Who cares if Becks is a terrible actor?
DAV ID Beckham is something of a phenomenon in my life. When I was a younger man there were myriad reasons to loathe the profound and peerless talent that the Manchester United and England captain possessed.
For a Scot and a season ticket-holder at Arsenal, Becks (as he is so innovatively nicknamed in true intellectual footballing style), the East London-born virtuoso athlete, had everything a man could get (including a lucrative global advertising contract from Gillette).
In his 20-year career he won 19 major trophies, becoming the first Englishman to win league titles in four different countries. While he played at Real Madrid his legs were insured by Lloyds for £100 million, surely considerably more than Danny McGrain’s beard ... David Beckham had the looks of a Grecian god, the inked physique of an athlete at the very height of his awesome ball-bending powers. He is an underwear model, desired in almost equal part by men and women (and, no doubt, a few household pets). His wife is also a hugely successful, almost equally iconic, pop star and fashion guru, who (while unable to dance and sing) was something of an icon to a generation of young girls who sought power. His charitable works are legend. He has been a Unicef ambassador for more than a decade, joining up at the height of his fame rather than leaving it until after he retired. His patronage of the Elton John Aids Foundation, Malaria No More and a panoply of other charities shows that he is more than a little com-
mitted to the notion of “giving something back”. I mean, as if that wasn’t enough he had a film named after him. (This would have been marginally less hateful had it not been for the fact that the writer/director of that film, Bend It Like Beckham, was my cousin, Gurinder Chadha.)
I think any reasonably-minded person would subscribe to my deeply envious yet well-argued hatred of David Beckham. But then …
I changed. Maybe I matured and moved away from petty club/country rivalries. Perhaps I saw beyond the marketing manipulation and managed to unmask the man and his mutability.
Whatever the reason, the older me found myself not only accepting Becks’s talent and ability but actively liking him. I found myself gradually becoming more and more passionate in my defence of one of the greatest Number 7s to wear the shirt.
IT seems that Becks has never been more in need of my stalwart defence than now. Having recently taken a cameo role in Guy Ritchie’s latest slickly stylish movie, King Arthur: Legend Of The Sword, playing the battle-hardened swordsman Trigger, it seems the only thing Becks is bending on-screen is credibility. Movie-goers seem to have universally panned the performance. I’ve watched it and while Beckham is unlikely to be bothering Bafta or alerting the Academy in terms of his acting prowess, I have seen worse cinematic performances.
Many might question why Becks felt the need to act. He seems to have a fairly wide portfolio of interests. I’m 48 – I hope to be working until the day they pop me in the box. Footballers are finished around 40. They have decades stretching out in front of them, years to fill with punditry, themed restaurants and haircare products. Why not try some acting?
UNLIKE his once team-mate Eric Cantona, Beckham doesn’t command charisma, he has no great screen presence. But having said that, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if one day an older, wiser Beckham might offer an altogether different performance.
It’s worth remembering the journey this man has made, a journey he has made with great aplomb, elegance and a sense of self that far outstrips those around him.
This was a poor lad from the East End who shot to global fame and turned out not to be a complete bampot. He turned out to be a thoroughly decent guy who just cannae act. It’s hardly life and death.