A French Lad in Cannes: Day Un

Or; how I almost never made it to the most prestigious film festival in the world.

The train riding along the Mediterranean Sea.

My train from Paris to Nice was leaving at 7:18 AM sharp, and I was required to be at the station half an hour beforehand. According to my thorough planning – see previous post – I had to wake up at 5:50. I was then quite taken aback when, as I woke up, I could hear some birds chirping and see the daylight through the shutters. I glanced at my phone and never in my life had I felt more like in a dream – it said: ‘7:10 AM.’

Seven in the morning!

After a non-stress-free thirty minutes I bought one of the remaining tickets headed for Nice. It was leaving and arriving two hours later than my original ticket so I wouldn’t be missing a lot.

Here I am. In the train from Nice to Cannes and fully dressed in a tuxedo and bow tie to attend the premiere of The Story of My Wife. The mid-July sun is scorching, but at this point, I’m too excited to mind. I make my way to the Grand Théâtre Lumière and am quite amazed at how huge the building is and how many people there are, although the atmosphere feels joyous and surprisingly relaxed. As I walk to the first checkpoint on the red carpet, I am denied to go any further because trainers are not allowed. Yes, I was stupid enough to think that plain, black trainers would count as formal wear. I swiftly go to the nearby Zara store, buy a pair of formal shoes, put them on and head back to the red carpet entrance. This time, my latest purchase hasn’t been vetoed by the staff. At long last, I am officially in the queue for the screening.

It feels quite surreal to walk the famous red carpet you usually see on TV. There are people here only to get a look of the stars attending the screening or simply there to represent a designer or jewellery brand. There is music, there are hordes of photographers; the agitation is palpable.

After I am walked to my seat – an orchestra seat instead of a balcony one – I turn around , look up and realise the size of the theatre. It definitely is the biggest room I’ve ever been to watch a film. It’s packed and very busy. Meanwhile on the gigantic screen we are shown the red carpet. Sharon Stone is gracing it with her presence wearing a dazzling Dolce & Gabanna tulle gown with flowers stitched on it. It’s absolutely marvellous. On the screen we see her walk into the Palais des festivals et des congrès (Palace of Festivals and Conferences; it’s the huge building in which the Grand Théâtre Lumière is) and many like me start turning around, waiting for her to come in. Unfortunately she’s not attending the screening, which, from the size of her dress, is totally understandable.

The view from my seat.

A bit later the film’s cast and crew is greeting into the theatre with a standing ovation. Hi, Louis Garrel. He doesn’t see me. Never mind, I got better at home.

The lights fade and we are plunged into the dark. No more stars, no more tux, no more glam. Right now, it’s just going to be cinema. And this is part of the magic of attending the Cannes Film Festival – discovering films no one else has ever seen. Every screening starts with a short clip played to the melody of Aquarium, the seventh movement from Camille Saint-Saëns’s Carnival of the Animals. It shows red stairs going from under the sea up to the stars, where the festival’s logo and name appear on the last step. Mandatory applause; the film officially starts.

Almost three hours later, at the end of the closing credits, the lights come up and most people welcome the film fondly, although there doesn’t seem to be a particularly rapturous response to the film, and more an obligatory one. The standing ovation rather feels forced. Once Ildikó Enyedi, the film’s director, has ended her thank-you speech, I start walking out because a. I want to avoid the whole crowd leaving at the same time, and b. the film bore me to death.

I am delighted to meet my host of a few days, Maryne, near the Palais. We join a huge crowd waiting on the harbour’s edge to witness the Bastille Day fireworks. And they don’t disappoint: a near-twenty-minute visual treat accompanied by music pieces including part of the track ‘The Belt of Faith’ from 2019’s Palme d’or winner, Parasite.

After the impressive big finish, Maryne and I, both famished, decide to find something to eat and resort to a very unhealthy but deeply satisfying McDonald’s meal before we take the last train to Nice.

After a long chat, I go to sleep, realising I’m going to have four hours’ sleep only. The day finally ends; from almost not going to the Cannes Film Festival at all to eating McDonald’s in a tuxedo. The following day is going to get very busy: I’m going to visit black-and-white Paris, follow a Russian man’s bad trip through his memories, stay for a little while in an A&E department, and finally drive a bit around Japan.