Cannes: Preview

How the fuck did I end up at the Cannes Film Festival?

In February of this year, I decided to buy a virtual ticket to stream five random films from the programme of the 2021 edition of the Glasgow Film Festival. Having been firmly struck down by Lockdown 2.0 fatigue, I set myself a challenge to write a review of each of the films – something to get the creative juices flowing; a test of whether I could translate my armchair film fan opinions and IMDb rating enthusiasm into something tangible. Over the course of a few weeks in February and March, I completed my personal challenge almost on schedule, publishing reviews of Creation Stories, Castro’s Spies, Limbo, A Brixton Tale, and The Man Standing Next. Who would have thought that this would take me to the French Riviera for the 74th edition of the Festival de Cannes less than six months later?

The Festival de Cannes is the most glamorous film festival in the world; the pinnacle of the yearly festival circuit that also includes Berlin, Venice, and Toronto. Each May (or July in the case of this year, due to COVID-19), swathes of actors, directors, industry professionals, celebrities, and Russian oligarchy flock to the South of France to walk the red carpet, attend world premieres of some of the most hotly anticipated films set to be released in the coming year, or just use the festival as an excuse to flaunt their massive yachts. Cannes is famous for being the place where some of cinema’s most iconic films were first screened to audiences, having hosted the premieres of Taxi Driver and Pulp Fiction. Every year, the entire film industry descends on the affluent coastal town of Cannes to catch the first glimpse of releases that might push for award season glory in the next 12 months.

Having enjoyed the challenge of watching and reviewing a selection of the films that the Glasgow Film Festival had curated for their programme this year – being in the dark, with little or no prior knowledge of each film – I started to look further afield, wondering if any festivals allowed access to non-industry people. Having spent a cool £50 on renting the five titles from the Glasgow Film Festival, I was ready to take the step up, to branch out. The idea of travelling abroad to do something similar in the flesh felt nigh-on impossible. You need to possess some sort of pedigree to attend these festivals; you need something under your belt. You need to have actually done something related to film to have a chance. 

Or so I thought. 

I checked Toronto International Film Festival first and didn’t have any luck. Aside from access to a streaming platform to view films from the festival’s programme, there was nothing to suggest a prole like me could ever get a look in. I genuinely thought visiting the Cannes website was a waste of time. In what world would the industry’s most exclusive and alluring film festival offer access to members of the public?

This one, apparently.

In 2018, the Festival de Cannes introduced a new accreditation: 3 jours à Cannes (3 days in Cannes), which offered young film enthusiasts aged 18-28 the opportunity to attend either the first or last three days of the festival. Accreditations are awarded to applicants who can describe their passion for cinema in writing. It sounds dramatic, but it honestly felt like fate. That feeling of fate and destiny was quickly diminished though; replaced by the feeling that I would have absolutely no chance. 

Did I tick the boxes for the accreditation? Maybe. Age 18-28? Just – this would be the last year I could apply. A passion for cinema? Definitely, though whether that actually comes across to anyone who has read any of the articles on this site is questionable; maybe I’ve tricked myself into thinking that my opinions and assessment on personal favourites and new releases are actually worth reading. And could I actually articulate why I’m passionate about cinema? 

I gave it my best shot. Somehow, I received confirmation that my request for accreditation had been accepted about a month after applying. Whilst completely surreal, it appeared as though I would actually be attending the Cannes Film Festival. 

The major elephant in the room is our good friend COVID. Like the fatigue from the all-too-familiar COVID-induced lockdowns, I’m absolutely sick of talking about the virus in general. So I’ll spare myself the task of outlining the various hoops that I had to jump through to successfully travel while the prospect of a Delta-flavoured third wave is on the horizon, and I’ll spare you the chore of reading it. In short; I managed to get double-Pfizered ahead of schedule, I had to get a PCR test before flying, and I spoke to a lot of people from the Scottish, French, and Dutch (due to a connecting flight in Amsterdam) governments and consulate offices. I need to keep it short because I’m typing this at 22:58, as the Bastille Day fireworks explode outside my apartment and I’m rushing to get out and enjoy the night.

So here we are.

Arriving in Cannes at about 18:30 on Tuesday, the first thing on the agenda was the customary COVID test, which are on-site and free. Unlike the intrusive swab-fest that we’re used to in the UK, the test consists of spitting into a valve until you have produced about 15 millilitres of liquid, and it’s definitely better than having someone swab the back of your throat. The convenient, gag-less aspect of the test was good, but the main benefit was the comedy as I heard someone in another testing booth produce a sickening mucus-filled grogger. I’m not sure they understood what was meant by spitting saliva into a valve, but our thoughts and prayers go out to the lab technician who had to deal with that person’s sticky, yellow gift. 

Having stocked the fridge with… 6 beers and two 1.5 litre bottles of water, there was only one thing for it; christen my first night in Cannes with dinner for one. Nothing hurts our awkward Scottish pride like sitting eating dinner yourself, and things instantly got off to a terrible start when the waitress looked for clarification: ‘you are… yourself?’. Yes. Yes, I am.

I’m absolutely Steven fucking Glansberged beyond belief at this point, and the truffle gnocchi is the only saving grace. The couple next to me leave and I notice that another solo diner is seated next to me. What a result. Two Glansbergs eating in perfect harmony. Do two Glansbergs make one whole normal functioning member of the human race? Maybe. 

I’m quickly brought back down to earth as this guy instantly overtakes me in the restaurant’s reputation standings as he speaks fluent French to the same waiter who could barely look me in the eye as he realised that he was required to resort to English, the only mode of communication that I was able to offer. I’m not sure if it’s the art of getting older, but I now feel a significant level of ignorance when I go abroad and struggle to speak the language. The first thing I’m going to do when I get back from Cannes is learn French; mark my words.

Then something beautiful happens. Something that a self-conscious Scot could never do. Our friend, the French-speaking Glansberg 2.0, decides to start a conversation with me. In fact, let’s call him Gainsbourg, in honour of legendary French musician Serge Gainsbourg and his surname’s convenient similarity to everybody’s favourite Superbad reference. 

It turns out that Gainsbourg is an American – living in Silicon Valley – who is travelling through France and Italy with his friend, taking in Paris, Cannes, Venice and Rome. He is eating alone because his friend is attending a Cannes screening as the guest of a film student from Yale, who has a documentary short film showing at this year’s festival. I’m instantly out of my depth; well Dorothy, we’re not in Rutherglen anymore. 

The most addressing thing about Gainsbourg is that he can understand virtually everything I say, which is surprising given how much my Scottish accent often perplexes (or downright offends) people when I go to places as far afield as London, yet here I am being able to speak to an American and only say each sentence once. There was one hiccup when we got halfway into my description of Boogie Nights and Gainsbourg realised he had actually seen the film, and thought I had been talking about a non-existent film called Beginnings. Boogie nights/beginnings - I can just about accept that one. We live and we learn. We go again.

Having both finished our dinner, Gainsbourg suggested that we go and meet his friend for a drink, as her screening had now finished and she had ditched the Yale documentarian. For the purposes of this, we’ll call her Brigitte, in honour of Brigitte Bardot, one of Serge Gainsbourg’s close collaborators on some very recognisable 60s pop hits. 

We meet Brigitte and look to find a pub. I’m not happy about what happened next; I’m ashamed. We settled on an Irish pub. I know. The cardinal sin. Brits abroad. It was the American’s idea; you’ve gotta believe me, and I wish you were there. On the plus side, it was Mai Thai night – a drink I’ve heard of but never tasted. After we ordered three, we Googled to find out what was actually in the drink. After first getting results about mixed martial arts and correcting my spelling, we found out, and drank a lot of them.

I woke up this morning (Wednesday) feeling worse for wear and fortunately didn’t have a packed agenda of things to do. I’ll keep this succinct as it’s now 23:36 and I really need to get out before it’s too late; I’m up for my first screening at 09:30 tomorrow. Today I picked up my accreditation pass, went to the beach, drank a bottle of red wine, and ate a pizza. Plus a few other things, but you get the gist. 

An actual, real-life pass to Cannes Film Festival with my name on it.

The Cannes format has changed this year as a result of COVID. Previously, all screenings were unreserved and 3 jours á Cannes attendees were required to queue for long periods to guarantee a seat for whatever films they wanted to see. Since queuing doesn’t comply with social distancing, Cannes has migrated to an online booking system, meaning I was able to confirm my place at the screenings that I wanted to attend in advance. I’m also able to apply for a ticket to a real-life world premiere; the black tie, the tuxedo, the red carpet, the whole nine yards… and more on that later.

Cannes’ main programme is known as In Competition, meaning the 24 films selected in this category compete for the festival’s most coveted prize; the Palme d’Or, awarded to the film selected by the Cannes jury.

The jury is different each year, and features a selection of directors and actors; key members of the industry. Spike Lee is the president of this year’s jury, backed by Maggie Gyllenhaal (The Dark Knight), Melanie Laurent (Inglorious Basterds), Tahar Rahim (The Mauritanian and BBC’s The Serpent), Kang-ho Song (Parasite), and more. They attend the premiere of each film In Competition and preside over the award of the Palme d’Or.

My intention is to sample a variety of films on offer at Cannes; to see the ones that appeal to me but also to branch out and tick some of the other boxes that fit within the various film festival tropes, and I think my selection so far satisfies that. You’ll need to keep reading to find out which ones I have decided to go for.

First up, three screenings tomorrow, so I’ll see you back here; same time. Au revoir, Shosanna.