When you awaken to a book deal, a TV deal and a possible distribution deal before breakfast, chances are it’s not gonna be a total crap day.  And to make it that much sweeter, the pool was algae-free at last – splendid indeed!

Yes, congrats to Agustin whose morning e-mail revealed he’s landed a book deal(!) for his first pop book with a a major publisher (he’s authored numerous academic texts and a bijillion articles thus far, but popular press is a whole new territory.)  I begged him to invite me to dinner with Jon Stewart if his book tour includes the Daily Show – fingers crossed.    If that wasn’t exciting enough, he also got asked to make another TV guest appearance (this time on National Geographic with a very exciting celebrity guest host – but we’ll save that fun tidbit for when it airs.)  And a quick check of my own e-mail revealed we’ve successfully negotiated domestic distribution terms for Death in Charge and contracts shall soon follow.  Hooray!

Wednesday was another full day at the market for us.  We took some more meetings and I ran into film fest buddy and one-man-indie-film guru/cult icon Chris Jones, who was leading a group through the endless booths, sharing the wealth of his vast knowledge.  They were to shoot an episode of their new show at Cannes and suggested I pop by for an interview.  “Fun – count me in,” I responded as we dashed off to our respective appointments.  Several more distributors requested screeners and we felt reasonably secure that we’d hit the most appropriate of the bigger companies that might be the right home for trippin’.

After,  we caught our first actual market screening – the long awaited Mad Cow having been tantalized by the great posters, chicks in t-shirts and other promotional stunts.  These guys know how to market a movie.  The question remained, however, do they actually know how to make a movie.  The answer:  a resounding yes!

Mad Cow is not for all tastes.  I heard the producer announce that this movie is best viewed drunk and high.  And, no doubt, the drunk and high will be particularly delighted by it for sure.  But I was neither drunk nor high and still enjoyed myself.  Mad Cow is surprisingly charming.  An ultra low-budget movie shot in film, it somehow has an early 80s look to it reminiscent of  The Gods Must Be Crazy and the best of classic Troma, with humor homages ranging from Monty Python, to Mel Brooks to Spike Jones (the Vaudevillian-esque musician, not the music director-turned big director, Kiddies) and Mystery Science Theater as well.

This is a movie that doesn’t take itself seriously which is precisely why it works so well.  If you just go along for the ride you will likely find yourself laughing and groaning aloud.  The foley alone was a treat.  I nearly lost it early on before it had revealed its full level of parody and a cat walking by emitted a human voice that simply said, “Meow.”  I don’t know why it’s funny – it simply is.  No deep analysis is required.

It will be very interesting to see how Mad Cow fares.  They certainly did their job promoting it.  As I reiterated before, you cannot judge much by a market screening and the last thing you’d want as a filmmaker is to watch your film in such a context.  This was the third and final screening of Mad Cow with about 20 in attendance (from what I have gathered that’s pretty impressive.  Many films screen but once and are lucky to attract even 5 viewers.  The market’s pretty flooded and it’s not easy to stand out, much less raise interest in your project.).

I was happy for the filmmakers that a number of us vocally reacted with laughs and such, but the majority of the folks were gone within the first 20 minutes.  This says nothing about the film, mind you.  That’s what buyers do.  Watch the first 5-20 minutes, make their decisions, leave.  Yuck.  Good luck, Mad Cow – we’re rooting for you!

After the screening we met up with J, Nat and Ra for our mid-day sangria.  Nat ran up first exclaiming, “I got your next blog title!)  This has been an ongoing joke since our Anchorage days.  Somebody says something amusing and we all comment, “That’d be a good title for the blog” which stems from a previous recurring joke that hails from Paige & Hadley’s Prom From Hell, “That’d be a good name for a band.”

Anyway, Nat re-enacted an entire hysterical scene she’d just witnessed in the market in which some poor sales agent who looked on the verge of tears assured his angry superiors,  “I wasn’t selling, I was facilitating!”  Ah, the market.  Definitely blog-title-worthy.

We were looking forward to a fun night back at the Cannes Independent Fest, but after several more meetings at the market we ran into a distributor who’d seemed particularly pumped about our puppet and he strongly urged us to check out a horror film they represented that was screening at 7:30 – d’oh!  It was for buyers only, but he’d save a pass for me.  We agreed and figured it would be good for research purposes.  It did sound interesting.  They compared it to Evil Dead (a personal fave) and shared that it was made for $30,000 Aussie, considerably more than trippin’, but still a paltry sum.

It was shown in a tiny screening room with about 12 of us present, half of whom were just horror fans and not even buyers.  This was a brilliant education.  My heart sunk a little as I noted the fabulous FX and awesome production design, beautiful cinematography, great sound – definitely in another league from our little film.  And there was one quick jolt scare right up front as we learned is so crucial, but then something interesting happened – or rather, nothing interesting happened.

The film had some creepy moments, the acting was very competent and, as I said, it really did LOOK beautiful.  But, man, was it dull.  Most of the buyers were gone in the first 5 minutes, the rest within the first 10 – way sooner than Mad Cow.  Who knows? Maybe they’d seen all they needed to and bolted out to call the distributors and make an offer.  But this did not feel like an engaged crowd – and half of us were horror fans there for the mere purpose of being entertained.

Then in the final scene, realization hit.  I whispered to Agustin, “Oh my god, we’ve seen this before.”  He came out of his bored stupor and cocked his head, “Nope.  I haven’t.”  Actually, I was right.  He had.  It played at a horror fest where Death in Charge screened several months back.   I had watched the first 10 minutes, fallen asleep and awakened for the final five minutes.  Agustin had watched the entire movie and still does not recall it.

I’ll refrain from mentioning the title.  I don’t want to diss a fellow indie filmmaker.  He accomplished an amazing feat.  Technically, the film is most impressive and I can’t imagine how they pulled it off for such a tiny budget.  I would have guessed a million easy.  I suspect, in fact, that it was a calling card for an FX house as the director also did the FX.  It was the script that was lacking.  I just didn’t care.  The story itself was not very compelling and far too slow.  It was guilty of what too many horror films are guilty – 20 minutes of actual plot stretched out into 90 minutes of movie.  It also relied too heavily on camera angles and sound design to elicit scares.  What little tension there was did not come organically from one’s investment in the actual characters or story. Also, while the Evil Dead was an apt comparison as far as theme and some of the fx were concerned, it missed the most important parts of that series – the heart and the humor.  There was not a trace of humor in this film.  It took itself far too seriously, and therefore I could not.  It was cold, distant, alas boring.

As  we exited the market, Agustin commented, “I don’t think trippin’s their thing,” referring to the distribution company.   I shrugged, “Probably not, but it’s impossible to say.  We’re talking about apples and oranges.  Besides, that film seriously would have benefited from a puppet, dontcha think?”

We grabbed a bottle of wine at one of our fave outdoor cafes in Old Town and found ourself deep in discussion about the day’s revelations.  I actually felt empowered.  The lessons I learned the day before came into practice in the film we’d just watched.  It certainly fulfilled the requirements of the “checklist” (see previous blog entry for details) and, as such, would no doubt make a profit.  Good for them.  Better for us.  Production values are, in fact, the easy part.  They merely require raising sufficient funds (or in-kind donations) from folks who know their craft and the equipment to support them.  We can do that.  Knowing how to entertain an audience, coming up with an engaging story with likable characters, having an original artistic voice is the hard part.  We can do that, too.

It was getting late, but the weather was perfect, street music (lots of accordions in Cannes) and lively chatter filled the warm night air – there was nowhere else I’d rather be, nothing else I’d rather be doing.  I felt really good about things – where we’ve come from, where we’re headed and the wonderful journey that would take us there.

Suddenly, madness ensued.  A woman in formal attire rounded a corner with her entourage, wailing, tears pouring down her face.  We only got a bit of the story, but it sounded like she’d been horribly humiliated.  Our kind waitress brought her a complimentary glass of wine.  I love Europe.  Shortly thereafter, an angry man stomped down the alley from the opposite direction, smashing bottles against the brick walls in an unrelated fit of rage.

Agustin and I decided to head back up the hill to our less hostile environment.  I thought about the tale Nat had told about the sniveling sales agent and his angry bosses, I thought about other unhappy people I’d witnessed during the day (LOTS of scared, desperate and tense looking people in the marche.)  In Roger Ebert’s “Notebook on Cannes” he mentions how exhausting the full 2 weeks are and how they really start to take their toll as things wind down.  I suddenly realized just what a wonderful gift the Cannes Independent Film Fest truly was.  I did not feel jaded or tired at all.  To the contrary, I’d never felt more alive and was dreading the end.  I suspect Agustin was in a similar space.  I held out my hand to him and chanted, “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. Sclemeel, schlemazel, hasenfeffer incorporated.”

He grabbed my hand and we broke out into a spontaneous round of the Laverne and Shirley theme song as we skipped the rest of the climb home:
We’re gonna do it!

Give us any chance, we’ll take it.
Give us any rule, we’ll break it.
We’re gonna make our dreams come true.
Doin’ it our way.

Nothin’s gonna turn us back now,
Straight ahead and on the track now.
We’re gonna make our dreams come true,
Doin’ it our way.

There is nothing we won’t try,
Never heard the word impossible.
This time there’s no stopping us.
We’re gonna do it.

On your mark, get set, and go now,
Got a dream and we just know now,
We’re gonna make our dream come true.
And we’ll do it our way, yes our way.
Make all our dreams come true,
And do it our way, yes our way,
Make all our dreams come true

For me and you.

We arrived back to find Richard, Erich, some Cannes Indie regulars and some newbies still on the veranda with brandy, deep in discussion.  We joined them, hearing about the wonderful things we’d missed and sharing our own adventures and lessons learned from the day.  It was so nice to come home.  I felt bad for the unhappy people below whose paradise had turned sour.  Sucks to be them.  This really is the way to do Cannes.  Hell, this is the way to do life.  Some lessons are harder to learn than others, but it’s all good if you get the balance right.  I’ve never slept more peacefully.

Thanks to friend Todd Livingston for recommending Roger Ebert‘s Notebook on Cannes.  I can’t imagine a better way to prepare for the adventure ahead.  Thanks, too, to Henry Jaglom for his wonderful film Festival in Cannes which set the perfect mood before bed last night.  I’m now back at the Delta VIP lounge at the Detroit Airport, where I first wrote the treatment for trippin‘, where I’ve begun and completed so many adventures over the past 6 years, where I’ve grown up in some ways.  So many fond memories in this wonderful place!  If it should come up before I remember to write my living will, I think I’d like some of my ashes scattered here when I pass, perhaps at the tequila bar or the flickering light tunnel (also Peggy Guggenheim‘s home in Venice, West Village in NYC and Cordova, Spain, but I digress…)

As Agustin and I dined at our usual breakfast spot I  felt enlightened.  Perhaps it was merely the much-needed caffeine, but it felt as though everything suddenly made perfect sense.  I wouldn’t change this journey for the world – even the down times.  If we hadn’t done everything just as we have, we might not be right here right now.  And as Jesus Jones reminds us, “…there is no other place that I’d wanna be.”  I know we’re headed for rejection and heartbreak and other setbacks, but I’ve never felt more confident or fulfilled than I do in this moment.  I feel like I know where I’m at, where I’m headed and the best way to get there (apparently first class no less, as we got bumped up on our next flight – sweet!)

It suddenly seemed funny (and a little sad) some of the misguided people in my life who tried so hard to convince me to change my ways this past year under the arrogant assumption that they knew what was best for me (insert a bar of Suicidal Tendencies’ “Institutionalized” here: “WE decided?  MY best interests?!” ) .  Why do people get so upset when one wants to forge her own path and do things her own way?  I was trying on bikinis the other day and the dressing room attendant tried desperately to help me find Jesus.  I wasn’t even aware that he was lost.  I suspect, however, that she was.  She was certainly hellbent on trying to make me see how unfulfilled I was.  I resisted the urge to suggest that I was not the one who had nothing better to do than to tell perfect strangers how they should live their lives and instead merely shrugged and dreamed of walks on the beach.

One of my favorite things about life is that there really is no universal right or wrong.  Right simply means “right for one’s self.”  There are as many ways to live one’s life as there are people to live them.  Ideally, most of us will do our best to follow the golden rule and try not to be dicks, but beyond that, isn’t Marlo Thomas right in suggesting we should be free to be you and me *?  So what’s all the fascination with conformity?

Jaglom’s film was filled with delightfully entertaining lost and impressionable souls, most whose actions did not line up with their words; with dreams contaminated by promises of opportunities, and insecurities so deep they consumed souls.  I laughed, I winced, and I reminded myself why I am headed to Cannes.

I have absolutely no expectations for this trip (except the consumption of at least one perfect pain au chocolat) and I am perfectly thrilled by that notion.  What a truly wonderful freedom to let what happens happen and just enjoy the ride.

People have been saying increasingly exciting things to me of late, convinced we’re at our “tipping point” that it’s all “about to happen” for us.  It’s a funny notion really the whole concept of waiting for something to happen.   What does that even mean?  I try to make every moment count, no waiting necessary.  I felt pretty happening dancing with friends to a Michael Jackson cover band in Mishawaka the other night.  Seriously, what could be more happening than that? In the moment, I assure you, absolutely nothing.

I don’t know if we’re gonna “make it” as people say.  Will we get to make films for real budgets that go on to actually make us money?   Will we have our Hammer-House-inspired independent studio in Michigan that a small group of us hold up as our collective dream as we push forth on our endeavors?  All I know for sure is that we will continue to write and make movies and travel to the fests that will have us, surrounded by kindred spirits, thoughtful discussion, movies made from the heart and memories to last a lifetime.  The dream is wonderful to strive for, but the reality is what matters now and I’d hate to waste even a second of it.

In Ebert’s Cannes notebook, he interviews Isabella Rosselini who offers perhaps the wisest advice I’ve heard in some time: “I…believe, as an optimist, that if you go through life always fearing the consequences, you end up doing nothing.”  Ebert, a man with whom I often disagree and yet for whom I’ve developed a much greater appreciation after this book (and Beyond the Valley of the Dolls of course),  offered many of his own brilliant insights about art and commerce  and dreams and life.  I highly recommend the book whether you plan to attend Cannes or not.

*PS – that asterisked link above was a fun find – a music video of a young Michael Jackson and Roberta Flack singing one of my all-time fave songs, “When We Grow Up” from the album Free to Be You and Me – for which I attribute Generation X.  Go, That Girl Marlo!