EXCLUSIVE Harrison Ford is one of our last great movie stars.

Even though “Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny” got tepid applause last in Cannes, Ford got ovations. Everyone loves him and he still has “it.” He and wife Calista Flockhart, who was there by his side and lovely as ever, were the main attractions all night, even at a swanky party later at the Hotel Carlton Beach Club.

I told Ford that the press had received pickle ball sets from Apple for his “Shrinking” series. He lit up when I told him I was a fan. “It’s great, isn’t it?” he said. When I mentioned among others “Witness” and “Presumed Innocent” as two of my favorites of his, he replied: “They”re all my favorites.”

Flockhart and I talked about her desire to play Betty Ford in a biopic. She’d be perfect. I’ve known her a long time now, and every time we talk she’s dynamic, funny, and interesting. I asked how she liked Indiana Jones being de-aged in the movie. “The funny thing,” she said, “is that he looks younger than all his sons now!”

Also at the party: Disney chief Bob Iger flew in and was huddled in conversation with Karlie Kloss. Phoebe Waller-Bridge, who stars with Ford in the film, was there with significant other playwright director Martin McDonagh (Banshees of Inisherin), who– when I asked what he was up to — said, “I’m done! I’m on vacation!” So all our fingers are safe. Co-star Mads Mikkelsen was just groovin’ knowing he’s in a big hit.

Not there: the surprise actor who appears at the end of the film. I told you about his months ago. But I won’t spoil the fun.

UPDATE: There are 8 filed reviews on Rotten Tomatoes from the few critics allowed in last night’s screening. So far the score is 50% and Rotten. Three of the four negativos come from Variety. The Hollywood Reporter, and Vanity Fair. None of the reviews mention director James Mangold’s really fine movies like “Copland” and “Walk the Line.” They just don’t think he was right for this movie.

Some people may have wanted a sequel to “Brokeback Mountain.” I didn’t, but that doesn’t mean anything.

Pedro Almodovar obviously did, and the fashion house of Saint Laurent paid for it. “Strange Way of Living” had one screening today in Cannes. It runs about 30 minutes. I’m told it will probably be packaged for theatrical release with Almodovar’s classic, “Woman on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown.”

The story: in the Wild West, Ethan Hawke, with a Colonel Sanders goatee, is the sheriff in town. He finds out that his late brother’s wife has been murdered. The culprit turns to be the male model looking son of Hawke’s old cowboy lover, played by Pedro Pascal. The latter arrives to head off his son’s arrest, and he and Ethan rekindle their flame after 25 years apart.

The drama comes when the son is caught by Ethan, who has to decide if he’s going to kill his liver’s child. There’s a three way shootout. I won’t tell you what happens. But it’s all slightly preposterous.

So, too, is the music, which swells up as if it’s part of a Spanish soap opera. The opening credits seem like a Quentin Tarantino movie. But of course, Almodovar directs with his own iconic imprint, and the cinematography is lush. The clothes are more Ralph Lauren than Saint Laurent, but boutique tie-ins seem inevitable.

When the movie opens, a good looking young man is singing a Spanish song. This is supposed to be the rough and tumble West, but this guy has straight gleaming white teeth and good cheek bones. Before the film played, Almodovar appeared on stage with Hawke and a bunch of male models who have parts in the movies. Combined, their teeth could light up Chicago. Who knew there was such good dentistry in the 1870s, in mining towns?

A panel discussion took place after the film screened. Two French women I don’t know flanked Ethan and Pedro. The women talked as if they were giving a college lecture. I didn’t know what they were saying but several times I heard the words, “Brokeback Mountain.” Anyone who thinks this little short is anything but a riff on that Oscar nominated movie has had too much tequila. I don’t know why it was made. And I don’t think Saint Laurent fashion house should be producing movies.

If you rebuild it, will they come?

The Intercontinental Hotel Group spent a bloody fortune to renovate Cannes’s centerpiece, The Carlton Hotel. I was a given a tour tonight, and it’s magnificent. The Carlton I knew was shabby, down on its luck, throwback to the days of screen sirens.

And then it got a facelift. Well, all body parts. New bars and restaurants throughout, a new restaurant outside in the back facing a reflecting pool and a real pool with cabanas. Everything is new, made to seem like the old Hotel but only better. And better it is.

The facade has been completely redone, painted, pointed. It’s gleaming. Normally on the night before the Festival de Cannes, you’d see the whole place dressed up in advertising for movies and film companies. You couldn’t even see the facade there would be so many ads on it. But tonight there are just two large free standing signs for “Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny” flanking the new front entrance that eliminates the portico so you can walk straight in. (I miss the portico.)

Where’s all the old pizzazz that made the Carlton the center of attention every year? “I don’t think that’s happening this year,” says a young woman who works at the front desk. The implication is that the new Carlton will be like the glamorous Hotel du Cap Eden Roc in Antibes– sophisticated and cool. They don’t want people dressed like zombies or space vixens (see Troma Films) parading out front.

At the opposite end of the Croisette, the Majestic Hotel, across from the Palais, is also absent a sense of old Cannes merriment. Renovated a few years ago, the Majestic is also gleaming with Big Money energy. In the fabled bar, young women with large exposed breasts and big ideas are looking for “some advice.” (There were more discreet types at the Carlton, and I loved seeing tradition continue despite #MeToo.)

From the Majestic to the Carlton the wind is blowing, the weather is blustery. Some of prized commercial real estate that used to house over the top luxury brands are boarded up. I’ve never seen this before, ever. It’s startling. Some stores are still assembling window displays, although a few have been unveiled and are eye catchers, like Hermes. But some others are really closed down tight, no tenants, that used to be thriving. There’s a sense that the Money is not coming this year.

Indeed in front of what used to the garish Noga Hilton, brokers of supercars used to park out front. That’s where I used to see convertible Bugattis, Lamborginis, Ferraris, models I never heard, shining in the sun like NASA prototypes. But when I walked by what is now known as the JW Marriott, the indented slot from the street that used to house these symbols of abnormal wealth was empty. “Where are the cars?” I asked the doorman. He just shrugged.

What happened here? The pandemic. Even post-COVID, you can feel a reluctance to return to the old Cannes days. Wonderful restaurants and gelato shops, and so on, have closed over the last couple of years. Nothing has replaced them. Mom and pop businesses took a beating, it’s clear. A lot of little out of the way places have just vanished.

One restaurant has revived itself, however. On out of the way Boulevard Republique, chef proprietor Alison Sucheta is doing all the cooking from a small corner open kitchen. She’s dressed up, too. The restaurant is typically tiny for France, and the tables are packed. There’s a long middle table full of Americans here for the festival. I was lucky to get a seat next to two couples very involved in cinema– Bob Jeannie Berney, and Joana Vicente and Jason Kliot. Vicente runs the Sundance Film Festival. The other three are successful producers.

They are all hoping for a great festival, despite the glitchy ticket delivery system that’s causing nervous breakdowns. So am I. And some warm weather. After all, we’re on the Cote d’Azur!