What's wrong with going crazy over Matt Damon? He's a brilliant actor, he's very handsome, he's in town! He's outside my front door! He's acting!
Anyway, it wasn't me who went crazy, it was my Heat-reading daughter, normally quite cool in the presence of slebs. .....
I don't know about you but I LURVED the Bourne Identity and LURVED even more the Bourne Supremacy and not only raced to see each one on release but have now watched them at least four times on TV. Matt Damon is totally cool in them , like a blank canvas waiting to be filled. Ten out of ten for casting. No side, brilliant peformance, great storyline to follow.
Getting Paul Greengrass to direct the second, and now the third, was a masterstroke. What was cinema missing? The touch of a rough, tough ex World in Action Current Affairs man who can tell a big story. Film meets Docs.
The Bourne Ultimatum is number three and they've been filming it in London for the past wee while which I discovered t'other day when I virtually fell over Matt Damon who was standing in the middle of this vast crew doing what actors do for most of their lives. Standing listening to his director, Paul Greengrass on this occasion. Then he stood on his own, waiting, then did some standing with some other standing waiting people. He looks like, well, Matt Damon, except smaller, so I got closer, like some weird stalker person and next thing you know, all the standing waiting people beside me all begin to move. They're extras and there's a column of people with photo ID's around their necks, ushering us into a line to walk past Matt Damon while he still stands, waiting, although actually he's now whispering to some other actor. He's acting! They're doing a take! So I too walk past him in line and resist the temptation to (a) touch him, (b) say hi and how I loved his work (c) whip out the old camerphone for a bit of User Generated Content as its now called. I just walk past, like a proper professional actor. Then I stand in the queue and wait to walk past again, which I do, this time with the back of my head to the cameras (you'll recognise me) but notice that all the other people are dressed in winter coats, scarves and hats, despite the heat. Oh, it's meant to be winter. I try to look cold but fear it's too late. I can hear the editor now: "Who's THAT not looking cold? Get him onto the cutting room floor now!" thus strangling the Nationwide/Matt Damon partnership at birth. And also possibly getting the Extras Agency fired for sending along a bloke not in winter clothing. Very Ricky Gervais
Anyway I took a snap on the phone, rather a good one as it happens, and tried to send it to the teenage daughter since she's the one who meets all the slebs these days. Didn't send but when I told her she got all animated, demanding that I send it again by any means possible. Turns out that if you send your mobile phone snaps of slebs into Heat magazine you can get £200 which she kindly offered to go 50/50 with me since, as she quickly put it "If it wasn't for me you wouldn't know about this deal" revealing a hitherto unknown side for business acumen. Not sure which parental gene is responsible for this but suspect me rather than saintly mother. So we negotiate and I beat her down to 80/20 which is fine until she reveals that she doesn't do percentages and didn't understand the change, thus starting all over again, using the word "daddy" this time so suspect haggling/dealmaking is influenced by mother's famous ability to get way.
Try to send picture again. Fail. Daughter sighing at other end of phone, disbelieving that someone, a relative even, could be so dumb as to not be able to send pictures of slebs by phone. Calls and tells me what buttons to press. Fail again.
Try second tactic, using bluetooth to send to pal D's phone, who's sitting beside me in media hangout with his teenage nephew, and manage that but then he can't send it either. Teenage nephew laughs at Uncle Inept, and Uncle Inept's Inepter friend. Try other people's phones since mobile has now connected with 27 other active bluetooth devices in bar. Daughter getting frantic, having clearly already called her pals and mentally spent £200 on clothes (forgetting my share, natch).
And so we continue into the night, pressing the send button, learning a little more about technology as we go, learning even more about daughter's propensity for saying "jeez" and forgetting momentarily that I could have been the new Ben Affleck.