After a chilly plane ride I landed in Nice with a barrage of fellow festival goers. Premiere.com’s Glenn Kenny, who has an awesome blog called "In The Company of Glenn" (http://glennkenny.premiere.com/), was kind enough to share his taxi to the croisette where I picked up my badge and multi-colored bag, which is relegated to my hotel room closet for the duration of the festival.
A long nap later, and I purchased my standard sandveech formidable and peche iced tea before seting up shop in the "Orange" wi-fi cafe. I’ll have to catch Wong Kar-wai’s "My Blueberry Nights" later in the festival since sleep seemed like a better idea than watching Jude Law. –update: I just talked to one of my trusted fellow critics who saw "My Blubery Nights," and he said it was very "disappointing." He said, Jude Law is terrible, Norah Jones is not very good, but Natalie Portman steals the movie.
There’s buzz about a party tonight with Moby taking over DJ duties, and Jerry Seinfeld and Chris Rock are scheduled to be yelled at by screaming paparazzi tomorrow morning for a photo shoot for their animated movie "Bee Movie."
The mood is surprisingly somber so far, with festival workers still setting up posters and loose ends that should have been completed yesterday when the festival officially opened. But this is all nothing new. It’s always like this.
This is my 7th Cannes Film Festival, my 5th in a row, and they seem to come around quicker. In homage to Roger Ebert, I’ve decided to identify the most absurd movie title (a little game Ebert talks about in his enjoyable book "Two Weeks In The Midday Sun’). Possible nominees so far include "Doughboy Beware!," "The Bitch’s Diary," "Nanny Insanity," "Undead or Alive: A Zombedy" and the oh-so-obvious "Strictly Sexual." Uh, yeah.
