The Cannes film festival officially kicked off this morning -- for the press, that is -- with Wong Kar Wai's “My Blueberry Nights,” toplined by Norah Jones and Jude Law. Winner of the Cannes best director award in 1997 for “Happy Together, and president of the Competition jury in 2006, Wong is godlike along the Croisette. So it seems almost sacreligious to report that “Blueberry,” the Hong Kong auteur's first English-language production, and his first film set and shot in the U.S., is gorgeous to look at, but not a helluva lot more. In fact, the screening in the packed Salle Debussy was greeted with only a smattering of anemic applause.
Singer-pianist Norah Jones makes her bigscreen debut as a young woman traveling cross country in the wake of a romantic breakup. Looking way too dishy for the job, Jude Law plays a hash-house owner who bonds and falls in love with Jones over his blueberry pie, then tries to track her down during her waitressing gigs. Co-scripted by Wong with crime writer Lawrence Block, “Blueberry” is essentially a road movie, and therein lies the problem. The hard-bitten babes (Rachel Weisz and Natalie Portman) Jones encounters are cliche'd creatures from a novelist's overheated imagination, who do nothing to advance the central story, except promote the heroine's, ugh, “growth.” It couldn't, in its way, be more Hollywood. And seasoned actors, such as David Straitharn, point up the girlie vapidity of Jones's non-acting.
That said, "Blueberry" is, predictably, of a visual mastery and beauty that provokes gasps. The film works best as video-art of the highest order; I wanted to freeze frames, and can't wait to see it again. A recurring lush image from the Wong dreamscape: Jones, smoky-eyed, before a lime-rimmed clock and a yellow medallion. And all those shots through windows slashed with signage in primary colors ... Also, in a strange but intriguing dissonance, the nocturnal glow and sensuality locate this film anywhere but in the United States.
As for the 60th edition here, it's rumored that more than 1,000 journos have been added to the usual 3,000. This does little for quality of life issues. The line for “Blueberry,” screened at 10 A.M., already stretched forever at 9. I whiled away the time discussing “Sarko” with French journos, and contemplating the fashion statement I wish to make on tomorrow's queue.
Given the mob, those of us with the humble blue badge can probably expect limited access to such hot movies as the Coen brothers “No Country for Old Men.” (According to the badge system, a holdover from the Ancien Regime, Pink and White get into screenings before Blue; wearers of the lowly Yellow are forced to line up in the face of ongoing traffic, and thus cause no problem.)
Nor can the Blues count on admission to press conferences. So I've decided to interview some of the lower-profile members of the festival. Like the obliging guard presiding over the Palais main stairs. Question: where do all the workers go after the festival? Well, many, like him, are retired folk from the area, he tells me; others are employees of France Telecom, who come to the Cote d'Azur for a work/holiday combo. So never say the French are lazy. Tomorrow expect an interview with the attendant of my favorite ladies room.
As for the housing situation in this tiny town, it's gotten even sketchier than in previous years. I'm installed at The Chas Addams Arms in an attic space improvised under the eaves – call it a virtual room. The hall toilette, angled and low-ceilinged, must be approached crab-wise in a crouch. So, provided I can crank myself vertical, more tomorrow.
# posted by Erica Abeel @ 5/16/2007 08:17:00 AM
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