Me and the missus contemplate our ribcages making sweet xylophone music.
Sunday, October 29, 2006
Saturday, October 28, 2006
Pinewood Studios Diary 3
Once your fame cherry has been popped, you can never go back.
For me, it was the first time I stood back stage in the dressing room of a comedy club, waiting to go on, only to find the headliner standing in his pants, ironing his trousers on a brown stained creaking ironing board.
The fact that he was bounding onto the stage an hour or so later with a spring in his step to rapturous applause didn't have quite the same glamour anymore. The bubble was popped, for I had seen behind the curtain to a world not of magic and wonder but of mundane and every day concerns.
Performers were not gods. Comedians had the same worries and problems as everyone else. Dressing rooms could be dirty, smelly crowded places, no different in many ways to factory locker rooms. This was just another section of the real world, with a glamorous public face, true, but a disappointingly common place underbelly.
The same was true of the first time I saw my words being performed by others: initial excitement, then irritation that the lines weren't being delivered exactly as I imagined them in my mind, then finally boredom as I saw the same lines being said ten times in a row for the benefit of coverage. The dream had lost it's sheen as it entered the world of work.
But now. To my film.
We are filming at Pinewood and we have been rehearsing at Shepperton. Pop goes that potential glamour bubble. It feels just like two factories, with all the attendant security guards, hanger like spaces and whistling caretakers with walkie talkies.
In offices on the lot, there is a growing team of artisans designing and building sets, scouting locations and planning the shoot. All based around things I made up.
I think it will be a while before that bubble pops.
And rehearsals? Ah, rehearsals. Here I did the opposite of imagining glamour. I imagined frustration, assuming that the director would direct (it is his job description after all) and that I would watch, inert and powerless on the margins, fearful of breaking the bond of trust between him and the actors, fearful of overstepping my own job description.
Instead I have been welcomed in to a wonderland of collaboration, as we all work to make the script and performance of that script as good as it can possibly be. All credit to the director, Gareth Carrivick. Only someone who is supremely confident of their own position and ability could give the actors and myself the liberty which we have enjoyed.
I mentioned to my wife that these days had probably been my best working experience as a writer so far. "Well." she said "Then what you mean is that this has been the best working experience you've ever had."
She's right.
For me, it was the first time I stood back stage in the dressing room of a comedy club, waiting to go on, only to find the headliner standing in his pants, ironing his trousers on a brown stained creaking ironing board.
The fact that he was bounding onto the stage an hour or so later with a spring in his step to rapturous applause didn't have quite the same glamour anymore. The bubble was popped, for I had seen behind the curtain to a world not of magic and wonder but of mundane and every day concerns.
Performers were not gods. Comedians had the same worries and problems as everyone else. Dressing rooms could be dirty, smelly crowded places, no different in many ways to factory locker rooms. This was just another section of the real world, with a glamorous public face, true, but a disappointingly common place underbelly.
The same was true of the first time I saw my words being performed by others: initial excitement, then irritation that the lines weren't being delivered exactly as I imagined them in my mind, then finally boredom as I saw the same lines being said ten times in a row for the benefit of coverage. The dream had lost it's sheen as it entered the world of work.
But now. To my film.
We are filming at Pinewood and we have been rehearsing at Shepperton. Pop goes that potential glamour bubble. It feels just like two factories, with all the attendant security guards, hanger like spaces and whistling caretakers with walkie talkies.
In offices on the lot, there is a growing team of artisans designing and building sets, scouting locations and planning the shoot. All based around things I made up.
I think it will be a while before that bubble pops.
And rehearsals? Ah, rehearsals. Here I did the opposite of imagining glamour. I imagined frustration, assuming that the director would direct (it is his job description after all) and that I would watch, inert and powerless on the margins, fearful of breaking the bond of trust between him and the actors, fearful of overstepping my own job description.
Instead I have been welcomed in to a wonderland of collaboration, as we all work to make the script and performance of that script as good as it can possibly be. All credit to the director, Gareth Carrivick. Only someone who is supremely confident of their own position and ability could give the actors and myself the liberty which we have enjoyed.
I mentioned to my wife that these days had probably been my best working experience as a writer so far. "Well." she said "Then what you mean is that this has been the best working experience you've ever had."
She's right.
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
Pinewood Studios Diary 2
My office is situated directly over the corridor from the producers and director. We often nip in and out of each other's rooms to shoot the breeze, lark around and waste the investor's money in other interesting and inventive ways.
Earlier on today the door into my office began to open. Assuming it was another of the film staff, I shouted "I'm not decent." and then gave an orgasmic groan.
The door stopped opening and I heard a female voice say: "I'm sorry!" followed by the sound of scampering feet. I opened the door to discover no-one in the corridor.
Turns out it was one of the studio staff who I presume is now traumatised and spreading news of a writer she caught wanking. I expect a sexual harassment lawsuit any day now.
And just to be clear - it was a joke. I wasn't doing anything dodgy in there.
Obviously, whenever I wank at work I lock the door. And then watch everyone else through the keyhole, my old lad in my hand, just like everyone else.
Earlier on today the door into my office began to open. Assuming it was another of the film staff, I shouted "I'm not decent." and then gave an orgasmic groan.
The door stopped opening and I heard a female voice say: "I'm sorry!" followed by the sound of scampering feet. I opened the door to discover no-one in the corridor.
Turns out it was one of the studio staff who I presume is now traumatised and spreading news of a writer she caught wanking. I expect a sexual harassment lawsuit any day now.
And just to be clear - it was a joke. I wasn't doing anything dodgy in there.
Obviously, whenever I wank at work I lock the door. And then watch everyone else through the keyhole, my old lad in my hand, just like everyone else.
Monday, October 16, 2006
Pinewood Studios Diary 1
I am sitting in an office at Pinewood Studios as I type this, working on a film script I wrote which is currently gearing up into pre-production.
In April I was telling jokes on stage for a living. This is no longer the case. I am very happy about this new direction in my life.
The producers have instructed me to refrain from revealing anything about the production at the moment, including; title, actors, funding partners etc. Hopefully I will be able to reveal more soon, but at the moment all I can say is that it is a comedy about time travel.
Our offices are located on "007 Drive" which intersects with "Goldfinger Avenue". I had been lead to believe that the studio roads would be filled with people carrying wafer-light Grecian columns and flat boards with realistic scenery painted on, while actors dressed as Nazis and Cowboys stood around smoking. None of these things have so far happened. In fact, it feels very much like any other factory environment, with gum chewing bored fat blokes wondering around in dirty overalls. The fact that they are all wearing razor sharp bowler hats is a nice detail, however.
In April I was telling jokes on stage for a living. This is no longer the case. I am very happy about this new direction in my life.
The producers have instructed me to refrain from revealing anything about the production at the moment, including; title, actors, funding partners etc. Hopefully I will be able to reveal more soon, but at the moment all I can say is that it is a comedy about time travel.
Our offices are located on "007 Drive" which intersects with "Goldfinger Avenue". I had been lead to believe that the studio roads would be filled with people carrying wafer-light Grecian columns and flat boards with realistic scenery painted on, while actors dressed as Nazis and Cowboys stood around smoking. None of these things have so far happened. In fact, it feels very much like any other factory environment, with gum chewing bored fat blokes wondering around in dirty overalls. The fact that they are all wearing razor sharp bowler hats is a nice detail, however.
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