In Cannes, no one can hear you snore....

No, joke, it's the real city that never sleeps. Silly me decided to catch some shut-eye the night before Noah's premiere, and missed...wait for it...an IMPROMPTU MIDNIGHT CONCERT by U2! Of course N got to see it in full, since his idea of beauty sleep is to stagger in at 5am after a 3am technical screening.

Not that I blame him. I'd be wired, too.

These were both the longest and the shortest seven days of my life. I'm exhausted, and I wasn't even the one in the biz, running to and fro from official Meetings and whatnot. I got to lounge on the beach while N pitched future projects.

Parties? Why, yes. Every day. At least a million, a thousand of which N really wanted to attend. Not for "fun," mind you, but to chat people up. You think I'm kidding. These parties were about as lighthearted and festive as the sales conferences we used to have back at my corporate job, once upon a time. I sipped Champagne while everyone else talked shop. (Being a writer? At Cannes? Is incredibly frustrating. There is no such thing as small talk, for real. If you can't further their film, NO ONE wants to schmooze. Thankfully, the bars are always open). But don't feel too sorry for me. I got to drink cafe au lait and people watch. I got to read. I got to attend glamorous red carpet premieres!

Speaking of which...the day of Tehilim's premiere was spectacular, save for the fact that we all had to shake ourselves out of bed around 8am (again, this was easier for me than for Noah). We met Step-Ma and Pa Harlan at the Grand Hotel for caffeine and sustenance (even though we were too nervous to eat), took a bajillion pics with the cast and crew, and then we were off!

Wives and girlfriends were relegated to walking the red carpet together, separate from the actual people who actually, you know, created the film. Go figure. Nonetheless, the carpet itself was red, and dazzling, and intimidating, and amazing. We were ushered into the VIP section. Once inside, we could watch the outside activities onscreen. I saw Raphy being interviewed (boy is humble. Seriously), and I saw Noah grinning alongside his colleagues. We all smiled so hard I was afraid our cheeks would fall off (they didn't).

I won't spoil the movie for you, but to say that it's quietly devastating, nuanced and moving. We've heard rumors of a few distributors sniffing around, but let's not jinx anything.

After the show it was a cocktail party, photo call (not for me, despite my lovely pink shoes), and press conference. And at night it was the official, Arte-sponsored soiree. A proper soiree, on a boat and all. Guess who was docked next door.

Sharon Stone.

Sharon Stone!

Other highlights of the week include: meeting Fisher Stevens (of "Short Circuit" fame), attending the premiere of "Paranoid Park" and getting to see supercool YA Author and friend Blake Nelson walk the carpet, attending a black tie premiere with Noah that was so wretched people jeered aloud (serious, MAJOR jeering), reading good and mostly-good reviews of "Tehilim," hearing every single person at the festival congratulate Noah on the film, eating a ham and cheese crepe at 4am yesterday, after successfully navigating a lukewarm villa party in the hills on the outskirts of Cannes, and lots of other cool stuff that I'm totally forgetting.

The French? They enjoy their pizza. Another thing we have in common.

Other sightings include: Brett Ratner, Karl Lagerfeld, Rosario Dawson, Brad Pitt (on the red carpet jumbotron), Roman Polanski, Jeremy Piven, and some extremely skinny Asian woman who posed for a zillion pics before "Paranoid Park." No idea who she is. But obviously, she is Important.

I had more notes, but lost them at some point (where? How? Keep an eye on Page Six for me, willya?). Suffice it to say that it was a fantastic, once-in-a-lifetime experience, and I'm so thrilled that I got to do it, and got to do it with Noah.


Of course, we're so exhausted that I don't think I need to go back until the next time he has a film in competition. Which I'm sure isn't too terribly far off.

We're at the Four Seasons Provence this weekend, keeping up with the theme of being much more fabulous than we actually are. It's the exact opposite of Cannes: green, serene, private. Tomorrow we visit a Medieval town and then hit the spa, but for now, N is passed out on the couch still clutching his magazine. This is both adorable, and also exciting, as I now have WIRELESS ALL TO MYSELF! The French pronounce it "Wee-Fee." Hee.

Saturday it's back to Paris, and on Tuesday, the Paris premiere. There's not enough espresso in the world...not that I'm complaining.