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.
Folks who might not normally give you the time of day will gladly chat with you at Cannes. Maybe it's because it is apparent that you are serious about what you are doing, or maybe it's because they are drunk; either way, it does happen. A lot of Cannes is about putting yourself out there and being ready to go with the flow.
All over the world, we're slipping towards uniformity. A new "perfect" face, born of the research of cosmetic surgeons, will become the absolute ideal of beauty. The human face has become a construction site. We sculpt human flesh like we did the stones for Mount Rushmore. What kind of sense of identity can we have with a body that has no link to the original me?
It was Friday night in Cannes and my friends and I were determined to get into a yacht party. We strolled the pier of millions-of-dollar yachts after millions-of-dollar yachts and found four with exclusive looking parties. The first one, flashing blue and purple lights and blasting club beats, was swarmed with paparazzi taking photos of Amanda Seyfried leaving.
The final crew to walk the carpet was the cast of Moonrise Kingdom. Bill Murray danced and Ed Norton spent a lot of time looking for someone. They seemed to have a lot more fun, and were less concerned with their poses than earlier, relatively unknown, carpet walkers. Oh the freedom of success. My turn to strut my stuff on "le tapis rouge" came sooner than expected. I now know that the first screening of many films at Cannes are for the press, at 8:30 a.m. So, the next morning at 7:30 a.m., I waited my turn to walk the red carpet for the first time, barely awake, in jeans, sandals and a blazer -- and it was totally worth it.
Now, two days into the festival, I notice the rhythm caused by the restless bodies in endless line-ups, the stomach churn of too much wine and not enough food. I open the bay windows, not to sun and sea, but to an empty beach, and the sound of rain. But it doesn't matter, I have a meeting with Coffin Joe, and an interested distributor.
Everyone who walks by my trailer looks calm and friendly and not like trailer park axe murderers. This is reassuring because unlike canoe trips, I cannot sleep with my axe and bear spray. Now it is time to take on the Festival. There is no full-length mirror, so let's just hope I look good and feel confident enough to meet that French producer. A bientôt.
As the economy took another nosedive this week, British Prime Minister David Cameron told the House of Parliament that our own prime minister had gotten "every major [economic] decision right." Stephen Harper returned the favor by lauding Cameron's handling of the British economy. The speech signaled the pair's unity going into the upcoming G20 summit in Cannes in November. It also sparked -- as our own Althia Raj reported -- a scramble by the NDP to make ties with the British Labor Party. In more home news, HuffPost and Indigo -- where our Editor-at-Large, Heather Reisman, is CEO -- have teamed up to observe this week's Banned Books Week. I'll be posting a different book each day that has been banned or challenged somewhere on the planet. Do your bit by choosing your own banned book, and reading it!