Movies usually start with a logo. You know the ones—the roaring lion, the mountain with the stars, the lady holding the torch. But when you sit down to watch To Each His Own Cinema, you’re getting something totally different. You're getting thirty-four different versions of what a "theatre" actually is.
It's a weird project if you think about it. Back in 2007, the Cannes Film Festival turned 60. Most people throw a party or maybe print some commemorative t-shirts. Cannes? They called up the greatest living directors on the planet and told them they each had three minutes to explain why they love the big screen. The result is a messy, beautiful, sometimes frustrating, and deeply personal anthology officially titled Chacun son cinéma : une déclaration d'amour au grand écran.
Honestly, it’s the ultimate litmus test for cinephiles.
The Chaos of Three-Minute Masterpieces
Three minutes isn't much time. It's barely enough to boil an egg. Yet, for guys like David Cronenberg or Lars von Trier, it was plenty of time to get weird.
Take von Trier’s segment, "Occupations." It’s basically a middle finger to obnoxious moviegoers. He plays himself, sitting in a theater while a loud, suit-wearing businessman won't stop talking. It ends in a way that is... well, very Lars von Trier. Violent. Sudden. Hilarious in a dark way. It reminds you that the "cinema" isn't just the movie; it's the person breathing too loudly in the seat next to you.
Then you’ve got the heavy hitters like Wong Kar-wai. His segment, "I Travelled 9,000 km To Give It To You," is just pure atmosphere. It’s about a man thinking of a woman while eating fruit. That’s it. But because it’s Wong Kar-wai, the colors look like they’re bleeding off the screen and your heart aches for no reason.
The contrast is what makes To Each His Own Cinema work so well. You jump from a somber, black-and-white reflection on war to a goofy skit about a guy trying to find a blind man’s glasses. It’s jarring. It’s supposed to be.
Why the "Anthology" Format Usually Fails (And Why This One Didn't)
Most anthology films feel like a chore. You’re waiting for the bad segments to end so you can get to the good ones. But here, the stakes are low because the clock is always ticking. If you hate what Roman Polanski is doing, wait 180 seconds. Boom. Now you’re watching Alejandro González Iñárritu.
The project was curated by Gilles Jacob, who was the President of the Festival at the time. He didn't give them a budget for special effects. He gave them a camera, a tiny bit of cash, and total freedom. That’s why it feels human. You can see the thumbprints of the directors on every frame.
The Coen Brothers contributed a piece called "World Cinema" featuring Josh Brolin as a cowboy trying to decide between a French art film and a Turkish drama. It’s funny because it pokes fun at the very festival that commissioned the movie. It’s meta. It’s smart. It’s exactly what you’d expect from the guys who made No Country for Old Men.
The Death of the Theatre?
Watching To Each His Own Cinema today feels a bit bittersweet. In 2007, Netflix was still mostly a DVD-by-mail service. The iPhone had just been announced. The idea that "the cinema" might actually disappear wasn't a real threat yet; it was just a poetic worry.
Fast forward to now. We watch movies on our phones while sitting on the bus. We pause masterpieces to answer a text.
The film's subtitle—a declaration of love to the big screen—hits differently in the 2020s. When Theo Angelopoulos shows a man talking to a ghost in a crumbling theater, it doesn't feel like a metaphor anymore. It feels like a documentary. Many of the directors involved, like Abbas Kiarostami and Takeshi Kitano, used their three minutes to highlight the physical space of the theater. The velvet seats. The flickering light from the projection booth. The dust motes dancing in the beam.
The Missing Directors and the Controversies
Of course, you can't have a "complete" list of great directors. It’s impossible. People always ask why Woody Allen wasn't in it, or why Pedro Almodóvar missed out. There was also the whole thing with British director Ken Loach. His segment was actually cut from the theatrical release and only included on the DVD because of some weird scheduling and production hiccups.
And let’s talk about the lack of women.
Jane Campion was the only female director included in the original lineup. One. Out of thirty-four. If this project were made today, the roster would look radically different. It’s a snapshot of what the "Old Guard" of world cinema looked like in 2007—predominantly male, mostly European or Asian, and deeply obsessed with the history of the medium.
Standout Segments You Can't Ignore
If you don't have time to sit through the full two-hour runtime, there are a few "must-sees" that basically define the project.
Takeshi Kitano’s "One Fine Day": A hilarious look at a rural screening gone wrong. The projector breaks, the screen is a sheet, and the audience is just one confused guy. It’s a reminder that movies are a miracle even when they're falling apart.
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David Cronenberg’s "At the Suicide of the Last Jew in the World in the Last Cinema in the World": Classic Cronenberg. It’s a bit grim, very clinical, and explores the intersection of media and death. He plays a character who is preparing to kill himself on live TV in a bathroom. It's... a lot.
David Lynch’s "Absurda": It wouldn't be a festival without Lynch. It’s a surreal nightmare involving a puppet show and a giant screen. It doesn't "make sense" in a narrative way, but it captures that feeling of being mesmerized by something you don't understand.
Zhang Yimou’s "En Regardant le Film": A beautiful, wordless piece about a young boy in a Chinese village watching a movie. It captures the pure, childlike wonder that we all felt the first time the lights went down.
How to Watch it Properly
Don't treat this like a normal movie. Don't look for a plot. There isn't one.
The best way to experience To Each His Own Cinema is to view it as a gallery. It’s like walking through the Louvre and spending three minutes in front of thirty different paintings. Some will speak to you. Some will annoy you. Some you’ll forget by the time you reach the next frame.
Technical Hurdles for Modern Viewers
Finding a high-quality version of this can be a pain. It’s often out of print on physical media, and streaming rights for anthology films are a nightmare because you have to clear thirty-four different sets of contracts. But it’s worth the hunt. The cinematography varies wildly from grainy 16mm film to early digital, which gives it a scrapbook aesthetic.
Insights for the Modern Cinephile
What can we actually learn from this 19-year-old experiment?
First, brevity is a gift. Most modern movies are too long. These directors proved you can evoke a lifetime of emotion in the time it takes to make a cup of coffee.
Second, the "cinema" is a diverse concept. To some of these directors, it’s a temple. To others, it’s a job. To some, it’s a place for a first date or a place to hide from the rain. There is no one way to love a movie.
If you're a filmmaker, use this as a masterclass. Watch how Nanni Moretti uses a simple monologue to explain his frustration with the industry. Watch how Gus Van Sant uses silence. There are more lessons in these three-minute snippets than in most four-year film degrees.
Steps for Your Own Deep Dive
If you want to truly appreciate what happened here, don't just stop at the film.
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- Track down the "Loach Segment": Seek out Ken Loach's "Happy Ending" online. It's a great little piece about a father and son trying to pick a movie that isn't a blockbuster.
- Compare the "Davids": Watch the segments by Lynch and Cronenberg back-to-back. They represent the two poles of "weird" cinema—one internal and dreamlike, the other external and physical.
- Read Gilles Jacob's notes: If you can find the companion book or the liner notes from the DVD, read Jacob's reasoning for choosing these specific directors. It’s a fascinating look at the politics of the Cannes Film Festival.
- Host a "Shorts" night: Use this film as a template. Gather some friends, pick five directors you love, and watch their shortest works.
The legacy of To Each His Own Cinema isn't about any single film. It’s about the collective heartbeat of an industry that, despite all the technological shifts and the rise of the "content" machine, still believes in the magic of a dark room and a shared dream. It's a snapshot of a moment when the giants of the 20th century handed the baton to the digital age, and they did it with style, humor, and a little bit of spite.
Cinema isn't dead. It just looks different to everyone. That’s kind of the whole point.