Packing Panic by Gabriel Jenkinson

Dear readers; I aim my blog towards the newly emerging filmmakers and thought it would be great to follow one such filmmaker as he makes his way to Cannes for the first time! Meet Gabriel Jenkinson, a Los Angeleno, recent college grad, beginning his career in writing, directing and acting. We will follow him to Cannes, during the second half which is better for him as a first timer as all the dysfunctions of the ticketing and communications have been ironed out and the huge crowds have dispersed. I myself am looking forward to seeing what his impressions are as he goes through this experience, and so I hope you are too!

The only item I’m certain of is the tuxedo. I only have one, so the choice was easy. The French cuff shirt too. It’s my fanciest one – Vera Wang Black Label – the only shirt I have that’s worthy of wearing under my Calvin Klein tux (my brand loyalties are based on what’s on sale). That means the cuff links must come too. And the studs. And a bow tie. But which one? Better take all three—what if I attend more than one event at the Palais? Heaven forbid I should be caught on camera wearing the same exact outfit more than once. But I only have one formal shirt! I’ll have to make do. I’ll just wear one of my regular dress shirts if it comes down to it. Nobody’s going to care. It’s not like I’m one of the mega-celebrities whose every movement is dissected in real time by the tabloids and the trades alike (not that there’s much difference between the two at an event such as this). I’m just a lowly young actor/filmmaker attending his very first Cannes Film Festival. 

And if I don’t get into any Palais screenings (or any screenings in general for that matter) – which is definitely a possibility given that I haven’t built up any “attendance credit” or whatever it is they call their overly complicated points system for ticket priority – I’ll have wasted quite a bit of space in my already overly stuffed bag. If any filmmakers reading this want to spare me this fate by donating me tickets, you’ll have my undying gratitude and a guaranteed standing ovation from at least one person (me).

Better safe than sorry, though, and I can always wear the formal attire to a party! Though even those I’m not too sure about. Are those, too, formal events? Or does it vary by party? I imagine the horror of waddling about overdressed on somebody’s yacht, standing about awkwardly as others clad in vibrant colors dance about around me. Like a penguin lost among a flock of tropical birds—a long, long way from home. Will I even get invited to any parties? What a terrifying thought. I’d better pack the party shirts and dancing shoes—for the sake of my own self-esteem, if nothing else.

Speaking of shoes, the black dress shoes are definitely coming. Elegant, versatile, and surprisingly comfortable; they go nicely with the tux. The catch: they have rubber on the bottom of the soles. I’ve been told that certain events will turn you away for such an offence, presumably alongside a spitting gesture and the phrase “que pathetique!” This has to be an urban legend. No institution, no matter how French, can be this pretentious. I’d rather not find out the hard way, though. Better bring the tough leather shoes, which I still haven’t managed to break in after two years, and throw in some moleskins for the inevitable blisters they’ll give me.

Neither of those options is good for walking up and down the Croisiette all day, so I’ll take a pair of sneakers, too. All-white Air Max 97s, a classic. Good for anything that isn’t formal or professional. So probably not good for meetings, either. But the dress shoes are too formal for those too… I need something in between; my suede loafers should do the trick. I don’t want to seem like I don’t know what I’m doing. But I also don’t want to seem like I’m trying too hard. This is the film industry, after all. The key word being “seem,” as you can probably already tell from this article that I definitely don’t know what I’m doing and even more so am trying too hard. They don’t have to know that, though. It can be our secret.

When I’m not in meetings, seeing films, or attending parties, it’d be nice to hit the beach. I’ll pack some t-shirts. Maybe a pair of swimming trunks or two, in case I want to go for a swim in the sea. But will I even have enough time to hit the beach, let alone twice? And would doing so make it seem like I have nothing better to do? No, that’s a ridiculous thought. Almost as ridiculous as someone being able to recognize me from a distance with a hat and sunglasses on. 

I’ll bring those, too. For unrelated reasons, of course. For… solar protection! My caramel skin can handle quite a bit of sun thanks to the melanin I inherited from my Jamaican father. The green eyes I inherited from my Italian mother, however, can be quite sensitive. Since you now all have an idea what I look like, I have a small favor to ask; if you see me taking a dip in the Mediterranean, no you didn’t. 

This bag looks like it’s going to explode. Maybe I’d better use a bigger one, just in case. It’s going to be a long week. Ideally, I wouldn’t have to worry about any of this, as nobody can see what you’re wearing in a dark theater. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned about the Cannes Film Festival already, it’s that the emphasis is on “Festival” rather than “Film,” no matter how much cinema buffs such as myself would prefer the opposite. So pack your bags, we’re in for quite the trip.