Welp, I survived Cannes. It was simultaneously awful and terrific. Am I allowed to admit that here?

The thing is, I'm an introvert. I find it exhausting to talk to people all day long. And when I'm supposed to be talking about MYSELF? PITCHING MY PROJECT? ALL DAY LONG? Just find me a big ol rock to hide under. Just let me go home, I found myself fantasizing as we tromped along La Croisette.

But I got the hang of it. By day six we were hanging out poolside at an impromptu cocktail party, thrown by some very cool, very down-to-earth people who just happen to make movies. That's when I remembered, Oh, yeah. I like movies. I can talk about movies. The trick is to find people I enjoy talking to.

Our film was not in competition, which means there was no official screening. But we held a private screening at the Short Film Corner that went very well, and this morning we got an offer from an international film distributor. I'll keep you posted....

Overall, the festival was very good to us.

We even managed to finagle tickets to a red carpet screening, which was surreal, though a little less glamorous than I'd imagined. They basically kept us (the balcony ticket holders) in a cattle pen until all the swanky people had done their turn in front of the photographers, then rushed us in from the side and up the steps as the lights were going down in the theater. One of the tuxedoed security thugs did find a moment to chastise Ricky, pointing at the beautiful brown leather oxfords we'd sourced at a vintage store in London. 

"Your shoes," he told Ricky, "are not good." 

Women are required to wear heels on the red carpet and, apparently, men are required to wear black shoes. But the thug let him by with a warning.

We'll buy Ricky black shoes for next year, I guess?

*****