By Eric Kohn
(Moving Pictures Cannes Special Issue, May 2009)

Even relentlessly heated artists have their limits, and the Cannes Film Festival provides the ideal place to test them. Consider the following two instances, separated by nearly forty years but jointly illustrative of the staunch allegiance professed by the festival's inner circle.

In 2007, Roman Polanski stormed out of a massive press conference taking place in commemoration of Cannes's 60th year. Thirty-five filmmakers, including Polanski, had contributed to an epic short-film anthology titled Chacun son cinéma (To Each His Own Cinema) and commissioned by the festival's highly regarded director, Gilles Jacob. The project stemmed, basically, from Jacob's rolodex; all the filmmakers were Cannes veterans. At the news conference, they formed a bona fide cinematic army, teeming with such revered contributors to the medium as the Coen brothers, Wong Kar Wai, Wim Wenders - and Polanski, whose The Pianist had won the Palme d'Or five years earlier. Now, with a microphone at his disposal, he took aim at the reporters in the room. Perhaps he was distracted by the fundraising efforts for his epic production of Pompeii, which would end in failure several months later. Or maybe he retained a deep-seated hatred for the forces that had exposed his consensual rape scandal to the world, emphasizing an element of his life story he can never fully escape. Either way, allegedly simplistic inquiries from the media got him fired up. "There are all of these film directors here, but you know so little about us," Polanski told journalists in the final two minutes of the conference. He decried their "poor and empty" questions before prematurely storming out, inviting his reluctant peers to join him for lunch.

Compare that scene to one that occurred thirty-nine years earlier, immediately following the May 1968 student protests in Paris, when the Cannes Film Festival suddenly came to a halt. Its jury included Polanski, but the real star of the show was François Truffaut. The leading French New Wave auteur announced plans to stop the festival as a show of solidarity. Other filmmakers pledged their support. Polanski agreed with the decision, but later denounced the spectacle accompanying it. "I pulled out as a gesture of solidarity with the students whose actions I wholeheartedly support," he said at the time. "I never intended it be seen as an anti-Cannes gesture." The point being that, while Polanski would later decry the shortcomings of the media, he never once spoke a bad word about Cannes - not then, not now.

As part of the elite filmmaker group whose work regularly appears in the festival's main competition lineup, Polanski has good reason for enjoying his perch at the top of the pyramid. It's not an easy place to reach, and space is limited. When the festival officially began in 1946, everything was entered into the main competition. After the cancellation of '68, Cannes took the opportunity to restructure. Spurning claims that the festival presented a bourgeois perspective of world cinema, several French directors joined the board to create additional room in the program for new and unconventional movies from around the globe. The resulting sidebars, including Directors' Fortnight and International Critics' Week, often function as entirely separate proceedings. Young, unknown filmmakers frequently launch their careers here, while twenty others soak up the spotlight in the main game. The highlighted helmers waltz across the epic staircase of the Grand Théâtre Lumière, adorned in mandatory tuxes and bow ties that sparkle as a thousand flash bulbs erupt at once. The bustling crowd sings their praises and blends into a holy symphony with the ocean waves of the French Riviera a few feet away. For a fleeting moment, the artist becomes king.

Down the street along the Croisette, filmmakers involved in the sidebars premiere their works to decidedly less fanfare. Filmmaker Ramin Bahrani enthusiastically recalls the hug he received from his Iranian mentor Abbas Kiarostami after Chop Shop premiered in the 2007 sidebar, but the contrast was clear. The sixty-six-year-old Kiarostami was a high-roller at Cannes, frequently returning to the main competition (and contributing, that year, to Chacun son cinéma). His filmography contained dozens of acclaimed features going back to the 1970s. Bahrani, thirty-one and boasting only two features to his name, was a kid by comparison. So goes the stratification of the Cannes Film Festival. Although Fortnight and the main competition are virtually distinct entities (their programs are hammered out by separate groups), the underdog nature of the Fortnight and its fellow sidebars turn them into de facto starting points. Rising stars such as Jim Jarmusch and Spike Lee began their careers there before landing films in the main competition. Sometimes, veteran filmmakers will bring new works to Fortnight - Jerzy Skolimowski's Cztery noce z Anna (Four Nights with Anna) played there in 2008, despite the director's numerous appearances in the main competition throughout the Seventies and Eighties.

It goes without saying that most filmmakers would prefer the heightened exposure of La Competition Officiele and its instant admission to the head of the pack. Sometimes a newbie slips into this heavenly upper region - such as Ari Folman with Waltz with Bashir or Steven Soderbergh with sex, lies and videotape - and it drastically alters their standing on the world stage. (Folman's movie landed an Oscar nomination, and Soderbergh became Soderbergh.) Usually, however, talent serves as just one ingredient in the process of securing a spot in the main competition. The red carpet culture thrives on a steady diet of movie stars and other aspects of Hollywood girth. In Cari Beauchamp and Henri Behar's lively memoir, "Hollywood on the Riviera: The Inside Story of the Cannes Film Festival," festival director Gilles Jacob admits as much. "Cannes is not simply an exhibition of films," he says. "It is in the interest of both the festival and productions to bring the stars, actors and directors to Cannes." Beauchamp and Behar sum it up: "Putting the program together is akin to organizing a dinner party."

A Seat at the Table

There is a formal procedure for submitting movies to Cannes, but most card-carrying members of the Competition club don't require formalities. Beauchamp and Behar offered their dinner party analogy in 1992, and not much has changed since then. In 1994, Quentin Tarantino won the Palme d'Or for Pulp Fiction, and immediately became a Cannes fixture. Both volumes of his Kill Bill epic screened there, as did the uncut version of Death Proof, his contribution to the Grindhouse opus. In 2004, Tarantino served as head of the main competition jury; in 2007, he was the subject of the festival's master class. "Cannes has always been Mount Olympus for me," he said at the press conference for Death Proof in 2007. "It's where the gods go, where the greatest films ever made have their first screenings. To be even invited is an honor beyond all measure. The proudest moment of my career is winning the Palme d'Or."

Cannes alumni of Tarantino's stature don't wonder if their movies will get accepted to the festival. The doors are always open - hence the director's intention of premiering his new feature, the World War II action pastiche Inglourious Basterds (Inglorious Bastards), at this year's gathering. "I will be here at Cannes in 2009 with my war film," he confidently told a French journalist last year. And he's not the only one poised to return. Michael Moore, to whom Tarantino awarded the Palme d'Or for Fahrenheit 9/11, may show up at the festival with his latest political diatribe. The documentarian first entered the lineup with Bowling for Columbine in 2002, and announced his upcoming project (then titled While America Slept) at Cannes in 2008. The previous year, his healthcare doc SiCKO played at the festival, but not in competition. Moore joked to the Associated Press that his non-competition status reflected a desire not to come across like a "typical American" by attempting another big win. But wouldn't that just make him a typical Cannes regular?

Family Reunion

Browsing the list of potential 2009 competitors, many familiar names loom large. Pedro Almodóvar, a former Cannes winner and jury member, seems destined to show up with his Penélope Cruz vehicle Los abrazos rotos (Broken Embraces). Other potential returning filmmakers include Todd Solondz, Ken Loach, the Coen brothers, Lars von Trier, Jarmusch and Kiarostami. Even the newcomers don't come out of left field. Korean filmmaker Bong Joon-ho's brilliant monster movie Gwoemul (The Host) played in the 2006 Directors Fortnight program, while Tokyo! (an anthology work containing a short film by Bong) played in the Un Certain Regard sidebar in 2008. That's apparently enough to get him into the big leagues, as his new feature, Mother, will likely screen in competition. He has proven himself worthy of a spot at the dinner table, whether or not he needs it. "Being in competition is a whole other plane of existence," David Cronenberg told Newsweek in 1999, the year he presided over the jury. "You suddenly feel like you're part of this intense international film family." Meanwhile, down the street where the sidebars sulk, the auditions continue. -MPM

Photo (clockwise from top left): The Coen brothers (courtesy USA Films), Bong Joon-ho (courtesy Magnolia Pictures), Roman Polanski (courtesy New Line Cinema) and Spike Lee (courtesy Touchstone Pictures).

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