Cannes: Wednesday, May 17, 2017
The first day of the Cannes film festival I am starting with a cup of black coffee at The American Pavilion. The venue sits on the beach, and from here I can see the pavilion of the country of my voluntary exile, the former Yugoslavia. There is something symbolic about watching countries that once went to war to break apart now exhibiting alongside one another.
Even in Cannes, sitting on “American soil” — admittedly, very glamorous American soil, populated by Oscar-winning movie stars — evokes a sense of freedom and confirms something about the universality of the American dream.
For those showing their films in competition, those dreams have, quite literally, come true.
The American Pavilion has a long tradition among festivalgoers as one of the most sought-after destinations in Cannes, known not only for its legendary members’ party but also for the extraordinary program it puts together each year. In the coming days, Spike Lee and Wim Wenders, among many others, will talk to a select group of attendees about filmmaking.
A friend tells me that Al Gore is coming to Cannes and asks whether I would be interested in knowing more.
“I got away from the White House Press Corps for two weeks to write about the world outside of politics,” I explain.
Yet, strangely enough, everyone wants to talk to me about Donald Trump.
I stop at the beach of the Carlton Hotel for a cocktail reception hosted by DDA. There, once again, a producer from Newport, California, cannot stop talking about Trump. He is clearly a Hillary Clinton supporter, and he talks and talks as though I were at least the spokesman for POTUS and he were hoping I might somehow pass along the message.
I tell him that I am interviewing Marion Cotillard the next day and excuse myself to attend the premiere of Ismael’s Ghosts.
On the way, Will Smith, apparently tired of being stuck in traffic, gets out of his black car and decides to walk to the red carpet. He is extraordinarily friendly to everyone behind the barriers calling his name.
There is something fascinating about the biggest stars: many of them seem to have moved beyond the pitfalls of fame. Up close, they can be remarkably open and personal, almost hungry for ordinary human connection. While the machinery surrounding them works hard to make them appear untouchable, the people themselves often seem to want exactly the opposite — access to a genuine conversation.
Inside the Grand Théâtre Lumière, master of ceremonies Monica Bellucci walks onto the stage in a midnight-blue gown.
“I proclaim the Cannes Film Festival open!”
Cannes: Thursday, May 18, 2017
It is around 10 a.m., and I am at the Kering suite at the Majestic Hotel for the invitation-only Women in Motion talk with Robin Wright.
I ask her about her journey into womanhood.
We are often led to believe that true confidence comes naturally to strong and successful women, when in fact it is almost always a process — something we grow into over time. Robin Wright demystifies that idea, not only for me but for women everywhere who are still fighting to be heard, respected and treated equally.
By 3 p.m., I am on the rooftop of the JW Marriott on the Croisette, meeting Oscar-winning actress Marion Cotillard.
She is wearing olive-green pants and a white shirt, lounging barefoot on a sofa. There is something strikingly unguarded about her. She seems tired of the machinery of fame and everything that comes with it.
She tells me that at one point she stopped reading newspapers altogether and began laughing at the stories journalists had invented about her and Brad Pitt.
As we talk about Ismael’s Ghosts, the conversation moves beyond cinema and into something more personal: what it takes to withstand the scrutiny that comes with being famous.
Marion Cotillard tells me, “you have to be strong in front of people who try to destroy your life. You have to be strong”.
On my way back from the interview with Marion, despite already being almost two hours late, I decide to stop at the gala reception at the Russian Pavilion.
They are serving champagne and strawberries, but the atmosphere feels strangely socialist.
From there, I move to the American Pavilion members’ cocktail party. The band is playing, the bar is open, delicious food keeps circulating, and everyone is upbeat and happy.
On my way to the premiere of Loveless, an email arrives from Emma at The Weinstein Company about an event they are hosting at the Martinez with Michael Moore for his documentary 11/9, referring to the day Donald Trump was declared President of the United States at 2:29 a.m. on November 9, 2016.
Moore is currently directing the film, which he has kept under wraps for months.
Emma tells me that Bob and Harvey Weinstein have acquired worldwide rights to the film through The Fellowship Adventure Group, a subsidiary established in 2004 when they acquired the rights to Moore’s record-breaking documentary Fahrenheit 9/11.
Just minutes after the premiere of Loveless, another email arrives: my interview with Elisabeth Moss, one of my favorite actresses from Mad Men and so many other remarkable roles, has been scheduled for Sunday.
Cannes: Friday, May 19, 2017
I arrive at the British Pavilion for an intimate conversation with the producers of The Killing of a Sacred Deer.
They talk about how they decide which films to produce. Sam Lavender tells me he is interested in the depth of thought a filmmaker brings to a project and the amount of time they are willing to commit to it.
At a moment when everyone seems determined to tell me that emails should be short because nobody has the time — or the attention span — for anything lengthy or complex, I find it reassuring that some of the most powerful people in the film industry are still looking for depth, meaning and vision.
It puts me at peace with the road less traveled. It may take longer, but sometimes it is precisely the road that takes you where you were meant to go.
It is 2:30 p.m., and I am interviewing award-winning Russian filmmaker Andrey Zvyagintsev, who has returned to Cannes with the heart-wrenching film Loveless. Andrey is a fierce critic of Putin and tells me that he does not want to take government money to finance his films.
The room where we meet is small, with Mark Rothko paintings hanging on the walls. Suddenly, I feel as though I have stepped inside one of Zvyagintsev’s films.
A translator sits with us because Andrey does not speak English. Loveless revolves around broken relationships, alienation and emotional disconnection, but our conversation soon moves beyond the film. We talk about cinema, literature, relationships and happy endings, and Andrey opens an entirely new world of meaning to me.
He tells me that in his films he is often interested in what happens five or ten years after two people get together — when life reaches a point of crisis and they begin asking themselves why they chose each other in the first place.
After speaking with Andrey, I meet cast members Maryana Spivak and Alexei Rozin.
They tell me that America and Russia are not at war, that it is all in people’s heads.
“It’s also on CNN”, I say.
And yet here we all are, in lovely Cannes, watching films and drinking Moët.
My first 72 hours in Cannes have reminded me that this festival is not really about blockbusters. Beneath the red carpets, the parties and the machinery of celebrity, it is about people trying to understand one another through stories.
It is about humanity.
That is why we all love Cannes.
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