IT SHOULDN’T HAPPEN TO A FILM JOURNALIST
Editor-at-Large JAMIE GRAHAM lifts the lid on film journalism.
Jamie on dancing with the Karate Kid’s girlfriend and not getting crane kicked.
Do this job for as long as I have and there will come a time when you find yourself dancing with a Hollywood star.
You’d perhaps think it would happen mainly at the afterparties of film premieres, but often the famouses are roped off in a VIP area away from the dancefloor, sipping drinks rather than bustin’ moves. I’ve hung out with the talent at premieres, but never actually danced with them: I downed shots from syringes with Johnny Knoxville at the Jackass: The Movie premiere, and chatted with Tarantino at the fancy shindig thrown for Inglourious Basterds (he called my wife, who was holding a beer in each hand, a “cool, doublefisting sweetheart”).
But the nearest I’ve come to dancing with someone at a premiere was at the Inherent Vice after-party at the New York Film Festival, when I performed a stiff-limbed shuffle within the general vicinity of Maya Rudolph. Then her hubby, Paul Thomas Anderson, sidled over. It was kind of cool because all of the music playing that night was from the Boogie Nights soundtrack, but rather than join in, he suggested it was time to leave, and they sashayed to the exit.
THROWING SHAPES
It wasn’t the first near miss I’d had. In 1999, a PR friend invited me to help him entertain a young actor named Christian Campbell, who was over from the US to promote indie romcom Trick.
I declined, only to find out on
Monday that Christian’s older sister Neve had travelled with him, and the two of them had gone clubbing with the PR until the early hours. Given I’m a horror nut who adored Scream – and who had, I must admit, a crush on Neve – I was gutted.
Still, it wasn’t long before I was attending a film quiz at Planet Hollywood and cut a rug on the dance floor with Emma Thompson. She’s a fantastic dancer; I’m shit. In fact, come to think of it, maybe that’s why I’ve never managed to land an interview with her in the two decades since.
My next dance of note was in 2003. It was at the London Critics’ Circle awards held at the Dorchester Hotel, and it was with – of all people – Peter Mullan. And while you probably think of him as the toxic brute in The Magdalene Sisters, Tyrannosaur and the like, he moved as gracefully as a sliver of silk in a summer breeze, his granite face cracked open in a wide smile as he got on down.
IF THE SHUE FITS
My colleagues, too, have danced with the stars. Reviews Editor Matthew watched on in awe at the European Film Awards as Barry Norman kept time to the beat with a glass of red in his hand, and Editor-in-Chief Jane once danced with Jean Dujardin, who managed to make boogieing while eating a miniature burger look elegant. Jane’s story impressed me, but not as much as the time she once danced so hard at a party she worked up a sweat, only to have Jonah Hill offer her a napkin at the bar to use as a wipe.
To this day, however, my best dance with a star was my very first. It happened when I was a trainee journalist in 1996, and my sister, who worked at the BBC, got me a ticket to a party at the BFI. I arrived to find Elisabeth Shue in attendance – she was on an Oscar campaign for Leaving Las Vegas – and the teen crush I’d had on her in The Karate Kid came flooding back. Anyway, long story short, I got incredibly drunk to work up the courage to chat to her, and wound up spinning her around the dancefloor later that night. It was a glorious experience, and one well worth the price of vomiting outside a kebab shop at 3am as I later stumbled home.
Jamie will return next issue… For more misadventures, follow: @jamie_graham9 on Twitter.
‘PETER MULLAN MOVED AS GRACEFULLY AS A SLIVER OF SILK IN A SUMMER BREEZE’