i’m sitting in my apartment, listening to music too loud for this time of night. i’ve forced myself to stay up to buck this jet lag. my mind is cloudy and my eyes are dim. i’m afraid that i’m writing non-sense.
it’s going to take a few days to get over cannes. the over stimulation and artificial sense of purpose. the beauty. the routine.
i feel under stimulated and am by myself for the first time in weeks. it’s good to be free and reconnect with the sense of self which was drowned in the glitz and glamour. trying to look pretty all the time isn’t good for your heart. home is the place where you can just be. i’m lucky to be able to say that i’m home.
what a trip.
In a Paris hotel room, just got the wake up call, leaving for the airport soon. We are both totally sun burnt from yesterday’s glorious day at the beach. I’m ready to come home.
the end. sitting at the beach enjoying what the riviera has to offer. sent from my blackberry.
Rock star by night, booth bitch by day.
Last night, it was a party at a beach front club then late night schwarmas.
Everyone is starting to leave. The Palais quiet and the hotels are emptying. You can feel the city sigh in relief. We are going to shut down our booth tomorrow, leave for Paris at 5pm on the TGV and then home.
Film as dream, film as music. No form of art goes beyond ordinary consciousness as film does, straight to our emotions, deep into the twilight room of the soul. A little twitch in our optic nerve, a shock effect: twenty-four illuminated frames a second, darkness in between, the optic nerve incapable of registering darkness
— Ingmar Bergman
In bed at 430 at the booth at 9, such is the life.
Last night I got a taste of the dark side. At the Du Cap a couple nights ago we met these two dudes, Mitch and Bucky, and bumped in to them last night as we were leaving this yacht party we had sneaked on to.
They took us to a place of true debauchery, The Cozy Box. It was dark, almost pitch black, there were future super models dancing on the sofas, bottles of champagne on every table. It’s the type of place where Paris Hilton and Lindsey Lohan do cocaine.
We were suspicious of Mitch and Bucky from the get go and what transpired confirmed this. We sat at a table, the waiter came over told us we had to order a $1000 bottle of champagne if we wanted to stay there. Mitch wasn’t in to that so we moved. Then Mitch says to me: “If we buy the cheapest bottle of champagne or vodka for $300 we can get a table. If we split it between us all it’s not so bad.” A financier living in Monaco doesn’t say things like this. I agreed. What the hell. The bottle arrives with assorted mixers. We get a tiny table with no chairs. We are the shlumps of the club. Then all of a sudden, Mitch disappears and the bill arrives. We quickly realize that Mitch and Bucky are trying to stiff us with the bill. We drop $50 on the table, grab the bottle, and simply walk out of the club, drinks still in hand and bottle in purse.
I bought a tux at Zara the afternoon before the premier. Naturally, I had tried it on and it fit right. However, as I purchased the item the cashier said I had picked up the wrong pants and went to find the matching ones. She assured me they were the same size. As I scrambled to get dressed before they closed the red carpet to the plebeians I realized the pants were not the same size. They were much smaller. But I sucked it up and squeezed them and ran like James Bond to the red carpet. My friend sported a tie and was swiftly stopped by one of the ‘bouncers’ and forced to purchase a $20 bow tie. And then we were on the red carpet. Thousands of gawkers angeled their heads to get a better view, they waved at us and wondered who we were. What a thrill, what a rush, what a high. We were ushered inside where we could watch the celebs stroll in on the screen in the theatre. George Lucas, Harrison Ford, Kate Blanchett, Steven Spielberg etc. etc. The lights dimmed and the movie began (no trailers or annoying Coke commercials).
The film opens with a punchy car chase sequence and went downhill from there. It was at times gimmickie and self parodying. I fell asleep twice but enjoyed myself thoroughly. It’s a fun film and worth seeing if only for the blast from the past value.
After the film, all dressed up in our tuxes we went to a yacht party which felt more like Miami than Cannes, with bud light, buffalo wings, mini cheeseburgers, and pink strobe lights. Such are the sacrifices you have to make for free booze.
UPDATE: I’ve exchanged the pants.
The log line:
4 guys and 1 girl tried to get in to the most exclusive party in the western world. 1 guy and 1 girl got very close to getting in, the other 3 didn’t.
The crew:
1 guy, a Cannes veteran, the other 3 clueless newbies(a marketing guy, an aspiring screenwriter, a former journalist) and a very pretty girl with a dash of panache and a healthy dose of wit, also a Cannes newbie.
The Incident:
The veteran promised a good time and packed the newbies on to a train for dinner in a neighbouring town, Juan-les Pins. Away from the crowds of Cannes, the crew mingled and ate and drank. A cab was called. The 3 guys got in one cab, the veteran, the marketing guy, and the aspiring screenwriter, while the girl with a dash of panache and the former journalist waited for a second cab. The Hotel Du Cap was their destination, one of the most exclusive hotels in the world, formerly, a retreat for artists gone crazy. The veteran told tales of splendor and grander and instructed the newbies not to gawk. The Du Cap is the place where the stars relax.
The former journalist and the girl arrived at the gates of the Du Cap and were waved in. Massive Doric columns and marble stairs greeted them. They saw someone holding a ticket. VANITY FAIR graced the envelope. The Vanity Fair party, perhaps the most exclusive party in western hemisphere, was being held. The former journalist and the girl had no idea what they were getting themselves in to. Beautiful women and stately men decked the halls.
It felt like walking through the pages of a magazine, surreal and ridiculous.
The veteran, the marketing guy, and the aspiring screenwriter weren’t as lucky. They weren’t allowed in. They tried lying; they tried scaling the walls; they tried hiding behind cars as they drove. To no avail.
The former journalist and the girl with a dash of panache strolled through the garden and found them self at the entrance of the Vanity Fair party. Fancy cars pulled up and fancy people got out. Will Smith and his wife appeared and walked in followed by a gaggle of ‘friends’. Word spread to the former journalist and the girl with panache that the rest of the crew was stuck outside. The former journalist tried to get them in. He went to talk to the concierge.
“My friends are the gate, can you tell them to let them in?”
“Are you a guest at the hotel?”
“No.”
“You are very lucky to be here, they can’t get in.”
And that was that. The night went on and the crew outside struggled to get in while those on the inside enjoyed $15 beers and $30 martinis. After about 45 mins, the crew on the outside called the crew on the inside and they all got in a cab together and went home.
___________
I got my tux for the premier tonight.
