Cannes Film Festival

Sat 17^th - Sun 18^th May

I went to the Cannes Film Festival and all I got was this lousy photo.

The Cannes Film Festival is about 3 things:

• who you know

• how you flaunt it

• and the height of your ladder.

Who you know

We pulled into Cannes around 2:30pm, and the first thing we noticed was that we weren't part of the club. Men, women and even young children no older than 11 walked the streets wearing photo ID badges around their necks. By the way people were strutting around and the labelled clothing they wore, we deduced that the more badges you have, the more important you are. Clearly I had to get a badge but we weren't entirely sure why you needed a badge. Where could you go with the badge? Why does everyone wear them all the time, even if it's walking to the bathroom to take a shower back at the camp site?

We walked into the Tourist Information Centre and I decided to play dumb American. “So this is our first time to Cannes and I'm just curious how it all works.” She looked at me very confused and didn't respond, even though I'd already established that she spoke English. “Yah – I guess we want to see some movies? How do we do that?”

“Oh, sorry they are all private. Here is the schedule of movies for the public that they are showing on the beach at night, and here is a map of the city,” she said as if the public referred to a local leper colony.

“Yah – but I see all of these people with badges – how do I get one?” I asked.

“Press only. NEXT,” she responded.

PRESS ONLY? My big white American bum. I hold a degree in journalism and even worked at a magazine company so clearly I have more credentials than that group of 11 year olds over there picking their zits and yet they are wearing badges! I WANT A BADGE!

We later found a queue to buy temporary badges with a big sign overhead that said “PRESS ONLY – 20 euros per day.” My best guess after 2 days of badge envy is that badges categorise you into 3 groups: Premier Screenings, which means you are so famous that you don't even need a badge. Market Screenings which is what all the people wearing 3 piece suits, floating in from the yachts and appear ready to dump their money into financing a new film are wearing, and finally press screenings which means you're a genuine journalist or an 11 year old school news reporter and you need to review the movies. Last but not least are we lowly tourists who have access to a patch of sand down on the beach with no pass required but they do play pretty good classical films at night if you get there early enough to nab a seat.

How you flaunt it

They say less is more and this rule definitely applies to clothes in Cannes. Let's just say that Bevan took more photos here than in any other city, and I don't think he used anything but the zoom lens. While I was keeping a lookout for Brad, I suspect that he was shooting the topless sunbathers on the beach.

Even if you never score a badge, the visit to Cannes is worth it just for the people watching. The beaches in Cannes are narrow, but at least 65% of the beach front is covered in all day clubs and restaurants which are fairly visible from the main street. Half the fun of Cannes is walking this strip ogling at everyone who is or thinks they are important.

The entire bay was full of the biggest boats & yachts I have ever seen in my entire life and they seemed to send out little inflatable boats to the beaches to pick up bikini-clad women, then haul them back to the massive boats in the harbour. It was hedonism just as you imagined it, but no amount of sucking in my belly or trying to hide the farmer tans on my arms resulted in an invite to the yachts... Either way, I think Bevan walked away with a lifetime of “memories”.

How tall is your ladder

I've been to a few film premiers and awards shows in my day – not as an invitee but as one of those die hard fans willing to endure hours of waiting in harsh weather conditions for a moments glimpse of one of my favourite celebrities. It's all pretty tangible in London, assuming you're willing to wait for an hour or two. Everyone lines up behind the fences and if it's raining, it's common courtesy to close your umbrella and even duck your head to give the other guy behind you a quick chance to snap a photo.

But the celeb spotters at Cannes were an entirely different breed and we soon realised that the friendly Kiwi and soft spoken Coloradan would be no match. My ugliest moments of this trip took place at the bottom of that red carpet and I'm still embarrassed at the profanity I yelled and how Bevan cowered behind his lens pretending that he didn't know me.

It all started at 3pm when the crowds cleared a bit and I found a perfect 165 degree view of the red carpet area. This is what dreams are made of and even though I knew I'd have to fight for my territory, I had no idea it'd get so vicious. The Vicky Christina Barcelona premier was at 7:30pm, so just 4.5 hours of guarding and I'd have a clear view of Scarlett Johannsen, Penelope Cruz, Javier Bardem and Woody Allen walking the carpet, not to mention any other Hollywood stars who decided to tag along.

5:30pm marked 2.5 hours of waiting in the same place. Bevan looked like a broken, very bored man but there seemed to be activity on the red carpet as various film crews set up their cameras and dance music started to play. I started to groove to the music as this was clearly going to be a night to remember.

6:00pm and some random red haired girl whom no one recognised stepped out of.... well somewhere (pictured above). I don't think anyone confirmed if it was an actual limousine or if she was just a spectator but she danced and pranced around the red carpet like she was a 1999 Paris Hilton.

6:30pm and the “real” press took their places on the steps of the red carpet.

6:35pm and the first black Renault pulled up. It only took two minutes and suddenly my dreams were shattered. The people sitting on the step ladders just in front of us shot up like an impenetrable fortress of legs and denim butts.

“Three hours!! I've stood here for 3 hours just like you and yet you stand on ladders in the front row?? That is not cool! You hear me, that is not cool!!”

Of course they didn't hear me and instead focused on snapping photos of the French celebs stepping out of the cars. I turned to Bevan in an exasperated shrieking mess, but it would only get worse. Within seconds, a French woman and her mother walked up next to us and spotted the small gap on the ladders in front of us while I still reeled in shock. Like a shot, the 30-something daughter scampered up the ladder and shrieked with delight at her mum. What luck! She had a bird's eye view and had only just tripped past. I started yelling profanities again, but it did me no good other than to convince me to learn French. The lucky woman now 100% blocked our view and if I hadn't spent so much time cursing, that spot would have been mine.

I screamed, yelled, and coughed the most phlegm filled spites of anger towards this troupe of discourteous front rowers but it did no good. All we could hear were their screams of delight as star after star piled out of the cars. Jumping up and down, I caught a rare glimpse of the big screen TV and my only comfort of missing such an event was that I recognised no one. They were all foreign stars.

7:20pm Over 1.5 hours of screaming profanity and trying hap hazard cheerleading pyramid towers with Bevan had passed. I was beat.... the movie was about to begin and Bevan had confirmed that there were no more limos to pass. The French spot stealer climbed down from the ladder and scuddled off. I sat for 5 seconds, then decided to try to climb the ladder to at least witness what I had missed before someone else from the crowd nabbed the spot.

7:27pm I climbed onto the narrow ladder step... legs shaking so violently from the lack of stability that Bevan grabbed them from behind... and as I looked down into the mass of incoming black cars, I suddenly heard the words I'd been waiting for all night. “Pan- elle---ohh--pee! Pan – elle – ohh – pee!”

The car door opened and out stepped Penelope Cruz in a glistening white gown. “Bevan – the camera! The camera!” I screamed from my precarious perch. He knew right away and nearly threw the camera at me despite how the ladder shook.

The resulting photos are not great and I never spotted Brad Pitt or Harrison Ford, but the magic of Cannes swept me as soon as I saw Penelope step out of the car in that gorgeous gown just below me, answering to the the screaming press, and then witnessed Woody Allen following suit in the pouring rain.