I Cannes Cannes Cannes

CannesPoster

DAY ONE – 12 MAI

The Cannes red carpet is quite unlike anything else I’ve seen before; it begins a quarter mile down the enclosed Boulevard de le Croisette and leads right to the doors of the Grand Théâtre Lumière. Countless people, impeccably dressed in their Dior, Prada and Givenchy, march down the middle of the street as the sun begins to set on la plage. Like lions at dusk, the paparazzi commence their stalking along with firing squads of entrepreneurial photographers and crowds of spectators flanking the show as do the people lining the street. A truly amazing sight though was the people, not unlike ticketless burnouts in front of a concert begging for a chance to see the show, also in full regalia of tuxedos and couture with handmade signs that look like “Wil l Work for Food” placards, begging for an invitation to the event. Make no mistake: these tickets are invitations, not purchasable. To get them means you are someone or know someone. I happen to be lucky enough to know someone so I’ll take that in a heartbeat. Approaching the carpet itself is to dive into the deep end of the pool of a very crazy life. As the public screams for its favorites, the paparazzi scream out for the attention and gaze of the lovely ladies and gentlemen that will sell their magazines and boost their website traffic. Opening night it was Eva Longoria, Cate Blanchett and Russell Crowe. Someone mistakenly also let in Jean Claude Van Damme, who whored himself out to the public and photogs in the most dreary attempt at relevance I’ve seen in quite some time.

As I walk along the red carpet, as an actual participant instead of a gooey-eyed onlooker, I immediately flash to all of the awards shows I’ve seen, to the Miss USA pageants I watched with my mother as a kid. I ogle the dresses and celebs like everyone else but I’m also being ogled, or something like it. It was cool. Creepy, but cool. It’s a particularly long red carpet but it feels like it lasts two seconds. I try and imagine it (and myself) in slow motion to absorb as much of the experience as I can. After all, you’re only a virgin once. We enter the Palais (the main theater for gala event screenings, which this is) and find our seats, on the orchestra floor. Nice.

The opening night ceremonies, emceed by Kristin Scott Thomas, are a lovely and respectable presentation (as opposed to the generally gaudy Oscars show); a bit of a difference from the red carpet just moments before. Scott Thomas comes out, looking more stunning than I have ever seen her before, to introduce the festival and the jury. Jury president Tim Burton gets a wonderfully edited career retrospective (again, the Oscars could learn from Cannes) and gets the standing ovation. We are then treated to an onstage band singing a montage of Tim Burton film songs, both literal and paraphrased. It’s cute and thankfully short. Russell Crowe and Cate Blanchett are introduced and brought to the stage. Blanchett (in Alexander McQueen) in French and Crowe in English give the official word that the festival is to begin. All take their seats and the screening of Robin Hood begins. On that, for now I’ll just say that it’s entertaining if you don’t think of it as a Robin Hood film, which it so barely resembles. But it is a better Scott/Crowe collaboration than Gladiator.

After the film is over, we are met by a close Cannes insider who provides us with the invitations to the private Robin Hood after party on the beach. Despite a spectacularly sunny pre-show, the after party is plagued somewhat by intermittent rain. It’s still a fabulous event, with more amuse-bouche and free-flowing cocktails than a Liza Minnelli birthday party. As it’s free, it’s hard not to overindulge, so we do. It certainly made the fact that they’d hired the world’s worst wedding b(l)and to sing the most overplayed disco hits ever much more bearable. Running into a quite pleasant Russell Crowe and Alexandre Desplat didn’t hurt either. Cate Blanchett must’ve not wanted to ruin her McQueen and opted out of the party. Of course, as the night progresses, the private party breaks off into even smaller sections of privateness and that gets real boring, real quick. That’s our cue to pack it in for the night as there are many more parties and late nights to be had in the coming days. Au revoir for now, à bientôt!