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Steven S.K. Hao ’18:

On day four of the Cannes Film Festival, Vincent and I switch things up. In the morning, we attend a screening of Cambodian film “Diamond Island” in one of the festival’s sidebar series: Semaine de la Critique (Critics’ Week). While Vincent is off interviewing Alain Guiraudie, director of “Rester Vertical,” I proceed to the Lumière to catch a screening of Steven Spielberg’s newest film: an adaption of Roald Dahl’s “The BFG.” Since Roald Dahl was my favorite childhood author, I had high hopes, and you could even say that it was the film I was looking forward to the most at Cannes. As it does for many things in life, however, my reckless lack of expectations management did me in—the film failed to reach the lofty standards I had unfairly set for it. Charming but not quite on par with the classic that was Dahl’s novel, “The BFG” is yet another entry in a recent line of serviceable but middling Spielberg films (looking at you, “Bridge of Spies.”)

Read more in Steven’s review of “The BFG”: “‘The BFG’ is a charming and captivating spectacle with strong performances to boot, but unfortunately it is unable to strike a balance between unadulterated fantasy and computer-generated wonder.”

I sneak out of the theater just before the credits begin and run to the press conference floor on a bit of a personal quest. I had promised myself that I would not leave Cannes without Spielberg’s autograph. After failing to secure anything from the cast of “Money Monster,” I’ve honed my craft. For anyone who is lucky enough to attend Cannes as a member of the press someday, there are two golden rules to getting your favorite celebrity’s John Hancock (provided you are not high enough on the press ladder to actually get into high-demand press conferences). First, arrive early and find a spot close to the corridor where the cast and crew pass by before entering the press room—the closer to the dividers, the better.

The second rule is to not be the first person that the VIPs walk by, but also not the last. Sometimes festival officials will decide it prudent to inform your idols that they are running late, causing them to stop signing autographs. Try not to be the last one waiting for an inscription for that reason. The first person “in line” for an autograph also has a tough gig, though, because they set the tone for the rest of the line. Actors and directors are not obliged to sign anything, so you’d better have an amiable, non-crazy face if Brad Pitt is going to feel safe approaching you. For me, that’s simply too much responsibility to bear. Once you’ve found your spot, be prepared to stand your ground. Caught between you and their favorite stars, even professional media folk will get a little feisty. Following my rules, I am able to bring home a Steven Spielberg autograph. Next up—Ryan Gosling and Russell Crowe.

I wrap up the evening waiting in line for the competition film, “American Honey.” Unfortunately, while Vincent is able to get a seat, I am not fortunate enough to gain entrance. I am resigned to catching another screening tomorrow.

Read more in Vincent’s review of “American Honey”: “Instead of telling a story, ‘American Honey’ tells of life itself.”

Read Vincent's review of "Endless Poetry": "If every Harvard student were required to watch Alejandro Jodorowsky's “Endless Poetry,” one imagines that the number of students pursuing art might triple."