A year, or almost, that French and foreign films have deserted the big screen.
We watched the Caesars with a glimmer of hope.
Of course, the ceremony has accustomed us to catastrophic scenarios;
that of last year, with a manhunt and an invitation to classify guests by skin color, reached new heights.
This year, a unique opportunity was offered to reconnect with grace.
Glamor, charm, a touch of humor, and the whole of France would have stood up for the reopening of its rooms.
Cinema is a dream.
Alas, when we opened our eyes, the nightmare was still there.
In Chanel dress, nightgown or in the simplest device, the damned of the earth seemed to have met at the Olympia.
For more than three hours, from intermittents to migrants, from pesticides to Islamo-leftism, from Adama Traoré to George Floyd, we applaud almost all causes, except that of the seventh art.
It felt like a meeting of leftist bobos
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