No one recognised me on the Cannes red carpet!

‘We are taking the picture to Cannes,’ said John Gore, the producer and financier of My Duchess, my new film about the Duchess of Windsor. ‘How exciting!’ I said. Then, a minute later, I thought, ‘Oh God! What am I going to wear on the red carpet?’ The following day I told my artist friend David Downton about my dilemma while lunching at Claridge’s. ‘Let’s call Stéphane Rolland,’ he said. ‘Wonderful idea!’ I said. ‘He’s great! He made the red dress I wore for the Heart Truth Red Dress gala in New York a few years ago, and it was spectacular.’

David called Stéphane as we had coffee, and the talented couturier sketched a terrific drawing of a beautiful white dress with ruffles while they chatted, and texted it to David. ‘Amazing!’ I exclaimed. It was perfect – exactly what I would have wanted. He must have read my mind, and it took all of five minutes. Three weeks later, Stéphane and his long-time collaborator Philippe Delessard arrived at my apartment with a massive suitcase containing a gorgeous dress that fitted me perfectly.

My dresser, Chrissy, and I went through my entire wardrobe trying to find suitable outfits for the three days we were to spend in Cannes. I had to prepare for two dinners that were supposedly casual (difficult as I can only do casual when I exercise) and a lunch with press followed by a photo shoot with Isabella Rossellini, and finally another outfit to appear on stage to introduce the screening. It took Chrissy and me all day to collate the right outfits, shoes, bags, jewellery, etc. I don’t have a stylist on speed dial, but luckily I have lots of clothes. I practised dance steps and balance with my friend the choreographer Paul Robinson. God forbid I should slip on the red carpet steps. I watched some reels of actresses at previous Cannes red carpets and all I could say is: I had better watch out.

We arrived in Cannes on the Monday. The streets were clogged with people; I wondered if they were all cinephiles or just there to gawk at the celebrities. We stayed at the Majestic hotel, where many beautiful young girls congregated in the lobby, some with attendants carrying all manner of lighting and video equipment while the girls pranced around posing prettily. ‘They’re influencers,’ said Alyn, my makeup
and hair guru.

Cannes was boiling hot but there was a very high wind, so in preparing for the red carpet and walking up the stairs at the Palais des Festivals I was worried my hair would blow all over my face. Several starlets had been papped on the Croisette with their long extensions enveloping their faces, so we decided to scrape my hair back and put it up in a chignon. Then, primped and powdered and hair sprayed like carved mahogany, off I went. My white dress, although gorgeous, was quite uncomfortable and I worried that my high heels would catch on the cobblestones, even though they were covered in carpet. But none of these fears – hair, dress, shoes – materialised. What actually occurred was far more embarrassing. I got in the car with Laurent Lafitte, my co-star and one of France’s biggest movie stars, and Alyn, armed with a massive can of Elnett hair spray. In another car were Percy and John Gore, who were supposed to arrive ahead of us so that they and Laurent could escort me. However, a super-diligent gendarme sent their car the long way round and ours the short way, so we arrived before them. As soon as my car stopped, Laurent disappeared, engulfed by fans waving autograph photos and taking selfies. I descended from my voiture to find myself alone and ignored on the red carpet… Bambi in the middle of a flaming fire. No sign of Percy or John, while Laurent swam in a sea of screaming fans. An officious, headsetted young woman came up to me and yelled: ‘Vite, vite, get in line. You can’t just stand here!’ An actor’s nightmare. To my great relief, within what was probably a minute during which guests looked at me blankly, though it felt like an eternity, John, Percy and Laurent all appeared at once and, to screams of ‘Joan! Joan!’, we started walking up the red carpet while the snappers barked orders: ‘Over your shoulder!’ ‘Look left!’ ‘With Laurent!’ ‘By yourself!’

I must admit it was ‘adrenalinely’ exhilarating, if I might coin a term, to be surrounded by so many people, all intent on capturing magic moments. Several other luminaries walked behind us, including Jane Fonda, whom I’ve known since our early days in Hollywood. Although I’ve attended the Cannes Film Festival many times during my career, this was the most exciting occasion. The next day the media gave Stéphane’s white ‘orchid’ dress and me the most wonderful plaudits, so it was all worth it in the end.