“But can he shoot cats?”

Cannes Edition..

Ben HP’s musings as a director…

Flying the flag! Cannes Special…

Not sure if posting this a day late has completely ruined the algorithm, my career and possibly Western civilisation, but here goes.

Hello gang.

With several of you currently swanning about in Cannes, luxuriating in 30-degree heat — so, basically London with a marina and more sunglasses indoors — I am feeling a massive twinge of:

“Bugger. I should be there.”

Captain @toby Walsham, @janette, @foxy, @nathan perry-greene… I see you. I salute you. I resent you slightly.

I remember my first Cannes very clearly.

I was desperate to break into the commercial world after a semi-successful stint in music videos. By semi-successful, I mean we had great ideas and no money..

I wanted the glamour.

I wanted the kudos.

I wanted a commercial budget.

I had a cheat sheet with all the names on my hit list: who to see, who to meet, who to charm, who to corner politely near a buffet.

My compadre @david hay and I decided to start the pre-Cannes warm-up the night before. Sensible. Professional. Athlete-level preparation.

By the time I boarded the lurid orange cabin of easyJet, I was feeling less “rising director” and more “emergency exit”.  I knew I had overdone it when I fainted in the galley and was revived by a male trolley dolly.

Not the glamorous entrance I had planned.

Less “here comes the hot new director” and more “typical Easyjet passenger from Luton”

The first few days were a real eye-opener.

I struggled to meet the names on my target list, mainly because Cannes has a way of taking your plan, laughing at it, rolling it up and using it as a drinks voucher.

Instead, I met creatives, directors and producers from all over the world.

There was life outside Soho!!! In fact, there was a whole world of advertising out there.

I met Darko from Kiev, who I later discovered was also on his first blag/sales trip. So there we were, two highly sophisticated international operators, both essentially wandering around with laminated hope.

I met big bears from Seattle, you know who you are.  I met people from Brazil and South Africa.  I got frazzled with the Danish Bacon crew,  I arrived at several parties, uninvited of course, because Cannes is 40% creativity, 40% rosé and 20% pretending you’re meant to be somewhere but I met amazing people, some of whom I am still in touch with today.

My pockets were overflowing with business cards. My wrist was covered in bits of tight plastic. My liver had entered contract negotiations.  If this wasn’t the next best thing since sliced baguette, I didn’t know what was.

The final send-off was the RSA party, where Tall Paul played one of the best DJ sets I have ever heard. Truly amazing.  As the sun set over Cannes, I thought:

I could get used to this.

And from then on, for the next ten years, Cannes was firmly booked in the diary.

And somehow, impossibly, it just got better and better.

The legendary Finger Music parties — sorry Pete Chambers, I still owe you one.

The absolutely deranged journey down there just so I could get to Massive Music on a Wednesday night — thanks Paul and Roscoe.

The Absolute Villa.

Meeting Kev and the gang at Envy.

Glorious dinners with Steph, Lorraine and Mike at @Framestore.

A long list of brilliant, beautiful people who were far more generous with their time, invites and patience than I probably deserved.  On the 10th anniversary, we somehow managed to procure a Lions flag from the Croisette.  I believe it still flies in a garden somewhere in North London @sue moles?

There were messy times too.

Helping a Dutch creative who banged his head and had no idea who he was, which, to be fair, at Cannes could describe most people by Thursday.  Carrying various friends back to their hotel, villa, cab or, in one case, what we hoped was their hotel.  And the year I overdid it after my divorce and was saved by Andy, Abbey and even Blake.  Thank you, genuinely, with all my heart.

To all the lovely people I met, drank with, danced near, shouted over music at, failed to follow up with properly or forgot temporarily because the sun was too bright and the rosé too cold,  you were awesome.

Cannes is brilliant. Expensive. Ridiculous. Beautiful and occasionally dark.

A sun-drenched networking fever dream where everyone is either pitching, recovering, lying, winning, losing, or looking for a wristband.

I even worked there once.

That was hard.

But I did interview Spike Jonze, Kofi Annan, Bob Geldof and, best of all, Stevie Van Zandt of  E Street Band & The Sopranos fame, certified legend who remains one of the coolest people I have ever met.

Have I ever got a job directly from Cannes?

Probably not.

Have I got a job because I met someone at Cannes?

Yes.

Did a drug dealer nick my wet swimming shorts off the Carlton Terrace?

yes.

But what goes on in Cannes, stays in Cannes…;)

Except the expenses.

So here’s to raising a glass of rosé to all you lucky buggers out there “working hard”.

Try not to have too much fun.

Bring us back a script.

And ideally, a flag.

Over and out.

Ben HP