The French Riviera, and specifically Cannes during the International Film Festival is built on contrasts. Contrasts between the glamour, the dazzling yachts, and the young locals adopting hospitality jobs hoping for good tips, the influencers battling to get into the most private clubs, the celebrities not sharing their space, and the Russian oligarchs dealing with hotel owners to get a spot on the most prestigious and exclusive red steps - just to get straight back down after their ascension in fear to get stuck in a projection of some interminable indie film. In truth, not many are here for the beauty of cinema, and the ones that might, are here on business to find distributors. It’s a battle from every angle.

Walking the croisette along with thousands of people is a battle, crossing the street while influencers take selfies in the middle of the street is a battle, getting into a bar for a simple coffee is a battle as the coffee will probably ensue your financial ruin (12 euros for an americano). Oh, but what’s happening here? I can hear people shouting? Yes! It’s Kevin Costner offering a quick glance at the crowd, before stepping in a private club. He seems to long for the company of horses in Montana rather than yachts on the Mediterranean. But even a guy like Kevin needs the Cannes Festival to promote his movie.

The celebrities are here on contracts, the influencers are here for promotion, the production and distribution companies are here to find the best financial deal, the critics may be here for the art, but their editors are here for the same reasons as the crowd: the gossip, and then there’s Jeanette who’s just here to get to the pharmacy to pick up her script and she can’t cross the street.

They are the people living in Cannes, people living for Cannes and people living despite Cannes. And the contrasts can sometimes be brutal.