A Flop Story

Cannes, a seaside resort in the best case, a luxurious-Floridian-lookalike-rest-home in the worst, where, 10 days per year, cameras of the entire world are holding their lenses along a 60 meters long red carpet covering 24 steps.

I haven’t been outside Paris since January 1^st and I was waiting this weekend for months, haven’t realized 2 weeks before that it was just exactly during the FIF. I know this event by heart. When I worked for MTV Europe we did the best private parties and at 15 years old the teenage magazine Muteen followed me in a trick I did at Hotel Martinez with two other girlfriends. Another year, I had a suite in a palace with all my friends for free. Just some examples of what you can do in a world where pretenders are reigning over stupidness under the label of the so-called culture.

Well, I’ve been taking the best part of this bling bling event by playing a fake role everytime and I had fun with it ! This year I did’nt have to.

, My bosses suggested me an interview with a French rapper I love since his very first album ,Booba ,and it didn’t fall on deaf ears. This is the story of a BIG flop.

On Saturday, I picked my camera on La Croisette. Arrived at 7pm in the backstages of The Grand Journal de Canal +, I was alone with Michel Denisot. He was very kind and even said hello, after what I met some of the chroniclers and one of them told me I was not going to succeed without shampooing my hair with oxygenated water. Wtf I work myself hard everyday to look very superficial.

Next, I took a seat and reviewed my meaningless questions then I texted Booba’s manager to inform him I was waiting in the baskstages. He replied instantly he was coming in 15 minutes.I was anxious not more than usual, but it’s only when I heard the crowd on La Croisette raging like hell as Booba was entering that I started to totally freak out. A guy of the show came to me and told me that it was not possible to make the interview for many reasons. It’s funny but when people tell me “NO” miming big bold letters across their mouths , I just understand “Yes you can but only if you insist a lot”. It is precisely what I did: I went to Booba’s dressing room and asked him directly , he didn’t have the time to finish his positive answer that the no-guy came to the door and said no. Again. Booba took the guy away telling him “you smell alcohol you’re drunk ”. My dimples dug 6 big holes on my cheeks and he rested me “just after the live, wait here”. After the show all the journalists were buzzing around him. It was impossible to get something. When I started realizing that I won't get anything, he opened the door and let me enter. I started recording, he stood up in front of me (he's like 1m95 high so pretty impressive) and answered my questions. At this moment I had a kind of biiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiip in my head, just watching him making big movements with his tatooed adrenalinefull arms.

Moral of the story: I am a very very bad and unprofessional reporter.The interview will not be diffused, it is a total FAILURE. I've just watched the rushes today and it seems that I had a Parkinson symptom.

On evening I had a drink at La Villa des Inrocks, I drawed in my deepest memories piano scores at a friend's place,then went to sleep directly, the next morning I had the best people of my life on my bedside waking me up with the fresly news of the day : Cannes film festival was turning into a Kahn multimedia festival. (See trendy topics on Twitter). TIME TO GO.

On my way back to Paris, Joey Starr was in my plane with three of his assistants. I hesitated to catch him for a little interview but quickly decided not to realizing the limits of my competencies. I just observed how he treated his staff (badly) and wait for his driver like he's some kind of princess.