May 17th, 2013
This is the famous beach at Cannes where Bardot and other starlets once shed their bikinis for the adoring fans and photographers. Such stunts are passé here. Nothing shocks. The annual film festival gathers thousands of people in the industry who have the jaded look of too many action films that died at the box office. Still, shock-free though it is, Cannes is still a real kick and one would be a fool not to sample the huge menu of offerings. Already I have seen superb film, locked hands with one of my idols, Jane Campion, lined up for eternity and been denied a seat at the last minute, secured a prime seat for another screening, and gawked long and hard at the throngs of humanity who have descended to this fair of vanities.
At the moment I am eavesdropping on a deal going down at the next table. They’re speaking English, but I can’t quite make out what kind of film they’re partnering on. The cliches abound, though: “the structure is solid and the script is very tight,” he says. When has anyone said anything less?
I am planted at the Argentinian booth, waiting my own meeting with a lively distributor of films, eager to hear what she is promoting. This is the nature of the Cannes market, everyone selling or buying something, looking for the best deal or angle. Spanish is rolling off the tongue here, a little microcosm of South America. There are multitudes of microcosms, but we are bound here by the same love or interest in film, to be sure.
Anyhow, I have my own deals to make and hustles to manage and so I’m out of here for this week. A dirty job but…