I get to the Short Film Corner right after they open the gates to the Palais des Festivals. And I mean right after—I’m the first one there. The first thing that hits me is great space we’re allotted. Walls for posters, slots for postcards, a conference room, cafeteria and additional wings for screening booths and rooms. There was one just one thing that didn’t quite fit–not a single staff member was present. I mean, the place was a desert. Problem was, I didn’t know how many posters I was allowed to put up. Nor did I have any tape with me. I say this because at Palm Springs, they tell you exactly how many posters you’re allowed, what size they’re supposed to be– everything. And the staff is in charge of putting them up. Thinking this was Cannes, I expected at least that much. Anyway, I rush back out and start asking people working the accueil where I can find a papeterie. No one really knows, nor do they have tape. I pursue my questioning outside and eventually find a Monoprix near the train station. I buy some pate-a-fixe and get back. One hour later, the short film corner is still a desert, except for a few posters hanging on the walls. Still not knowing if I’m allowed one or two posters, I decide to put both up as best as I can. One on the main wall, the other by the water fountain in the cafeteria. I decide to head upstairs and check out the feature film market. I get back to the corner by 1130. Finally, staff members! I ask one help out with my poster on the main wall (as I did a terrible of job putting it up). Anyway, he helps me out right away. Quick look around, there are more filmmakers present—the place looks a little more lively. I go out, have lunch, come back to the Riviera portion of the Palais, talk to a friend of mine there and come back. It’s 1600 hours. My poster on the main wall is gone, replaced by someone else’s. A sudden rush comes over me. I keep it in check. I walk over, peel to top end of the intruder’s poster back, being careful not to damage it. I verify to make sure he didn’t just paste it poster over mine. There’s just a white expanse of wall behind it. My poster had been removed. I find the staff member who helped me earlier on and ask him what the hell happened. He looks genuinely distressed and says that yes, he saw my poster being taken down. By who, I ask. His boss, he says. My thigh muscle starts jumping. I ask if I can speak to him. The staff member takes me over to the bar and calls him. Sure enough, the”boss” comes out. I ask him what happened. He says something to the effect that each short is only allowed one poster. I tell him that maybe if he would have been around at 0900 he could have told me that in person. I follow up with a “Couldn’t you have called me at least?”. All I get is another mumbled response. “And why did you take off the poster on the main wall?” I pursue, “Why do you think I dragged my ass out here early? What were you trying to do–punish me? Set an example? Look tough?”. He starts answering, I cut him off, “I don’t care–you have to fix this. Now”. We walk back up to the main wall and get to work taking the other guy’s poster down but the thing was practically glued to the freaking wall. There was no way to remove it without tearing it. In the end, he took my second poster off the wall by the water fountain and put it on one of the main walls, way towards the top—clearly not as advantageous a spot as where the previous one was.
And that was day one.
There’s more.
I start watching some of the short films in the viewing booths. One of the movies in the competition officielle has sound synchronization issues. Another is spoken in Hebrew without any subtitles whatsoever.
Alarm bells starts ringing—maybe my short film’s got a problem. I check it out and ca ne rate pas—the sound is completely off.
I go back to find the manager. He puts me in touch with the “computer” department. I meet their “boss”. She says they’re going to do everything they can as soon as they can. But she remarks on the strangeness of it all—that they had checked every single film and nothing had been wrong.
Strange indeed.
In the end, they did fix the problem—but this resulted in my movie being out of action for four entire days.
And last, but certainly not least–for those poor souls who brought people in to watch their films inside the screening rooms—you could hear the movies from the adjacent rooms as clearly as theirs.
I’d been warned about this by two other filmmakers.
And this was only confirmed by my own personal experience there and what an up and coming producer said during a conference, that Cannes, is a terrible short film market.
But all that said, there were some good points—the free alcohol at Happy Hour, the fact that I met some production/distribution company CEOS, sales reps, and other serious directors and producers. Except for the person in charge of the short film corner, the rest of the staff was great (despite the fact that they were only interns being paid fifty cents an hour…) and the festival threw us a fantastic party on Friday night—quite honestly one of the greatest, classiest parties I’ve ever been to. I say one of the greatest parties I’ve ever been to because of one small detail—the alcohol ran out at two in the morning.
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