My 10-year-old self would have been ashamed. Summers are supposed to be the time to go whitewater kayaking or drive cross-country in a camper van − or, more sensibly, take a course abroad. But I’d made no such plans. I’d picked up a brochure at Innis College and considered taking a film course that would have flown me to Italy to study Fellini, Rossellini, and other filmmaking greats. But the application deadline was months past.

Luckily, a “congratulations-you’ve-finished-school” dinner with my father turned into a brainstorming session.

“Why don’t you apply for press accreditation to the Cannes Film Festival? Cover it for Victoria College,” he suggested.

It was a great idea. I’m a cinema studies major, I want to be a director, and I write for the Victoria paper, The Strand. My knowledge of Cannes was limited to what I’d learned in my film history course, so some hands-on “research” would definitely be educational.

A few days later, I submitted my application to Cannes – a first, I believe, for a U of T publication. Then I waited. Two long weeks later I got the wonderful “Accepted!” email. I felt as if I’d been welcomed into an elite club.

The reality turned out to be slightly different. When I arrived at the massive Palais de Festival (the festival epicentre) to pick up my press badge, I discovered that the critics’ badges were colour-coded. My badge was yellow, or “Jaune,” which is the press equivalent of a parking attendant. Higher up in the pecking order were: Bleu, Rose, and ultimately, Blanche.

The colour hierarchy is a big deal in Cannes, which is frustrating for Jaunes, who have to stand in line for screenings until the attendants know whether, say, Roger Ebert (Blanche) is going to want a seat. Ebert’s white pass allows him to stroll into theatres 90 seconds before a film starts, past all of us Jaunes who have been waiting for as long as 90 minutes and are now yelling “Allez-y les Jaunes!” at the top of our lungs and telling jokes about how “the white man” got us down.

I got turned away from three films because they were “full.” Somehow, the theatre, with nearly 1,300 seats, “ran out” of space for critics. My Jaune comrades and I knew this was a lie, though. Every time we’d been lucky enough to get into the theatre, we’d see plenty of empty seats from our vantage point in the balcony (Jaunes were allowed only in the balcony seats). At least the free “Press-presso” bar and Internet room didn’t play favourites.

Attending the festival and seeing directors in person made me feel how I imagine archaeology students must feel flying to Egypt for their first dig. Two years of film studies suddenly popped into perspective; I had arrived at modern cinema’s beating heart − the auteur aorta. This would have far more influence on my future career than a summer course abroad.

I caught festival fever and lined up for hours to see films. Oftentimes I got up at dawn to see a film by a director I didn’t really care for; I figured I would be remiss not to see everything I could. In all, I saw 28 films, most of which were competing for the Palme d’Or or the Prix Un Certain Regard (two very prestigious awards).

Because I want to direct, I found the festival incredibly inspiring. Xavier Dolan, Canada’s only representative at this year’s festival, is just 21. He’s about the same age as me, and Les Amours Imaginaires is his second film at Cannes. Even more amazing: he wrote, directed and starred in it. The French respect the hell out of Dolan – for a very good reason. He’s insanely talented (his film was better than 95 per cent of the ones I saw) and he has won awards for both his Cannes debuts. His latest film deals with an unrequited love triangle — a tired concept, surely — but he brought a beautiful, fresh and youthful feel to the scenario. His film made me realize that there’s a lot of untapped potential in directors who have grown up in the 2000s: for the most part, my generation’s stories remain untold.

Dolan alone made the trip worthwhile. With this young Canadian phenom as my new reference point, I left France feeling confident and optimistic, knowing that I would eventually be back — and that next time, with some luck, it’ll be my name on the marquee.