AN ENGLISH WOMAN A BROAD
In the city that never sleeps, a midnight screening of Richard’s ‘Love Actually’ brings back memories
If you haven’t seen Love Actually, or have seen it and don’t like it, then you should probably give this week’s column a miss. For anybody left… read on.
The movie was written and directed by my current boyfriend, Richard; at 11.45pm on Saturday, we went with two of our children to watch a midnight screening – the first time Richard and I had seen the film in a cinema since the premiere in 2003, and the first time either of our kids had seen it on the big screen.
After four months in New York, the incredible 24-hour culture is beginning to seep in. I sometimes do the grocery shopping at 2am from one of the 24-hour delis near our house. Our chemist, the hairdressers, the hardware shop, the billiard room, a nearby gym, they’re all open from dawn till dawn – and the city never sleeping creates a feeling that almost anything is possible, at almost any time. We’d heard about late-night screenings of old movies, where the audience dress in character, say phrases along with the film, throw props around, etc, and were excited to see what they might do with our old Christmas chestnut.
If I’m honest, it wasn’t quite what we had imagined: three members of the audience were called Curtis, one was called Freud, and of the other four, two weren’t completely sober, and the other two a bit sleepy.
The movie starts with Hugh Grant’s voiceover saying something about looking at the arrivals gate at London Airport and realising love is all around. At this point, our 14-year-old son Charlie whispered to Richard: “Dad, when I get gloomy with the state of the world, I sure as f--- don’t think about the arrivals lounge at Heathrow.” I have absolutely no idea where he gets that bad language.
It was all a bit tough
on Richard – we groaned every time there was a montage, and kept count of the turtlenecks (22) whenever they appeared. When American President Thornton met British Prime Minister Grant, Charlie said: “Is this Dad’s attempt at politics? Really?” We remembered the little sock that Martin Freeman had worn on his private parts in the naked scenes, and that we’d only called Colin Firth’s character Jamie so that his screen nephews could shout “I hate Uncle Jamie”, which amused both Richard and his brother Jamie.
We got near-hysterical at the school Nativity scene, where our then seven-year-old daughter literally owned the nonspeaking role of Second Lobster. And by the time my now 18-year-old son appeared as the five-yearold Wise Man With SpiderMan Face Paint, we were chanting his name. Our laughter at all the serious bits meant I thought we might be told to leave, but nobody was awake to complain.
As the movie reached its climax, this was my moment: in the scene where Colin Firth proposes to the Portuguese girl in the restaurant, I was the
kissing consultant – and that actually is a job, thank you. My signature move was his thumb casually but meaningfully brushing her lip just before he planted his face on to hers. I am amazed I haven’t been employed in the position since.
When the credits rolled, Charlie begged Richard to make a curtain speech. Sadly, he thought it would be inappropriate, and as the four dozy customers toddled out, I felt there was no option but to shout after them: “My daughter was the second lobster!” It may not have been my finest hour – but this movie was our entire life for three years, involving most of our friends and family: the housekeeper in the line-up at Downing Street when Hugh Grant first arrives? That was my mum. In fact, she still is.
On our walk home, we passed a stall selling 6ft Christmas trees, still open at 2.30am – so useful for those late-night large-tree requirements – and I felt a bit like the Colin character in the movie… this is America, where almost anything is possible. And often, surprisingly, at midnight, actually.