Films, Films Everywhere and Not a Moment to Watch

Back from Cannes and Monaco, a blur of parties and celebrities and sighting and yachts and (failed) attempts to prevent my hair from frizzing and my feet from killing. How crazy was Cannes? I did not manage to see a single film, and unlike 2004 (the last time I was in Cannes, when Brad and Angelina and Jen were all in one place at the same time), I didn’t even have to contend with what my employer would consider major breaking news. Though in a neat bit of synergy, Brangelina spawn arrived on Saturday night. One of my favorite lines of the festival goes to Robin Williams, at the amfAR dinner, trying to spur bidding of an item north of $60,000: “One picture of Angelina Jolie’s kid and you can buy this!”

I’ve already had to file nearly everything I saw for my employer (though some miniscule fraction will reach print), so unfortunately by now it all has the feeling of a story already told. A few superlatives:

Moment I Felt Most Thrilled to Have My Job: When surprise guest Bono turned up with Jay Z in tow at the Grand Prix Ball in Monaco. Bono joined ball host Wyclef Jean for a rendition of “Redemption Song” – and I actually got it on my Dictaphone. Yes, I’m going to be good and not upload it to the Internet (though I might download it to my iPod.)

Moment I Felt Least Thrilled to Have My Job: Having my ATM card grabbed out of uncooperative cash point by angry non-English-speaking Monaco taxi driver who thought I was trying to stiff him the 180 euro fare from Monaco back to Cannes. (This was also at 8:30 a.m., after a night that included the ball, an afterparty, and an after after party on a yacht so big you had to take a tender to get to it.)

Favorite Random Celeb Sighting: Harvey Weinstein waiting in line behind me to get into the amfAR dinner.

Runner up: Ethan Hawke and Richard Linklater having drinks at a restaurant called Pepperoni. Yes, Pepperoni. In Cannes, France.

Second Runner up: The Duchess of York and daughter Princess Beatrice in the front row of first class on my flight from Nice to London. Fergie had her shoes off and was wiggling her toes, which unfortunately made me unable to stop thinking about a certain infamous toe-sucking incident (and unable to stop giggling).

(For sake of comparison, my favorite random celeb moment from Cannes 2004 was at a dinner for Kevin Bacon, where I ended up standing in line next to him for the bathroom and he asked, “What brings you here? I mean, not here [meaning the line] but to Cannes?”)

Story Lede Never Gonna Be Published: “amFAR 2006: No Elton, no Liz [Elizabeth Taylor], no goodie bag.” (The lede actually published is too unbearable to reprint.)

From the It's A Small World Department: In the crush to be fingerprinted (well, not quite, but the security was pretty tight) getting in to Dolce & Gabbana's Studio 54 party, being tapped on the arm by an English girl and asked if I'd covered the Olympics this year. I recognized her immediately -- she was the Milan-based friend of the 25-year-old reporter with whom I'd had a little Olympics fling. Um, hi. Nice to see you. Um, yeah. Definitely tell him I said hi. Or something like that.

Other random moments: Police escorts taking us to amFAR dinner because the traffic was so bad; seeing Robert Downey Jr. playfully give the finger to some photographers; Robert Downey Jr. DJ’ing at Nikki Beach at the Carlton Hotel; being unable to figure out how to address the Duchess of York and therefore avoiding addressing her directly, the way I do when I meet someone’s parents (and then finding out our royals correspondent isn’t sure how to address her either); realizing it was the theme to “Chariots of Fire” playing in the bathrooms at the Palais; asking Rosario Dawson what designer she was wearing and her having to ask her rep who then had to call her stylist (so much free clothing, so little time…); seeing Petra Nemcova with serious VPL (apparently even models have trouble with undergarments); asking Cannes juror Samuel L. Jackson how the festival was going and him grabbing me by the arm, gesturing to the yacht we were on, and saying: “We’re on a yacht. How bad could it be going?” My thoughts – at that moment, anyway – exactly.

* * *

I headed back to London about a half a day earlier than I’d intended. Though I’d been invited to a Grand Prix party in Monaco, honestly, I couldn’t bear the thought of it. So I changed my flight, deliberately leaving enough time to check out the Hotel Negresco in Nice. My grandmother stayed there years ago with my grandfather, and she’s mentioned it several times. It was inexplicably important to me to see it -- when my sister was coming to Cannes in 2004, we’d planned to go and get a drink there, but my grandmother was in the hospital and my sister went to Miami instead. And I ended up leaving Cannes early that year, and in a rush.

The Negresco was turn of the century and right on the seafront. I was relieved that it was well-maintained and beautiful – shut down years ago I could have handled, faded glamour I’m sure would have reduced me to tears.

The hotel has portraits of French royals, an art Nouveau ceiling, period furniture, and even old-style bathroom fittings. Small signs explained the significance of various pieces; everywhere a ghost. I was sure I could see my grandmother in a white summer dress and my grandfather in a dinner jacket, coming down the staircase on their way to the bar. Later, I realized the image in my head actually was from a 1950s era snapshot from a cruise that’s been sitting on top of my grandmother’s dresser for as long as I can remember.