The plane landed in Nice.
The suitcase was packed.
A taxi took the highway to the next town.
The Mediterranean already looked like a vacation.
The weather was playing tricks: it was only early May.
For two weeks, Cannes became the center of the world, thus competing with the Perpignan station according to Dali (Roger Nimier, himself, had set his sights on Place Pereire).
The poster for the next
James Bond
decorated the facade of the Carlton.
A huge liner was anchored offshore.
Armies of limousines paraded in front of the palaces, like horse-guards in a parade.
There were screenings everywhere.
Critics scrutinized the program.
It was not a question of missing the official competition, the morning session (early, so early) at the Lumière auditorium, the evening one at Debussy.
The lights were going out.
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The Carnival of the Animals
of Saint-Saëns resounded.
The French selection triggered yawns.
It was the rule.
Édouard Baer hosted the ceremony
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