Thanks to my dear friend Jocelyn, a little over 20 years ago I was treated to an experience that has yet to be surpassed as the groovy party extraordinaire. A group of Joss's friends, which included myself, accompanied her to the Cannes Film Festival for the purpose of publicizing her recent independent film. Cannes (pronounced can-- like a can-of-soup, NEVER "Cahn" or the worst "CANS") which is much more fabulous than our Academy Awards and lasts about 10 days, is without a doubt the most intense schmoozing experience of my life. Although Spring in the South of France would be a fabulous experience even without the festival, Cannes is the grand-daddy of all film fests-- hands down-- and the combination of place & activities is thoroughly intoxicating. A mere 20-something and fresh from the express register at Waldbaum's where I saved the money for airfare, this was more than even I expected. From cocktails on the terrace of the Carlton to parties where I got close enough to jet-set-glitterati like Marissa Berenson just long enough to have a pal snap our picture that looks like we're actually talking, I think I still get a high this time of year whenever I think back to our incredible trip. A friend grabbed Sting's rear-end as I unknowingly stood alongside him in line. He turned to me and gave me the squint thinking it was I who helped myself to a handful of rock star glute-- I wish I had! A perennial starlet-- the gorgeous Eydie Williams, topless and humping a fountain as the European photogs chanted "EEEDEEE! EEEDEEE! OVER HERE! LET ME SEE YOUR GORGEOUS BREASTS! EEEDEEE!
Our most anticipated events of the festival were the evening screenings which are actually like every-night premieres. Entering and exiting via the red carpeted stairs of the Palais du Festival, these events were blinding. The paparazzi snapped pictures of anyone who looked like even the remotest celebrity. The photos sometimes showed up in the daily magazine published by one of the sponsoring film commissions, but all photos were sold along La Croisette by the photographers to tourists seeking shots of their favorite celebs. Of course my favorite past time was scanning every photo for even the slightest glimmer of my image. Any "Sean shot" was snapped up by myself as though it was the most valuable souvenir in the world.
It was the year The Color Purple made its debut and I purposely waited months to see it at Cannes. In my opinion it was one of the best books-adapted-to-film I've ever seen. It was a patriotic thrill to see a film from the US so well received by the European film community-- the standing ovation lasted minutes and brought tears to my eyes.
For anyone who has the opportunity to go to the festival, GO! It's the best people watching you'll ever experience even if you can't get into the screenings as a tourist. We obtained tickets for the screenings we desired because of Jocelyn's affiliation with a production company, which provided the necessary press passes that got us places the general public wasn't permitted to go. If you're not lucky enough to have a groovy friend like Joss & would like to go and see the never-ending show yourself, you can watch from the other side of the red velvet ropes and still have a great time. If you go, imagine how thrilled I was to abandon my cash register at Waldbaum's one day and pretend to be a movie star the next. I still have that photo pass...
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