The First 48 Hours at the Cannes Film Festival, from One of its Leading Hotels

Writer Jordi Lippe-McGraw goes behind the velvet rope at the Carlton Cannes during its biggest event of the year.GettyThe first annual Cannes film festival in 1946 GettyOn Monday, a day before the 79th annual Cannes Film Festival was set to begin, the storm clouds finally cleared and sun hit La Croisette, the palm-studded waterfront of this southern French town. Along this boardwalk, which can, at certain times of the year feel more like a runway, a string of grande dame hotels stand at attention. I, along with the biggest names of the silver screen, had flown in for the festival, which runs for two weeks each May, and had my own type of front-row seat. Not to the screenings but to the behind-the-scenes action unfold at the Carlton Cannes, a Regent Hotel, a Croisette standout for its sophistication, and now, a hub of activity as the town readies itself for its biggest event of the year. The hotel is where the very first Cannes Film Festival was held, and each year since, the Cannes Carlton has transformed from hotel to supporting cast member, ensuring A-Listers and entourages keep schedule—and don't miss their cars to the red carpet.Here are the first 48 hours of the Cannes Film Festival, as seen from one of its star hotels.The Carlton Cannes, a Regent Hotel, was the site of the first-ever Cannes Film Festival Courtesy InterContinental Hotels GroupMonday: Before the SwarmPreparations were visibly underway as I arrived at the glamorous entrance to Carlton Cannes. Window cleaners were working their way across the Belle Époque stonework, squeegees catching the afternoon sun. Inside the lobby were fresh flowers, champagne trolleys heading upstairs, and bellhops ferrying suitcases with ease.The famous hotel's exterior Jordi Lippe-McGrawThe chic pool and gardens, from an upper-floor window Jordi Lippe-McGrawThere are no regular guests at the Carlton during the festival. Everyone has some connection to the industry: bankers from JP Morgan beside A-list talent, assistants at the check-in counter while their principals were escorted directly to their suites. Anthony Boyle of “House of Guinness” and Harry Collett of “House of the Dragon.” The A-listers don’t queue; they arrive booked under pseudonyms or studio accounts and disappear to their floors before most people have clocked they’ve arrived.I tracked down the head concierge Maxime Nerkowski, and asked him what the next two weeks look like for him. He pulled out his phone and turned the screen toward me: more than 25 active WhatsApp chats, each one for a different guest, task, or requirement. A military operation, I said. He smiled.The Director of Rooms researches VIP guests ahead of arrival: family photos framed, preferred beauty products already on the shelf, the room arranged so no one has to ask for a thing. The challenge, he explained, is that nobody here is on vacation. It’s business. A guest might stay two days, then the next A-lister checks in, and the whole operation resets.That first evening—the night before the festival officially opened—I wandered the property while the city geared up outside. Step into the garden, and jasmine hits you in a delightfully overwhelming wave, the infinity pool glittering beyond it. The rooms are extraordinarily quiet, dressed in those warm neutrals, a world away from the Croisette even when you're directly above it. Out there, the city was still shaking itself into shape. In here, everything was already in place.The lobby bar is a buzz all hours of the day and night Tom ChapmanTuesday Afternoon: Buzz to SwarmBy Tuesday, the whole thing had shifted up a gear. As a journalist invited by IHG, the hotel insisted I have the full treatment. If I was going to cover the festival, I was going to experience it the way the stars do, which is how I found myself in a suite upstairs for hair and makeup alongside"Mobland" star Emmett J. Scanlan, the two of us wedged in around mirrors and kit bags.The author with her glam squad Jordi Lippe-McGrawThe author, crossing La Croisette en route to the festival Jordi Lippe-McGrawThat front entrance is its own spectacle. Beyond the curved driveway, fans line the barriers waiting for a glimpse of whoever is stepping into the next car. Some stars slip out the side to avoid it entirely. The valet operation is a minor army, cars constantly arriving and leaving, someone posted at the driveway’s edge checking credentials before anyone pulls in. The timing is ruthless: a delay of a couple of minutes can mean missing your allocated car slot entirely, and a missed slot means missing your place on the red carpet. The concierge’s 25 WhatsApp groups are, among other things, a defense against exactly that.Down the hall, celebrity photographer Julian Ungano, known for his of A-Listers like Timothée Chalamet, was working his way through shoots in suites with floor-to-ceiling views over the Bay of Cannes, camera around his neck, the afternoon light off the water doing things that no studio could replicate, shooting actor Frida Gustavsson and starlet Maika Monroe.The Carlton Cannes beach club Courtesy IHGFormal settings for dinner at the hotel Courtesy IHGFrom there, straight down to the Carlton Beach Club for a lunch hosted by IHG Hotels & Resorts and Vanity Fair. The Mediterranean wind was whipping off the water, sending staff the length of the Croisette into full improvisation mode, chasing tablecloths, repositioning loungers, keeping the whole thing glamorously together. Lucas Bravo sat alongside Alex Pettyfer. The terrace was charged with the electricity of a room where everyone has somewhere to be later. Gustavsson mentioned she was heading to Saint-Tropez after the festival to film the new season of "The White Lotus." The table absorbed it and moved on. In Cannes, this is baseline conversation.Back through the hotel, past the large lobby bar where deal-making was already murmuring in every corner, and out into the garden where the jasmine caught me again. When Demi Moore passed through, the team registered it with the faintest collective adjustment—a discreet repositioning, a subtle alert passing down the line—before settling back into their practiced neutrality within seconds.Tuesday Night: LockdownHours before the opening ceremony, the hotel changed its register again. The lobby was operating at a completely different pitch: talent arriving in waves, the click and flash of Kelly Rutherford being photographed near the entrance, heels on marble, outfit changes running simultaneously on floors above, the whole building vibrating at the frequency of something about to detonate. Studio executives, publicists, and brand directors moved through the crowd with the focused urgency of people on very tight schedules. Beyond the curved driveway at the entrance, fans lined the barriers waiting for a glimpse of whoever was stepping into the next car. The valet operation is a minor army, cars constantly arriving and leaving, someone posted at the driveway’s edge checking credentials before anyone pulls in. Each guest is assigned a dedicated car slot so the red carpet runs on time, those 25 WhatsApp groups earning their keep. Miss your car slot and you may miss the red carpet.Jordana Brewster during "The Fast And The Furious" photo call at the Cannes Film Festival GettyThe Palais, where the festival is held, is at the end of the Croisette, and I carpooled with "House of the Dragon" star Harry Collett and Scanlan to reach it. When you step out at the bottom of that famous Palais staircase, the scale of the place hits you: walls of photographers on both sides, shouting, jostling, lenses pointed at the steps like a firing squad made of glass, the public roaring behind the barriers. And then the ascent, the red of the carpet almost shockingly vivid up close, the Palais warm and close inside, floor-length gowns and black tie, the crowd clapping and cheering as the jury entered. Inside, the red carpet had been livestreamed, the spectacle unfolding before the opening ceremony began.Demi Moore on the Cannes Film Festival red carpet GettyComing back out into the Cannes night from the ceremony, you walked straight into cigarette smoke rising from the terrace (we are in France, bien sûr), voices everywhere, people spilling down the steps. Lucas Bravo and William Abadie spotted each other in the crowd, two "Emily in Paris" co-stars grabbed each other by the shoulders amid the chaos at the Palais exit. Gustavsson was somewhere too, moving through it with a security guard fixed to her side, posted there by Cartier for the evening, given the necklace she was wearing—its value not the sort of thing you leave to chance at an event like this.Every time I returned to my room, something new appeared: a Dyson fan, resistance bands, a carefully chosen beauty product; all gifts from the hotel to the guests. After the photographers, the crowds, the warmth of the Palais, and the smoke of the terrace, pulling the door closed behind me felt like stepping into a different country. Outside, the city blazed on. In here, nothing.Wednesday Morning: After the (Media) StormBy Wednesday, the hotel had settled into its festival rhythm. At Riviera, the ground-floor restaurant, Elijah Wood and Peter Jackson, collaborators on Lord of the Rings, were deep in breakfast conversation, Jackson magnificent in a Hawaiian shirt, the two of them quietly processing his Honorary Palme d'Or win from the night before. Out by the pool, a L'Oréal shoot was already underway, Bravo posed in the corridor alongside the garden, and makeup artists moved between suites with kit bags over their shoulders, the hotel operating as a full production hub as much as a place to sleep.The sun was doing its thing over the Croisette, the same confident light that had announced the festival two days earlier now presiding over a city fully in its stride. As I made my way to the airport, the Carlton was already resetting: fresh flowers in the lobby, another round of champagne heading upstairs, a new wave of faces at the front desk. The team had barely caught their breath when the whole machine was spinning up again, as if the last 48 hours had been nothing but a warm-up. For the hotel that started it all, two weeks of this is not the exception.Jordi Lippe-McGraw is a contributing writer for Condé Nast Traveler. As a lifestyle reporter/editor for almost a decade, she's written for various outlets including the New York Post, Travel+ Leisure, and Ocean Drive, and appeared on TODAY, MSNBC, and E! for her expertise. In addition to being a travel writer, ... Read MoreRecommended This island retreat offers artistic creativity, water sports, nature and Provencal flavor, and low-key elegance in a uniquely village-like atmosphere.Read full reviewView All France All of our best hotel, restaurant, and activity recommendations in one place.