Showing posts with label eva-jane. Show all posts
Showing posts with label eva-jane. Show all posts

Wednesday, 2 February 2011

Interview with Me by Steve Anderson

Reproduction of an interview originally published here.

Interview: Daniel Hoffmann-Gill

The Nottingham-born actor talks about slumming it as a teen and the tragedy that made him turn his life around.

Across the foyer of London’s Royal Festival Hall Daniel Hoffmann-Gill cuts an imposing figure. At 6ft 6in and thick cut, the actor, playwright and director is almost a giant. However, as he says goodbye to Rich, the designer for his upcoming play Our Style is Legendary, and scans the open-plan hall for his next appointment, I can’t help but think he looks like a lost little boy.

I approach Hoffmann-Gill, who is dressed in a scruffy wax jacket and ripped baggy jeans, and am greeted with a gentle handshake and a warm smile from behind a heavy moustache. It seems the lost boy analogy isn’t too far off as he tells me about his struggle growing up in Nottingham in the 1980s.

The only child of middle-class, entrepreneurial parents, Hoffmann-Gill was significantly better off than those living around him in the notorious St Ann’s area of the city, where racial tension and violence were prevalent. “It was interesting for me because it meant that I could experience a different way of life by making friends and hanging out in that community,” he says. “It was an important education for me.”
Hoffmann-Gill, now 34, describes his teenage years as a sad time, full of anger and violence, spawning from his relationship with an authoritarian father shaped by military discipline. “My dad had a lot of anger towards me and I had a lot of anger towards him. I think it’s a classic Oedipul thing, you want to kill your dad and have sex with your mum,” he tells me, not quite making clear whether he is joking or not.

His rough East Midlands accent comes alive when he spits expletives, passionately breaking his relaxed and soft-spoken demeanor: “I think it’s important when a son’s growing up and he knows he could smack the fuck out of his dad.”

His adolescent violence soon turned inwards as he started using drugs as a coping mechanism to deal with severe self-loathing, and was perfectly comfortable destroying a person he did not care about.
His life was to change very suddenly when he was 16, however, when his best friend Michael died of a heroin overdose.

Hoffmann-Gill reels off the date like it is eternally etched into his brain – “1992, 8th of December” – and for the first time, his easy, sprawling conversation becomes slower and more contemplative. It is less emotional than it is reflective; he has obviously come to terms with his friend’s death. Indeed, their relationship forms the backdrop to the autobiographical Our Style Is Legendary.

When Michael died, Hoffmann-Gill knew it was time to make a fresh start. “That part of my life literally died. That’s the way I believe things should be, if something goes wrong you have to chop the whole arm off otherwise it will kill you.”

A keen performer since an early age and nursed by “inspirational” school drama teachers, he decided to pursue a career in acting, as well as working with problem children in St Ann’s that were wandering down the same dark path he had.

Now working regularly as an actor, making a living from commercials and theatre, the self-loathing of Hoffmann-Gill’s teens has completely disappeared, as he boldly claims he now loves himself a great deal. “It’s not arrogance, but if you make your life reliant on other people giving you love to make yourself feel good, that means they can take it away and reduce you to fucking nothing.”

He says he still believes in a shared existence, however, and proudly tells me he is due to marry his fiancée Eva-Jane in December. The couple met four years ago when Hoffmann-Gill took over directorial duties on a play she was starring in. On a prompt sheet to remember the actors’ names he wrote ‘I love you’ next to hers. “It didn’t mean I loved her, she just looked great. I was like ‘fuck, she’s amazing’.”
Don’t count on the wedding being a big church ceremony though; as an avid science and philosophy reader, Hoffmann-Gill claims him and religion don’t mix. Counting Sartre and Nietzsche among his favourite writers, he calls the Bible and Koran “wonderful bits of writing, but nowhere how you want to live your life”.

“It doesn’t make any sense. Faith is just an excuse for bad ideas.”

Our Style is Legendary runs at the Tristan Bates Theatre, Covent Garden from March 14th until April 2nd. Tickets can be bought here.

Friday, 17 December 2010

Blurred Clarity is a Top Theatre Blog


W00t for me.

I shit you not.

I am the 13th best theatre blog according to these chaps. Read it and weep the rest of you.

Funny thing is my entry comes with a warning: "Beware adult language".

When I told Eva-Jane she was like, "Have they even read your blog? When do you blog about theatre anyway?"

I went on the defensive and said I last blogged about the theatre in August of this year and she snorted...which is unfair, I think she was just sarcastic and did not snort at all and then I had a sulk.

I win very few accolades, so I am clinging to this one like a manic crab.

If anyone has any other awards for me, please do drop me a line and boost my flagging self-esteem...

Tuesday, 7 December 2010

Sorry, it's Been A While...


I was mopping the kitchen after the engineer who came to service the boiler had left mucky footprints all over and I thought to myself I should really get back to blogging, so here I am, after a lengthy but genuine hiatus.

It really has been a while but I've had good reason.

As I said right here, I was busy touring with the excellent Full Body & The Voice, playing the character of Dr. Erich in the incredible "Hypothermia"; blessed with a fine cast of wonderful actors and that didn't finish until the 7th November.

I was lucky enough to come straight back to more filming for the BBC and reprising my comedy creation Kirky, the HD Hunter before embarking on a short film set in the wilds of South London, preparing a showcase at the Soho Theatre and, of course, juggling the organisation for the two biggest events in my life to date: my wedding to Eva-Jane and the debut of my play "Our Style is Legendary"

Phew.

But here I am, back in full blog effect...well, until I get utterly snowed under again.

Here we go, hold on tight!

Wednesday, 15 September 2010

The Aruba Files: Photo Montage

It's funny but in my previous post Highlander mentioned the similarity between Aruba (the Caribbean island just off-of Venezuela where I went on holiday and asked Eva-Jane to marry me) and the word shouted by John Fashanu on the seminal TV show "Gladiators", as evidenced right here:



Funny because just before I jetted off, I called my parents for the obligatory farewell before holiday and promise to text you when I land safely conversation. My mum put my dad on and as we talked about Aruba he mentioned that it didn't always use to be a tourist hot spot, which is quite true and it used to be a bit of a shit hole, also true, he then claimed that the reason it got to be a popular tourist destination is that during "Gladiators" John Fashanu would shout...

ARUBA!

And thus, the entire world decided to check this place out.

This is wrong on so many levels, first off, Fash the Bash is not shouting Aruba but AWOOGA and secondly, the island is popular with Americans who have never seen UK "Gladiators" and even if you did, would a retired football player shouting the word at you really be the deal breaker in spending an awful lot of cash on going there?

Naturally, being a good son, I said none of this and agreed whole-heartedly.

Anyway, here are a smattering of pictures of our holiday in paradise.












Monday, 13 September 2010

Back From Aruba!


I am back from Aruba and it was paradise.

Naturally, blogging will be light for a long while for too many wonderful reasons to mention...the main one being I asked Eva-Jane to marry me and she said yes!


Much to do and we are very tired...


Full debrief coming at you very soon.

Thursday, 26 August 2010

Our Story Will Be Told Brother Death (You're Never Over)



You'd have killed me man. Punched me on the tit or summat.

I was busy feeling mardy today, too easy sometimes to get all grumpy over nothing, to get all vexed over nowt like a right ponce. You know me right? Like I have anything to be mardy about? I'm alive for a start, have my health and a beautiful woman who loves me and I'm shooting a film and then going to a casting for a great play...fuck, my life is transformed; things too good to be true. What a fine life.

Then my Eva-Jane let me know some good news about our play "Our Style is Legendary", casting is going well and things are coming together on all fronts, exciting developments and it hit me hard, smacked me right out of my self-indulgent bullshit like a punch to the solar plexus.

Our story will be told Brother Death, people will come and watch versions of me and you nobbing around, mostly speaking verbatim what we said to each other all those fucking years ago homes, word-spears being thrown 20 years and still hitting the target as true as they did then. And that ain't even the best bit.

The best bit is you'll live again my Brother, you'll fucking be alive again my sweet boy, you'll be alive again for every single show, like a beautiful re-run and our story will be told and people will laugh and cry and hate us and love us and you will live again.

And I'll be there, every night, tears in my eyes, living every moment because you know me, I don't believe in that God bullshit, you're in a hole in the ground Brother but you live on in my heart and in our play and people will be able to see you as I saw you and love you.

I miss you.

I think of you often.

I really miss you.

I'll never forgot you homes.

Hope I make you proud.

I love you.

It's the best memoriam I could ever give you Mike.

I dedicate this song to you.

Peace.

Thursday, 19 August 2010

On The Cusp


I am currently on the cusp of yet another large job, tomorrow will be the do or die. If I secure it, further grand financial renumeration comes my way and further exposure and further advancement and so on and so on and so on.

My current exceptional run of form will either come to an abrupt end (it will have to sooner or later of course) or continue to new, giddy heights that will make the eventual fall all the greater. Such is the life I have gleefully chosen. No regrets. No fears.

The present is very much about juggling and maintaining momentum, as I am currently attempting to cast an actor with profile (ie: famous, ie: on the tele) for my play for next year, you have to move early to secure talent and have meetings lined up with some very exciting people indeed, performers I would be honoured to have in my play but so much is up in the air. It will be with some regret and a hint of relief when all is pinned down and "Our Style is Legendary" begins to fully take shape.

And then there are the impending commitments I have next week, filming and then preparation and packing, as on the 28th August, all being well, Eva-Jane and I go on a holiday of a lifetime to Aruba; a luxurious vacation with no expense spared as we indulge ourselves and each other. We deserve it.

So tomorrow is a day that will shape a large part of my near future, I approach it like any other, I have already achieved much in 2010, I will press for more of course but understand that any good run has to end because you get stitch and then vomit into a hedge.

Monday, 21 June 2010

Shed Your Tears And Walk Away


Yesterday Eva-Jane and I paid a visit to the ICA to watch an amazing documentary called "Shed Your Tears And Walk Away" and it is a phenomenal piece of film making, of sheer raw pain and a bleak reflection of the reality of life for large swathes of British people.

I urge you to see it or get on DVD when and if it comes out, it is an outstanding piece of filmmaking that documents a side of British life that is rarely seen. A life of drink, nihilism, drugs, friendship and a loss of a basic survival instinct; a sense of being trapped, of being utterly lost.

It is based in Hebden Bridge in Yorkshire but in reality, it could be a documentary of absolutely anywhere in the UK where hope has been lost and there is nothing, seemingly, to lose. One fear is that the situation in Hebden Bridge is seen as unique from this documentary, when it is endemic in the UK.

It reminded me, quite painfully, of elements of my own life, to be clear though, I was always on the periphery of social circles like this but it was, at times, like watching my own friends from the long distant past as they self-destructed and, crippled by fear, kept destroying themselves.

One of the reasons I left Nottingham was to avoid bumping into people from the past, letting me know who else was now dead, mad, locked up, fucked up. Text messages asking if I'd heard that so and so had hung himself or held up another beer-off, old muck-a-bouts begging us for a fiver.

The walking dead. Our British underclass. Nothing to do but shed your tears and walk away.

Tuesday, 8 June 2010

Meme Cancer: Coming Out of Remission in 2010


The above picture documents a female blogger checking if she has Meme Cancer, as first defined by Daniel Hoffmann-Gill in June 2005.

It's been a while since I got tagged with a meme but what the hell, it came from Savannah, who is alright by me, so here is my response to the aforementioned meme...

1. Is there one book that you re-read with some sort of regularity? (every two years, once a decade sort of thing) and if so, why?

The Bible, so I can remind myself of how utterly awful it is; usually some Nietzsche so I can remember that humanity is all there is and a smattering of Rollins, whenever I lose the urge to pound the keys so hard my hands bleed.

2. Do you still watch cartoons? And if so, which ones and why those in particular?

Yes, Family Guy is my latest box-set love affair and it rocks like you wouldn't believe...you bastard.



3. What's the one thing you can't imagine living without on a daily basis?

My Eva-Jane.

4. Take out/take away or home cooking more than three times a week?

Home cooking all the way and I do it as I am an actor and thus a house husband and I am very good at it. Dishes include Bobotie, fried chicken salad and a fine stew & dumplings.

5. Which is your most favorite room in your home?

Our front room because I built it based on Eva-Jane's excellent design.

6. Are you currently following/regularly watching a TV series? Which one and why?

Don't really watch TV live so to speak, so I guess it would have to be Family Guy...you bastard.



7. Have you seen "The Player"?

Yes, it is a pretty good film but not outstanding.

8. Other than your blog, do you keep a personal journal?

No, my blog is my personal journal, although it may come and bite me hard on the ass one day, so be it.

9. Do you have a favorite movie quote that you routinely use?

Not routinely use but I do find myself occasionally saying: "I'd buy that for a dollar!" for no apparent reason (from the movie of my childhood: Robocop).



10. Will you tag six bloggers or will you leave this open ended and accept answers in comments?

No, as I fucking hate memes but I did this one as Savannah is cool. If people feel justly moved, they may empty their minds in the comments. Knock yourself out.

Wednesday, 2 June 2010

Brechtian Experiments in Photo Rejeu

Although I have cut down on the amount of teaching I do, due to the success of my acting career, I still have a regular commitment that not only am I very fond of but also excites me and keeps my mind keen to the skills, techniques and nuances of acting.

Aside from that, it also blesses me with some great friends.

This class occurs at the Actors Centre every Saturday morning and this term we are focusing on the techniques and methods of Bertolt Brecht. We have already done some great work and as difficult as it is to re-set the minds of those that are used to a far different form of acting, with far different aims and outcomes, we have made some good discoveries together.

An exercise I always enjoy is where I provide the class with dynamic and powerful political images and they have to bring them back to life, to copy exactly but to also capture the spirit. This is the meaning of rejeu.

For once I have some evidence of our work together, first up we have the original:


And what follows is the rejeu, with the director of the image, Hayley, out of shot:


This week, we embark on the rejeu of walks and the definition we require, in Brechtian terms, of the body and its owner...

Tuesday, 1 June 2010

BBQ!!!

So I bought Eva-Jane a garden and lo it was the sun came out and to celebrate Eva-Jane and our garden, we had a ruddy bloody BBQ and it was grand.

My kebabs went down a treat, as did the Amaretto and Coke, the sun was out, good people came and a good time was had by all, although typing is tough as I burnt my finger quite badly whilst being drunk and cooking some jerk chicken.

This is the life I want to lead on a regular basis, loved by a fine woman, surrounded by good people, eating quality food and enjoying some top notch beverages. Happy days!

Here are some pics for those that have enquired after the garden and also to document a damn good time.











Tuesday, 25 May 2010

I Bought Eva-Jane a Garden


Life is very, very good at the moment.

For Eva-Jane's recent birthday I bought her a new garden, or more accurately, paid for some landscape gardeners to work their magic on our foul-smelling swamp of an outdoor space; that was infested with various nefarious creatures, waist-high weeds and a mish-mash of nasty plants being slowly destroyed by ever present bastard-ivy.

They worked wonders and we now have a very swish looking modern garden, nice and simple but very contemporary for our limited gardening skills, or in my case, a serious loathing of working in the bloody garden.

Having said that, I have spent every waking hour, when not busy with acting and auditions, building fucking garden furniture and sheds and have the war wounds to prove it.

But it is worth it, as we now have a beautiful garden to compliment our wonderful home.

Good stuff.

Add to this the continued work as Kirky for the BBC (meeting Alicia Keys and Jools Holland), as well as the prospect of recent work being (at last!) seen on the Tele and a cracking audition for a great new play (that I really hope I've got), life couldn't be much sweeter.

All I need now is for England to win the World Cup and next door's dogs to stop trying to break through our brand new fence panels (I have invested in a special device to ward off dogs, foxes, cats and squirrels that emits a distressing noise to the aforementioned beasts. My only question is, how come I can bloody hear it?) and life will be perfect.

Friday, 16 April 2010

Stew & Dumplings and the 1st Prime Ministerial Debate


It was with a sense of anticipation that Eva-Jane and I sat down with our beef stew and dumplings to watch the first of three Prime Ministerial Debates, this one being on ITV.

It got off to a very bad start as we have some serious aerial problems were we live and a few moments before it all kicked off the signal was just fine, but then, as if disturbed by David Cameron who resembles C3PO made of ham, it went on the fritz. We could of course get the BBC but we didn't, for once, want the BBC and no doubt when the BBC has the debate it will implode on itself and all we'll be able to get is What Katie Did Next.

To add to the frustration, the live stream on the shite ITV website kept buffering every 31 motherfucking seconds, making it a stop start affair that was so frustrating I said fuck an awful lot and bemoaned modern technology.

Thanks to some expert cable wiggling by Eva (not a euphemism) and some crafty use of a magnetic paperclip holder as a ramp and some high heels as a paperweight (again, not euphemisms) we got a good signal.

You see, unlike those tedious bastards wracked with an aloof cynicism about the entire thing, we were quite excited to see what would happen, our appetite for politics not dulled by spending far too much time on the Internet and being very presumptuous about what the great unwashed think.

We were not disappointed and although it was not the best thing ever, it certainly sparked our interest in the election further and the following debates and when we went to About My Vote, the place you go to register to vote, it was snowed under with traffic and was very slow indeed. That is some impact.

Some thoughts then...

First up, their was a huge effort on the part of all three to remember everyone's name that asked a question but all that extended to was not actually remembering the names but writing them down and referring to them off of their bits of paper. This effort to be personal, to look at the questioner, to call them by name, was a nice idea but pushed to such grotesque extremes it was painful to watch and seemed horribly forced in the hands of those three socially stunted individuals.

I actually think that these chaps are at their worst when they try and be populist and 'of the people', the truth is they aren't and their jobs can't be done by everyone, so trying to smudge the barriers between us and them just makes them look odd and us stupid. I don't think the electorate what folksy mannerisms, which just appear disingenuous, what people want is policy and answers to tough questions.

This human touch, or Spock touch as I prefer to call it, got even worse when 'our brave servicemen and women' got mentioned, it suddenly felt like the Sun was speaking through all three of them. All three were falling over themselves to say how brave our brave troops were for being so brave and brave in the face of things that are hard to be brave in front of even if you are really, really brave, as they are and I did I mention that they are brave?

A horrid moment was Brown, at the end of a spiel just like that, vomiting out the catchphrase: "I SUPPORT OUR TROOPS!" as if he has some new, military based form of Tourette Syndrome.

Clegg developed a constantly-exasperated-with-the-other-two-nobs thing, that did wear thin after a while, nearly as thin as Brown’s constant smiling/chortling and trying to show that Clegg is on his team and D-Cam standing square centre for much of it, looking off at '11 o’clock' as if from the Marlon Brandon school of acting. I did like Clegg's body language though, open and engaged, not like the ham C3PO of D-Cam and the slightly hunched but beaming Brown.

The biggest problem was the sheer weight of anecdotes that got bandied around, it seems that all three have been busy meeting disabled/young/old/black/unemployed/soldiers/and combinations of five, with the sole purpose of regailing us with anecdotes. Sorry but these didn't wash, especially David Cameron's anecdotal black man...



And speaking of David Cameron, most alarming was his propensity to sound like the Daily Mail, most of his scare stories were straight out of that vile, racist rag and it showed a lack of fact and reliance on twisting a good old yarn...the twat.

In summary then, Cameron was horrid, Brown was surprisingly smiley and wonderfully solid and Clegg flared it out like the little Liberal Democrat genius he is.

Wednesday, 14 April 2010

Jewelry by LuShae (Blog Whoring Part 1)


Back in February I had a weird request, I knew it was a weird request because the email was headed: "Weird Request" and the gist of it was a lady called Sarah wanted to send me a piece of jewellery from her store (complimentary of course).

She then wanted me to post my honest thoughts (good, bad or ugly) on the product, so here we are.

Well first up, Eva-Jane and I perused the site for sometime, what took a while is that when faced with a wide range of goods, Eva has a tendency to freeze with consumer panic. Like a rabbit in the headlights of a huge moving shopping centre. It didn't help that the first thing she wanted, a hip pair of earrings were sold out but eventually she plumped for a jazzy ring (wonderfully entitled Silver Tone Trillion Fashionista), which was an error because we got the wrong size and we've had to give it to Angela instead.

Oh well, Eva's loss is Aggi's gain...

The ring itself was nice enough if you like very sparkly things, it was of good quality but the sheer level of sparkle and shine could make it appear cheap, depending upon your taste that is but if bling is your thing...

The packaging was smart but the only downside was that I had to pay a customs fine of a tenner, which wasn't in the plan but what's a tenner when you've got a free ring?

More blog whoring to follow!

I feel so dirty...

Monday, 12 April 2010

One Can Always Do One More (Thoughts on Paris)


Eva-Jane and I had a fantastic time in Paris thanks very much for asking.

It was a new experience for us because we promised to not exhaust ourselves on sight-seeing and cultural adventures and rather to relax and hang out with our lovely relatives, Gina and Stephen and generally have a holiday, rather than a deep and profoundly moving learning experience. My usual and quite tedious military planning went out of the window, I had to console myself with a measly two maps and a rough plan written onto a single side of A4, almost unheard of for me, just incase we felt like sight-seeing...

This was the first time in a long time that I have had another couple/friends, whom I love very much, to hang out with and it was a real and genuine joy, it kinda' made the holiday for us as they were such delightful company. Don't get me wrong, Eva-Jane and I travelling as a mini-team can amuse ourselves endlessly, rather this actually...



...but it was grand to have some other folks around to share it all with, so Gina and Stephen, thank you and much love and respect to you both.

So instead of 9 hour days of walking from one bit of history to the next, we relaxed and enjoyed Paris' fine bars and brasseries with excellent company. The first night we hung out at the Park Hyatt Paris Vendome for some ridiculous cocktails named after a Wu-Tang Clan side project, before buying Eva-Jane a €70 Bloody Mary at the legendary Bar Hemingway at the Paris Ritz.

I could get used to living this high life.

That same night we went to the Brasserie Lipp before having a nightcap at the also very famous Le Deux Magots. I came over all Sartre and Auschwitz became a verb, it was heavy, heavy stuff.

The next day we did some shopping and noted four key things:

  1. Paris is fucking expensive and things come with a Paris mark-up that is verging on the evil, add to this the Euro Zone/Sterling blues and you're in for a wallet bum-rape
  2. Parisians lack basic understanding of personal space and engage in serious barging at any given opportunity, they also stare a lot and by the end of the holiday Eva and I were kicking some serious Parisian ass
  3. They aren't as cool or as fashionable as they think they are
  4. Service in Parisian bars and restaurants is glacially slow, it was like living in slow-motion
That night we tried another great brasserie before I introduced the rest of the gang to the joys of Jenlain...it was a good day.

Day 3 brought the best steak-frites I have ever had in my entire life, I kid you not, if ever you're in Paris get ya' sen' down to Le Relais l'Entrecote, no bookings are taken and you have to wait for a bit but it is worth it. No menu as they just serve the best steak-frites on the planet, with a secret sauce, a great walnut salad and plenty of mustard.

Word up.

That day also bought the Catacombs of Paris, which is basically like being 20 metres beneath the surface in a disused quarry, surrounded by the skulls and bones of dead Parisians, for as far as the eye can see. It was intense, a feeling seemingly not shared by the army of American tourists that squealed their way through the dead, underground city and used their flash (forbidden), touched the remains of the dead (forbidden) and said the most inane things (forbidden by me, I could've added to the heaps of dead quite easily with some fresh bones...). Fuck 'em, bring on the next war, let them be at the front.


Our final day was a game of two very excellent halves, we crammed all our sight seeing into the day and literally saw everything, at a fair gallop but we took it all in (the measly two maps and one side of A4 notes came in very useful, always be prepared!). The evening however started well and got even better.

It started with yet more fine food, washed down with some Grimbergen, before adjourning once again to the Park Hyatt Paris Vendome for a quick cognac based cocktail that set my chest on fire and I then got to meet and shake hands with Patti Smith (for the record her hands are very soft and I did not embarrass myself or prostrate myself at her feet) and then to the legendary Harry's New York Bar, where the waiter told us that they sold no wine, only two beers but could make any cocktail that had ever existed.

What occurred next is a vague, delightful, sepia-tinged blur but if memory serves me well I had four Brandy Alexanders (the motto that night, after each round, was one can always do one more), deep, delightful, irreverent discussion and one of the best nights of my life. What a blast!

Unfortunately, the next day was home time and I could barely breath, stand or make my way effectively to the waiting Eurostar. Thanks to Eva-Jane's steady and caring guidance I made it to the train without vomiting and by the time we pulled into St. Pancras I was as right as nine-pence.

Like I said, one can always do one more.

What a wonderful adventure.

Tuesday, 6 April 2010

Off To Gay Paris (No Homo)


Well, I hope ya'll had a mighty fine Easter break and ate chocolate and stuff in order to celebrate a Jew rising from the grave and ascending to heaven. Whatever floats your boat. Basically, it was four days off interrupted only by landscape gardeners coming round to give us estimates on how much it'll cost to sort out our garden.

Speaking of off, Eva-Jane and I are off to what promises to be a sunny Paris for a holiday and to hang out with family, promises to be a real cool time no doubt and a much deserved vacation for the pair of us.

I'm currently up for a couple of cool jobs and am on that notorious thing called a pencil, which means they like me a lot but not enough to book me...yet. One of the projects is working with the Little Britain peeps and the other is a comedy creation of my own called Kirky (sorry Kirky but I stole your name for a comedy character) who is from New Basford, has ADHD, is a gypo and presents shows for the BBC...hopefully.

So we'll see.

As you all know by now, I waste far too much time debating with racists on the Internet so with this in mind, I'll leave you with an interesting video that someone sent me as a guide to how I should do it. I ignored him of course, racist appeasement just isn't in my nature but it makes for fun viewing.

See ya'll next week.

Wednesday, 17 March 2010

My Last Five Girlfriends Preview


You may recall that some time ago I got a part in my first feature film, having only done short films previously, managing to secure a supporting role as the lead actor's best friend was something of a breakthrough and lo the film was called "My Last Five Girlfriends". Since then it has to gone on to do great things in New York and then Edinburgh.

Well, I've had to keep it under my hat for some time now but the movie got picked up by Paramount Pictures (which is, as you can imagine, is a very fucking big deal) and it is on general release across some 100 cinemas in the UK from this Friday the 19th March (unfortunately, no US release, not yet anyway).

Tonight, I'm going to the preview type premiere thang (not as spectacular as Eva's green carpet trip with Patti Smith of course, this was a low budget affair) at the ICA to not only see the film for the first time but to also see how much I have been cut out, or not, indeed, much of my best work may indeed be laying around on the cutting room floor but hey, that's the actors life.

I'm quite excited and nervous at the same time.

Now, with small budget films like this, we need to pull out all the stops in terms of people seeing it over the next few weekends, otherwise it'll disappear not long after it has come out so this is where you chaps come in.

GO AND SEE IT PLEASE!

Here is the trailer to wet your appetite and I'll let you know how it all went as soon as I can.

Monday, 8 March 2010

Market Estate Project


On Saturday me and the lovely Eva-Jane went to see some art.

An old school friend of mine (and I'm talking Primary and big school, so we go back a long way) called Rich White, is an artist of some serious ability. Rich makes quite brilliant, epic work; usually large, usually vigorous, usually from found materials, usually robust and hardy; Rich is an artist who always has dirt under his figure nails and if you squint, you could confuse him as a very lean steel worker.

I like Rich's work not because he is an old friend but because it is excellent and it always manages to make me feel small, not an easy thing to do to a 6ft 6in man, clocking in at 15 stone. It nearly always looks as if it was hewn by the hands of giants, it has a visceral feel, a roughness.

Whenever I can get a chance to see Rich's work in the flesh, I do and Rich was one of the many artists that were involved in the Market Estate Project. In a nutshell, the Market Estate was a typical 1960's London housing estate and as time moved on, it became a breeding ground for crime, disaffection and typical inner-city living. The solution was to knock it down and build new houses but before this site of murder and death, drugs and crime was to be torn down, it was to be turned into an art installation, part homage, part art opportunity. So 75 artists, 66 site-specific projects, 20 vacant flats, and one soon to be demolished 1960’s housing estate all came together.

As we wandered around the old estate it brought to mind the many estates I've strolled around in the past, either as a kid, behind my childhood home in Nottingham, or as a youth worker, or when I used to live on one when I first moved to London in 2004 and called Camberwell/Peckham borders my home. Never mind the times I stumbled into one, taking a short cut they may not have been as good an idea as I thought it was.

As you walked in, a man was hanging from a building for dear life...


And it got me thinking that all this art was all well and good but I couldn't help but feel a little uneasy, as if in the face of all these peoples homes, all this history and all the trouble that had afflicted these homes, it felt somehow flippant and glib. Perhaps it was the annoying arty types I saw there (maybe I was one), like those loud, brash tourists that shout down their cellphones when in military cemeteries, or at Holocaust Memorials. I felt like class tourism, rich folk coming to look at where the poor folk lived: low ceilings, tasteless decor and stairwells that must have be a haven for terror.


It's funny, a friend of ours lives just opposite and has done for some time, she found it funny that people were coming to such a shitty old part of London to gawp at where the poor people lived. You could argue that people were there to gawp at the art ,that was put where the poor people used to live. Fair enough.

What was most fascinating perhaps was the unintentional art, the stuff that was an echo of the residents, the things left behind, the heavy security doors and messy graffiti, never mind the bullet holes in the safety glass.

It was a stimulating experience, art in a crime scene, not sure if it was appropriate, not sure if that even matters; it'll all be knocked down real soon, art and non-art, what was on purpose and what was not and as the place is ground into the dirt what it was will only exist in those that experienced it.

I'll leave you with some pictures of what Richard contributed...