ah, it's over

It's Sunday, the winner of the Palm D'Or has been announced (I disagreed heartily with the choices, but that's ok), and the American Pavilion is slowing being deconstructed. Man, does it feel good.

Last night my friends and I celebrated by getting dressed up in our finest attire (or what formalwear I had left, sometimes it's nicer to be a boy and just put on the same old tux) and spending our entire tip money (that's another story...don't get me started) on a phenomenal dinner on this little cobbled windy hill crammed with outdoor restaurants. It was gorgeous, surreal, the food was amazing and the atmosphere was so awesomely French.

Of course, three courses and a bottle of wine later there was no hope of staying awake through the midnight screening of Chromophobia (difficult on any night), but it was worth it. A little breath of fresh air amongst the chaos of the festival, and a moment to enjoy the fact that we are in a crazy foreign country with new friends and exquisite food and an excuse to wear that pretty dress one last time.

Today they're replaying all of the competition screenings one more time, so I'm about to go stand in line for an hour or so. Standing in lines is really all we do here. One of my coworkers in the restaurant recently asserted, "Cannes is amazing when you have tickets in your hand, or are sitting in a theatre. Other than that it sucks." While I would also add "while you are eating" onto the list of good things, I have to admit that it seems like every moment outside of those three things was spent longing for them, and that there was an awful lot of shit to deal with in the meantime.

Case in point: After tipping out last night to precisely 54 people who worked in the restaurant, each of us came up with 30 euro as our reward for 12 days of working in the restaurant. Absolutely pitiful, given that we were promised that we would be making that much for every day that we worked. Clearly we should have been pocketing the money, not that there was ever that much of it, given that people don't tip in France. Anyways, tipping out was going to be the only thing that raised our job above the drudgery that it entailed (hours of being nice to snotty customers coupled with hours of sitting bored off our asses).

Indeed, there have been many monumental decisions that I have made here. I do not want to be a producer, a director, or really, a filmmaker. The film industry is indeed disgusting, superficial, full of cheaters and liars and people who are pretty on the outside and ugly on the inside. I want to be a writer, and I will only come back to Cannes when I have the coveted white press badge. That is all.

But I'm going to play revisionist historian here, because there was plenty more to be happy about here than in Japan, and I'm already in the process of erasing things like my job in the restaurant from my permanent collections. To the movies!

snoring through cannes

It has become regular practice to sleep through movies here, and I'm not just talking about me, but pretty much everyone. It's the inevitable result of getting up early to catch the 8:30am screening, perhaps catching another screening somewhere during the day, waiting tables for six hours, and then either going out to party or catching a 10, 11, or midnight screening.

This is not what I do; I know myself well enough to know that waking up early and working all day is sufficiently exhausting to guarantee a two-hour nap through any screening that starts post-closing time, but the story remains the same -- movies are slept through on a regular basis. It's amazing what you can miss when you decide to rest your eyes for just a moment. Whole plot lines, I tell you! Incredible.

In conclusion, it's quite a feat to stay awake through an entire film. Overworked and underpaid, and what's our reward? Two hours in a warm, dark theater with plush seats and a soothing soundtrack. Mmm, sounds like naptime to me.

Okay, I'm off to see another movie.

Oh mummy...

First of all, I finally changed the settings so I think you can comment without having an account now. Sorry about that.

My mom always writes me these emails saying how my blog is more interesting than the NY Times, but I'm here to offer proof that bloggers are a dime a dozen:

Postcard from Cannes

This is Mary McNamara's blog from Cannes. It's just as personal/witty/insightful as anything I write in here, so you might as well just read hers. She wrote the LA Times article about Ampav, and I've been trying to get in touch with her for the last few days so we could chat about journalism and film and anything else we had in common. Unfortunately, she left town today, but I guess I can always get in touch with her once we get back to LA.

I'm tired of name dropping, but I have a feeling everyone will ask me when I get home who I've seen, so here's the list of people who I've seen "in conversation" (aka, being interviewed by someone else in the industry) or in roundtable discussions (sitting down with about 10 other ampav kids and answering questions): Morgan Freeman, Roger Ebert, David Cronenberg, Alexander Payne, Ben McKenzie, Tommy Lee Jones, and Rachel Blanchard.

Anyways, I've got to go to a meeting, so that's all for now.

In the land of 4,000 journalists...

turns out I'm not the only one busy writing about my experiences in Cannes, hmm! Anyways, my friends at the LA Times have been writing, and here's an article I thought you might all enjoy.

A little Industry Networking 101

CANNES, France — They are here to be aggressive but not pushy. They are here to figure out what they want to do and how to do it. They are here to polish their French, perhaps, but mostly to present their eager young selves to people in the industry — to, you know, network.

They are film students working at the American Pavilion in Cannes, and they are all excited to be here.

"It's my first time in Cannes," says Natalie Lopez, a senior at UC Santa Barbara who staffs the hospitality suite's coffee bar. "But it won't be my last."
...

and one more thing!

As long as we're on the topic of how things seem cool but aren't really that cool, I'd just like to add that I am DONE feeling insecure about my Pomona media studies education in comparison to these kids who are in film school, for two reasons. First of all, I've definitely decided that production is not where it's at for me, so I'm glad I didn't try to get into USC or whatnot. And second of all, I am firmly convinced that my Pomona connections are just as good as from any film school in the country.

Everyone's favorite hobby is running around trying to guess what celebrities are going to be at our events, and I have to admit, there are few people in this world that I would get excited about (besides like Anthony Bourdain or Jeffrey Steingarten...I think I'm in the wrong industry). The names that have been tossed around are all just Pomona people to me: Steven Spielerg is Max's dad, Alexander Payne is Ben's godfather, Ben Mackenzie is Zack's brother. Argh, find someone INTERESTING. Haha, look how spoiled I am.

Anyways, I'd just like to say that I love Pomona, and I love everything it's done for me. That is all.

another star studded day

Today I worked at the restaurant during a shift where there were lots of roundtable discussions scheduled for us kids, so I got to meet various important people (director of Sundance, I think, I wasn't realy listening) as well as my personal hero in life, Rachel Blanchard, of Clueless on television fame. Actually, joking aside, it was pretty cool to sit with about 6 of us under an umbrella on the beach and talk about her career, and her latest role in Where The Truth Lies does establish her as more than just the watered-down Alicia Silverstone.

After work, a couple of us headed to the blue carpet, or Un Certain Regard, to try to get into Down in the Valley, which we had heard was an Edward Norton film. After about an hour of waiting, they let us in with just a badge, which was thrilling. Little did we know, this was also the screening that Edward Norton and Evan Rachel Woods were attending (sheesh, enough with the surprises here, haven't we figured this place out yet? clearly not). So we sat a couple of rows away from them, and the movie was spectacular. The best I've seen so far.

In conclusion, I would like to posit that I am not a very lucky person, and after miraculously securing tickets to a red carpet gala event, sitting down to a chat with Rachel Blanchard, and bumping into Edward Norton at the premiere of his film, I feel that I have sufficiently used up all of my dice or cards or rabbits feet or whatever the phrase is. I seriously don't expect anything else out of this trip; I think this is already more than I expected. Everyone else can continue to pawn for tickets to dance with Paris Hilton (not that hard, I hear), but I will be perfectly happy coming home with the experiences I've already had thus far.

In a different sort of story, I came to breakfast this morning and found a note waiting for me. Remember that Norwegian journalist I met at the Dreamworks party? He'd left me an invitation to a Scandinavian party with "free drinks, a concert, and Matt Dillon." What a surprise! My first party invitation, and I don't even LIKE parties! Unfortunately, I was too busy chilling with Edward Norton at the premiere, so I completely missed it, but I liked how that worked out. Nice people extending nice offers. So much better than Paris Hilton anyday.

no matter what they say

So yesterday was the epitome of a day at Cannes. I woke up bright and early to catch the 8:30 press screening of Where The Truth Lies, a movie with Alison Lohman and Kevin Bacon and Colin Firth. I went with James, my partner in crime. [side note: James and I went to middle school together, and then caught up via AIM when we both discovered we were doing the film thing in college, where I told him about Cannes, and now we're both here together and are shift partners at the restaurant. It's awesome.] It was our first trip up the red carpet to the Lumiere, which is always beautiful and amazing, regardless of whether or not it's an important screening.

Then later that morning, I was sitting in the American Pavilion talking about how I wanted to see Last Days, Gus Van Sant's competition film, when the guy beside me says, "Oh I have a ticket, you can have it" and hands me a ticket to the 10PM screening that night. I gratefully accepted, but it wasn't until later that I realized he had just given me a ticket to the gala screening of the event, which means that it's the one that the judges and movie stars and paparazzi and everyone who's anyone gives an arm and a leg to attend.

So I worked my shift with a little bounce in my step (courtesy of my new sneakers, which I purchased over my break to aid my aching feet) and then rushed home later that night to put on my formal gown and make myself pretty. It turned out that my roommate and friend Paul also had gotten tickets, so we took a cab down together and walked the red carpet.

The experience as a whole could best be described as anticlimactic -- there were thousands of people lined up to watch us, hundreds of photographers snapping our photos, the lights and music and shimmer of the red carpet all glamorous and magnificent and whatnot, but you know, the whole thing lasted about 30 seconds. And then we were just kids in a movie theatre, a balcony away from Gus Van Sant and Michael Pitt, watching the most boring movie I'd ever seen in my life. (say what you will, Van Sant is a genius and the movie was a masterpiece, but you have to admit it's boring as hell) Let me tell you, the entire struggle was trying to stay awake.

In any case, I've been there and done that. Checked it off my list. I even have a picture to prove it. Voila.

my feet hurt

Okay, so waitressing for a handful of clients on the first day the Pavilion opens is amusing, but today's Dreamworks party was decidedly unfun. First of all, after completely taking everything down yesterday, we had to set up the entire place all over again (think lifting tables over my head, carting crates and crates of soft drinks, stacking and unstacking hundreds of chairs) at 8am, and then stood with hands clasped behind backs for the next five hours waiting for the bigwigs to finish their food so we could lick up their garbage off the floor.

Now let's think about this situation. For one thing, I'm not complaining because I am opposed to manual labor or picking up after rich people. It's probably something everyone should go through at least once, to humble you or whatnot. What I am opposed to is that we essentially paid two grand to get filled full of crap about how this is our BIG CHANCE to meet filmmakers and make our BIG BREAK into the industry. While it MAY be true that we will be placed in the same room as the president of Dreamworks or the director of a big film through these jobs (not necessarily true, these parties are NOT that well attended) it is FALSE that we will be able to so impress them with our servile skills that they will ever want to hire us.

I love Cannes dearly, and my experiences here are undoubtedly going to be grand, but I'm going to wait to come here again until I can EARN a trip here on my own merits. I will never again pay to pick up the food scraps of some hoity toity executive, all the while aching and starving and wearing ugly tshirts in the hot sun, plugging my ears to most of what is being said. My mentor Walter comes up to us every day and says, "Who did you talk to today? Whose business card did you get?" and maybe really believes that these things are the key to success. But I say, become known for doing something truly great: make a movie. write a book. run for office. Then wait for the bigwigs to come to you, and when they do, they'll be asking YOU for YOUR business card. Won't that feel better? While I feel abysmally pessimistic and cynical, at the same time, I also feel like perhaps I'm the only one who really believes that this sequence of events could occur, which makes me the eternal optimist, no?

Here's my lesson for the day: The world is all about access, and getting ahead essentially means striving to gain better access than you started with. My take: I like the access I have in my own world. I think it suits me fine, and I wouldn't change it for what they have to offer me here.

As long as we're being brutally honest here, let's talk about the films. We're all salivating over the opportunity to sit in a darkened theater and get the first glimpse of a great movie, and we endlessly pore over movie guides and the daily magazines and pester our ticket boy Pip for the hottest tips. But what have I ended up seeing? The shittiest horror film I could ever imagine (it was 10:30 at night, and I willed sleep upon me to protect me from the sight of the film), filled with violence and guns and blood and fuckedupness. Then today I was told I would see Wallace and Gromit's new movie, but it ended up being a discussion with the directors, which was cool, but undoubtedly that means I have no chance to actually seeing the film. I also scored tickets to an Indian film that I hadn't heard of, but it turns out it's some boring movie from the 40's that, I'm sorry, but I think I would cause me to pass out from boredom and sleepiness.

The other problem is that we only work in the restaurant for six hours a day, but somehow that still blocks about 80 percent of the day's screenings. There are only so many time slots for movies, not to mention the fact that 11:30pm might be too late if you have to work the 8am shift the next day. Yes, there are about 18 workable hours in a day, but Cannes does not work on some magical Lori-friendly schedule. Thusly, I will not give up the fight, but do not believe for a second that anything is easy over here.

Whine whine bitch bitch la la la la la la. In happier news, I was moping about with a random guest at the party, and it turned out he was a Norwegian freelancer with a press pass, so we talked about journalism and film and everything for a good long while. It was nice to think that he had nothing to offer me, and I had nothing to offer me, but as two inividuals with the same interests, we could still share a conversation on the sunlit beach. I don't even think I asked him his name. Everyone saw us talking, laughing, taking pictures, and they probably thought I was working some hot angle, really getting ahead in the game. Boy did I show them.

the lights! the lights!

Hey, I'm kinda good at this waitressing thing. Maybe I should look into THAT as my new future...

I did sneak out for ten minutes, however, to catch a glimpse of the red carpet. Tonight was the big opening, and the place was PACKED with people jostling to see the tuxedoed inhabitants of the scarlet rug. Just as I walked out, I saw Charlotte Gainsburg ride by, so I paused for a minute to watch her walk up on the jumbotron. Someday it will be me, I tell you. And what I mean by that is that probably tomorrow I'm going to put on my gown and get my two new friends to put on their tuxedos and accompany me, and then I hear if you look sharp enough and act snooty enough, they put tickets in your hand and let you walk and be photographed. We'll see how it goes.

Now the American Pavilion is a bit busier than before with photographers uploading all of their photographs. You can tell them without even looking over their shoulder because they all crank their heads to the side to look at their portrait shots flipped sideways straight off their camera. It's a cute sight.

Now there's a huge ship in the harbor flashing lights at the windows, not sure what that's about. We have to stay up a bit longer to prepare for a Dreamworks party that we're catering nearly all day tomorrow. Hey! This is fun!

bliggety blogging from the american pavilion

The day hasn't even started, but I'm a little pooped. Sitting around in the American Pavilion, waiting for my shift to begin. There's something about this industry that confuses me. I feel like at home, and maybe at Pomona, I'm one of the more ambitious ones, one of the more hardcore go-getters, and yet here, I feel like the laziest, most apathetic of the bunch. We are all an odd lot, but what seemingly defines the kids running around the festival is their (our?) sheer lust for success.

In this sense, I feel far behind. I can't escape the feeling that randomness is ultimately the only guide here, that the controllers of the universe will either plop ticket screenings into my lap and guide potential employers toward my table at the ampav, or else they won't. I don't feel that any amount of groveling, approaching strangers, lobbying for tickets, scamming for parties, or sucking up to staff members will make me any more likely to come out on top in this instance. Perhaps it defies logic (surely I am the only one I see taking this approach), and yet it just feels right. This place is all about the random game; it's not the 100th person you give your business card to who will end up hiring you -- it's the first RIGHT person you make a connection with.

In any case, I did approach Hollywood Reporter and Variety to ask if they needed writing interns. I may feel more lost than ever, and my future is always a nebulous array, but one thing has become abundantly clear: at the end of the day, I want to write about films. That's all. It's a comforting thought.

There was something else I was going to write about, but I forget. Something about how I sense a pattern in all this. I think that's the point of all this blogging: it's kind of scientific, empirical, jotting down a permanent record of my experiences and immediate reactions. Like those dieting freaks who write down all of their caloric intake, and then upon rereading can discover that the daily donut and milkshake might denote an unhealthy pattern, or that more dairy products could be a beneficial choice. I don't mean that my blog only points out the problematic, but still, it's indicative of things. Things for me and not for you! (though by the nature of my public words, I suppose I leave you open to the chore of analysis)

Okay that's all. Sleepy Lori.

oh hollywood

So tomorrow's the big day, when the red carpets roll out and the stars come out to play. The kids are getting skittish, the hammers are flying and the plaster bits are everywhere; we can only hope that by tomorrow things look presentable. Our restaurant is in horrible disarray, but by the time I start my 6 hour shift I assume the menus will be dusted off and the napkins rolled tightly around forks and knives.

For the past two days I've been sitting through countless (and useless) seminars on things like how to secure licenses for music in your movies, how to key out green screens using AfterEffects, what kind of film has the best colors and tones, and blah blah blah. Probably more useful to the kids who are in film school and want to be filmmakers....oh wait, that's everyone but me.

Anyways, walking around today has been simply amazing. The crowds are growing, as is the excitement. We can all feel how extraordinary this experience is going to be, and I'm not even one to be starstruck. (or wait, am i?)

Today as we were walking past the red carpet, the music from Requiem for a Dream suddenly started POUNDING, so incredibly loud, and we all just started smiling. For once, something we all shared -- the intense passion for cinema that meant we all knew exactly what movie that music was from, and which scene, and what the lighting looked like as it fell across the actor's face.

But it was more than that, something bigger and more monumental, I think. We talked later about it, but no one seemed to know what had really happened. I think what was truly striking about the scenario was that for once, our lives had a soundtrack, and in this moment, we were all stars.

The next 11 days are going to be amazing.

french keyboards blow

Despite the difficulty I am having finding the right keys, I'm still going to try this. So I made it to Cannes, though the ride over made me afraid I wouldn't. About halfway to Germany, surrounded by blonde haired blue eyed German speaking travelers, having slept through both dinner and breakfast (I wanted to KILL my seat partners, and very nearly did), I suddenly had only one thought: Japan had stolen something from me, and I wanted it back. My mom called it my sense of adventure, it may be something along those lines, I'm not certain yet.

Anyways, the thought of being alone in a foreign country, where I was not only linguistically deficient but also utterly unprepared in regard to culture, made me anything but excited about this trip. Wussy I know. In any case, I arrived in Cannes pissed and upset and wanting to tear open the "open in case of emergency" envelope Jason had given me.

Luckily, I was greeted in France with the most beautiful sights imaginable: miles and miles of stunning turquoise coastline, sunny skies, pretty french people, the smell of hot paninis. Despite my lingering fear of traveling to foreign countries, it's clear that France is not Japan (and happily never will be).

So, to make a long story short, I'm quite enjoying my stay so far. Our apartments overlook the beach, the kids are friendly (though quite different than me in terms of goals, as is to be expected...most dream of running into Spielberg and getting him to finance their screenplay), and I know I'm going to learn a lot.

Unfortunately, out of all of the possibly work placements I was given a job at the restaurant/bar. It could be worse; at least I earn tips. It sounds like I'll be able to attend movie screenings aplenty, and although they tell us we can pitch our latest screenplay to the movie stars/producers/directors/pretty people we'll be serving in the restaurant, I know for myself it will just be a kick to SEE them, let alone to dream of conducting an intimate conversation.

I'll take lots of pictures; I already am in shock at how simply beautiful it is here, and the movie stars have yet to arrive. Today we walked along the coast and then took a boatride out to an island to see a monk castle or something. Can you believe I'm actually in France? Everything European is so foreign to me.

Anyways, I'd like to find a calling card so I can say happy mother's day to my mama. Better run. I would say jaa ne or sayonara but it's just too ironic.