Teetering on a ledge overlooking the Ottauquechee River in Quechee, Vermont, sits the home of the renowned glassware company Simon Pearce. As you maneuver your way along the aisles, holding your breath to avoid touching absolutely anything, words spur into being: whimsical. Gentle. Reflective. Refractive. Crafted. And yes, also expensive. We question how we might interact with it. Do we dare pick it up? Do we marvel at how sunlight goes through it? Are we “Blown Away?” Do we look alongside it, around it, or through it, like an aquarium?

The official theme of the Cannes Film Festival is indeed “Aquarium,” from the Carnival of the Animals. It serenades talent on the stairs of the Grand Lumiere. It is met with applause as the “Festival de Cannes” logo appears during the opening credits of each film. For so long, I looked into this aquarium from afar, holding my breath to avoid touching absolutely anything, trying to see what life looked like from afar. And this time, jumping into the oceanic appeal of the film festival, I did my best to survive in the tank. 

The windows featured in the Cannes films, whether the view of the ocean through a porthole in “Romeria,” the time-lapse wonder through a window in “Resurrection,” the angled and expansive windows of “Splitsville,” the dusty windshields of “Sirat,” or the pueblo desert views in “Eddington,” present themselves as opportunities, not as mirrors. Even “Nouvelle Vague,” a movie about French “cinemaniacs” at Cannes that debuted for French cinemaniacs at Cannes, is more of a window into the filmmaking process than a reflection back. This is what happens when artists head into the Cannes “hot shop” with a unique idea, visual storytelling, and audio elements. Add heat, and magic happens. 

Glass itself can be sculpted. Or at least, attempted to. On the bottom floor of Simon Pearce, one can view right into the glass blowing process, no window required. You’re enveloped by the heat. Sand, lime, and heat turn millions of pieces into glass. 

The furnace of Cannes, too, shapes artists. The uniqueness of Cannes is the million different moments and experiences, like pieces of sand, that can turn into a fragile, beautiful thing that is unique to you.

During the 2025 Pierre Angénieux Tribute, Dion Beebe reminded us of the relationship between sand and glass, forever fitting in this beachside festival, sharing that he wanted to thank “Pierre Angénieux for taking those grains of sand and creating extraordinary glass.”

“Sentimental Value,” this year’s Grand Prix winner, is similarly built up of exquisite little moments, like pieces of sand. It sticks to you and stays with you, like sand and glass. In a first look at “Sentimental Value” shared by NEON, the undisputed recent king of Palm d’Or winners, our main character, Nora, attempts to back away from a window, knocks a vase, and then miraculously saves it from its fate of being smashed on the floor.

In the Grand Lumiere, we collectively held our breath as that vase shook precariously on the table and was eventually retrieved, saved from its fate. It’s a moment that solidifies all of the themes in Sentimental Value, however fleeting they can feel for us at any given moment: vision, family dynamics, memories, places, motion, and relationships. From the opening scenes that take place in a theater to a house well lived in, “Sentimental Value” centers on breath and foundations, even if the breath is lost or the foundations are cracked. Every foundation, no matter if it is splintered, centered, or vintage, offers a unique viewpoint. The Cannes films this year are no different.

Whether we are swaying in the bottom of boats (“Romeria”), compressed into small rooms and vans (“Love On Trial”), seeing vistas from pueblos (“Eddington”), camping in cars in the desert (“Sirat”, or building a new life in a cabin in the middle of nowhere (“Die My Love”), 

Cannes itself is a foundation, nay, an institution. It provides, nay, invites you to a window to view every scene as meaningful, such as the falling vase. Beauty is found in every scene, such as the research sequence in the library for “Sentimental Value.” Fingers thumb through records. A piano score plays. Moments like that, seemingly small, may hold sentimental value to us.

A film like “Sentimental Value” might have been heavy-handed in another pair of hands. “Splitsville,” too, if taken on by a director not as committed to cinematic comedy as Michael Angelo Covino, could have been held wildly differently and less successfully. But here, you can hold the story in your hands. We look alongside it, around it, or through it. Cannes is the biggest film festival in the world, and yet, unlike Simon Pearce, it is a beautiful thing you can cup in your own hands like glass. Or a film. After all, as we are reminded in Nouvelle Vague, “editing is where we hold the past, present, and future in our hands.” A film is created through heat and vision. It goes into the oven in one way, and comes out another. 

In order for us to be “Blown Away,” even by ourselves and our own work, it has to be uniquely yours. That is a sentiment echoed by the panelists at The American Pavilion’s event on Short films. Your projects should be something personal and a project that takes risks. 

But, glass is inevitable: it breaks. Characters jump right through it in several Cannes films (names omitted to avoid any spoilers or key moments). “Sirat” itself, like glass, is precarious. Through the entire film, we are never quite sure where it might change or break or be shattered. And shatter you will. While your nerves turn to glass, the film loudly asks where the end of the world begins for you. At what point will you, or your eardrums, shatter?  It is a reminder that your life and everything in it are as fragile as glass. And then follows up wondering if you’re prepared with your own grounding techniques.

And in the middle of that experience, somehow, imagine the Grand Lumiere’s lights spontaneously come on, smacking your already shocked system. Prompted by a power outage that took out the rest of the area, we look around at everyone’s similarly illuminated, shocked faces, again looking to find our breath. Our own fragility, and I guess the city’s proven in a single moment.

Are we so fragile that we can fall? Perhaps, like the poster of “Eddington,” careening off the cliff in pursuit of a false conspiracy? Is “Eddington” a mirror, a magnifying glass, a kaleidoscope, or a distorted filter? Perhaps it’s a split diopter, lovingly and creatively deployed in Bi Gan’s cinematic reflection dream “Resurrection,” determined to keep two things in focus at the same time, but in the case of Eddington, failing to come to a grand conclusion.  The artifacts of the 2020 lockdown, dutifully recrafted in Eddington down to the hoarding of toilet paper and dinners to go, briefly (though perhaps for too long) place us back in that precarious time. It reminded us of our own fragility (and yes, watching Eddington while several in the audience coughed away was a unique experience).   

Throughout the festival, it’s unclear which part of you will break or shatter first. Will it be your sleep schedule? Your eardrums at the Agnes Varda, where the mix on “Die My Love” was so loud, it pulsated through you and the floor (ironically, in a reason I’m not here to spoil, it’s fitting that I saw “Resurrection” there too). 

And then, in a comforting way, you realize that it doesn’t matter. Even if you broke somewhere, had some kind of blemish, there are still, of course, Seconds: Simon Pearce’s second line of “still handmade,” “still fully functional,” and still “distinctly Simon Pearce” glass. Uniquely yours. 

The mark of a good director, I think, is whether we can identify and tell that their mark is left on the film. You don’t have to enjoy the product or agree with the choices, but if you can appreciate the distinctive viewpoint, then the director has done their job.

In the glass art world, there are those recognizable by name and product, like Chihuly glass. Or Simon Pearce. They are known for making something uniquely theirs and immediately identifiable. 

Cannes dares you to do the same. With care. And with your own hands.