This is the danger of setting oneself up as a Manohla watcher. When it all becomes too much, and you try and look away, you know, out of politeness or something, the whole day is spent fielding "Did you see her latest?" queries.
Well, I did, which I reproduce for you here in [painful, excruciating] full:
How Is Cannes Like High School?
True but embarrassing: Cannes is, in some major respects, a replay of high school. So many of the same issues and agonies apply here. Just as in high school, a lot of people sit together at the screenings in cliques. There are posses of Austrian and British critics here, and of course various Americans, many of whom either sit right next to one another or in close proximity. (I have repeated my old high school habit of floating clique to clique, though last year I also started intentionally sitting apart from everyone I know, mostly because I don't want to listen to my friends sigh and whisper their way through films that I like.) And, just like in high school, there is a lot of worry about parties: Did you get into that party? Why wasn't I invited to that party? And, well, that party totally stunk anyway, so who cares? There are feuds and (small) fights, cool kids (J. Hoberman) and geeks (where to begin?), late nights and early mornings, illicit cigarettes and too many drinks. Regression sets in early here and lingers; by the end of the festival's ten days, you are definitely crying for your mama.
So, Mrs. Lincoln, how was the rest of the play? See any movies at that-thar film festival?
Of course, I liked the original better:
The cinetrix just keeps telling herself, "Only three more days..."
