May 21st, Cannes — another day at the office.

Today began with the 11:30 a.m. showing of “Le Roudatable.” The French film, about famous director Jean-Luc Godard and set in 1967, had premiered the night before but was overshadowed by a bomb scare inside the Palais. There was thankfully no bomb; however, it was a reminder of the constant, menacing threats which a massive cultural gathering are subject to.

I haven’t mentioned yet the extensive security at Cannes, probably because metal detectors and soldiers with army grade guns are commonplace in today’s world, specifically in France - the country has been in a state of emergency since November 2015. From speaking with other festival-goers, however, it appears that this level of security is new for the festival. The metal detectors at every door; the bomb dogs sniffing around the Palais; the bag searches every place we enter. Police vans block busy roadways, guarding against the threat of a truck attack. I even witnessed car trunks being opened and searched as they made their way to drop guests at the Red Carpet.

This way of life is something we’ve come to accept. I think I speak for most when I say it’s better to be safe than face the consequences.

I can’t help but be nostalgic, however, for the earlier days of Cannes. Speaking with seasoned Cannes veterans at dinner, in queues or over coffee, I’ve come to understand that the Cannes of today is not what it always was. One woman told me about her younger days here: She simply jumped a line and entered the most sought after party of the evening. There used to be a greater element of chance. I suppose this is not just at Cannes, but the entertainment industry in general. Today to get a job, or even to get into a party, it seems like you need to be somehow connected to Steven Spielberg, have enough money to buy a connection to Steven Spielberg or be more talented than Steven Spielberg*.

Upon arrival in Cannes, I couldn’t help but believe that this magical, serendipitous way of life was still thriving. I envisioned talking my way into a party and being swept off my feet by the Hollywood elite.

This was not the case, as I found out last night in my first attempt to party crash (I will get to that in a moment).

Today’s second screening was the premiere of John Cameron Mitchell’s punk/sci-fi film “How To Talk To Girls At Parties.” For those who haven’t seen him as David Pressler-Goings on HBO’s “Girls,” Mitchell is a personality unlike anyone else. I first saw him last October, when he live-narrated and live-drank his way through a screening of his iconic “Hedwig and the Angry Inch” at the Michigan Theatre in Ann Arbor.

A similar, quieter spunk was seen today. He entered the Grand Theatre Lumiere flanked by Elle Fanning, Nicole Kidman and various rubber-clad members of the cast. What I admire most about Mitchell is that while his films can be weird and loud, they are unique to his artistry and spirit. Every director has a specific style, but like Quentin Tarantino or Martin Scorsese, John Cameron Mitchell’s is inimitable.

This brings us back to my party-crashing attempt. Getting into a Cannes party without an invitation, especially in the age of quick google searches and massive security, is near impossible. You can’t say you’re “Denise” if the bouncer can look Denise up on Facebook and cross-check the claim (I saw something like that happen tonight). I’ve heard it can be humiliating and fruitless. But nonetheless, I figured if there was a party I wanted to try getting into, it would be John Cameron Mitchell’s “How To Talk To Girls At Parties” after-party.

I had a plan. Fool-proof. The day before, an actor in the film had given me a promotional button and sticker after loudly bragging to all who would listen that “he was going to the after-party and it was going to be very cool.” The actor did not disclose the location of the party to me, but the internet did. After extensive googling I finally found the location: Magnum Beach. With my sticker, button, google maps and a very spunky coat, I hobbled over to the beach.

This was how it should have gone.

EXT. MAGNUM BEACH ENTRANCE – NIGHT

Enter EMILY (21) in a long black gown, uncomfortable heels and a very spunky coat. She approaches the BOUNCER (20s), an LA-looking guy with a clipboard and an attitude.

EMILY
Hi. Emily Bice.

The Bouncer scans the list. He does not see her name.

EMILY
I was a late add. Some guy handed me this sticker –

She retrieves the “How To Talk To Girls At Parties” sticker from her bag.

EMILY
and told me to meet him at Magnum Beach for the party. He said he’d put my name down.

BOUNCER
I don’t see your name.

EMILY
Crap. Look – we met at the RED CARPET premiere of the Meyerowitz Stories, that’s where I’m coming from, the red carpet, and he told me to meet him here.

The Bouncer hesitates, then obliges.

BOUNCER
Okay. Have fun.

Emily heads down to the party, and dances the night away. She never finds the guy who put her name on the list, because he did not exist.

This is how it actually went.

EXT. MAGNUM BEACH ENTRANCE – NIGHT

Enter EMILY (21) in a long black gown, uncomfortable heels and a very spunky coat. She approaches BOUNCER (20s), an LA-looking guy with a clipboard and an attitude.

EMILY
Hi. Emily Bice.

The Bouncer scans the list. He does not see her name.

EMILY
I was a late add. Some guy handed me this sticker –

The Bouncer stops scanning.

BOUNCER
No. Bye.

EMILY
But –

BOUNCER
No.

Emily hobbles away. She gets a gelato and calls it a night.

*There are many other successful industry people, and they are also talented. Spielberg is just an example.