For the cameras, there is a Cannes that includes the red carpet arrivals, the standing ovations, and the jury deliberations that carry a heavy artistic weight. There is also the version that runs everything. It happens in private lounges, on yacht decks, and at dinners where people are only invited and the guest list is passed around by word of mouth. The picture is taken of the first version. What gets things done is the second one.
This is how things have been for decades, even though no one in charge of the festival likes to say it. Steven Spielberg, who was president of the Cannes jury at the time, made a quiet call to Thierry Fremaux, the festival’s director, to ask that Tommy Lee Jones’s movie “The Homesman” be considered for the festival’s competition. The movie moved quickly. It’s interesting that Fremaux himself said this: most of the machinery is kept out of sight. It wasn’t a secret lesson. If you know the right people, the way to Cannes is a lot shorter than it looks on paper.
That kind of access has always been the real value of the festival, and it doesn’t seem to be going away. Studios don’t hold back movies from Cannes because they want to be artistic; they do it because it’s smart business. They think about whether a French Riviera premiere will help or hurt the awards season. The way contract lawyers negotiate terms is similar to how distributors negotiate time slots for shows. A studio might offer one movie while quietly hoping that people will like another one. In ways that the festival’s cultural reputation tends to hide, it’s transactional.
The Marché du Film, which happens at the same time as the main festival, doesn’t try to hide this. Openly, it’s a market, a spot where people trade rights over coffee and strained smiles. But the same reasoning holds true even in the competition proper, which is where the artistic credentials are most proudly displayed. The movies that get in often show not only how good they are, but also who their producers know, which sales agents are pushing them, and whether the right person said the right thing at the right dinner.
What’s changed in the last few years is how openly the secondary ecosystem works. Brands, tech companies, and media conglomerates now have permanent presences in Cannes that are just as big as the festival itself. People get together in private villas for meetings that aren’t on the official schedule. Executives who would never work together in public get together behind closed doors. Talk in those rooms can lead to deals worth a lot more than a Palme d’Or.
A certain type of festival-goer seems to see the official event as something extra, something to do while they’re in the same city at the same time. For them, Cannes is really a bunch of conversations that are going on just out of view. These changes make the badge hierarchy—who gets what and where they are seen—less about status and more about facts. If you’re in the right room, you can hear things before anyone else.
In a simple sense, none of this makes Cannes dishonest. This system has led to some great movies. On that stage, real artistic risks have been praised. But there is a real and big difference between the official story and what is happening on the ground. The festival says it is an open competition for great movies. Relationships, leverage, and a very good sense of who owes whom a favor are what it really depends on.
This pattern has likely been around since the beginning of Cannes. It only changes how obvious it is and who bothers to act like it’s not true.
