Hello there
The human mind can work in mysterious ways. One of my favourite examples is when my friend Sian, physically shattered after 12 months of working night shifts, turned our house upside down to look for her keys because she'd inadvertently been keeping them in the fridge. I'm often guilty of this type of faux pas (more than most actually, and despite not working night shifts), which is why I'm so annoying to be around. Every now and then however, I do something a bit strange which I quite enjoy. For example:
I was talking to my friend Ben a few days ago. Now, I love my friend Ben, and we have Champions League level chats - if you're imagining that game when Liverpool came from behind to beat St Etienne at Anfield in 1977, you've got the level of chat quality about right (if you're imagining Utd scoring in injury time to beat Bayern Munich in the '99 final then for God's sake calm down - he's not Peter Ustinov). Anyway. As soon as we started chatting, I could tell from Ben's quivering lip that he wanted to discuss Alistair Darling's plans for a VAT cut, record borrowing, and the new top income tax rate of 45%. Before he could get going though, I said:
'If I was an actor, and had to be dumped by a woman in a gritty northern drama set in Thatcher's Britain, this is what I'd weep to, as she's walking away to start a new life with her estate agent Cockney boyfriend.'
before playing him 'The Killing Moon' by Echo and The Bunnymen.
A few things. I'll never be an actor, and almost certainly never play a man in a gritty northern drama set in Thatcher's Britain, as much as I'd like to. I think I'd be quite good at it though:
SCENE 1: Terry (played by me) is walking past a bookies on a council estate in Middlesbrough, and nods at an old man smoking rollies in a flat cap.
Terry: How are you, Frank?
Old man: Grand! I've just won a pound - Plato's basket came in at 4-1 in the 3.30 at Uttoxeter. I can heat the house now, and maybe buy a penny chew for my grandson
Terry: (MUTTERS UNDER BREATH WHILST STARING AT FRAYED CONSERVATIVE PARTY POSTER FROM THE 1983 ELECTION) God I hate Thatcher
Later of course, Terry, a dreamer with an art degree and no job, argues with his childhood sweetheart Susan, who's having an affair with an estate agent from the east end of London (how Susan meets this man is never established, even though Middlesbrough is a seven hour drive from the capital).
Susan: THIS IS IT FOR YOU TERRY! THIS ESTATE, AND YOUR BLOODY...PICTURES! I WANT A MICROWAVE, AND A TWIN DECK CASSETTE PLAYER! RICK CAN PROVIDE THAT FOR ME, YOU CAN'T! HE'S GOT A CAR PHONE, YOU HAVEN'T EVEN GOT A, YOU HAVEN'T EVEN GOT A PROVISIONAL LICENSE!
Terry: WHAT DO I NEED A CAR PHONE FOR?
Susan: EXACTLY! I'M LEAVING - I'M MOVING IN WITH RICK
(DOOR SLAMS AS SUSAN LEAVES. TERRY STARES INTO THE MIDDLE DISTANCE - CUE ECHO AND THE BUNNYMEN'S 'THE KILLING MOON' AS TERRY EATS AN OLD BIT OF TWIX AND LOOKS AT ONE OF HIS SHIT PAINTINGS).
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=aX1PwkgwsG0 - 'The Killing Moon' - Echo and the Bunnymen
So there. Like the majority of my ideas though, this will never get finished. For a start it's not a very good idea, but even if it was, I'm a lazy, disorganised twat. I'm full of shit ideas though, check these out:
It's 1972 and two factory workers from Derbyshire are about to go out on the razz. There's no dialogue as such, just a lot of:
'phwoooar!!!'
'cor!!!'
'Old Spice? Poof juice!'
'That Pauline Sproston, I wouldn't mind!!!!'
'She's a wizard piece of crumpet is that Pauline Sproston, phwooooar, I wouldn't mind having Yorkshire pudding at her mams!!! I'll tell thee!! (this makes sense in Derbyshire, but will be subtitled for American audiences. There'll be a glossary of terms in the DVD case, explaining things such as 'three day week,' and 'British Scotched Egg').
THIS IS ALL PLAYED OUT TO 'STAY WITH ME' (SINGLE VERSION) BY THE FACES
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=ei-L_AuuaxI 'Stay with me' - The Faces
Just to prove how versatile I am as an actor, my next film involves me playing a Spanish photographer named Raul who's just moved to London. It's 1983, and he's the hip young mover and shaker on the New Romantic scene. Bearing in mind I'm fair haired and blue eyed, the wizards in make up will have to 'black me up' a little, so I can portray a Spaniard convincingly. The accent will involve me watching Scarface several times and making do.
Model 1: Hey, Raul, where shall I put my now needless skimpy top?
Me: Just put it on the floor, baby, I need to change my film. Oh DAMN! DAMN! YOUR MOTHER IS A HORSEWOMAN, I SHIT IN THE COMMUNION WAFERS AND YOUR FAGGOT BROTHER LICKS BUTTER OFF THE ASSHOLE OF THE VIRGIN MARY!
Model 2: Your accent is so sexy Raul
Raul: I've run out of film. Two secs whilst I nip out to Jessops
On Raul's return there's a montage of him taking photos of the models in his studio (gratuitous pouting, Raul kneeling and crouching in a variety of impossible positions), all done to Duran Duran's 'Girls on Film.' Eventually they break to make love, and the next scene involves him taking a call from Marc Almond.
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=gudEttJlw3s 'Girls on film' - Duran Duran
My next project is set in 1996, and a PhD student, newly qualified solicitor (played by me), wannabe actor from a rich background and homelessness worker are sharing a flat in Clapham.
SCENE 37:
PhD Student: This is such an exciting time to be alive! Major will have to call an election soon, and Tony Blair offers us realistic hope for the first time since Clement Attlee!
Solicitor: Whatever Jennifer, I don't trust the guy, Have you not heard of the Kremlin? Oh for God's sake. There's no Fairy Liquid, which means I have to eat my tuna steak with a fucking spoon. I hate living like a student Jennifer - I'm a solicitor specialising in criminal law for God's sake - I've got an aggravated assault in the morning and there's no bloody milk either
Actor: Bye! I'm off for a fruitless audition!
Solictor: He is such a wanker
PhD student: Kiss me
SCENE 38:
The PhD student and solicitor are lying next to each other in the PhD students bed. The solicitor looks like he's fresh from a tour of duty in Vietnam, and the repulsive PhD student is naked and looking for a CD. She eventually gives up and turns on the news, to see Tony Blair handing the lifetime achievement prize to Genesis at the 1996 Q Awards. She squeals and turns it up, as the solicitor turns to face the wall. 'Glory Box' by Portishead plays as the solicitor cries and the actor walks home from another audition he's failed. This is followed by a scene where the homelessness worker shouts 'GET SOME FUCKING PERSPECTIVE' at the actor, who on realising there's no Nutella left bothers to phone his flatmate's workplace to complain.
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=bnAfJjUorvU&feature=related 'Glory Box' - Portishead
The next one is a more sombre affair, set in a Borstal in 1958. Billy was imprisoned for robbing two pounds of sausages and some trotters from his local butcher's shop, as a treat for his penniless mother. He's just been released but his father's a drunk and his mother's busy cleaning pots at a local boarding house - on realising no-one's there to pick him up, Billy walks through a meadow, and stops to skim stones. Next scene is in a cafe:
Friend: How do Billy! Are thee fresh from Borstal?
Billy: Aye, and I'm gasping for a brew
Friend: You should try this coffee Billy
Billy: Coffee? Coffee? What do you think you are, a Londoner? Don't talk daft to me about coffee!
Friend: (GETS UP IMPLORINGLY): I'm moving there Billy, London, I'm tekin plunge!
Billy: Why?
Friend: JOBS! I want to mek something of me life and work in an office!
Billy: Jobs eh...(LOOKS OUT OF THE WINDOW AT A CHIMNEY STACK BELCHING BLACK SMOKE INTO THE SKY) Jobs...
Next scene:
BILLY IS WALKING THROUGH PICCADILLY CIRCUS WITH EDDIE COCHRAN'S 'MONEY HONEY' AS BACKGROUND MUSIC, BEFORE STOPPING TO AIM A DISAPPROVING LOOK AT A MAN IN A TUXEDO HAILING A TAXI
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=27M6zBC55Os 'Money honey' - Eddie Cochran
N.B:
If there are any film directors out there, I have very few gigs lined for after Christmas, so have loads of time on my hands. Also, (despite it not being my favourite), my parents are willing to re-mortgage their house to fund one of my films - the one where two southern students move to Manchester in 1989, and pontificate loudly about the revolutionary aspects of ecstasy (for two hours). After a typically hedonistic night out in the era-defining Hacienda club, they become total converts to the drug, and total twats. Convinced it will cure all of society's ills, student 2 (played by me), phones up Conservative Party central office to suggest public sector nightclubs are built, using money the British Treasury will save as the welfare state becomes defunct when we all start being nice to each other. Mam particularly liked this piece of dialogue:
Student 1: I'm going to put e in my nan's mince pies at Christmas!
Student 2 (played by me): Top!
Dad's suggestion of 'Regret' by New Order for this scene is excellent I feel.
The climax of course, comes when student 1, (who's reading politics) tries to write his dissertation on the dancefloor of a nightclub and a drug dealing gangster shoots his notes.
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=nc6xCpcawEM 'Regret' - New Order
Fin
Thursday 27 November 2008
Saturday 1 November 2008
'Yeah I did time for it and I lost my job but I don't regret it'
I chatted last week with a slightly depressed friend of mine, who listed regrets of his at length. After a period of nodding, making sympathetic noises and turning my head to one side (this looked more coquettish than sympathetic I feel, and was too reminiscent of Princess Diana giving that interview to Martin Bashir in 1995), I told my friend that 'I was lucky, as I had no regrets, whatsoever.' It was definitely tactless (considering his depressed state of mind), but when quizzed I genuinely couldn't come up with any. He then came up with a few on my behalf and we had a slight argument about it.
I was initially quite proud of my apparent contentedness, but my friend insisted it showed a 'lack of emotional depth and complexity' on my part. Like any real man of course, this made me think 'right! Fuck you! I'll show you regret! In blog form!'
So here they are. Bearing in mind I'll never have my time on earth again, I regret the following:
1. Not smoking heavily aged 16-25. It would have done me no harm in the long run, yet would have looked cool as fuck. I could have been the cool Gitanes smoking enigma at student parties, rather than the person asking quietly 'if it was alright to sit on that bit of bed, or has someone else already taken that space? Oh right, the cool Gitanes smoking enigmatic one has. And now he's drinking my Carling.'
2. Not being there on June 5th 1991, to watch Wales beat then world champions Germany 1-0 at the old Cardiff Arms Park. Dad, if you're reading this, YOU FUCKED UP, BIG TIME. Didn't you know anyone at work who could get a ticket? And before you blame me, I was ten. I didn't even have a Solo Card and Ticketmaster don't accept shrapnel, or WHSmiths vouchers
3. Not doing 'my bit' during Britain's finest hour (WW2).
4. Having my 'arson phase' during the summer of 1999. Although in fairness to me, I'd just finished my A-levels, and since when has drunken horseplay not ended with the manager of a local golfclub calling the police?
5. I got sacked from my Saturday job in a youth drop in centre when I was 16, for serving a truant an undercooked beefburger. The lad was a sorry case - burgeoning criminal record, despicable lack of respect and uncouth manners. That said, I wasn't trying to administer short sharp shock treatment to this ne'er-do-well by giving him e-coli and a lecture on Christian values - I was just 'thinking about other things' and didn't give cooking his lunch my full attention. There endeth my brief flirtation with the service industry, until student poverty caused me to sharpen up my ideas.
6. A quite major comedy agent once turned me down for not being ambitious enough, 'or sounding like I wanted it' during the interview. In retrospect, they're a very, very influential company, and have some really big acts, so maybe this was the wrong way to play it:
Agent: Thanks for coming in, and sit down. I really liked your stuff last night Elis, do you have a manager?
Me: No, no. I'm not really good enough.
Agent: Well I think you are. Listen, I'm 'X,' and I have real connections in the industry. Do you work for these promoters?
Me: No, no. Like I said, I'm not really good enough. I'm wasting your time.
Agent: errrr...well like I said, I liked your stuff. So what are your ambitions?
Me: (after about ten minutes of 'umm-ing' and 'aah-ing') To own as in mortgage on a nice semi-detached house in Carmarthen - maybe the nice houses at the top of Lime Grove avenue? By the Fire station? Easy access to the local primary, well it's my old primary school and a really massive Tesco has opened near the Athletic club, so I'd have everything I need
Agent: I think you should get out of my office
Me: Thankyou!
7. Trying 'the chicken kiev material' at a gig in Northampton back in March. That was an important gig for me (first for a big promoter), and 'the chicken kiev material' was something I'd written in the car, on the A420 going past Faringdon. I'd heard on the radio that back in 1976, chicken kievs were the first ready meal introduced to Britain by Marks & Spencer. Suffice to say, the people of Northampton simply weren't ready for a string of puns about this fact, ending in a weak impression of a quizzical 1970s shopper deciding on whether to take the plunge and buy one. I was first on that night - the look on the middle act's face as I essentially destroyed the atmosphere with a quip about garlic sauce will live with me forever.
8. Taking the early stance that the 'internet wouldn't catch on' and maintaining this position until 2001. Admittedly, this was based on my early, 'pre-google' experiences of the internet, which involved lots of whirring and beeping, search engines being shit and a single typo in a web address (which were always given as http://:www.btusernet./bbc.gov.how-do-they-do-that.co.uk and had to be typed out in full) being fatal. I think in retrospect this stance was fair enough. Technology moving on just took me by surprise, that's all, which implies that naturally I'm quite the luddite. I used the word 'devilry' the first time I saw a Sat-Nav, much to the taxi driver's surprise.
9. Not having a proper fight at school. If I was ever going to prove my masculinity in a safe(ish) environment then that was the place to do it. Under developed muscles on my opponent, teachers and fair minded older kids roaming the playground, I was never going to get really hurt. However, my opportunities to fight in a playground are now limited (and at 28 would land me in a whole heap of trouble), and the ramifications of the other option available (drinking Stella and throwing a swing at someone in a pub), are too scary to think about. Knowing my luck someone will spill a drink on my friend's shoe in a nightclub, and I'll do the honourable thing and kick up a fuss. I just won't realise I'm picking a fight with someone who eats broken glass 'to make a point about food in prison,' and sparred with Chris Eubank 'back in the day.' I can't afford to turn up at gigs and be forced to write my jokes on a spotlit flipchart, because I've just had my jaw wired to my cheekbone.
10. Taking the piss out of my friend's wheat allergy. He's dead.
11. Not playing bass on an era defining hit single. A royalty cheque landing on the doormat every month, because I stepped in when Peter Hook popped out to buy his road tax during the recording of 'Blue Monday' would be something to tell the grandkids, wouldn't it?
'Wow grampa, what did you do in the 60s?
'Well, I recorded the solo on 'All day and all of the night' by The Kinks, because Dave Davies had tonsilitis'
'Woooow! What did you do after?'
'I had lunch'
12. Trying to sell those 'Nelson Mandela is a cunt' t-shirts back in 1985. Oh man oh man, did I misjudge the mood of the nation.
Anyway, I hope this implies how truly well-adjusted I am, and puts those fears to rest that I'm a contented, uncomplicated dunce. My friend's ones by the way (the regrets he kindly came up with, on my behalf) were:
1. Wearing a gold catsuit to go drinking in on the night of my 18th birthday
2. 'Just being a wanker, loads'
I rest my case. If that's the best a bitter man with a questionable agenda could come up with after knowing me for 16 years, then it's a wonder I managed 12 of my own. And I've known me for ages.
I was initially quite proud of my apparent contentedness, but my friend insisted it showed a 'lack of emotional depth and complexity' on my part. Like any real man of course, this made me think 'right! Fuck you! I'll show you regret! In blog form!'
So here they are. Bearing in mind I'll never have my time on earth again, I regret the following:
1. Not smoking heavily aged 16-25. It would have done me no harm in the long run, yet would have looked cool as fuck. I could have been the cool Gitanes smoking enigma at student parties, rather than the person asking quietly 'if it was alright to sit on that bit of bed, or has someone else already taken that space? Oh right, the cool Gitanes smoking enigmatic one has. And now he's drinking my Carling.'
2. Not being there on June 5th 1991, to watch Wales beat then world champions Germany 1-0 at the old Cardiff Arms Park. Dad, if you're reading this, YOU FUCKED UP, BIG TIME. Didn't you know anyone at work who could get a ticket? And before you blame me, I was ten. I didn't even have a Solo Card and Ticketmaster don't accept shrapnel, or WHSmiths vouchers
3. Not doing 'my bit' during Britain's finest hour (WW2).
4. Having my 'arson phase' during the summer of 1999. Although in fairness to me, I'd just finished my A-levels, and since when has drunken horseplay not ended with the manager of a local golfclub calling the police?
5. I got sacked from my Saturday job in a youth drop in centre when I was 16, for serving a truant an undercooked beefburger. The lad was a sorry case - burgeoning criminal record, despicable lack of respect and uncouth manners. That said, I wasn't trying to administer short sharp shock treatment to this ne'er-do-well by giving him e-coli and a lecture on Christian values - I was just 'thinking about other things' and didn't give cooking his lunch my full attention. There endeth my brief flirtation with the service industry, until student poverty caused me to sharpen up my ideas.
6. A quite major comedy agent once turned me down for not being ambitious enough, 'or sounding like I wanted it' during the interview. In retrospect, they're a very, very influential company, and have some really big acts, so maybe this was the wrong way to play it:
Agent: Thanks for coming in, and sit down. I really liked your stuff last night Elis, do you have a manager?
Me: No, no. I'm not really good enough.
Agent: Well I think you are. Listen, I'm 'X,' and I have real connections in the industry. Do you work for these promoters?
Me: No, no. Like I said, I'm not really good enough. I'm wasting your time.
Agent: errrr...well like I said, I liked your stuff. So what are your ambitions?
Me: (after about ten minutes of 'umm-ing' and 'aah-ing') To own as in mortgage on a nice semi-detached house in Carmarthen - maybe the nice houses at the top of Lime Grove avenue? By the Fire station? Easy access to the local primary, well it's my old primary school and a really massive Tesco has opened near the Athletic club, so I'd have everything I need
Agent: I think you should get out of my office
Me: Thankyou!
7. Trying 'the chicken kiev material' at a gig in Northampton back in March. That was an important gig for me (first for a big promoter), and 'the chicken kiev material' was something I'd written in the car, on the A420 going past Faringdon. I'd heard on the radio that back in 1976, chicken kievs were the first ready meal introduced to Britain by Marks & Spencer. Suffice to say, the people of Northampton simply weren't ready for a string of puns about this fact, ending in a weak impression of a quizzical 1970s shopper deciding on whether to take the plunge and buy one. I was first on that night - the look on the middle act's face as I essentially destroyed the atmosphere with a quip about garlic sauce will live with me forever.
8. Taking the early stance that the 'internet wouldn't catch on' and maintaining this position until 2001. Admittedly, this was based on my early, 'pre-google' experiences of the internet, which involved lots of whirring and beeping, search engines being shit and a single typo in a web address (which were always given as http://:www.btusernet./bbc.gov.how-do-they-do-that.co.uk and had to be typed out in full) being fatal. I think in retrospect this stance was fair enough. Technology moving on just took me by surprise, that's all, which implies that naturally I'm quite the luddite. I used the word 'devilry' the first time I saw a Sat-Nav, much to the taxi driver's surprise.
9. Not having a proper fight at school. If I was ever going to prove my masculinity in a safe(ish) environment then that was the place to do it. Under developed muscles on my opponent, teachers and fair minded older kids roaming the playground, I was never going to get really hurt. However, my opportunities to fight in a playground are now limited (and at 28 would land me in a whole heap of trouble), and the ramifications of the other option available (drinking Stella and throwing a swing at someone in a pub), are too scary to think about. Knowing my luck someone will spill a drink on my friend's shoe in a nightclub, and I'll do the honourable thing and kick up a fuss. I just won't realise I'm picking a fight with someone who eats broken glass 'to make a point about food in prison,' and sparred with Chris Eubank 'back in the day.' I can't afford to turn up at gigs and be forced to write my jokes on a spotlit flipchart, because I've just had my jaw wired to my cheekbone.
10. Taking the piss out of my friend's wheat allergy. He's dead.
11. Not playing bass on an era defining hit single. A royalty cheque landing on the doormat every month, because I stepped in when Peter Hook popped out to buy his road tax during the recording of 'Blue Monday' would be something to tell the grandkids, wouldn't it?
'Wow grampa, what did you do in the 60s?
'Well, I recorded the solo on 'All day and all of the night' by The Kinks, because Dave Davies had tonsilitis'
'Woooow! What did you do after?'
'I had lunch'
12. Trying to sell those 'Nelson Mandela is a cunt' t-shirts back in 1985. Oh man oh man, did I misjudge the mood of the nation.
Anyway, I hope this implies how truly well-adjusted I am, and puts those fears to rest that I'm a contented, uncomplicated dunce. My friend's ones by the way (the regrets he kindly came up with, on my behalf) were:
1. Wearing a gold catsuit to go drinking in on the night of my 18th birthday
2. 'Just being a wanker, loads'
I rest my case. If that's the best a bitter man with a questionable agenda could come up with after knowing me for 16 years, then it's a wonder I managed 12 of my own. And I've known me for ages.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
