My grandmother always told me that if
you haven’t anything interesting to say, then it’s better to keep quiet.
Accordingly, BritinBeirut has been dormant for a while.
However, something rather bizarre
happened to me the other day.
Now, at this point it’s important to
note the tone of this post from here on out – it’s written with my tongue very
much in my cheek. Take it as read that this isn’t to be taken too seriously, I
certainly didn’t at the time.
So…
The other night I was at Dany’s,
celebrating, firstly the presence of a friend from out of town, and secondly,
having eaten the best steak I’ve found in Beirut to date, at Cru.
I was looking forward to having three
margaritas too many and was hanging up my coat when two women approached me.
To cut to the chase, they were shooting
a commercial to be aired on Russian TV and asked me if I was interested in
modeling. Remember, this is all tongue in cheek.
Now, let me preface this … I’ve done a
few shoots, but never on a commercial basis. My time in front of the camera has
always been a favor to a friend who needs to flesh out (pardon the expression)
their portfolio, or an informal shoot for my university department’s prospectus,
that kind of thing. All very fun, not too serious, paid for in beer. I’ve
always felt I had a face for radio. In any case, I’ve never really been in
front of the camera before.
Also, there’s the issue of my body.
Technically I am member of a gym. Technically. The head instructor stated that
I must lead “a very sedentary lifestyle” when I first joined. He was right too...
I’m writer by trade after all, too many glasses of wine and packs of cigarettes
in front of my laptop. Suffice it to say that I frequently receive the old ‘pat
on the stomach and “ahhh” routine’ from my female friends.
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| Wimp. Real men have kegs. |
Image from here.
Plus, Russian TV? Really?
Anyway, the prospect of making a little
extra margarita money is always welcome and, let’s face it, it was flattering…
at least it would be so long as I didn’t have to get down to my imitation CK
briefs... So I signed up and exchanged numbers.
The following evening I received an SMS
telling me where they were. Not a problem, I knew the area and got there in good time, allowing for the fact I anticipated walking
around in circles for a while.
What I found that night looked like the
digs for local squatters. Broken windows, the door swinging in the wind and water running in rivers due to the driving rain. After convincing myself that the building was in fact empty, all
the lights are off, I stuck my head into the nearest dukan (corner shop to the Brits out there) and asked for directions.
Sure enough that’s the place, the guy even told me the right floor.
 |
| Step inside my lovely... |
Photo from here.
Right, OK. Out comes the phone, on goes
the torch and in I go. It’s at this point out an observation is necessary for
the non-Lebanese reading this: Time and again you’ll get invited to someone’s
house or to an office and you’ll often walk through a rundown neighborhood, electricity
wires hanging off buildings, litter on the streets, ripped up roads, overflowing
skips, etc., only to walk into said office or home to find a beautifully appointed
/ decorated interior; So at this point I wasn’t overly concerned… well, sort
of… this was an upmarket part of Beirut and this was the only building of its
kind…
I head up a few flights of stairs, get
to the right floor and there’s nothing, it’s absolutely pitch black. Guided by
my trusty phone light I head off down a long corridor, doors on each side, no
signs anywhere and all a bit post-apocalyptic.
At this point I was reminded of those
clichéd horror films the Scary Movie franchise made fun of. You know … the one
where some girl (probably wearing next to nothing) gets lured to a deserted
building and is found the following day in a plastic sack on the side of the
road? Yeah. Well. I’m a big guy, but that just means they’d need a bigger sack…
Given that I’d recently watched Let the Right One In, a Swedish movie about the
undead, disembodiment and, strangely, the growing love between a weird little
boy and his vampire girlfriend, I was beginning to think that I really
shouldn’t have kicked the cat that morning.
Uh, yeah, you missed a bit.
No, a little to the right...
Photo from here.
Anyway, finally I reach the right door and lo and behold, there’s the name of the production company! I might actually get
the chance to start that ridiculously convoluted Japanese novel that’s been on
my shelf for a while… Then “bang!” on come the lights and I’m blinking
frantically, half expecting to hear shouts of “Achtung! Achtung!” followed by
sporadic bursts of gunfire.
Eventually I can see again and five minutes
later, as I’m still stood knocking on the door and my phone calls go
unanswered, fears of twelve-year-old vampires flood back into my mind.
Finally the door opens and I’m led
(through a very nicely decorated office I might add) to the audition room. There are the
two women from the previous night. Perhaps my mother won’t be receiving a phone
call after all.
Yes, we were going for minimalist
chic, we rather like it.
Now, a friend has subsequently told me
that this is completely normal, but I stood there talking about myself (which
despite having a blog is something I rarely do at length) to camera. And being
told to smile. Hard. All the time. For around ten minutes. I’m a surly bastard
from time to time and obviously the muscles weren’t in order as I was soon in
pain.
Eventually we get to the meat of the
casting: the “acting” part. Heh. Right. So here’s what they got me to “do”… Keep
in mind that I’m the only one there … Imagination is required…
So, I walk into a city full of people,
I’m carrying a Chinese lantern in front of me, the type you light and float
into the sky. This lantern represents all my hopes and dreams. I look around, all
the people have such a lantern and are carrying them like they are the most
precious things in the world. Hesitantly, I have to float my lantern
into the sky, following my dreams wherever they may go. Of course, I have to
grin like an idiot at the same time. Oh, and there’s a little boy. And his
lantern is bigger than mine, because apparently as you age, your dreams wither
on the stalk and die (OK, that’s my interpretation of her fraught lantern-dream
analogy, but still). He releases his lantern, we both stare as they float away,
yadda, yadda, yadda, roll credits.
Chinese lanterns: Environmentally unfriendly and
the vehicle of bizarre analogies, all round evil.
Picture taken from here.
Of course, I’m grinning all the way
through. “Follow my hand with your eyes, it represents the lantern, I want to
feel the love, the passion”, “Think of your dreams, you’re a successful
businessman”, “The little boy is so happy, he’s not worried!”
And did I
mention this was an advert for chocolate…? The mind boggles.
I very
much doubt that I’ll be receiving a call as a result of my debut (I really was
awful). But if there’s anyone out there who’s doing an advert for something
like insurance, or the importance of checking yourself for lumps on a regular
basis, I can do a really serious face. Just don’t ask me to grin like a lunatic
for thirty minutes on cue. Especially if there are lanterns involved. Or small
Swedish vampire girls. Or if I’m in my undies.
