If you have to be stuck in front of the computer on a warm sunny day, let's just say it's not so shitty to be hitting the key board at the American Pavilion in Cannes. Basically, it's a large tent with tables and chairs right on the waterfront. Aside from food (not free) and free wireless Internet access (key to our logistics here), there are also going to be a slate of notable speakers coming up this week. Let's just say it's not so bad sitting by the Med in the sun while writing. I can certainly think of worse things...

Still, the saga of the Yellow pass continued yesterday at a press screening of Jonathan Nossiter's "Mondovino." The film is a doc on the world wine industry, and its current "homogenization" under the forces of globalization. There are also a lot of dog shots. All the people he interviews have dogs..... (just a little extra tid-bit, but it's not important). Anyway, we pee-on Yellow passholders waited our turn to enter the Palais for the screening. This time, they decided to indicate where we should stand as opposed to the other day when there was no indication. As usual, the exclusive carte blanches were carried in by slaves while supermodels hailed them in a burst of rose petals (OK, not really), then the Rose card holders went in, then the Blues (the vast majority of the press). The Yellows waited by their sign. The sign, however, did not read "Yellow," but instead "Presse Non Prioritaire." God forbid a Yellow holder deceive him or herself with any feelings of grandeur. No WAY!

The best part of the screening experience for "Mondovino" was when I had to check in my computer bag. As may be recalled in my first blog dispatch from Cannes on the Yellow accreditation nightmare, the Festival ushers rope off the foyer so the Yellows go directly up the stairs to the balcony (regardless of whether there are seats available on the bottom level of the theater after the Whites and Reds -- Prioritaire cardholders -- have all been seated). Anyway, to contine my bitching and complaining (yes I know I get to be in Cannes which I'm thrilled with, but this is my blog, so I'm going to rant anyway). In order to check my bag, an usher has to escort the Yellow over to the booth which is in the main area of the venue's foyer. As I was escorted to the booth, I saw some friends from Cinetic which is repping the film. After I checked my bag, I thought I'd walk over and give a quick 'hello' before going back to the designated route up the stairs to the balcony.

But then there was a loud "Monsieur!! MONSIEUR!!! MONSIEUR!!!!" Both the usher and the coat-check woman (practically falling out of the booth yelling at me) were shreaking at me to return. I had deigned to walk seven feet unescorted in the foyer as if I were some kind of Rose cardholder -- what nerve...! Sacre cour! Anyway, I walked back with my tail between my legs as John Sloss and Erin Heidenreich watched me retreat in shame. I enjoyed the movie though. It's a real-life Falcon Crest, but on the international stage, not just in a fictional Tuscany Valley in NorCal like in the '80s TV version. I think it may be a bit too long for the typical Wine Spectator reader though, but an edit may really peek some interest. But then again, what do I know... I'm just a peasant Yellow cardholder.