
To me nothing says “welcome to France” like jars of Bolognaise sauce (which can’t be bought stateside) on grocery store (alimentation) shelves. That and other sundries. For decades European commercial culture has been soothing my soul.



To me nothing says “welcome to France” like jars of Bolognaise sauce (which can’t be bought stateside) on grocery store (alimentation) shelves. That and other sundries. For decades European commercial culture has been soothing my soul.


I’m sorry but the Cannes Film Festival online ticketing system, instituted last year because of Covid, is easily the worst I’ve ever encountered at any major festival, ever.
They need to go back to the old system of just letting journos line up before a showing and admitting them based on badge colors. Not a perfect arrangement, but far better than this current clusterfuck.
Ticket reservations can be made four days in advance, but for many titles the festival’s response is “pending” — festival code for overbooked.
Until a few minutes ago I couldn’t get into any screenings happening tomorrow (Tuesday, 5.17) or Wednesday (5.18), although I’ve managed access to a few on Thursday.
Update: Last-minute reservations have opened up for Michel Hazanavicius‘ out-of-competition zombie movie, Coupez!, and Christophe Castagne and Thomas Sametin‘s For The Sake of Peace.
Screenings for Saturday (5.21) can be booked tomorrow morning (5.17) at 7 am, Sunday (5.22) screenings can be reserved on Wednesday morning (5.18) at 7 am, and so on.
I’ll probably wind up seeing all I want to see, but I hate the tedium and rigamarole, and I really miss the simplicity of the old system.



Chris Rock’s Amber Heard riff was pretty funny, but it happened in London last Thursday (5.12) — way too many days ago.
The best time to respond to a joke is either minutes after the fact or within 12 hours. If the joke is more than 24 hours old, it’s slightly less funny. If it’s 36 to 48 hours old, it starts to flirt with “amusing but not hilarious.” If the joke is three to four days old, you can almost forget about it.
According to LadBible’s Daisy Phillipson, Rock said the following at a 5.12 London show: “Believe all women, believe all women…except Amber Heard. What the fuck is she on? She shit in [Johnny Depp‘s] bed! She’s fine but she’s not shitting fine.
“She shit in his bed. Once you shit in someone’s bed, you just guilty of everything.
“She shit in his bed. What the fuck is going on there? Wow. And they had a relationship after that. It must be amazing pussy. I’ve been with some crazy bitches but goddammit.”
Naturally the feminist brigade has attacked Rock for belittling Heard, etc. Example: “I never liked Chris Rock, always thought he was overrated, and he is trash for attacking Amber Heard.”
For a solid ten years of Cannes-ing (2010 through 2019) my press badge was Steve Buscemi-plus — pink with a yellow pastille. That yellow dot meant a lot in terms of screening access; it was almost the same as having a Harvey Keitel pass (aka Mr. White).
Three years ago the Cannes press office downgraded my pass to plain pink, but I begged them to once again give me a yellow dot, and they obliged.
A couple of hours ago I was plain-pinked again. I went up to the press office to request the usual usual, but the staffers assured me that with the relatively recent pain-in-the-ass online ticket request system (no more lineups) there really isn’t much difference between pink and pink-yellow. Full access to all press conferences, etc.
I don’t know why but I didn’t fight it this time. In the parlance of David Mamet, I “imperceptibly slumped.”


JFK flight landed at 6:15 am. The Nice flight leaves around 7:30 am. I love floating around, feeling like a rolling stone. Zurich airport is at least 15 times more pleasant and soothing than JFK.



Is this the first major anti-woke pushback move from a corporate heavyweight? Is this a one-off or (if it turns out to be some kind of seismic indicator) an early indication of an emerging “we’ve had it up to here with your extremist social overhaul routine…we’re good people, we’re not your enemy, but sometimes you might be your own” — almost a Howard Beale moment.
Okay, that’s probably too extreme of a comparison. But Netflix has said that while their commitment to basic humanist-corporate values — caring, decency, respectful, fair pay and zero-tolerance attitudes re hate speech, Netflix will not automatically jump through woke hoops.
What Netflix essentially said to certain employees was “we’re in the mass-appeal streaming business, and not the political-cultural guidance business. So if you don’t like certain topics or plots or themes or jokes or stories (like that relatively recent David Chappelle performance flick), it may mean that Netflix and you (or maybe some of your workplace colleagues) might not be a match.”

I arrived at the JFK Swiss Air-Lufthansa terminal a little late — 2:35 pm. (The southbound A train wasn’t running in Manhattan due to signal maintenance.) Right away I sensed trouble. The Chicago stockyards ticket line was moving so slowly (it took 35 minutes to advance 35 feet) that it seemed obvious I wouldn’t make the 4:30 pm flight. Because I would still have the miserable security line to cope with.
So I went into hardcore theatrical do-or-die mode. I began pleading in a muted way. I was begging for mercy but without sounding too much like Blanche DuBois. I rolled my eyes a couple of times. I did everything but drop to my knees and weep. Inwardly I must have hissed “Jesus H. Christ” three or four times.
And I wasn’t the only one. I was watching a 40ish German couple have a fit — “But we’re going to miss our flight!”
I ran through the terminal and made the flight with less than five minutes to spare. God in heaven!
If I hadn’t made such a fuss and demanded that they get the lead out, I would have had to take another flight. If I had the power I would bring those awful JFK Swiss-Lufthansa desk agents up on charges. (Or certainly their managers) Understaffed, overwhelmed, indifferent.
4:59 update: Our plane has been waiting a half hour to take off. 5:15 pm: Liftoff achieved.
HE’s Swiss Airlines flight departs JFK at 4:30 pm. Arrives in Zurich (great town!) around 6:15 am, a final commuter hop to Nice that arrives…I forget exactly but probably 9-ish. No bus or shuttle — take the local train to le gare de Cannes.
Third photo: Mickey Rourke, Roman Polanski on the set of The Palace.




If your Samsonite suitcase loses a wheel, you can supposedly obtain a replacement by way of a ten-year warranty. Actually not so much. The second photo is the Wilton pad — three stories, garage & laundry room. spacious interiors, nice forest view, squawking geese flying over, etc.




All sorts of different metaphors could apply to the idea of George Lucas roaming around and popping in at random, but let’s say he’s an emissary of death — Brad Pitt in Meet Joe Black except older and with a blue-white checked shirt.