Chapter 498: Using various means to grab attention.

At the Palais des Festivals, within the organizing committee's office, tension crackled in the air like static before a storm. Isabelle Huppert's countenance mirrored the brewing tempest, her expression dark and foreboding as she fixated on Jacob, the committee's chairman seated across from her.

"Did I hear correctly? You intend to bestow the Palme d'Or upon Adjani?" Isabelle's voice sliced through the charged silence. "We're on the brink of the festival, and you decide on this last-minute ambush?"

Jacob, grappling with the gravity of the situation, attempted to placate her. "You stand as one of French cinema's foremost figures..."

"You know what she's done!" Isabelle's fury thundered, her palm crashing down on the table. "I'd sooner die!"

The palpable animosity between them stretched back through years of overt and covert conflicts, reaching a crescendo during the filming of "The Bronte Sisters" when Adjani's on-screen theatrics turned all too real, resulting in a vicious altercation.

Their enmity was an open secret within the French film industry.

"If Adjani graces us with her presence, I'll publicly resign from my role as jury chairman," Isabelle declared, her voice resounding with unwavering resolve.

Jacob had hoped for a spectacle, but he hadn't anticipated Isabelle's vehement reaction.

With the festival mere hours away, replacing the jury chairman due to an awarded guest was an impossible task for the organizing committee.

The repercussions would render the Cannes Film Festival a global punchline.

Reluctantly conceding, Jacob relented. "Fine, let's find someone else."

Isabelle's demeanor remained unyielding. "I refuse her any accolades."

Jacob, conceding further, replied simply, "Fine, we won't invite Adjani this time."

Satisfied with the outcome, Isabelle exited the office, returning to the jury chairman's quarters. Her assistant approached, bearing two additional invitations. "These have been provisionally added to the schedule," the assistant informed. Isabelle's thoughts strayed to her arch-nemesis. "Keep an eye on any updates regarding Adjani," she instructed.

The assistant jotted down the directive, but the weight of the mounting chaos was taking a toll on Isabelle. Calls flooded in incessantly, each one adding to her mounting stress.

Even old friend Steven Soderbergh urged her to pay heed to "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button" and its lead actor, Martin.

Harvey Weinstein tantalized her with an Oscar prospect, yet Isabelle's focus remained unmoved from the Palme d'Or. She had already assessed the excellence of the film "The White Ribbon," rendering her steadfast in her judgment.

As for other accolades, she decided to reserve her judgment, considering the opinions of the jury.

...

Meanwhile, at the Five Ocean Hotel, Ivan, who had arrived from Los Angeles a week prior, and the French translator hired from the same city, lounged in the hotel lobby, observing the flow of guests.

A woman with an elegant gait sauntered in, accompanied by a female assistant.

"The Adjani has arrived," the translator noted.

Ivan, having scrutinized Adjani's posters and photos, hesitated at the sight of the middle-aged woman with an oddly frozen visage. "Are you certain that's Adjani?" he queried.

Understanding the nuances, the translator mused, "Excessive cosmetic alterations can mar one's appearance. Aging gracefully might be preferable."

Promptly, Ivan placed a call on his mobile phone, then deftly employed a miniature camera, capturing several discreet shots with the translator's assistance.

Returning from the front desk, the assistant reported, "All the rooms have been fully booked."

Amidst a cloud of frustration, Adjani's exasperation burst forth in a cascade of curses. "Is everyone conspiring against me?" she seethed.

A friend within the organizing committee had proposed her as the guest of honor for the Palme d'Or. Rushing from Paris, the news struck her the moment she disembarked—the plan had been thwarted due to Huppert's formidable opposition.

Her arch-nemesis, Huppert, not only disapproved of her presence but adamantly opposed her arrival altogether.

"Check other hotels," Adjani demanded.

Understanding her employer's temperament, the assistant swiftly dialed the Grand Hotel Provence.

"Apologies, all rooms are fully booked—" The receptionist paused, then swiftly altered her tune. "Wait, a suite reservation has just been canceled. Are you interested?"

"I've made a reservation for Miss Isabel Adjani!" the assistant hurriedly declared.

After confirmation, the assistant relayed the news to Adjani, and the two swiftly departed for the Provence Hotel.

Casually trailing behind like everyday reporters on a stroll, Ivan and the translator maintained a relaxed pace, untroubled by the prospect of being noticed or followed amidst the swarm of reporters tailing Adjani.

At the Provence Hotel entrance, Adjani completed the check-in formalities with her assistant, ascending the stairs together.

Instructing the translator to remain in the lobby, Ivan ventured upstairs alone to confirm the room. Once assured, he exited the hotel, placed a call, and rendezvoused at a nearby roadside café with Bruce.

Without preamble, Ivan divulged, "Adjani's checked into the Provence Hotel."

"They're here, and it seems they won't leave anytime soon," Bruce remarked. "The 'Inglourious Basterds' crew is also holed up here. There'll be ample opportunities for encounters."

Drawing from his two years of paparazzi work and teachings from TMZ's ace reporter Jody, Ivan strategized, "If I can't catch the right moment, I'll engineer a chance encounter with Harvey."

"Capture suitable shots, then get in touch," Bruce instructed. "We'll push for media coverage through the crew."

"Don't worry about my moves," Ivan assured.

Bruce, offering no further words, departed for Wuyang Hotel.

Meanwhile, Ivan swiftly returned to the Provence Hotel to keep a vigilant watch.

Back at Wuyang Hotel, Bruce hastily briefed Martin on the unfolding situation.

"Harvey's a master at PR and winning awards; there's much to learn," Martin acknowledged.

"Is the feud between Huppert and Adjani this intense?" Bruce queried.

Martin gestured at his phone. "Melanie just received word, Huppert vehemently opposed the committee's invite to Adjani for the Palme d'Or, even going as far as saying 'unless she dies!'"

The advantages of hefty production budgets and hiring top-notch local PR firms laid bare, granting them access to crucial inside information.

...

The following day marked the commencement of the Cannes Film Festival.

A crimson carpet stretched before the Lumiere Hall of the Palais des Festivals, teeming with hundreds of global reporters congregating in the media zone.

Scores of guests graced the red carpet, some lingering for extended periods, prompting security personnel to intervene periodically.

Amidst the sea of unfamiliar faces, the cameras of the media throng fixated on renowned movie stars and directors, dismissing the less notable arrivals.

Tickets for the Cannes red carpet were open to the public, priced at a staggering 20,000 euros per entry, offering the chance to stroll the illustrious carpet during the festival's opening.

Amidst the crowd, most media outlets showed little interest in those who attended at their own expense. They'd prearranged photographers to snap exclusive photos for them.

Once the pictures were taken, they were swiftly dispatched to their respective home countries. The images showcased stunning backdrops but occasionally revealed cameramen's gear, betraying the media zone's absence.

Mene, sponsored by commercial entities, graced the red carpet courtesy of sponsorship tickets. Clad in a black suit, a camera slung around his neck, he lingered expectantly at the corner of the grand steps of the Palais des Festivals, anticipating the arrival of his artistic muses.

Martin and David Fincher disembarked from the same car, joining Kathleen Kennedy and Cate Blanchett in the waiting area, a customary sight during film festival red carpet events where a crew's main creative forces often walked together.

Ahead of them stood the crew of "The Burning Plain." While Kim Basinger conversed with Kathleen Kennedy, Jennifer Lawrence quietly sought Martin's counsel amidst the bustling crowd.

"So many people today, ticket buyers, sponsors, a sea of attractive faces," Lawrence murmured earnestly. "How can I snag some media attention?"

Typical newcomer woes.

Considering Nicholson's advice, Martin pondered for a moment before advising, "Walking alongside Charlize will attract cameras, but for attention, you need something unique and impactful. Something distinct."

"Distinct?" Lawrence mused.

Martin nonchalantly replied, "What works for men might not work for women."

Amidst their conversation, a sudden, startling exclamation resonated across the red carpet, cutting through the ambient noise.

Turning to look, Lawrence witnessed Sophie Marceau making her way towards the media area.

One strap of Sophie Marceau's dress slipped, revealing more than the usual movie glamour.

A collective gasp swept through the crowd, including a surprised Sophie, who instinctively covered her mouth and then hastily adjusted her dress.

In an instant, all lenses, private and media, swiveled towards Sophie Marceau.

Lawrence realized, without a doubt, that Sophie Marceau was about to seize an eminent spot in global entertainment news.

She inwardly sighed, acknowledging the lengths some would go to for attention.

On the grand steps, Mene snapped photos fervently, each frame capturing Sophie Marceau's inadvertent exposure.

Beside her, Monica Bellucci stood momentarily speechless, having at best toyed with nudity during film shoots. But this display on the red carpet... was the industry evolving to this extent?

Glancing at Martin, Lawrence sought guidance.

Martin subtly shook his head in response.

Understanding that Sophie's move wouldn't yield the same impact if repeated, Lawrence pondered. You can't just lift your skirt or toss your panties to the fans, right? Nicholson's sentiments mattered to some extent.

As the "The Burning Plain" crew paraded the red carpet, Dior goddess Charlize Theron effortlessly captured the limelight.

Observing Lawrence in a white dress, Martin suddenly burst into laughter.

David Fincher approached, asking, "What's so funny? You look like a creep."

Pointing ahead casually, Martin remarked, "Watch an actress transform."

He strategically positioned himself opposite the media zone, avoiding the crowd congestion and uneven carpeting.

Just as cameras turned towards Charlize, an unexpected mishap occurred. Jennifer Lawrence seemed to stumble on the red carpet, tumbling to the ground.

Charlize instinctively rushed to her aid.

Lawrence briefly found herself in the spotlight.