2:26 PM

Javits watches the other guests arriving. The place is getting crowded, and he thinks what he always thinks:

What am I doing here? I dont need this. In fact, I need very little from anyoneI have all I want. Im a big name in the movie world, I can have any woman I desire, even though I dress badly. In fact, I make a point of being badly dressed. Long gone are the days when I had only one suit, and, on the rare occasions when I received an invita- tion from the Superclass (after much crawling, begging, and making promises), I would prepare myself for a lunch like this as if it were the most important occasion of my life. Now I know that the only thing that changes are the cities these lunches are held in; otherwise, its all utterly boring and predictable.

People will come up to me and tell me they adore my work. Others will call me a hero and thank me for giving movie mavericks a chance. Pretty, intelligent women, who are not taken in by appearances, will notice the people gathering round my table and ask the waiter who I am and immediately find some way of approaching me, certain that the only thing Im interested in is sex. Every single one of them has some favor to ask of me. Thats why they praise and flatter me and offer me what they think I need. But all I want is to be left alone.

Ive been to thousands of parties like this, and Im not here in this tent for any particular reason, except that I cant sleep, even though I flew to France in my private jet, a technological marvel capable of flying at an altitude of over thirty-six thousand feet from California all the way to Cannes without having to make a refueling stop. I changed the original configuration of the cabin. It can comfortably carry eighteen passengers, but I reduced the number of seats to six and kept the cabin separate for the four crew members. Someones always sure to ask: May I come with you? And now I have the perfect excuse: Sorry, theres no room.

Javits had equipped his new toy, which cost around forty million dollars, with two beds, a conference table, a shower, a Miranda sound system (Bang & Olufsen had an excellent design and a good PR cam- paign, but they were now a thing of the past), two coffee machines, a microwave oven for the crew and an electric oven for him (because he hates reheated food). Javits only drinks champagne, and whoever wishes to is more than welcome to share a bottle of Mo‘t & Chandon 1961 with him. However, the cellar on the plane had every drink any guest might conceivably want. And then there were the two twenty- one-inch LCD screens ready to show the most recent films, even those that hadnt yet made it into the cinemas.

The jet was one of the most advanced in the world (although the French insisted that the Dassault Falcon was even better), but regard- less of how much money he had, he couldnt change the clocks in Europe. It was now 3:43 a.m. in Los Angeles, and he was just begin- ning to feel really tired. He had been awake all night, going from one party to the next, answering the same two idiotic questions that began every conversation:

How was your flight? To which Javits always responded with a question: Why? People didnt know quite what to say and so they smiled awkwardly and moved on to the next question on the list: Are you staying here long? And Javits would again ask: Why? Then he would pretend he had to answer his mobile phone, make his excuses, and move on with his two inseparable besuited friends in tow. He met no one interesting. But then who would a man who has almost everything money can buy find interesting? He had tried to change his friends and meet people who had nothing to do with the world of cinema: philosophers, writers, jugglers, executives of food- manufacturing companies. At first, it all went swimmingly, until the inevitable question: Would you like to read a script Ive written? Or the second most inevitable question: I have a friend who has always wanted to be an actor/actress. Would you mind meeting him/her?

Yes, he would. He had other things to do in life apart from work. He used to fly once a month to Alaska, go into the first bar, get drunk, eat pizza, wander about in the wild, and talk to the people who lived in the small towns up there. He worked out for two hours a day at his private gym, but the doctors had warned him he could still end up with heart problems. He didnt care that much about being physically fit, what he really wanted was to off-load a little of the constant tension that seemed to weigh on him every second of the day, to do some medi- tation and heal the wounds to his soul. When he was in the country, he always asked the people he chanced to meet what normal life was like, because he had forgotten. The answers varied, and he gradually came to realize that, even when he was surrounded by other people, he was absolutely alone in the world.

He decided to draw up a list of what constituted normal attitudes and behavior, based on what people did rather than on what they said. Javits glances around. Theres a man in dark glasses drinking a fruit juice. He seems oblivious to his surroundings and is staring out to sea as if he were somewhere far from there. Hes smartly dressed and good-looking, with graying hair. He was one of the first to arrive and must know who Javits is, and yet hes made no effort to come and introduce himself. It was brave of him to sit there alone like that. Being alone in Cannes is anathema; it means that no one is interested in you, that youre unimportant or dont know anyone.

He envies that man, who probably doesnt fit the list of normal be- havior he always keeps in his pocket. He seems so independent and free; if Javits werent feeling so tired, he would really like to talk to him.

He turns to one of his friends. What does being normal mean? Is your conscience troubling you? Have you done something you shouldnt have? Javits has clearly asked the wrong question of the wrong man. His companion will perhaps assume that hes regretting what hes made of his life and that he wants to start anew, but that isnt it at all. And if he does have regrets, its too late to begin again; he knows the rules of the game.

I asked you what being normal means?

One of the friends looks bewildered. The other keeps surveying the tent, watching people come and go.

Living like someone who lacks all ambition, the first friend says at last.

Javits takes his list out of his pocket and puts it on the table. I always have this with me and I add to it all the time. The friend says that he cant look at it now because he has to keep alert to whats going on around them. The other man, though, more relaxed and confident, reads the list out loud:

1. Normal is anything that makes us forget who we are and what we want; that way we can work in order to produce, reproduce, and earn money.

2. Setting out rules for waging war (the Geneva Convention). 3. Spending years studying at university only to find at the end of it all that youre unemployable. 4. Working from nine till five every day at something that gives you no pleasure at all just so that, after thirty years, you can retire. 5. Retiring and discovering that you no longer have enough energy to enjoy life and dying a few years later of sheer boredom. 6. Using Botox. 7. Believing that power is much more important than money and that money is much more important than happiness.

8. Making fun of anyone who seeks happiness rather than money and accusing them of lacking ambition.

9. Comparing objects like cars, houses, clothes, and defining life according to those comparisons, instead of trying to discover the real reason for being alive.

10. Never talking to strangers. Saying nasty things about the neighbors.

11. Believing that your parents are always right. 12. Getting married, having children, and staying together long after all love has died, saying that its for the good of the chil-

dren (who are, apparently, deaf to the constant rows). 12a. Criticizing anyone who tries to be different. 14. Waking up each morning to a hysterical alarm clock on the bedside table. 15. Believing absolutely everything that appears in print. 16. Wearing a scrap of colored cloth around your neck, even though it serves no useful purpose, but which answers to the name of tie. 17. Never asking a direct question, even though the other person can guess what it is you want to know. 18. Keeping a smile on your lips even when youre on the verge of tears. Feeling sorry for those who show their feelings. 19. Believing that art is either worth a fortune or worth nothing at all. 20. Despising anything that was easy to achieve because if no sac-

rifice was involved, it obviously isnt worth having. 21. Following fashion trends, however ridiculous or uncomfort-

able. 22. Believing that all famous people have tons of money saved up. 23. Investing a lot of time and money in external beauty and caring little about inner beauty. 24. Using every means possible to show that, although youre just an ordinary human being, youre far above other mortals. 25. Never looking anyone in the eye when youre traveling on public transport, in case its interpreted as a sign youre trying to get off with them. 26. Standing facing the door in an elevator and pretending youre the only person there, regardless of how crowded it is. 27. Never laughing too loudly in a restaurant however good the joke. 28. In the northern hemisphere, always dressing according to the season: bare arms in spring (however cold it is) and woolen jacket in autumn (however hot it is). 29. In the southern hemisphere, covering the Christmas tree with fake snow even though winter has nothing to do with the birth of Christ. 30. Assuming, as you grow older, that youre the guardian of the worlds wisdom, even if you havent necessarily lived enough to know whats right and wrong. 31. Going to a charity tea party and thinking that youve done your bit toward putting an end to social inequality in the world. 32. Eating three times a day even if youre not hungry. 33. Believing that other people are always better than you better-looking, more capable, richer, more intelligentand that its very dangerous to step outside your own limits, so its best to do nothing.

34. Using your car as a weapon and as impenetrable armor. 35. Swearing when in heavy traffic. 36. Believing that everything your child does wrong is entirely down to the company he or she keeps. 37. Marrying the first person who offers you a decent position in society. Love can wait. 38. Always saying, I tried when you didnt really try at all. 39. Postponing doing the really interesting things in life for later, when you wont have the energy. 40. Avoiding depression with large daily doses of television. 41. Believing that you can be sure of everything youve achieved. 42. Assuming that women dont like football and that men arent interested in home decoration and cooking. 43. Blaming the government for all the bad things that happen. 44. Thinking that being a good, decent, respectable person will mean that others will see you as weak, vulnerable, and easy to manipulate. 45. Being equally convinced that aggression and rudeness are synonymous with having a powerful personality. 46. Being afraid of having an endoscopy (if youre a man) and giving birth (if youre a woman).

The friend laughs. You should make a film on the subject, he says. Not again, Javits thinks. They have no idea. Theyre with me all the time, but they still dont understand what I do. I dont make films.

All films start out in the mind of a so-called producer. Hes read a book, say, or had a brilliant idea while driving along the freeways of Los Angeles (which is really a large suburb in search of a city). Unfor- tunately, hes alone, both in the car and in his desire to transform that brilliant idea into something that can be seen on the screen.

He finds out if the film rights to the book are still available. If the response is negative, he goes in search of another productafter all, more than sixty thousand books are published each year in the United States alone. If the response is positive, he phones the author and makes the lowest possible offer, which is usually accepted because its not only actors and actresses who like to be associated with the dream machine. Every author feels more important when his or her words are trans- formed into images.

They arrange to have lunch. The producer says that the book is a work of art and highly cinematographic and that the writer is a genius deserving of recognition. The writer explains that he spent five years working on the book and asks to be allowed to help in the writing of the script. No, really, you shouldnt do that, its an entirely different medium, comes the reply, but I know youll love the result. Then he adds: The film will be totally true to the book, which, as both of them know, is a complete and utter lie.

The writer decides that he should agree to the conditions, promis- ing himself that next time will be different. He accepts. The producer now says that they have to interest one of the big studios because they need financial backing for the project. He names a few stars he claims to have lined up for the lead roleswhich is another complete and utter lie, but one that is always wheeled out and always works as a se- duction technique. He buys what is known as an option, that is, he pays around ten thousand dollars to retain the rights for three years. And then what happens? Then well pay ten times that amount and youll have a right to two percent of the net profits. Thats the finan- cial part of the conversation over with, because the writer is convinced hell earn a fortune from his slice of the profits.

If he were to ask around, hed soon find out that the Hollywood ac- countants somehow manage it so that no film ever makes a profit.

Lunch ends with the producer handing the writer a huge contract and asking if he could possibly sign it now, so that the studio will know that the product is definitely theirs. With his eyes fixed on that (non- existent) percentage and on the possibility of seeing his name in lights (which wont happen either, at most therell be a line in the credits, saying: Based on the book by . . .), the writer signs the contract without giving the matter much thought.

Vanity of vanities, all is vanity, and there is nothing new under the sun, as Solomon said more than three thousand years ago.

The producer starts knocking on the doors of various studios. Hes known in the industry already, and so some of those doors open, but his proposal is not always accepted. In that case, he doesnt even bother to ring up the author and invite him to lunch again, he just writes him a letter saying that, despite his enthusiasm for the project, the movie industry isnt yet ready for that kind of story and hes returning the contract (which he, of course, did not sign).

If the proposal is accepted, the producer then goes to the lowest and least well-paid person in the hierarchy: the screenwriter, the person who will spend days, weeks, and months writing and rewriting the original idea or the screen adaptation. The scripts are sent to the pro- ducer (but never to the author), who, out of habit, automatically re- jects the first draft, knowing that the screenwriter can always do better. More weeks and months of coffee and insomnia for the bright young talent (or old hackthere are no halfway houses) who rewrites each scene, which are then rejected or reshaped by the producer. (And the screenwriter thinks: If he can write so damn well, why doesnt he write the whole thing? Then he remembers his salary and goes qui- etly back to his computer.)

Finally, the script is almost ready. At this point, the producer draws up a list of demands: the removal of any political references that might upset a more conservative audience; more kissing, because women like that kind of thing; a story with a beginning, a middle, and an end, and a hero who moves everyone to tears with his self-sacrifice and devotion; and one character who loses a loved one at the start of the film and finds him or her again at the end. In fact, most film scripts can be summed up very briefly as: Man loves woman. Man loses woman. Man gets woman back. Ninety percent of all films are variations on that same theme.

Films that break this rule have to be very violent to make up for it, or have loads of crowd-pleasing special effects. And since this tried and tested formula is a surefire winner, why take any unnecessary risks?

Armed with what he considers to be a well-written story, whom does the producer seek out next? The studio who financed the project. The studio, however, has a long line of films to place in the ever-diminishing number of cinemas around the world. They ask him to wait a little or to find an independent distributor, first making sure that the producer signs another gigantic contract (which even takes into account exclusive rights outside of Planet Earth), taking full responsibility for all money spent.

And thats where people like me come in! The independent dis- tributor can walk down the street without being recognized, although at media-fests like this everyone knows who he is. Hes the person who didnt come up with the idea, didnt work on the script, and didnt invest a cent.

Javits is the intermediarythe distributor!

He receives the producer in a tiny office (the big plane, the house with the swimming pool, the invitations to parties all over the world are purely for his enjoymentthe producer doesnt even merit a min- eral water). He takes the DVD home with him. He watches the first five minutes. If he likes it, he watches to the end, but this only happens with one out of every hundred new films hes given. Then he spends ten cents on a phone call and tells the producer to come back on a cer- tain date and at a certain time.

Well sign, he says, as if he were doing the producer a big favor. Ill distribute the film.

The producer tries to negotiate. He wants to know how many cinemas in how many countries and under what conditions. These, however, are pointless questions because he knows what the distribu- tor will say: That depends on the reactions we get at the prelaunch screenings. The product is shown to selected audiences from all social classes, people specially chosen by market research companies. The results are analyzed by professionals. If the results are positive, another ten cents gets spent on a phone call, and, the following day, Javits hands the producer three copies of yet another vast contract. The producer asks to be given time for his lawyer to read it. Javits says he has nothing against him doing that, but he needs to finalize that seasons program now and cant guarantee that by the time the producer gets back to him he wont have selected another film.

The producer reads only the clause that tells him how much hes going to earn. Hes pleased with what he sees and so he signs. He doesnt want to miss this opportunity.

Years have passed since he sat down with the writer to discuss making a film of his book and hes quite forgotten that he is now in exactly the same situation.

Vanity of vanities, all is vanity, and there is nothing new under the sun, as Solomon said more than three thousand years ago.

Javits watches the tent filling up with guests and again asks himself what hes doing there. He controls more than five hundred cinemas in the United States and has an exclusive contract with another five thousand around the world, where exhibitors are obliged to buy everything he offers them, even if the films dont always work out. They know that one box-office success more than makes up for the other five that fail to pull in the crowds. They rely on Javits, the independent megadistributor, the hero who managed to break the monopoly of the big studios and become a legend in the film world.

No one has ever asked how he did this, but since he continues to give them one big success for every five failures (the average in the big studios is one blockbuster for every nine flops), it really doesnt matter.

Javits, however, knows how he became so successful, which is why he never goes anywhere without his two friends, who are, at that moment, busily answering calls, arranging meetings and accept- ing invitations. They both have reasonably normal physiques, not like the burly bouncers on the door, but theyre worth a whole army. They trained in Israel and have served in Uganda, Argentina, and Panama. One fields phone calls and the other is constantly looking around, memorizing each person, each movement, each gesture. They alter- nate these tasks because, like simultaneous translators and air control- lers, they need to rest every fifteen minutes.

What is he doing at this lunch? He could have stayed at the hotel, trying to get some sleep. Hes tired of being fawned over and praised, and of having to smile every minute and tell someone that its really not worth their while giving him their card because hell only lose it. When they insist, he asks them gently to speak to one of his secretaries (duly housed at another luxury hotel on the Boulevard de la Croisette, where they are not allowed to sleep, but must answer the phone that rings nonstop or reply to the e-mails flooding in from cinemas all over the world, along with the promises of increased penis size or multiple orgasms that manage to elude all the spam filters). Depending on how he nods his head, one of his two assistants will either give the person the secretarys address or phone number, or say that unfortunately theyre fresh out of cards.

Yes, what is he doing at this lunch? He would be sleeping now in Los Angeles, however late he might have got home from a party. Javits knows the answer, but he doesnt want to accept it: hes afraid of being alone. He envies the man who arrived earlier and sat drinking his fruit juice, staring off into the distance, apparently relaxed and unconcerned about trying to look busy or important. He decides to invite him to join him for a drink, but notices hes no longer there.

Just then, he feels something prick him in the back. Mosquitoes! Thats what I hate about beach parties. When he goes to scratch the bite, he finds a small needle. It must be some stupid prank. He looks behind him and, about two yards away, separated from him by various other guests, a black guy with dread- locks is laughing loudly, while a group of women gaze at him with mingled respect and desire.

Hes too tired to react to this provocation. Best let the guy play the fool if thats the only way he can impress other people.

Idiot.

His two companions react to the sudden change in posture of the man they are paid to protect at the rate of $435 a day. One of them raises his hand to his right shoulder, where he keeps an automatic pistol in a holster that is entirely invisible beneath his jacket. The other man gets discreetly to his feet (they are at a party, after all) and places him- self between the black man and his boss.

It was nothing, says Javits. Just a prank. He shows them the needle. These two idiots are prepared for attacks with firearms and knives, for acts of physical aggression or attempts on their bosss life. Theyre always the first to enter his hotel room, ready to shoot if necessary. They can sense when someones carrying a weapon (a common enough occurrence now in many cities of the world), and they dont take their eyes off that person until theyre sure hes harmless. When Javits gets into an elevator, he stands sandwiched between them, their two bodies forming a kind of wall. He has never seen them take out their guns because, if they did so, they would use them. They usually resolve any problem with a look or a few quiet words.

Problems? He has never had any problems since he acquired his two friends, as if their mere presence were enough to drive away evil spirits and evil intentions.

That man, one of the first people to arrive, who sat down alone at that table over there, says one of them. He was armed, wasnt he?

The other man murmurs something like Possibly, but the man had left the party some time ago. And he had been watched the whole time because they couldnt tell what exactly he was looking at from behind his dark glasses.

They relax. One of them starts answering the phone again, the other fixes his gaze on the Jamaican, who looks fearlessly back. Theres something strange about that man, but one false move on his part and hell be wearing false teeth from now on. It would all be done as dis- creetly as possible, on the beach, far from prying eyes, and by only one of them, while the other stood waiting, finger on the trigger. Some- times, though, such provocative acts are a ruse to get the bodyguard away from the intended victim. Theyre used to such tricks.

Fine... No, its not fine. Call an ambulance. I cant move my hand.