A French Lad in Cannes: Days Deux & Trois

Or; how I almost was thrown a rose by Bill Murray at the most prestigious film festival in the world.

After a very short night, I wake up and get ready to head to Cannes. It’s going to be my first full day, and with four screenings planned, I feel like I’m about to run a marathon – although it’ll probably be less sweaty than an actual one.

The first one is Paris, 13th District, directed by French auteur Jacques Audiard, a Cannes regular (1996’s Best Screenplay Award for A Self Made Hero; 2009’s Grand Prix for A Prophet; 2012’s contender Rust and Bone; and 2015’s Palme d’or for Dheepan). The screening is in the Grand Théâtre Lumière, again, but this time, I myself didn’t get the ticket; another cinephile gave it to me because of a time clash they had with another film. So here I am, arriving at the Palais des festivals et des congrès, sporting my tuxedo and my extremely uncomfortable new shoes, ready to face the heat of the day. But as I’m getting closer, I realise that the people walking up the red carpet don’t seem to be wearing anything too fancy. So I grab my phone, open the ticket and check the dress code, only to realise – probably because of a lack of sleep – that I’d forgotten tuxedos weren’t mandatory during the day. At least, if I’d managed to get a night premiere, I would’ve been wearing the right clothes. Sadly, I did not. It wasn’t even 9 AM and it already felt like 30 °C out there.

Anyway, I make my way onto the red carpet. This time, as there is no celebrity, no photographer, everybody is allowed to walk the red carpet properly, and to take a few pictures, which isn’t the case during premieres. I also get to see the inside of the Palais in full daylight. Everything is white and looks pure, immaculate. My seat is in the balcony and the view from up there is quite astounding. I’m still amazed that this can be a film theatre. A bit later, the film starts and I realise Noémie Merlant (perfect in Céline Sciamma’s Portrait of a Lady on Fire, winner of the Best Screenplay Award two years prior) has a part in the film, which makes me very excited. Although not particularly or groundbreaking, I thoroughly enjoy the film, which owes in large part to its stellar cast (Merlant, and newcomers Lucie Zhang, Makita Samba and Jehnny Beth).

Right after Paris, 13th District, I’m headed to my next screening, which is at the Arcades cinema, only five minutes from the Palais. The Arcades is reserved for 3 Days in Cannes folk and screens films that premiered throughout the festival for us to catch them. It is a much smaller venue than the Palais (which, on top of the 2,300-seat Grand Théâtre Lumière, also holds several other cinemas). The Arcades only has three screens and has a 465-seat maximum capacity. Yet it feels cozy and special to discover films in this arthouse cinema.

The Arcades cinema. Yes, that’s Meryl on the poster.

The one I’m about to see is Petrov’s Flu, a Russian film directed by Kirill Serebrennikov, whose previous film Leto (2018) was his first to compete for the Palme d’or. Petrov’s Flu is a wild ride, one I walk out of having understood virtually nothing. Yet, I mostly enjoyed it – save for the final act – and was impressed by its directing, which was deserving of the Best Directing award. But after such a dizzying and numbing spectacle, my brain needs some intellectual rest and my stomach some sort of substantial sustenance.

After an average sandwich and dessert from a local bakery, I’m back at the Arcades for two continuous screenings. The first is The Divide, a French film directed by Catherine Corsini, which aims for a mix of comedy and melodrama while tackling a topical political subject. My final screening of the day is the eventual Best Screenplay winner Drive My Car, directed by the Japanese Ryusuke Hamaguchi. At this point, it seems to be the best-reviewed film of the Official Selection, which heightens my expectations. Within the first ten minutes, I feel it, I know the screening is going to be a struggle, even if I’m enjoying the film. Film fatigue has taken control of my body, and keeping my eyes open now feels like an Olympic discipline. I already knew the film was two hours and fifty-nine minutes long, but I wasn’t prepared for its slow pace. Drive My Car was released in France on 18 August so I’ll definitely go and see it again to fully enjoy the experience.

Day Deux was my first full day at the festival and if there is one lesson I’ve learned is that I need more sleep because I still have two days of binge-watching ahead of me. And after a six-hour night, I feel readier for Day Trois.

This time, though, I use my brain a bit and take a spare bag in which I put my tuxedo in case I get a premiere ticket. The organisation of the festival is well-rounded and there is a left-luggage office open for a good part of the day. So, before my first screening, I go and leave the tuxedo there. That way, if I need to get into formal wear, I’ll be able to, but won’t have to spend all day sweating.

Once again, I was lucky to have a Grand Théâtre Lumière screening request accepted, which is my first of the day. Morocco’s Casablanca Beats (directed by Nabil Ayouch) is the country’s first film to vie for the Palme d’or since 1962 and follows young people trying their hand at hip hop while tackling issues such as feminism and religion. The film’s non-professional cast is excellent and carries the film from beginning to end, even it its less subtle preachy moments. No matter its flaws, it exudes joy, a sentiment far too rare at Cannes.

Now is the time for a film that was quite anticipated, Paul Verhoeven’s Benedetta. A mix of period drama film, religion film, which often more than not feels and looks ridiculous (the visual effects for the visions of Jesus that the titular character has are worse than those of a bad music video). The male gaze is strong with this one, and at various moments, I wonder if all this is deliberate, because it kind of does and at the same, Verhoeven seems to address its topic very seriously. Something that I extremely rarely do crossed my mind towards the end of the film, when I started getting hangry (not a typo) – walking out. But I couldn’t help but think to myself: ‘Maybe I’ll get it all in the end. Maybe I too will have an epiphany.’ The result? I didn’t and as soon as the credits started rolling, I rushed my way out of the cinema and returned to the previous day’s bakery. By far the worst film I’d seen so far.

As I check my phone while eating, I realise that my application for the Nitram premiere the very afternoon has been accepted. Fortunately, I have enough time to finish eating, get my tuxedo, change, return to the left-luggage office, and go to the premiere.

A blurry view of my seating at the Nitram premiere.

As always, I don’t wait until the last moment to go to the screening, and this time was the time not to arrive at the last minute. Here I am, seating at the front of the cinema, taking blurry pictures, and checking out the attendees’ outfits as they walk the red carpet. A moment later, I look at the screen again and see that people are soaking wet, as it has started raining outside. Yes, I’ve been waiting for a while inside but at least I’m dry. Then, the film’s cast and crew enters, greeted by a usual standing ovation. Australian Justin Kurzel directed the film, which stars Caleb Landry Jones as the titular character. I’ve only seen his supporting turn in 3 Billboards outside Ebbing, Missouri but am eager to see what the film has in store.

Nitram is a drama film about a young man who lives a lonely life, an outcast because of his condition. Caleb Landry Jones is spectacular and infuses the character with tons of empathy and honesty. The film hits hard and it’s not until the very end that you grasp its full intention and importance. After the room is lit up again, the response is quite cheerful and, as the camera shows Jones’s close-up on the screen, it gets even more thunderous, and rightfully so. At that moment, I think to myself: ‘A very strong contender for the Best Actor prize.’ (And I was delighted I was right on this one as he accepted it, with a clear overwhelmed expression on his face.)

No longer hit by film fatigue, I now long for some social exchanges. It’s thrilling to watch film after film, but not talking about them is a bit like eating a divine chocolate cake without sharing it. Thanks to the WhatsApp conversation that 3 Days in Cannes people started, we all were in touch all the time, swapping tickets and letting people know of any last-minute news. So I meet up with Andrea, a young man from Italy. We’re both in full tuxedo, sitting at a terrace trying to cool down from the heat. And just like me, he’s then headed to the Un certain regard closing ceremony, that is happening at the Salle Debussy, a cinema inside the Palais.

The Un certain regard closing ceremony.

Thierry Frémaux, the festival’s general delegate, is hosting the low-key ceremony. He starts off by thanking all of us, the festival-goers, for being here and compares the end of the festival (which at this point has about twenty-four hours left before the awards ceremony) to the end of summer camp, and I can’t say he’s wrong. He then goes on to say that only a handful of COVID tests turned out positive, from thousands of daily nose jabs, before having a go at the French government as he declares that cinemas have never been COVID clusters and that they should remain open. This, of course, is welcomed by strong applause. And before calling the Un certain regard jury to the stage, he asks the personnel to join him onstage to recognise that without their work, the festival would not be possible to happen smoothly. And he is absolutely right – so far, the few times I needed something, the staff was there, never complaining, always smiling. Kudos to them.

He also takes the time to give some details about the next screening. After the ceremony, in the same room, the online planning said there would be a ‘special documentary’. I haven’t really been checking every news regarding the festival since I got there and it had seemingly been confirmed the day before, but Frémaux says it will be New Worlds: The Cradle of Civilization, a Bill Murray-co-produced documentary after which he and his band would play some tunes especially for us. You can imagine everyone in the room was thrilled by the news. After the awards ceremony (which awarded four of its prizes, including the top prize, to women!), Andrea has to leave me, leaving me to what should have been a no-brainer: should or should I not attend the New Worlds screening? In the end, I tell myself what anybody would’ve realised from the beginning: a Bill Murray concert? Heck, yes, I’m going!

Bill Murray walking right past me as he enters the Salle Debussy.

The room is, obviously packed. An older American woman from Florida seating to my left asks me if it’s true Bill Murray will be here. As I confirm his presence and tell her about the mini-concert, her eyes open like a kid opening his presents on Christmas Day. Her excitement barometer has gone through the roof and she cannot wait to see him with her own eyes. Thierry Frémaux takes to the stage once again, and introduces Steve McQueen, Academy Award-winning director of 12 Years a Slave, Shame and, more recently, Small Axe. So, yep, I look to my right and there he is, Steven effing McQueen. What the hell?! And then, the moment we’ve all been waiting for Bill Murray and his accompanying musicians enter the room, to a rapturous standing ovation. The man is relaxed, humble, donning a black outfit complete with a fedora. A fedora? At the Cannes Film Festival? Only he could pull it off.

New Worlds isn’t really a documentary, but a recording of Bill Murray, pianist Vanessa Perez, cellist Jan Vogler and violinist Mira Wang’s final performance of their New Worlds tour, at the Acropolis in Athens, Greece. The setlist is as eclectic as it could be, notably featuring classical pieces by Bach, poems by Walt Whitman, songs from West Side Story and shows Murray reflecting on love and heartbreak. It is purely magical and Murray is hypnotic and yet sounds like your favourite uncle (not the racist one you see once a year at Christmas). After the film ends – to a standing ovation, naturally –, a piano is set on the stage and the quartet gets up for the mini-concert that they, not the festival, decided to give us. So, yeah, Bill Murray is singing at us, serenading us. They end with a powerful rendition of ‘Aline’ by French singer Christophe (which is featured in Wes Anderson’s The French Dispatch, in which Murray stars). But it’s not exactly the end – Murray is given a huge bouquet of red roses and starts throwing them all across the room (I miss one by nothing, dang it!). And when he’s out of roses, he starts ripping the wrapping paper and throwing the small pieces into the crowd. Mental.

https://video.wixstatic.com/video/3b1fe8_4b5ca5726c84414cb8d41eb27f65aa5e/480p/mp4/file.mp4

Video courtesy of Mark from Glasgow, Scotland.

After leaving, I meet up with Mark, from Glasgow, Scotland. One of the first things we tell each other is: ‘What the hell just happened?’ Since I don’t have any other screenings left and still have some time before the last train to Nice, we head to a bar. The waiter is everything one could hope for in a French waiter: rude, not really thrilled to be here, and not really interested in taking your order. It feels really good to share my thoughts on the films I’ve seen and to take the time to have a basic human interaction. Unfortunately, I have to keep track of the time and then comes the moment for me to leave. The tragedy of it all being to hand the remaining half of my second pint to Mark, who I’m sure was secretly thrilled about it, although his face was very polite about the whole situation.

And thus ends my third day in Cannes, before heading to the final stretch, which ends in a highly unexpected climax. Stay tuned for the grand finale.