Perhaps the problem is Canadian film, with its limited commercial hits, is quick to turn toward idolatry. If we can't have a Steven Spielberg we at least want our Ingmar Bergman, our Akira Kurosawa. And we're quick to hoist onto our shoulders anyone who even remotely seems like a possible candidate.
I'm caught up in the whirlwind of the world's biggest film festival, Cannes. Here, young filmmakers are realizing their dreams. My turn will come on Thursday afternoon when I present Jutra on the Croisette at Cannes. My stomach is doing flips at the thought of going onstage to introduce my film. But I'm also deeply proud.
This was an experience not to be forgotten. Hearing "you look tired" often, and forcing an "I feel great" before you've had your complimentary café au lait. Abandoning the hopes for any kind of balance, exercise, sleep or even one piece of fruit or vegetable. The countless 5 à 7's and glasses of rosé.
Cannes is a mega-soup of getting physically, and at times emotionally, lost. Sitting areas exist, but you cannot sit in them unless you are having a meeting, which leads to folks perching on stairs to dig through the program to find another movie to see since the one they just stood in line for for an hour for ended up being full.