Laura's Word 13 June 2013
French air traffic control strikes notwithstanding, this time next week I shall be sitting, or, more likely dashing, somewhere along the Croisette. It’s not my first Riviera rodeo but I haven’t been to the festival in four years and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t feeling the tiniest bit apprehensive. Perhaps that’s why this week’s newsletter has unintentionally morphed into a Cannes survival guide.
Our Cannes schedules look like the sort of terrifying colour-coded monstrosity last seen during university finals. And while I might try to remind myself that I’ll be at the Carlton Terrace, the LBB beach or the Palais rather than, say, the library, I can’t quite stave off the palpitations. Plus there will be a lot more rosé and a lot less Haribo Tangtastic and Red Bull than when I was cramming for exams. Once we’re all there, I’m pretty sure the adrenaline will kick in and we’ll all run about the place and see our friends and have a whale of a time. For now, though, it feels like we’re sitting at the top of a creaking roller coaster, waiting for the plunge. Or – to be more Cannes 2013 about things – like Felix Baumgartner perched at the edge of the stratosphere, clutching onto the doorway of his pod.
But why? Cannes is supposed to be fun – and it will be. The thing is, the last time I was at the Lions it was 2009 and the festival has, I have been assured, changed considerably since then. And while I must have managed just fine last time around, I’m not sure I quite remember how. I guess it’s a case of ‘point yourself towards the end of the week and whatever you do, don’t stop to think’.
Looking at the aforementioned timetable, one thing that strikes me is the proliferation of parties. Back in the day, there were, perhaps, one or two big blowouts that everyone had to battle their way into as well as the more exclusive cocktail parties. This year Wednesday, Thursday and Friday nights see several beach bashes vie for attention – including the annual Rushes party on our very on Plage Courage.
And then there are the brands. Agencies have always brought clients to Cannes, but compared with my last visit it seems that major brands like Coca-Cola, Heineken, Google and more have a far greater presence both in the Palais and on the fringe. This will lend, I suspect, a more grown-up atmosphere to proceedings – although you may want to ask me again at 3am at the Gutter Bar.
In the Palais itself there’s an interesting schedule of workshops and seminars and I’m determined to slip away from the social hurly-burly to take in the likes of Vivienne Westwood. The cool, dark auditoria make a welcome escape from the searing sun and it’s worth taking time to top your brain up with new thoughts and ideas. Back in 2008 I was there to see Rupert Murdoch describe Barack Obama as a rock star ahead of Obama’s election victory. In 2009 I remember taking an ill-advised seat in the front row of a press conference hosted by a very scary Bob Geldof and a beneficent Kofi Annan, and went away feeling very guilty about climate change. With the beautiful Gerald Scarf illustration hanging over the front of the Palais this year, it’s looking an attractive bet.
Some things, though, I hope never change. Old men walking their little poodles, overpriced pizza, leopard print ladies... though it has evolved, Cannes has also developed its own enduring mythology. This year is the 60th anniversary of the advertising festival and as ever, at heart, is a celebration of creativity and innovation. Even in the age of cross-continent Skype calls and constant 4G connection, it’s reassuring that everyone would still rather gather together in the same physical location, to share a beer and congratulate the winners with a bear hug. Nothing beats the buzz of meeting brilliant creative minds from the other side of the world. So despite my initial trepidation maybe I shouldn’t be so nervous after all. In the best possible way, will this year’s Cannes be a case of ‘plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose’?
