Kristen Dunst, Elle Fanning, Nicole Kidman and Sophia Coppola at the premiere of Beguiled
Story and Photos By Margaret Gardiner
Cannes is the stuff of red carpet glamor, of premieres and after parties, of films that make you laugh cry, cringe and think. It’s a place of the have-nots and the have-everythings. It’s about access and who you know and the right credentials. It’s little apartments and huge gigantic suites that overlook white sands and an azure Mediterranean. It’s about the absurdity of making women wear heels when there is no access via vehicle and you have to walk long blocks and wait in long lines for sometimes up to an hour. It’s about cocktails on the plage, champagne at midnight and french bread that deserves its own special place in heaven. This is one reporter’s story of Cannes.
This is my second year at Cannes. To cover Cannes as a reporter, I’m based in a studio apartment with a pullout bed. It’s okay. I spend almost zero hours there, but for falling into the shower in the early morning hours before a jet lagged, exhausted sleep.
Day One - an average day in the life of a Cannes Reporter
Having flown in the day before, and missed the opening festivities, I was up at 4am putting together a red carpet gallery for the Hollywood Foreign Press Association of which I’m the Fashion Editor. The ten hour time difference between Los Angeles, where I’m based, and Cannes, paying off in jet lag that allowed longer working hours. 7.10am found me battling imminent rain as I walked the 10 minute traverse along the Croisette to the Palais.
Police on horses and men in camouflage with machine guns moved in groups of four. Barricades block the streets. The sidewalks are ringed with metal fences that force you up the side streets to cross them, away from security, who stay at a distance, herding those who might stray toward them, assessing the crowds for a possible suicide bomber. Once at the Palais credentials are checked then you line up and wait - twenty maybe thirty minutes - before you gain entry to a screening - even with tickets.
People brave the rain in the hopes of getting access to screenings
The rain starts. I’ve brought an umbrella most haven’t. They cringe in the drizzle but no-one leaves. Alongside the crowd waiting to enter, are those who want to be them. People stand alone or in pairs with signs asking for a ticket to get in to see a film. Two more sets of security await before entry. They search your bag, thouroughly. You clear an airport type metal detector and then you are wanded. After mounting the Palais stairs you go through another round of the same intense security, then you are in! The Palais is huge, the balcony stretching up and back into nose bleed seats. The crowd once the lights dim, are vocal, positively and negatively, before and after the film begins.
This screening is for Okja, the wonderful Netflix film that caused controversy for being shown at Cannes - having its home on a streaming channel v. in movie theaters. People hiss when the ‘Netflix” title comes up and boo because the screen is the wrong size, cutting the faces in half. The cacophony rises and endures in a festive manner for about 5 minutes before the lights come up and we start again. In the darkness with the correct size screen, the magic of Cannes unfolds. Its the kind of special film that catches the imagination with wonderful performances by Tilda Swinton, Jake Gyllenhaal, and Awn Seo-hyan. You’ve got to applaude Netflix for making adventurous, arty films that studios tend to shy away from, generally. It has the scope you want to see on the big screen and deserves to be seen that way. Truth be told though, since its Netflix, its gonna be seen on smaller screens at home. Still the story is one that provokes discussion and dissent and unease - no matter the size of the screen, and it also entertains. If studios are going to eschew this kind of product, thank god for the streaming services.
The crowd spills onto the Croisette, now gleaming in sun, the slick Mediterranean to my right, the crowed pavements filled with throngs of long legged, high cheek-boned, platinum blondes from places like Estonia, Slovakia and other former eastern block countries; reporters, producers, studio reps and locals make up the rest of the throng. The Hotel’s have erected a string of huge tents on the beach as extensions - restaurants on white sand with jetties that jut into the sea.
Work is done on the 'plage' - tents and jetties on the Mediterranean Sea
They host lunches, sundowners and after-premier-parties that go long into the night. At Nikki Beach Arnold Schwarzenegger and directors Jean Michel Cousteau and Jean-Jacques Mantello promote the visual delight, Wonders of the Sea 3D. As we chat, Arnold refuses to be drawn on Trump, or The Apprentice, but speaks eloquently about global warming and the effect of pollution on the health of the ocean and its ricochet in rising sea levels, the killing of sea coral reefs and wetlands.
Arnold Schwarzenegger promoting Wonders of the Sea3D at Nikki Beach
Then its onto the next film, back down the Croisette to the Grand Lumeier for Jupiter’s Moon from Hungary, about refugees and the ability to rise above reality. Afterwards, there’s a chat with the producers of Okja and a discussion about the evolving delivery of media and the seamless use of CGI to create one of the most adorable pigs in cinematic history - and that’s including the pig from Babe.
When the producers head to the premiere of Okja, I pop over to Baoli Beach for cocktails hosted by Focus Features to talk to Women in Film about the disparity of power access to women and minorities in Entertainment. For all the glamor of Cannes, the power people at parties are usually white men and people of color are far and few between, a reminder that this microcosm of entertainment reflects the realities of exclusivity and exclusion.
As fascinating as the conversation is, I have to head back to the apartment to review the red carpet fashion for the Golden Globe website. Its a visual feast of feminine gowns sporting trends begun on the Golden Globe red carpet in January - subtle gauzy gowns with beading, appliqué and beauty. I skip the premiere afterparties and head to my third film of the day. It’s approaching midnight and the streets are at their most jam-packed. Men in tuxedoes and evening suits, women in diamonds and couture. I’ve got my heels in a bag as they won’t let you into the evening screenings unless your footwear is deemed ‘appropriate’. A beaded flat sandal is turned down, a plain black heel is not. The air has cooled and I’m wearing a tuxedo jacket, black leggings and pop on the heels as I approach security, nervous that my clothing is too casual to past muster. No need to fret. I clear security and the fashion police, bound up the red stairs where all the famous actors of our time have stood and posed.
We’re told no selfies, but it’s almost midnight, not a star in sight, so security allows a quick snap on the iphone, and then I’m in the nose bleed seats to watch A Prayer Before Dawn. A relentless film of savagery that includes male rape and brutal beatings. Its a true story of a heroine addict who finds redemption as a Thai prisoner. The lead, Joe Cole(Peaky Blinders) gives a dazzling performance, and despite the savagery, the performances and direction by Jean-Stephane Sauvaire elevates this to engrossing viewing.
It’s 3am when I exit. A long hot shower calls. Jet-lagged sleep awaits, and the 6am alarm to shower again, wash the hair, and head out into another day of the glamor and grit of a Cannes Film Festival reporter.
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