What a difference a day makes. From my missing most of the action on the first day, I found myself in the heart of it all on the second. C'est magnifique!

As some cinephiles might know, one of the festival's most anticipated films was Gus Van Sant's Restless, which was given the premiere opening spot in the cutting-edge category called "Un Certain Regard" (translated = "a certain outlook"). Rather than attending a late-morning press screening with most of the other film journalists, I ended up with a cushy seat on the exclusive side of the whole shebang, merci very much.

Long story long: since Mr. Van Sant and I are both based in Portland, Ore., I'd hoped to snag an interview prior to the festival. Not only is he the City of Roses' favorite son, but his reputation at Cannes elevates his street cred even higher. He debuted at the festival in 1995 with To Die For, followed by three films in competition: Last Days, Paranoid Park and Elephant. And that particular Elephant turned out to be huge, winning the top prize of the Palme d'Or, as well as the filmmaker taking Best Director.

I had appealed to Van Sant's publicist Jeff Hill for a local interview. Hill was kind but firm, stating that I'd have to wait until the actual festival in order to get a sit-down. When I followed up just before heading to the South of France, he apologized: the "oui" had turned to "non." Seems our man Van Sant is popular with so many others around the globe, I'd been pushed out.

Perhaps he sensed the wail about to tear out of my throat ... it wasn't a minute later that he wrote: "Would it help if I got you tickets to the Gala Premiere and to the dinner following?"

Well, gee, I guess so ...

Like Willy Wonka's Charlie, I suddenly had a Golden Ticket. Admission to a chocolate factory might do it for some, but an invitation to a star-studded gala premiere followed by an upscale, complimentary dinner -- which isn't peanuts, considering that's about all anyone on a budget can afford to eat in Cannes -- well, this was some coup.

And so it happened that on the second night of the festival, I sailed past the thronging masses (or is that massive throngs?) and approached the beefiest guard with the meanest glower.

"I have an invitation," I said.

He'd obviously heard that line before, and gestured me away.

"But I have a ticket," I said, my fingers dipping into my evening bag, subsequently producing the prized possession. His glower disappeared as he silently moved the gate aside and ushered me in. As I savored putting high heel to red carpet on each and every riser, I wondered if anyone was wondering just who the heck I was. Goodness, I was wondering it myself.

Once the be-tuxed and be-jeweled crowd were fully seated inside the theater, the Cannes General Delegate Thierry Frémaux brought Van Sant, producer/actress Bryce Dallas Howard and the film's leads Mia Wasikowska and Henry Hopper (son of Dennis) up on the stage. I noted that I was definitely not in America anymore: Frémaux only spoke French. (In Cannes, unless the actors speak français, French subtitles will always appear on the bottom of the screen.)

After the audience viewed the film -- a story about a young man in love with the idea of death until he meets a girl with terminal cancer -– the crowd applauded vigorously as the stars took their bows. Wearing a deep crimson gown, the elegant Wasikowska (Jane Eyre, Alice in Wonderland, The Kids Are All Right), looked like a blonde version of a young Audrey Hepburn.

If only the locale for the dinner had been as easy to negotiate as those red-carpeted steps. The invite hadn't updated the recently-changed name of the hotel and with parties carpeting the Croisette, think the proverbial needle in a haystack. When I was finally directed to the hotel's fifth floor, I was relieved ... until I entered an empty, dimly-lit conference room that someone was vacuuming in the dark. (Could have been another lost party guest, put to work as penance for clueless behavior.)

But since this tale has a happy ending, I can report that I found the site (a festively-lit party tent bordering sand and sea). I enjoyed the wonderful food, drink and fascinating company ... and I almost got to speak with Mr. Van Sant.

"Hello," I said, "I've been trying to get an interview with you. Funny thing, I'm also from Portland and — "

And he was whisked away. Turns out he needed to speak with someone with much more juice than me. But in all honesty, while juice is nice ... free-flowing Champagne simply can't be topped.

Until next time, I'll be sitting in the dark as usual ...