Cinematical goes to Cannes, so when it comes time for the fall festivals, we mostly ignore the movies we've already covered there. But since I didn't go to Cannes, the many holdovers from that festival are new to me, and a big part of the fun. (Less fun: complaining about being conflicted out of a movie only to be met with "oh, I saw that at Cannes." Thanks, jackass.)

One such holdover is the Dardenne brothers' very good Lorna's Silence, an(other) study of guilt and self-deception. The Dardennes' approach can be charitably termed "narrative economy," or less charitably "a pathological refusal to let important events happen on screen." For that reason, Lorna's Silence plays like a mystery, except that the mystery is what the hell is going on, with the filmmakers dropping tidbits of information at their leisure. It's an unusual way of generating suspense – a bit tyrannical, but also a recognition that real life generally does not contain expository dialogue. Though the film contains plenty of conventional what-happens-next suspense as well, its nature makes virtually any plot description a spoiler. If you like the Dardennes, or are just interested in the current art film vanguard, don't read much about Lorna's Silence but just go see it. Sony Pictures Classics will release it in North America.

Outwardly confident yet quietly insecure, 18-year-old Venkatesh Chavan climbs into a tree and stares at a pristine pool. He's a domestic worker at a nearby hotel in the Indian coastal city of Panjim, Goa, and he's ambitious enough to know that he wants something more, even if he doesn't know what, exactly. He performs his duties, meets his considerably younger friend Jhangir Badshah to sell plastic bags to earn extra money, studies the untouched pool and the surrounding, uninhabitated house and garden grounds, and retires for the night.

Boiled down to its essence, The Pool, which opened in New York earlier this week and will expand across the country in the coming weeks, is an apparently obvious tale that unexpectedly yet inexorably immerses the viewer in the lives of four characters that, like the pool itself, are deeper than they appear from the surface.

Venkatesh, for example, gives the appearance of an industrious young man, though he's constantly late for work and is bored by his daily routine. Opportunity comes knocking when a young woman (Ayesha Mohan) and her father (Nana Patekar) show up at the pool. The girl is insolent and rebellious, the man is gruff and stern. She reads intently, he tends impassively to the garden. After a period of observation from his perch in a tree, Venkatesh follows the man and quietly makes his presence known as the man shops for garden supplies at a nursery. Soon enough, the man, who is never named in the film, hires Venkatesh to help him in the garden, where he is introduced to daughter Ayesha.

Paris 36 tries to do a dozen different things, and does none of them well. But even that description may not be harsh enough, because it makes the film sound ambitious. It's not. Director Christophe Barratier, whose The Chorus was a quality rendition of an age-old formula, doesn't even pretend to give much thought to any of the disparate elements he assembles here. This is one of those middlebrow period-piece comedies that mistakes frenzy for energy and spotless soundstage gloss for visual style. It may play well with certain audiences for whom "arthouse" is synonymous with "no explosions," but there's really nothing to see here.

Well, in theory there's a lot to see, including but not limited to the following: a would-be portrait of the French Popular Front in the 1930's; the story of a bunch of unemployed workers banding together to put on a show and save a historic theater; the tragedy of an old workhorse (Gérard Jugnot) who loses custody of his accordion prodigy son to his cheating wife when the theater first closes down; a romance between a communist rabblerouser (and stagehand, and actor!) and a singing ingénue (Nora Arnezeder) taken under the wing of a fascist loan shark (Bernard-Pierre Donnadieu); the spiritual rebirth of an old orchestra conductor who has spent the last 20 years alone with his radio; a no-talent comic (Kad Merad) who sinks to performing for the Nazis after being booed off stage by everyone else, though he is of course much too lovable to actually be an anti-Semite.

Long day tonight on about three hours sleep, but somehow James and I managed to push through to make it to both the party for Richard Linklater's film Me and Orson Welles and the Midnight Madness screening of Detroit Metal City.

The Orson Welles party was great by my personal film fest standards, which include preferring not to be crushed in a crowd of starlet wannabes tottering in high heels. There was a decent-sized, but not overwhelming crowd; appropriate, but not overly loud music; and tasty, but not overly messy snacks being circulated on trays. The film's star, Zac Efron, was on hand, as was Linklater. Geoffrey Rush was also there circulating around.

We had to ditch the party a bit early to allow time to grab a bite of dinner, then headed over to the Ryerson; when Detroit Metal City director Toshio Lee and the film's star, popular Japanese actor Ken'ichi Matsuyama, showed up, a pack of Japanese girls and women who'd been allowed to gather to get an up close view went absolutely wild, screaming so loudly that a guy passing by in front of the red carpet wondered aloud, "Who is it? Brad Pitt?"

When the worlds of Washington, DC political intrigue, infidelity, fitness centers and internet dating intersect and collide in a darkly hilarious fashion, you must be watching a film by the Coen brothers. Burn After Reading, Joel and Ethan Coen's follow-up to last year's critically lauded award winner, No Country for Old Men, was actually written by the duo as they were adapting No Country, but the two films couldn't be more different.

The colliding worlds in Burn After Reading involve a CIA analyst named Osbourne Cox (John Malkovich), who's summoned to a top-secret meeting only to find out that the secret is he's being demoted due to his drinking problem. Cox blows a gasket and quits rather than taking the demotion, planning to spend his new-found spare time working on his memoirs and refining his drinking. Cox is married to Katie (Tilda Swinton), a icy pediatrician with the worst bedside manner imaginable, and she's less than sympathetic to her husband's life crisis.

It was perhaps indicative of the demographic of tonight's Midnight Madness premiere screening of hotly buzzed JCVD that before the show, the line for the men's' room outnumbered the line for the ladies' considerably. But you didn't have to be a guy to enjoy the film, and especially the vibe of the screening.

Before the show we attended the Pre-screening party for JCVD at Century Club; the party, like most of the parties at big film festivals, was packed with folks vying for the free booze, but unlike a lot of fest parties I've attended, many of the people tonight were enthusiastically pumped up for the screening of a film that most of us knew little about, other than it played the market at Cannes, and garnered considerable buzz at that prestigious fest off its screening there.

As a kid I fell in love with movies mainly for the stories and characters, and every once in a while, maybe some special effects. As I got older, my love affair was renewed when I discovered the Cult of the Director. The Cult of the Director allows one to look at movies in a far more personal way. It's an ongoing game; one can discover long-forgotten works, or piece together old puzzles, but one can also look ahead and guess how a director's career arc will come together. Basically, there are roughly four kinds of directors. The most common is the kind with no personality, and perhaps very little skill, someone like Brian Robbins, the director of Meet Dave (58 screens). Many of these folks eventually disappear without ever making much of a mark. After that, we get the craftsman, someone with lots of skill and talent but still no personality. These guys are the most interesting to talk to; they're unpretentious and tell the best stories. Brad Anderson, the director of Transsiberian (81 screens), is a good example.

Then there's a weird category of directors who have somehow come to popular attention, despite a lack of skill and/or a lack of personality. These can range from moneymakers like Brett Ratner to Oscar winners like Ron Howard. But of course, since we're talking about live human beings here, there's a lot of wiggle room in these categories, and I could probably establish several sub-categories. Not to mention that any director's career can suddenly change course at any point. Yes, even Brett Ratner could suddenly make a good film. (I'm not saying he will, just that he could.) These people manage to stay on top through a lucky combination of subject matter and promotion. Even though films like Brick Lane (31 screens) and Mongol (16 screens) have no skill or personality, they seem like great films because of their stories and packaging.

The latest documentary from Michael Moore will be released exclusively online beginning September 23. FOR FREE. Yes, that's right, and it's a dream come true for both Moore's fans and those millions of anti-fans that despise him. For the followers it's obviously good because they don't have to wait very long to own a copy of the movie. For the enemies it's good because they can check out the movie without giving the man a dime. Or be witnessed buying a ticket.

The 97-minute film is titled Slacker Uprising (formerly Captain Mike Across America), and it's about Moore's 62-city tour during the 2004 presidential election, as he attempts to rally young "slacker" voters. The premise doesn't sound quite as intriguing as his last election-year release, Fahrenheit 9/11 -- which may be part of the reason this one is not receiving a proper theatrical opening. But Moore also says this method is particularly to thank his fans as the 20th anniversary of Roger & Me approaches.

Under no circumstances is Ji-woon Kim's The Good, the Bad, the Weird a great movie, but I found myself genuinely impressed with it. The pitch – "Korean comic spaghetti western" – sounded like the sort of ultra-hip, insubstantial, self-consciously campy Asian actioner I've grown tired of; I kept flashing back to Riyuhei Kitamura's much-hyped but totally useless Versus, an acquired taste I haven't acquired. I needn't have worried. Though Kim's western pastiche may be insubstantial, it's anything but a drag. It's masterfully directed, legitimately funny, and legitimately fun, thoroughly enjoyable even at an excessive 129 minutes.

Though you may think you're here to see how Kim (whom you may remember from his terrific horror entry A Tale of Two Sisters) plays with the western genre, you're really here for the action sequences. There are two spectacular ones: the rollicking train robbery that opens the film, and a later all-stops-out chase scene involving several gangs of bandits and the Japanese army. These aren't the sort of scenes that bring you to the edge of your seat, but rather the sort that put a steady, delighted grin on your face. Unapologetically goofy, absurdly attenuated, brilliantly paced, and backed by a rousing musical score, they alone make the film worth sitting through.

In spite of the writer's strike keeping several larger films that otherwise would have been on the Telluride slate out of this year's fest, and the absence of Cannes Palm d'or winner The Class, which many had hoped to see here (that film is opening the upcoming New York Film Festival, and so was unable to play at Telluride), the 35th Telluride Film Festival was a solid success.

The fest scored sneak previews of Danny Boyle's hotly anticipated Slumdog Millionaire, which was very well received by audiences, and gave North American premieres to some films that you'll likely be hearing about come Oscar time, including I've Loved You So Long, Flame and Citron, and Adam Resurrected, and Everlasting Moments.