Is the 8th time the charm?
Yeah, not really. Don’t get me wrong, it’s the south of France, so complaining isn’t worth it. No one cares if you’re not happy in Cannes. And I am pretty happy. The weather has held up decently, though we’re all praying to hold off the rain. The people actually seem less obnoxious – with a few notable exceptions. And the movies – heck, I have no idea about the movies. One week in and we haven’t seen a movie. We really doubt we will. There are some here that we were interested in seeing, and some that it would just be cool to see. I even have a fancy dress. What I do not have, is the time, the energy to finagle a ticket, and the desire to put on high heels. Cuz, the truth is, Cannes is tiring. We spend every day filling our schedule with the best and the brightest the industry has to offer and we bring them in to do one hour roundtables. They speak to the film students at the American Pavilion Student Program; a great program for those who want to learn what film life could be like once you leave the hallowed halls of film school. If you’re lucky. The lucky ones this year are people who were part of the AmPav program in 2008, and this year, are back with films. I’d say they parlayed pretty well. People like producer, Charlie Birns, who is here this year with a film called THE RETURN. Great work if you can get it.
But enough about other people, what about me? Other than the two (2) hours I sat on a runway, in a plane that “had a small problem”, and the major attack of hay fever, I feel pretty good. It helps that the weather is neither storming nor blazing hot. And the people we meet here in Cannes are really great and generous with their time. And the best aperitif is a Kir Royal. So I hear (ahem). Eliza and I are amazed that it’s already Saturday, which means our first week is about over. It really does fly once you get here. Our days are full of meetings, panels, roundtables, and then dinner. An occasional after-party might be in the cards. Wash, repeat. For 12 straight days.
Eh, I’ll sleep when I’m dead. Or, at least, when I stop sneezing.
