Actor Bill Murray gave us a long explanation for his bizarre antics in Stockholm last month, when he was picked up by police and tested for drunk driving after being found at the wheel of a golf cart en route to his downtown hotel.

In Venice to promote “The Darjeeling Limited”, Wes Anderson’s latest comedy in which Murray plays a nameless businessman who appears in short scenes at the beginning and end of the film, a deadpan Murray was asked: “What the heck were you doing in that golf car in Stockholm?”

It was an unusually direct question from a group of journalists who tend to presage their questions with long and rambling praise for whichever film they are talking about.

And the answer?

“I was in Stockholm. A friend of mine, Jesper Parnevik, invited me to play in a pro-am golf tourament in Stockholm and I was driven to a party celebrating the event in a golf cart, and after the party the people that drove me in the golf cart did not wish to drive, so I said ‘I can drive’ and I drove. I ended up stopping and dropping people off on the way like a bus. I had about six people in the thing and I dropped them off one at a time and as the last couple were getting out also wished to be dropped off at a Seven Eleven — I didn’t know they had Seven Elevens in Stockholm — they just asked me to come over, and assumed that I was drunk, and I tried to explain to them that I was a golfer.”

Anyone compiling a Cannes survival guide for journalists may want to consider the following:

1. There are parties and there are parties. After I got an invite to a major Hollywood bash at this year’s festival it quickly became clear that while it may get you through the door, it won’t get you to where you want to go. Hoping to check out the magnificent building at the end of a large garden where most the guests had gathered, my path was barred by two burly security guards standing next to a sign saying “limited access” (or some such). So that must be where the great hang out, while the merely good, and the journalists, mill around on the lawn.

2. There are stars and there are superstars. While the stars generally hold court in Cannes, more often than not on a swanky hotel balcony or the beach itself, the superstars have a habit of demanding much more of your time and effort. The really big productions, and those that feature top Hollywood actors, often hold their interviews at the exclusive Du Cap hotel located about 30 minutes’ drive from Cannes. So I travelled there to meet Angelina Jolie for “A Mighty Heart” while a colleague did the same to interview Brad Pitt, George Clooney, Matt Damon et al for “Ocean’s Thirteen“. Although the surroundings are pleasant enough — manicured gardens, azure seas, towering palm trees plus the odd paparazzo bobbing up and down in a nearby boat with an ultra-along lens — the waiting can be tedious and the temperatures draining.

And for a five-star establishment, the coffee they serve needs some attention. The “Mighty Heart” interviews actually ran fairly smoothly, meaning a round trip of around four hours for six minutes of questions with Angelina (plus a similar time with three co-stars).

It could be a lot, lot worse.

Just a thought, but are dark forces at work in Hollywood to ensure young girls cast in major roles in blockbuster productions have to be called Dakota? Judging by the length of her career summary on the imdb movie Web site, Dakota Fanning is a film veteran at the tender age of 13. Then along comes Dakota Blue Richards, who at the same age has just landed her big screen debut with the central role of Lyra Belacqua in “The Golden Compass”, a $180 million adaptation of the first book in Philip Pullman’s “His Dark Materials” trilogy. She was selected from around 10,000 young British girls who auditioned for the part.

As I watched the latter Dakota take questions from reporters in Cannes at a roundtable discussion to promote the film, I found myself pondering whether I would want my child going into movies. Sure, the money is good, but do the long days on set and the attention and fame mean that growing up into a balanced adult is more difficult? Any thoughts, readers?

The movie business has plenty of stories of kids who grow up too fast, or never grow up at all. Then again, the majority actually end up reasonably balanced individuals. And not that there was any suggestion that Richards was heading for trouble. She impressed us all with her composure and honesty. Unlike some supposedly more grown-up stars hiding behind dark glasses and looking bored, she looked straight at her questioners, smiled and spoke of wanting to be a part-time actress while finding time for a “real job”. When asked a question a second time, she politely answered it again. But after spending six months away from school during filming, having a private tutor to teach her and approaching a time when she could become a widely recognised face, she may be forgiven for feeling a little overwhelmed.

“You should get out more.” That was the advice my wife gave me a few days ago when I was whingeing to her about how frazzled I got rushing from breakfast to screening to press conference to interview to screening to press conference to bed at the Cannes Film Festival. Not for the first time, she was right.

When covering the movie marathon, the temptation is to get so lost in cinema that you forget Cannes has much more to offer. A walk along the palm-lined Croisette boulevard at night shows a different side of the Riviera resort. The place is abuzz with tourists and locals soaking up the glamour and atmosphere of the festival, movies are shown on a giant screen on the beach and the thump of music from parties by the sea lasts into the early hours.

The other night I popped along to an event held for Finnish band Lordi, where the rockers dressed as monsters gave an ear-splitting rendition of ”They Only Come Out At Night” and “Who’s Your Daddy?” The only drawback was a packed bar and small bottles of beer costing 10 euros each. On the walk back to the hotel, I joined hundreds of onlookers to watch U2 sing a couple of hits on the red carpet outside the main festival cinema. It’s the kind of starry showmanship that Cannes thrives on.

At the weekend Ealing Studios held their bash for “St. Trinian’s”, the revamp of the successful schoolgirl comedy romp. Stars Rupert Everett and Colin Firth were there early on to meet and greet, models with ponytails, short skirts and indecently long legs circulated, and the drinks were free. The party was interrupted only by a stunning firework display across the water.

The drawback of course is late nights, and yes, I’m back to the old chestnut of sleep deprivation. Getting up for and sitting through the emotionally raw and harrowing “A Mighty Heart” this morning was a true test of the constitution.

I don’t want sleep deprivation to become a blog obsession during Cannes, but having sat through a screening of “U2 3D” starting at 8 a.m., I feel a mild rant coming on. I mean, a 3D film of the band’s high-octane performances on their “Vertigo” tour in South America is all about rock’n'roll. But it’s hard to get pumped up for Bono’s balladeering at such an ungodly hour, particularly when wearing outsized dark glasses over my regular glasses (it’s too early for contacts) and feeling like I am at the optician’s.

That said, the 55-minute preview of a longer version did succeed in recreating some of the atmosphere of a sellout rock concert, with cameras swooping above an 80,000 crowd and Bono reaching toward the camera and practically touching your nose. The real pop glamour comes on Saturday night, when the film is screened at midnight at the main Cannes cinema for invited guests. There are rumours the band might perform a couple of songs outside the theatre just beforehand. Now that’s rock’n'roll.

While on the subject, music is big in Cannes this year. One of the most talked-about films so far is “Control”, a biopic about the life and premature death of Joy Division’s Ian Curtis. Sam Riley’s performance as the tragic singer is superb, as is Samantha Morton as his wife. If ever you want a reminder of how the rock’n'roll life can turn around and devour you, this is it. But, good as it was, do we really need another biopic of a troubled rock figure? And was Curtis himself really big enough to attract an audience beyond hard-core Joy Division fans?

Thanks to the reader who responded to our blog yesterday talking about whether a film’s reception at Cannes was important to its box office prospects. He/she referred to a claim in today’s Times (I must confess I could not find the story during a quick search of their site) saying journalists attending early previews the morning after a long night of partying chose long, foreign films, knowing they would provide a good chance to catch 40 winks.

I certainly have seen journalists and critics sleep their way through movies in Cannes, and in Venice and Berlin for that matter. Not many though, and I hasten to add it’s not something I have tried myself. Of course, there are all sorts of shortcuts and tricks weary reporters resort to during festival movie marathons. One well-respected TV presenter came to me the other day and asked my views on a film he had not had time to watch but needed to report on during a broadcast. Non-professional? In a way, yes, but it’s easy to understand, with so many time pressures. There are other examples of course, and not things that I recommend you try at home. One is to sweat your way through “junket” interviews with stars and directors for a film you have not managed to see. It is that “please-don’t-catch-me-out-and-let-me-ge t-out-of-this-thing-unscathed” nightmare.

Of course, we are implicitly blaming the audience here. But is the film at fault too? If a film is too long, or boring, or badly made, does the critic or journalist have the right to a bit of much-needed shut-eye? I just came out of a screening of “The Banishment” by Russian director Andrei Zvyagintsev, a 2-1/2 hour picture in which very little happens for the first 90 minutes. In fact, the last hour was full of sinister twists and turns that slumberers would have missed, and I’m not suggesting for a minute that the film deserved the pillow treatment. A critic I was sitting next to was less than impressed however.

Another question this theme raises is whether we should all be partying so late when we are being paid (some more, some less) for the privilege of covering Cannes? Not all of us are out into the early hours. But that’s probably got more to do with lack of invitations than professional considerations.

As far as opening films to the Cannes Film Festival go, Chinese director Wong Kar Wai’s “My Blueberry Nights” was a risky business all round. Wong was directing in English for the first time, and set his story in the United States, unfamiliar territory. He also cast singer Norah Jones as the central character, an ambitious screen debut if ever I saw one. She took the plunge having seen only his acclaimed “In The Mood For Love”, and seems to have just about pulled it off. For the organisers, there was also the worry of getting the film to Cannes in time for the grand opening ceremony tonight. In 2004, Wong had them sweating in their tuxedos with “2046″, which he only just got to the Riviera resort in time. This time it was not much better. The director, wearing his trademark dark shades and close-cropped hair, told reporters he was in LA two days ago finishing the mix. Little wonder neither Jones nor co-star Jude Law have seen it yet. They get their first view at the opening tonight on a giant screen on which any flaws in their performances will be painfully exposed to a large, expectant and knowledgable audience. Rather them than me.

The ripple of polite applause after this morning’s screening was an indication that, while not exactly blowing away the press, “My Blueberry Nights”, a touching love story, will at least not be the critical turkey that was “The Da Vinci Code”, last year’s opening film. In fact, in response to yesterday’s blog entry, a reader was asking about the impact a poor reception at Cannes could have on a movie. My feeling is that if it is a blockbuster, with so many other channels of promotion and hype at its disposal, then often not much. “The Da Vinci Code”, for example, went on to gross $760 million at the box office, making it the world’s second biggest film in 2006, according to www.boxofficemojo.com. A big budget movie will certainly use good press in Cannes to generate buzz, but can usually survive without it. For smaller films, the festival can play a much more important role.

“Look after it, even on the street.”

This was the stern warning from an official at the Cannes Film Festival, as she handed me my press pass. It made me slightly paranoid. Is the town full of badge snatchers? Will I be safe walking back to the hotel after dark? If so, do I conceal my pass, look straight ahead, pretend to be a stumbling drunk?

Of course, she has a point. You see, my badge is quite high up the pecking order of badges. At Cannes they come in a number of colours yellow, blue, pink and pink with a yellow dot. Yes, thats right, I have a pink-with-a-yellow-dot badge, allowing me to jump most queues into press screenings for the next 11 days, and that means more sleep and longer breakfasts. Of course, there is also the white badge, the all-access badge of all badges, which most Cannes goers aspire to but few ever achieve. White badge holders probably get their own bodyguard.

So tomorrow the 60th festival gets underway, the greatest show on earth, as the Observer reasonably calls it, and the town is preparing for the deluge of reporters, stars, agents, producers, filmmakers and movie fans who crowd into the palm-lined resort every year to wheel and deal, criticise, fantasise, report and party. The sun is shining, the yachts are sparkling clean, and the prices have gone up.

Critics like the look of the main competition line-up, though more often than not the films fail to live up to expectations. Quentin Tarantino leads a strong U.S. contingent of five out of 22 pictures vying for the Palme dOr (Golden Palm), but the early favourite is probably Russias Alexander Sokurov, whose “Alexandra” is set in Chechnya.

And outside the competition there are hundreds more films seeking a little love and attention along the glamorous Croisette boulevard, from the (possibly) sublime Angelina Jolie in “A Mighty Heart” about the kidnap and murder by Islamic militants of U.S. reporter Daniel Pearl to the (probably) ridiculous “Illegal Aliens” starring the now-deceased Anna Nicole Smith to the (certainly) serious Leonardo DiCaprios environmental documentary “The 11th Hour”.

There are too many movies to choose from, the hours are long and most films are actually not very good. And this year I’m blogging for the first time, joining hundreds of others. So if there is something you want to say about Cannes, and our coverage of it, feel free to get in touch.

None of this is a complaint, though. I learned very quickly not to complain about having to cover Cannes for Reuters. Someone could always turn around and say: “OK, Ill do it.”

And we wouldnt want that.