DAY 7 – The Beaver / Jean Paul Belmondo / Chinese party

I pull myself out of bed by 8:30 am today so I can make it down to Last Minute Access for The Beaver.  I’m meeting my producer friend at 10, an hour before the screening.  When I get there, the line isn’t open yet.  With a few minutes to kill, I log in to the Palais wifi.   My badge doesn’t allow me to log in, but a Marche badge does.  I was able to get the code from a friend earlier, so I didn’t even have to use my “Badge Ploy”.

BADGE PLOY – Find someone with a Marche badge and say:  “I don’t know if I have a Marche badge or not.  My assistant set it up.  Is this the right one?”  They’ll say no and then display their own badge for you.  As you compare badges to try to sort it out, memorize their login and access code (it’s right on the front of the badge).   You shake your head at your own stupidity and blame your “assistant” for somehow getting you the wrong accreditation.  Then, be sure to make a note of the login numbers so you don’t forget.  You’re in!

It’s definitely convenient because now I can check emails, FB, Skype as long as I’m in or near the Palais.  Which is where I am most the day.  They open the Last Minute Access and we queue up, getting in easily.  There must be some open seats.  I really enjoy the movie.  It’s got a unique tone, bouncing from funny to dark.  This isn’t an easy thing to do, but I think Jody Foster pulled it off.  And of course Mel Gibson is great in it.

Afterwards I head back to La Bocca for a nap before I meet my connection for the AMFAR benefit.  They got me on the list as a volunteer and there is an orientation meeting at 5 pm.  I take the Gare de Bosquet train into Cannes.  It’s a short smooth ride to the Cannes station, located a couple streets back from the Croisette.  The hotel where we are meeting is right behind the train station and I finally suss out its location, bumping into the girls in the street.  We walk in together.  I’m a little overdressed, already tuxed up for the night.  But no one seems to mind as we meet to go over information about the benefit.  It’s held at the Hotel Du Cap!

Getting into this hotel is high on my to-do list.  I found out about it after I got home from Cannes last year.  It’s in Antibes.  It’s where all the big stars stay and it’s one of the best hotels in the world.  Getting into the AMFAR benefit is also on my to-do list, so I will be able to kill two birds with one stone.  I volunteer to work the Green Room, even though I have no stage managing experience.  I don’t know who’s performing yet, but I will be right there with them.  “Mr. West you’re on in 5″.  I’m hoping Kanye West plays.  I have no reason to expect this, but he is in town.  Why wouldn’t he be at the most prestigious event in Cannes?

The benefit isn’t until Thursday.  I leave with my information on where to meet, job assignment, etc.  I rush down to the Palais for the Jean-Paul Belmondo tribute in the Debussy theater.  In line I meet the rudest American girl.  They’re always American.  We are next to each other in line, so I try to start up a conversation.  She’s pretty, but I’m not hitting on her.  I’m just bored.  Besides, I could throw a rock and hit 5 model-quality European girls – beautiful girls are a dime a dozen over here.  Now, I’ve met plenty of sweet American girls who are happy to chat, but this one is a real headcase.  Despite both being the only Americans in line, both solo and standing side-by-side, she ignores my attempts at conversation.  When I ask “what brings you to Cannes” (my standard question), I actually have to touch her on the arm to get her attention.  “I’m in the industry,” she says tersely.  What?  The film industry?!  OMG!   Are there a lot of people in the film business here?  That’s what I want to say, but I just give up trying to talk to her.  She’s cold as a witch’s you-know-what in a brass bra doing push-ups in the snow.   She’s jerking her mane of black hair around like a bird, looking for someone, checking texts.  Or at least that’s what she’s pretending to do.  I chat with the guy behind me, a French composer I met earlier.  When they let us in, I have moved a bit in front of her in line.  As we are ushered into the theater, I hear heels clippety-clopping on the marble floor behind me.  She rushes up and jumps in front of me, pushing her way through the door first.  She ends up sitting in the row directly ahead of me.  I’m trying to ignore her but she keeps jerking her ahead around, looking back towards the entrance of the theater.  No one comes to meet her.  She sits in her seat all alone, talking to no one.  Once during the documentary, she turns around and asks the guy beside me to stop kicking her seat.  I resist the urge to kick her seat throughout the rest of the film.  It’s funny, she’s here to pay respect to the star of Breathless. That movie really captured her type: the crazy American woman.

Jean-Paul Belmondo arrives and is greeted like royalty.  We are on our feet clapping forever.  The documentary is very interesting and I learn a lot about the man, especially his post-Breathless stuff.  Claudia Cardinale is there, Jean Roquefort, a lot of people I don’t recognize.  Thierry Fremaux, the head honcho of Cannes, shows up and gives a speech.  I really need to learn French.

Claudia Cardinale to the far left, Belmondo and Thierry with the mic.

Afterwards I meet up with three friends and I call a writer I met from Germany.  He invites us to the Chinese party on the Majestic Barriere: A long private pier that extends out into the sea.  The lady at the door lets in everyone in my group but me.  I wait a few minutes and then state my case again, this time a little more forcefully.  The man beside her asks for a business card and he lets me in.  I swear it’s just a test to see how determined you are.  I enter the party and walk down the pier, just in time to witness the most spectacular fireworks show I’ve ever seen. There are two cannons off the end of the pier and they assault the sky with a barrage of explosions.  Chinese music blares from speakers.  I’ve never seen fireworks from this close before.  It’s breathtaking.  I pull out my camera and catch the tail end, but it doesn’t do it justice.

There’s champagne, plates of hors d’oeuvres, fresh crepes, trays of amazing sweets.   This is by far the best party I’ve been to in Cannes.  I find my friends and we hang out for a bit.  They’re playing American music.  Hip-hop, James Brown, Michael Jackson.  Perfect dance music.  I want a copy of the playlist.  I look at my watch and realize it’s after 1:00 am.  I should go.  I have a bus to catch.  I make it home and I turn in at 3am.  Looks like I’m stuck on the 3a – 12p sleeping shift after all.

See you tomorrow.

Grayson Wolfe

DAY 6 – Tree of Life

Ok I have to make this quick.  I’m getting home way too late every night and these blogs are killing me.  I have a lot to do tomorrow so this may be a shorter post, at least for now.

I got into Tree of Life.  A lovely French actress I met has tickets somehow and we meet this morning in front of the Palais Casino.  I’m easy to spot in my midday tux.  A tux isn’t necessary for earlier screenings but why not?  I’ll wear a tuxedo for Terrence Malick any time of day.  Plus, I don’t want to go back to La Bocca to change later.  We have an hour to kill so she escorts me to a happy hour on the other side of the Palais, more white tents I’ve yet to explore.  A jovial bartender is slinging drinks and there are hors d’oeuvres to be had.  I meet a composer, among other things, and we head off to the 15:00 screening.

We queue for Balcony seats and walk the red carpet, albeit under the afternoon sun.  Inside the theater, it’s packed.  We end up high in the theater and a little off-center.  But I’m not complaining.  The screen is so huge that any seat is a good seat.  After chatting up our neighbor (a director), the magical Cannes logo appears and we’re off to the races!

**SPOILER ALERT**

If you’ve never seen a Terrence Malick film here’s what you can expect:  Beautiful Cinematography, Inner Monologues, Elliptical Editing, Slow Pace, and an emphasis on Nature.  Tree of Life has all that, but on top of that, it is the most “Artsy” film Malick has made.  He’s only made 5:  Badlands, Days of Heaven, Thin Red Line, The New World, and now Tree of Life.  To me, this is the film he’s been waiting to make his whole career.  It incorporates his love of nature, especially underwater photography, and it is epic in scale.  Malick tackles big questions in this film.  This is a film about Man’s relationship with God.  It is never preachy and it is absolutely beautiful.  There are scenes where the divine visuals mixed with the choral soundtrack bring tears to my eyes.  There hasn’t been a film like this since 2001.  It even shares a similar structure, playing out in 4 basic blocks.

As I watch this 2 and 1/2 hour, uncompromising, absolute work of art, I think: the balls on this guy.  How did he ever get this film made?  Granted he’s Terrence Malick, and it has Brad Pitt in it, but this isn’t commercial in any way.  This is a new form of movie-making, a new genre even.  I can’t believe he got this through the system.  Then I think:  how is this going to play at the multiplex?  I can’t imagine what a teenage girl who goes in thinking “ooh Brad Pitt” is going to think of this.  Once again, Brad Pitt proves he has immaculate taste in movies.  He only works with the best directors in the world.  This is an absolute gem of a film and I wish it massive success.

**END OF SPOILERS**

The applause afterwards is respectful but it’s far from rapturous.  I think everyone is still trying to process what they’ve just seen.  We file out of the theater and I part ways with my generous companion, thanking her again for getting me into this.  I feel so honored to see a Terrence Malick film at Cannes.  This may be a once-in-a-lifetime experience.  Who knows when he’ll make a movie again!

I grab a bite to eat, check my emails, and head out  to meet up with one of my producer friends from last year.  We have a great time, ending up in a very intimate party at The Carlton with an open bar.  We leave with swag bags complete with perfume, cologne, and mini-bottles of Cointreau.  We finish the night in The Martinez.  He has scripts to read, and I have a bus to catch.  We plan to meet up tomorrow for The Beaver, the Mel Gibson / Jodie Foster movie.  I love Mel Gibson.  And I still haven’t seen any hard evidence he’s the crazy man on the tape.

On the way back down the strip of hotels, I keep my eyes open, just in case I have a chance to redeem myself for my botched Ryan Gosling encounter.  Almost in the same exact spot, I run into no one other than MICHEL HAZANAVICIUS!!!

With him is the beautiful and talented lead actress from The Artist, BERENICE BEJO!  I can’t believe it.  I stop and tell him how much I loved The Artist, gushing about how it was one of my most anticipated films and how I think it’s a new classic.  He is very kind and I walk along with them, talking about Jean Dujardin and how brilliant it was to put him in a silent American movie.  I ask him if he has any interest in American writers and if so, I have an idea for him.  It’s a very good idea, if I may say so myself, and one that needs the next Cary Grant in it.  I get a picture with each of them and we exchange emails, promising to follow up.

This photo directed by Michel Hazanavicius. What happened to my face!

I bid them “Bon Soir” and I head away ecstatic.  I stop in for a celebratory ice cream cone, and realize I’m low on Euros.  After the ice cream cone, I’m 30 cents short for the bus home!  I’ll figure it out on the way, I think.  Two French girls stop me and ask to use my phone.  I tell them I don’t have signal, but can I have 30 cents?  This isn’t a good deal for them.  I reach the bus station and bump into a kindly bus driver from a few nights before.  I tell him I am 30 cents short because of the celebratory ice cream cone I bought after meeting two celebrities. He walks me to another bus line and waits with me.  I guess he’s going home.  He talks to the driver and gets me on the bus for free.  I shake his hand and give him a huge “thank you”.  I get back home with 70 cents in my pocket and a million dollar smile on my face.  What a day!

See you tomorrow,

-Grayson Wolfe

DAY 5 – The Artist: Mission Impossible

I set out today for a Mission Impossible: to get into the 7:30p premiere of The Artist, one of my most anticipated of Cannes.  After sleeping in this morning, I make the mistake of trying to drop off clothes at the cleaners on a Sunday.  Everything’s closed on Sunday.  So I lug my bag full of clothes back home and start again.  I tux it up and catch the shuttle down to the AmPav.  I arrive around 16:00 and go online to check emails, sitting beside a lovely girl who turns out to be a writer.  I tell her I am looking for a literary agent or manager.  She informs me that there is a Q+A session in progress with one of the biggest agents in the industry right here in the Pavilion.  He represents all my favorite writers, and hers.  We exchange cards and I head inside to find the agent in question has left the building.  However, there is a man there named: Tom Quinn.  I am able to pass him my card and I get his email in return.  I thank him for hanging around to talk.  It must be exhausting being inundated by people all day.

A strange thing happens in Cannes.  You are confronted with a sea of new faces every day, and you don’t want to tune them out because you may miss sighting an acquaintance or a celebrity.  Your brain is constantly trying to process these new faces, matching them with those in your mental rolodex:  Facebook contacts seen but never met, celebrities, people you’ve just met this week, etc.  You see ghosts, look-a-likes, phantoms.

Yesterday, I noticed 5 people walking around with what we would deem a polio crutch:

At first glance it looks like polio is making a resurgence in the South of France.  Then I figure this is the only version of crutches they have, more functional than our simple wooden ones.  Turns out it’s called a “forearm crutch”.  But how many people do you see with crutches on a daily basis?  I’ve seen 5 yesterday and 1 today.  No wooden canes, just these sympathy-inducing uber-crutches.

Next, I head into the Palais on a fool’s errand to see if there’s any possible tickets left for The Artist.  No dice.  All the showings are sold out and have been since early this morning.  I even throw a message on FB.  I try to call in any help I can think of, to no avail.  I’m desperate to see this movie on opening night.  There’s something addictive about seeing a movie at the Red Carpet premiere.  The glamour of the tuxedos and gowns, the excitement of sitting in the same theater as the Director and Cast…  You can see the same films earlier in the day, but it’s just not the same.  But it’s not just the Red Carpet.  I am anticipating this film because it is directed by Michel Hazanavicius has one of my favorite actors: Jean Dujardin.

For my money, no one can touch this guy right now.  Handsome, funny, charismatic.  He has an Old Hollywood movie star quality.  He is an expert mime, using his whole body to act – a dying art.  I think he could be huge in America, and I have been wanting to see him do something with crossover potential that shows off his talent for physical comedy. Turns out The Artist is that movie.

But I don’t know this yet.  As 18:00 draws near, I realize there is no way in to the premiere.  No tickets to be had.  I walk to the entrance of the Palais and peer through the crowds to the other side of the Red Carpet, checking out the Last Minute Access line.  A throng is already gathered.  I don’t want to try my luck there again after getting shut down twice in a row.  It looks impossible.  But I like impossible missions.

Over the next hour, I will become James Bond. (I have the tux).  Earlier in the day, I came up with a plan – A way into the Palais without a ticket.  I didn’t know if I was going to have to use it, but it was my back-up plan.  It’s risky, but it seems crazy enough to work.  And guess what – it does!  I wish I could talk about it, but out of self-preservation I will withhold the details.  I don’t want anyone to rip off this technique because you’ll mess it up for me!  Let’s just say it’s not for the faint of heart.

Once inside, I have one last problem.  I don’t have a ticket.  Every time I’ve been in the Palais, they check your ticket multiple times as you head up to your seat.  What am I going to do?  I come up with a cover story.  I’ll say I just stepped out to use the bathroom and “mon femme” has my ticket in her purse, up at the seat.  This is a pretty good story, as this is a common occurrence.  If I were to say, “I don’t have a ticket, I’m last minute access”, they could easily call my bluff if they haven’t opened the gates to Last Minute Access yet.  And odds are they’re not going to.  This is a huge movie in France, there won’t be many empty seats.  I walk up to the entrance to the balcony, with two men in tuxedos posted out front.  I am ready with my story.  I walk past them confidently with the air of a man rushing back to his seats.  They say nothing to stop me.  Ahead of me on the next landing are two Cannes girls.  I start up the stairs to my left and then change my mind, going up on the right as if looking for my seat.  This also brings me to the center rows, the best viewing angle.  I make my way up, unimpeded past three more ushers.  I glance around for an open seat and I start to worry I won’t find one.  The entire balcony is truly full.  No one from Last Minute Access is getting in here tonight.  As I near the very top of the balcony, I look to my left and see one empty seat.  I gesture to the girl sitting beside it and she indicates it’s open.  Relieved, I “pardón” my way down the aisle and take my seat.  My heart is pounding with exictement.  I did it!  And I didn’t even have to use my cover story.  I am all the way at the top, safe and sound.  There’s no way they’ll spot me up here.  No one’s even looking for me.

I ask the girl next to me if she speaks English and she says yes.  Besides our conversation, I will not hear my native tongue once inside the Lumiere.  Seems everyone in here is French.  Except me, James Bond.  We talk about the French movie stars coming up the red carpet, the video feed playing on the movie screen.  I write down a couple names I don’t recognize, to check out later.  I smile, thinking of everyone waiting to get inside.  Take that, Last Minute Access.  Michel Hazanavicius, Jean Dujardin, and the rest of the cast enter the theater and to applause.  From the top of the balcony I can’t see them.  But the video cameras follow them and they are projected on the screen.  They take their seats, the lights dim, and the movie begins.

**SPOILER ALERT**

I knew little about the film going in.  I heard it was experimental, but there are some surprises I wasn’t expecting that I’m glad I didn’t know beforehand.  Therefore, unless you want me to spoil those for you (the media probably will anyway), stop reading.

The screenshot above is black-and-white – turns out so is the movie.  It’s also shot in the old 1.33 ratio.  Hazanavicius seems to have an affinity for all things retro.  OSS 117 was a perfect replica of a 1960s movie.  I loved that film, that’s why I’m here now.  As the first ten minutes of the movie pass, I realize something else – it’s a silent film!  Hazanavicius made a feature-length silent film!  It’s set in Old Hollywood, with Jean Dujardin playing a silent film star.  Produced by the Weinstein Co., with John Goodman, Malcolm McDowell, and English title cards.  This is brilliant!  This is the perfect way to have Dujardin in an American movie.  We can’t hear is voice, so for all we know, he’s American.

I loved the movie.  It is lighthearted, watchable by any audience, and shows how unnecessary words can be.   Pure cinema.  There is a dance number towards the end of the movie that is incredible.  Jean Dujardin is just ridiculously talented.  And of course, so is Michel Hazanavicius.  As the dance number ends, Dujardin and his co-star Berenice Bejo turn to face the camera, arms outstretched.  The crowd bursts into spontaneous applause.  The mood in the room is electric.  I’ve never felt anything like it.  This is a movie about movies and we, the audience, have become the fourth wall.  It feels like we are inside the movie at this moment, in the same room as the actors on screen.  And actually, we are.  They are sitting down front.

**END OF SPOILERS**

As the film fades out, I jump to my feet and join the rapt applause, which turns into a 20 minute standing ovation.  (I forgot to use my stopwatch on my calculator watch, but I think it was 20 minutes).  This is why I came to Cannes.  Anything else that happens tonight is a bonus.  And more will happen.

Feeling high, invincible, and starving to death, I head from the Palais straight over to the local kiosk where I order a big cheeseburger-on-a-baguette: the “Formidable”.  I also get a Kronenbourg to celebrate.  I pulled off the impossible tonight.  I am ten feet tall.  I run over to the pavilions to use the wifi, and I finally am able to get in touch with the buyer I’ve been playing phone tag with.  He is in the Carlton right now, can I come over?  I rush over to the Carlton and meet with him for about an hour.  He explains what he is doing: a short film app.  He shows me how it works on an iPad, and it looks good.  He’s partnering with some of the biggest film schools in the country and is looking for good films, building a reputation for quality.  I like what I see so far.  We exchange info, I tell him I’ll send him a link to Sea of Trees, and I turn down an invitation to join him at a party.  Tree of Life is tomorrow, I need my rest.

As I walk back down the Croisette towards the bus station I am totally unprepared for my next celebrity sighting.  Ahead of me, stuffing money into a street beggar’s paper cup, stands RYAN GOSLING.  I pause in my tracks, mouth agape.  He looks at me.  “I loved Blue Valentine”, I say.  He just says “thanks” and walks off.  I can tell he doesn’t want to talk to anyone.  I saw Blue Valentine here last year, and I can’t wait to see him in Drive, later this week.  I think he’s one of the best actors we have right now.  I even have him in mind for a very specific project I am pitching at Cannes.  With all this running through my mind, I turn after him and the only thing that comes out of my mouth is “Hey!”.  The girl he is with turns around to look at me, but he just keeps going.  I can’t believe I just yelled that.  I say “Nevermind, I don’t wanna bother you” and keep going.  Ugh.  Here’s the dilemma when you meet a celebrity.  You don’t wanna come off as a jerk, but you don’t want to miss an opportunity.  I don’t ask actors for autographs or favors, but I feel I would actually be doing him a favor if I could pitch him our idea.  Oh well.  The best way to do that is through the proper channels.  But still.  If I was more on top of my game, I think I could’ve at least made something happen right then.  I make a mental note not to be taken unawares again.  I stop in for an ice cream cone.  I didn’t have any of this amazing ice cream last year.  I’m catching up.  I finish it as I reach the bus stop and head back to La Bocca, chatting up some AmPav volunteers on the way home.

Best day yet.  I actually make it to bed at a decent an hour.  Skype call to Will and then it’s curtains for the night.  See you tomorrow.

-Grayson Wolfe

DAY 4 – Wu Xia

Breakfast today was Tiramisu + Coke Zero.  Mmmm.  I take my local shuttle down to the festival.  Inside the Pavilion, I hit the Salle Mediterranee and check out what tickets are available.   Here’s how the ticketing works.  When you get your accreditation you receive a set amount of points, based on your professional credits and some other secret formula I don’t yet understand.  You use your badge to login on the computers in the Salle Mediterranee – a big open room on the left side of the 1st floor.  Remember the “American” 1st floor = floor 0, 2nd floor = floor 1, 3rd is floor 2, etc.  The 1st floor in the Palais is the one you come in on, from the main entrance.  Floor 01 is beneath you with the blue carpet.  This takes you to the Short Film Corner and through the Marche.  In the Salle Mediterranee, grab a computer and click on the English flag or French flag. (If you don’t speak either of those, you’re screwed.  You’re also not reading this blog.)  It will explain how to login, and then a screen will pop up showing which screenings are available.  You can then use your points to “buy” tickets.  I have 130 points, enough to get in the major 7pm screenings, the ones you want to be in.  These tickets are 100 points.  Now the cool thing is your points recharge at a rate of 2 per hour, so every 50 hours you accrue another 100 points.  But only if you use your points. 130 points is the max I can accrue.  So I check out what’s available (nothing) and note down when The Artist and Tree of Life will open for ticketing, planning to come back then. Everyone wants to see Tree of Life, so that’s not gonna be easy.

Afterwards, I hit the AmPav, checking email, doing blog-based things until 1400.  Being in La Bocca, I have to leave by 1500 to be back down here tuxed up by 1700/5pm = happy hour.  So I head out to catch a bus, planning to grab a bite to eat on the way.  I make it through a huge crush of people surrounding the Red Carpet.  I guess there’s a screening going on.  I take to the back streets in search of a pizza.  I blame my quick crash on the sugary Tiramisu I had for breakfast.  I have gone from 0 to starving to death in the blink of an eye.  Finally I find a place that sells pizza and I take a seat.  After what feels like 10 minutes, I give up on anybody serving me or even saying hello.  They are busy, but I don’t have time to wait, so I run over to a little kiosk.  I order their deluxe sandwich: Le Top Max.  I can’t make out all the toppings written in French, but I roll the dice.  I’m so hungry I get a Snickers just to “satisfy” me until he makes my sandwich.  My Snickers is gone in seconds and then I suffer for what feels like FOREVER as he makes my sandwich.  I am the only one in line.  He finally pulls out a huge round piece of bread, lays down lettuce, steak, cheese, onions, tomato, ham, and puts it in the Panini toaster thing.  Ok, almost ready, I think.  But no.  It sits there and sits there and sits there and sits there.  I don’t know if I’ve ever been this hungry before.  It sits there some more.  Finally he pulls it from the toaster and delivers it over to me.  It is the size of a small pizza.  I grab a seat and tuck in to maybe the best sandwich I have ever had.  It is absolutely delicious.  I can honestly say it was worth the wait.  It’s not a panini.  It’s two big round slices of crusty French bread.  I guess that’s why it took so long.  Le Top Max indeed.  I may have to come back here everyday.  I finish half of it and then rush over to catch a bus, which pulls up just as I arrive.  I finish the rest of the sandwich on my ride to La Bocca, knowing I’ll be good for the rest of the day.

As I change into my tux, I put in a skype call to Will and we catch up briefly.  No time to shave.  I grab one of my mini-bottles of red wine and head over to catch the shuttle.  On the way, I consider the headline: American screenwriter Grayson Wolfe found dead in La Bocca.  Unshaven, clutching a bottle of cheap wine.  I take care not to be hit by any cars.  I drink my wine in transit because I never seem to have time to sit and enjoy a quiet glass.  And it is a nice social lubricant.  The shuttle driver is playing American hip-hop.  As a gentleman on the radio named “Dash Money” informs me, this is “Murder Music”.  Next up is Lil Wayne.  I like it.  When we arrive I can jump out of the free shuttle with that limo swagga.  On the shuttle I see a director I met the day before, tuxed up for the Pirates: On Stranger Tides screening.  Lucky.  I don’t feel the need to see it here, I planned to wait for the DVD anyway, but it would be fun to walk the carpet with Johnny Depp.  Incidentally, the French title is Pirates: The Fountain of Youth.  A bit of a spoiler, but it’s interesting how the titles change country to country.

I tell him I’m going to see Wu Xia tonight.  It’s a Chinese martial arts film with Donnie Yuen that has some Weinstein Co. involvement.  I’ve heard rumors of a remake along with US distribution.  A Chinese girl sitting in front of me corrects my pronunciation and then I chat her up.  She has a film here she’s promoting.  We walk together from the shuttle drop-off to the Palais and then part ways.

I am meeting my buyer contact at the Short Film Corner at 5pm.  I’m here 10 minutes early, so I post up at the bar.  A Q+A session is winding down next door.  5pm is Happy Hour at the Short Film Corner.  That means free beer.  They have coolers lined with Stella Artois, but no one’s getting any until the Q+A session is over.  As we draw closer to 1700, the staff puts out some pretzels and big French jellybeans.  The Frenchman at my right is wearing a Rolling Stones T-shirt and repeatedly asking about the “bier”.  Behind us, the crowd has turned into a seething mob.  I point over our shoulders and say “Le Mob?”  He distractedly nods.  He is one of them.  Beer Zombies.  People are reaching over me for jellybeans, pretzels, anything they can get their hands on.  I realize I’m never going to find the buyer.  I don’t even know what he looks like.  I also come up with an idea:  If you want people to see your movie, give away free beer.  You make a beer garden, with a huge projection screen, and lock them in so they can’t leave until the movie’s over.  Maybe we’ll do that next year.  At about ten after, they start handing out the Stellas.  Two apiece.  I only want one.  As I turn to head back through the crowd, it is the exact same feeling at a concert when you’re heading away from the mosh pit.  No one makes room for you to leave, even though you’re giving them a better spot.  I sip my beer and do a quick pass, hoping the buyer will somehow call out to me.  I told him I’d be wearing a tux, and I’m the only one.  Here’s the thing about tuxing up early:  You look over-dressed until about 7pm.  Then you look important.  Either way, you attract attention.  Not a bad thing in Cannes.

I give up on the buyer and head up to the Salle Mediterranee to see about possible tickets.  I bump into the Chinese girl from the bus.  She invites me to come along with her to a cocktail party.  As we chat, UMA THURMAN rushes past us, surrounded by 6 bodyguards.  She is tall.  She is on the jury this year and she has an intent look on her face as she rushes off to the Pirates screening.  As Nick Nolte said somewhere: When you’re famous you go through the buildings.  My new companion and I head out for the Cinema Du Monde pavilion, where the champagne hour has apparently already passed.  (Happy Hours are omnipresent around 5pm.  Make a note of that.)  I meet some cool people – a French Actor and a Belgian PR / Distribution guy who I talk about The Perfect Breed to.  He’s here promoting Amsterdam Heavy and a friend of mine worked on that film.  We talk about collaboration and casting.  We all exchange cards and plan to follow up stateside.  I excuse myself and head back over to the Palais. Wu Xia is playing in a couple hours and I need to get a good spot in line.

I pop in to the UK Pavilion area again and finally get in touch with the buyer.  I apologize for my Skype problems and we plan to meet tomorrow.  I grab an ice cream cone and jump in the queue for Wu Xia. It is playing in the Salle du Soixantième, one of the many smaller theaters in the Palais.  This is a next-day screening, which is badge access, no need for tickets.  The Soixantième is located right inside the International Pavilion gates.  I’m here an hour and a half early.  Perfect timing, since there’s hardly anyone in line.  I chat up the guy next to me, a quiet Italian kid who is studying film at NYU.  Later his Indian friend joins us and we talk film.  I love meeting fellow filmmakers, especially film students.  You never know who is going to be the next Scorsese or Spike Lee.  I watch one of their short films on their iPhone.  Great idea!  I forgot you could load videos on your iPod app like that.  The gates open and we are ushered upstairs to the theater on the second level.  This is one my favorite views of the fest:

Not the best photo, but from up here, you can see the Majestic in the background and the Hotel-Lined Croisette winding its way around the coast.  Wu Xia was really enjoyable.  I am anti-spoiler so don’t worry.  The fight scenes were great, but the script was also very interesting.  I had no idea where the movie was going.  It’s not what I thought it was going to be, judged only by the poster, and I like being surprised.  One interesting detail was the credits.  They looked very last-minute, cheesy font, Cannes credits.  I love seeing movies that are just finished or still works in progress.  I go on imdb to check out the film afterwards and there is not enough votes for a star rating.  That’s what I’m talking about. I hear this one will be heading to America and playing in a theater near you, so hopefully you will see it.

I had a great time talking to the two NYU students.  They have my card so maybe we’ll meet up again.  We part ways and I head back toward the bus station when I change my mind at the last minute and jump in the Last Minute Tickets line.  Bollywood: The Greatest Love Story Ever Told is playing and I want to see it.  It’s a retrospective of Bollywood cinema, something I want to learn more about.  I tried to get tickets earlier but was unsuccessful.  Plus, it’s playing late @ 23:45.  But I figure if I get in, great.  If not, I’ll go get some sleep.  The first 4 people in line actually get in, as 4 unused invitations appear, but the rest of us are turned away.  That makes my record 1-3.  Not great.  I get the impression that unless someone passes you a hard copy ticket, the odds of getting in through Last Minute Access are very slim.  But it’s better than not trying.

I head home on the bus, chatting up a French guy from Marseille.  He has come here to attend the festival even though he’s not in the industry.  He can still get into some of the sidebar screenings and we share many of the same favorite directors.  I love the fact that there are Cineastes all over the world and we can all speak the same language of film.  We have the same vocabulary words:  “Coen Brothers, Leone, Tarantino, Lynch.”  Movies are more than just $, they create relationships with the people who watch them.  We all share them and treasure them and are influenced by them.  Getting a sense of what’s going on in World Cinema is one of the best advantages of coming to Cannes.  As Americans, we are often ignorant of huge movie stars from other countries.  But they know ours.  It’s humbling.  And it means we should make the best movies we can.  There’s a world of people watching.

See you tomorrow.

-Grayson Wolfe

DAY 3 – Gay Job / Queer Party

I accomplished the amazing feat of waking up at a decent hour and being out the door by around 11.  I stopped in at my local patisserie for one of my favorite morning rituals: pastry and a Coke Zero.  Coke Zero isn’t my favorite drink or anything.  I actually try to avoid diet drinks all together because of a couple chemicals known as Sodium Benzoate and Potassium Benzoate.  When mixed at room temperature with Ascorbic Acid – Vitamin C – these chemicals from a new carcinogenic compound: Benzene.  But it’s Coke Zero or Fanta at my local patisserie and for some reason Coke Zero goes good with a nice sugary pastry for breakfast. I am living dangerously. The confections are little works of art and I just point to one I haven’t had yet in the pastry case.  I like the pretty colors.  Today it was the “Opera” cake.  A bit like Tiramisu (my favorite) and a very nice way to start the day. Then I headed over to my local Hotel for a bit of subterfuge…

Best new tip: Take a shuttle bus instead of public transit.  This works if you are staying outside of Cannes in La Bocca.  Many of the hotels have their own shuttle buses.  My closest hotel is Pierre Vacances. The Maeva has one as well.  Now you can’t take it BACK after 1700ish, but you can take them TO CANNES all day at 15 minute intervals.  At least it’s supposed to be 15 minutes.  Today it felt like 30-45.  Probably because I was trying to be down to the Pavilions at noon sharpish.  I had people to meet.

Finally the bus came and I realized one downside to this technique: you might not make it on the bus.  Because it is in fact not a bus, it is a van.  Maybe a 10-seater at best.  So I surreptitiously jumped to the front of the line and climbed aboard.  (I had people to meet).  There are several cool things about taking the shuttle van:

#1 – Half the time, if that.  I got from La Bocca to the Palais in Cannes in 10 minutes.  It would’ve taken 20-30 on the public bus.

#2 – Nice scenic route along the beach.  Unlike the public bus, which slowly winds its way through the city, the shuttle takes you right along the lovely blue Mediterranean Sea.  After all you are on the Riviera.  Enjoy a view of Le Cote D’Azur.

#3 – It drops you off closer.  The shuttle stops right at the barrier to through traffic which is at the Palais Casino.  You get off and you’re right there. The main bus station is a good 100 meters / football field further away.  Not a small thing when you are walking all day!

#4 – It’s Free!

Even in the shuttle I couldn’t escape the shadow of Auto-tune.  Some new song which I didn’t recognize.  I always end up making contacts on the public bus and I was a little worried I couldn’t do so on the more private shuttle.  I didn’t on the first trip, but later, when I came back into town Tuxed up, I would meet an Actor, a Producer, and a Director.  With me riding shotgun, we had a whole film crew!

My goal today is to make contact with people I had met last year and had connected with via FB prior to Cannes.  I go to the American Pavilion (AmPav) and start making Skype calls.  I realize Skype sucks in the American Pavilion.  There are so many people on the internet that it clogs the bandwidth.  I try to call the buyer I’m supposed to meet and the phone keeps cutting out.  I finally give up and walk down to the German Pavilion.  All the Pavilions have Wifi access, but you need the code to get online.  I got the German code from a girl the night before, so I sit outside in a shaded corner and am finally able to connect with nearly everyone on my list.  I set up a meeting for 530p (1730) outside the UK Pavilion.  I also run into the Palais and check to see if any tickets are available for tonight’s screenings.  One of my connections has a ticket for Wu Xia, playing at 12:45 am.  I really want to see it, based on its poster alone:

“Wu Xia” is Chinese martial arts and I like the look of this Le Samourai-esque character on the right.  But 12:45 am is too late for me.  I plan to see a day-after screening at 21:45 on Saturday instead.

As it nears 15:00, I head for the shuttle bus back to La Bocca so that I can change into my tuxedo and be back down for tonight’s meetings/screenings by 17:00.  The shuttles pick you up where they drop you off, in front of the Palais Casino.  I wait for about 15 minutes and up pulls the Pierre Vacances shuttle.  When I reach La Bocca, I have just enough time to pick up a Baguette, change, and head back.  I guzzle down a Red Bull and take along a mini bottle of Red Wine for the road.  The wine comes in a 4-pack, J.P. Chenet Cabernet/Syrah.  I have no way of knowing if this is a decent wine or the French social equivalent of Thunderbird.  Tastes okay though.  One thing I like about being here is you can walk down the street with a drink.  I can even finish my wine in the shuttle.  Just like in Las Vegas.

I meet with two of my friends who are developing a very interesting script called Hades Bridge.  We have a very nice chat at a cafe a few streets back from the hustle and bustle of the Croisette.  I go back to the Pavilions, check my emails and I see on Twitter there is a yacht party for Foreign Investors.  I find the Yacht and walk right up in my tux.  The door girl blocks my path, holding a clipboard.

HER: “What’s your name, Sir?”

ME: “Grayson Wolfe”

HER: “Hm. That name sounds familiar… Sorry I don’t see you on here.  Who are you with?”

ME: “What company am I with?”

HER: “Yeah. You have a contact here?”

ME: “Oh. Yeah.”

HER: “What’s his name?”

ME: “John… Barnes.”

HER: “There is not even anyone on the list with that name, Sir.”

ME: “You know what?  I wonder if I have the wrong yacht…”

GUARD: “What party are you looking for Sir?”

ME: “It was an investment party, but the info they gave me was pretty vague.  You know, I’m sure that’s what it is. Wrong yacht. I’m sorry.  Lemme go see if I can find the right one…”

I walk off, pulling out my cel phone (no service) and “reading” my texts.  I hold the phone up as I compare my “text” to the names of the yachts, until I am out of their sight.  Oh well, at least I tried.

Afterwards I head to Last Minute Access to try a repeat of last night, seeing if I can get a ticket for Polisse.  I run into a Brazilian guy I met a few days earlier on the bus and I join him and his two friends in line.  As we wait, I pull out my manual bowtie and attempt to tie it.  I had planned to hit a Hotel bathroom or something, but I forgot.  So I struggle to tie it with no mirror.  The girl in the group holds up her compact, but I still can’t get it so I walk over to one of the lovely Cannes girls working the Red Carpet.  She is sweet enough to help me:

Despite my now-tied bowtie and an hour waiting, all of us waiting for Last Minute tickets are dismissed.  There are no available seats.  Apparently, Polisse is rather a big French movie starring a French rapper.  My three new friends and I mill around the kiosk right by the entrance to the Pavilions, a big hangout at night.  We drink some Kronenbourgs, I have a “hotdog” – a wiener wrapped in French bread with spicy mustard – and we head over to the American Pavilion to see what’s up.

Earlier, the Brazilian guy misheard my English as I was talking about my “Day Job”.  He thought I said “Gay Job”.  We were shouting at each other above the din of American hip-hop songs at the Red Carpet, so it took about 10 minutes to explain the difference between Gay Job and  Day Job.  Now, as I lead them to the AmPav, there is a “Queer Party” in full swing, evidenced by the Rainbow Flag out front.  He glances over at me. This isn’t making me look any straighter. We make our way in, where the Americans are gouging people for drink tickets:  5 Euros for a Coke.  That’s like 7.50!  And they don’t take U.S. dollars in the American Pavilion.  If this was a fundraiser or something that might make sense, but as far as I know, the only people benefiting from the $ is the AmPav itself.  As I try to explain this system to my foreign friends, I feel ashamed.  At least the entrance was free.  As I am buying a drink ticket, a Cougar in front of me asks me if I’m gay.  I say no.  “I’m not either!”, she says.  I can tell she’s been drinking.  She tells me I am the first man in a tuxedo she’s seen.  Then she clarifies.  “I’ve seen other tuxedos but you… you have a nice face.”  Then she tells me she is a Lesbian.

The party itself is pretty cool.  Good music, people dancing.  Lots of heterosexuals.  I run into Chantal, a French girl I tried to meet up with earlier.  We shout at each other over the music, catching up, and I am introduced to some more people, Directors, Producers.  I bump into my friends from earlier and we all head out in search of a Bathroom aka Washroom aka WC aka Toilette.  Afterwards we hit the kiosk again for another round of Kronenbourgs.  They are going to stay out partying, but I have to be up early tomorrow so I bid them all Bonne Nuit.

Bus to La Bocca, blog before bed, skype to Will, and I’m off to Never-Never Land.  Until “Dimanche”.

-Grayson Wolfe

DAY 2 – Sleeping Beauty and Busta Rhymes

I was blogging until 1 am last night. I set my alarm for 8:00 and woke up today at 13:00.  (I will be using European AKA Military time.  It really is more efficient)  Whether it didn’t go off or I didn’t hear it, I needed those 12 hours of sleep.  Jet lag is a deep pit that follows you around, beckoning you to fall into it, and last night I gratefully did.  Maybe it’s out of my system now and I can break out of the 3:00AM – 12:00p sleeping rut I fell into last year.  This morning I woke up feeling very chipper.  I donned my tux, and hit the streets at 15:00.  The South of France is truly beautiful this time of year and La Bocca has the vibe of a small town.  I passed my favorite landmark, and then stopped in at my favorite breakfast place that I found last year: Urban Snack. Their Cafe Viennois is superb.

Alain Delon

Cafe Viennois: coffee and whip cream

I think that’s what’s in it.  The coffee is mild and smooth and even the sugar tastes better.  I’m not sure if there’s milk in the coffee or not, but I have tried to approximate this at home in the intervening year with no success.  Starbucks’ bitter Espresso Con Panna is simply no match for this French née Viennese delicacy.

For breakfast/lunch, I select a panini: poulet, mozzarella and tomato.  Poulet is chicken.  That’s the only meat word I know.  Jabon is ham I think, but you will be hard pressed to find bacon over here.  Nowhere does bacon like the U.S. I see no Americans, so I take that as a good sign of authenticity.  I enter and recognize the proprietor from last year, a gentleman in his 40s. I say “Bon Jour” and “Bon Annee” (Good Year). I am seated outside next to his mother, who he assures me I can feel secure beside.  Last year I had an Inspector Clouseau moment as his mother was making sandwiches inside. I bumped into the table and sent the fold-up lid of the meat tray crashing down on her hands.  Fortunately she was not hurt, and she does not seem to remember me.  I tell her the Cafe Viennois is ‘Magnifique’ and that “Mon Favorite” is “Le Cine” and “Le Mange”  – The Cinema and The Eating.  I take a sip of my Cafe Viennois and come up with whip cream on my nose. She laughs.  1/2 way through my generous portion of panini I’m full, but I soldier on.  This will be a long day and maybe I can get away with just one meal.  I have a night of adventuring ahead of me.  “Mon Carte Sil Vous Plait”. Check please. The Prices are great.  Unless my math is wrong my meal was only 6 Euros.  I tip 2 Euros. I try to tip 20% even though it is not the norm in Europe.  If you keep your meal under 10 Euros, a 2 Euro coin works perfectly.  (Maybe 1 Euro as I draw closer to the end of my stay…)

If you are staying in La Bocca, like a lot of people, you want either bus 1, 2, or N20 going and coming to Cannes.  They do special midnight buses for the festival and they run until 2 am.  It will cost you 1 Euro each way.  As I walk the streets, two things are omnipresent: dogs and cigarettes. There seems to be no “No Pets” policy.  It feels more homey.  Maybe it’s more dirty.  Maybe that’s why the coffee tastes so good over here.  One thing seems to be universal: Black Guys walking Pit Bulls.  Being inundated with cigarette smoke just seems to be part of the experience.  The Cannes Invitations to screenings even specify “smoking”: French for tuxedo.  Another translation I love is for bowtie. They say “papillon”: butterfly.

I reach the International Pavilion, a line of conical white tents on the beach beside the Palais.  Most countries are represented here and all are free to enter except of course: The American Pavilion.  I don’t know why, since they don’t pay their volunteers.  The volunteers actually pay to come over here!  It’s around $100 to join, or you can pay by the day.  I joined online beforehand for $50.  It’s worth it in the end because it is a good place to make home base.  You can use wifi (Skype Calls) and they have a bank of computers you can use as well.  Grab a beer or a sandwich and you can meet people and network at the tables inside.  I browse the other Pavilions first, scouting out the events and beer selection.  I see a lot of Heineken, one of my least favorites.  The AmPav has Sierra Nevada this year.  I sit down beside a producer and we chat it up.  People play musical chairs as they walk by. A fellow screenwriter sits down and I ask him for some advice on setting up meetings.  He says since I’ll be here for the duration of the fest, I should be able to procure 150 invites to read my work, easy.  15 people a day.  We’ll see about that.  Next, some Distributors take a seat and I learn they are looking for finished films.  I ask if I can follow up with them once our film is finished.  They like the premise of our film, The Perfect Breed: Vampires in the Civil War.  We exchange cards and I promise to put them in touch with our Producer, the estimable Ethan Marten.  I also mention the VA tax incentives: a base of 15%, which expands to 20% or 30% when you use VA cast and crew.  Lincoln will be shot in VA. If Spielberg shoots here, so should you.

My next plan of action is to get tickets to Sleeping Beauty, a film with a beautifully shot yet creepy-looking trailer.  At 17:30 I join the queue for Last Minute Access, a line just outside the Red Carpet.  It is a tricky entrance to find, but just ask the khaki-suited Cannes staff. The film screens at 19:30 (730 pm), so I am two hours early.  This seems to be the magic number as myself and three American girls are first in line, a white gate the only thing separating us from the more fortunate and the impossibly beautiful.

As we draw closer to showtime, they start playing techno music and Mercedes start pulling up.  I see Joshua Jackson, Diane Kruger, Djimon Honsou, and Aishwarya Rai (Indian actress known as the most Beautiful woman in the world).  Inviation-equipped people are passing by to our right.  One Frenchman is denied entrance due to his pants: black jeans.  Denim is a no-no.  As he walks past me, he asks if I can switch pants with him.  “You have an extra ticket?”, I ask.  “I’ll give you my ticket after”, he says.  This sounds like a bad deal.  “Sorry, I’m trying to get in as well”, I say.  He comes back 30 minutes later and taps me on the shoulder as he walks by, now sporting some black tux pants.  “I’m sorry”, he says.  The way Last Minute Access works is if they have extra tickets they give them to you 15 minutes prior to showtime.  As we reach the 15 minute mark a woman walks by with an extra invitation and asks us if we want it.  The four of us look at each other, doing the math.  I want to take it, but one of the girls with me has been bubbling with excitement over her virgin chance to walk the Red Carpet.  I agree with her friends that she should have it.  She nervously takes the ticket and off she goes, disappearing inside.  As I am wondering if my chivalry will pay off, one of the security guys brings over another ticket.  I ask the other two girls if they don’t mind, I will take this one.  I waltz up the red carpet with no one else in sight, making sure I wave and blow a kiss to the photographers on both sides.  Out of a sea of cameras, only one flashbulb pops.  I reach the top and turn around to snap a picture.

You must be quick with the pictures as they have beautiful girls in black and gold dresses ready to usher you inside to keep the flow moving.

I take my seat on the balcony of the HUGE Lumiere Theater.  The magical Cannes logo pops up on the screen and the movie begins.  I enjoy the movie, but it is nothing spectacular.  It is very much a “Cannes” movie.  Long shots, no exposition whatsoever, and an ambiguous ending.  I like all these things but it does seem a bit like the indie formula.  Emily Browning is fantastic in the film and the cinematography is beautiful.  I recognize her but I don’t know from where until afterwards Will (co-King back home) tells me: Sucker Punch.  I hated that movie but I enjoyed her in it.  Sleeping Beauty deals with similar themes but in a far better way: the arthouse Sucker Punch.

Afterwards, I bump into the same denim-clad Frenchman from earlier.  To me, he resembles Jean Du Jardin, one of my current favorite actors.  I find out he is not in the industry at all, but is on holiday with his girlfriend, and somehow charmed his way into some coveted blue tickets (usable by anyone).  Their names are Sam and Fanny.  He asks about parties and I tell him about the Busta Rhymes party down at Palm Beach Casino, way too far to walk.  We decide to split a cab and check it out.  We get there around 10 pm (2200) and it’s a ghost town.  Turns out Busta Rhymes doesn’t appear until midnight: 0:00.  In the hip-hop world that translates to 2:00 am.  I don’t wanna wait around that long for Bussa-Bus.  He puts on a good show, but I’ve seen him perform before at the Norva.  We wander around the Casino and bluff our way into a benefit for female entrepreneurs.  (No blagging tips here, they just let us in)  It is an entirely French affair, and so I play the role of a deaf-mute.  Apparently there are some French celebrities in attendance, but I don’t recognize anyone.  I have a glass of champagne, we chill a little while, and then we split a cab back to the Hotel Martinez.  I bid Bonne Nuit to Sam and Fanny, exchanging contact info.  I make my way towards the bus station, stopping in at The Grand Hotel.  All the major studios have offices here, closed for the night.  I scout them out and plan to return later.

Behind the Grand is a little bar called the Petit Majestic where people spill out into the streets, drinking and networking.  I didn’t know about it last year, but everyone does.  It’s a good last stop of the night, popping in to see if you know anyone.  Turns out I did.  From across the crowd I spotted Parthi, a screenwriter/director I met via FB last year.   I walk over, and we have our first in-the-flesh meeting.  He is in town promoting his short film, Expressions, playing in the Marche.  I meet some more people, exchange cards and head home for the night.  A French Producer is also staying in La Bocca so I escort her to the bus station and we make one of the last buses home.  We part ways, promising to grab coffee tomorrow, and I call it a night. I quickly speed-type my blog but give up halfway through.  I wake up this morning and finish it off.  Now I must go.  I have friends to meet at the Pavilion and have lined up a possible buyer for our short film: Sea of Trees.  Talk to you later.

-Grayson Wolfe

DAY 1 – Opening Ceremony

My flight from JFK to NCE was somewhat eventful.  I reach my assigned seat to find myself sitting next to the prettiest girl on the plane:  a blond in a hot pink sweatsuit.  This never happens to me.  Never.  Especially on a trans-atlantic big bird, these are incredible odds.  But before I can even relish the moment, she says as soon as I sit down: “Can you switch seats with my friend?”

Ugh.  It takes a moment for me to come to grips that she isn’t awestruck enough by my looks to throw her friend under the bus. This hurts. “Does your friend have an aisle seat?”, I ask.  I picked my aisle seat for a good reason.  I’m not gonna trade down.  Also, I think: is this middle school?  You really all have to sit together?  She has two other friends sitting behind her.  They are as pretty as she is. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to”, they say.  I can tell I’ve been seated next to the alpha female of the group.  She points out her friend in the back of the plane, sitting on the aisle side.  The ugly duckling of the brood.  “Ok.” I say, trying to be a sport.  I’m not gonna say no and then sit beside pink sweatsuit for the next 8 hours, looking like the bad guy.  However, if her friend hadn’t had an aisle seat, that’s exactly what I would have said.  I un-jam my bag out of the overhead compartment and walk off toward the back of the plane. “Thank You!” they say in chorus. Whatever.

In the end,  I traded up.  I ended up having a great conversation with my new neighbor, a very entertaining gentleman whom I promised not to blog about. I don’t think playing 4th hand in an all-nighter game of girl talk would have been as enjoyable. (At least that’s what I’m telling myself.)

Unless you have a chauffeur or a taxi, the best way from Nice airport to Cannes is the Express bus for 15.60 Euros.  When you walk out of the Airport it’s on your right, can’t miss it.  It’s a 30-45 minute ride to the main bus depot in Cannes by the Palais.  You can also exchange money at the Amex Exchange inside the airport.  Their 4% cut hurts though.  From what I’ve read, the best thing is to pull out $ with your ATM card and let your Bank negotiate the best exchange rate for you.  Another thing about NCE and Cannes.  Don’t expect everyone to speak English.  Many do along the Croisette, but in the outlying towns like La Bocca, you better have some good miming skills.  I realized that last year when I arrived at NCE airport and couldn’t communicate at all.  Also, say “Bonjour” and “Parlez-vous Anglais” before you start yapping in English.  Manners are big here.  Coming from the South, I like it.  Manners are what separate us from the animals.

I arrived to NCE this morning at 830 am and by 1130 I was taking a nap in the exact same room as last year.  The French have a word for this phenomenon: Deja Vu – one of the 5 French terms I have in my arsenal.   After my nap and a visit to the local supermarket for supplies, I donned the tux and went out to seek one of my favorite French terms: Soiree.  The evening party.  I rode the bus into Cannes and to pick up my accreditation.  On the bus I encountered a lady with a full-on goatee.  Not a few scraggly hairs.  A neatly trimmed beard.

After I got my accreditation badge, I swung by the American Pavilion (more on the Pavilions tomorrow) and checked in there.  My goal tonight was to get into the Opening Ceremony featuring Woody Allen’s film Midnight in Paris.  You can use your accreditation to get tickets (if they’re not sold out), you can wait in a line for last minute empty seats (none tonight), or you can wait at the entrance of the red carpet with a handmade sign asking for tickets.  This actually seems to work for some people, but tonight was locked down tight.  I probed the entire periphery of the Red Carpet.  Throngs of people taking pictures, jockeying for ways inside.  One girl I passed wore the same gold calculator watch as me.  I stopped and held up mine.  Casio twins.  She took a picture.  I didn’t. I am the worst documentarian. I really need to start taking more pictures!

After they closed the entrance to the Red Carpet, I tried the Palais itself.  Inside the Palais, there’s glass doors with guards, not allowing people into that part of the building during a premiere.  As a group stood there gawking at the lucky ones inside, a man in a tux raised his badge and authoritatively pushed his way to the front. He didn’t have a ticket but he somehow talked his way past the guards.  Being the only other guy in a tux I tried the same approach, hot on his heels.   I flashed my badge with utmost confidence and made my way to the threshold, but I had no story planned and they very politely kicked me out.

I hung around a bit longer tonight trying to figure out where Lady Gaga’s “surprise” show was going to be.  Wherever it was, it was far from me.  There was a Stella Artois party at the Grand Hotel, and an afterparty for Midnight in Paris. I had a plan to get in the latter, but fatigue won out.  Convenience is measured in footsteps in Cannes and by the end of the night I’m tired, my feet are killing me, and I just don’t have the stamina to traipse up and down the Croisette any longer.  I’d rather rest up for tomorrow.   Bon Nuit and see you then!

-Grayson Wolfe