My Expertise

There are two lines that seperate the elite from the hoi polloi along the Croissette. I've mentioned the metaphorical line represented by the presence of a festival badge around the neck. There is also a literal line--a rope fence running in front of the national pavilions, with the badge-wearing sneeches on one side and the plain ones on the other.

On Wednesday, as I was walking along the elite, national-pavillion side of the line, two young boys leaned over and gestured for my attention. "Bradpeet?" one of them said.

Seeing my confusion, he repeated himself: "Brad Peet? He weel be here tonight?"

It's true that the powers granted by my Cannes badge are nearly limitless. But, alas, a complete knowledge of the current and future whereabouts of Brad Pitt falls squarely within the few limits there are. I told him, apologetically, I didn't know.