Premiere

Jody and I meet Josh, Sean and Antonio in front of the Palais, early in the morning the day of our premiere. There are already people there, holding large signs that say “invitation, please,” and a few die-hard paparazzi scanning the crowd for famous faces. They dismiss mine immediately.

A young French woman leads us to a door around the back of the building. The hallways are dimly lit with concrete floors, and we take so many twists and turns that I am totally disoriented. We move through the passage at a brisk pace; the ID card that hangs around my neck whips around in front of me.

“Feels like ‘Goodfellas,’” says Antonio.

I nod.

As the director of “Afterschool,” I wonder what this experience is like for him. Later in the week, I would ask him about it and whether he was able to have any fun. “I’m pretty much in my head,” he would say. And I would feel like I knew exactly what he meant, but in actuality would have no idea. As his assistant director, I was the one making all of his choices reality, a drill sergeant of the set.

“Or ‘Don’t Look Back,’” I answer. “I’d prefer to be chased by adoring fans rather than about to get killed.”

“True.”

And suddenly, we are in the public part of the theater. The floors are now white and shined, advertisements are everywhere, my shoe squeaks.

The theater opens up through a small door held open for me, a sea of empty red seats, an enormous screen and a balcony. It’s quite impressive.

“Okay,” says the young French woman. “We don’t have much time.”

We are there to test some of the movie print and see how everything sounds. It was a mad rush to get the print ready, and we’ve only seen it once before in a tiny screening room in New York City. We choose seats alone throughout the theater. The lights dim and the first reel begins.

Though I’ve seen the film a half-a-dozen times as an additional editor, I have chills for the first time during the opening. I am struck by how different things play on a huge screen in a dark theater when you are sitting by yourself. Something to keep in mind when I’m staring at a small screen in my basement.

Four hours later, I’m back at the apartment Jody and I have rented, looking in the mirror, trying to decide between a blue shirt and a white one. I wonder if this is the first big premiere of many in a long, illustrious career or the high point in a career burned out quickly. I decide it really doesn’t matter right now and that I should wear the blue shirt.

We meet the rest of the crew in front of the Majestic Hotel, down the block from the Palais—a far cry from the Pomfret School, where we shot the film last August, and the last time I’ve seen many of the faces now adorned in suits and dresses. I am struck by how great everyone looks. We pose for pictures. I am handed a ticket; it’s shiny and official looking with “Cannes Film Festival” and, under that, “Afterschool de Antonio Campos.”

Reunited, we walk the few blocks to the Palais. There are people everywhere, pictures flashing, and we have to literally fight our way through to the red-carpet-lined steps that lead to the theater.

I hand the security guard my ticket and take the steps alone, reminded of how I liked to walk to set in the morning by myself and not really bothered by the fact that I am not deemed important enough to walk with the producers, director and stars. I enjoy walking up alone, undetected, and do it slowly. When I reach the top of the stairs, I turn to watch as the group walks up behind me. They pause at the top and turn back to face the crowd below them. I snap my favorite picture of the festival: the group silhouetted by the sun and the flashing lights.

The movie begins and I have chills again. They don’t go away for hours.

- Zachary Stuart-Pontier