Hereafter

I always thought it would be better, to be a fake somebody... than a real nobody.
Tom Ripley, The Talented Mr Ripley, 2000.

I saw Clint Eastwood talking to a pigeon today.

That’s a hard line to follow or to justify, but it’s the truth. I saw the 79 year old Hollywood icon lean over and beckon seductively to a little grey pigeon and whisper in his gravelly voice, ‘Hey little bird.’ And to top it off Matt Damon is standing next to him staring adoringly at the scenario.

What the f.....!

This is probably the most surreal moment of my time so far in London, but it isn’t the only strange thing to happen to me this crisp Saturday on Liverpool Street. The day has been filled with unusual experiences and eccentric conversations on the set of Eastwood’s new movie, Hereafter. I sat on the coach to location with Tony from Skins (well his double anyway) who can blow bubbles from his mouth without the aid of swallowing Fairy liquid, befriended a biker with a broken knee who also has his own drag act and has had cosmetic surgery for channel four, talked about anti gravity, the Freemasons, government conspiracies and interstellar maps whilst filming a scene with Matt Damon and been approached by a well dressed inventor who ‘knows my face from somewhere.’ Ricky Gervais would have a field day with this material.

Working as an extra on a Hollywood movie, you meet a diverse and bizarre mix of characters with their own stories to tell and perform. And characters they are. It’s sometimes hard to tell what is fiction and what isn’t, in front of and behind the camera.

I wouldn’t normally consider a 79 year old talking to a bird to be strange...but it’s Clint Eastwood! A celluloid deity worshipped and adored by millions across the globe acting like a regular human being.

I won’t get into theories of celebrity worship but it’s fascinating to watch a Hollywood actor behaving more normally than the supposedly regular people playing the background roles.

I, on the other hand, played it cool all day. I listened and acted professionally when directed by the 2nd Assistant Director and even managed to contain my toothy grin when Matt Damon acknowledged me. But then Kathleen Kennedy showed up and ate a Panini in front of me...

For those who are unaware who Kathleen Kennedy is she’s the equivalent to God or Cleopatra (the Egyptian Queen not the nineties pop band) in Hollywood. She’s produced almost all of Steven Spielberg’s work and been responsible for some of the biggest and most cherished movies of the past 28 years (she was executive producer on The Goonies for Christ sakes!). Just check out her IMDB profile for evidence of her influence and Hollywood accolades.

I really felt quiet emotional standing just a few feet away from her as she sat at her seat, a sundried tomato hanging from her lips. I had a sudden urge to tell her how her movies had changed my life. How I had gone to the cinema ten times to watch Jurassic Park as a child, or how I’d decided to become a meteorologist at thirteen thanks to Twister or been moved to tears, in front of my eighteen year old mates, at A.I. Artificial Intelligence. But how do you articulate your admiration without looking like an utter weirdo or obsessed geek? I couldn’t frankly, because that’s what I am, a worshipping film fanatic in a surreal wonderland of cameras and lights. Instead I continued to gaze with unrequited admiration and let her finish her snack and mosey on over to Clint.

As filming wrapped for the day and I made my way back to the coach, a frenzy erupted as fans descended in a desperate attempt to see their icons. I caught a glimpse of the paraphernalia they had brought with them to get signed and couldn’t help but marvel at the perverse devotion we have as a society for movies and film celebrities. As I watched a mother thrust a picture of Clint Eastwood in The Good, the Bad and the Ugly towards security, I was thankful that I’d had the chance to glimpse a little of the man behind the movies. The real somebody.