Nos Jours Heureux

Nos Jours Heureux
Amidst a sea of Hollywood summer blockbusters, a little French movie is by far the best film I've seen all summer. Nos Jours Heureux (In english, Our Happy Days) is a funny, poignant and entertaining romp through French summer camp. The film explores the lives of the young campers and their counselors who have a little growing up to do themselves. Directors Eric Toledano and Olivier Nakache have created a bildungsroman in the wilderness where the children experiment, explore and learn a great deal about themselves in the process. It was almost surreal how this camp resembled my experiences of going to camp every summer since the age of 8 then working there as a counselor. This film proved our old adage that "camp is for the counselors." The counselors - or "animateurs" - in Nos Jours Heureux complement each other perfectly and deliver an impressive ensemble performance. Jean-Paul Rouve plays the director of a three-week sleepover camp for kids whose ages range from pre-school to pre-adolescent. Hormones rage as love blossoms throughout the camp - I, in fact, have never seen 12-year olds make out so passionately, but, well, I guess there's a reason we call it the "French kiss." As the children grow up over the course of the summer, the "adults" taking care of them mature as well. The painfully shy Caroline, unable to express herself or, for that matter, form complete sentences, joins hunky playboy Daniel, portly camp nurse Nadine who shares a summer of lovin' with Joseph, a smiley black guy, and Truman, a frumpy Québequois whose accent I could not understand and, finally, Julie, an attractive Parisian who avoids responsibility and acts like she's on vacation. As the children go hiking, play sports and try to digest the food prepared by the amateur yet jovial Moroccan chef Mimoun, the counselors hook up (Daniel and Julie then Daniel and the horse-back riding girl then Daniel and Caroline then Julie and - well, I won't give it all away, but you get the idea). The children aren't much better, locking lips whenever their supervisors aren't looking, but their performances are impressive and I think that all moviegoers will be able to see a glimpse of themselves in many of the characters. Many of the scenes are quite humorous without being ridiculous or over-the-top and, when the bus rolled out of the camp towards the end of the film, I couldn't help but remember how I used to be so sad to say goodbye to the friends I'd made over the summer and the carefree days of not having to worry about anything at all. This is certainly among my favorite films - it's the perfect summer flick to escape the Parisian heat (the theater is air conditioned!) and return briefly to the insouciance of childhood.

An Alien in Paris

Fatima. Min Ha. Ayomide. Habibah. Rafi. Masego. Ji Wong. These are the names their parents gave to them when they were born, but today they are numbers 322-327. They're standing outside, baking under the grueling summer sun, sweating not only from the heat, but also from the fear of what will occur once they walk through the doors ahead of them. They stand in silence, gripping tightly large manila envelopes containing their passports, birth certificates, medical information … their entire lives smeared over sheets of A4 white paper. The line moves slowly, and everyone stares around them trying to paint a historical portrait of their neighbors in ten seconds or less; "what are you doing here?" Their backs and legs begin to ache as one hour becomes two then three then six, but feels like ten. Their stomachs begin to sing in unison, begging them in different languages for something to eat. Finally, the man in uniform takes a passport, glances at the photo then at the human being standing beside him, with a look of such condescension that, for a brief moment, the human being no longer feels human.
They follow the man in uniform up the stairs and enter the room on the right. They each take a number from one of those machines they recognize from the butcher shop. Only this time they are on the other end of the knife. They sit down in the metal chairs, most of them rusty and falling apart, the edges digging into their backs, but they are relieved to be finally resting. They approach the desk one by one as their numbers are called, shaking in trepidation as they stare into the eyes of the woman possessing the power to either ruin or ameliorate their lives with one signature. On what side of the bed did she wake up this morning? Will my children be able to eat tomorrow? They explain their situation, show whatever papers she asks for, then are given another number and herded into another room. It's sweltering inside and smells sort of like a grilled cheese sandwich, but they all know it's not the smell of a grilled cheese sandwich. There are no chairs in this room, and the silence that has followed them since 7 AM is now interrupted by babies screaming and the sobs of those leaving the room empty-handed, tears spilling onto their manila envelopes. "But my mother is French…" "But I've lived here for 11 years now…" "But my son is in school…" "But I can't go back there, I can't go back, I can't, I-"
Paris, France is traditionally synonymous with the Eiffel Tower, Gérard Depardieu, Impressionist paintings and any food involving cream, butter or lard. Tourists flock from all over the world to taste Alain Ducasse's latest culinary creation, to sip a coffee at Café Flore and watch the Bourgeois stroll down the Boulevard Saint Germain or to earn air miles as they run their credit cards through the machines of the boutiques on the rue du Faubourg St Honoré. Yet, for those from other countries hoping for more than just a passing visit to France's capital city, life is anything but a walk in the Tuileries Gardens…
I get the same reaction from pretty much everyone to whom I complain about the "nightmare" I've been through to secure working papers and stay in Paris: "Oh please, you're a young, pretty American female, you have nothing to worry about." Usually followed by the inevitable not-meant-to-be-racist-probably-just-ignorant-but-nonetheless-awful "They're concerned with the Africans, the Arabs, the Chinese … they're not going to bother with someone like you." Well, I hate to break it to all of you, but "someone like me" - namely an educated, 23-year old female American citizen who grew up in a New Jersey suburb and went to private school and summer camp - is no match for the French government's rigid bureaucracy. Sarkozy's veritable immigrant witchhunt has led the tens of thousands of illegal immigrants in France to fear for their lives and attempt to escape a fate of expulsion. You've probably all been reading about the tens of thousands of illegal immigrants lining up in front of government offices across the country to file applications for naturalization? Well, last week I joined these "illegal immigrants" for a fun day in the sun, aka an eight-hour romp through the streets of Paris' 17th district complete with 90-degree weather, crying babies and clouds of cigarette smoke. I believe Frommer may have left this kind of tour of Paris out of his latest guide. I've been in Paris for almost two years now, first studying, now working, and, lately, just simply finding a way to continue to live and work here has become a full-time job in its own right. I applied for my carte de séjour (residency card) as soon as I arrived in February to start my new job, went through my medical visit (which, by the way, consists of waiting in a hot smelly room only to be herded into another hot smelly room, told by a mysterious man claiming to have a medical degree to "take off your shirt" at which point an x-ray is taken of the lungs without any form of magnetic protection and, after ensuring that you do not have tuberculosis nor are you blind, deaf or allergic to foie gras, you are deemed worthy to reside in the fine French capital) and sent every document detailing pretty much every movement I made since birth to a furtive French governmental black hole. This file has since come back to me three times asking me for things - and I swear on the croissant I had for breakfast - they never once asked me for before. Finally, I went to the Prefecture in person to investigate myself which turned out to be one of the more miserable days of my life, but, in retrospect, as most miserable days turn out to be, a great learning experience.
When you stand on line with people for eight hours, you make a few friends. The chinese couple behind me spoke neither a word of English nor French, but, by the end of the eight hours, I had figured out that they were from China (hence their moniker of " the Chinese couple "), the wife is expecting a baby during the 11th month of the year, and they like to smile a lot. Fatima, from Morocco, and my self-proclaimed "best friend of the day" (Congratulations, Fatima!) explained to me that both of her parents are French but that, having grown up and gone to school in Morocco, the French government considered her to be an alien, able to care for herself and thus not eligible for citizenship in the country where her parents were born and live. Then there was the man in the wheelchair who came with his son so that his son could continue to live in France and go to school. We read about these people in newspapers all over the world - Sarkozy's "40,000 immigrés" - but they are not just numbers, they're people. People with histories and hopes, dreams and fears. People who ride the metro every day, shop in the supermarkets, go to the movies. What is a nationality anyway? Just the stamp on one's passport? My passport was issued by the United States of America, but my life is in France. From my job, my friends, my apartment, my bank account to the corner boulangerie where I buy my baguette each day, the little old man who gives me free coffee at my favorite café and my "reserved" seat for people-watching on the quai of the Seine. Every time I complain about French governmental bureaucracy, people ask me, "So why do you put up with it? Why don't you just go home?" And to them I reply, "I am home." In Alexander Payne's short, "The 14th Arrondissement," at the end of the recent film "Paris, Je T'aime," Carol, an American woman with quite possibly the worst French accent I have ever heard, sums it all up "Paris, je t'aime et je sais que tu m'aimes aussi." ("Paris, I love you and I know that you love me back.")

Cannes: Part Deux

There's nothing like your first time. You go into it all wide-eyed and innocent, not knowing what to expect, and experience feelings of deep pleasure that you never knew were possible. Though it's hard to come down after your first climax, when it's all over, you can't wait to do it all again. Yes, there's nothing like your first Cannes Film Festival: the Riviera sun, the yachts, the villas, the 10,000 blackberries buzzing on lunch tables all over the Croisette as film execs attempt to avoid cardiac arrest amid the overcharged festival rhythm. It's almost indescribable to those who have never done it. I lost my Cannes Film Festival virginity last year on a warm, summer today in May and, while I'll never forget my first time, this year I
returned to the Croisette with knowledge, experience, skill… and a few more VIP passes than last year. This is my story.

May 14, 2006
I gazed out the window of my first-class window seat as the train slowly approached the Gare de Cannes. Even the skinny, hairy French men wearing tight speedos on the beach didn't ruin the incredible view of the Riviera beaches to my right and the swank hilltop villas to my left. The sun was shining as the train screeched to a halt, and, after a tumultuous struggle with my seemingly 400-lb suitcase for a few blocks, I arrived at my hotel. The Hôtel Alnea, a charming two-star hotel just a (Sharon) stone's throw away from the Grand Palais, should be listed in the Guiness Book of World Records as "The Smallest Hotel in Cannes." I was in fact able to simultaneously sit on the toilet, wash my face AND take a shower - without moving a muscle. How many world-class hotels can boast such a luxury I ask you? Though small, the hotel is conveniently located right down the street from the Grand Palais (where I would be spending nearly the next 184 hours of my life) and the husband and wife who own the place welcomed me with open arms. They gave me the same room I had last year so I felt right at home, and even remembered what exactly I required for breakfast each morning - I stumbled into the dining room each morning with a croissant, strawberry jelly, yogurt, granola, honey and orange juice waiting for me at "my" table. I ate with the Cannes Market News team (or the French side at least) at Farfalla, then went to bed early for some pre-festival sleep.

May 16, 2006
On the day before the festival/market began, the Grand Palais resembled a construction site and the Croisette merely a boardwalk. Yet, year after year, the night before it all begins, the Palais is transformed into an international movie Mecca as stands spring up all over the Riviera and Palais Level -1 and film posters and gratuitously outrageous publicity stunts take over the major hotels on the Croisette.
Ever since 1946, when Louis Lumière took on the duty of the festival's inaugural jury president, the Cannes Film Festival has evoked images of red carpets, sunny beaches and glamour. For two weeks each May, international stars and film industry executives make their way to the French Riviera to celebrate "la septième art" with as much gratuitous
luxury as possible. Cannes is the setting for two parallel plots intertwining, namely the Cannes festival and the Cannes film market. As famous directors and their beautiful muses stroll the red carpet outside of Le Palais, inside, the international film market is at its highest peak of activity as multi-million dollar distribution deals are made every minute. The Croisette becomes a veritable college campus where it's all "work hard, play hard" as champagne flows like water and securing party invites becomes an extra-curricular activity.
Colossal film posters and animations decorate the Croisette as film fans line up outside, cameras in hand, ready to snap their way to stardom … or Ebay. The Cannes Film Festival is so unique it is almost indescribable (though clearly I am not at a loss for words to describe every detail of my second trip to the Croisette).
Most of the activity in Cannes takes place at Le Palais du Festival, an enormous building right on La Croisette (the large strip separating the beaches from the major hotels that runs throughout the city - also known as a "boardwalk" of sorts to those of you more familiar with the Jersey shore than the Côte d'Azur). Outside, the red carpet is the scene of the premieres of the
films "In Competition" and the inside is filled with "stands," i.e. veritable offices for sales agencies, digital imaging and the film commissions of various companies. Each stand is decorated with film posters, big-screen televisions and often hors d'œuvres served to buyers during important business meetings. The stands are located both in the Riviera section of Le Palais and on the bottom level. Outside of the Riviera, the pavilions of the "International Village" line the beach as each country's flag hangs proudly over its tent, usually the base of national film commissions offering a warm welcome to its inhabitants in town. The American Pavilion, for example, is a haven for citizens of Les Etats-Unis where festivalgoers can have a peanut butter and jelly sandwich outside on the terrace, check their email on computers with QUERTY keyboards or participate in round table discussions between directors and stars such as Brett Ratner and Nick Nolte. Further down the Croisette is the Pantiero, the site of UniFrance, the Ile-de-France Film Commission and the Rendez-Vous des Exploitants (a huge modern space dedicated to partners of the festival such as Nestle who offered free ice cream ,and coffee) and the Plage des Palmes, a high-class restaurant right on the water reserved only for very important
business executives discussing distribution deals over some foie gras in the sun. Other companies set up camp in the luxurious four and five-star hotels lining the Croisette such as The Majestic, The Hotel Martinez, The Noga Hilton and The Carlton. Just a few minutes in the lobby of any of these hotels ensures at least one celebrity sighting and makes even the poorest of Franco-American journalists (cough, cough) feel like a star for a brief moment in time.
As almost the entire city of Los Angeles arrived in town and battled jetlag, we at the Cannes Market News were already hard at work preparing our first issue of the 2006 Festival. As Managing Editor (aka "Coordination" on the masthead thanks to the politics of working for a rigid French company) of the Official daily of the Marché du Film (the international Cannes Market) I was responsible for coordinating the publication of the daily magazine. Our editorial content was provided by indieWIRE, the leading, news, information and social networking site for the international independent film community. I also added to the CMN layout this year a more in-depth calendar of events, profiles of industry execs (including photos and responses to more "fun" Who, What, When, Where and Why questions), the quote and fact/figure of the day and FOCUS stories on various international territories in addition to the screenings guide for the following day and a double page of photos of Cannes events. In one ear, the American journalists and, in the other, my French "team" of an editor and graphic designer. Needless to say, my head was spinning by the time we closed at around midnight, but "one down, seven to go" echoed in my head as I prepared for the rest of the week's work.

May 17, 2006
Festival and Market Day One finally arrived as I reached a level of stress I never before thought physically possible. As English flew in one ear and French out the other, my brain became a pot pourri of "franglais" as I tried to remain calm and organized among the international mayhem sweeping the French Riviera. As I awaited the day's market news to arrive, I attended a cocktail for Greenestreet Films International at the Majestic Hotel terrace and the DDA PR Cocktail Party at the Majestic Beach with our photographer to take a few photos for the following day's issue.

May 18 - Da Market Code
While Market members from all over the world anxiously await the annual Marché du Film Opening Night party, I dread it. Not only do I have to wait to layout and put captions on the photos pages until our photographer completes his tour of the bash (usually around 11 PM), but there is inevitably a problem with an ad page that requires me to run around like a "poulet" with my head cut off until the problem is alleviated. Last year, my boss chose to sell an ad page at 1 AM requiring me to change the entire layout of the issue and, this year, he realized at around midnight that he had sold the back cover to two different clients, forcing me to assuage one angry client, remove the ad of another - soon to be incensed client - in the midst of putting captions on the photos pages/identifying every market member smiling next to Jérôme Paillard complete with title and company, editing the other sections of the magazine, and trying to remain somewhat social to the myriad market executives greeting me hello as they sipped champagne and nibbled on gourmet food along the docks of the Majestic Beach.
Earlier that day, I'd attended a Press Breakfast in the Carlton Hotel for Focus Features International during which time I spoke with Focus CEO James Schamus and new company President Andrew Karpen as they unveiled their slate for the new season.
After the Marché du Film hoopla and subsequent late close around 1:30 AM in the Palais, I downed two paninis from the stand outside the Palais and headed out on the town. I can honestly say that I have absolutely no recollection of where I went or what I did on that particular evening, but I woke up in bed with Brad Pitt. No, just kidding, but I probably dreamed about it that evening as my head hit the pillow…

May 19, 2006
I saw my first film of the fest at 11:30 AM: Richard Linklater's FAST FOOD NATION, which may have been more appropriately titled "Why Rebecca Leffler Will Never Eat a Hamburger Again nor Travel Anywhere in the Vicinity of a McDonalds." Though the film was somewhat preachy, clearly targeted at the average moviegoer whose IQ, according to Richard Linklater, must not exceed .005, the performances were strong (despite a talentless Avril Lavigne seemingly trying to break the world record for "most lines said in a movie while keeping long, blond locks perfectly in place") and the film an eye-opening look at the entire spectrum of the inside world of the American Fast Food industry from the poor Mexican immigrants at the slaughterhouses to the company execs basking in immoral exploitation of the nation's youth.
May 19th soon became "Fast Food Nation Day" as I ran into Greg Kinnear in the elevator of the Carlton later that day, then later that evening, managed to make my way (and that of two equally uninvited friends) into the private, invite-only party for the film at the Century Club on the beach.
Nearly the entire cast was there including Avril Lavigne (who, again, was still working on her record for least long blond locks of hair-moving), Catalino Sandino Moreno (say that five times fast), Ethan Hawke (why are good-looking actors always way too short in person? Our love affair is over, Ethan, I'm sorr.), Ashley Johnson (who I still can't dissociate from her oh-so-cute stint on Growing Pains), the Gregster (as in Kinnear, but hello we were already on a nickname basis as of our hot elevator encounter just hours earlier), Bobby Cannavale (who, not only remembered meeting me a few years earlier at the Toronto Film Festival, but also hails from Hoboken and we are now official best friends and armpit-of-the-United-States compatriots - Jersey represent!), Wilmer Valderrama (whom I informed that I watch speaking fluent French on French television's version of "That 70s Show" which seemed to amuse the much-shorter-in-person-but-certainly-charming-although-I-still-can't-see-how-he-snagged-the-likes-of-Lindsay Lohan-Jennifer Love Hewitt-and-Many Moore actor), in addition to Brett Ratner (also of the "I-still-can't-see-how-he-snagged-the-likes-of-Lindsay Lohan" category of men and whom I also attacked, informing him that as he will be filming RUSH HOUR 3 in Paris this summer and I happen to live in Paris, we should, thus, be best friends and hang out. He agreed and took my business card and I plan to hear from him any day now of course…) Yes, somewhere along the line, I have lost my gene for shame. I am convinced that I no longer have any and will talk to anyone with ears and feet.
As Young Hollywood schmoozed the Croisette Beach, an older, more refined crowd à la Vanity Fair made their way around the party including my friend - and Dartmouth alum - renowned UK Publisher Ed Victor who introduced me to the likes of Paul McGuinness (U2's manager) and other high-class British elite.

May 21, 2006 -
Today, I saw how "the other half" lives, and I must admit I quite liked it. After all, as they say, "a day witout a yacht, a villa and a few dozen celebrities is no day at all." (I'm not quite sure if anyone has actually ever said that actually, but they should have, it's kinda catchy, non?) Someone must have exchanged my women's extra-calcium multivitamins this morning with lucky pills, because from the moment I awoke, I lived the life of someone other than myself. And, while I do like being me, I am, as I discovered, also a fan of being this wealthy, important alter-ego who enjoys lunches on yachts, parties in villas, private cars, fine dining and French celebrities.
I was awakened at 8 AM by a phone call from a publicist wondering if I indeed would be attending the FLYBOYS luncheon on Ralph Ellison's yacht that afternoon. Flyboys? Lunch? Yacht? Did I mention I hadn't slept since May 14th? The message sounded something like this: Booboo mooma paca fifi woowoopajama bananatahiti supercalifragilisticexpeealodocias, and I responded abruptly with the only word my Franco-Anglo jargon would pronounce: "Oui?" I soon found myself, at around 1 PM, pointing to my name on a private list and then boarding a tiny boat headed out to sea. After running around all morning preparing for the day's CMN issue, this short voyage out to sea was a tranquil and welcome change from the craziness of the Croisette. We arrived at the Ellison yacht (which, I am told is the largest yacht in the world) and, after taking off our shoes, went upstairs for a gourmet buffet lunch featuring delicious food and water imported from Finland, apparently the purest water in the world. I mean really, who would drink anything else? The lunch aboard The Rising Sun Yacht was hosted by Electric Entertainment and Voltage Pictures. The lunch celebrated their presentation of the film FLYBOYS (starring Jean Reno, James Franco, and David Ellison among others) in Cannes and also the unveiling of their forthcoming slate. I spoke with David Ellison, one of the stars of FLYBOYS, and owner of the Rising Sun yacht. Here is a short excerpt of the script of our encounter (see: loss of gene for shame, above)
Me: "What an amazing boat. I think I may hide in that cabinet over there and stay on board forever."
David Ellison: "Yeah…it's my boat."
Cue the red cheeks …
I had a wonderful time aboard the Rising Sun - I ignored all calls to my cell phone (only to be greeted by the lovely voice of SFR telling me "you have 450 new messages" as I arrived back to shore later in the day) and was able to briefly escape the madness of the Palais and the Croisette. I can say without hesitation that I was absolutely the least important, poorest and youngest person aboard the yacht, but if inferiority always bring such happiness - in the form of a beautiful view, interesting company and gourmet food - I am game for a lifetime of underachieving…
Later that evening, I joined some of my colleagues from Le Film Français for dinner at La Cantine, a swank New York-esque restaurant in town, then met a friend at the Majestic Hotel where a private car (Sony's private car for the record) picked us up and escorted us to the Villa Khayat for Wild Bunch's party to celebrate the Cannes premiere of SOUTHLAND TALES, showing In Competition. The villa itself was extraordinary - I estimate around 400 million square feet (and to think I'd forgo a career in architecture or interior design!) for the edifice itself, but the party was spread out all over the premises, from poolside, to the dance floor, to nooks and crannies spread throughout the hilly back and side yards, to the large blow-up Bar Mitzvah-like jumping paraphernalia. There were girls in bikinis covered in slime dancing to my right, and Bai Ling shaking her groove thang to the left. Studio execs mingled with B-list American celebrities, Greek shipping heirs and a woman wearing the strangest white dress I've ever seen that took up about 20 square feet of dance floor space. I was in French movie nerd heaven as everywhere I turned I caught the gaze of A-list Gallic celebrities including Edouard Baer, Jean Dujardin and Alexandra Lamy (who were making out all over the place in a very un-French public display of drunken affections) and Guillaume Canet, aka the love of my life who momentarily rendered me speechless (a rare occurrence I might add) as his arm brushed mine as he left the bar area.
I then spent the rest of my visit mingling with the self-proclaimed "it boys" of Hollywood, Danny Masterson and Wilmer Valderrama. Though it was a bit odd to hear them speaking English after almost two years of watching "Zat Sevendeez Shoo" dubbed en français, we are definitely new best friends and I'm waiting to see a photo of our bonding session on the cover of US Weekly. Not to mention that I'm that much closer to finally consummating my love affair with Ashton Kutcher…
We took the Sony car back to Cannes and, unfortunately, back to reality … okay, not quite reality, read on …

May 22, 2006
After yet another day breaking human stress records, I closed the daily early, ran to my hotel to break human clothes-changing records and made it to the red carpet of the Palais to "monte les marches" for the world premiere of XMEN: THE FINAL STAND. Following my footsteps was director Brett Ratner who joined his all-star cast for a stroll down the most prestigious red carpet in the world. As if there weren't enough mutants on the Croisette, Halle Berry, Hugh Jackman, Rebecca Romijn (with beau Jerry O'Connell in tow), Famke Janssen, Ian
McKellen, Shawn Ashmore, Anna Paquin, Kelsey Grammer and Patrick Stewart all took a stand in front of the Palais to present the film. And what's a red carpet without Paris Hilton? Well, probably a classier red carpet but anyway, she was there and surprisingly wearing a dress that I admittedly adored, a Roberto Cavalli crystal studded dress with wide, flowy arms.
Though I had to struggle to keep my eyes open due to extreme festival-induced fatigue, the film was a welcome distraction of mindless entertainment and it was exciting to see the visuals on the huge screen in the Palais as the entire cast watched from below. While I enjoyed the first two films in the XMEN franchise much more thanks to deeper storylines, the third installment lacked a coherent plot, but the special effects were impressive and the A-list cast impossible not to love.
After the film, I made my way to the private, "invite-only" post-screening party at Le Baron in the Hotel 3/14 (yes, this time I actually had an invite). The entire cast was there and I joined them in the VIP section for some champagne (served in glasses with red lights on the bottom- très cool.) Halle Berry is even more beautiful up-close and Hugh Jackman is actually very tall (and, unfortunately, married) in person. I schmoozed with (also very cute, but dating
Michele Trachtenberg) Shawn Ashmore and (my future best friend in Paris this summer as previously announced) Brett Ratner, then was introduced to the almost-Mr. Paris Hilton, THE Paris Latsis who was rumored to be frolicking on his yacht with Lindsay Lohan all weekend,
but was in reality, conversing with yours truly. Again, the boy was teeny tiny in person - I've heard the camera adds ten pounds, does US Weekly add ten inches? What is with the ubiquity of shortness among the Hollywood in crowd? LA: Lilliputians Abound…

May 24, 2006
Before the festival began, I set goals for myself, namely: 1) to publish a high-quality magazine daily with no mistakes, 2) to meet interesting people from all over the world and 3) to walk the red carpet for the world premiere of Sofia Coppola's MARIE ANTOINETTE. However, I wasn't the only person with such an objective; tickets to the nighttime showing of MARIE ANTOINETTE were gradually becoming more coveted than the Palme d'Or as even members of Sony's elite team struggled to snag a seat to the screening. From the beginning of the week, I set out on Mission: Im-Coppola and, by May 24th I had secured a ticket. As The Cannes Market News daily had wrapped the night before, I was officially a free woman and could think of no better way to celebrate the end of one of the most stressful weeks of my life than letting myself eat cake with Princess Sofia and her muse. However, that afternoon I received a call from my boss telling me that he and I had been invited to a private dinner with Ivana Trump and that whatever plans I had for the evening should promptly be canceled. After a grueling wavering between my two options (all decisions should be this hard), I decided that I can always see the film in Paris, but that Ivana Trump may not indeed be inviting me to any of her private gatherings anytime in the foreseeable future. As the mysterious evening commenced, I arrived at the Majestic Hotel where a private car was waiting for us to drive us down the Croisette to the Pangea club on the beach. The swank leopard-print decorated lounge soon became a stomping ground for the fabulously wealthy (and me) as Ivana swept through the crowd to celebrate her birthday. At around midnight, my entourage and I (or rather my boss and his friends, but doesn't entourage have a nicer ring to it?) were famished (no wonder Ivana stays so fit at such an old age - the woman served nothing but finger food for smurfs all night) so we headed to the nearby Félix restaurant for some late-night grub. Along the way, we ran into Prince Fayed and a few other Saudi Arabian billionaires who invited us to dinner and regaled us with tales of their new "toys," namely jets, yachts and new shipping boats. It was a scene of world peace: nice Jewish girl from New Jersey breaking bread with Saudi princes. Can't we all just get along?
After a 2 AM 3-course dinner (definitely a nice change from the 3 AM street crèpes I am used to in Paris), we head to the "it" spot of the fest, Jimmy'Z where I danced all night alongside French stars such as Alain Chabat and Jean-Pierre Roussillon.

May 25, 2006
At around noon, I received the following phone call: "Hi Rebecca, We just bought a new yacht and want to take it for a spin. Are you up for lunch in St. Tropez?" Now, all of you who know me will know that I have spent the past 23 and a half years dreaming of a phone call like this. A Yacht? Lunch? St. Tropez? I soon jumped from Cloud 9 (where I'd been since my arrival in Cannes) to cloud 459. However, I'd been warned the night before by their client that - and I quote - "When Saudi princes ask a nice young girl onto their boat, she's not just going for a ride on their boat." Thus, as visions of the next day's NY Times headlines flashed through my head - "Nice Jewish Girl Disappears on Yacht with Arabian Billionaires" - I had to decline the invitation, but it was certainly the best trip I didn't go on in my life.
That night, I went to Hugh Hefner's 80th birthday bash, which took place (again!) at Pangea on the beach. Hugh and his girlfriends and many scantily clad women were present, and I left after about 10 of the trashiest, must unenjoyable minutes of my life and joined some friends at Le Baron for a fun night of dancing (in the company of actresses Jena Malone and Emilie Duquenne).

May 26, 2006
I spent the afternoon at the International Press Day for Guillermo Del Toro's PAN'S LABYRINTH. I met Guillermo and the cast, and entertained the international journalists as they waited around for their interview. That night, I attended the red carpet premiere of Xavier Giannoli's QUAND, J'ETAIS CHANTEUR. I had been anticipating this film as Giannoli is one of my favorite French directors, and the cast includes the ubiquitous Gérard Depardieu and the charmingly unique Cécile de France. The film is about an affair that develops between a down-on-his-luck ballroom singer (Depardieu) and a young estate agent (De France). The film is a typical Xiannoli, namely slow and deeply introspective, but it was an enjoyable romp through the French music hall scene and Depardieu is, well, Depardieu and what a smashing job he does at that. He's at his best in years. The chemistry between the two is surprisingly believable and de France displays once again her powerful on-screen presence.
After the screening, I dined at a restaurant on a hill in the Vieux Port called Le Machou. I have been to few restaurants more "French" than this one. The restaurant itself is small and charming and, were it not for the many Americans speaking loudly all around me who battle to the death to get a reservation in this popular Cannes eatery, I would have felt as if I were in a French farmer's kitchen. The menu isn't much more extensive than a meal on a budget airline, offering a choice between "poulet ou bœuf?" ("chicken or beef?"), but the experience is memorable and the food delicious. We started with complimentary glasses of sangria (or at least I think they were complimentary, it became hard to distinguish after a week of being offered food and drinks wherever I turned) and then toasted, buttered bread with dipping sauces. Then, they brought out a huge plate of ham and melon followed by the largest basket of crudités I have ever seen in my life. There was an entire farm before my eyes. Finally, they brought out my meal. When I ordered "the chicken," I really did order a whole chicken.
After the hearty meal, I went to the after-party for the Xiannoli film at the Carlton Beach. Again, I found myself in French movie nerd heaven as I danced with the very energetic Cécile de France and grooved next to Emmanuelle Béart. Sami Naceri was there, as was Tim Burton, Daniel Bruhl and Sandrine Bonnaire. I told Firmine Richard that I was her #1 American fan and she humble responded that I was probably her only American fan. (Sadly, she's probably right but I do love her subtle supporting performances in some of my favorite French films of all time).

May 27, 2006
I went to the red carpet premiere of Guillermo Del Toro's PAN'S LABYRINTH. The film is a darker, more gory Alice in Wonderland-type bildungroman that tells the story of a young girl who travels with her mother and adoptive father, a cruel Captain, to a rural area in the North of Spain in 1944 after Franco´s victory. The little girl lives in an imaginary world of her own creation to escape the horrors of her daily life and the post-war Fascist repression. Though I am usually turned off by such detailed blood and gore, I was captivated by the stunning visuals and unable to turn away from the screen even at the most gruesome moments. The fantastically realistic cinematography juxtaposed with powerful performances by talented Spanish actors including Sergi Lopez (who, in real life is a smiley, down-to-earth guy much unlike his cold, pitiless character in the film), the young Ivana Baquero and Maribel Verdu, make for a uniquely marvelous cinematic experience.
After the film, I headed to the post-party at the Carlton Beach where I danced with Del Toro and his wife, who were all smiles after receiving a long standing ovation after the screening. I chatted with Harvey Weinstein, had a glass of wine along the pier, then headed back to my hotel as I ended my run at the 59th Cannes Film Festival.

So I came, I climaxed midweek at incredible soirées and then it was suddenly all over, merely a distant memory. Though, once I've done it, I have to repeat the experience and hope to make it back to the Croisette for next year's milestone 60th Cannes Film Festival. Does anyone have a cigarette?

The Best of the Bests:
Best Quote: "Are you going to take our picture with that thing?"
-Sting, on my ghetto Elph digital camera when I went to take a picture of him at the First Look cocktail on the Majestic Hotel Terrace for the Cannes Market News.

Best Meal: Félix (a warm asparagus salad followed by some kind of scallops and shrimp with beans and veggies in one of the most delectable sauces my lips have ever touched, with fresh grain and olive bread and a strawberry-shortcake-like dessert - delectable)

Best Party: The Southland Tales bash hosted by Wild Bunch at the Villa Khayat

Best Drink: The Bellini at the Hotel Martinez bar

Best Film I saw: Pan's Labyrinth

Best friends:
French
Danny Boon
Jamel Debbouze
Emmanuel Béart
Cécile de France
Guillaume Canet
Alexandra Lamy
Jean Dujardin
Firmine Richard
Gérard Depardieu
Xavier Giannioli
Sandrine Bonnaire
Sami Naceri
Alain Chabat
Jean-Pierre Roussillon
Romain Duris
Edouard Baer
Patrice Leconte
Fanny Valette
Christophe
Emilie Duquenne
Julie Gayet

American/Other
Tim Burton
Ivana Trump
Ethan Hawke
Sting
Trudie Styler
Ian Mckellen
Anna Paquin
Shawn Ashmore
Samuel L. Jackson
Helena Bonham Carter
Rebecca Romijn
Halle Berry
Paris Latsis
Daniel Bruhl
Guillermo Del Toro
Alfred Molina
Hugh Jackman
Greg Kinnear
Bobby Cannavale
Bai Ling
Sydney Pollack
Harvey Weinstein
Wilmer Valderrama
Danny Masterson
Catalina Sandina Moreno
Avril Lavigne
Brett Ratner
Francis Ford Coppola
Kelsey Grammar
Famke Jansenn
Paul Greengrass
Paris Hilton
Jena Malone
Sergi Lopez

Saudi Arabians
Prince Fayed

Starring ... Paris!

Guess Who Got Shot in Paris?
Hollywood Capitalizes on the Ile-De-France Region’s Film Production Resources


Lise Bouvier: Maybe Paris has a way of making people forget.
Jerry Mulligan: Paris? No. Not this city. It's too real and too beautiful to ever let you forget anything.
(An American in Paris, 1951)

For as long as there have been movies, there have been clichéd love stories set in the city of lights. Paris’ traditional landscape has been romanticized to the extreme by Hollywoodian love stories; sharing a sweet embrace on the Pont Neuf seems to be a rite of passage into big screen immortality. Think: Gene Kelly and Leslie Caron in An American in Paris, Billy Crystal and Debra Winger in Forget Paris, Kevin Kline and Meg Ryan in French Kiss, Diane Keaton and Jack Nicholson in Something’s Gotta Give. Filmmakers from around the world have fallen in love with France’s capital city and given life to the Parisian landscape on the big screen. In many of these films, Paris is not only a background setting, but is a major part of the plot, a character in its own right. With the new Mrs. Tom Cruise saying “I do” atop la Tour Eiffel and Brangelina recently shacking up in the 15th arrondissement, Paris has become the Hollywood love hot spot du jour. Carrie Bradshaw – almost! – followed her hunky dancer to Paris on the series finale of “Sex & The City” and, had Ross not arrived in the nick of time, Rachel Green of the hit series “Friends” would probably be working at the just- renovated Louis Vuitton flagship store on the Champs Elysées. The Bachelor in Paris recently watched Travis and Sarah find true love against the backdrop of the Eiffel Tower, and other cheesy tourist attractions. Though Paris has always been a favorite spot for filmmakers and film buffs alike, the Ile-de-France Film Commission has lately gone even further to promote filming in the region.

More and more films are being made in Ile-de-France, especially Paris. About 90% of the French cinema and audiovisual industry is based in Ile-de-France and Hollywood is following fast in its tracks. The Ile-de-France Film Commission’s goal is to identify projects in the planning stage and encourage promoters to use the Ile de France region for filming and production activity. While French films have always been eligible for local subsidies, the Ile-de-France has attracted myriad international productions, offering regional aid to projects if more than 50% of the footage is filmed in the Ile de France. According to Olivier-René Veillon, Executive Director of the Ile de France Film Commission, “We want the Ile de France region to be a major site for international film production.”

In 2005, the French capital was home to 662 film shoots, including 100 feature films, 90 short films, 150 TV fiction films and 54 documentaries. On a typical day from May through August every year, there are between 10 and 15 films being shot in the region, both French and international. In addition to The Da Vinci Code and Marie Antoinette, the Ile-de-France welcomed the cast and crew of Steven Spielberg’s Munich, Stephen Frears’ The Queen and popular French films including Danièle Thompson’s Fauteuils d’Orchestre, Claude Chabrol’s L’Ivresse du Pouvoir and Francis Veber’s La Doublure.

Last summer, cameras invaded the world’s largest cultural staple of art to film the movie version of Dan Brown’s international bestseller The Da Vinci Code, which will premiere at this year’s Cannes Film Festival on May 17th.

From June through August of last summer, Ron Howard’s team of professionals occupied the French capital – from the Louvre Museum, to the suburban Chateau de la Villette. It was hard not to notice the 87 trailers parked all around the Louvre, and filming took place on Tuesdays and at night, after the museum was closed to the public. According to Veillon, the challenge in filming The Da Vinci Code was finding a balance between the importance of such a central cultural monument and the grandeur of such a big-budget Hollywood film. Veillon attributes the success of the film shoot to the competence of the Paris police prefecture who assured that the numerous trailers found a place to park themselves in the Louvre’s constricted surroundings and secured the area for the high-profile cast and crew without disrupting Parisian daily life.

“If a movie like The Da Vinci Code can be filmed in the Louvre, it’s possible for any film to be shot in Paris,” Veillon told The Paris Times.

Not only did French Cultural Minister Renaud Donnedieu de Vabres allow the project to occur in his country’s most famed national palace, but he has been rallying for a more ubiquitous use of French cultural monuments in film. In January of last year, De Vabres invited presidents of France’s principal museums along with film producers in an effort to fuse cinematic production with the spread of French culture throughout the world. De Vabres urged the attendees to increase the number of film productions in national museums.

The cinema has proven itself to be a significant means of cultural transport. In fact, 62% of tourists visiting France claim to have chosen to come to France for their vacation after exposure to the country in a feature film. France’s recent efforts to open the doors of its most precious cultural establishments to film production is not merely a defense mechanism against the invasion of Hollywood’s monopoly, but a means of defending its patrimony. The marriage between film and culture not only attracts film crews to ameliorate France’s economic health and enhance its cultural influence, but it also brings jobs to thousands of local film crews struggling to find work in a Hollywoodian hegemonic world.

The Mona Lisa isn’t the only one rolling in the dough recently. Marie Antoinette is also taking in some big bucks from Columbia Pictures. Sofia Coppola shot Marie Antoinette, produced by her father Francis Ford Coppola and starring Kirsten Dunst, at the Chateau of Versailles, in particular Marie Antoinette’s apartments. The film will also premiere at this year’s Cannes Film Festival in May. The Versailles Château welcomed Coppola and crew with open arms. “I was very impressed by the way Sofia Coppola handled such a historically significant topic,” said Veillon, “I have a great deal of respect and admiration for her.”


Yet Coppola is not the first to feature Versailles on the big screen; in fact, 160 films and 50 documentaries have been filmed in this historical palace. The Louvre last opened its doors in 1999 for “Belphegor,The Phantom of the Louvre” a mystery film about a ghost haunting the Louvre and stealing precious Egyptian artifacts.

Cannes will also be the home to the world premiere of Paris, Je t’aime, a series of shorts directed by 20 different film-makers invited from around the world to write and direct a five-minute film, each illustrating the timeless theme of romance in one of Paris’ 20 arrondissements. The stories were shot separately in both English and French, but woven together to create a coherent single narrative. Participating directors include such famous names as Joel and Ethan Coen, Olivier Assayas, Gus Van Sant, Isabel Coixet, Alexander Payne, Bruno Podalydès and Wes Craven. The casting credits read like a potpourri of the world’s most beloved actors: Gérard and Julie Depardieu, Nick Nolte, Emily Mortimer, Natalie Portman, Juliette Binoche, Elijah Wood, Willem Dafoe, Ludivine Sagnier and Maggie Gyllenhaal to give just a sample of the extraordinary cast.

In February, American director Hal Hartley was in Paris to shoot his latest film, Fay Grim, the sequel to 1997’s Henry Fool which stars Jeff Goldblum and Parker Posey.

Fay Grim was filmed in the prestigious Hôtel de Soubise.

And … Badabing! Paris also welcomed the cast and crew of hit US series, The Sopranos, from February 27-March 3 of this year. Under the direction of Tim van Patten and the supervision of Executive Producer Ilene S. Landress, actresses Edie Falco, Shannon Angela and Drea de Matteo brought an international dimension to the famous mafia drama. Spoiler alert!: After Carmela and Tony have a marital dispute, the lovely ladies of Prime Time head to Paris for an overseas escape including the fancy Raphael Hotel on the Champs-Elysées, dinner at the Grand Véfour, lunch at the Brasserie Pereire at the Place du Maréchal Juin, prayers at the église Saint Eustache, a quick tour through the markets at the Rue Lévis in the 17th arrondissement and a promenade that takes them from the Palais Royal gardens to the Pont Alexandre III. Not to mention a visit to the Musée du Moyen Age and the Cluny thermal baths. The Sopranos cast and crew all stayed at the Grand Hôtel on the rue Scribe.

Woody Allen will be in Paris this summer filming his next movie, known only to date as the mysterious “Woody Allen Summer Project 2006.” David Krumholtz has recently signed up to star opposite Michelle Williams. This marks the first Allen film ever to shoot entirely in Paris and will be co-produced by Virtual Films and Wild Bunch, and distributed by TF1 International.

“I am really looking forward to the opportunity to shoot a film in Paris,” Allen told the Ile-de-France Film Commission. “I have always had a wonderful experience when visiting there. Paris is one of the most beautiful cities in the world, and I know it is going to be a great place to work.”

As Jean Cocteau once said, “In Paris, everybody wants to be an actor; nobody is content to be a spectator.” Yet the recent films starring the famous city give Parisians good reason to head to the nearest cinema to watch the Ile-de-France come alive on screen. Un, deux, trois … Action!

Quote of the Day:
Among those whom I like or admire, I can find no common denominator, but among those whom I love, I can: all of them make me laugh.
- WH Auden

French Expression of the Day:
Marcher à côté de ses pompes.
Literally: To walk next to one's shoes. Figuratively: To be out of it.

Pastry of the Day:
Le Financier:

"A cake made from a sponge mixture using ground almonds and whisked egg whites." Like a Madeleine, and about as ubiquitous, the financier looks like a tasteless rectangular cake, but, when made well, has a light almond flavor and is a nice addition to an afternoon coffee.

A Metro Moment...

(François Berléand at the Montparnasse métro station. Monday, April 10th, 2006. Photo taken by Rebecca Leffler)


(Berléand in Mon Idole)



(Berléand in L'Ivresse du Pouvoir)

Though magazines such as Voici and Closer have amassed a large following of celebrity-crazed French citizens, Paris remains a safe haven for the rich and famous looking to lead “normal” lives. While, in Hollywood, even C-list stars must hire 300-lb. bodybuilders to accompany them to the grocery store, in Paris, French A-listers can buy a baguette from their neighborhood bakery, ride their “moto” to work without being offroaded by papa razzi on wheels or even – gasp! – take the subway. US Weekly has a weekly section (or so I’ve heard, not like I actually read that trashy magazine –ha!) (okay that was a lie, I smuggle it across the Atlantic whenever possible) titled “Stars, They’re Just Like Us!” Look, Gwyneth is walking with her baby in the park! (pushing a MacLaren stroller, with a Louis Vuitton baby bag over one arm and a nanny three feet away) Sarah Jessica Parker stepped in dog poo! (and subsequently called her personal assistant who arrives within seconds to replace her Jimmy Choo shoes with an identical pair.) Jennifer Aniston buys groceries! (at Whole Foods, and then brings said ingredients to her personal chef who whips her up a Zone-friendly gourmet meal before her private Pilates session). Just like us … riiiiiiight.
In Paris, however, or, more specifically my lovely neighborhood of St-Germain-des-près, celebrity sightings are a frequent event, and one that involves no loud shrieking, autograph-demanding or photo snapping. I was amazed when I saw Charlotte Gainsbourg and Yvan Attal, two of France’s most famous faces and tragically separated couple à la Jen and Brad, walking along the rue de Rennes calmly with no one stopping them for an autograph or even saying hello, though it was clear that many passersby recognized them. (Including me, however, I will have you know that I contained myself and resisted all urges to act like an American and attack them in the street.) Mathieu Kassovitz, one of Gaul’s most acclaimed directors (and actors), rides a “moto,” wears jeans to work and post comments on his personal blog. Cédric Klapisch frequents modest cafés in the 11th arrondissement, though he can clearly afford to be dining at Alain Ducasse whenever he so chooses. I saw Yolande Moreau in the metro one day, right after she took home a César award. And Edouard Baer is always riding down the streets of St-Germain-des-près on his moto. (He wears a helmet, I am happy to report, for all of you who were worried about his safety.) Though the American cinephile in me always screams “attack!” during such encounters, the classy French woman inside me quickly shuts her up. However, yesterday morning on my way to work, I noticed François Berléand standing on the opposite side of the quai at the Montparnasse metro stop. I couldn’t resist. I nonchalantly snapped a photo of him from across the quai. And, by nonchalantly, I mean completely noticeably, seeing as how Berléand looked a me with a look of disgust (I felt like I’d walked a mile in a People Magazine photographer’s shoes) and boarded the approaching train. I simply adore François Berléand. Well, his acting roles at least – as you can see, we are quite far from becoming best mates although I feel that our charming interaction on the quai yesterday will eventually lead to a lifelong friendship. Berléand boasts over 150 films to date in his vast filmography, and is currently in production on several projects.
His role as Monsieur Jo in Jacques Audiard’s Un Héro Très Discret (A Self-Made Hero, 1996) – one of my favorite films of all time for that matter – introduced me to his work, and I’ve thoroughly enjoyed his work in Guillaume Canet’s Mon Idole, 2002, (sidenote : I plan to marry Guillaume Canet one day, now that he is fresh off his break-up with Diane Kruger, Franco-German supermodel turned actress. Yes, I still think I have a very good chance. Look, here's a photo of us at dinner the other night),

Christophe Barratier’s Les Choristes (The Chorus, 2003), Alexandra Leclère’s Les Sœurs Fâchées (Me and My Sister, 2004), Gilles Lellouch’s Narco (2003) and the more recent L’Ivresse du Pouvoir (Comedy of Power, 2006). I look forward to seeing him in Guillaume Canet’s upcoming Ne le Dis à Personne (Tell No One) alongside a stellar cast including François Cluzet, Nathalie Baye, André Dussollier, Gilles Lellouche and Kristin Scott Thomas.

Quote of the Day :
« I think being funny is not anyone's first choice. »
-Woody Allen

French Expression of the Day :

“Ouais Gros”: Apparently there’s no direct English translation of this expression (one of my colleagues offered “Yeaaaaah bitch!” as the closest translation) but you’ll hear it in almost every French rap/hip hop song. It’s the French way to show everyone you are that hard core (since they don’t seem to know that being from New Jersey already places you in said category).

French Pastry of the Day: Le Croissant

« Croissant is French for « crescent or crescent-shaped. » Croissants are composed of a light buttery rich yeast dough that can have either a sweet (jam, marzipan, chocolate) or savory (cheese, ham, chicken, mushrooms) filling. Traditionally enjoyed in France for breakfast with coffee and milk.
Legend has it that one night during the war of 1686 between Austria and Turkey, bakers in Budapest Hungary heard Turkish soldiers tunneling under the city and sounded the alarm. This led to the Turkish defeat of the war and the bakers' reward was the honor of making a commemorative pastry in a crescent shape (the shape that is on the Turkish flag). » Croissants come in many forms, my favorites of which include La Durée’s Croissant aux Noix (a glazed croissant with a walnut filling) and any Almond Croissant (the Bonbonnerie de Buci’s is delicious, for example). A good croissant should be crispy and flaky on the outside and soft on the inside.