Just kidding. I’m in a windowless office.
As our huge number of devoted followers must have realized, we haven’t been posting any sort of daily dispatches from Cannes. The basic reason for this is that none of us are there. None of us were invited; meanwhile somewhere Rex Reed is swilling down his 3rd 11-a.m. martini, bemoaning other ethnicities, and then snoring through a screening of Manderlay. (which by the way, like Dogville, ends again with a roll-out of violent American images accompanied by the tune of “Young Americans”…as my fellow RS editor said, “Again? Geez.”) Meanwhile, we’re slaving away at our real jobs, all while trying to churn out our own Cannes thoughts, though ours are distinctly back-tracked.
I may not be on the Croisette, but this morning, I did have a croissant. It’s the truth. And hard to not somehow mention.
Before I go, may I open another unending can of worms: 1989 Cannes Jury Prez Wim Wenders, coming off his Wings of Desire high, chastising Spike Lee’s Do the Right Thing for political cowardice (he “didn’t choose sides”), while awarding Sex, Lies, and Videotape the Palme d’Or instead. An embarrassment for all concerned, especially for Wim Wenders… who incidentally made the very politically insightful (that was sarcasm) The End of Violence, sort of a poor man’s The New Age which was a poor man’s The Player which was a poor man’s The Day of the Locust.