It’s in the Cannes…

Many people come to London to find fame, but I came here the other day and it found me in the form of an appearance in a film destined for Cannes. What’s more I didn’t have to spend years living on the bread-line sharing a shabby-chic flat with half-a-dozen other wannabes. No wearing fake Levi jeans and white t-shirts eating cornflakes in the afternoon. No auditioning whilst undertaking two part-time jobs, one canvassing shoppers on behalf of a perfume which would be put to better use as an air-freshener and the other one taste-testing anti-hallitosis dog food.

I’m a film star now. A true thespian. But I’m already thinking ahead. You have to constantly reinvent yourself in this kind of business. I’m already thinking I should start treading the boards in classical theatre with the works of Shakespeare, Marlowe, Stoppard, Richard Herring and Ben Elton. The true classics. Take a break from these contemporary roles.

My first role on camera was a topless one. I was young, and it was all treated artistically. The character required it. I was playing a boy who’d been plucked from drowning in the sea for an English project at school. Such fine acting performance would probably be banned these days by bearded men in tweed suits and plastic glasses who define what can and can’t be done at school for child-protection, but nevertheless it was to be my acting debut.
I’m not saying my latest performance was Oscar-winning. I mean, I’m no Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s. I’m not even George Peppard in that film, who later went on to play Colonel Hannibel in The A-Team. It’s not a role worthy of O’Toole or Guinness, but I wasn’t that bad either. I’ll probably get a Bafta.

There I was merrily minding my own business wandering Whitehall, avoiding the demonstrators in Parliament Square who were trying to show how civilised and environmentally-minded they were by damaging public property, littering and bashing each other around, when I was approached by a director. I always thought directors sat on chairs with their names on, smoked cigars and wore scarves that were heavily starched to make it look like they were taking part in a re-enactment of the Battle of Britain sitting in a Spitfire. Apparently I was wrong.

So I appeared in a film which is going to appear at the Cannes Film Festival. Probably. Standing on the Shoulders of Gants it was called. Apparently some of the £2 coins that are in circulation have the ‘i’ missing from their edging, and it centres around that. I’m playing an IT boffin. It’s clearly a typecast role, but I’ll let it pass. The lovely Sarah thinks it was because I was dressed smartly in a shirt, with a long dark coat, scarf and courier/laptop style bag. I think it was probably because I was trudging around the city with a sense of weariness and not fitting in with the world.

Warhol said that one day everybody would have their fifteen minutes of fame. We must have advanced considerably past that time because mine lasted about seven and a half. One minute I was taking pictures of Big Ben trying to avoid being caught in a human version of One man and his dog involving protestors and riot police, the next I have a camera and sound man giving me their undivided attention as Italian tourists and intrigued policeman look on.

I had to ad lib for my role, something I doubt Alec Guiness was encouraged to do in Star Wars, but then I’m very much a contemporary actor. I spoke about how I had heard of the ‘gant’ coins and had seen the websites. How I had always assumed it was a myth but yes it’s true they’re worth millions. Being part-geek, part method-actor, I had to come away and look it up on the interwebnet. There are sites about these coins, like this one. Or this one.

So there you have it ladies and gentleman of the Cannes jury. I hope you see fit to view my performance favourably. I have a merchandising contract in the pipeline that I’d like to buy me a penthouse apartment in Reykjavik if the film get worldwide distribution. Step aside Clooney, this is my year at Cannes…