Nichols isn”t afraid to bind his narrative to such fixtures of American storytelling, not least because “Mud” is a celebration of certain universal rites of passage that can rarely be moved or bent. 14-year-old Ellis (Tye Sheridan), the film”s serious-minded but risk-favoring protagonist, is clearly constructed as a kind of modern-day Huckleberry Finn, from his river-dwelling explorer”s sense to his independent moral compass. To some extent, the film wants to you to recognize it: it”s steeped in a rich tradition of American boy-to-man storytelling, its earthy values usually pinned to the rural landscape, that runs from Mark Twain to “Stand By Me.” Both are valid – and, as the film reaches critics beyond the Croisette, sure to be inescapable – reference points for Nichols”s essentially modest but rather self-indulgently extended study of Southern masculinity in both its formative and corrupted states. To sling the word ‘familiar” at “Mud,” a languid coming-of-age tale bathed in wild honey and late afternoon light, is really only half a criticism.

Swiftly corrected and rewound, the technical error didn”t harm anyone”s enjoyment of what turned out to be a robustly applauded Competition closer, but it did oddly highlight what had been bothering me about this enjoyable, evocative slice of contemporary American classicism: it was the only truly unanticipated moment of the film thus far. CANNES – A funny thing happened during this morning”s introductory press screening of “Mud” – a snafu that would make an already nervous filmmaker clutch his forehead and represents an unusual malfunction in the well-oiled machine of the Cannes Film Festival.Ī little over midway through the screening of Arkansas writer-director Jeff Nichols” third feature, the digitally projected image was suddenly buried under a gaudy griddle of fluorescent green lines, before shots began to overlap and the sound veered out of sync.

Blood Dance by A.R. Von