Imagine being told you have exactly three minutes to explain why you love movies. Now imagine you’re one of the greatest directors on the planet. That was the basic pitch for To Each His Own Cinema (Chacun son cinéma : une déclaration d'amour au grand écran), a 2007 anthology film commissioned for the 60th anniversary of the Cannes Film Festival.
It’s a chaotic, brilliant, sometimes frustrating mess of a movie.
When it premiered, the red carpet was basically a "who's who" of world cinema. Gilles Jacob, the legendary Cannes president, pulled off something nearly impossible: he got 35 world-renowned directors to contribute short films. Each segment is roughly three minutes long. The only rule? They had to center around the idea of a movie theater.
What To Each His Own Cinema actually says about the theater
Honestly, if you watch the whole thing in one sitting, you’ll feel like you’ve been through a blender. But that’s the point. It isn’t a documentary. It’s a series of vignettes. Some are funny, like Takeshi Kitano’s bit about a broken projector in a rural Japanese village. Others are devastatingly quiet.
The film captures a specific anxiety. Back in 2007, people were already worried that the "magic of the theater" was dying. Digital was taking over. People were starting to watch things on smaller screens. Looking back from the perspective of 2026, where we have high-end VR and hyper-niche streaming, these three-minute snapshots feel like a time capsule of a fading religion.
Take Nanni Moretti’s segment. He literally spends his time critiquing a movie theater's choice of snacks and how people behave. It’s relatable. It’s grumpy. It’s cinema. Then you have directors like Theo Angelopoulos, who uses his three minutes to pay tribute to Marcello Mastroianni. It’s heavy stuff.
The heavy hitters involved
The list of contributors is insane. We're talking:
- David Lynch
- The Coen Brothers
- Roman Polanski
- Wong Kar-wai
- Alejandro González Iñárritu
- Ken Loach
- Lars von Trier (who, predictably, made something violent and provocative)
The Coen Brothers’ contribution, World Cinema, features Josh Brolin as a cowboy-hat-wearing dude trying to choose between a Jean-Luc Godard film and something more commercial. It’s a hilarious jab at the pretentiousness that often surrounds film festivals. It reminds you that even the most "serious" directors think the industry is a bit ridiculous sometimes.
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Why this film is a nightmare for some viewers
Let's be real. Anthologies are hard to love.
Usually, you like three segments, tolerate ten, and hate the rest. To Each His Own Cinema is no different. Because the shorts are so fast, you don't have time to settle in. Just as you get used to Hou Hsiao-hsien’s slow, meditative pacing, you’re suddenly slapped in the face by a loud, abrasive segment from someone else.
It’s jarring.
But there’s a nuance here that most people miss. The film wasn't meant to be a cohesive narrative. It was a celebration of diversity in thought. It shows that "cinema" doesn't mean the same thing to a director from Iran (Abbas Kiarostami) as it does to a director from Denmark or Brazil.
The "Blind" Experience of Abbas Kiarostami
Kiarostami’s segment, Where is my Romeo?, is a masterclass in minimalism. He doesn't show the movie screen. Instead, he shows the faces of women watching Romeo and Juliet. You see their tears. You see their reactions. You hear the dialogue in the background.
It’s one of the most powerful moments in the entire 110-minute runtime because it reminds us that the movie isn't what’s happening on the screen; it’s what’s happening in the heart of the person watching it. Most films forget that. They focus on the spectacle. Kiarostami focused on the witness.
The controversy of the "missing" segments
If you go looking for To Each His Own Cinema on DVD or streaming, you might notice something weird. Not every version is the same. David Lynch’s segment, Absurda, was actually added later or included in different ways depending on the theatrical release.
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And then there's the whole "theatrical experience" debate. This film was made specifically to be seen in a theater, yet most people today discover it on YouTube or through Criterion-style collections. There's a deep irony in watching a three-minute short about the sanctity of the big screen while you're lying in bed on your phone.
Breaking down the styles
You can basically categorize the shorts into three camps:
- The Nostalgic: Directors looking back at their childhood theaters with rose-tinted glasses (Chen Kaige, Giuseppe Tornatore).
- The Meta: Directors making fun of the process of making or watching movies (The Coens, Kitano).
- The Abstract: Directors using the three minutes to create a visual poem that barely has a plot (Lynch, Gus Van Sant).
Gus Van Sant’s First Kiss is particularly strange. It’s a series of shots of a young man working a projector. It’s slow. It’s quiet. It feels like a dream you’d have after drinking too much espresso at 2 AM.
Is it worth your time?
Honestly? Yes. But only if you’re a film nerd.
If you’re looking for a plot, stay away. There isn't one. If you’re looking for a crash course in world cinema styles, it’s basically a gold mine. You get to see the "DNA" of 35 different masters in under two hours. It’s like a speed-dating event for cinephiles.
You'll probably find yourself googling directors you’ve never heard of before. Maybe you’ve never seen a film by Elia Suleiman. His segment, Irtebak, is a highlight—awkward, funny, and deeply human. It might lead you down a rabbit hole into Palestinian cinema that you wouldn't have found otherwise.
What we can learn from To Each His Own Cinema today
In an era of 15-second TikToks and 60-second Reels, a three-minute film feels like an eternity. But these directors proved that three minutes is enough to tell a complete emotional story.
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The film challenges the idea that "more is better."
You don't need a $200 million budget or a three-hour runtime to make someone feel something. You just need a camera and an idea. That’s a pretty hopeful message for creators in 2026.
Actionable insights for your next watch party
If you decide to dive into this:
- Don't watch it all at once. Treat it like a book of short stories. Watch five segments, go do something else, then come back. It prevents "festival fatigue."
- Keep a notebook. You’re going to see visual styles that stick with you. Jot down the names of the directors whose segments you actually liked.
- Watch the credits. The way the names are presented is a tribute in itself.
- Compare and contrast. Watch the Coen Brothers' segment and then immediately watch Alejandro González Iñárritu’s. The tonal shift is hilarious and shows just how broad the definition of "cinema" really is.
The biggest takeaway from To Each His Own Cinema is that there is no single "right" way to experience a story. Every seat in the theater offers a different perspective. Every director sees the light hitting the screen differently. It’s a messy, beautiful, global conversation that never really ends.
Next time you're at a theater, look around at the people instead of just the screen. You might see a three-minute masterpiece happening right in the row in front of you.
To dig deeper into the specific directors mentioned, your best bet is to look up the "Cannes 60th Anniversary" archives. Many of these shorts are available as standalone pieces if you know where to look. Start with the Kitano or Coen segments for something accessible, then brave the Lynchian weirdness of Absurda when you're feeling adventurous.