|
   |
|
7. Exterior. Cagnes-sur-Mer. Day. More post- Cannes remedies. Full front shot of Renoir’s olive grove, the house in Provence where he spent the last 30 years of his life. Slow pan through the hidden corners of this medieval city. 8. Exterior. Cannes. Day. I set off along famous Boulevard de la Croissette and am, yet again, crushed in a mob struggling to get a glimpse of Jim Jarmusch. I escape via the Allée des Etoiles du Cinéma. I take a quick picture of Sharon Stone’s palm print and duck through streets still flickering with flashes to Allées de la Liberté, across from the old port. The camera pauses on a game of pétanque, a local variation on bowling. Fishing boats and yachts bob in the background. Next, shots of shop windows filled with bread, cheese and chocolate along Rue Meynadier, ending in a narrow jumble of markets and old Roman roads. This is Le Suquet (also the name of a fish soup). I am relieved to be out of the festival madness, but I’m dying to know who will take home the Palme d’Or. 9. Exterior. Highway A8 to Italy. Day. Mansion-hunting in a red Ferrari. I drive towards Saint Jean Cap Ferrat to gawk at the Villa Ephrussi de Rothschild, synonymous with the Riviera’s belle époque. Silent images of the palace, gardens and fountains. More shots of yachts in Antibes and the ramparts built by the Greeks and Romans. Picasso’s studio at Grimaldi Castle: his paintings, ceramics, lithographs of the sea and mythological subjects. It’s a more complete collection than the one in neighboring Vallauris that houses his painting War and Peace . A barrage of art. A close-up my very satisfied smile. 10. Exterior. Nice. Night. A stroll along the Promenade des Anglais in front of Hotel Negresco. Slow zoom on the lights of Sir Elton John’s mansion perched on top of Mont Boron. Repeat after me, “Nice is Nice.” 11. Interior. Chapelle du Rosaire. Vence. Day. Camera follows the light through the angelic stained glass windows. The voice of Matisse in off: “Please accept my apology for not having shown you this work myself as a result of my age and health. It took 40 years…and is the product of my entire life. I consider it to be…my masterpiece…the work of a life dedicated to the search for the truth.” 12. Interior. Airplane. Day. The flight from Nice to Madrid. A montage of powerful images. An elderly, almost paralyzed Matisse at the end of his days in Nice. The screaming hordes of Cannes. Honey, Caprais wine, candied fruit from Grasse (recommended by Maupassant in his travel journal), perfumes and a festival poster. Sitting beside me is the lovely Victoria Abril. She’s perfectly made up, wearing a t-shirt covered in hearts, a shiny black coat. Music blares from the headphones that she’ll wear throughout the trip. She’s studying a script. “I love Cannes,” she says, “In three days you take in enough movies for a whole year.” “If you’re a star,” I reply, with a smile, because I just happen to have finished the very best film of Cannes. ● >> Where to Eat | What to Do | Where to Stay Chilean-Spanish journalist Soledad Castro has an insatiable appetite for travel, and spent five years working for the culture and show business section of Chile’s late-edition newspaper La Segunda. |
