liscious’s posterous

                   

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May 22, 2009

The week… how to describe it?  Where to start.  Well, I figure you all want the glam.  Right?  Well it wasn’t all glam.  It was a lot harder than I thought it would be.  The deeper I go into this business the more respect I have for the producer.  Which I am not.

But you all want the glam…. Am I right?

I’ll give it a try.

There was a fairly glam night where I managed a few invites to the China Night party.  We even got escorted into the VIP tent.  The food was amazing, the drinks flowed.  I got told off for trying to serve myself from the champagne bucket when the waiter was momentarily absent.  “We have a notion of service here still”  he airly told me.  “You mean, like in all the stations and shops all over France..?” I retort. He bursts out laughing.  After that, he practically follows me around.  Even out to the beach where I go to steal a quiet moment and watch the sunset.  What a warm frisson of chic it was when he tackled the sand in his tuxedo and polished shoes to top off my glass from a crisp fresh bottle.  “Now THAT’s service!  Merci!” I smile coquettishly.    “The pleasure is entirely mine”  he coos… 
In a way this party was too, how to say, proper to be a ton of fun. I was looking for something a bit more… well, frenchly hedonistic.  Something more exclusive.  A place to wear my backless skimpy long black gown.   Instead we went home early.  I had a long day of work ahead of me.  But you guys don’t really want to hear about the work do you?

You want glam glam glam… right?  Well,  I needed someone on the inside to provide it for you.

My old film school friend was in town and thanks to him I saw what Cannes is all about. All my Hong Kong homies reading this:  be warned.  When he comes to Hong Kong we are pulling out all the stops.

He is a well-known French director and had a film to screen as an avant premiere but he managed to find time to hang out and he got me all the invites I dared ask him for.  And he did it quietly, with French grace and subtlety.  Going to his screening with him was such a gas.  The film was excellent and the full house turned away a long line of people trying to get in.  The distributors and foreign buyers were happy.  He is going to do well with it.  I don’t know how, but he managed to film for 18 weeks with a cast of children and got wonderful fresh performances from all of them.  I left him to do his thing with his team and figured that would be the last I saw of him.

Ah but lucky me.  The next night he had tickets to a screening of Agora.  Invite only.  ‘Is this going to be black tie and red carpet?” I asked hopefully.  “Oh yes!” he assured me.  “… meet me at the corner of the Criossette and rue des Serbes at 10:10 tonight.  We have to be in by 10:15 or they close”
Well, I was excited enough not to hear that they ‘close’ but also excited enough that I was already watching the clock to make it in time from the minute he told me about it at seven.  I had to meet my friends for dinner and then get back to the house to get dressed and then get back into town in time to meet him.  I knew it was possible, but I let my friends know right away I would be sticking to schedule and I couldn’t be late. 

Robert says: Men plan, God laughs. 

Joana and Robert meet me and we decide to go into Juan les Pins to eat.  Right away nervous I say:  you sure we have time?  I want to get back in time to get ready properly.  “Ahhhh!!!!  You are not going to stress us out all dinner are you?!?” I get immediately reprimanded.  “You will be on time for your thing!... let’s enjoy the night!!!”
What can I say?  These are my good friends.  They have been waiting all day for me, every day, to finish working.  They are taking care of me in Cannes and always take care of me.  I want to be with them, but I cannot stop thinking about getting to the red carpet on time. 
The drive into Juan-les-pins is gorgeous.  I try to look at the stunning landscape but I am busy calculating how long the drive is to be able to get us moving in the opposite direction at the right time when we have to leave.
Cap d’Antibes.  Gorgeous, gorgeous, gorgeous….  Jo wants to try to find a restaurant she remembers eating at when she was a little girl.  Something about whole fish cooked in a crust of salt and a hammer.  Sure sounds good.  Tick tick tick tick

After driving all over the hills, the gorgeous gorgeous gorgeous hills, up and down streets she thinks might be it, we finally decide to stop at the restaurant we saw when we first hit this part of the peninsula.  Not much choice really, we only have an hour to eat now.  Robert is treating.  We look good.  The soon to set sun is gorgeous gorgeous gorgeous. Tick tick tick…

The restaurant, as we enter, is clearly the kind of restaurant you don’t rush through.  It is a once in a lifetime restaurant.  Really.  Its clean perfect lines and simplicity do not hide its utter and absolute high-class design and the air of ‘filthy rich’ flutters petulantly on the sea breeze that wafts the splendid terrace where we are seated.  “Don’t you want to check the menu?”  I had asked… now I am also nervous that Robert has no idea what he is getting himself into.  We are talking the Cote D’Azur yacht crowd.  “No, we are fine here...” he says .  Tick tick tick tick tick
“Shall we just take one course?” I attempt… a slight look from both of them.   “Okay… “ I say  “I wont say another word, but I cannot be late”.  They both put down the menu and look at me;  Jo says ‘I swear, you wont be late, I will make sure of it- now relax and enjoy the meal!” 
Eight thirty.  Tick tick tick
First course:  I have fois gras en terrine.   It has an amazing touch of a very very thin spiral of something salty and sweet rising from it as though it is a slab of cake with a fairy candle on top.  Unbelievably delicious.  The task of choosing the wine (we are having WINE!?!  Shit shit shit shit)  had been handed to me, by the waiter actually when I disagreed  with my friend’s first choice.  It really wasn’t going to work with the meal, I wasn’t being snobby.  I chose a white burgundy (love these wines in general) It is fine. Whew.
Nine ten, second course arrives.  We have taken whole fish with accompanying everything.  I would describe how delicious it all is.  But I am too nervous about the time and trying to not spoil the evening.  It is become almost like a high wire act.
Nine thirty.  Dessert arrives.
Nine forty five.  “Should we get coffee?” they ask.  This is too much for me.
“How exactly do you suggest that I shower and dress in formal clothes AND get back to the croissette by 10:10?” I manage to make it almost sound normal, but I think the stress is starting to show.
Nine fifty we leave the restaurant. I am so angry I cannot speak. 
“I promise you will be on time!”  I am told.  ‘How is that possible?  I already will have to dress in the car and I am already late!”  now my voice is rising.  “well, you want to yell… go on, just yell!”  jo says it so kindly, so lovingly… I can only manage a loud and bitchy “I TOLD you Damn IT!”

Now lolo is calling from where he is waiting for me.  I manage to get into the house and out with my shoes and dress on in under three minutes.   I almost forget underwear. I try to do some makeup in the car.  There is no hope of trying to cover my ugly pimple now.  I have forgotten to bring a bag.  I will have to carry my dirty everyday wallet in my hand.  I have completely forgotten jewelry.  I am beyond angry now.  I don’t know what I am.  I tell lolo to go without me.  He says okay but I get the feeling he will wait.
Ten fifteen. We hit the city of Cannes.  “See!” says Jo  ‘I told you we would make it’ as she says it the street we turn into is blocked by traffic.  She sucks in her breath… now even she can see I am not going to make it.  I kind of want to cry, but I am too concentrated on how to make it, how am I going to make it….

Ten twenty, she has done several dangerous and illegal moves to get me as close as possible.  I jump out and without closing the door start running, 1950’s heroine style, through the crowded streets.  I ignore lolo’s texts.  I can see him down the street in his tux looking for me… almost there almost..

I run up – “…you brought your badge.. right?...”  He asks.. Of course I haven’t.  He is so gracious about it.  I take his arm and he hurries me past security and paparazzi and suddenly, magically we are on the red carpet.  The cast and crew of the film are just arriving behind us.  We will make it up the steps just before them- the last ones before they shut the carpet down for their photographs.  On each side of us is a thick wall of photographers.  I have no time to adjust my wrap.  I look sloppy.  Never mind, they are not interested in us- the stars are coming behind us.  And then, half way up the steps my friend is recognized and announced… ‘smile!’ he says as pics are snapped  “wow…  “ … is all I can manage …

When I say it was magic to be there I am not exaggerating.  When I say the feeling in the cinema was electric as the stars entered it is true.  The whole audience turns inwards towards where they are sitting and applaud in a manner that is at the same time respectful and supportive.  I swear it is a kind of love.

I wish everyone felt like this about cinema.

The movie is imperfect but I don’t care.  I try not to shift too much in my chair but I am so cold, and I keep almost burping because I was so upset while eating -the food has obviously not gone down all that well…  not very lady like!!!  I fight the desire to pull my legs up underneath me.

Two and a half hours of epic film later and I get treated to the after party.  My god, this man has invites to everything! A friend of his joins us, I like her immediately.  I suggest we go dancing.  “I don’t’ dance”  states lolo…  ‘oh but you will!’ I counter.  His friend says:  “we are going to have a good time with this one!”  He pouts a bit:  ‘ I have to get up in the morning’, I have a plane to catch and work to do….”  … yeah yeah yeah…..We ignore him.  After the after party is the after club party…. It is two am, it feels like ten pm.  Does Anyone pay for drinks in this town????.  The club is packed.  All VIP.  For real.  No need to name drop, they are all here.

…
The night will continue.  And dance we will.  I won’t even have to push it!  My backless dress will not be the best for this kind of thing but I won’t care.  I don’t think anyone does.  Lolo will eventually make his plane and I will end up with a choice between a black and white t shirt and a trek home on the city bus in the morning in my gown carrying my shoes in my hand while everyone nods admiringly.  I have had my amazing Cannes night out.

Now:  are you not entertained!!????

                     

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May 19th:

Another day at the office!   Cannes continued and so did we.  Robert got into town.  He got the old kids room to sleep in.  I think the pillow suited him.  Saw Jean Luc... did a screening with him one night- didn't do a screening with him another night (there is this system of sign ups to get invites to stuff when you are simple people like us..... and sometimes you just dont get in!)

Lots of people watching the FOF films.  Memoirs of a Bitch got taken for the Strausbourg Film Fest....

And sun sun sun

Okay... back to work

               

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May 14th

Cannes.  Hmmmmmm…

What to say?  I am exhausted already (I’m beginning to sound more and more like the French every day!)
Yesterday, I sorted out my badge and made the rounds of the Short Film Corner, the Palais and the International Village. 

The short film corner is well set up but I am not sure it will be efficient to actually make connections here.  There is not the same buzz that there is around the Film Market and Pavilions. 

I go to one of the booths and call up one of our films.  They look good on the screen.  All the booths are taken around me.  Probably just watching their own work, like me. – I am thinking.  It is too difficult to find films through the computer I feel, the book that goes with it is better.  We are under Hong Kong films.  The FOF films make up that majority. 

Moving on to the market section I wander around.  On the side, near the back there is a young guy in a booth.  His flat screen displays 3D video.  Simple and clean lines, a cartoon effect.  It looks like a comic book, but live.  He has a Russian accent and shot his film in South Carolina (or North Carolina…whatever).  On SD if I have understood correctly.  He has not bothered about stupid ‘poke’ effects.  He has shot a simple story.  I think it looks great.  They built the stereoscopic rig themselves.   Three months principal photography and one year in post.  Nobody was interested in the film before he put the cartoon effect in.  There is the feeling that he is a side walk merchant- he is on the side away from the main action, there is only him… small booth, nothing flashy.  But I get the impression that this goofy guy will find someone to buy his film.  He invites me to the screening.  I will definitely go.  Even if this is not a prized invitation for the beautiful people.  “Come back,” he tells me,  “…I will talk to you about all the tricks for shooting in 3D… and don’t worry if you don’t like to poke, you don’t have to if you don’t want to…”

On to the International Village.  First, the Hong Kong tent.  Big wide eyes when I explain that I am here with seven short films by Hong Kong film makers as young as eleven.  “Why didn’t you get in touch with us, like, six months ago?”  they ask.  I always marvel at people who say things like this because it is not as if we are not out there in the community in Hong Kong making our presence known.  It is not like we didn’t go to the round table discussions with all the big wigs present (including their organization) , or filmart, or any number of events where we get the word out.  I think the thing is no one realizes the number and the quality of the kid’s films.  We really have to start a FOF film festival.   Well, I am here now and the goal is to find out if there is anything they can do to support us.  After all, we are a Hong Kong company and they are here to support Hong Kong film.  Ah, but it is not that easy (apparently).  Even to get one invitation for the China Night party looks difficult.  Now, all of you reading this know, slipping in one more people to a party is no big deal.  So I wonder, once again, what it is I have to do to be taken seriously.  I have decided, in general, not to push things.  For sure in France this attitude will never work.  So I relax and have fun with the booth people and in the end we will see if anything comes of it.  Today I will go by to work on their beach terrace- I need a place to sit and write where there is internet and a plug.  They have graciously let me squat their facility for two hours today.

The American tent wanted hundreds (yes, hundreds) of dollars just to enter.  Hmmmmm

The Canadian tent.  Well, you know, my parents live in Canada!  I chat up FOF and look for an opportunity to introduce the feature film.  The woman plops down a thick book. There are hundreds of producers in there- she says… good luck.

The Quebec tent.  Now here the funky- we-can’t-tell-right-away-what-you-are-all-about air I seem to have seems to work.  The woman gives me a meeting and when I have it the man is wonderful.  He is going to put me in contact with some producers and some of their film schools…  invite to a cocktail…  this is how it works.

I try the production houses that are here to sell their films.  Some want to talk, some are not interested.  For the feature, nothing is ready yet so I cant talk anything up properly.  I have to wait.  I am frustrated.  One stop and a woman comes out to talk to me.  Digger had told me over and over again not to say ‘art house’ when talking about my film.  No producer wants to hear ‘art’ he told me.   The woman seems interested in the project.  ‘what genre?” she asks….  ‘Horror’ I pronounce with conviction.  I can see her cool off instantly.  “Oh, you know, we are only interested in more Art house projects….”  LOL!  My first lesson:  know who you are talking to!!!

And so, Cannes is teaching me, slowly but surely.

A quick pass on the internet and I see that a film festival has gotten in touch with us about one of my short works “Memoirs of a Bitch” …. So people ARE watching the films.

In the spirit of getting an extra pass for Joana before Robert arrives I try to figure out a way of getting his pass without him being here and without an id with his picture on it.  Funny.  This, I think, will be the hardest thing to do.   I have saved it for last and I am convinced it wont work.   But when I get to the counter the people are in love with the idea of trumping the system.  They help me with energy and enthusiasm!  (“I saw my boss do this the other day”  the woman confides.)   They take a picture of Robert with a web cam from off my computer.  They create his badge from this shot.  People crowd around to marvel at the quality of the work.

Ah… La France!

               

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May 12th

“…je trouve que tu mene bien ta vie…”  pronounces Irina before leaving the train.  I will continue on to Cannes and she will fork off to Avignon where she is leading a dance jury for official state diploma exams for dance teachers. 
“You are just saying that to make me feel good… I wonder if that is really true”
“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t think it… je ne suis pas courtesan”
A big hug and a kiss and many backwards glances later I am thinking about what she said.  Irina’s opinion means a lot to me.  She is a teacher, and one of mine since I was young.  She is one of the gurus you find here and there on your path as you grow.  A very maternal guru.  She has always been energetic and loving and generous to me.  She and her husband Jean were amongst the few who accepted me when my relationship broke apart.  Jean told me how my X had called them to try to persuade them to not let my lover and I stay at their place when I came to France last three years ago.  I am embarrassed.  They are, as ever, frank and supportive.
I love watching this couple.  Forty years together and they show the signs of this like any other couple.  But.  They still hold hands.
 I love losing myself in their apartment.  It is lived in and cosy, large with the feeling of privacy and community all at once.  The inner rooms look out over a gorgeous garden courtyard that itself looks out at the Jacobins.  The tall windows and the small rooms would be perfect for studying or writing.  I try. 

Walking the small ancient streets that familiar smell of cold with the fresh bite of mold on dry brick leaves me wanting a glass of red wine.  Toulouse.
Students everywhere..  An insouciance.  A style.  Tourists don’t really come here.  There are no big attractions.  Just southern French living. 

I am beginning to get a little nervous about Cannes.  What if I am just wasting everyone’s time?  I have written a list of names I want to contact on the back of a guide book I have bought for Robert.  It makes me laugh.

The train is passing low rolling hills that board the sea.  There are colors now.  Bright yellow flowers and grey/purple weeds.  Pine trees are twisted against the sea salt.  Arles, something to do with Van Gogh.
I open my computer to write and the next thing I know I am fixing a glitch in one of the renders of one of the edits of one of my works.  Suddenly we are approaching Marseille and I haven’t even had the time to write.
Long low white colored chalky cliffs.  The train station is well planned out.  I feel attracted by the outdoors and I have the time.  As I approach the outside I am almost shocked.  The doors open onto a wide huge terrace that serves as a landing of sorts before one enters the station and has a tremendous open view of the entire city spreading out before it.  Amazing.  Now this is really the Mediterranean.  Narrow streets lined with crumbling old houses.  Small hills absolutely covered with roof tops as far as you can see and in the distance, a church on a high vantage point topped with a golden statue that shines but is unrecognizable from so far away. 
The people are dark and sexy and a little dangerous looking.  There is a strong breeze.  Again the desire to smoke a cigarette.  What is going on?  I decide to give in this time.  Feeling like a criminal I buy my first pack. Finding a place at the same time on the terrace but in a corner away from the open space all around, like a kid doing something very very wrong, I light up.  I am awkward and fumble and must look ridiculous.  Not at all like the gorgeous beauties around me swanning effortlessly as they puff away.  Berk!  Seriously it’s disgusting.  Not what I wanted at all.  And after literally trying two puffs I throw the cigarette away.  My hands smell awful now.  Which leads me to realize the earthy smell on my skin away from the fingers that held the cigarette for a second.  My skin smells like summer.  Like the sun and sleep.  The odor calms me and back into the station I go to find the train for Cannes.

Here Joana waits for me... we will sleep in her childhood bunk beds.  I kill all the mosquitos before bed time and she takes the top.

Morning begins... Cannes attends....

                 

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Arrival in Toulouse , a night of little sleep on the overnight train.  Why can't you open the windows a crack in the sleeper car?  Felt a bit like a tomb.  Like most southern cities that i know there is a bit of the down and dirty to Toulouse.  And an early morning arrival in a train station doesn't help scrub up that image. The announcer calls Toulouse in twenty minutes, i groan and roll over in my top bunk, pulling my knees up underneath me in a strange 'prayer-to-allah' postiion i am convinced i will not be able to fall asleep in.  Suddenly i am aware that nothing is moving and everything in quiet.  We have been in the station for a good ten minutes!

I manage to get off in one piece and pull my Cookie Monster valise through the station.  At the arrivals hall i dont see my friend.  They had said that if for some reason i didn't see them, to take a taxi.  And suddenly i am struck with this idea that i should not have come.  My friends are not here, they have not come.  They are friends of my X first after all.   I wonder if i should have come at all.  Toulouse is the birthplace of the story of my children's father- a story long dead.  Why did I come here? There is nothing for me here....

Just as the last of these thoughts hit me, out from the tabac bursts Kiki.  Running to me and pulling me to her she splutters:  this is the departure hall you potatoe head!  I have been looking for you!!!

Kiki, ever kiki.  normally a bit physically distant but always always open and honest and full, absolutely full of disucssion upon discussion.  La chache the french call it and i have no idea if i have spelled it right.  Motherhood has sofened her.  Not physically, but emotionally.  The hug she gives me envelops me for the rest of our visit.   Kiki has parked her car where she damn well pleases.  She pays her taxes!

And so we went- details to catch up on, the new baby to meet, the old baby to get to know again, the new house, beautiful food they have prepared for us.  Daniel is so adorable as a father.  I catch loving looks, between them, shyly at me, always at the kids...  It is right i have come. 

We talk about everything under the sun. I find the time to do my Newsletter for FOF- i must work a bit every day, but it is hard.  The kids, Kiki, Daniel all solicit me constantly.  At one point, Daniel interupts me three times in quick succession, the last time slipping by me and placing a toy duck on my keyboard.  'you are not going to work you know' he offers "let's go for a ride"! 

The first real taste of Toulouse so many years ago was on the back of a bike. So nostalgic it will be, and to boot Daniel has a Harley. The weather has changed and i try to throw on an oversized sweater.  Daniel wags his finger at me and gives me a short tight dungaree bolero to wear instead.  Fitting like a glove over la chute des reins.   Yup, we look alright actually!  The city reveals itself in all its red bricked glory again.   All of Toulouse smiles as we ride by.  That night we eat too much, drink a little too much and smoke.

Kiki wakes me in the morning with kisses and a quick good bye and just like that, she is gone (she has taken the time to sew my torn clothes though), then the baby crawls in with me.  Daniel gets the kids ready and then they must leave.  These goodbyes are drawn out and more difficult. We have taken the time to think about it....

Next couch- more memories.  Irina and Jean host me next.  Old friends from my dancing past.  Irina still does Jury judging for the state dance diploma and she and Jean are a happy vocal and energetic couple in their sixties.  I have convinced them to come to Hong Kong!  The apartment they have in the center of the city is as beautiful as ever.  But more about them in the next post cause once again i have eaten too much and drank too much wine.

Tomorrow the train for Cannes, partly with Irina who is on her way to Avignon to judge a dance exam.  Cannes is so much farther away from Toulouse then i remembered... i will have five hours to catch up with work i wasn't able to do.

A bientot y'all

       

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Patrick and i tried to count...  it is probably about 23 years that we have known each other.  And there has not been one time that we have not laughed like you hear us laughing here.  There is something about him.  An intelligence, a lightness, a - let's say - a goodness.  I have so many memories of him with us laughing like this.  Friends like him keep the soul alive.

I tried to make it to the Musee PIcasso but there is really too much to do.  I have to get enough time in on the computer every day (after all, this is a working holiday) and i want to reconnect with my peeps.  I do get a walk in though and that is enough to feel the integrity of this place- like no other i know.

Yesterday the Marais again, and the area of the Louvre with the quirky IMPei pyramid , the Tuileries with the statues of rape and misery sprouted up amongst the King Barbar snap shots of little girls and boys in colorful clothing throwing stones and floating boats.

Even though it is grey and dirty i LOVE the metro.  It works.  I left my home station in one direction but returned from the other.  That is how connected it is here.  Like snail loops.

Talk and talk and talk of cinema.  Patrick knows someone who knows Kassovitz who's production house favors genre films and first time directors.  Side walk cafes, little boutiques.  And talk and talk and talk.  I am seized with an 'envie' to smoke a cigarette (all the beeeutiful people here are smoking).  I want to wear a different frock every five seconds, put on a tiny trace of makeup and pout my way arrogantly through the streets.

My friends make a few calls:  elissa is in town, time to party- we need to find her a 'husband'.   And off we go!  An amazing and cheap sidewalk restaurant serves pizza like i have never tasted before.  We eat dinner starting at ten pm. Sittting right on top of the people around you leads to lively conversation.  Why am i not experiencing second hand smoke asphixiation when everyone around me is puffing away?  Several cafe's, bar's and several streets of the 11th arrondissement later and we have an entourage.  An entourage with cheekbones and long hair and style.  This entourage has travelled to Hong Kong and New York and knows cinema and music.  My friends count the potentials for me.  I dont care.  I have 'won' an amazing bout of 'babyfoot' in a local neighboorhood bar that has the whole place hooting and rooting.  I constantly have the impression that i surprise the French that i am american. 

And why not?  Well, no husbands but certainly good times with good friends.

Well, it is back to work now- tonight the overnight train for Toulouse.  Yup, i'll take pictures

       

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Elissa’s Blog:  Europe May 2009

Arrival, London Heathrow.

My first time touching down in England.  My first taste of London.  The people on the plane are all cheerful and peppy and oh so la ti da british.  Quick to laugh but I sense they would quickly clam up if something didn’t seem quite proper to them.  It was a very comfortable feeling.  The gentleman sitting next to me was a lovely traveling companion.  Good conversation when needed, space when needed.  I felt protected.  I amused him.  As we approached the airport I looked for the Thames.  Pity, can’t see it from the airport.  In my fantasy, I am looking down from the plane as we bank and I am feeling like I am coming home.

Step off the airplane.  What are all the blacks and pakistanis doing here!?  In the bathroom, a older blond haired woman in a fabulous thigh length coat over generous bosom reminds me of Clare.  I step into the toilet stall, huge, a suite, and feel the difference in the concept of space.  Again, the feeling of home.

Short bolero jackets, thin angular men, wide hipped women, brusqueness. .  A glimpse in a reflective surface and my hair looks like a nineties rendition of a Beatles mop top.  English already!

The sound of tall men speaking French behind me makes my knees weak, until they pass me on the escalator and I hear them complaining.  Where are the crowds? The airport train looks like a set from Stanley Kubrick’s A Clock Work Orange.  Where is Peter Sellers?  Austin Powers?  Man am I going to have fun in this city some day. 
And why the feeling of home?   I love airports, I love to travel them alone.  Somehow being with someone when you travel takes the discovery out of it all.  I love to have someone waiting for me.  I don’t like to be in a place alone.  But the travel part is a sweet experience when it is solo.

Sun’s up.  Time to board for Paris



Arrival Paris

Just off the plane.  What are all the Arabic people doing here?
Two girls in the bathroom just off the plane: “eh beh oui, que deux toilettes….   Il y’en avait quoi, une dizaine a Londres.. non?” (translation:  well, yes.  Only two toilets…  in London there were, what, a dozen right?”) her friend replies:  “Welcome to France my dear”
Do I care?  Nope.  Already I notice people, smells, clothes  But there are some things to work out before I can get to the city.  Like money.  Small detail.  And voila!:  of the four cards I have to be able to pull money from an international ATM machine- all don’t work.  Another machine, the same.. and again for a third.  Now the beautiful people don’t seem so attractive anymore.  The man who sells me my map, a gorgeous creature with light skin, dark hair and black eyes just annoys me when he flirts and calls me ‘le Miss’.  I am too busy counting the limited cash I have had the foresight to bring.
One last attempt.  There is an HSBC bank in the airport. The man at the bank does the perfect:  I-am-helping-you-but-you-are-really-actually-annoying-me  thing the French do so well.   “You see’ he says  ‘no chip on these cards’. I explain that with an HSBC nyce machine I don’t need one.  He shrugs his shoulders- “I guess it is just not working- oh well” and he turns away.  Welcome to France indeed!!!   I find a machine that works eventually and make my way into the city.

Paris is a beautiful city.  Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.  But then again, I know that.  Why am I surprised?   It is such a pleasure to see Patrick, my friend of over twenty years.  He is a writer/director and we have lots to share and catch up with.  Once we pack as much as we can in he goes off to work and I head out to the Centre Pompidou.  This time it is the Kadinsky’s and the Chagall’s that draw me in.  Oh, and one amazing Dali that looks like the painting itself is glowing.  Oh… and a room that had just been hung with black and white photographs but no names yet on the artwork.  The portraits are so jarring, so arresting.  In front of one, an old lady in a lacy frock sitting on a bed gazing intently at the camera, I am moved to tears.  The museum guard asks me if I have an instinct of who’s work it could be.  “um,,,,,   WeeGee?”  I tentatively offer.  “Mais Non!”  he scoffs  “Diane Arbus!”  Well, I am no student of photography clearly.  But I know good work when I see it!

The walk back through the Marais was sublime.  I feel resourced, invigorated.  The approaching Cannes Festival seems years away.  But it is in less than a week now and I have so much to do to prepare.  The more I talk to people as I go the more I am struck with the achievement it is to get any work in- even if out of competition- and seen by as many people as possible.  The idea of FOF strikes people’s imagination and the more I talk about it the more I realize how important it is to help give the kids who claim it a voice to speak out. 

Tonight more French living.  The sun has come out and Paris is happy.  Only one thing to do:  be happy with them.

Man i has been a while.  But the blogging bug was biting so i figured i'd give in.

Sunday night.  I just finished a long hike, dog and apartment are now clean, and a cold beer, cup noodles and a movie await.  

Heaven.

Once i get past the fear being lonely, i realise that i like being alone.  I spend so much of my time being "up" and socializing that it is down time i need to recharge.  If only i didn't kick and scream so much before settling in.

Learned a lot about myself the past few weeks.  I actually felt a change take place.  I think it might take, we'll see.  It has something to do with taking responsibility for my behavior.  I tend to always think i am right and i spend a lot of my brain time rationalizing how other people have done me wrong.  And this time, i took a step back and stopped blaming and just, well,....   it was a very visceral moment.  I can't say i felt very good about myself.  I didn't. But it brought me to a place of acceptance of responsibility.  And the feeling was overwhleming.  I was on the MTR and i felt very raw and exposed and the tears came.  The people must have just thought i was a crazy gwylo. Oh well.  I AM a crazy gwylo.

Elsewhere the new office at Focus On Film  (dubbed the FoFfice) is super cool and a joy to be at.  Andrew Lau has provided us with the space.  Bless his sweet openminded soul.  It is a funky, messy, arty, industrial.space... and Billy is there with me every day.  Not cause we have to be or cause we are making a mint, but because we believe in driving this idea to completion.  We are giving it our best shot.  I hope it works!  I feel like this is the last hurrah.  I can only do non profit for no pay for a limited amount of time.  It is not like we dont get funding, we do... just not enough.  I need to eat.  I have given it until September and then i will reevaluate.

Filmart and the HKIFF have been loads of fun.  In the past few weeks i have learned more about how to network then ever AND i got some quality time on equipment i need to understand.  The RED cam mounted as a stereoscopic rig set up got most of my attention.  And the talks by Matt Aitken from NZ - the VFX master behind gollum and king kong really got me going.  He was lovely too, encouraging me to continue to explore even if i am only an inde director with no budget.  Met a lovely guy too, but didn't pursue- he was NZ bound and i was otherwise engaged at the time.  Shame, we hit it off so much that people thought we were together and we hadn't yet spoken more than a few sentences together!

The teaser/promo shoot for Y4, the art house horror feature i am writing with Ben is going so fast it is crazy.  We are shooting in three weeks.  Yikes!  Casting is in two weeks time and there are costumes to design and build and production design and locations to nail down and and and and....  It's all good.  The team is working very well together and it just feels right. Lots of good folks have let us know they want to audition.  It feels really good to be in the director's seat again.  Hopefully we will have something done by the time i leave for Cannes.  And leave for Cannes I will at the beginning of May.

I am looking forward to getting back to Europe.  I haven't been in a very very long time.  Reconnecting with old friends will be good for the soul, and Robert is taking me to Italy and Jac is taking me to Scotland!  Not bad for a broke starving artist!

In the meantime, I'll prepare the Focus On Filmkids work from the last screening to bring to the Marche and shop around.  The A Girl's Life screening went so well it was a very moving moment and the culmination of a lot of crazy hard work for six straight months.  It was good though, the audience loved the films,not cause they were films by kids, but because they were well done thought provoking works. 

Okay, i'll close with a glam anecdote.  Was out this weekend with the Dig and he brought me to meet Eve- the supermodel from a decade or so ago... the one with the amazing shaved head and the tattoo of a dragon above her ear.  He was right, we hit it off.  She was cool and funky and spunky and gorgeous.  It is always cool to meet folks that inspire.  And as i look back over this blog i realise how much i have been inspired over the past month especially.  Sometimes inpired to do things i wasn't very proud of, but i have met a lot of very intersting quirky people.

So now to that beer and movie.  What should i watch :  Infernal Affairs or Bourne Ultimatum ( i still haven't finished it yet!)

I"ll let you know next time.