It's the first year that I read reports from Cannes, look at pictures from Jeffrey Well's blog of a dinner at Le Pizza, read Anne Thompson's coverage from the Croisette and feel just a tiny twinge of nostalgia. Not for the early mornings, late nights, too many cigarettes and barely being able to keep your eyes open, but for the camaraderie. I'm sad to see that Wong Kar-Wei's film isn't getting the best reviews; I have such a soft spot for his work. James' film is managing to stay below the radar as he arguably the only non-celebrity American filmmaker to have a picture at the festival. This will, I believe, bode well for him. As long as Manohla is nice. According to John Horn's piece in the LA Times today, Wahlberg isn't going because Cuban's company 2929 refuses to pay for him and his entourage to stay at the Du Cap. (They said he and a couple of assistants would be okay). The Du Cap is fine as long as you don't have one of those awful rooms at the top of the stairs, over the bar, where you're kept up all night long, because every single party always, without fail, ends up in the bar of the Du Cap. Bellinis all round and all that. The best thing, when you're totally exhausted and it's near the end of the festival, and the studio is paying for your stay, is to find a girlfriend and avail yourself of the absolutely delicious buffet lunch down by the sea. The Du Cap's lunch -- sardines and tomatoes and buffala mozarella and coeurs du palmiers and fresh white asparagus and marinaded mushrooms and cold mussells, with that amazing french bread and butter, is just delicious, especially when you are functioning on three hours' sleep.