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[email protected] for a prospectus. (rto code: 2658) covid 19 online options available Founded in 1923 as St Patrick’s Commercial College Level 7, 451 Pitt St, Sydney "The Manning Building" Wannabees or VIPs? A tuxedo and a ballgown walk down a street in Cannes during the 2018 film festival. PHOTOS: BRIDGET CURRAN ARGUABLY THE world’s most important and glamorous en- tertainment event, the Cannes Film Festival has become syn- onymous with fashion, fame and success. All very interesting in their own right but not really words that pair up comfortably with Catholicism and widely un- derstood Christian values of humility, modesty and temper- ance. So I was interested to see how I’d fit in with it all. I arrived at Cannes train sta- tion and was struck by its dirty red carpet staircase. Yes, even the Cannes train station has a red carpet, and people were taking selfies in front of it. The friendly welcome be- gan when the French lady in the Cannes tourist office coldly tellsme she hadn’t heard of the Cannes FilmFestival. Really? I miraculously found a local convent, and it became my oa- sis. Tucked away from the noise and the craziness of the festi- val, the Famille Missionnaire de Notre-Dame promote the devotion to Our Lady of the Snows, one of themostmagical apparitions of Our Lady and a personal favourite of mine. They communicated with me patiently in broken Italian and partly by hand gestures. I headed to the beach for a 60th anniversary screening of Hitchcock’s classic Vertigo and my first experience of an evening at Cannes. The streets were quiet and dark at first, but as I ap- proached the Palais my path was blocked by a stunning tall woman in a formal ball gown, posing as crowds of photogra- phers took her picture. I tried to figure out who she was but I was baffled. This was Cannes, where ce- lebrities gather from all over Catholic at Cannes The 2020 edition of the world’s most famous film festival has been cancelled because of coronavirus. One Perth filmmaker, who was there in 2018, recalls the Catholic backdrop she experienced to the glitterati’s fave event. the World. Perhaps she was an Italian model? A Bollywood actress? I felt compelled to take her photo too and try to figure it out later. I continued on, and again the scene repeated itself; a stunning woman surrounded by paparazzi. And another, this time a man and a woman together. And another, this time a group of glamorous socialites. Who were these people?! The streets were partially closed to cars and overrun by pedestrians in glittering ball gowns and smart tuxedoes holding scraps of paper.: “Party Please,” “Tickets to Solo SVP”, “Tickets to Under The Silver Lake .” More disturbing was one which read “I got to Cannes but need accommodation and food, please help.” These were the well groomed beggars of the festi- val, hoping that if they look the part, they will be plucked from obscurity into a secret hidden world of wealth and glamour. I bought a cheese baguette from a street vendor in my terrible French and perched myself in the freezing sand to watch Vertigo . I’d forgotten how great the filmwas, and as I lost myself in it I forgot the cold night air. Suddenly a horrific “BOOM!” from across the wa- ter jolted me back into the re- ality that I was in a dangerous country where terrorist attacks were a very real possibility. Another “BOOM!” and the sky lit up. John Williams’ clas- sic Star Wars theme filled the cold night air and fear turned into delight. The dark night exploded with colour and music as the Vertigo screen went black. For ten minutes Cannes was all about Star Wars and everyone was mesmerised. Boats bobbed on the beach beneath the fireworks. On the sand, all eyes and cameras were looking up.Then it ended. All that could be heard was the lapping waves on the beach. Discretely, the Vertigo screen- ing picked up where it had left off. The film finished. Suddenly it was midnight but it felt too early to go home. A young man in a tuxedo told me about the amazing Solo screening party down the road so I headed down there, wondering if they would let me in with my Care Bears t-shirt and boots. I found the party, clearly vis- ible thanks to the heavy securi- ty. But I didn’t even try to get in, and headed for home. The next day I attended Mass with the sisters. It was in French and I couldn’t under- stand a word, but I recognised the rhythm and the ritual and felt a great sense of peace. I headed to the Palais for my registration badge and crossed the street to the ScreenAustral- ia offices. A fellow Australian film- maker offered me his ticket to Under the Silver Lake , a film entered in the festival and screening at the Palais. It was a kind and unexpect- ed offer. We’d never met, but got chatting and realised we both knew a producer who also happens to be a practicing Catholic. It’s a small world. I checked out the Produc- ers’ market and its free Nescafe coffee, then headed to the film screening. It was an interest- ing, well-made movie with some fascinating ideas and grotesque scenes that sadly don’t alignwell with aCatholic, let alone moral, outlook. And there was no popcorn. Disap- pointment onmany levels. By day two I was starting to wonder where all the real celebrities were. I attended a 40th anniversary screening of Grease and got to see John Tra- volta onstage. The next day I joined a crowd following Roberto Be- nigni while he filmed an inter- view. After the interview I call out tin broken Italian, “I’m an Australian! Let’s take a photo!” and he kindly posed withme. But the highlight of the festi- val was its ending. The sisters invited me to an adoration evening which included the opportunity to venerate a relic of St Pio of Piet- relcina, a glove he had worn to hide his stigmata. I had also been invited to dinner that evening with some Aussie filmmakers I’d just met. Maybe it would have been wis- er to network with them and have fun, but it seemed more important to spend my last evening in prayer and thanks- giving for the amazing experi- ences I’d received over the last few days. I had seen some good films, a lot of glamour, andmuchdes- peration. There is a Gatsby-es- que feel to Cannes that is at once mesmerising, exhausting and profoundly sad. I was grateful to have a filter of faithwithwhich toprocess it. I felt blessed to be a Catholic at Cannes. Bridget Curran is a producer at Interior Castle Films I had seen some good films, a lot of glamour and much desperation. There is a Gatsby-esque feel to Cannes that is at once mesmerising, exhausting and profoundly sad.” Bridget Curren ¾ ¾ Bridget Curran