I’ve had several requests to do a post-mortem on Cannes, and who am I to disappoint. I’ve said it before: despite what any ex-girlfriend tells you, I’m a giver.Here you go:
• With so many foreign stars converging on the town, it’s difficult to determine each one’s level of fame. A good barometer: if a person in a tux is eating in McDonald’s – probably a low Q rating.
• While it was easily the nicest cab I’ve ever been in (gorgeous Mercedes with rear, leather, reclining seats), it’s smarter to schedule a flight from Nice for after 8 a.m., when the 14-dollar bus is running. Otherwise, you’ll pay for the nicest cab you’ve ever been in with something to the tune of 95 Euro ($129 American.) Sucked.
• The French – at least in Cannes – are super pleasant and helpful. And for the most part, they speak English, which is great when the extent of your French vocab comes via episodes of “The Benny Hill Show.”
• The flash-drives I brought stood out from all other swag. People instantly lit up when I handed them out. I hope everyone I gave them to plugs them into their computers on their flights home and gives the film a gander. I, for one, could have used a timekiller while being crammed between Fatty Arbuckle and his sidekick Smelly McGee for 12 hours on Air France.
• My film didn’t take home any prizes, but it got a great response at its screening. At least I think so, since the Dutch, Japanese, and Ukranian dudes were smiling when they patted me on the back. There were more countries represented there than the Inglewood unemployment office (my Q rating is super high there because I speak English.)
Let me just take a moment to kick the extra point in honor of getting to go to one of the most prestigious film festivals on the planet. It was outstanding, rewarding, exhilarating. I came back to LA more raring to go than ever. I’m in the process of figuring out what I’m going to write next to further my acting career, and it won’t necessarily be a film. It won’t be a crummy blog, either. I've got that covered.
