(Disclaimer: Please, just indulge me on this one, I’ll get back to reviewing very soon)

Imagine a world – world in which board members of one of the most prestigious and glitzy film festivals in the world, collectively came to the joint decision that Oscars monologue and the in-between bits of awkward song and dance and even more awkward ‘comedy’ bits should be replicated. This time with added staid French comedy that not even the French get. Horrifying, no? Too horrifying a concept for the ordinary mind to grasp. And yet that was what I witnessed, from the relative comfort of the TV in an apartment off the Croisette and plenty of Rose on hand, was exactly that. The air of the audiences’ terrifying discomfort (and Julianne Moore’s usually game face in a permanent look of aghast at the shit show she had been invited – a perfect gif in the making) seemed to move along the sea breeze, infecting everything it passed including myself. Here was my introduction to the world of Cannes Film Festival.

I’m not even talking about the widely-reported Woody Allen incident (the only part of the show spoken in English so you know they wanted Allen to hear it). This transient moment was one of the most cogent (and actually funny because of the horrified audience reactions)  in this weird fever dream – until you really think about it – why make this guy’s film the Opener to your festival if you think he’s a shifty little pervert? Could Allen have made such a masterpiece that risking the reputation of your Festival’s association became worth it? Early reports suggest the answer is unequivocally no. And yet this shindig had been created in his ‘honour’.

Then again, maybe this was Cannes brand of punishment – for Allen, for the Palais audience, for all of us. It certainly felt like it. There was a mirade of jokes that fell so flat you could hear a pin drop. For our entertainment; an ill-placed song and dance number; a HORRIBLE tribute to Prince with a guest tunelessly singing Purple Rain (another highlight was the Fall Out Boy-looking lead vain attempts to get the audience to join in. The hardest Prince devotee would have been ashamed to have acquiesced); screen goddess Catherine Deneaux  made to appear like some show horse, solely to kiss the (gay) host to prove she’s so hot, she turned a man (respect for her talent? You must be kidding this is Cannes after all!); and finally an inexplicable ‘bit’ with an old woman gate crashing the stage on her Zimaphrame, with two dogs in tow.

Why? Nobody knew? I really bonded in the moment with those in the audience. Yes Kristen Stewart, yes Kirsten Dunst and yes Donald Sutherland, what indeed, is the fuck is happening right? At the same time it was also a gleeful experience because from my apartment, I realised I had the ability to do something the audience couldn’t – actually scream WTF? To top it all off, there’s an additional studio audience and commentators a la Big Brother Little Brother, sincerely evaluating the car crash we all just witnessed.

Despite the horrors seen, I wasn’t perturbed. I was preparing to experience my first Cannes right and I did. I got to experience stunning Cannes view every morning, at 7:45 as I dragged my sleepwalking (and oft-hungover self) to the first screening of the day:

With age and enough red carpet experience to know I can take them or leave them at this point, my colleagues encouraged me to try the  Cannes experience at least once. And I did attending the premiere of Ken Loach’s social activist drama I, DANIEL BLAKE. As mentioned in my rather sheepish Facebook post, I realised I’d bought into Cannes Film Festival brand by joining a the ten minute standing ovation:

I blame it on peer pressure (or though despite seeing some woeful cinema – SLACK BAY, here’s looking at you).  I was, however, never pushed to do that very Cannes thing of booing a film. None of the films I attended were booed. That happened after I’d left, I believe to PERSONAL SHOPPER and NEON DEMON. I will never understand that mentality, especially as the makeup of audience for these festivals are usually within the industry and who should have a passing knowledge of the efforts in getting a film made. It’s everyone’s right to hate a film, but the immediate urge to loudly, proudly vocalise in such a primitive manner (what does boo articulate exactly?). They call it passion for film. I think there’s also a strong influence of ego there too. It does confound me but there’s a perverse appreciation of the anti-sycophantic streak Cannes has and it’s a shame I didn’t get to experience that.  And as they say, Cannes loves to giveth but LOVES to taketh away.

There were also a number of firsts for me in Cannes (despite being there for work, there was a  holiday spirit in the mix too). The first was, I’m ashamed to say, my first time in France, let alone Cannes! The second I got to gatecrash Opening Night party in the most unskilled show of blagging and subterfuge ever pitifully committed . It somehow worked as my thirst for ‘firsts’ grew as I was easily convinced into trying an oyster for the first time in my life (this is what you came hear to read about right?) I had three more – they were not bad at all. I got to wear a proper ballgown with flowing skirt and heels (where I ran down cobbled streets in the rain and didn’t fall once!) I saw Mads Mikkelsen looking TANNED just having lunch. But I think the most significant first I had was the first time I got to experience the Palais – the convention centre and primary venue for Cannes – and in particular the Lumiere auditorium. With its capacity of about 2300, the vastness was undeniable. Climbing the steps in the auditorium almost felt like climbing a mountain (which after the initial wonder the novelty wore off slightly after the 5th time of climbing) but the sheer drop to the screen was a little vertigo enducing (and very problematic for those wearing heels and long dresses as evidenced by the number of falls witnessed).

Others have described it better but the sensation of the Cannes intro before screening of every film in The Official Competition was something to behold:

Looks a little like a cross between old-school platform games a la Mario Brothers and a corporate commercial for gym with a new pool, doesn’t it?

In all honesty, with a dash of humility, it was quite the privilege to sit down in an institution with such film history significance.Respect for what Cannes stands for was evident in the strict adherence to film watching etiquette. I was in etiquette heaven whenever I was at the Palais. With no chatter, no loud eating (well no food or liquids at all was the strict policy was enforced by bag checking security at every door. Proved a bit of an issue when there are back to back screenings to attend but I worked out ways of not passing out from dehydration involving very strategic planning and team work from colleages). Most importantly no annoying mobile phones lights distractedly bouncing in the darkness. Even journos who needed to take notes during films did so with respectable low lit pen lights.  Everyone present was present for the film (and maybe boo it later) but for the running time attention was solely paid to what was on the screen and I loved Cannes for it.

I also experienced the oddities of Cannes and its unabashedly commitment to maintaining this weird glitzy artificial facade (we saw a homeless man cracking open a bottle of champagne the morning after Opening Night – so Cannes!). In my short four days, I became used to people dressed in premiere level of finery  at morning screenings where press types and just awoken swarm. Basic clothing etiquette at this time is whatever you had at hand when you woke up plus sunglasses). It transpires that pass holders use the morning screenings to photo shoot red carpet scenes from  the premieres they weren’t invited to the night before. I can imagine there’s most of those photos comprise of extreme close-ups as they try to edit out the dismayed and pitying bloodshot eyes of the rest of us scruffians scrambling to our seats so we can squeeze in a quick 20 minute doze before the film starts. This also happened during  actual premieres  and around the Croisette all day long. Those without an invitation or a pass, unabashedly tryto convince their friends and the world that, just by proximity to the building, they were most definitely attending said premiere. “I’M PRACTICALLY INSIDE, JULIA ROBERTS/MADS MIKKELSEN IS WAVING ME OVER TO THE SEAT NEXT TO HER/HIM. GOTTA GO – MY ADORING FANS AWAIT!” Their strenuous posing says:

Original image (not the speech bubbles) courtesy  of Reuters

For veteran attendees of Cannes, it’s good to be well-versed in the Festival’s legendary queues. It’s apparently normal to queue on average for an hour and a half. Ninety minutes is considered not too bad. I had been ordered to battle up with comfy shoes, umbrella if needed (Cannes always has one or two days of showers), good reading material, sunglasses (to hide how much you’re losing the will to live) and to ready myself for disappointment if I didn’t get into screenings. I don’t know it was beginner’s luck but my average queuing time was about forty minutes (often much shorter and only once longer). There was only one screening I didn’t manage to get into (which also proved to be the longest wait of an hour). It was at this queue I felt the frustration of being in Cannes that others have complained about. As previously mentioned I can be a stickler for certain kinds of etiquette and in my most British moment and height of my annoyance of the  French laissez faire attitude and seeming devotion queue jumping, I did what any like-minded Brit would do – I passive-aggressively used my elbows to keep my place. It didn’t work because apparently strolling to the front of the queue and then creating a new queue of your own gets better results. Standing in queues in Cannes is like doing empirical research for your Anthropology doctorate. So many displays of humanity.

Also very unique was the Cannes brand of panhandling. Pass-holders who had missed out on the online invitation lottery would politely wave signs begging for invitations. There would be a gaggle of them at the morning screenings and the numbers would continue to grow until in the evening they besieged the Croisette a few hours before red carpet events begin.  It never got old someone approaching me wearing a tuxedo asking for my ticket as I’m about to head in or in a particular highlight, a little old lady in fury leggings pushed in front of us at one screening, then tried in vain to befriend us so we could help her out further,  (like she hadn’t already taken the piss) and then after said screening rushed outside to be first in line to confidently beg us for tickets to the next screening.
My general thought process at these times:
“Like woke up/got all dressed up for you to go instead?
“Boy, you must think me some basic bitch!” and
“Have some self respect! Not everybody is going to get into every screening. Not even someone as fabulous as moi”
My face, instead, was usually just a mess of apologetically smiles –  like I really wanted to help them out. Which is odd because usually my face is so bad at the pokerface game.

All in all Cannes was a phenomenal experience, providing me with the perfect setting for my raison d’être –  watching film. I saw a wide array of cinema, some stuff I felt lucky to see because I’m not sure they’ll be seen again; some stuff I wished I’d never saw; but mostly and more importantly cinema to get excited about. I am in the coming weeks going to give a rundown of my winners of the Festival, the few failures and the ones in between, as as announcing the winners of the Festivals prizes.