I landed in Nice at 1.24 p.m. and had my bags shortly after 2. All the helicopters were booked, but I still managed to be five minutes from the Croisette around 3 p.m. My first celeb spot of the festival occurred within a half hour: Tim Burton, wearing black jeans, a blue shirt, and huge blue-tinted sunglasses, standing right by the American Pavilion. Okay, I confess I didn’t recognize him at first, but I knew he was a celeb because a) everyone was stopping him, b) he was posing for photographs and c) he had a lackey trailing him. He was incredibly polite and friendly to everyone, and I’m glad I didn’t know at that point that an editor back home was wondering if there was any truth to a report that his wife Helena Bonham Carter had been skinnydipping in the pool at the Majestic. I would have hated to ask. (After today, I have at least one I-can’t-believe-I-have-to-ask-this question per day...)
I skipped out on both an Elizabeth Hurley fashion show and cocktails (I wrote about her bikinis last year, so no need to do it again) and a Samuel L. Jackson reception on a yacht (um, still trying to think of a good excuse in case someone asks me)… to run around organizing access to a bunch of events coming up and to have dinner with a colleague. Translation: we both squinted over our Blackberries the entire evening – we have stories closing – and then talked mainly about who would be expensing what and walked back to our hotel talking to various editors on our cell phones. And for the record, we are not the only ones. In Cannes there should be a spot in the place setting for a blackberry, as every diner in the restaurant had one. Our waiter even moved our crackberries and phones to a better spot on the table, warning us that other diners on the second floor terrace had knocked their gadgets onto the ground below.
It’s to work in earnest – I have to be up before 7 a.m. and at the Palais du Festivals no later than 8.
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