Off The Duff

What happens next is a series of unfortunate events. The gate to enter the red carpet stairs finally opened and students began to boom up them into the Debussy Theatre (where all films in the Un Certain Regard category of competition are screened). However, the line quickly stopped in short bursts as several of our students were stopped for having on – gasp! – flip flops. I know, I know – American students in Cannes wearing comfortable shoes while waiting in line to see an afternoon movie – the horror! Well, thank goodness this wasn’t our first rodeo and the students were prepared with bags of extra clothes/shoes ready to throw on. It is Cannes, after all, and I teach the students early on that you never know when you’ll nab a last-minute red carpet ticket or be whisked away on a yacht and proposed to by a hot, young celeb – so it is better to arm yourself with tux/cocktail dress and fancy shoes at every moment of the day…because you just never know.

One by one, students paired high heels with denim skirts and shiny tuxedo shoes with cargo shorts. Who cares if they look like slobs as long as their feet are styling, right? (This is an unspoken french credo of Cannes.)

Well fast forward to the last few of our students attempting to get in and, lo and behold, Daniel Harrison had not anticipated needing to wear tux shoes at any part of his easy-going day. Thinking on the quick and acting even quicker, I get the brilliant idea for Sam Parker (a student who already made it past the devilish doormen) to “pass back” his closed-toed shoes to the toe-baring Daniel. Before Sam can object to my impulsive idea, I take his shoes from his feet and run them down to Daniel. Standing there, proud of my resourcefulness, I think, “Whew, we are in the clear.” Ohhhhh, how wrong I was. Immediately several large, khaki-clad men take Daniel AND Sam by the arms and escort them out of the line and red carpet. Shocked, I begin asking what the problem was. The most ornery of these men proclaims that ‘they are done’ because ‘they cheated’.

Now, before I continue – let me give you a quick rundown on these khaki-wearing folks. Every year, the Cannes Film Festival employs hundreds of men and women workers who, I have to assume hate their lives, to man the doors, carpets, entrances, exits, bathrooms, sidewalks, crosswalks, and anywhere where a person might stand and live their life. They are given khaki suit uniforms, an atom-sized amount of authority, and an atomic-bomb-sized amount of ego and attitude. I’ve always said how I believe a job requirement for these Cannes workers must be clinically diagnosed bi-polar disorder and tiny penises/frigid nether regions (depending on the gender). It only makes sense.

This brings me back to my exchange with the Napoleon-esque man with an earpiece (that I think is connected to nothing) who has kicked out two of our students. I begin politely pleading with him in French about how the boys didn’t know it was wrong and should be let in. “Ce n’est pas possible,” he says – aka, ‘It is not possible’ – a favorite phrase of the khaki-wearing workers. Usually, ‘it’ IS possible and my intent is always to prove them otherwise.

I continue speaking nicely to the man in hopes of changing his mind, but underneath the surface my blood is boiling. My calm exterior isn’t working, so I turn up the heat a little. Still speaking French, I plead with a female worker – saying how the boys had been first in line, waited for hours, and were never warned about the shoe situation even though Festival employees had hovered next to them just outside the line and could have easily given them a heads up. She seems sympathetic, but explains that it’s ultimately the ornery man’s decision to make. Great.

I hop on my French cell phone like a mad woman, calling a dozen of the students already inside the Debussy begging for anyone with extra shoes to help out. Sam and Daniel look on outside the gates with puppy dog eyes as I execute every crazy idea that comes to mind in an attempt to get them in.

Twenty minutes pass with failed attempts at trading out shoes, more arguing in foreign tongues, and a final attempt to beg to let the boys in and kick me out since it really was all my fault to begin with. None of it works. Finally I leave the theatre as well and join the boys outside the gates. I was too fed up to stick around in the vicinity any longer and there’s no way I would have gone in to see the movie knowing that the boys were left outside. I was more frustrated with the fact that they were missing the movie because of something I did that could have been avoided.

I try to lift their spirits (and mine) and we head across the street to Caffe Roma (my second time in two days) to drown our sorrows in pizza. We share a wonderful meal, discussing where we’re from and what we want to do with our lives next. I realize that I am living a parallel life to these students in the sense that, after this trip, we are all jobless and intimidated by the unknown next steps in the ‘real world’. They are graduating and wanting to hold on to every last second in Athens – I am unemployed for the first time since graduating from college four years ago and hanging on to every last second here in France before my no-paycheck-reality slaps me in the face when I fly home.

After a couple hours, we pay the check and pack up our leftover pizza (read: slyly, yet shamelessly shovel it into one of the many ziploc freezer bags I always carry with me in my pack). Hey, a girl’s gotta be prepared. Yacht parties? Leftovers? I’m ready.

Daniel, Sam, and I head back to The Debussy which is now unanimously referred to as ‘Debitch’ by our students (who can blame them?) to meet our cohorts exiting the theatre after “Restless.”

The students begin to trickle out of the glass doors at the top of the red carpet as do, to our surprise, the film’s stars. In the red dress is Van Sant’s female lead, Mia Wasikowska, being escorted out of the premiere.