Cannes at 60 is young at 7 A.M.: hosed-down, fresh, free of hollering paparazzi and rampant attitude. Her age shows a little in the venerable hotel Majestic-Barriere, a dowager kitted out with ceiling-to-floor sphinxes in the bar, and, in the dining room, wine velvet upholstered chairs, threadbare around the edges. I've become a habituee of this genteel oasis; with the breakfast tab at 35 euros, I order a la carte.

The 60th anniversary will be celebrated with an omnibus film created by what Festival chief Thierry Fremaux calls “this era's most prestigious 35 directors. It's going to be the best red-carpet event!”

I shudder to think how said event will be greeted by the get-a-lifers -- ie. the folks who erect extraordinary rigs built of stepladders, stools, umbrellas, positioned for an aerial view of red carpet arrivals. They're looking for Brad Pitt, not directors. The get-a-lifers do little to ease the bottlenecks along the Croisette created by 30,000 industry professionals plus tourists. (Correction for yesterday's blog: according to charming press boss Gerald Duchaussoy, last year 4,000 journos attended; this year 4,200).

Another feature of this 60^th edition: 6 out of the 22 In Competition films are American, and the Yanks figure heavily in other sections as well. This is nice for the Americans; perhaps it's less healthy, it's been intimated, for world cinema. One headline in the dailies read “Feels Like Euro Trashed.” No Brit films in the Competish; none from Spain and Italy. The one German title, Fatih Akin's “The Edge of Heaven,” is a co-production with Turkey, with 60% of the film's language Turkish. Nothing sinister here, say fest officials. The lineup reflects which worthy films were finished by the submission deadline

Cannes, it's been remarked, has a thing for Asian cinema; as usual, it's heavily represented in the official selection. And this year Eastern Europe weighs in with films from Serbia (“Promise Me This”), Hnngary (Bela Tarr's “The Man from London”) and Roumania (“4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days.”) This last is a slice of unalloyed grimness about a young woman seeking an abortion in 80's Roumania, which includes lingering shots of things you'd rather not see. It won't play the multiplex any time soon, but “4 Months” was more warmly received at the press screening than “My Blueberry Nights.” In a vivid contrast, the “4 Months” was preceded by live coverage of celebs ascending the red carpet. Gee, they're fun to watch – prettier and flatter of stomach than you or me, idealized forms of humanity. Maybe the get-a-lifers have a point ...

The high point of the day – and only point, so far -- was an exclusive private viewing of clips from Dreamworks' “Bee Movie,” with Jeffrey Katzenberg, Jerry Seinfeld, and Chris Rock presiding. To judge by the spread laid out at the Carlton Beach -- tables heaped with crustaceans, pastries, bee cookies and chocolate lollipops; even a bee ice scupture – Dreamworks has high hope for this one. The journos chow down with a vengeance since we literally never know when we'll next eat.

Katzenberg first introduced the film, “A Short History of Bugs in Movies.” Next came clips from “Bee Movie,” touted as “the next incarnation of Jerry's comedic journey.” Then Jerry worked the room to much laughter, praising bee societies (“they have it worked out; bees don't have crime, drugs ... “); recounting how Spielberg signed on during dinner in what I'm guessing was East Hampton, where the two are neighbors.

“Bee Movie”'s clever wise-ass tone reflects the wise-ass tone of kids you hear on the bus today (I mean, I dunno, mine used to read Greek myths and Tintin, a more innocent age, I guess). Urban Jewish humor abounds – the bee hero's parents want him to marry a Bee-ish girl – and there are amusing shots of bees flying over the Great Lawn in Central Park. Adults will enjoy the references to Hon-ron, a honey mega-corporation, and Rock's ad libs about girl mosquitoes that “trade up to a moth or dragon fly.” Dreamworks plans translations – Katzenberg prefers the word “adaptations” -- in 28 languages. Cannes was chosen as the ideal spot to launch a product aimed at the world market. It's billiant marketing, a way of intellectually colonizing the world. Who needs an army or navy if they've got “Bee Movie?” Oh, and pre-lunch, Jerry Seinfeld dressed in a bee suit went flying from a wire strung from the roof of the Carlton to the beach. Scorsese did it last year for “The Departed,” he quipped, though it looked for a moment as though he might throw up.