David Christensen, director of Six Figures. Courtesy Seville Pictures.
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Calgary-based filmmaker David Christensen is attending this year’s Cannes Film Festival, trying to generate international interest in his feature debut, Six Figures. The world’s highest-profile film fest runs from May 17-28; throughout the event, Christensen will keep a journal for CBC Arts Online.
Cannes Diary: Entry II
May 20
I went to see Pedro Almodovar’s Volver yesterday afternoon in the Palais, the great big cavernous theatre where all of the films in competition here at Cannes are screened. In the critical hothouse atmosphere of the festival, this film has had the best reception so far (but it’s only the third day). I slept through a lot of it. That’s no reflection on the film — I dozed because my days are long and the Palais has terrible air circulation, guaranteed to give a fitful rest to anyone subsisting on less than five hours of sleep a night.
It’s not the best theatre to nap in — the seats are cramped and pitched slightly forward and when you snap awake, you momentarily have the feeling that you’re going to tumble over the seat in front of you. Perhaps it says something about Volver that I always knew exactly where I was in the story no matter how often I nodded off.
I went to an afternoon screening, where the infamous Cannes dress code isn't enforced. But if you go in the evening, intimidating men in crisp blue jackets make sure you're dressed properly — tuxes for the gentlemen and evening dresses (or whatever happens to be the latest after-sundown fashion) for the women. One producer I know was barred for wearing fake leather shoes.
Tales abound about fellow filmgoers pointing out fashion faux pas to the men in blue, then trying to claim the tickets of the unfortunate individual who is asked to leave. Perhaps 90 per cent of these stories are apocryphal, but Cannes thrives on rumours; those of us who are unable to score the coveted evening screening tickets love to repeat this sort of gossip as a form of consolation.
The pressure was on today — it was the first screening at the market for Six Figures. Tuxes were noticeably absent from the market showing of my film, but, then again, you need people to attend in order to gauge their fashion sense. And people were what was missing from the screening. Actually, that's not entirely true — about 15 people showed up to watch it — a completely fine turnout for a 40-seat theatre, I was told by the nice people at Telefilm, given that there were a number of other in-demand market screenings going on at the same time. (Although I think friends and colleagues will tell you anything when, as the saying goes, you're polishing the barrel of your Luger with your mouth). In fact, I was really pleased with the response to the screening — there were a number of programmers in attendance who asked to present the film at their festivals and one good friend described the screening as really successful. Unlike other screenings she'd attended, there had been no exodus of people after five minutes (though an “exodus” implies that there are a lot of people to begin with, doesn't it?). I didn't stay to watch my own screening. Having seen the film at least 15 times, I went to another screening in the Palais and … had a nap.
I've spent the last couple of days meeting with various producers from Europe, to see if I can drum up any co-production interest in a documentary I want to make about a small village in Italy. Because of the way the village is situated in the Italian Alps, the place doesn't get any sunlight for about five months of the year.
The villagers want to construct a giant mirror on the mountain opposite to reflect sunlight into the village square; then they can be like the rest of Italy and drink coffee and grappa in the sun during the winter months. So far, the response to the idea has been very encouraging — a French TV network has come on board and I'm probably going to start working with a French producer to raise more of the budget over here.
Most of these meetings have been happening at the bar in the Majestic Hotel rather than in the Cannes Market. I'm told that the bar there is where the “real” business happens, with producers (being individuals of the highest honour) comfortably sealing deals over martinis and a handshake. I haven't witnessed any of this — just a lot of film-industry people looking distinctly uncomfortable when they get the Majestic’s bar bill and lots of silent film-like expressions as everyone looks around to see who is going to pay for it.
Rubber-necking is really what Cannes is all about and, thankfully, celebrity sightings abound at the hotel — making you quickly forget how you've just been relieved of your per diem to pay for that bottle of sparkling water. Today, I was almost run over by the limousine driving festival jury president Wong Kar-wai back to the hotel.
I was standing in the middle of the road in front of the Palais, trying to see various celebrities as they made their way up the red carpet, when the Renault he was riding in slammed to a halt in front of me. The driver in the crisp black jacket helpfully leaned on the horn. I couldn't tell if Mr. Wong was perturbed or not, given that he was wearing his “trademark” (as the press here delights in repeating) dark glasses. After a long day of keeping the rest of the jury in line, he was, no doubt, heading back to the hotel for a nap.
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