People, everywhere, a sea of people.
Some were sitting cross-legged on the ground with laptops on their knees, typing furiously. Others were speaking into recording devices, muttering rapidly. Some were making phone calls, their expressions a mix of excitement and frustration. Others were engaged in animated conversations, showing a full range of emotions.
A figure approached, laden with bags but moving briskly through the crowd, heading for the elevator. When it finally arrived, they left the area, sweating but relieved, their brow relaxing as they let out a sigh.
In the long, narrow corridor, a wave of heat surged. Though there was no direct light in the hallway, the outside temperature was palpable. Excitement and fervor were transmitted through looks and words, making the whole world seem to spin at high speed.
Looking around, it was just people everywhere.
After taking just ten steps forward, Emmanuel felt a thin layer of sweat on her back. The scene before her was completely unexpected—
What's going on here? Wasn't this supposed to be a flop?
An official journal rating of 2.1 out of 10. So what if the film got a twelve-minute standing ovation after its premiere in the Lumière Hall? The critics' reviews were a disaster. Even for an art film, a failing grade is still a failing grade.
Given Anson's situation—a pretty face relying on a washed-up independent director trying to make a comeback at Cannes, while also stirring up controversy with his red carpet appearance—this should've been a media feeding frenzy, with everyone lining up to ridicule him and mock his arrogance.
So what's the deal here?
Were all these media people just haters? Since when did Cannes get taken over by such a bunch of unprincipled journalists?
Emmanuel was confused.
She thought of Ivan's outburst and the bustling scene before her. Then she thought about the journal ratings and the "pretty boy idol" controversy around Anson. Her mind was being pulled in different directions, and it felt like her head was about to explode.
Dizzy and disoriented.
She felt like she was walking on clouds, each step shaky and unsure.
Even being here, it was hard to believe what she was seeing.
Knock, knock.
Reaching her destination, Emmanuel instinctively knocked on the door. As the sound registered, her heart began to race.
Like a newbie fresh out of school.
But on second thought, this was indeed a rare occurrence. The other journalists probably felt the same way, which explained why the corridor was so crowded and why everyone looked so restless—
No one could stay calm.
Then the door opened, and a young, handsome face appeared.
Emmanuel was completely stunned. One surprise after another; she couldn't keep up. It felt like the aftermath of a 100-meter sprint—her heart was about to burst, and her ears were ringing.
Anson?
Why was Anson here? Why was he the one opening the door?
The person in question didn't seem to notice her surprise, simply offering a smile.
"Sorry, we're short-staffed, so please forgive the delay in our work. Is there anything I can help you with?"
Emmanuel: ...
Blinking, she replied, "I need to make an appointment."
Anson said, "Oh, you need a number, right? One moment. Noah! Noah!"
"Apologies, please be patient."
It was unexpected, a complete surprise not just for the media but also for the "Elephant" crew.
Typically, after a film's premiere in the main competition at Cannes, everything is arranged in advance to avoid wasting time for both the crew and the media. Everyone cooperates.
However, not all films are equally in demand.
This year, for example, the star-studded "Mystic River" was a media darling. Even before the Cannes Film Festival started, the media had already coordinated with the film's PR department. Their interview schedule for the two days was packed to the brim.
On the other hand, "Five O'Clock in the Afternoon," also in the main competition, was another story. Apart from the official Cannes interviews, only a few media outlets had booked interviews. They were waiting to see the market screening's feedback to gauge further interest.
"Elephant" fell into the latter category.
Apart from Anson, the entire cast were non-professional actors. There was no promotional material, no plot synopsis, and only one lonely poster. It completely failed to grab the media's attention.
Moreover, the film was funded by HBO, which hadn't planned on a theatrical release. It was going to be aired as a TV movie, so there wasn't a professional film promotion team in place.
Of course, the film had Anson. Leveraging his fame, HBO and Eve arranged a series of interviews for the crew. Not too many, but not too few either—just about average for Cannes.
The schedule was set up yesterday.
But this morning, everything went haywire.
Even the "Elephant" crew was caught off guard, swept into a whirlwind.
The media swarmed in, taking the crew by surprise. They didn't have time to screen them and had to arrange everything on a first-come, first-served basis. HBO only sent a three-person team to Cannes for promotion, and now even Anson's assistant was helping out to maintain order.
This led to the current scene—
People taking numbers, like queuing up for limited-edition sneakers, with the crowd continuing to grow.
For the crew, this situation was entirely unexpected. For Anson, though, it was just a drop in the bucket. He had experienced the chaos of Spring Festival travel in China, standing overnight in line for train tickets, or waking up in the early hours to grab a flight. This was nothing in comparison.
So, Anson came out to help organize things, hoping to get everything on track quickly—
This way, they could proceed with the follow-up work efficiently.
"Sorry, things are a bit chaotic right now."
"You can choose to interview today. There will be a round table interview with ten people per group, twenty minutes each. If that doesn't work for you, you can make an appointment for tomorrow. We're not sure about tomorrow's schedule yet, but it should be less hectic than today."
Emmanuel felt dizzy—
Mainly because of the handsome guy.
Anson, standing this close, smiling warmly and naturally, made it hard to look away. He was approachable, sunny, and charming, even more so than yesterday.
Emmanuel took a deep breath, quickly regaining her composure. After all, she wasn't a sixteen-year-old girl. "Okay, no problem."
What kind of nonsense was that, so vague and rambling?
"I mean, either is fine. Today or tomorrow, I don't mind."
"Sorry, my brain's a bit fried."
Emmanuel managed to regain her senses.
Anson shook his head lightly, "It's normal. I've never seen anything like this before either. So many people, right?"
Emmanuel thought of Anson's reaction on the red carpet, a smile forming on her lips.
Anson politely asked, "So, how was the film?"
Emmanuel was at a loss for words: ...
What should she do? Should she tell Anson she was a photographer and was too busy on the red carpet yesterday to watch the movie?
Anson, do you remember the girl who almost got squished on the red carpet yesterday?