Bleary-eyed and bruised from a media scrum last night, I've just got up and opened the window of our one-bedroom apartment to let the sunshine and fresh air stream in.
I'm now sat at a table crammed with equipment, half of which I hadn't heard of before last week. An Avid laptop, a break-out box and lip mic, a marantz, stick mic and another laptop, an ISDN kit, a phone, Wifi modem, chargers, batteries, bulbs and more tapes than you can imagine.
We helped out a couple of more experienced broadcasters produce some TV pieces from this very room, and they immediately recognised the scene, and said it brought the memories flooding back. This is the life of a crew on the road.
Last night was mental. After editing, filing, and a Che presser in the day, we prepared for Amfar, Madonna and Sharon Stone's 'Cinema Against AIDS' party, the most star-studded bash this side of the Oscars. Our coach driver got lost, so our early shuttle arrived late, and it wasn't a good start.
We were met with a packed wall of paps, press, TV and radio crews, crammed in like I've never seen before, elbowing, pushing, vying for position / space / air to breathe. The red carpet (well, concrete strip) was about 10 metres long and the melee faced it behind a barrier. Our allotted 'space' was five metres in with no way to get over the barrier. So we entered from one end, pushed, pulled, squeezed and fought our way to our spot, and set up for the craziest night of filming I've ever experienced.
But - we spoke to Sharon Stone, Mary J Blige, Madonna, Mila Jovovich, Dita Von Teese, Christian Slater, Rose McGowan, Harvey Weinstein, Roberto Cavalli, Valentino, Donatella Versace and Dennis Hopper and shot hundreds of others, so as far as footage went, we got stuff in the bag.
We have plenty more to do today, but we leave tomorrow and it really feels like the whole experience is drawing to a close. We went for a meal after Amfar last night (Alison finally filed after 4am) and we're already getting pretty nostalgic about it, like it's already a distant dream.
Just before the meal, I ran out to catch some of Dirty Harry on the big-screen beach cinema. With the lights of the Croisette buzzing behind, and the waves of the Mediterannean breaking in front, it is possibly the most romantic and beautiful setting ever for a cinema. I missed Clint's introduction, but arrived in time for the iconic 'Well do ya, punk?' scene, sat in a deckchair on the sand under a starry sky. It was wonderful.
Thursday 22 May 2008
Tuesday 20 May 2008
Review: Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull
Everyone wanted this to work.
I don't care if you thought it was a bad idea, a project destined for failure, or a cynical moneymaking venture - when the red curtain rose, I, along with everyone else in the cinema, wanted Spielberg, Ford and co. to come up with the goods.
The opening scenes are promising, as the film hurtles into gear with a pacy title sequence that draws us in and gets us going. The knowing, self-referential script ("It's not as easy as it used to be", "Let's do this the old fashioned way") suits the mood, and everyone's clearly trying their absolute best to make this work.
A silly, CGI-heavy set-piece then distracts us from the characters and action, and the film begins to lose its way. I don't want to say too much about the plot, but I will say the baddies aren't bad enough (think of the deliciously dark madmen in the Temple of Doom or the icy Nazis in the Last Crusade), the funny bits aren't funny enough (again, failing to match the original trilogy), and Harrison Ford, who does his level best, just doesn't bring the same level of wit and flair to the role. Maybe he's trying too hard. Or maybe he's just too old.
Enter Shia LeBoeuf, the young, spunky protégé hired to act like a kind of motorised cart to carry (often literally) the pensionable Indy along, and fire some life into the old dog. He's OK, plenty of 'tude, but a pretty boring character really - I can't remember him doing anything fun.
Finally there's Marion whats-her-name from Raiders of the Lost Ark. She's back, but the chemistry unfortunately isn't - the romantic element restricted to a couple of cringeworthy kisses between the two re-united old-timers. No young hot vixen for Shia to seduce, but, as the end of the film depressingly suggests, there may well be time for all that, with Shia set to swipe the fedora and finally bury the franchise.
I don't care if you thought it was a bad idea, a project destined for failure, or a cynical moneymaking venture - when the red curtain rose, I, along with everyone else in the cinema, wanted Spielberg, Ford and co. to come up with the goods.
The opening scenes are promising, as the film hurtles into gear with a pacy title sequence that draws us in and gets us going. The knowing, self-referential script ("It's not as easy as it used to be", "Let's do this the old fashioned way") suits the mood, and everyone's clearly trying their absolute best to make this work.
A silly, CGI-heavy set-piece then distracts us from the characters and action, and the film begins to lose its way. I don't want to say too much about the plot, but I will say the baddies aren't bad enough (think of the deliciously dark madmen in the Temple of Doom or the icy Nazis in the Last Crusade), the funny bits aren't funny enough (again, failing to match the original trilogy), and Harrison Ford, who does his level best, just doesn't bring the same level of wit and flair to the role. Maybe he's trying too hard. Or maybe he's just too old.
Enter Shia LeBoeuf, the young, spunky protégé hired to act like a kind of motorised cart to carry (often literally) the pensionable Indy along, and fire some life into the old dog. He's OK, plenty of 'tude, but a pretty boring character really - I can't remember him doing anything fun.
Finally there's Marion whats-her-name from Raiders of the Lost Ark. She's back, but the chemistry unfortunately isn't - the romantic element restricted to a couple of cringeworthy kisses between the two re-united old-timers. No young hot vixen for Shia to seduce, but, as the end of the film depressingly suggests, there may well be time for all that, with Shia set to swipe the fedora and finally bury the franchise.
Monday 19 May 2008
Indy: The Verdict
Good - but not amazing.
That's the word from the one of us in the flat that's seen it, and it's pretty much the consensus of the critics out here in Cannes.
The red carpet was littered with A-listers flocking in to see far and away the most exciting and hotly anticipated world premiere at this year's festival, and earlier at the press screening, there were cheers as the credits rolled and the iconic theme music kicked in. Hopefully, if today's schedule permits, I'll be able to tell you what I think later on, but suffice to say the cheers were less enthusiastic at the end, and there was even the odd boo.
There were no boos, however, for the eleven good men and true of Exeter City Football Club, who triumphed at Wembley over inferior rivals Cambridge United to storm straight (well not quite straight) back into the Football League. COME ON CITY.
That's the word from the one of us in the flat that's seen it, and it's pretty much the consensus of the critics out here in Cannes.
The red carpet was littered with A-listers flocking in to see far and away the most exciting and hotly anticipated world premiere at this year's festival, and earlier at the press screening, there were cheers as the credits rolled and the iconic theme music kicked in. Hopefully, if today's schedule permits, I'll be able to tell you what I think later on, but suffice to say the cheers were less enthusiastic at the end, and there was even the odd boo.
There were no boos, however, for the eleven good men and true of Exeter City Football Club, who triumphed at Wembley over inferior rivals Cambridge United to storm straight (well not quite straight) back into the Football League. COME ON CITY.
Sunday 18 May 2008
Indiana Jones and the Play-off Final
Today is Judgment Day.
The day I find out whether Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull is any good, and whether my beloved Exeter City make it back into the football league.
Sadly I don't have tickets either to Wembley or the Grand Theatre Lumiere, but I will know nonetheless.
And I will, of course, keep you posted...
The day I find out whether Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull is any good, and whether my beloved Exeter City make it back into the football league.
Sadly I don't have tickets either to Wembley or the Grand Theatre Lumiere, but I will know nonetheless.
And I will, of course, keep you posted...
When Harry met Pedro... (Review: Vicky Cristina Barcelona)
My second film in Cannes, and it's great to see the New Woody Allen has found his feet.
After a faltering start to his European re-invention with Match Point, Vicky Cristina Barcelona is an intelligent and accomplished piece of work, and a hugely enjoyable watch.
Two American tourists, played by Scarlett Johansson and Rebecca Hall (say who now? British actress, who was in Starter for 10 and The Prestige) escape to Barcelona for a summer of love. Very different kinds of love, as the all-knowing but unidentified narrator explains: Scarlett's character Cristina is a wannabe-bohemian looking for adventure, and edgy, dangerous romance. Hall's newly engaged Vicky is there to explore her love of Catalan identity, while counting the days before returning to her materialistic but fairly sympathetic fiance.
The die is cast on their first night out in Barcelona, when they are approached by brooding, swarthy, Latino artist Juan Antonio, played with relish by Javier Bardem. His larger-than-life racial stereotype combined with the fact we know Scarlett Johansson is looking for exactly what he's offering makes for some hilarious dramatic irony and knowing comedy.
Bardem makes the girls an offer they ultimately can't refuse, and the film really gets going.
Enter Penelope Cruz, another exaggerated character playing on the personas she's created in previous films, but stopping short of parody. She is a woman possessed, enraged, full of anger and creative emotion - for good and for bad. Her dialogue and chemistry with Bardem is perhaps the most enjoyable and original element of the film - their Spanglish rows perfectly capturing the clash of cultures, and all credit to the director for allowing them the freedom he clearly has with the script and language.
Not to give too much away, the plot that follows is a messy love square that twists and turns, producing buckets of angst and neurotic analysis, mostly from the American contingent, although Cruz's outbursts more than compensate on the Spanish side.
The headline-grabbing talking point of the film is the lesbian stuff between Johansson and Cruz, which is less titillating than intriguing, and fits entirely with the direction and mood of the movie.
Like Manhattan, and, to a lesser extent, London in Match Point, the city of Barcelona plays an active role in the film, and the director goes a bit doe-eyed over the honey-sunshine-drenched Gaudi architecture and surrounding countryside. But it is the perfect setting for the culture-clash themes, and the invasion of the American tourists throws up all sorts of fascinating cultural differences and similarities debated through the characters.
Some people aren't going to like the voiceover - it's a very easy exposition device that remains unexplained. It'll frustrate and disappoint some, but frankly it is necessary and it didn't bother me a jot.
So yes, this is Woody Allen 'doing' Almodovar, but what he's created is no pastiche. It's an original and successful character comedy that's finally banished the ghost of the Allen we know and love in front of the camera, by effectively channeling his neuroses into fresh characters.
Friday 16 May 2008
Brangelina, Pandas, Vodka and Blindness
Yesterday was a long day.
It began with a sleepy Danny Glover, late for the interview because he'd gone to the wrong hotel, answering Lisa's questions with a glazed over, geriatric air, but coming across as warm, grandfatherly and deeply likeable.
Back to file that then straight to a bunfight of a press conference where a heavily pregnant Angelina Jolie confirmed to the world she is expecting twins. It was the cast and crew of Kung Fu Panda, the latest Dreamworks animation, and most of the big-name cast was there - Dustin Hoffman was belligerent and pseudo-intellectual, Jack Black was annoying (OK, you're unattractive, don't keep trying to compensate by saying everything in a silly voice), and Jolie - well, she was glowing. Everybody said the right things and it was over, on to prepare for more 'panda-monium' at the premiere.
And a Cannes premiere is a special thing. Formal evening dress is compulsory - even jokers like me are forced to squeeze into a bow tie and the stars that grace the red carpet for the most part warrant our attention. Having said that one flame-haired scantily-clad woman at this particular one just stayed there posing for over a quarter of an hour, prompting me to ask an official who she was. "Nobody knows" she replied "We think she's in porn". Classy.
Soon all was forgotten when Angelina and the cast showed up for starters, then she popped off and reappeared for the main course - her and Brad side by side, stroking each other's bumps.
Anyway, it was long and pretty physical amongst the paps, but the day wasn't finished yet. We were off to the GQ party to promote the upcoming Britflick How to Lose Friends and Alienate People.
On arrival, we chatted to Lily Allen about her breasts being all over the British tabloids, and various people about the film. Toby Young, the author of the autobiographical book, was annoying, while Simon Pegg, who plays him in the film, was charming and funny. Mischa Barton posed but didn't stay and chat.
Once the interviews were over, we headed into the party where we were immediately offered vodka in shot glasses made of ice. The guests were a mix of A to Z listers and industry bods, from Harvey Weinstein to that bird who presents the showbiz on GMTV. One news presenter on a major channel was wandering around three sheets to the wind, and it seemed a good time was had by all.
Then we took a taxi back, stayed up editing and filing til 4, then I couldn't sleep until 7. A proper 'nuit blanche' as they call it here, but not in such a good way.
That was yesterday. More about today tomorrow.
It began with a sleepy Danny Glover, late for the interview because he'd gone to the wrong hotel, answering Lisa's questions with a glazed over, geriatric air, but coming across as warm, grandfatherly and deeply likeable.
Back to file that then straight to a bunfight of a press conference where a heavily pregnant Angelina Jolie confirmed to the world she is expecting twins. It was the cast and crew of Kung Fu Panda, the latest Dreamworks animation, and most of the big-name cast was there - Dustin Hoffman was belligerent and pseudo-intellectual, Jack Black was annoying (OK, you're unattractive, don't keep trying to compensate by saying everything in a silly voice), and Jolie - well, she was glowing. Everybody said the right things and it was over, on to prepare for more 'panda-monium' at the premiere.
And a Cannes premiere is a special thing. Formal evening dress is compulsory - even jokers like me are forced to squeeze into a bow tie and the stars that grace the red carpet for the most part warrant our attention. Having said that one flame-haired scantily-clad woman at this particular one just stayed there posing for over a quarter of an hour, prompting me to ask an official who she was. "Nobody knows" she replied "We think she's in porn". Classy.
Soon all was forgotten when Angelina and the cast showed up for starters, then she popped off and reappeared for the main course - her and Brad side by side, stroking each other's bumps.
Anyway, it was long and pretty physical amongst the paps, but the day wasn't finished yet. We were off to the GQ party to promote the upcoming Britflick How to Lose Friends and Alienate People.
On arrival, we chatted to Lily Allen about her breasts being all over the British tabloids, and various people about the film. Toby Young, the author of the autobiographical book, was annoying, while Simon Pegg, who plays him in the film, was charming and funny. Mischa Barton posed but didn't stay and chat.
Once the interviews were over, we headed into the party where we were immediately offered vodka in shot glasses made of ice. The guests were a mix of A to Z listers and industry bods, from Harvey Weinstein to that bird who presents the showbiz on GMTV. One news presenter on a major channel was wandering around three sheets to the wind, and it seemed a good time was had by all.
Then we took a taxi back, stayed up editing and filing til 4, then I couldn't sleep until 7. A proper 'nuit blanche' as they call it here, but not in such a good way.
That was yesterday. More about today tomorrow.
Wednesday 14 May 2008
Two out of Five
So there I was, a flash of blue pinstripe in a sea of black tuxedoes, soaking up my first Cannes premiere, when it happened.
Two of my laminated Top Five turn up on the red carpet holding hands. Aishwarya Rai and Eva Longoria, God knows how they know each other, float into view as I take deep breaths behind the camera and try to keep steady.
It was the screening of Blindness, Fernando Meirelles' latest and the film everyone's pretending to get excited about while killing time before Indiana Jones.
So - a long old day, kicking off with kung-fu fighting Jack Black and ending with red carpet glamour at the official opening, followed by a media party hosted by some PR agency where good contacts were made.
All in all not a bad day's work. It's now coming up midnight and we have yet to file our last stuff, with another packed day planned for tomorrow. Interesting to see how long before the cracks start to show...
Two of my laminated Top Five turn up on the red carpet holding hands. Aishwarya Rai and Eva Longoria, God knows how they know each other, float into view as I take deep breaths behind the camera and try to keep steady.
It was the screening of Blindness, Fernando Meirelles' latest and the film everyone's pretending to get excited about while killing time before Indiana Jones.
So - a long old day, kicking off with kung-fu fighting Jack Black and ending with red carpet glamour at the official opening, followed by a media party hosted by some PR agency where good contacts were made.
All in all not a bad day's work. It's now coming up midnight and we have yet to file our last stuff, with another packed day planned for tomorrow. Interesting to see how long before the cracks start to show...
Smokin' Sean Penn
For those of you worried that media-shy Sean Penn would be something of a damp squib as the President of this years Grand Jury at Cannes, worry no longer. At the inaugural press conference when this year's jurors are sworn in, Penn was quite literally smokin'.
Seriously, I'll put up a picture when I get one, he had to have a cigarette break. A woman on the panel claimed it was for 'some medical reason', then three of them, including Penn lit up there and then.
Seriously, I'll put up a picture when I get one, he had to have a cigarette break. A woman on the panel claimed it was for 'some medical reason', then three of them, including Penn lit up there and then.
Indiana Jones and the Spooky Media Blackout
Does Indy stink?
Something does, and the word on the boardwalk here in Cannes is that it's the new Spielberg project. Let me explain.
In the run-up to Cannes, big broadcasters were promised high-profile interviews with the A-list cast, and the media were salivating at the prospect of covering a proper Hollywood blockbuster while pretending to be arthouse.
And then the apology emails went out and the PR phones were switched off.
The big-name crews I've just been speaking to at the Palais des Festivals have been bounced, and it all points to the unthinkable - from a professional and personal point of view - that Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull is s**t.
Indiana Jones day is Sunday and surprise surprise screenings are scarce, but we should know more then. Watch this space.
Something does, and the word on the boardwalk here in Cannes is that it's the new Spielberg project. Let me explain.
In the run-up to Cannes, big broadcasters were promised high-profile interviews with the A-list cast, and the media were salivating at the prospect of covering a proper Hollywood blockbuster while pretending to be arthouse.
And then the apology emails went out and the PR phones were switched off.
The big-name crews I've just been speaking to at the Palais des Festivals have been bounced, and it all points to the unthinkable - from a professional and personal point of view - that Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull is s**t.
Indiana Jones day is Sunday and surprise surprise screenings are scarce, but we should know more then. Watch this space.
Tuesday 13 May 2008
Our man in Cannes
It's 5.38pm on Day One of Cannes and already I'm running on empty.
We arrived in the pouring rain which soon turned to burning sunshine, by which time we were traipsing around the Festival circuit pressing PR flesh and getting ourselves accredited.
Then it turns out I'm a tuxedo down as I was told I wouldn't need one but guess what? So I scour the boutiques for a black suit costing less than a 4-bed flat in Willesden, before heading to the Palais. After an ambiguous word with one of the festival heavies I decided to buy a white shirt and bow tie and risk my dark blue pinstripe suit. We shall see come premiere o'clock but time's too short to worry.
We're off to the seaside harbour type riviera thing to film a piece to camera when Alison gets in, then we shall see whether or not I can actually feed back to ITN.
Of course I'm missing the obvious - that screw you guys, I'm in Cannes. The brief glimpses of the seafront with its sparkling blue waters, bright white yachts and mountainous horizon have whetted my appetite, and it feels good to be out here doing a job, getting paid to shoot and report and maybe watch the odd film.
Our man in Cannes. Has a nice ring to it.
We arrived in the pouring rain which soon turned to burning sunshine, by which time we were traipsing around the Festival circuit pressing PR flesh and getting ourselves accredited.
Then it turns out I'm a tuxedo down as I was told I wouldn't need one but guess what? So I scour the boutiques for a black suit costing less than a 4-bed flat in Willesden, before heading to the Palais. After an ambiguous word with one of the festival heavies I decided to buy a white shirt and bow tie and risk my dark blue pinstripe suit. We shall see come premiere o'clock but time's too short to worry.
We're off to the seaside harbour type riviera thing to film a piece to camera when Alison gets in, then we shall see whether or not I can actually feed back to ITN.
Of course I'm missing the obvious - that screw you guys, I'm in Cannes. The brief glimpses of the seafront with its sparkling blue waters, bright white yachts and mountainous horizon have whetted my appetite, and it feels good to be out here doing a job, getting paid to shoot and report and maybe watch the odd film.
Our man in Cannes. Has a nice ring to it.
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