Festival Reporters: When Journalists Become The Story at Cannes
In the hallowed halls of cinema’s most prestigious festival, the real drama unfolds when microphones are passed to the press
As the 78th Cannes Film Festival reaches its midpoint, cinema’s brightest stars continue to grace the Croisette with their presence. But lurking in the packed press rooms of the Palais des Festivals, a different species of celebrity is emerging: the self-important journalist whose question isn’t really a question at all.
The phenomenon was on full display during yesterday’s press conference for Ari Aster’s competition entry “Eddington,” where the assembled journalists seemed less interested in the film’s exploration of America’s societal collapse and more focused on advancing their personal narratives and nascent influencer careers.
The Press Conference Monologue: A New Art Form
“I’ve been studying the evolution of the press conference question for decades,” explains veteran festival-watcher Jean-Michel Pretense. “What was once a simple inquiry has morphed into a three-act play with the journalist as both playwright and star.”
Indeed, the modern Cannes press conference question now follows a familiar structure: begin with an unnecessary personal anecdote, pivot to name-dropping, and conclude with a rambling non-question that allows the speaker maximum camera time.
Take, for example, the Australian journalist, whose name I won’t mention to spare her even more free publicity, who began her “Eddington” inquiry with a breathless two-minute apology to Pedro Pascal for “not being in the same room with him before,” as though her previous absence from his vicinity constituted a personal affront requiring public atonement.
The said journalist went on to drop a massive spoiler – a similar ending for Pascal’s character as in The Last of Us – which brought about a morbid silence. Pascal, ever gracious, laughed it off, as did Emma Stone – you can always rely on Emma Stone for memorable moments.
The “This Is Actually About Me” School of Journalism
Not to be outdone, a journalist from Kazakhstan launched into what attendees initially assumed was an audition for a one-man show.
He went on to tell us all about his career and personal life changes for the better following his blunder last year when he referred to Emma by her real name, Emily. We didn’t ask but are pleased to know that he is now one of the highest respected film critics in Kazakhstan and he owes it all to Emma.
The press conference room has increasingly become a venue for journalists to audition for their own podcast or pitch their memoir. Forgotten is the time when reporters simply asked about artistic intentions or creative processes.
“I remember when journalists used to ask things like ‘What inspired this character?'” laments one film publicist who requested anonymity. “Now it’s all ‘As I wrote in my viral tweet thread last summer…’ or ‘When I interviewed Timothée Chalamet, he mentioned…’ It’s exhausting.”
Festival Envy: The Ultimate Press Disease
Perhaps the most brazen display came from a journalist who used her microphone time to promote her own regional film festival while simultaneously delivering a political speech about recent elections in her home country.
“The day of the election was the day of mourning after our election,” she informed the assembled A-listers who had clearly been unaware that they were required to express condolences. She then pivoted to a lengthy exposition about her “small but important” film festival, noting that “some filmmakers were fearful to travel to us” — a fact which she seemed to consider both tragic and evidence of her event’s significance.
The room collectively held its breath, waiting for an actual question to materialise.
“These aren’t questions, they’re TED Talks,” observes festival veteran and film critic François Cinéaste. “The Cannes press conference has become the journalism equivalent of open mic night.”
The Celebrity-Journalist Complex
The rise of the celebrity journalist is not without its psychological underpinnings. Dr. Martine Ego, a specialist in media psychology, explains the phenomenon: “After years of proximity to fame, some journalists begin to experience a transference. They believe they should receive the same adulation as the celebrities they cover.”
This delusion is particularly pronounced at Cannes, where journalists can spend two weeks in close quarters with the world’s most famous people while enjoying none of the perks.
“You’re staying in a shared Airbnb 45 minutes from the festival, eating convenience store sandwiches between screenings, and watching millionaires sip champagne on yachts,” explains Dr. Ego. “Something in the brain snaps. Suddenly, your question about lighting techniques becomes a monologue about your summer in film school.”
The Press Badge as Oscar
For these journalists, the Cannes press badge has become more than accreditation — it’s a talisman of importance, a plastic-encased validation that they, too, are characters in the grand narrative of cinema.
“I’ve seen people sleeping with their badges on,” says one hotel housekeeper. “One journalist had his badge professionally framed between festivals. Another wore hers to her cousin’s wedding.”
As this year’s festival continues, the line between those covering the spectacle and those creating it grows increasingly blurred. Yet one crucial difference remains: when actors and directors finish their performance, applause follows. When journalists conclude their monologues disguised as questions, the room fills with the unmistakable sound of collective eye-rolling.
And unlike the films in competition, there’s no award for Most Self-Important Press Conference Question — though if there were, this year’s race would be more competitive than the Palme d’Or.
Editor’s Note: This article was written by a journalist who has never asked a multi-part question at a press conference, has never mentioned their “long-standing admiration” for a director they discovered last week, and has absolutely never begun a question with “This is more of a comment than a question, but…” Not even once. Honestly.
Editor in Chief of Ikon London Magazine, journalist, film producer and founder of The DAFTA Film Awards (The DAFTAs).
