Ahh.. Cannes.. The mammoth, the Big-Daddy, the Fois Gras of all film festivals. The must-be-there, must-drink-bucketloads of Rosé, must show my power and strength (and the new shoes - although the blistering will be painful!) event of the year for everyone involved in European cinema. OR IS IT?

So Sundance made love with Raindance, deliciously long-legged beauties sauntered the Croisette in the oh-so- slinkiest of dental floss inspired micro skirts. Russians, Aussies, Portugese, Greeks, Yanks -basically every country in the world was represented - as business bumped into pleasure, film folks mingled with taxi drivers and adolescents girls wearing oversized white sunglasses swooned during long ‘star-spotting' sessions..

And me? What the hell was I doin' there? Good question! I was there wearing two hats; one as the chief drum beater for ÉCU - The European Independent Film Festival and the other as an independent film director hawking my ideas to anybody that would give me 5 minutes.. One was remarkably easier than the other - I'll let you guess which one!

Underneath white tents dotting the beach conferences abounded where the bold and beautiful pontificated about their successes - and pointed out how everyone else was doing it wrong. There were random meetings with terribly interesting folk (one a artist who painted only with her body -no hands Mum!) who disappeared (perhaps the paint dried too quickly and she was stuck lying on a virginal white canvas covered in nothing but pink fluro paint??)... I joined many others in long, long nights in the garden of the Hotel Grand talking ‘business' (and surely that was my drunken twin brother up on the stage at Le Baron nightclub looking like he was having an epileptic fit while those around him grooved to the un-danceable ‘young folks' music, right?). 

But there was work involved. Here's an insight into the life of a indie film director with a briefcase full of treatements trying to sell them in Cannes - it's all about meeting after meeting after damn meeting.. "Scott,how could they possibly have locked drunken women up out on an island and let passing sailors have their wicked way with them in exchange for a chug of rum?" Knot of tension sitting low in the abdomen.. "We don't believe that's realistic - and what a dull film that'd be anyway.." Mask the disappointment. "Why don't we meet again soon." A wan smile. A limp handshake "Oh, and by the way Scott, do you have free invites to the Wild Boys party tonight?" "Yeah, sure pal", I think triumphantly fingering the tickets in my pocket as I march off the boat (‘tho it's a bit tricky to walk away angrily with dignity, wearing only socks on the decking). Throat parched. A gorgette of Rosé helps. Off to the next meeting..

For ÉCU it started at the daily ‘free beer session' at the Short Film Corner. I handed out postcards like a vacuum cleaner salesman.. "Hi! How are you? What's your film? Heard of this festival? Wanna send us your film? And I only had to do this 200 timesa night... Oh and did mention FREE BEER?? Never had the chance to try one! "Hey wanna postcard?"

But as the train pulled out at dawn on my last day in Cannes I looked through my notes - some looking like a drunken spider had fallen into an ink well and marched around my pad - and I concluded that it had been a success.. For ÉCU I'd signed several partnership deals with other festivals, picked up a handful of films that I'd like to screen at ÉCU 2011 and had some hot leads on some new sponsors. As an indie director I'd got some great feedback on my treatments - and as I write this I'm scheduling in meetings with folks who have development finances to share - and I'd met people with whom I think we will make things.

So is Cannes all that's cracked up to be. No doubt. Will I be back there again next year - but this time with a team of helpers.

Certainment. Will I end up back at Le Baron at way-past-my-bedtime? Let's see...

Scott Hillier, Festival President and Founder of ECU