-stop from that point forward, which might explain directorial choices like getting AC/DC to score his horror movie with music that was, while quite enjoyable for myself and other 14-year old boys at the time, not remotely scary or atmospheric.

Yet I’m here to tell you that not only is “Maximum Overdrive” not bad, it’s absolutely essential viewing — and in fact, if I had a choice between it and most of last year’s Best Picture nominees to take to a desert island, “Maximum Overdrive” is the one I’d be living out my final days with. Say what you will about the artistry of “Hamnet” or “Train Dreams,” neither of them contains a sentient, foul-mouthed ATM machine or killer arcade games, which means that they automatically cannot be considered as good as “Maximum Overdrive.”
King’s magnum opus grabs the viewer right off the bat – what can you say about a movie where a soda machine kills off the members of a little league team one by one, and then a steamroller comes in to finish off the job? (Other than, “thank you, Stephen King.”) The carnage that follows, scored to those rockin’ AC/DC cues, is gleeful in its excess (it was probably even more gleeful before the MPAA took their scissors to it) and exquisitely photographed. King’s cinematographer was the excellent Italian DP Armando Nannuzzi, who had shot Visconti’s “The Damned” and dozens of other great films, and his widescreen compositions here are far more expressive and artistic than the movie’s reputation would suggest.

Nannuzzi spoke no English, but clearly he and King spoke the universal language of cinema. Unfortunately, those beautiful images came at a price, when the cinematographer lost an eye after a lawnmower really did seem to develop a mind of its own and went rampaging out of control on set. Amazingly, Nannuzzi returned to the set after a brief hospital stay and finished the movie, though he did sue King and the film’s producers for negligence. The case was settled out of court, and Nannuzzi’s career suffered from the fact that producers seemed to have an issue with hiring a cinematographer who had no depth perception.
While Nannuzzi, King, and virtually everyone else involved seem to look back at “Maximum Overdrive” with regret, as “moron movies” go it remains a great time, a vulgar and lowbrow but slick looking and sounding celebration of physical destruction (which, after all, is one of the things cinema does best). Interestingly, another novelist, Stephen King’s son Joe Hill, has expressed interest in directing his own remake of “Maximum Overdrive” — he told filmmaker Mick Garris that he would gladly step behind the camera for the first time if given the opportunity to write and direct a new version of his dad’s movie. It’s a tantalizing prospect, but it’s hard to imagine anyone coming up with a more entertaining riff on the material than King himself, especially without the aid of all those six-packs and cocaine. —JH
“You can’t get there from here,” declares ex-con hero Bill Robinson (Emilio Estevez), while trying to outsmart a supernatural fleet of alien-possessed trucks in “Maximum Overdrive.” In context, he’s philosophizing about an escape route for himself, his hitch-hiking love interest Brett (Laura Harrington), and the rest of the survivors of the Dixie Boy truck stop massacre. But watching King’s one and only feature film ahead of its 40th anniversary later this year, the line rang true in a different sense.
Despite the countless conveniences of modern entertainment, there’s no direct route from our current cultural moment to the unique chemical conditions that so graciously allowed us to behold King’s delirious directorial debut from the summer of 1986. That’s partly what makes his movie so electrifying to discover now. Good, bad, or as I put it in my notes, “Holy shit, the best thing I’ve ever seen in my entire fucking life!!”, the more interesting question about “Maximum Overdrive” is whether contemporary Hollywood could even manufacture something this shaggy, tactile, and alive today.

Watching little leaguer/soda-can-beating survivor Deke (Holter Graham) weave his bicycle through a destroyed suburban neighborhood — lawns littered with bodies, each savagely mauled by some piece of machinery that suddenly sprang to life in their homes — it’s obvious you’re witnessing the work of America’s foremost horror novelist. The sequence combines the kid-hero spirit of something like “It” with the campy grotesque carnage of “The Mangler,” as King sets the stage for a bloody adventure that’s populated not just by memorable victims, but an unseen alien force with a remarkably bright personality.
From a goblin-faced eighteen-wheeler running down a creepy Bible salesman, to a sentient arcade cabinet going toe-to-toe with Giancarlo Esposito pre-“Breaking Bad,” the cosmic invaders’ crackly persona radiates through every frame of King’s foul-mouthed horror comedy. There’s even a bizarre sense of selective morality hard-wired into the possessed machines, as the trucks appear especially eager to punish humans who are cruel or greedy. Even with that drive-thru speaker broadly announcing, “Humans here!”, you get the impression that King’s invaders operate under some private logic — one that, despite being unintelligible to audiences then and now, made sense to the filmmaker at the time.
The result feels less like a serious plan for a major movie than it does flecks of inspiration that King might have scribbled into the margins of a map on a road trip. But as far as cult film journeys go? That looseness has aged beautifully. Modern franchise filmmaking too often feels terrified of critique, with a level of visual polish that leaves otherwise compelling narratives oddly devoid of life. More than ever before, characters in tentpoles seem to exist exclusively to move the plot along efficiently, while the emotional beats they endure are routinely watered down for generic sales success.

But “Maximum Overdrive” is packed with ideas that are so weird, horny, and specific that it’s hard to imagine King’s script surviving contemporary IP filtration today. Even coked out of his mind, the writer remains a singular empath here — with nude centerfolds hanging inside rest stop cabins meant for truly lonely nights, and diner waitress Wanda (Ellen McElduff) running into the truck lot drunkenly screaming, “We made you!” not once but twice, with no coherent plan either time. Even the toilet paper truck draping the set in streaming white ribbons feels curiously and organically inspired.
In that sense, “Maximum Overdrive” has become an increasingly elegant fit for its name. King’s, in every sense, singular effort recalls a time when explosive crowd-pleasers felt less optimized and more inhabited. That quality will only grow more valuable in sci-fi as technology becomes less visible, and even following in the repertory tire tracks of John Carpenter’s “Christine” from 1983 (another King story, that one about a murderous Plymouth Fury), the notion of killer trucks was once truly absurd to audiences.

Now, we live alongside real autonomous vehicles and so much AI slop that not even AC/DC can make those things feel mythical. Which is why it’s so impressive to see King’s film hold up this well across four decades, and at the same time, genuinely sad to think he never directed again. The failures of “Maximum Overdrive” are clear, but looking back, I don’t see an embarrassing anomaly in the author’s career so much as a fascinating artifact of his sometimes overexposed artistic bravery. If Joe Hill ever does direct that rumored remake, I honestly hope he resists the temptation to modernize it too much. The charm of King’s “Maximum Overdrive,” and its dirty, gas-guzzling antagonists possessed by interstellar malice, comes precisely from how retro his understanding of the world now feels in any medium.
“You can’t get there from here,” Bill said. Maybe he’s right. But younger audiences still deserve references for cult movies that sprawl, contradict themselves, and leave behind tonal residue so strange not even their creators can fully explain them. If nothing else, “Maximum Overdrive” proves that even King had his limits — namely, remembering to put “Highway to Hell” on this soundtrack. (Seriously, of all the batshit decisions made during this production, that’s the one that grinds my gears.) —AF
“Maximum Overdrive” (1986) is now streaming free on Tubi.
Read more installments of After Dark, IndieWire’s midnight movie club:
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Russian writer-director Andrey Zvyagintsev (Leviathan, Elena, Loveless) is back in the Cannes Film Festival competition this year. Loveless won the jury prize at the 2017 edition of the festival after Leviathan received the 2014 best screenplay award, and Elena was honored with the Un Certain Regard special jury prize in 2011.
So, of course, the latest movie from the two-time Oscar nominee, his first feature in close to a decade, is highly anticipated.
Minotaur, co-written with Semen Liashenko, has been shrouded in mystery, though. What is known about the film is that the now-exiled Zvyagintsev reunited for its creation with longtime collaborators, such as cinematographer Mikhail Krichman and production designer Andrey Ponkratov. The film is a co-production between France, Latvia and Germany. The producers are MK2 Films’ MK Productions, CG Cinéma and Zvyagintsev, in association with Leaf Entertainment. The co-producers are Razor Film in Germany and Forma Pro films in Latvia.
MK2 Films (Sentimental Value) is handling international sales. Mubi has acquired Minotaur for North America, the U.K., Ireland, Germany, Austria and Latin America.
The crime thriller is understood to also be a political and moral fable, as the title, which is a nod to Greek mythology, hints at. The minotaur was a monster, half man and half bull, that was imprisoned in a dark underground labyrinth.
The Cannes website only reveals the following about Minotaur: “Russia, 2022. When Gleb, a successful company director, finds himself under siege from mounting corporate pressures and an increasingly unstable world, the collapse of his carefully ordered life accelerates toward violence.”
Dmitriy Mazurov stars as Gleb opposite Iris Lebedeva as Galina. An exclusive clip from Minotaur that THR can now premiere takes us to their breakfast table. Does the sneak peek give you the sense that there is a certain awkwardness in the air? Could there be trouble brewing because of secrets that we, and Gleb, may not be privy to? Maybe it’s just us, but it feels like there is stuff that is left unsaid – even if not left untexted?
But make up your own mind! Watch the exclusive clip from Andrey Zvyagintsev‘s Minotaur below.
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Picture yourself in a boat on the Riviera… Most rock superstars have been seduced by the glamor of the Cannes Film Festival at some point in their career. The Rolling Stones went twice, first with Gimme Shelter in 1971 and then with Stones in Exile in 2010. The Who closed the festival in 1975 with their rock opera Tommy; Pink Floyd took The Wall in 1982, and U2 played a short set on the steps of the Palais to promote 2007’s U2 3D. The Beatles were no exception; all four walked the Croisette at various points in their careers. Strangely, however, though they were quick to seize on the power of cinema, the Fab Four were never all in Cannes at the same time. Perhaps it’s fitting, then, that Sam Mendes’ upcoming quadrilogy, The Beatles – A Four-Film Cinematic Event, is set for release in April 2028, a matter of weeks before the festival.
The band’s first and best film, A Hard Day’s Night, was released in the summer of 1964, less than two years after their debut single, “Love Me Do”, launched the phenomenon known as Beatlemania that swept the world at the tail end of 1963. By that time, movies had become a key part of the marketing process, a trail blazed by Elvis Presley. For a time, it seemed that The Beatles might go down a similar path, entertaining an offer brought to them by manager Brian Epstein to play a pop group in a mild sexploitation film called The Yellow Teddy Bears (1963).
“We said to Brian, ‘Yeah, OK, great!’,” Paul McCartney recalled. “Then he came back to us after talking to the producers and told us they wanted to write the songs themselves.” Naturally, they passed.
In the summer of ’63 the band signed a three-picture deal with United Artists, which gave The Beatles a list of potential directors. The band immediately agreed on Richard Lester. Lester had recently directed the musical comedy It’s Trad, Dad! but McCartney and John Lennon remembered him from an 11-minute short they’d seen, called The Running Jumping & Standing Still Film (1959). The film that evolved was both a light comedy and a surprisingly perceptive study of the mechanics — and pressures — of pop culture, with a plot that covered 36 hours in the lives of the band as they prepare to perform for a TV variety show.
With a budget of just £180,000, filming began in March of 1964 and lasted less than two months. That left three weeks and four days to edit the film, dub it, and get a final print ready for its London premiere on July 6th. Against all expectations, the film was a massive hit, and Lester was tasked with coming up with a sequel. This he duly did — less than a year later — with Help!, a farcical romp in which drummer Ringo Starr is sent a ring by a fan, unaware that it is a religious item that must be worn by sacrificial victims of a pagan cult.
The Beatles only made three more films, largely to satisfy contractual obligations. Magical Mystery Tour (1967), ostensibly directed by the band themselves, was basically a whimsical 52-minute TV special that attempted (and mostly failed) to capture the offbeat vaudevillian comedy of A Hard Day’s Night. Yellow Submarine (1968), meanwhile, though a fantastic piece of psychedelic art in its right, had so little input from The Beatles that they didn’t even do their own voices. Their swansong was Let It Be (1970), a morose documentary that would have been the last word on the band had Peter Jackson not returned to the master tapes for his 2021 mini-series Get Back.

John Lennon and Yoko Ono in Cannes.
RAPH GATTI/AFP via Getty Images
JOHN
One of the founding Beatles returns to Cannes this year in Steven Soderbergh’s documentary John Lennon: The Last Interview, which uses a radio interview Lennon gave on 8th December 1980, the day he was shot and killed. Coincidentally, Lennon was the first to go to Cannes, spending four days there in May 1965, with Richard Lester, who was competing with his film The Knack… and How to Get It. Help! was in the can, awaiting a late summer release, and Lennon gave a brief, nonsensical interview to The Merv Griffin Show, which he mostly used to plug his upcoming book A Spaniard in the Works, on sale for “ten shillings and sixpence”. It was more of a social visit; Lennon took his then-wife Cynthia, and the pair hung out with Michael Caine, there to promote The Ipcress File.
Caine and Lennon attended a party thrown by the British Consul, where, astonishingly, none of the older Brits knew who they were.
“He introduced himself as Joe Lemon and I used my real name, Maurice Micklewhite,” Caine wrote in his autobiography, What’s It All About?. “As each group approached us we would introduce ourselves, and when they asked us what we did for a living, John would point at me and say, ‘I’m his assistant,’ and I in turn would point at John and say, ‘I’m in charge of him.’”
The same evening, they got drunk together at a party in a grand mansion overlooking the sea. Both went looking for a bathroom, but only Caine found one, in the hostess’s bedroom. John, meanwhile, relieved himself through the open window, splashing the drapes as he did so.
“John finally finished,” wrote Caine, “and as we left the bedroom I said to him, ‘You’ve ruined her bloody curtains.’ ‘They’re rich,’ he replied. ‘F*ck ’em.’”
It was a very different Lennon that returned to the festival in 1971. In 1965 he’d worn black tie; this time he wore double denim for the premiere in Directors’ Fortnight of a short film, Apotheosis, he’d conceived and co-directed with his new wife, performance artist Yoko Ono. Shot in the snow-covered town of Lavenham in Suffolk, it appeared to show the couple getting into an unseen hot air balloon and rise up into the clouds, disappearing into the cloud cover for 18 minutes before bursting through the other side. It appeared on a double bill with Ono’s Fly, a 25-minute piece starring actress Virginia Lust, about “a fly going from the toe to head of a lying naked body, crawling very slowly.”
The trip was arguably Lennon’s most visible public appearance since the disbanding of The Beatles, and there were no signs that he was looking back. In photographs taken at the festival, he can be seen brandishing a copy of his most recent album, John Lennon/Plastic Ono Band, as well as Yoko Ono’s book, Grapefruit. Subtitled A book of Instructions and Drawings and first published in 1964, it was a collection of epigrams that, variously, invited the reader to walk all over the city with an empty baby carriage, eat a tuna fish sandwich, and shoot a bullet through 100 panes of glass.

Paul McCartney on stage.
Keystone/Getty Images
PAUL
Despite being arguably the most artistic of the band — famously well-read, with a passion for painting inspired by Willem De Kooning — Paul McCartney has never really embraced cinema. Aside from a cameo as ‘Banquet Guest’ in the low-budget 1987 British comedy Eat the Rich, McCartney has mostly only ever played, or appeared as, himself. His first appearance at Cannes was with his wife Linda, who’d produced an animated short in 1980 for her reggae song “Seaside Woman” — released under the pseudonymous name Suzy and the Red Stripes — directed by Argentina’s Oscar Grillo.
The film won the short film Palme d’Or, which may have emboldened Mr. McCartney to come up with his own and — so far only — foray into feature films in 1982. Titled Give My Regards to Broad Street (1982), it was billed as “a day in the life of a famous rock star”, with McCartney, as himself, facing financial ruin when the master tapes of a recording session go missing. Roger Ebert, who half-heartedly praised the music, gave it one star, then twisted the knife. “It seems to be a throwback to pre-Beatles days,” wrote the critic, “back when pop musical films were simpleminded and shallow, back before A Hard Day’s Night and Help! seemed to create a new tradition of fresh irreverence.”
There’s three Beatles left, and it would be a real problem to be on stage and look over where John used to be and he wouldn’t be there. I don’t think we could do that.
Paul McCartney
Paul took it on the chin, while admitting that the bad reviews stung. “Nobody likes to have their wrists slapped,” he said later. “You don’t like it at school when you get exam results, and you haven’t done as well as you thought you had. And it’s the same [here]… It also happened with Magical Mystery Tour. Now, there’s a lot of people who like it. Whereas what happened was it actually came out on Boxing Day. It should have been, ‘Hello viewers, are we having a happy Christmas? Have you had your Christmas pud?’ It was in that slot, and it was just not what the majority of those 20 million viewers expected. So, it got slammed from that angle. But you won’t find any other footage of John Lennon singing ‘I Am the Walrus’.”
McCartney returned to Cannes in 2001 — three years after Linda’s death — to promote a Wings concert film called Wingspan. In a wide-ranging press conference, McCartney pontificated on the cause of foot and mouth disease, admitted to liking Coldplay, and claimed to have written a song inspired by one he heard The Rolling Stones play in a dream. He also emphatically denied that there would ever be a Beatles reunion. “Short answer, no,” he said. “I’ll tell you why, too, and why you won’t see Wings onstage either. I figured it out the other day. There’s three Beatles left, and it would be a real problem to be on stage and look over where John used to be and he wouldn’t be there. I don’t think we could do that. The same answer for Wings; no matter what lineup we had, I’d look over, and Linda wouldn’t be there. So, I think it’s definite that you won’t see any reunions of either of those groups.” Six months later, George Harrison passed away, aged 58.

George Harrison on his balcony at the Carlton Hotel overlooking the Croisette in Cannes.
Michael Putland/Getty Images
GEORGE
McCartney was the first Beatle to dabble in movie soundtracks, working with producer George Martin on an orchestral score for the 1966 comedy-drama The Family Way, but George Harrison was the first to release a standalone solo release, which comprised songs he’d written for a film called Wonderwall (1968). A curio even at the height of the Swinging ’60s, Wonderwall is best described as a psychedelic midlife crisis movie, in which a repressed scientist discovers hallucinatory portals that allow him to spy on the woman next door (Jane Birkin) and her Austin Powers-like photographer boyfriend.
Harrison’s fascination with the spiritual East was in full swing, and when Wonderwall director Joe Massot gave him carte blanche, the musician jetted over to EMI’s recording studios in Bombay. Wrote biographer Philip Norman, “His score brought together the classical Indian, on lesser-known instruments like the shehnai and the sarod, and Western idioms like country and ragtime, performed by guest musicians including Ringo and Eric Clapton. A few years later, such fusions would be dubbed World Music.”
The film premiered in Cannes, outside the official selection, just a few days after Lennon and McCartney had used their appearance on The Johnny Carson Show to distance themselves from their former guru, the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi. “We found out that we made a mistake there,” said Lennon. “We got all carried away,” added Paul. “We thought he was magic, floating around and flying.” Perhaps because of that, and the fact that the 1968 festival was cancelled the same day it screened, Wonderwall, in all its paisley-patterned, mystic splendor, was a flop.
It’s nice to let people have as much artistic freedom as possible, but I’m the one who has to pay back the bank.
George Harrison
Massot would later make a comeback, co-directing the Led Zeppelin concert film The Song Remains the Same (1976), and, by a strange twist of fate, Harrison would also return to film — as a producer.
In 1978, the Monty Python team were getting ready to shoot their religious satire Life of Brian, and after a smattering of bad publicity regarding the subject matter, its distributor, EMI, pulled out mere days before shooting was due to start. Python member Eric Idle approached Harrison and was amazed when the musician not only put up the cash but — together with manager Denis O’Brien — mortgaged his home to form HandMade Films and do so. “It was a bit risky, I guess,” Harrison said later, “totally stepping out of line for me, but as a big fan of Monty Python my main motive was to see the film get made.”
HandMade’s output tended towards the comedic, and thus, with the exception of 1986 gangster drama Mona Lisa, wasn’t exactly Cannes fare. But Harrison enjoyed the challenge. “When I was acting,” he said, “there was always the feeling that the artists were the clever ones who do everything — and then there were these horrible people who put the money up and don’t know anything. Everyone subscribed to that old Hollywood myth that executive producers hate everything and chop everything up after you’ve done it. So, it is sort of funny being a simple musician who’s now a producer or — inverted commas — ‘The Money’. I can see it from both sides. It’s nice to let people have as much artistic freedom as possible, but I’m the one who has to pay back the bank.”

Ringo Starr with director Roman Polanski at the Cannes Film Festival.
Keystone/Hulton Archive/Getty Images
RINGO
Ironically, of the four Beatles, it was initially assumed that Lennon would break into the seventh art, taking the joint lead in Richard Lester’s 1967 satirical anti-war movie How I Won the War. Instead, it was Starr that got the acting bug, and he was smitten even before the cameras rolled on A Hard Day’s Night. “I loved the movies as a kid,” he recalled. “I have great memories from Saturday morning picture shows. I’d be into whatever was showing; if it was a pirate movie, I would be a pirate, and if it was a Western, I would be a cowboy; or I’d come out as D’Artagnan and fence all the way home. It was a great fantasy land for me, the movies — and suddenly we were in one.”
Starr’s acting career got off to a slow start, with two adaptations of books by American writer Terry Southern that polarized reviewers. Candy, a raunchy update of Voltaire’s classic novel Candide was described by critic Pauline Kael as “a shambles of a sex spoof”, but fortunately for Starr there were plenty more famous faces — including Marlon Brando, Richard Burton and Sugar Ray Robinson — in the firing line. A similar fate befell The Magic Christian, in which Starr plays an orphan adopted by the imperious Guy Grand (Peter Sellers), an eccentric millionaire who uses his wealth to prank people into debasing themselves for money. This time round, Starr’s mortified co-stars included Yul Brynner, who made an uncredited appearance as a transvestite cabaret singer.

Read the digital edition of Deadline’s Disruptors/Cannes magazine here.
Starr’s movie career must be one of the strangest ever, teaming with Harry Nilsson in 1974 for “the world’s first rock-and-roll Dracula movie Son of Dracula, in which he played the wizard Merlin. In 1975 he played the Pope in Ken Russell’s musical biopic Lisztomania, in 1978 he joined Tony Curtis in Mae West’s last-ever film Sextette (“A total, unbearable bomb,” said Rex Reed), and in 1981 he finally took the lead as a prehistoric man in Caveman, only to be upstaged by an animatronic dinosaur. In amongst these roles, it’s easy to overlook the thoughtful performance he gave in That’ll Be the Day, playing a quiffed greaser in a ’50s-set drama with a period jukebox soundtrack.
But Starr did get to have his moment in Cannes. After visiting the festival with George for the Wonderwall premiere, the drummer returned in 1982 with his own project, a ten-minute short called The Cooler, comprising three songs from his 1981 album. Directed by Lol Creme and Kevin Godley, the film stars Starr as a new inmate in a weirdly futuristic Western prison, where the guards are played by statuesque women (including Starr’s wife Barbara Bach) in stylized ’80s military clothing who stymie his attempts to escape. It didn’t win any prizes, but it’s unlikely that Starr would have had any illusions about that. “First and foremost, I am a drummer,” he once said. “After that, I’m other things. But I didn’t start playing drums to make money.”
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Palestinian directors Tarzan and Arab Nasser’s Once Upon A Time In Gaza has scooped Best Film at the 10th Critics’ Awards For Arab Films.
Set in Gaza in 2007, and following the misadventures of a student (Nader Abd Alhay) and restaurant owner and petty criminal (Majd Eid), the picture premiered in Un Certain Regard last year and won the Best Director prize.
Palestine 36, which was nominated in six categories, also won Best Screenplay for director Annemarie Jacir and Best Cinematography for Hélène Louvart.
The other big winner is Cherien Dabis who won Best Director for All That’s Left Of You.
Organized by the Arab Cinema Centre (ACC), Critics’ Awards For Arab Films has been voted on by a record 307 Arab and international critics from 75 countries this year, with the awards ceremony taking place later today at the Cannes’ Plage des Palmes.
“As we celebrate the 10th anniversary of the Critics Awards for Arab Films, our mission has remained steadfast: to spotlight the finest Arab films and talents and help bring them the international recognition they deserve,” commented ACC Co-Founders Alaa Karkouti and Maher Diab.
The 10th edition of the ceremony also honored prominent figures whose contributions have had a remarkable impact on the Arab film and entertainment industry.
The Game Changer Award was presented to Vincenzo Bugno in recognition of his influential role in supporting Arab cinema and strengthening its international presence, while the Personality of the Year Award was granted to Hussein Fahmy in celebration of his outstanding artistic career and continued contributions to Arab cinema.
2026 Winners
Best Feature Film
ONCE UPON A TIME IN GAZA | Arab and Tarzan Nasser | Palestine
Best Screenplay
Annemarie Jacir | PALESTINE 36
Best Director
Cherien Dabis | ALL THAT’S LEFT OF YOU
Best Actress
Deborah Christelle Naney | PROMISED SKY
Best Actor
Adham Shukr | THE SETTLEMENT
Best Music
Suad Bushnaq | YUNAN
Best Editing
Ameer Fakher Eldin | YUNAN
Best Cinematography
Hélène Louvart | PALESTINE 36
Best Documentary
THE LIONS BY THE RIVER TIGRIS | Zaradasht Ahmed | Iraq
Best Short Film
I’M GLAD YOU’RE DEAD NOW | Tawfeek Barhom | Palestine
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