Mr Smith Goes to Cannes

Part of the inevitable process of making a film is going to Cannes. People who do not have first hand experience of the film industry will generally know it from TV clips of stars walking up the red carpet, or starlets exposing themselves on the beach to crowds of photographers. People in the film industry, however, tend to have a different experience, one that does not include red carpets (unless you happen to bleed all over your hotel room due to some drunken accident/attempt to take your own life) or starlets (unless you happen to drunkenly meet a shemale in a back alley near the train station).

No, experience for people like us is quite simply summed up by two things: sore feet and sore heads. The former are acquired through countless trapes around the bowels of the Palais des Festivals (the place with the red carpet), and journeys up and down the Croisette (sea-front in plain Skegness English) to see numerous persons based in hotels along said stretch of road. And no, they're not high-class call girls or rent boys, but sometimes you think they just may as well be, given the amount they want to charge to interfere with your bottom (metaphorically speaking of course). And the sore heads are due to the copious amounts of free alcohol that are dished out on an almost-continual basis.

So, having braved free bars and bottom-abusers, I spent three frantic days in Cannes talking up Smith. 'Talking up' is an arcane film industry art that, to the non-initiate, may be confused for someone getting a) carried away b) talking bollocks and/or c) getting arseholed and talking any old crap. However, the non-initiate would be wrong to assume any of a), b) or c), as talking a film up requires a) nerves of steel, b) the confidence of someone who knows he's got a very large penis and c) the decorum, affability and sobriety of someone meeting either the Queen of England or at least a local bishop (who may be looking to cook the diocesan books in order to invest in the film).

So, there you have it. That's how to take a film to Cannes. And if you've got time, also dine on a daily basis at L'Avion, 4 rue Jean de Riouffe (near that bloody place with the carpet); it's the best pizza in Cannes.