Palmes Away

LF back again, still soaking up the sun, the superstars and the disgusted looks from Frenchmen who mistake me for Lynndie England (I have got to get a haircut). But before I provide a recap of the day's big festivities, I just want to apologize for the lack of posts yesterday. I actually had a big piece all saved up and ready to go when I was...well, there's no other word for it...forcibly removed from the venue where I was writing. And let this be a lesson for all Americans who are planning a visit: France's government may call itself "Socialist" but five hours at a computer terminal in a Cannes internet cafe is not free. Since I had already used up all my Francs Euros on a visit to Lombaire's boyhood home (the bedroom still smells like Camembert) and an original vinyl copy of Serge Gainsbourg Comes Alive!, there was pretty much no way out of this one. Oh well. As I learned from the locals, there's a lot of history here. So temporary embarrassment will never diminish the knowledge that I actually sat in the same seat in the same building where Ernest Hemingway learned java.



I guess I don't have to tell you that my travails are not the biggest story out of Cannes this weekend. No, the news that cineasts the world over were waiting for was the announcement of this year's winner of the Palme d'Or, which translated into English means, literally, "box office poison." The prize was claimed by Michael Moore's much-discussed Fahrenheit 9/11. Clearly, the jury wanted to make a political statement with this selection. And that statement was: Disney...stay out of Iraq! I can't say I disagree; Michael Eisner's plan for a Fallelujah monorail service is clearly misguided.

Nonetheless, this was a very significant achievement for Moore, not only because I haven't seen the film yet but this is the first time a documentary has won at Cannes since Jacques Cousteau's The Silent World. Incidently, that was a very controversial movie in its day, mostly for the footage Cousteau secretly recorded of a young Charlton Heston shooting up a school of fish ("You'll take this water cannon from my cold, wet hands!"). Needless to say, MM is in very fine company and I can't wait to see him in scuba gear - 20,000 Leagues Under The CIA Director perhaps?

I just hope all this attention and acclaim doesn't go to Michael's head until he becomes one of those preachy, self-righteous show-business windbags that think we all give a hoot about his political views. It's like when Bob Dylan recorded "Hurricane". I thought, "Great groove, and I really like the idea of releasing a black man from prison, but whatever happened to that loveable mop-top that sang 'Lay Lady Lay' and 'The Lonesome Death of Hattie Carroll'? Will we ever get him back?" Evidently Bob heard my query and came back a few years later with his #1 disco hit, "Gotta Serve Somebody." Likewise, I applaud the Big M for his artistic daring, but when is he going to go back to making those old-fashioned, Laurel and Hardy-style knee-slappers he did with David Spade in the mid-Nineties? I'll be the first in line when he does.

Anyway, there's a lot more I could say but I'm still waiting for better distribution.