Of sleep, I mean. On last night’s NY-to-Nice jet. Sleep so near to waking it barely deserves the name. And then the Nice-to-Cannes A8 bus line decided not to provide extra buses to accommodate the influx of festivalgoers. (Naturally!). So after hanging around for an hour or so the bunch of us split two cabs. 80 euros divided by three — jacked.
Waiting for a slacker bus at Nice Airport — (l. to r.) Indiewire critic Eric Kohn (green T-shirt), Washington Post critic Ann Hornaday, Indiewire columnist/commemntator Anne Thompson, USA Today Anthony Breznican. (If you don’t look at the camera you don’t get identified.)
And then I picked up my press pass and got the keys to the apartment and so on. That’s it — there’s nothing to say beyond that and I’m too shagged to think stuff up. Maybe later.
The person who designed this festival bag did so with the idea of agitating honorable straight men, none of whom would dream of walking around town with this shiny thing dangling from their shoulder unless they had no other choice.
Definitely the way to watch Avatar — on a six-inch-wide flatscreen on the back of someone’s seat.
