Cannes-tucket..?
Can Nantucket measure up to the pageantry and pomp of the big fests of Sundance, Venice and Cannes - or do they love us because we don't have to?
BY TARAMUSKUS INDEPENDENT CONTRIBUTOR
Having been to a number of the larger festivals in my time, I can account for the sense of excitement, electricity and frenzy that comes the minute one steps off a plane or train for a sexy week in Cannes, 10 tantalizing days in Sundance or a star-studded weekend in Toronto. These are some of the biggest film festivals in the world, with Cannes widely considered to be the most prestigious of the many. (And there are many these days - I think Newark, N.J. created one, no?)

However, whether it be the créme de la créme of the Cote d'Azur, or the Champagne-covered alps of Robert Redford's Utah, the minute one enters the foray of activity in a star-studded week of screenings and parties, the rivers and rivers of Bubbly begin to flow, as does the adrenaline.

"You're not on the guest list!"

"Have your people speak with my people!"

"If I don't get a Botox treatment and a wheat grass enema STAT, I'm gonna sccreeeeeam…"

Words are trumpeted at these festivals that would never be muttered on the island's sand-strewn paths for fear of being promptly deported back to the mainland, with a complimentary Vineyard Vines hat, a golden retriever puppy and a one-way ticket to "anywhere but here."

Grown men have cried in French Riviera bathrooms because they couldn't score the super-secret invite card to a Baldwin brother's after-party - even though their company's film just won the Palme d'Or. And yes, I said a Baldwin

brother.

And then there's the Harry Winston-diamond clad women jumping up and down like children with a full bladder outside of bouncer-barricaded parties, women who have more money in their bank accounts than have princes in Dubai, but who are incensed beyond comprehension - not that their film didn't achieve critical praise, but that they were not on the VIP list at Nicole Kidman's high stakes poker night soirée aboard the S.S Aussie parked outside.

And of course, God help us, there are flashy gift bags too.

At festivals such as Sundance and Cannes, these velvet-lined sacks are filled with the kinds of items that make one's accountant have to order that tax extension after all, some of the bags valued at up to one hundred grand, including everything from Petrossian caviar, Panerai watches and Chanel beauty products, to actual country club memberships and Italian luggage. Sundance, a film festival that started with the idea of screening and showcasing movies in the ever un- Hollywood-like, serene setting of Utah, recently screened a documentary entitled "Sundance Celebrity Swag Hunt," whose two protagonists compete over who can come out with more gifts at the end of the festival. Yes, "Swagdance," as Sundance is now so often called, has become the biggest gifting orgy of them all.

And on top of all of the sultry temptations, the parties, the swag, the general scene, there are the antics of celebs vying at every corner. A few Thursdays ago in Cannes, Jerry Seinfeld, star of Dreamworks' upcoming animated feature "Bee Movie," stood on top of the Carlton Hotel in Cannes dressed as a giant bumble bee, jumping off the roof with cords, scaling through the air for "his craft" - now that's a publicity stunt.

Having worked, and played, in the industry for many years, and being an avid movie disciple myself, I can honestly say that much of the true meaning of these other, more "grandiose" festivals gets lost in the shuffle. The true endeavor originally behind festivals such as these - giving the smaller, more independent films, or even larger epic features, an honest forum, a chance to have an unfettered exhibition place and a truly impartial examination by their peers - seems to have been replaced somewhere along the festival way by the flamboyance, grandstanding and braggadocio of what has become the frightening equivalent of a Hollywood networking Superbowl (with, sadly, everyone invited truly believing they are the half-time show).

Losing much of their sense of touch and original purpose, these larger festivals have now settled comfortably, and unfortunately, into being a big People magazine centerfold. Yes, they are entertaining and captivating, wild and always memorable, but they are also so far out of touch with the original meaning of the festival of film: to enhance and progress the craft of making great movies.

The Nantucket Festival resonates with the passion of real movie lovers just, well, loving movies. Whether these enthusiasts are renowned actors and directors flown in from L.A, or just other Nantucket-smitten believers, a true desire to make and/or appreciate some good movies is percolating through the air. And it's Nantucket in summer for crying out loud!

With screenings and parties taking place everywhere from the oldest inns and pubs on the island, to the fanciest candlelit white tents, the contrast of Hollywood against the old-world cobblestone sanctuary that is Nantucket adds even more magic to an already enchanting affair. It also brings everyone down just a notch.

Nantucket gets the celebs, too. But it's a place where people as famous as Robert DeNiro bare genuine looks of surprise when someone recognizes them on the island. Or where Will Ferrell can be seen having a lager at The Brotherhood with some film students, shortly after an engaging "morning coffee" chat session with emerging filmmakers at one of the many panels.

So while the Nantucket Film Festival's red carpet may be a bit, well, sandier than the ones at Cannes or Sundance, and while, yes, you might even see more designer flip flops than Manolo Blahniks traipsing down its crimson paths towards a screening - it remains The Big Red Carpet all the same, something akin to a summer backyard clam bake, with Steve Martin instead of Dad flipping burgers at the grill.

It's Hollywood meets Nantucket. Hollywood meets New England, with blinking buoy lights and twinkling ocean stars replacing the blinding paparazzi bulbs and flashes. A dichotomy, yes. But, as is not the case with those other, overstated affairs, one is hardly aware of the power, prestige and promise surrounding big power plays occurring just inches away at the Nantucket Film Festival - and they do occur. The players are here and in abundance. The Hollywood deal-making activity and buzz simply exist in an aura of calm, beauty and summertime, aprésbeach soirées.

And as the sun sets and the sky turns black on Nantucket, one can still see the "real" stars coming out into the dark night sky - bright white beams shooting out along the coast, their thin white rays bobbing to and fro across the empyrean. It's spectacular. It's beautiful. It's pomp and peace in a pod. And

it's not Cannes, baby. It's Nan. I

Island summer resident Tara Muskus worked for eight years in the entertainment indusry as a development executive for prolific producers and directors such as Ron Howard, Renny Harlin and Akiva Goldsman. Currently she is in the process of optioning her screenplay, "My Way." She has also worked as a contributing writer for various New York Newspapers and magazines. One of the nicer gift bags she ever received included a $900 bottle of vintage Krug Champagne, along with a $1000 gift certificate to Peter Luger steakhouse.