I Saw 24 Movies at the 2026 Cannes Film Festival. These Five Were the Best
From edge-of-your-seat thrillers to a romp set in the New York City club scene, and a wildly surreal Kristen Stewart-led comedy.
The 2026 Cannes Film Festival was a little quieter than previous editions, to be sure—there was a dearth of Hollywood blockbusters, some more middling work from respected auteurs, and a few genuine head-scratchers. But, among the 24 movies I managed to catch over my week on the Croisette (which included 15 of the 22 films competing for the Palme d’Or), there were five I haven’t been able to stop thinking about: edge-of-your-seat thrillers, raucous comedies, and a heartening coming-of-age epic. These are the releases you need to look out for in the coming months.
The only film on this year’s Cannes lineup that delivered a true knockout gut punch, for me at least, was previous Palme d’Or winner Cristian Mungiu’s ice-cold thriller following a couple—the Romanian Mihai Gheorghiu (a fully transformed Sebastian Stan) and his Norwegian wife, Lisbet (the always excellent Renate Reinsve)—who relocate to the remote fjords of the latter’s homeland with their five children. As temperatures drop and the snow piles up, what seemed to be a pastoral idyll becomes something far more sinister: the community that initially embraced this new family grows wary of their devout Christianity. When their eldest daughter, Elia (Vanessa Ceban), arrives at school with strange bruises, assumptions are made that swiftly tear all five youngsters from their parents, courtesy of Norway’s strict child protection laws.
In the fight to regain custody, there are no obvious heroes and villains—Mungiu provides a clear-eyed assessment of the tormented Gheorghius, particularly the bristling Mihai, whose firm-handed, disciplinarian approach to his kids is unlikely to change. Meanwhile, those implementing these bureaucratic processes could seem heartless, but they’re also just people trying to do their jobs in a nation where adults can sue the state for not adequately looking out for them as children. This is a movie packed with extraordinary shots, quietly heartbreaking performances, and much to grapple with when it comes to our contemporary view of immigration, child-rearing, progressive values, and the negotiation of cultural differences. It’s a forensic, complex slow burn, perhaps to a fault, but its staying power is unrivaled. Mungiu, who took the festival’s top prize back in 2007 for the Romanian abortion drama 4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days, could receive yet more awards glory this time around.
Russian auteur Andrey Zvyagintsev hasn’t made a film in almost a decade—his last two were the politically charged Oscar nominees Leviathan and Loveless, which took Cannes’s best-screenplay award and Jury Prize, respectively. As a result, expectations were high for his first project since Russia’s devastating invasion of Ukraine. It more than delivers: an exacting, intricately observed, richly detailed, 2022-set account of Gleb (Dmitriy Mazurov), a well-connected provincial CEO who finds himself embattled on all fronts. His beautiful wife, Galina (Iris Lebedeva), appears to be having an affair. Meanwhile, at work, he’s being forced to make a list of his most easily expendable staff members, who will then be drafted into the army. As he cooks up a contemptible scheme that benefits him and exploits the most vulnerable in his community, he also finds time to have his wife followed. Then, about halfway into the film, a sudden burst of violence reveals Gleb’s true colors in extraordinary fashion.
Gripping and meaty, Minotaur finds a master at work, one who, in the movie’s final moments, lays bare the hypocrisy of a generation of oligarchs dining at swanky restaurants and island-hopping in Europe while their poorer compatriots fight their battles. The effect is deeply chilling and begs the question: isn’t it about time Zvyagintsev received the Palme d’Or?
Feel-good romps aren’t generally what Cannes is known for, but Jordan Firstman’s buoyant feature debut breaks the mold—and took the Croisette by storm. The I Love LA and Rotting in the Sun breakout directs, writes, and stars in what feels like an old-school heartwarmer set in the very contemporary New York City club scene. At its center is Peter, a flailing party boy who has gotten a little lost in the spiral of late nights, abundant drugs, and anonymous sexual encounters that accompany his work running a buzzy monthly club night. His haze is interrupted by the arrival of Arlo (Reggie Absolom), a 10-year-old Brit who is the son Peter never knew he had. Suddenly enlisted to look after him, the pair form an initially very awkward and then genuinely hilarious comedic duo, with Peter stumbling through his new responsibilities and Arlo fully embracing his newly found father’s head-spinning world.
Big laughs are balanced with an open-heartedness that sometimes borders on painfully earnest and clichéd, but it’s pretty much guaranteed to win you over by its beautifully gentle, bittersweet conclusion. Following a heated bidding war, A24 has Club Kid in the bag. (And has there ever been a more A24 movie?) Expect it to be a big hit when it finally lands in theaters.
A wild, twisted, incredibly silly collision of Emily in Paris and The White Lotus, Quentin Dupieux’s one hour-and-18-minute-long nightmare won’t be for everyone, but I had a hell of a time watching it. A gleeful Kristen Stewart spends that entire runtime gobbling up every single food item in view as Madeleine, the irritable 30-something daughter of Woody Harrelson’s Phil. The latter has brought them to Paris in a bid to reconnect, but a number of factors are getting in the way, from Madeleine’s bathroom habits to an overzealous hotel employee (Charlotte Le Bon) who may or may not have a crush on Madeleine. Oh, and the more Madeleine eats, the more Phil’s stomach starts to balloon. Each and every set piece—the city is besieged by riots; they’re insanely overfed at dinner; an impromptu after-party goes off the rails—is a bonkers delight, and a few had me bent double with laughter. There is unnecessary padding in the form of a story within the story involving Emma Mackey and a hideous sea monster (don’t ask), plus a deliberately stilted, alienating script, but honestly, when a film is having this much fun, who cares?
This gorgeously shot, exuberantly soundtracked study of a teenage Congolese refugee, Robert (the supremely charismatic Bradley Fiomona, who was, unbelievably, found via a street casting), is a rare gem. Struggling to make ends meet in the politically fraught city of Bangui, in the civil war-ravaged Central African Republic just across the border from his homeland, our hero spends his days trying to free his wrongly imprisoned parents and looking out for his younger siblings. But by night, the music-obsessed amateur singer hits up clubs, occasionally takes the stage, and dreams of making it big. In this taut epic, sporadic gunfire meets thumping beats, and heart-stopping terror is followed by unadulterated euphoria. As is the case for many early films, there’s sometimes a tendency to overexplain and oversimplify proceedings. But there are just as many moments in which director Rafiki Fariala—aged just 28 and making a highly impressive fiction feature debut here—navigates a tonal tightrope, capturing the dichotomies that come with being young and ambitious in a turbulent nation. The joyous and life-affirming result had me dancing out of the cinema.
