Scenes from the Last Eligible Year of My Youth

It was a gentle nudge, or maybe something of a deliberate prod.

I responded back earnestly, with valid excuses. Life was chaotic for the last months, and I had filed this deadline as ‘far, far away’ in the recesses of my brain when Eric first told me. “No, have been delaying, was travelling x and in y and now friend is visiting, so - ”

When push comes to shove, you have to make it happen, and you make it fit. It’s fascinating how the contraints of time often become our allies in getting things done. Suspend me over a pool of sharks, and you’ll see how blazingly fast an annual budget comes together.

I submitted my application at 11:59 PM on the day of the deadline - yes, truly, the final minute. And then I waited. The acceptance email in 2024 came nearly a month later (especially after the lightning-fast 9-hour turnaround in 2022) that I missed it entirely. I even grumbled about not getting in - until I found it at the very end of April. I decided I was going to Cannes with two weeks’ notice. Fortunately, I wasn’t working at the time. 🙃

If you’re curious how the program works, or want to see the more earnest first version of me, here’s my original 2022 letter.

This will likely be my final Cannes adventure for a long time, because the Three Days in Cannes program is only open for those aged 18 - 28 years old. Once I hit the ancient, wise age of 29, I’ll obviously be too old for such youthful escapades.

Here’s the 2024 letter, where I explore that very notion of age and maturity.

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As my life is about to come to an end (read: turning 29), my last dying wish is to receive an accreditation to the “Three Days in Cannes” program in my last eligible year as a young and spritely cinephile.

Sensationalisms aside, I was very lucky to attend the Cannes Film Festival in 2022.

I watched eight films in those three whirlwind days, my eyes slightly glazed from the back-to-back screenings (rushing from theatre to theatre in my tiny heels - making a mental note to carry some barefoot flats for next time) while suffering acutely from jet lag, and noting the odd dichotomy of my body fighting to stay awake physically, but also my brain and heart so mentally stimulated, alert… alive(!) by the marvel and talent that graced the screens and filled up my very eager heart.

It was a dizzying but glamorous experience. I was bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, and filled with the wonder and delight of cinema. The madness and pure intensity of my Cannes experience mirrors my journey with movies itself, and a love affair that I’ve keenly developed and matured since I was a child.

My favourite that year was the Palme d’Or winner, Ruben Östlund’s Triangle of Sadness, followed closely by Koreeda’s Broker, and Lukas Dhont’s coming-of-age masterpiece, Close. I found Close captivating for its poignant and authentic portrayal of youth — set against a beautiful, dreamy backdrop of Belgian flower farms. I often find myself looking backwards and inwards, in a romantically nostalgic way, idealising the tales from my childhood (and yes, I still feel a child at heart, and forever will be despite my former protests on turning thirty). Times were simpler back then, I thought; but Close reminds me that the romanticized notion of youth is not immune to challenges.

I luckily had a mostly uncomplicated youth, but we forget now the trials and tribulations that accompany adolescence. Every challenge, no matter how seemingly trivial, holds weight and significance in the eyes of the beholder. Those are the experiences that shape us too, in the complex realities of our adulthood.

My love affair with cinema traces back to the humblest of origins – a cramped apartment in an inner city neighborhood, where the flickering glow of the television screen became my window to a world of infinite possibilities (… imagine the dramatism of Spielberg’s The Fabelmans, but more watching and less action). As a wide-eyed child navigating the complexities of a new country, I found solace, comfort, and inspiration in the stories unfolding before me.

My relationship with movies has certainly changed and matured over time, as my worldview has evolved. I’ve seen my watchlist veer off to more serious and eclectic categories, favouring movies that challenge me intellectually and emotionally. However, through all the changes, one thing has remained a constant - I’ve still retained a huge love for sincere well-crafted storytelling.

Fast forward to today. My best adult purchase this year (which I will continue to rave about to anyone who will listen) was a subscription to MUBI GO, which gives me a ticket to a hand-picked movie at some of my favourite independent cinemas across London. Regularly returning to the cinema after a literal decade of streaming films on my 13-inch laptop screen felt like a charming throwback to the way I used to watch movies as a child. Reclining in the plush theater seat, surrounded by the dimly lit ambiance and the subtle hum of anticipation amongst the crowd, I couldn’t help but appreciate the simplicity of the old school theatre-going experience. There was something undeniably nostalgic about the communal atmosphere of the theater that made me feel like a kid again.

You just can’t compare to the immersive charm of the big screen, and I recognise it’s something that streaming will never replace. My theatre subscription has brought me deeper into movies (somewhat related), making me long for my youth again - and I’ve fallen in love again. It’s brought me back to simpler times, and I can only hope to recreate that joyful experience with the brilliant silver screens in Cannes.

Attending Cannes in 2022 was a highlight of my life, and it would be an absolute privilege for me to attend again.

I turn 29 this year, making this the last year I can walk the storied streets and grace the red carpets with my fellow cinema-goers, before bidding farewell to my twenties. I can only hope you can indulge me this one last time - for the child in me, and the child in everyone.