At Cannes, a Colorful Cast of Characters

CANNES, France — Walter Josten and Steven Leibovitz both live in Los Angeles and work in the movie industry. Josten is a partner in Blue Rider Pictures, a producer of low-budget films, and Leibovitz is the manager of entertainment lending at Comerica Bank.

Until 12 days ago, when they boarded the same plane for France, they had never met.

Now they’re in business together, nearing agreement for Comerica to provide a loan to produce “Silver Wolf,” a $3.5-million family adventure described succinctly on its poster: “A wolf and a snowboarder team up for the ride of their lives.”

Every year, Hollywood comes to the French Riviera for the Cannes International Film Festival, but the festival itself is only a small part of what happens at the largest, showiest and most storied annual gathering of the global movie community.

Players and strivers alike come to this resort town to buy, sell, promote, make connections, find money, scheme, dream, cook up deals, hustle, eat and party. Perhaps 15,000 people attend, a mingling of the prosperous and the desperate, each in search of something different.

“They’re the same people you can see in L.A.,” said Bob Shaye, founder and chairman of New Line Cinema, who has been coming to Cannes for 28 years. “But it’s a different context.

“I went to a party last night, and it was kind of nostalgic,” he said, looking out over the rooftop garden of the Croisette Miramar Hotel to the yacht-strewn sea below. “The room was full of people I’d done business with over the years, people who [nailed] me and people who did me a favor.

“Cannes,” he said, “is like taking out your day planner for 30 years and thumbing through the pages.”

THE PRODUCER / It’s About Relationships and About Promotion

Peter Hoffman is in his element. The yacht he is renting for the week, the 75-foot Perihan is bobbing lightly in its slip beneath a clear, breezy Mediterranean sky. The crew is awaiting his order to make for the islands. But Hoffman is waiting for “the girls” to show up. This is Cannes in the style to which Hoffman has become accustomed.

“Mario [Kassar] had the right idea,” Hoffman says of the founder of Carolco, known for renting the biggest yacht in the region during the festival. Hoffman was president of Carolco in the late 1980s and made such hits as “Terminator 2” and “Basic Instinct” before the company went bankrupt.

The way Hoffman figures it, the Perihan is a bargain. The cost of putting himself, his employees and his offices into the hotels in Cannes, which are notorious for gouging festival-goers, would be far more than the $25,000 or so it’s costing him to rent the four-bedroom boat, which comes with a crew of six.

The girls--actually an actress and a fashion designer Hoffman met in London--arrive, and the yacht makes its way out to open water, passing dozens of other yachts. It’s a luxurious boat, but modest compared to the lavish icebreaker (with helicopter pad) owned by Australian billionaire Kerry Packer and being used by New Regency Chairman Arnon Milchan.

It’s too breezy to eat lunch on the open sea, so the yacht nestles in the turquoise water between two islands. A Fleetwood Mac CD is turned up, and a buffet is served. Hoffman’s guests include British film minister Tom Clarke (who boards briefly for a private meeting) and Brad Krevoy, president of the Motion Picture Corp. of America, who has been seeking the advice of his host, regarded as one of the canniest film financiers in Hollywood.

“This is Cannes,” Hoffman says, waving his hand toward the women sunbathing on the front of his boat.

The scene is especially sweet for Hoffman, who only recently emerged from under the two-year cloud of the federal government’s attempt to convict him of tax evasion. Charged with four felonies, he was acquitted of two charges and settled the case by pleading guilty to a misdemeanor this year and being fined $5,000--a resounding victory.

“Cannes is about relationships, and it’s about promotion,” says Hoffman, sipping champagne as he outlines his plans for an ambitious film version of William Gibson’s sci-fi classic “Neuromancer.” “The yacht says we’re here and we’re doing well.”

THE STRIVER / What It’s Like to Run on Adrenaline and Fear

B.J. Nelson doesn’t have an office in Cannes. He decided to come so late that he couldn’t even find a hotel room. Just about the only thing this writer-director does have is a finished film with an unpromising title: “Dirt Merchant: Alternative Investigator.”

He describes it as “Ace Ventura” meets “Animal House” or “a slacker MTV Sam Spade.” Got 4 1/2 minutes? He’d love to show you the trailer.

Nelson, a screenwriter with 10 straight-to-video, low-budget features to his name, is going door to door along the Croisette--the town’s most famous street--peddling his rock ‘n’ roll sex comedy to anyone with a VCR.

He and his producer, Ed Sanders, have come to town to make a sale. Jet-lagged and short of money, they appear to be running on adrenaline and fear.

“I’ve given up my screenwriter-for-hire business to do this,” Nelson says. “Ed gave up his consulting job.”

The stars of “Dirt Merchant”--including Jenna Jameson (“the world’s No. 1 adult film star,” Nelson says)--are in France on their own dime to drum up interest. But without cell phones, Nelson and Sanders are having a little trouble finding their actors.

“People who’ve seen it say we’ve got an instant cult classic here,” says Sanders, as he and Nelson enter the offices of Lakeshore Entertainment. Nelson asks for a meeting with the company’s president.

“He’s in a meeting. Then he has to go to lunch,” says the woman at the front desk. They get a warmer reception at Cinequanon Pictures. Dan Sales, the president, agrees to watch the trailer.

“What’s the budget?” Sales asks.

“Take a look at it,” Sanders says cagily.

“Less than a million, let’s call it,” Sales smirks.

“We won’t argue with that,” says Nelson.

Midway through the reel, which features seven bare breasts, a barf scene, a chain saw and lots of drinking, Sales announces, “We want it!” The reason, says his associate, Jennifer Peckham: “It’s dedgy--dirty and edgy.”

But the search is not over. They hope to do better.

“The ideal would be a studio deal,” says Sanders, who says college kids love the movie. “If I could just get these buyers to see that, they’d come to us.”

THE STUDIO EXECUTIVE / ‘Queen’ of the Festival Demonstrates Astounding Energy

Nadia Bronson is irritated. Sony’s “Godzilla” has taken over the Carlton Hotel, where her Universal Pictures offices are located.

“Don’t look at that,” Universal’s international marketing czar says with disgust, waving her hand at the he’s-as-big-as-this-sign that stretches across the entire front of the hotel. She says her sign, which advertises “Blues Brother 2000” on the hotel’s terrace, “is better. Didn’t you see it?”

Bronson, a 21-year veteran of Universal publicity and native of France whom some call the Queen of Cannes, has done her best to ensure that Universal’s films--more than those of the other major studios--dominate Cannes this year. She has succeeded: Some are calling this year’s event the Universal Film Festival.

The opening night movie was “Primary Colors.” “Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas” is in competition. “Blues Brothers” got a special screening. There is more to come with “The Apostle,” from Universal’s October Films unit.

Each of the movies had stars flown in, each had its own party and each required Bronson’s attention. Take the “Blues Brothers” as a case study. In a single day, Bronson presides over two screenings, two photo calls, a news conference, a live outdoor concert and a humongous party. As a crowning achievement, she arranged for dozens of French security officers to dress up in Chicago police uniforms.

The next day, Bronson, 47, has another event to prepare, a visit by Universal Studios Chairman Casey Silver with international film buyers. She clicks from person to person quickly, speaking interchangeably in English and French.

Bronson has astounding energy, even on three hours of sleep. Her nails are painted a dark red--”viper,” she calls the color--and her linen suit is unwrinkled.

“Is everybody happy? I’m starving,” she says, grabbing a handful of cherries.

While Silver speaks, Bronson puffs a menthol cigarette in a corner of the room. “I’m an action person,” she says.

What happens after this event? “Charlton Heston is coming in for ‘Touch of Evil.’ ”

When do you get to rest?

“I don’t.”

THE PUBLICIST / ‘Happy Press, Happy Talent, Happy Clients! Over and Out!’

The sun is hot, the stars are late and the photographers are threatening a mutiny. Mark Pogachefsky wipes the sweat out of his eyes and starts yelling.

“I need a line!” the 38-year-old publicist barks as he coaxes about 40 grumbling men and women with cameras into place at the beach restaurant of the Carlton Hotel. “Johnny and Roman will walk down this line together. To-geth-er! So I need a line, guys. A line!”

Johnny Depp and Roman Polanski are due any minute. Pogachefsky was hired to organize this cocktail party to draw attention to their next project, a supernatural thriller called “The Ninth Gate.”

As reporters and entertainment executives arrive, Pogachefsky--the picture of frumpy chic in a wrinkled dress shirt, wire-rimmed glasses and goatee--buzzes around the patio, greeting each guest by name and kissing dozens of cheeks.

He cocks an ear. The Arab radio station operating out of the tent next door is playing loud music. He orders it silenced, then turns his attention to a large, wet dog who is running off the beach and into the bar.

“Uh-oh! C’est un woofy!” the publicist says, directing someone to corral the hound as he intercepts power agents Jeff Berg and Ken Kamins from ICM and offers refreshments.

“The two bars are la and la,” he chirps, pointing there and there. “I think my pants are ringing,” he says, fumbling for a cellular phone in the pocket of his chinos.

Suddenly, Polanski and Depp are there, walking the gantlet of cameras with a protective Pogachefsky at their elbows. “Johnny, nice to see you, as always,” the publicist fawns. Once each photographer gets a shot, Pogachefsky shoos him or her toward the exit.

Depp and Polanski stay 25 minutes. Pogachefsky hoists a glass of champagne and declares the bash a success.

“We had a 90% to 95% ‘got what they wanted’ rate,” he says. “Happy press, happy talent, happy clients! Over and out!”

THE MOGUL / A Feeling of Warmth Amid the Schmoozing

It’s lunchtime when Harvey Weinstein, the reigning king of Cannes, walks into the Majestic Beach restaurant with a phone to his ear. The founder and chairman of Miramax Pictures is hosting this event for about 300 distributors--the buyers and potential buyers of Miramax’s films--along with many of his actors, directors and producers.

This is an important event for Miramax, so Rick Sands, the company’s top international executive, wears a conservative suit. Weinstein, the star of the show, wears a rumpled, lint-covered blue blazer, which wraps expansively around his black polo shirt. His Dockers hang low and have frayed cuffs in the back where he has stepped on them.

His role, he says: “Schmoozing and making sure nobody’s ignored.”

He spies Anthony Minghella, director of “The English Patient,” and puts a big hand on his shoulder. As they discuss casting for Minghella’s next film, the director casually dusts off Weinstein’s lapels.

Weinstein walks amid the tables crowded with movie buyers from around the world. He is buttonholed by Sands and producer David Puttnam, who used to head Columbia Pictures. Both men brush more lint from Weinstein’s jacket as they get his agreement to enter Puttnam’s picture in the Venice Film Festival.

“This is a pal of mine from Spain,” Sands says, introducing a Spanish distributor. Another distributor asks for an autograph and takes Weinstein’s picture.

An aide hands him a list of the big names at the lunch, and he peruses it to make sure he’s not missing anybody. But most of the talent comes to him.

Weinstein greets actor Robert Loggia with a question: “I’ll see you at the Vineyard this summer?” Loggia responds, “Of course, at Biondi’s house,” referring to Universal Chairman Frank Biondi.

Weinstein leans over the back of Wes Craven and Marianne Maddalena, producers of “Scream,” to offer quick greetings.

After 1 1/2 hours, Weinstein has yet to sit down. He has smoked a few cigarettes but has eaten nothing from the heaps of shrimp, crab and salmon in the buffet.

After making a brief speech and being described by Italian comic superstar Roberto Benigni as “an American poem,” Weinstein finally takes a seat at a table with Minghella and actress Mira Sorvino. His jacket comes off and slips into a pile behind him.

THE DIRECTOR / ‘There Is a Silliness to All the Proceedings’

Most people imagine a movie director on the set, barking “Action!” into a megaphone. In Cannes, a director of an official festival film is more likely to do what Paul Auster is doing right now: perching his 6-foot-1-inch frame precariously on a tiny red cast-iron garden chair, answering questions posed by a throng of European journalists.

The 51-year-old Auster, who is better known as a writer (his novels include “Leviathan” and “Mr. Vertigo,” and he penned the screenplay for Miramax’s 1995 film “Smoke”), makes his directorial debut here this year with “Lulu on the Bridge,” starring Harvey Keitel, Mira Sorvino and Willem Dafoe.

He’s had four hours of sleep. Clad all in black from his blazer and T-shirt to his jeans, oval sunglasses and suede Hush Puppies, Auster chain-smokes slender Dutch cigars and does his best to be fascinating. Some of the French and Italian reporters don’t make it easy.

“Besides smoking cigars,” one asks, “what are your other sins?” (Answer: Scotch.) “Your blazer, is it Italian?” (Answer, after looking at the label: “Is Hugo Boss Italian?”) “Do you have a dog?” (Yes.) “Is he here?” (No.)

“I’m already dizzy with exhaustion,” he says after an hour of talking about himself. He has three more hours to go. And the questions are about to get tougher.

Before the festival, the Hollywood Reporter listed “Lulu” among its “10 films that will generate major buzz and bidding.” But after a media screening, people are saying it’s not commercial enough. (The Reporter’s reviewer deems it “an indecipherable indie.”)

“I didn’t make the movie to make money,” Auster tells six American reporters over lunch. He sounds like he means it, though before he can expand on that thought, he is asked to switch to another table to face six more members of the media.

Repeatedly, Auster is asked what he will do next. Each time that he answers--saying he plans to “go back to my quiet little room” to finish a novel called “Timbuktu”--he sounds grateful to be returning to such a solitary craft.

“How shall I put it?” he says when asked to describe Cannes. “There is a silliness to all the proceedings. You feel you’ve gone back in time 200 years, and you’re in France before the revolution. You have the mobs and the aristocracy. It’s childish and exciting.”

THE SALES AGENT / ‘Yada, Yada, Yada, and Then You Make a Deal’

The sea is sparkling beyond the Carlton Hotel terrace, but nobody has time to notice. Beneath a dark, arty picture of Dennis Hopper in a third-floor suite, an Australian film buyer huddles with Vincent Petrillo, a sales executive for Arama Entertainment.

“How much blood is in it?” the buyer asks.

In fact, there’s quite a bit of blood. They’re talking about a movie that may get made later this year called “Michael Angel,” produced by Petrillo’s boss, Shimon Arama. In it, Hopper plays an artist-murderer who uses the blood of his victims to paint murals.

But Petrillo calmly answers the question the Aussie was really asking, saying, “You don’t really see any of the violence.”

“That’s fine,” says the Australian. “If it was too violent, I couldn’t sell it to TV.”

In these hotel suites, the true haggling of the market takes place. Just this morning, Petrillo has talked with Italian buyers who say they only want family and women’s films and with a German buyer who was having tax-withholding problems.

In addition to the Hopper picture, the Australian buyer wants one featuring former “L.A. Law” star Corbin Bernsen.

The dickering begins. “I’ve never seen our currency so low,” complains the Aussie.

Petrillo, 50, has been doing this for 21 years and knows the routine. He counters with his own problems, noting that the Asian economic decline means “we have to get full prices” from other territories.

They agree to meet again in a few days.

“That’s the way it works,” Petrillo says after the buyer leaves. “Everybody knows everybody, and everybody tells you their country is in terrible shape and they can’t feed their kids and yada yada yada, and then you make a deal.”

MORE FROM CANNES: Todd Haynes on his non-arty “Velvet Goldmine.” F1