Film & TV

Actor who played John Connor in 2003's Terminator 3: Rise of the Machines, has not been seen by his family since 9 May

Terminator star Nick Stahl has been reported missing by his wife, according to reports.

Stahl, who took the lead John Connor role in 2003's Terminator 3: Rise of the Machines, has not been seen by his family since 9 May. His estranged wife Roseann filed a missing persons report with LAPD on Monday, according to TMZ. Earlier this year she filed court documents asking for her husband's visitation rights with their daughter Marlo to be cut to eight supervised hours per week owing to what she claimed was his regular drug use.

Stahl, 32, has had a number of brushes with the law recently, and it is feared he may be frequenting the notorious Skid Row quarter of Los Angeles, where crime, poverty and drug use are rife. Terminator 2 star Edward Furlong almost died from a heroin overdose in 2001, so Stahl's predicament has been described by some as part of a "John Connor curse".

He first became known as a child actor with 1993's The Man Without a Face, before moving to adult roles in films such as Sin City, In the Bedroom and Terminator 3. His most recent role was in the 2011 war satire Afghan Luke, in which he played the lead. While his star has fallen since Terminator 3, the actor has continued to work regularly in film and television.

Furlong's most recent high profile role was in the 2011 Seth Rogen film The Green Hornet, where he played a scuzzy drug dealer. Hours after the movie's premiere in January last year he found himself behind bars for violating a restraining order against his wife. Furlong was later released after posting $75,000 bail.

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The Cannes film festival launched last night with the world premiere of Wes Anderson's Moonrise Kingdom. Xan Brooks, Peter Bradshaw and Catherine Shoard join the bloggers and blaggers filling the Palais to give their verdict on the cult director's sixth feature film

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All the latest news, reviews, comment and buzz from the Croisette, as it happens

10.07am: That was then, this is now. Day one of Cannes 2012 is so over, drifting off on the breeze of yesterday. We're all about today, day two.

If, like me, you find yesterday is so far away that you've forgotten what happened, here's Charlotte Higgins' summary from last night. And as Cannes is nothing if not about fancy frocks and smirking A-listers, we'll be posting a gallery of the red-carpet show before the festival opener, Moonrise Kingdom. Meanwhile, we'll soon have a video review of the film from Peter, Xan and Catherine.

But let's look forward. The big film today is Rust & Bone, the new one from Jacques Audiard. Now, if anyone is due a Palme d'Or it's him: his awesome A Prophet was unlucky to come up against the terrifyingly brilliant White Ribbon in 2010, and his previous work – the brilliant Beat That My Heart Skipped, the thrilling Read My Lips, and wonderful Self-Made Hero – puts him at the very front rank of international film directors. So if Rust turns out to be any good, I have a sneaking feeling Audiard will be in with a major shout. So look out for Peter's review, which will be coming over at around lunchtime.

The other biggie today is Yousry Nasrallah's After the Battle, the one unashamedly political film in the competition line-up. No one outside Egypt knows much about him, but as his film is set in the aftermath of the anti-Mubarak revolution, it couldn't be more topical. For more info, here's a quick Q&A from Screen Comment.

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Our latest preview screening is The Angels' Share, directed by Ken Loach and starring Roger Allam, John Henshaw and Paul Brannigan. You can see it at selected cinemas around the UK on Wednesday 30 May

Having narrowly avoided jail, new dad Robbie vows to turn his life around. When he sneaks into the maternity hospital to visit his young girlfriend Leonie and hold his new-born son Luke for the first time, he swears that Luke will not lead the same stricken life he has led. On community service Robbie meets Rhino, Albert and Mo. For all of them work is little more than a distant dream; but little do they know that a visit to a whisky distillery will be the starting point for an adventure to discover the finer things in life…

You can see a trailer of the film here

Book to see a preview screening of The Angels' Share

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The screenings will take place at 6.30pm on Wednesday 30 May at the following Cineworld cinemas:

•Brighton
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•Cardiff
•Didsbury
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•Shaftesbury Avenue
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The entertainer's great drive and perfectionism came from his massive insecurity

Sammy Davis Jnr was the complete entertainer. In an age of specialisation even in show business, the little black American was an outstanding night-club singer, comedian and dancer, and an able character actor when his enormous ego was under control.

Trained in vaudeville, he was equally effective in Broadway musicals and in the new media of movies and television. When he wrote his autobiography in his forties, he had already lived a full show business life and justifiably summed up his all-round career with the title Yes, I Can. Sammy Davis Jnr was one Jack of all trades who was master of all.

Born in New York, he came from a theatrical family and claimed to have begun his career at the age of three, making a first appearance on stage with his father and his uncle. Certainly he was in a movie, Rufus Jones for President, in 1930 when he was five, and the same year he joined his family's Will Mastin Trio in a heavy schedule of singing, dancing and doing impressions in hotels and night clubs. By 17 he was a veteran hoofer.

Growing up in the years of rigid segregation, he was an active supporter of the civil rights movement in the '60s. Converting to Judaism, he offended many militant blacks by marrying the blonde Swedish actress, Mai Britt, in 1960, and met with a great deal of public racial hostility until their divorce eight years later. One Hollywood studio executive warned him his career would be ruined by the inter-racial marriage.

The experience seemed to drive him to the opposite extreme and he took up exclusively black causes with increasing fervency. 'Money doesn't make you free,' he said. 'Popularity doesn't make you free. Our real religion and the thing that connects us all is our blackness.' It therefore mystified many of his admirers when he supported Richard Nixon for president. He had made frequent star appearances in Las Vegas night clubs where organised crime is powerful, and a rumour soon spread that the Mafia, seeing more profit in a rightwing Nixon administration, had ordered him to campaign for Nixon or he would lose his profitable Vegas connections. Sammy, stung by heavy criticism from fellow blacks, insisted Nixon had promised he would help the black cause. 'There was a whole bunch of brothers and sisters that didn't like Jesus Christ,' he said defensively. 'There ain't nobody been put on this earth that everybody liked.'

His political blunder was a reflection of the deep insecurity that this little man with the glass eye (thanks to a childhood accident) had felt since his youth when he was forever being put down as ugly. This insecurity gave him his great drive and the perfectionism that made him master so many techniques and styles and media.

He had a wide-eyed enjoyment of his own fame. When he compiled Yes, I Can with the help of two professional writers, he even visited the printers to watch his words set up in type. He had a professional urge to see his work satisfactorily through every stage, but he was also full of wonderment at the thought of himself as a published author - the kid who had gone to work at an age when most people haven't even started school! He was a strange combination of seasoned Hollywood sophisticate with a tremendous will to succeed, and the eternal boy hoofer entertaining a world in which he didn't yet feel he belonged.

He had always handled his massive insecurity complex by boosting his ego with an audience's applause. Off-stage, he could be too dominating, as if constantly demanding reaasurance that he was not the ugly little fellow he saw himself as. It must have been a torture to him in the final months when he became too weak to perform and he knew he would never hear that applause again. Mr Wonderful, as Sammy the matchless professional was often called, was already dead then.

What stays in the memory now is the final brief tap dance of the dying man into which he put all he had left and then beamed at the thunderous applause of his peers like a flower opening up beneath the sun. At that moment he appeared what he had thought was impossible - a most attractive figure. One hopes it was possible for him to see himself that way before he died.

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