As my first Festival de Cannes draws to a close, I am struck pretty much dumb by the experience. Suffice it to say that when Wayne Koestenbaum puts out a second edition of his recent book Humiliation, my ten days here deserve at least a mention, and possibly a chapter.
To minimize the risk of further damage to my career, I will let these pictures tell their own deceptive tale of my Cannes debut.
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| In Cannes, you can never be too rich, too thin, too famous, or too tan. |
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| Toast of the American Pavilion, in absentia |
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| Hometown pride I: Cannes Peaches! And Bobby Barber |
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| Hometown pride II: Kevin Clarke's double spotted in the Indian aisle of the Marché |
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| credits |
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| I love the Brazilian people! (Part I) |
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| I love the Brazilian people! (Part II) |
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| Without Marilyn, this place would just be a punk ass fishing village with a casino. |
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| Best-in-class paparazzo: Jan-Michael Losada |
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| I love the Brazilian people! (Part III) - also Norwegians and Mutton Chops. And Jim. And the occasional Scottish pinhead. |
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| I slipped in the rain and banged up this finger |
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| The lovely and talented Alexandria Sage (Lowell '86), covering the festival for Reuters |
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| Our room with a view, a safe distance from the festival |
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| The horrors of socialized medicine include architecture so good people are dying to get into the hospital. |
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| Cannes dieting tip #1: Eat up the attention, then pick at your dinner. |
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| Jim and I needed subtitles to understand the bizarre language spoken by the Englishman & the Scot. |
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| Moments later, we shouted at ourselves "NO PICTURES! NO PICTURES!" and put our hands in front of our iPhones. Then Marc got carried away and gave himself a shiner. |
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| 42IF I survive Cannes |
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| Palme d'Or for Best Footwear |
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| We had filmmakers from every continent, and conjoined twins. |
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| Photo credit: Maxim Jago Sam Hobbins (my edits) |
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| Only Cindy Sherman understands (photo credit: Jim Kenney) |
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| Unlike most celebrities, Jane really listens. |
