"Insanity!" My dear friend J, characteristically trenchant, summarized
her impression of turgid torpor on the Riviera, collective hysteria, a congregation
of the grandiose and the delusional, The Event also known as the Cannes
Film Festival. The mysterious motive force driving this spectacle remained
alien to me - for I have an agnosia, a congenital incapacity to appreciate
popular culture, to recall the names of movies or their associated personnel.
Instead I extract only vague impressions, without labels or categories,
about all things Hollywood. But the human drama depicted by J required no
translation. I could see the scene unfolding, a mass psychological experiment,
involving subjects who are willing participants in a bizarre clinical trial
centering on the fusion of fact and fantasy - without informed consent.
"You must come - I mean, we really need a shrink", J now emphatic,
emptying her goblet.
"Of course", I poured, emptying our second bottle of Côte
Rotie, "it would be irresponsible - probably unethical - not to have
professional assistance on site." And we pursued that theme, pool-side
assessments at the Hotel du Cap, discreet consultations at a reserved table
on the Carlton terrace... a full range of services for those in psychodynamic
distress. And J had a gift for me, catering to my weakness for single malt
whisky, the Balvenie (double-wood-matured), must be opened at table to toast
this noble venture, a merger of post-nouveau LA euphoria (and dysphoria)
with good old-fashioned NY neuropsychological analysis, conveniently displaced
to the neutral territory of the Côte d'Azur...
Two days later, my liver enzymes just starting to stabilize, J called -
"Have you made arrangements yet?"
"Arrangements?" puzzled, trying to recount the gist of our dinner
conversation, did I promise a donation to that charity?
"For Cannes - you know lodging is tight already - and you need to line
up credentials..." J was already on the next page.
"Mmmm... Yes... uh... I mean, No... are you serious?" I was disoriented,
confused, but a light was flickering at the end of the pier.
"Why not?" J cut to the chase.
Why not? Why not!
Thus started an Email correspondence with the initimable MLR, confirming
my availability to participate in an adjunctive professional capacity as
Neuropsychodynamic Consultant to Film Scouts on the Riviera. We narrowed
the scope of activities that might be beneficial to both Film Scouts and
the greater community. I would do whatever might be indicated, so long as
it would not land me in the Bastille, nor render void my license to practice
Psychology in the USA. I would be prepared to provide a daily column describing
the Neuropsychodynamic impact of the films, festivities, and venues on the
participants and hangers-on. I would serve as a Naturalist; documenting
the progression of psychopathology, the decompensation of those with genuine
investments of ego and/or cash, much as Darwin chronicled the survival struggles
of Red Footed Boobies in the Galapagos.
Further, I would provide on-site consultation to those who may be existentially
challenged by either the content or process of the program (understanding
that there is substantial morbidity associated with either attending, or
perhaps more critically, not attending, key screenings; and further appreciating
the potentially devastating neuropsychological impact associated with either
social or financial transactions sliding into the bouilliabaise). On-site
availability of analytic and consultative services regarding these crises
would be an essential component of public health and safety.
I prepared to bring to the Festival:
1. my license to practice, and a copy of the American Psychological Association's
Ethical Principles;
2. documents confirming my active memberships in a number of prestigious
international scientific organizations;
3. a Pentium Thinkpad w/ active matrix display, 28.8 modem, lap-link cable,
and software for word processing, image display, graphics presentation,
data analysis, and computerized neurocognitive assessment (this would be
essential for rapid neuropsychodiagnostic exams outside screening rooms,
or on the beach at Cap d'Antibes);
4. a voltage converter/conditioner;
5. expired contracts indicating payments for national radio and TV commercial
spots in accordance with AFTRA and SAG guidelines;
6. one set of evening attire, one pocket square given to me personally by
Nicole Miller, one M.C. Escher bow tie, one well worn Armani silk jacket,
two pairs of Armani slacks, 10 clean T-shirts, two Speedo bathing suits
(American cut), and one pair of collapsible Ray-Ban Wayfarer II's (black,
matte);
7. a passable knowledge of Rhône wines.
I told some friends about the expedition. They laughed, considering my difficulty
distinguishing Mel Gibson from Nick Nolte. One dear friend, KP, sent me
a primer - constructed from People magazine clippings - replete with annotations.
Explications of the tangled relationships among Nicholas Cage, Patricia
Arquette, and the Coppola family. Vital stats on Antonio Banderas, Emma
Thompson, Pamela Lee, Sandra Bullock, Babe... My eyes glazed over. But wait,
Sharon Stone, purportedly asked to join MENSA? Now we're on my turf... better
pack the IQ testing materials to determine whether this is a publicity stunt
or this woman really does maintain substantial retro-orbital (behind the
eyes) assets. Julia Roberts' "mini-nervous-breakdown"? - I can't
recall this descriptor in the taxonomy of the Diagnostic and Statistical
Manual of the Mental Disorders. Better be prepared for a rapid and accurate
psychodiagnostic assessment and triage. Ah yes, many challenges ahead, a
dirty job, but... I can feel already that Cannes will be a safer place for
my selfless dedication and commitment.
Submitted with eagerness to contribute to the collective health, Your faithful
consultant,
Copyright 1994-2008 Film Scouts LLC
Created, produced, and published by Film Scouts LLC
Film Scouts® is a registered trademark of Film Scouts LLC
All rights reserved.
