Well folks, it's our last day here at the festival -- we're leaving the fest a few days early, which is both good and bad. Good, because simply put, we're pooped, but bad because it means we'll miss the world premiere of Ocean's Thirteen ! Not exactly the forerunner of international cinema, granted, but still arguably the biggest spectacle of this year's Cannes.
In preparation for Ocean the city has been abuzz anticipating the sheer star wattage that it heralds: George! Matt! Brad (and Angelina)!
Yesterday I took an ill-fated journey to the celeb-infested Hotel Du Cap for a Mighty Heart press conference. The Du Cap is an ultra-swank hotel about twenty minutes down the coast, to which the driver of the studio van I was riding in had been transporting stars all week. Most recently he had given a ride to Leonardo Di Caprio's.
..luggage.
A whole van, full of luggage for the 11th Hour star and his entourage.
Unfortunately, while the van was, I'm sure, very efficient in transporting Mr. Di Caprio's eco-friendly load of clothing and toiletries, it was not very successful in getting me to the press conference in time.
I hopped out of the van into the side entrance (some may call it the servant's entrance) to the grounds of the Du Cap, sprinted through the gardens in my cute-but-terribly inappropriate red wedge espadrilles, and arrived...
just as the press conference ended.
More salt in the wound came with word that, joining director Michael Winterbottom in the conference, was none other than Angelina Jolie, whose baby daddy's own international junket for Ocean's Thirteen was also taking place in the Du Cap cabanas.
As soon as I arrived, it was time to go back, and the press vans filled up to drive journalists back to the Croisette.
Luckily, I met Globe and Mail film critic Liam Lacey, who was kind enough to lend me his recording of the Q A. I think I saw Don Cheadle having lunch on the terrace.
We sat on the stoop of the Du Cap's entryway and waited for another van.
And waited. And waited some more. A concierge asked us to please move so the beautiful people arriving in sports cars could have enough room to sway into the foyer; I overheard the doorman tell one suave dude with four model-types on his arm that without a reservation, he could not enter the Du Cap.
As in, you can't even step foot in the hotel.
45 minutes later, a van showed up. I shuffled wearily back onto the Croisette, feeling enormously disappointed in missing the press conference.
Luckily, I met Tim and Cinematical's James Rocchi by the carousel and since this is Cannes, we went for a glass of wine in an outdoor cafe, and I felt better shortly.
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