Monday, November 8, 2010

The Big (GM) Apple


I took this picture in Los Angeles, where my blog was born (surely qualifying me in some way for a green card, yeah?). It is, of course, a big apple. A big, bright, shiny, American apple beside a not so big, bit battered, not so shiny and certainly not so American, real apple (but it is green. So therefore probably claiming Irish descent like everybody else in this country).

Anyway, enough of the apples for now. I'll come back to them later.

The Merry Wives Of Windsor had a great run in Los Angeles and I really enjoyed my time there. I loved the sunsets on the beach, the late nights on rooftop bars, the Hollywood royalty that came to watch the show...It was everything I was hoping it was going to be, and more. Although I probably should mention the two people that were shot three blocks from the theatre & the man who was eaten by a shark outside our hotel, I'm not going to. Instead I'm going to employ the rules of Hollywood & only tell you what I want you to know... it's all about smoke & mirrors in the movie business and there's no place for bloodshed in this blog. Especially if it's going to be picked up by Universal and turned into a multi-million dollar summer blockbuster with Zac Efron playing my all-singing, all-dancing, all-typing good self (actually... must call my agent about that.... why can't I play me? I'd be perfect in that role!).

Cut to...

6.01am. London. 

'But what happened to New York?' I hear you cry. I was busy in New York! I didn't have time to write a blog there. Actually, that's a lie. I did have the time. I'd just rather spend it watching Al Pacino & Vanessa Redgrave on stage, hailing  yellow taxi cabs, shopping on 5th Avenue & hanging out on Times Square than sat with my MacBook in a hotel room trying to think of something smart or witty to say. Surely you understand that, right?

Anyway, on top of all that, I had to do the show. Here was the kid, born & raised in troubled Belfast, who dodged bullets as he pirouetted past the chorus line of high-kicking British soldiers on his way to school everyday, finally arriving in the entertainment capital of the world to prove to everyone that a star was born! Well.... not quite.... but we are on Broadway, so go with it! 

You see, the short & the long of it is: I love New York. I've always loved it. Before I'd even been there I loved it, why wouldn't I? Let's be honest - it' has more sex appeal & style than any actor or actress that has ever shared the silver screen with it and it's more dangerous, dirty & gritty than any of the New Yorkers that swagger around with that gangster look in their eye that makes you believe that at any given moment, with absolute conviction, they're going to mumble the immortal words... 'Are you lookin' at me?'

And the answer...

Yes, yes I am. I'm looking. That's what people come to the Big Apple for. To look. To see the names in lights on Broadway, the Statue that greeted so many immigrants as they arrived here, the swarm of yellow & black taxicabs... the list is endless. However, unlike most things that really do have to be seen to be believed.... none of it is actually real. It's all man made & it's taken years to turn it into the Big, Bright, Shiny, American Apple that we all know and love.

I'm not saying that makes it bad. I don't think it does. I'm just saying that as I lie awake in London, excited about going back to Ireland in a few days, I'm looking forward to having a bite of my own, real, little apple. 

Home.

Monday, October 18, 2010

Snooze...

I'm starting this blog in Los Angeles. Why? Because it seems to be the kind of place where people do strange, out of the ordinary things for the first time... and although most people go down the botox or crystal meth route, I've decided to try this. I am fully aware of the fact that there's only a slim chance it might work for me, blogging doesn't suit everyone (like botox!) but at least if it doesn't have the desired effect I can just delete it from my life without a stint in rehab.

The strangest (though not surprising!) thing about Los Angeles is the fact that it's so warm.... and believe me, I'm not talking about the weather! 

Every waitress, cab driver, bar man, gym instructor is an actor or writer or director waiting for a break, but instead of being miserable, bitter, twisted & resentful they flash their 'Welcome To California' smiles, radiate optimism, positivity, warmth and after just five minutes of chatting to them - I believe that it's only a matter of time before they're carrying a gold statue out of the Kodak Theater as much as they do. 

Maybe that's because I'm an actor too and I know that it only takes one phone call for you're life to go in a direction that even Google Maps didn't know existed. 

After 4 years in Hollyoaks, I decided to leave in 2010 for the same reason as every other actor who leaves a successful show - because we want to try something new and challenging. Unfortunately, these opportunities are few and far between & I was well aware that my 'new challenge' would probably be ice skating on ITV every Saturday night or flying a magic carpet 18 shows a week during the Xmas period. I certainly didn't think I'd be in Los Angeles performing Shakespeare to audiences that included Tom Hanks, Jamie Lee Curtis, Eric Idle & Dustin Hoffman.

If I told you that it happened to me because I'm so much more talented than every other actor in a soap and have so much more to give to the entertainment industry than them, would you believe that? No, of course you wouldn't, I certainly don't!

It happened because the director of The Merry Wives Of Windsor, Chris Luscombe, saw something in me which he thought was 'right for the part' and he cast me as Fenton.

He gave me a break... and it was just one call.

Who knows who's going to make the next one? 

So, really, can I blame the waitress or the taxi driver for dreaming The American Dream? Absolutely not. 

In fact, whilst I'm in the City Of Angels, I'm gonna catch 40 winks with the waitress & the taxi driver whenever I can.... 

The phone will waken us when it rings.