Níl áon thinteán mar a thinteán homestead as we used to say in the 80's and 90's.
I miss Waterford very much (everybody say awwwwww now and get it over with. Now.) so at the least opportunity I hop on an auld flight and head back to recharge me Déise batteries. Or drink meself stupid as is most often the case. When I'm poor I thank God for Ryanair and when I'm feeling a bit rich I say thank God for Aer Arann, but poor or rich I will never thank god for the bus from Dublin. Four and a half hours of pure torture which ruins any happy homecoming to the land of blaas and the blues. I tell ya my heart always sinks when I see the sign for the Naas bypass only to realise that the bus is not going to avail of it and happily heads the long way. I hate it when I see the Gem approaching. Some day I'll blow it up. Needless to say I get the train when I can. It's not that much better but more than somewhat.
There are various factors that come into play when I plan a trip home. The only time I can go home is when I'm not working on a show in England (Except for this Christmas when I flew home for Christmas day. Lovely day but I was not a happy bunny sitting on a plane at 8.00 on Stephen's morning heading back to Birmingham to do two shows! Painful!) and in those times of unemployment I need to be auditioning. So the best time for me to go home really is when i know I have work coming up, as was the case when I finished filming Judge John Deed. I had about three and a half weeks until I began rehearsals for Wind in the Willows, so I started making plans to head home because surely there won't be any auditions I can do between now and July.
Don't bet on it.
I was just about to book me flight when the agent rang,
"You have an audition for a new film version of Pride and Prejudice. You need to do an RP (posh English) accent. I've told them you can do that. Can you do that?"
Of course I can do an RP accent, was it not with an RP accent that I wowed the audiences at Regent's Park last summer as that sorry English fop Sir Thurio in The two Gentlemen of Verona? Well maybe not wowed but they didn't know i was Irish that was for sure. Hey look I got nominated for a frigging award for it so it can't have been that bad.
"Yes I can do that."
Sound. So I now know when I can go home and as I'm waiting for the script to be biked over to me from Working Title Films (I kid you not! I'm going up in the world!) I hop onto good old Ryanair.com and book meself a lovely flight to dublin for £15 including taxes. How bad. At prices like that i don't mind the journey to Waterford. The train mind, NOT the bus. I hang around for the few days to do the audition taking in a few shows, being the culture vulture that I am, two of which are the press nights for this year's Shakespeares at Regent's park which feature Waterford's best known redhead Mr. Keith Dunphy. And pretty good they are too, helped of course by the fact that because I'm about to be working there myself I get a handsome discount at the bar. Sweet. Oh it shall be a very merry summer methinks!
The audition goes ok, I would say it went very well only for me and me big mouth saying stupid stuff. I arrive at Working Title's office on Oxford Street on the hottest day of the year so far, full biked over script in hand and I'm ushered into a room by a very pleasant casting director. Her first words were;
"Hi jamie, please follow me, I thought you were great in Calico by the way, congratulations."
Nice one! Well that's a good start. How bad. I'm then introduced to the producer and the director.
"Hi Jamie, pleased to meet you. Well done on Calico by the way I saw it on press night and really liked your performance."
Ah Jesus! This is the business. They've already seen and liked my work so that calms me down no end, but maybe too much as the chat is flowing freely for the next few minutes. But they're a grand crowd of people. Then the director's ready to do a little reading. No problem buddy. And I ask him, seeing as the scene is set in a church during a sermon, does he want the delivery 'Colla Voce'? It's only after i say it do I realise. I try to impress the panel by using a musical term, ya know me with the degree in music and all that, and I only give him the wrong one! I should have said 'Sotto Voce'! But it's ok, they'll never know.
"Don't you mean 'Sotto Voce'?" Quoth the producer, who heretofore has been very quiet.
"Yes," I reply, "that'd do too."
What a pleb.
But the reading goes well, and he gets me to do it a few times and films me and all seems pretty cool. they seem pretty happy and we part company and as I'm leaving I utter the immortal line;
"Bye now, enjoy the weather."
Its one of the nicest days of the year and these poor people are stuck in a stuffy casting room for hours on end and I say that. You can only laugh. Otherwise you'd cry. Ah well I have me trip home to look forward to don't I? Well, not necessarily. The day after the phone goes and its the agent telling me I have an audition for an Irish play that's going on at the Glasgow Citizen's Theatre. This is from a tip off I received from that stalwart buachaill Dermot Crowley whom I had the great honour to share the stage with in Calico. He had been offered it and turned it down, but rang me to leave me know it was happening and that I should get on to my agent as there were a couple of good roles in it for me. Top man. Top actor.
"They want to see you Tuesday."
Aw crap. That, of course, is the day i have my flight booked for. Ah well it was only 15 squid, that won't break me. I'll get a cheap flight for the next day. Not a sign of a cheap flight whatsoever, big money. So I say feck it and I splash out on a flight straight to Waterford. 70 notes. Janey its like the days before Ryanair. I grit me teeth and buy it and think of the comfort. The audition goes well though so it seems to be worth it. I had met the casting director for the theatre before when I worked in Scotland in 2002 on Carousel. back then she was very pleasant but i don't think she was very interested as i had only musicals on my CV at that stage, but now was a different matter. The auld CV is a tiny bit better. So in I go and meet two directors and a designer. The Director of the Irish play greets me;
"Hi Jamie, pleased to meet you. Well done on Calico by the way I really liked you in it."
Already I'm a happy camper. I'm liking this trend. The side-effects of Calico are finally being felt. Sound. And it goes really well. I had read the entire play before I went in, 'A Whistle in the Dark' by Tom Murphy, terrific play. She likes my reading and asks me to read a couple more pages (good sign). She's happy and the other director asks me to read a scene from another play they're doing (Very good sign). I like sight reading because its real shit or bust stuff and some good things can come out of nowhere. And indeed it does go well and he explains to me that they might be casting the same people in both plays (through casting as its called) so happy days. I leave, obviously none the wiser whether I'm going to be doing it or not but feeling good after a good audition and happy that I stayed for the day. But happier again that I'm going home the next day. And so home I fly, back to the land of the Déise and the crystal and the lovely blaas in the morning and family and friends and.......Bulmers! That fine sweet cider which is very hard to obtain in the London (Strongbow is rank). It's not good for ya, indeed its the cause of many an ulcer over the years and I gave up drinking cider last year, but I always have a few large bottles when I go home. You just have to. I'm off the plane, up to me mother's for chops for dinner, down to me grandmother's (Where I live when I'm home) for a chat and then straight out into town. And sure I got quite drunk me first night there on the fine alcoholic apple juice from Clonmel. MMMMMM Lovely. Perfect day, in other words, to start a grand 2 and a half weeks of me holidays. Spain? Greece? Italy? Feck all them! Give me Waterford. I wake up me second day there with a nice mild cider hangover and tuck into me ham blaas and I'm very very content. No stress of the London. Time to chill out.
The phone rings.
It's the agent.
"You have a meeting with the casting director of Neil Jordan's new film."
Holy shit! THE Neil Jordan of The Crying Game, Interview with the Vampire and Michael Collins fame?
"He's doing a movie of the novel 'Breakfast on Pluto'. Do you know it?"
Not a hope, but who cares its Neil fecking Jordan! When's the meeting? WHEN'S THE MEETING?!?!?!
"Wednesday."
Crap.
I'm just home and I have to go back. Hang on though! Neil Jordan? Irish movie? Is the meeting in London or.......Dublin????
"London."
Crap.
I book me flights a half hour later, again from Waterford. No sooner than I have them booked and the €130 (ouch) paid on the credit card (I'll be sorry in the end) than the phone goes again, but this time it's not the agent its the casting director from the Glasgow Citizen's Theatre.
"Hello Jamie, we were wondering if you were available to come in to read some more of the French play with us."
Please let it be Wednesday........
"We'd like to see you tomorrow."
Crap.
I guess they were happy with what I had done for the Irish play but wanted to hear me do more of the other. Common practice, just shite timing. If only they didn't want to through cast I might have a lovely Irish play to go to after Wind in the Willows. A bit of meat to follow a bit of Toad. But no. I politely tell her that I'm in Ireland and would be back in london the following Wednesday if that was any help.
"I'll mention that to the director."
I have yet to hear from her.
But not to worry, sure I had a meeting for a new Neil Jordan film. How Feckin' bad? The few days leading up to going back are filled with the usual sights sounds and characters of the town i loved so well and a huge amount of booze is imbued (Not all cider I hasten to add as I am happy to keep the lining of my stomach) parties were sought and found for the most part. I sat in Adrian Dowers house at 6.30am, after a party, off me head, watching a video of a local production of Sweeney Todd and still I did not feel I was pushing the envelope. 3 nights on the trot not getting to bed before 7am all was still fine. Twas only when I found myself falling asleep during Kill Bill 2 at (the now very long-haired) Robert's house that I felt, ok, enough, chill. I got to bed at 8 the following morning of course. Still I did not think it too many. And all this revelment despite the fact that the cost of a night out in waterford would cripple the economy of certain small 3rd world countries such is the price of happiness...sorry....alcohol in Ireland today. Mental. But thank god for the smoking ban. Now I can wear the same clothes the day after a night out. Not that I'd ever do that but its just nice to have the option now. The downside of course is the smell of BO that can now be registered from the area of Muldoons frequented by chaps from certain parts of the county. You also can't get away with leaving a sneaky fart out. Not that I'd ever do that but it was just nice to have the option. Enough of odours, I think you get the idea of the kind of break I was having. But it was all in a good cause. If I say that enough it'll come true.
So like a rich movie star this very poor stage actor hopped back to the London for a meeting, sure y'know? And it goes well. I arrive at the house of this very nice lady casting director and she invites me in;
"Hi Jamie, nice to meet you, thanks for coming. I have to apologise but I haven't seen a single thing you've done,"
Ah, well that's the end of that trend.
"Which you were obviously terrific in."
Now that's more like it! And of course the usual banter starts, your typical first meeting conversation. I mean what a job this is, it seems like I just sit around all day talking about myself..........no cheek from the back please! Anyway she gets on to talking about the film;
"I'm afraid you're not right for the part I had you in mind for, you're too old."
Whaaaaaaaaaattttttttt???????!!!?!?!?!?!?!? ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY YOYOS TO HEAR THAT!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?
"The character begins at 14 and ages up."
Ah sure that's alright then. 14 I can't do, but have you seen my 23?
"That said though I would like to get you in to meet Neil, he's asked me to find new Irish actors rather than the same people that are in every Irish movie."
Well that's me to a tee baby! I'm in no Irish movie whatsoever. So how bad. She says that she will take a good look at the breakdown to see if there is anything else I could get seen for, but she is very positive and wants to bring her daughter to see Wind in the Willows. Nice one. And I leave feeling that I haven't wasted a load of Euros by coming back, it seemed like a very constructive afternoon. But still no news from Working title and still no news from Glasgow either. Well we'll see, for all of that would have to wait. I had thought about just going back to the London and staying there until Wind in the Willows started, thereby saving money on flights and lethal nights on the sauce and cider. Yeah I could have done that. But I bought a return ticket for the next day. I had to.
Waterford were playing Cork in the Munster Hurling Final.
And I had a ticket.
Tuesday, June 22, 2004
Tuesday, June 08, 2004
9. LIGHTS! CAMERA! INACTION!
It was one small step for an actor but one giant leap for me!
Television never seemed an option to me. When I decided to become a professional actor the stage was all I thought would be in my future and very happy I was with that thought too. Of course the reality of the situation is that if you want to be successful in theatre these days you also have to be successful on screen. As is so often the case now, theatres and companies are more and more interested in getting 'names' to appear in their productions. If you do a three month stint on a soap its good odds you'll be cool when you want to get a theatre job because you'll be 'so and so' from Hollyoaks or whatever. A very good example of this is a guy called Nigel Harman with whom I did a concert about two years ago at the open Air in Regent's Park. Little did I know that the guy dancing beside me in the kick line from Pirates of Penzance would, a few months later, turn up as Dirty Den's illegitimate son in the king of cockney soaps; Eastenders. This was a guy who had jobbed around for years playing chorus and small roles in musicals and with that one break on the telly he is now on the cover of Heat magazine every second week. Now that is not a fate I wish for myself to be honest (nor would I wish it on the rest of ye, imagine my ugly mug staring at you from the magazine shelfs!) but when Nigel Harman leaves Eastenders he will have the pick of the roles in theatre. Now that's the fate I would wish for myself. I can only get so far up the ladder in theatre without needing to be a 'name'. Now that's easier said than done because if you have no screen experience its very very hard to even get an audition for TV. So getting two lines on Judge John Deed was a start at least. It's just a pity Judge John doesn't have an illigitimate son! But surely this was going to be an exciting experience, my first telly. This was the big time, cameras, 'names'. Maybe I'll become so enamoured by TV production that I'll forget all about my love of the stage. The excitement of being on set, the buzz as the cameras roll, the constant character decisions having to be made on the spot because time is of the essence in this frenzied brilliant world of filming.
Jesus did I have wrong idea!
But let me rewind before the cameras start to roll. I'm not allowed to tell you that the Lord of the Rings workshop went really well, or that I think its going to be deadly when it comes out. I'm also not allowed to tell you that while we were doing the final read-through the american producer sat basically right next to me. I'm not telling you that said producer was hollywood legend Saul Zaentz who produced (among other things) One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, Amadeus and The English Patient. I'm definitely not telling you how shit-scared i was doing the reading. So don't ask. I'm sworn to secrecy. I can tell you about afterwards though. After the workshop is finished we retire to the bar in the theatre where we rehearsed for a celebratory drink, all of us now hoping that we did well enough today to be considered to be part of the full production. The phone goes and its the 1st assistant director from Judge John deed telling me that my call for filming the following morning is for 7.30 and that a car will pick me up at 6.30. Jesus. That's early. But hey, that's the telly life for ya! A car to pick me up? Hey hey, now I know I've made it, 2 lines or not. A car is picking me up. Well I had two things to celebrate so and needless to say i did.
I regretted it when I finally made it to bed at two in the morning knowing I had to be up at 5.30! God will I ever cop on.
So there I was looking like shite and feeling a whole lot worse than I looked as I was driven at an ungodly hour in the morning to an american college near Watford where all the courtroom scenes are filmed. And I start getting nervous. I've never done anything like this before and the two other actors in my car are old hands at it. Their conversation and vast knowledge of the craft of screen acting is starting to give me the shits in a big way. But I'm acting all cool and not letting on that I'm about to pop my celluloid cherry. We arrive at the unit base (see, the jargon is already like a second language to me!) and the morning went something like this:
7.30: Into costume. Being a journalist I thought I might have a nice suit, maybe without a tie so as to show I'm casual but serious about getting the story. Nope. I get a khaki shirt over which is put a khaki jumper along with a pair of navy trousers and a dull grey jacket (not of the suit variety). My telly debut will not be glamorous. I look like I work for the frigging Daily Sport (the dodgy rag which sports a nipple count every issue on page 2....not that i'd know of course). Ah well. I'm offered breakfast tho which I politely decline as I had something before I left the flat, but i've made a mental note for tomorrow.
7.45: Makeup. Now this is far less painful. Just a little bit of foundation and powder and suddenly as if by magic I'm a tv actor. Sound.
8.00: On set. This was the long walk. I'm brought over to the set by a few of the other actors all dressed as British courtroom types. Each in turn look at me and ask me who i am in this episode. I think they're taken aback at the fact that I look like the bloody convict than a journalist. Anyway. On to the set and in this large room in the college they have this replica of a british courtroom. Mad. All around it are the cameras and monitors and this guy is shouting at that guy and this fella's running here and another fella's running there and I'm introduced to the lead actress in the series and i meet the 1st AD (assistant director dontchaknow. I'm getting very good with me terms at this stage) and suddenly I'm starting to get a bit excited about it all. I know I don't have any lines in the courtroom but i guess I'll have some reaction shots and so on so that'll be cool and the buzz is starting to build as the set gets ready and I'm getting ready to make my screen debut and the auld acting muscles are starting to flex in preparation and I'm ready for my close up now Mr. DeMille and the 1st AD comes over to me and my heart leaps.....this is it.
'Ok Jamie we won't be needing you for this shot so if you want go outside and wait in the artiste's chairs, we'll call you when we're ready for you.'
Oh.
Ok so. Fair enough. But the artiste's chairs boy, now that's more like it. Out I go into this courtyard and a group of people have gathered and they're all quite well dressed etc. and I'm guessing they're in this episode as well. But they're all sitting on bucket seats against the wall of the building while in the middle of the courtyard there's a small canopy under which are about 8 comfortable chairs. But I decide to sit with the people against the wall. I plop myself down on a seat beside some jovial looking chap dressed like a security guard and say hello after which he grunts at me. Riiiight. Well it seems I was sitting in his buddies chair. Oh right sorry all you had to do was say. But it soon becomes clear that I'm not very welcome on any seats against the wall. It turns out that the people against the wall (who seem to group into their own little cells and stay there and not really talk to anyone else) are supporting artistes. Or extras. They are here to make up the numbers for such things as the jury and the press and all that seperates me from them is my two lines. It seems that a very definite line is drawn between the Artistes and supporting artistes and very seldom do the twain mix. It also transpires that they are on better money than me so now I definitely don't want to talk to them. So I plop meself down on one of the comfortable chairs under the canopy. Sure I wont be there long as they'll be out soon to bring me in to do my stuff. Yes I'm sure they will. Any time now. Won't they?
11.00: Still sitting under the canopy. I haven't moved from that spot in three hours. I think my legs have gone numb. Me arse definitely has. But the waiting occasionally broken when some of the actors are released from the scene they're filming. They're a grand crowd of very experienced men and we have a good old natter any time they're out. One of them had seen one of the shakespeare's I was in at the park last year, but can't for the life of him remember me in it. Lovely. It's a pity I hadn't brought my phone and my book over from my dressing room. They would have been handy, but not to worry. Surely I'll be needed any second now to give my eagle eyed journalist. Yes. Any second now.
13.00: Still sitting under the canopy. After a while I had started dozing off to sleep. Being on the piss the night before will do that to ya. But at one stage I open me eyes to find Mr. Martin Shaw sitting beside me staring at me with disapproval.
"How're ya boy?" quoth the Déise boy.
"Hello." quoth the TV star. And not a word more.
Right so that's the end of me sleeping
But jesus I wish i had me phone on me, just so I could send a text. One measly little text so that someone else can share in my utter boredom. Or at least my book, this is a perfect opportunity to whack through me current read. Ah crap why oh why did I leave them behind me. I'm looking over at the supporting artistes and they have their phones and their books and they think they're so brilliant and what have I got nothing. Jesus. But you never know they still might get to me before lunch.
13.30: Lunch. Nope they didn't get to me. But i'm starving and eating always relieves boredom. But it turns out that this set is not like other sets TV shows (not that I'd have a clue) in that its a completely vegetarian set. I kid you not. You aren't even allowed to bring meat with you onto the premises. This is due to the producer being an extremely strict vegan. And so we all are now. You can even see his dog wandering around the set with a sign on his collar saying -I'm a vegetarian- Riiiiiiight. So I queue up for me pumpkin and spinach curry and it tastes as good as it sounds. Rank. But hey ho. It's pretty healthy I'm sure. Although the conversation over lunch seems to revolve around what people wouldn't do just to have a bacon roll. I leave the table early though so I can run back to the dressing room and get my phone and my book, which will undoubtedly save my life and my sanity in the hours to come.
14.30: Back on set, but this time armed with me weapons of literature and communication. Lots of texts are being sent in the hope that someone will help relieve the stifling boredom. Out of the corner of my eye I notice 3 middle aged lady supporting artistes striding up the courtyard. Nothing too strange about that says you although they are perfectly in step with other and seem to have some kind of steely determination. What is strange is when I see the very same sight about 3 more times when I realise that they are exercising by doing laps of the courtyard. And this continues for about half an hour and I'm starting to get dizzy and a bit freaked by it to be honest when all of a sudden the 2nd AD comes out of the building and says
"Jamie, we're ready for you now."
And my heart jumps. This is it. And I look at my watch so that I know what time this momentous moment occured in my career. My first time in the can began at 15.00.
15.05: Back outside in the courtyard. Well that was exciting. Sat at the side of the courtroom and took notes for 2 minutes. I have a feeling that there was part of my elbow in the shot and nothing more. Ah well back to reading Porno (The Irvine Welsh novel that is) and our valiant walkers are still doing laps of the courtyard.
17.00: My journalistic skills have not been required since that burst of activity at 15.00 but the sandwiches arrive for the tea time break. And what a selection they are. I learn very quickly that I should get to the sandwiches as early as I can or else all the egg mayonnaise will have been swiftly procured because the others on the menu are quite shite. Banana and chocolate spread or vegetarian spam salad do not in any way appeal to me or indeed probably to most western cultures. The cakes aren't bad though. I can see myself on Trisha now 'TV drama made me fat!'
18.00: Slight dementia is setting in but I'm kept sane by the knowledge that we must finish shooting by 19.00. The other actors are spending more time in the yard as well and there's a good bit of banter, including a chat with Martin Shaw about the plane he owns and flies every week. Jesus I don't even have a car!!!
18.30: Oh joy!! More note taking.
19.00: That's a wrap! Thank jesus! Off we all trot get ready and get our cars home. Knackered. Just as I'm leaving they tell me that my car will pick me up at 6.30 the following morning. Lovely.
And if you start at the top of that description of my first day of filming and read through it twice again you'll get the story of what happened for my next two days of filming. Literally it was groundhog day but without the wacky antics of Bill Murray. So this is TV. Right. But that wasn't the end of my Judge John Deed experience. I still had to say my lines.
A week later I'm outside a real courtroom in Aylesbury and its the hottest day of the year so far and I'm dressed in three layers of clothing and absolutely baking. It's all very swift I'm told where to stand we do a quick rehearsal and we're cool, ready to go. But the actor playing the accused has a problem with his first lines.
"I think it needs another line from the journalist to lead me into the press conference."
What a gent! Suddenly instead of two lines I now have THREE!!! Bring it on! Cause I'm ready for my close up NOW! And it goes swimmingly. There's no fear of me forgetting me lines because they're written on the journo notepad I'm pretending to be writing on (Well Brando always had his lines pinned to the set so he could just read them!).
"Mr. Ferns, would you care to comment on the verdict?" (Wrote that one meself!)
"What are your plans?"
"What would you do with them?"
And all delivered in me best blaa accent. I hope they're not writing into points of view asking why on earth there was an Irish journalist covering a trial in the south coast of England. I'd love the controversy though! We do a few takes from different angles and I'm suddenly feeling part of this, feeling like a telly actor instead of set dressing. I'm excited. It's only three lines but it's a bit of a buzz and the director even speaks to me for the first time.
"God, you must be very hot dressed like that."
Master of understatement him. Makeup need to mop my brow and apply powder every now and then. Makes me feel important.
"Aaaaaaand cut! That's a wrap, thank you."
And that was it. Me first telly. Well I saw every aspect of it from the waiting to the hectic rush of having to get it in the can before lunch. It will never be as good as theatre though, that's where my real passion lies. Ah yes, treading the boards! A live audience every night! Of course when I get the cheque for four days filming from the BBC and compare it to the average weekly theatre wage I feel I could be swayed to do some more telly work. Oh yes.
A thought strikes me though. I'll be able to watch myself on the telly. No feckin way! Not a hope! Then another thing strikes me. Everyone will be able to watch it! It's on telly for jesus' sake!!!!! Aw crap. So I decide not to tell a soul when its going to be on in the hope no one will see it. And of course my real friends won't watch it because they value our friendship. So they won't.
It's not too much of a worry though.
There's decent odds that most people will blink and miss me.
Television never seemed an option to me. When I decided to become a professional actor the stage was all I thought would be in my future and very happy I was with that thought too. Of course the reality of the situation is that if you want to be successful in theatre these days you also have to be successful on screen. As is so often the case now, theatres and companies are more and more interested in getting 'names' to appear in their productions. If you do a three month stint on a soap its good odds you'll be cool when you want to get a theatre job because you'll be 'so and so' from Hollyoaks or whatever. A very good example of this is a guy called Nigel Harman with whom I did a concert about two years ago at the open Air in Regent's Park. Little did I know that the guy dancing beside me in the kick line from Pirates of Penzance would, a few months later, turn up as Dirty Den's illegitimate son in the king of cockney soaps; Eastenders. This was a guy who had jobbed around for years playing chorus and small roles in musicals and with that one break on the telly he is now on the cover of Heat magazine every second week. Now that is not a fate I wish for myself to be honest (nor would I wish it on the rest of ye, imagine my ugly mug staring at you from the magazine shelfs!) but when Nigel Harman leaves Eastenders he will have the pick of the roles in theatre. Now that's the fate I would wish for myself. I can only get so far up the ladder in theatre without needing to be a 'name'. Now that's easier said than done because if you have no screen experience its very very hard to even get an audition for TV. So getting two lines on Judge John Deed was a start at least. It's just a pity Judge John doesn't have an illigitimate son! But surely this was going to be an exciting experience, my first telly. This was the big time, cameras, 'names'. Maybe I'll become so enamoured by TV production that I'll forget all about my love of the stage. The excitement of being on set, the buzz as the cameras roll, the constant character decisions having to be made on the spot because time is of the essence in this frenzied brilliant world of filming.
Jesus did I have wrong idea!
But let me rewind before the cameras start to roll. I'm not allowed to tell you that the Lord of the Rings workshop went really well, or that I think its going to be deadly when it comes out. I'm also not allowed to tell you that while we were doing the final read-through the american producer sat basically right next to me. I'm not telling you that said producer was hollywood legend Saul Zaentz who produced (among other things) One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, Amadeus and The English Patient. I'm definitely not telling you how shit-scared i was doing the reading. So don't ask. I'm sworn to secrecy. I can tell you about afterwards though. After the workshop is finished we retire to the bar in the theatre where we rehearsed for a celebratory drink, all of us now hoping that we did well enough today to be considered to be part of the full production. The phone goes and its the 1st assistant director from Judge John deed telling me that my call for filming the following morning is for 7.30 and that a car will pick me up at 6.30. Jesus. That's early. But hey, that's the telly life for ya! A car to pick me up? Hey hey, now I know I've made it, 2 lines or not. A car is picking me up. Well I had two things to celebrate so and needless to say i did.
I regretted it when I finally made it to bed at two in the morning knowing I had to be up at 5.30! God will I ever cop on.
So there I was looking like shite and feeling a whole lot worse than I looked as I was driven at an ungodly hour in the morning to an american college near Watford where all the courtroom scenes are filmed. And I start getting nervous. I've never done anything like this before and the two other actors in my car are old hands at it. Their conversation and vast knowledge of the craft of screen acting is starting to give me the shits in a big way. But I'm acting all cool and not letting on that I'm about to pop my celluloid cherry. We arrive at the unit base (see, the jargon is already like a second language to me!) and the morning went something like this:
7.30: Into costume. Being a journalist I thought I might have a nice suit, maybe without a tie so as to show I'm casual but serious about getting the story. Nope. I get a khaki shirt over which is put a khaki jumper along with a pair of navy trousers and a dull grey jacket (not of the suit variety). My telly debut will not be glamorous. I look like I work for the frigging Daily Sport (the dodgy rag which sports a nipple count every issue on page 2....not that i'd know of course). Ah well. I'm offered breakfast tho which I politely decline as I had something before I left the flat, but i've made a mental note for tomorrow.
7.45: Makeup. Now this is far less painful. Just a little bit of foundation and powder and suddenly as if by magic I'm a tv actor. Sound.
8.00: On set. This was the long walk. I'm brought over to the set by a few of the other actors all dressed as British courtroom types. Each in turn look at me and ask me who i am in this episode. I think they're taken aback at the fact that I look like the bloody convict than a journalist. Anyway. On to the set and in this large room in the college they have this replica of a british courtroom. Mad. All around it are the cameras and monitors and this guy is shouting at that guy and this fella's running here and another fella's running there and I'm introduced to the lead actress in the series and i meet the 1st AD (assistant director dontchaknow. I'm getting very good with me terms at this stage) and suddenly I'm starting to get a bit excited about it all. I know I don't have any lines in the courtroom but i guess I'll have some reaction shots and so on so that'll be cool and the buzz is starting to build as the set gets ready and I'm getting ready to make my screen debut and the auld acting muscles are starting to flex in preparation and I'm ready for my close up now Mr. DeMille and the 1st AD comes over to me and my heart leaps.....this is it.
'Ok Jamie we won't be needing you for this shot so if you want go outside and wait in the artiste's chairs, we'll call you when we're ready for you.'
Oh.
Ok so. Fair enough. But the artiste's chairs boy, now that's more like it. Out I go into this courtyard and a group of people have gathered and they're all quite well dressed etc. and I'm guessing they're in this episode as well. But they're all sitting on bucket seats against the wall of the building while in the middle of the courtyard there's a small canopy under which are about 8 comfortable chairs. But I decide to sit with the people against the wall. I plop myself down on a seat beside some jovial looking chap dressed like a security guard and say hello after which he grunts at me. Riiiight. Well it seems I was sitting in his buddies chair. Oh right sorry all you had to do was say. But it soon becomes clear that I'm not very welcome on any seats against the wall. It turns out that the people against the wall (who seem to group into their own little cells and stay there and not really talk to anyone else) are supporting artistes. Or extras. They are here to make up the numbers for such things as the jury and the press and all that seperates me from them is my two lines. It seems that a very definite line is drawn between the Artistes and supporting artistes and very seldom do the twain mix. It also transpires that they are on better money than me so now I definitely don't want to talk to them. So I plop meself down on one of the comfortable chairs under the canopy. Sure I wont be there long as they'll be out soon to bring me in to do my stuff. Yes I'm sure they will. Any time now. Won't they?
11.00: Still sitting under the canopy. I haven't moved from that spot in three hours. I think my legs have gone numb. Me arse definitely has. But the waiting occasionally broken when some of the actors are released from the scene they're filming. They're a grand crowd of very experienced men and we have a good old natter any time they're out. One of them had seen one of the shakespeare's I was in at the park last year, but can't for the life of him remember me in it. Lovely. It's a pity I hadn't brought my phone and my book over from my dressing room. They would have been handy, but not to worry. Surely I'll be needed any second now to give my eagle eyed journalist. Yes. Any second now.
13.00: Still sitting under the canopy. After a while I had started dozing off to sleep. Being on the piss the night before will do that to ya. But at one stage I open me eyes to find Mr. Martin Shaw sitting beside me staring at me with disapproval.
"How're ya boy?" quoth the Déise boy.
"Hello." quoth the TV star. And not a word more.
Right so that's the end of me sleeping
But jesus I wish i had me phone on me, just so I could send a text. One measly little text so that someone else can share in my utter boredom. Or at least my book, this is a perfect opportunity to whack through me current read. Ah crap why oh why did I leave them behind me. I'm looking over at the supporting artistes and they have their phones and their books and they think they're so brilliant and what have I got nothing. Jesus. But you never know they still might get to me before lunch.
13.30: Lunch. Nope they didn't get to me. But i'm starving and eating always relieves boredom. But it turns out that this set is not like other sets TV shows (not that I'd have a clue) in that its a completely vegetarian set. I kid you not. You aren't even allowed to bring meat with you onto the premises. This is due to the producer being an extremely strict vegan. And so we all are now. You can even see his dog wandering around the set with a sign on his collar saying -I'm a vegetarian- Riiiiiiight. So I queue up for me pumpkin and spinach curry and it tastes as good as it sounds. Rank. But hey ho. It's pretty healthy I'm sure. Although the conversation over lunch seems to revolve around what people wouldn't do just to have a bacon roll. I leave the table early though so I can run back to the dressing room and get my phone and my book, which will undoubtedly save my life and my sanity in the hours to come.
14.30: Back on set, but this time armed with me weapons of literature and communication. Lots of texts are being sent in the hope that someone will help relieve the stifling boredom. Out of the corner of my eye I notice 3 middle aged lady supporting artistes striding up the courtyard. Nothing too strange about that says you although they are perfectly in step with other and seem to have some kind of steely determination. What is strange is when I see the very same sight about 3 more times when I realise that they are exercising by doing laps of the courtyard. And this continues for about half an hour and I'm starting to get dizzy and a bit freaked by it to be honest when all of a sudden the 2nd AD comes out of the building and says
"Jamie, we're ready for you now."
And my heart jumps. This is it. And I look at my watch so that I know what time this momentous moment occured in my career. My first time in the can began at 15.00.
15.05: Back outside in the courtyard. Well that was exciting. Sat at the side of the courtroom and took notes for 2 minutes. I have a feeling that there was part of my elbow in the shot and nothing more. Ah well back to reading Porno (The Irvine Welsh novel that is) and our valiant walkers are still doing laps of the courtyard.
17.00: My journalistic skills have not been required since that burst of activity at 15.00 but the sandwiches arrive for the tea time break. And what a selection they are. I learn very quickly that I should get to the sandwiches as early as I can or else all the egg mayonnaise will have been swiftly procured because the others on the menu are quite shite. Banana and chocolate spread or vegetarian spam salad do not in any way appeal to me or indeed probably to most western cultures. The cakes aren't bad though. I can see myself on Trisha now 'TV drama made me fat!'
18.00: Slight dementia is setting in but I'm kept sane by the knowledge that we must finish shooting by 19.00. The other actors are spending more time in the yard as well and there's a good bit of banter, including a chat with Martin Shaw about the plane he owns and flies every week. Jesus I don't even have a car!!!
18.30: Oh joy!! More note taking.
19.00: That's a wrap! Thank jesus! Off we all trot get ready and get our cars home. Knackered. Just as I'm leaving they tell me that my car will pick me up at 6.30 the following morning. Lovely.
And if you start at the top of that description of my first day of filming and read through it twice again you'll get the story of what happened for my next two days of filming. Literally it was groundhog day but without the wacky antics of Bill Murray. So this is TV. Right. But that wasn't the end of my Judge John Deed experience. I still had to say my lines.
A week later I'm outside a real courtroom in Aylesbury and its the hottest day of the year so far and I'm dressed in three layers of clothing and absolutely baking. It's all very swift I'm told where to stand we do a quick rehearsal and we're cool, ready to go. But the actor playing the accused has a problem with his first lines.
"I think it needs another line from the journalist to lead me into the press conference."
What a gent! Suddenly instead of two lines I now have THREE!!! Bring it on! Cause I'm ready for my close up NOW! And it goes swimmingly. There's no fear of me forgetting me lines because they're written on the journo notepad I'm pretending to be writing on (Well Brando always had his lines pinned to the set so he could just read them!).
"Mr. Ferns, would you care to comment on the verdict?" (Wrote that one meself!)
"What are your plans?"
"What would you do with them?"
And all delivered in me best blaa accent. I hope they're not writing into points of view asking why on earth there was an Irish journalist covering a trial in the south coast of England. I'd love the controversy though! We do a few takes from different angles and I'm suddenly feeling part of this, feeling like a telly actor instead of set dressing. I'm excited. It's only three lines but it's a bit of a buzz and the director even speaks to me for the first time.
"God, you must be very hot dressed like that."
Master of understatement him. Makeup need to mop my brow and apply powder every now and then. Makes me feel important.
"Aaaaaaand cut! That's a wrap, thank you."
And that was it. Me first telly. Well I saw every aspect of it from the waiting to the hectic rush of having to get it in the can before lunch. It will never be as good as theatre though, that's where my real passion lies. Ah yes, treading the boards! A live audience every night! Of course when I get the cheque for four days filming from the BBC and compare it to the average weekly theatre wage I feel I could be swayed to do some more telly work. Oh yes.
A thought strikes me though. I'll be able to watch myself on the telly. No feckin way! Not a hope! Then another thing strikes me. Everyone will be able to watch it! It's on telly for jesus' sake!!!!! Aw crap. So I decide not to tell a soul when its going to be on in the hope no one will see it. And of course my real friends won't watch it because they value our friendship. So they won't.
It's not too much of a worry though.
There's decent odds that most people will blink and miss me.
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