The Rocchi Report: Cannes-do, Cannes-do

First of all, everything you imagine about a film festival like Cannes is wrong, wrong, wrong. You don't rub elbows with stars; you don't go to fabulous parties. You wake up, you see three or four movies, you write -- a lot -- and try to come to grips with the fact that for every movie you're seeing there are four, five, six more that you're missing. You try to not think about it, because you'd go mad -- but you do think about it, and you do go a little mad.

The thing you also need to know about Cannes is that it's essentially a big, shiny façade -- the reality of it is nothing like you see in the media. Cannes is a festival, but it's also a market -- a place where films are bought, sold and crafted. I remember my first year here, two years ago, seeing posters for 16 Blocks and thinking "Bruce Willis? Mos Def? Why haven't I heard about this film?" Then, sitting down with a coffee and reading the trades, I realized that the reason I hadn't heard of 16 Blocks before that morning was because before that morning it didn't exist -- the deal had been signed that night, foreign financing and markets brought on board and ensuring the film would happen.

When you see Cannes on the news, it's all the red carpet stuff and the films in competition; the reality of Cannes is very different. Underneath the Palais is La Marche -- The Market -- where films are bought and sold worldwide. These are not, by and large, the films in competition. Let's put it this way: If a film stars Penelope Cruz or Brad Pitt, it's in probably in competition. If the film stars Lance Hendriksen or Billy Zane, it's probably screening in the market. So, upstairs at the Palais, the jury is giving serious thought to which films deserve which awards ... and downstairs in the market, someone is giving serious thought as to how best sell the foreign distribution rights to Medea's Family Reunion. Cannes is like a half-inch layer of wedding cake icing layered over a buzzing, humming beehive -- class over commerce, couture garments over the bone-and-sinew reality of money, marketing, business.

One of my fellow Cine editors said via IM ' ... you should write a diary each day: what you did, what you saw, etc.' I'm reluctant to do that, specifically because I can tell you that every day would be the same:
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                          
6:00 am -- 7:30 am

Wake up. Deal with fact rental flat's tub/shower only produces two kinds of water, boiling hot and scalding hot. Remember to pack camera, computer, press pass, notebook, computer charger, plug converter, cellphone, business cards, vitamin c and wallet. Get to The Palais du Cinema.
.
7:30 am -- 5:00 pm

Wait in line for movies. See movies. Talk about movies with fellow film critics. Write sporadically. See more movies. Wonder what movies you're missing by being at the movie you're at. Lather, rinse, repeat.

5:00 pm -- 12:00 pm

Wait, see and discuss one more movie, maybe two. Hear hushed rumors about parties you haven't been invited to. At end of day -- usually after a press screening that began at 10:00 pm -- have a victory-lap adult beverage at Le Petite Majestic, the cool-but-not-cold bar behind The Grand Hotel. Make way back to rental flat. Fall asleep.

I haven't named the day for that diary entry, because they're all the same. I joke about festival coverage that 'It's not just an adventure, it's a job." And for all of the fun and excitement of the movies, a film festival is, at heart, a trade show.  And then you think, with a smile, Yeah, but it's a trade show in the South of France. And then you realize that the only time you get to see things is as you rush by them on the way to a theater, and the only time you get any sunlight is while waiting in the cattle-pen like lines for the press screenings.

This isn't a complaint; its just a series of observations based on three years at Cannes, and after your first year you realize that Cannes, in terms of what you get out of it, could just as easily be held in Akron, Ohio as long as they showed the same films. The paparazzi photos wouldn't quite have the same backdrop, but any sense of excitement you have about the charm and beauty of Cannes has to be weighed against the realities of trying to make it through the crowds that clog the only access road to the Palais during every red-carpet evening premiere.

But then you think about the things you've done at Cannes you wouldn't trade for a million bucks -- like the time you saw a revival screening of  The Battle of Algiers with director Gillo Pontecorvo in attendance. Or that one time that a British news channel was using some props for a TV shoot on the broadcast boat you were about to do some segments from -- and you got to hold the Palme D'or. Or getting to be in the first ever press screening of Fahrenheit 9/11.  I mean, Cannes may be busy and buzzy and crowded; I may miss my home and my cat and my friends, but right now I'm here, and here is a hell of a place to be.