And thank God for that. In the time period that has elapsed since Lindsay Lohan's generation defining turn in what is quite frankly, one of the best films ever (even with the cop-out ending) the most popular female role in the movie world has evolved from bog-standard romantic heroine to something even scarier - manic pixie dream girl.
Anticipation for Andrew Garfield's The Amazing Spider-Man is tepid, at best. No one's talking about it, it doesn't generate nearly as much hushed excitement as the impending Bat-fest or last month's Promethe-mess (sic).
Danish cinema's not-so-enfant terrible, Lars von Trier, came to Cannes this year trailing Melancholia, a beautifully mounted apocalyptic drama, which, compared to his previous cinematic assault, Antichrist, had all the shock value of a children's tea party. There was no graphic sex, no horrific close up of clitoral self-mutilation, no violence. It was up to Von Trier to personally up the ante at the now notorious post-screening press conference that sent shock waves along the Croisette.