Being my first time at Cannes, I’ve quickly come to find out that half (if not all of) the secret to a satisfying festival experience is quite simple: pacing. There are too many films for any one person to physically be able to see anyway, so why not do your body a favor and not rush anything—work, play, relaxation, anything. Granted, there hasn’t been a whole lot of time to relax since the fest began, but as assignments pile up and activities present themselves, it’s become easier and more practical to space things out and enjoy the two weeks as it comes to me.

I’ve inevitably had to cut some titles from my schedule—apologies to Lou Ye, Darezhan Omirbayev, and Matteo Garrone—as obligations and, I’ll just be honest, less academic possibilities came calling (come to find out France doesn’t have the greatest beer, but I don’t mind continuing the search for a winner). Luckily, if one doesn’t feel the need to be at the very first daily 8:30am press screening or evening Red Carpet premieres of certain Competition titles, then the programmers have us relatively covered. Most films screen multiple times at different locations and on different days (which is how I plan on attempting to catch Garrone’s Reality late next week). But then trying to shuffle your schedule too much leads to overlap, and certain films I just won’t miss, leaving some interesting looking titles left waiting for my attention.

I mentioned intense jet lag in my day one Cannes dispatch, and while an early press screening of Wes Anderson’s heartfelt Moonrise Kingdom found me relatively fresh, if disoriented, from a day-and-a-half without proper rest, an evening screening of Yousry Nasrallah’s After the Battle saw me finally succomb to the laws of nature. Sure enough, I was dozing during the opening credits, and from there was forced to submit to my body’s need for sleep. From the sound of it, I didn’t miss much. Indeed, After the Battle has been roundly maligned, and judging from the over half dozen folks who kept waking me up as they walked out on the film, my body may have made the proactive choice, particularly with a day two slate of films holding interesting potential waiting in the wings.

Along with the new film by the legendary Alain Resnais, France itself is represented in the Competition strand at Cannes by the increasingly popular Jacques Audiard, who’s last film, A Prophet, set the Croisette alight in 2009 and turned out to be quite the crossover success in the States. Audiard’s new film, Rust & Bone, parlays some of that goodwill into his first star vehicle of sorts, with Oscar winner Marion Cotillard co-starring in his latest machismo-infused melodrama, which lends some much needed estrogen to his decidedly muscular filmmaking style. Beyond that, however, Audiard stays the course with his latest. Blunt, wrenching, and about as subtle as a brick to face, Rust & Bone embodies it’s title in both style and substance. It’s a film even my energy-sapped self would find difficult to sleep through.

I’d imagine the trip to Cannes isn’t the most convenient trek for even the most knowledgable resident of its parent country’s closest surrounding cities. More or less isolated along the coast of the French Riviera, the port city of Cannes transforms once a year from simply one of the more beautiful of coastal locales into a melting pot of industry and journalistic humanity gathered in the name of international cinema’s most prestigious film festival, which just so happens to take place along Europe’s most sun-kissed beach communities. With the closest airport located well enough outside it’s hill-shrouded borders, Cannes is limited to vehicular and nautical access, its narrow streets overflowing with scooters, buses, taxi cabs, and, during these two weeks in particular, thousands upon thousands of tourists and film fans.

I have a friend—let’s call him Zachary—who absolutely loves music. He loves music so much he’ll gesture wildly with his arms when the sound overwhelms him. He’ll pause mid-conversation to make sure you hear a line he finds particularly enthralling. He’ll even sing the line AND gesture simultaneously to drill the point home.

Needless to say, his list of favorite musicians is seemingly endless. Near the top, though, is the now defunct band LCD Soundsystem. I, too, enjoy the passionate lyrical reverbs of James Murphy’s awesome organization, but not nearly as much as Zachary. He would play the band’s albums over and over for days on end, fervently gyrating to the same songs as if he was hearing them for the first time.

First up was Frankie Go Boom, an uneven comedy from first time director Jordan Roberts featuring a pretty impressive cast by my standards. Charlie Hunnam of Sons of Anarchy fame (a show I have yet to watch) plays Frank, a generally unlucky individual currently living in Death Valley after a series of unfortunate events. These events were at least partially the fault of Bruce, (Chris O’Dowd, a TV veteran but more well known now for his turn in Bridesmaids as Kristen Wigg’s beau), his brother and a socially naive psuedo-moron who likes to record Frank’s every error.