‘It’s bonkers, full-on and unreal!’

When Bristol-based film and TV composer Emma Butterworth went to the Cannes Film Festival for the first time, she recorded her experiences for Bristol24/7.

Back in February, on a bit of a whim, I applied for a pass to the Cannes Film Festival. It seemed like a good idea at the time, though as May approached I began to feel a little nervous. I was heading off to one of the biggest film festivals in the world by myself, not really knowing what to expect.

So here is my fragmented, completely partial account of life at the 72nd Cannes Film Festival:

Talk to EVERYONE

The great British tradition of not talking to strangers is something you get over pretty fast in Cannes. When usually you would politely ignore your neighbours, now you chat to anyone and everyone. I’ve talked with Russian animators at the bus stop, Colombian film makers on the bus, a producer from the Dominican Republic, a Northern Irish editor and two German producers in the queue for film screenings, a French director and an American ex-child actor in the line to go through security, and a Canadian editor who I just happened to be walking near when leaving the Pavilions. I’ve lost count the the number of times I’ve now marched/sidled up to complete strangers, stuck out my hand and introduced myself. In Cannes, this is normal behaviour. Back home, I need to remind myself that it is not.

French Ways

I’m enjoying learning about the quaint French public transport customs. The first time I took the bus to the centre of Cannes from the suburb I was staying in, an old man picked up part of the festival paper I dropped by mistake. Instead of handing it back, he proceeded to leaf through it. I sat there, wondering if it was normal behaviour in France for old men to steal ones newspaper. After a minute, he gave it back to me, and took the remaining part from my hands and did the same. When he passed the final section back he asked, “Vous êtes une actrice?”

Le Tapis Rouge

Red carpet premieres are what the world tends to think of when you say ‘Cannes Film Festival’. One evening I met a British producer at a drinks reception at the Scandinavian Terrace. He’d been coming to Cannes for decades and delighted in telling me about the days of yore, before email, when people came to the Festival with suitcases full of copies of the script they were trying to sell. I’d decided to have an early night and was on the bus home when I got a text from the producer, asking if I wanted a ticket to the premiere that evening of Ken Loach’s Sorry We Missed You. Yes, these things really do happen Cannes!

Let’s just say that my red carpet preparation was rather more frantic than I suspect it is for the stars, but I had carried the world’s sparkliest green dress all the way to Cannes and my god I was going to wear it. After a record turnaround, I collected the ticket from the very posh Hotel Martinez and ten minutes later was in the ever-present queue for security to walk the carpet. My red carpet moment was a bit of a whirlwind. I tried to walk slowly and enjoy the surreal nature of it all.

Tickets

Cannes operates a labyrinthine system of ticket allocation for the Grand Téâtre Lumière (where all the premieres are held). If you’re lucky enough to get a ticket for a screening there, you must use the ticket, or else risk being blacklisted forever. This means that to avoid a penalty, people who cannot make the screening will always try to give away their ticket to someone who will use it. After the first couple of days in Cannes you get very used to the spectacle of men and women in dinner jackets and evening gowns wandering around in front of the Palais holding signs saying ‘Invitation, s’il vous plaît!’. It’s like a strangely high class form of begging. Only in Cannes…

The Pavilions

Around 60 countries pay for what is called a Pavilion in one of the three ‘International Villages’. These are very smart white marquees of varying sizes, depending on the prestige (and wealth) of the country. They house information about the country’s film industry, spaces to have meetings, and many host free sponsored ‘happy hour’ networking drinks events in the evenings. Festival badge holders can go into all pavilions for free – except for the American Pavilion, which in true capitalist style, charges a €20 daily entry fee, to be paid on the door in cold, hard cash. To be fair to them they do host some impressive talks and give out a much better class of freebie than most, so I shouldn’t mouth off. Oh, and I had my first (and last) ‘lavender latte’ there.

Security

Since the terrorist attack in Nice in 2016, bag checking and airport style metal detectors are absolutely everywhere at the Festival and by the fifth day I really should have known better than to wear a large metal necklace. Said adornment spends the rest of the day in my bag, as I cannot be bothered to keep taking it off for every. single. security. check. The Pavilions are divided into three separate ‘villages’. Two of which have the full monty security, but the third has only the most cursory of bag checks. I can’t decide whether it’s because the festival thinks no one will bother trying to blow up the Dominican Republic or Singapore Pavilions, or if they’ve decided that the smaller countries are expendable.

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Cannes snapshots

Everyone agrees that this year has been a bit of a wash out, weather wise. It’s hard to maintain an air of sophisticated glamour when your shoes are cultivating their own little ponds and you’re huddled under a leaking gazebo.

The buzz in the real world may be all about which film will win the Palm d’Or, but here it’s all about the Palm d’Og; the unofficial prize for best film including a dog.

I saw a woman dressed for premiere walking down the promenade holding a tiny fluffy white dog instead of a handbag. Oh, and someone bought me a G&T that cost €21. If I hadn’t seen the Schweppes bottle myself I would have wondered whether the mixer with unicorn tears or something. I think I have reached peak Cannes.

Like every good green Bristolian I don’t fly, so I took the Eurostar all the way from London to Marseille, then another train along the stunning coast to Cannes. It was a great way to travel (and surprisingly reasonable) but sadly I met not one other person at the Festival who hadn’t flown in.

In other news, a child’s scooter is called a ‘trottinette’ in French (according to the signs on the bus telling you to fold them). I find this strangely endearing.

A new discovery is that non-Brits love my name. I have never been in a situation where so many people comment on it. I think the quintessential Englishness of it appeals to people. One German woman asked if my surname was very upper-class. Considering that my ancestors were Staffordshire potters… no.

Often you will see the paparazzi and fans lined up outside an area where stars have interviews. When the star emerges from the building, the photographers start shouting at them for a picture: “Sylvie! SYLVIE! Ici! ICI! SYLVIE, s’il vous plaît!”. If only I knew who these French megastars were.

The Festival’s opening film, Jim Jarmusch’s The Dead Don’t Die, becomes an unexpected ice breaker when networking. “Did you see The Dead Don’t Die? What did you think?…” is a universal leveller, since everyone seems to have been mightily underwhelmed.On the last morning, I wake up looking like I’ve done a round with Rocky, my left eye swollen shut. I have been fighting a nightly battle of attrition with the mosquitos in my room and I think I have lost. Emma: 6 Mosquitos: 15. It is time to go home.

The End

If anyone needs a full immersion crash course in how to get over networking nerves then Cannes is the place for you. It’s bonkers and full-on and unreal and stuffed full of people who love film and are generally happy to give you a moment of their time. I met so many interesting people from across the globe and even came up with a fully plotted short film idea with a guy I met in the queue for a film. I am exhausted and invigorated, and I can’t wait to go back next year.

Emma Butterworth is a Bristol-based composer for film, television and games. Find out more about her work at www.emmabutterworthmusic.com