I arrived at 3:30 on the dot at one of the Palais' small theaters to see a film that had caught my eye on the schedule -- A Merry War aka Keep the Aspidistra Flying. I assumed I wouldn't be able to get in, but they waved me straight through and I made it an even dozen people in the audience. Amazing.
One of the joys of Cannes is the plethora of choices -- sometimes you see what you think you should and other times go where you heart takes you. That's just what I did Sunday night when I bypassed the Danish film in competition to see Bull Durham on the big screen.
Once again, the theater was again only about half full and there was Medavoy giving an introduction -- looking around as if he was stalling for time and indeed he was -- the car that was supposed to pick up Ron Shelton, who wrote and directed the film, had returned empty. As soon as the film started, Shelton slipped into the seat in front of me, but what happened and how it got there remained a mystery because I was soon basking in the joy of walking into the baseball stadium with Susan Sarandon.
Bull Durham is a film I discovered only after it was on video. 20 minutes into my first viewing, I found myself getting very mad at my friends -- why had none of them had told me about this little gem? Annie Savoy is one of the great female characters of all time -- ok, so some might call her an intellectual slut, but I don't see it that way. As she explains it, she is -- during each baseball season -- monogamous. I know I am sucker for a woman who loves baseball and I bask in the glory of her attitude and her great lines (personal favorite: "Honey, we all deserve to wear white." Susan Sarandon plays Annie with all her strength and vulnerability right there on the surface.
I caught several little details that a dozen viewings on video had not allowed me to see. And then of course there are the set ups such as Tim Robbins being hopeless with her garters and Kevin Costner knowing EXACTLY what to do -- I might get irked at being so easily seduced by such a scene, but before my ire can build, the score comes full force with yet another personal favorite, "Sixty Minute Man."
So the credits role in the Palais and the women leaving the theater give each other knowing smiles, so pleased to be reminded that there are men who know precisely what they want. I thanked Medavoy who introduced to me to Shelton, but we were quickly interrupted by one of Medavoy's current producing partners, but at least he asked a question I wanted to know the answer to.
"Did you pick the music?"
"Yes"
"Even Sixty Second Man?"
Shelton and I looked at each other -- not quite believing what we had just heard. I couldn't help myself and besides it seemed better coming from me than from Shelton.
"It's Sixty MINUTE Man."
The partner still didn't get it. And he's the one currently
producing movies today. Thank goodness we have these retrospectives.
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