CHRONICLE – In Cannes, the festival resumes its good habits. Between jetset and cinema, the event continues to attract crowds and is full of little stories.
Carbon footprint obliges, the eco-responsible festival-goer arrives in Cannes by train. The exhausted pengers compare their respective delays. This can go up to 1 h 40. Reasons invoked by an SNCF agent in a soft voice, in a loudspeaker: suspicious package, individual present on the rails (near Toulon). It’s only in the movies that trains arrive on time. And again, in those of the XXe century.
La Croisette has put on its parade clothes: advertising tunics on the balconies, disproportionate screens to extol the merits of a film or a product. The beaches are called Nespresso or Vilebrequin, like the Toshiba players in the Unknowns sketch. Giant cars are displayed or transport VIPs like seven-league boots, BMWs in a matte black color that suits them perfectly.
If you’re on the lookout for a taxi, you can hail a Porsche Cayenne. The sky is blue like Peter O’Toole’s eyes. Rue du 24-Août, at Da Laura, an unmissable restaurant where…
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