“THERE’LL BE NO BUTTER IN HELL!” — Sir Ian McKellen as the fanatical preacher, Amos Starkadder, in Cold Comfort Farm (1995)
A couple months ago I experienced a bout of cannabis industry fatigue. Luckily (and with the help of my friend, ex-coworker and writing beast Matt Stafford) I was assigned an A&E story for my previous employer, Pacific Sun, which enabled me to take a break from canna-everything and get back in touch with what I love to do: go out, talk to people, observe/learn stuff, write about it.
It’s been a few years since I’ve worn a press badge, and a few years more since I’ve attended Mill Valley Film Festival. I’d invited Andrew to come along, as I figured his theater background could be of use, and we both admire Sir Ian McKellen‘s work. Also, you know, I enjoy ‘drew’s company. But not-so-secretly, I was looking forward to having him be MY wingman for once–for Andrew to see me in my element, working the scene, reporting, and not just hanging by idly at some cannabis event in quiet (albeit proud) support of his leadership in the industry.
The festival had grown in size since my last venture to Marin, and a long line of attendees wrapped around the Rafael Theater. After checking in at the box office, I was shuffled from one walkie-talkie toting handler to the next, who were all concerned about my lack of a press badge. Ultimately they gave me somebody else’s and obliged my knee-jerk request for photo-taking (with my iPhone) by throwing me into the photographer’s pen at the end of the red carpet with all the professional paparazzi checking game stats and waiting for the star to arrive. I stood in my spot directly behind a petite, braces-wearing schoolgirl wielding cumbersome photo equipment and my face flushed with embarrassment as I slipped my lowly “camera” into my back pocket. I was feeling very 2006.
I wasn’t kidding…
Sir Ian was extremely charming, witty and dynamic–the consummate entertainer. I relished his stories, teetering on the edge of my seat with my digital recorder and notepad, furiously scribbling his tastiest bon mots, my hands cramping themselves out of retirement. And then, of course, I was enchanted to learn that the venerable thespian also co-owned a 400-year-old pub in London a couple doors down from where he’s lived since the ’60s. My kind of guy.
I was also moved by his take on the 2015 movie, Mr. Holmes, in which he played the title character.
“Mr. Holmes turned out to be a film about a little boy, and a film about widowhood, and a film about friendship and love and most of all, most precious to me, the certainty that it is never too late… You can be 93, you can be puzzled about yourself, you can have regrets, self recrimination. But it’s never too late to sort it out. By yourself or with friends, or however it’s done—go to a shrink but sort it out and your life will be better. Not only your life but the lives of people who know you.”
Good stuff, Sir!
Following the tribute, we attended a semi-swanky after-party at an Italian restaurant in Corte Madera. Sir Ian arrived with an entourage, including a bevy of handsome young men and the San Francisco novelist, Armistead Maupin, who I kinda geeked out over, but couldn’t–wouldn’t–elbow my way through the hordes of bedangled and bayalaged Marin doyennes commandeering their attention with selfies and small talk.
Taken by the world’s worst paparazza… Featuring Armistead Maupin, Sir Ian McKellen and friends at a Mill Valley Film Festival afterparty.
Since this month marks the 100th birthday celebration of Frank Sinatra, I’ll share Sir Ian’s story (in his words) of his first time working on a bigtime movie, and with the bigtime star, Ava Gardner, in Priest of Love (1981):
“I was cast as DH Lawrence. Ava Gardner was cast as his patron. The scene was sent in Santa Fe but we were filmed in another part of the world—we were actually filming in Mexico, Oaxaca. And I went off for the first time, first class air. I arrived in Oaxaca and was shown into my suite—I’d never been in a suite in a four-star hotel before. I went out on the balcony, there’s Oaxaca and the hills beyond. Below, there was a lovely swimming pool with palm trees around it and just a lone figure in a one-piece bathing costume, bright green… Ava Gardner. And she looked up at me and she said [dreamily], ‘Hi, Ian!’ So I thought, ‘Oh, this is the movies.’
“The next day, we’re in a dusty little village where we’re filming Lawrence’s arrival by train, where he’s met by Ava Gardner. She’s having to dress and get changed in a little trailer—by little, I mean, little. Not only is she there but other actresses and [other people]… and it’s used by the Mexican crew to relieve themselves. Ava Gardner’s trailer used as a public toilet?! Well, I was appalled—we all were. And as we drove back in the same car to Oaxaca, I said, ‘Ava, this really won’t do.’
“[Mimicking Ava’s voice] ‘Now don’t worry, dear.’ I said, ‘Well, no, I do worry—we must do something about it.’ ‘Oh, no, it’s fine, it’s fine.’ I said, ‘Please, will you not promise me that you’ll call your agent and get a decent trailer?’ She said, ‘No, I won’t call my agent.’ She said, ‘I’ll call Frank.’ Now if you’ve been married to Frank Sinatra, you don’t need an agent. Two days later the biggest trailer in the world arrived in Oaxaca to the exclusive use of Ava Gardner.”
Anyway, reporting on the tribute was so much fun I decided to attend another tribute for the 88-year-old political filmmaker Marcel Ophuls. He was a trip. You can read my article published October 21, 2015, in Pacific Sun here: http://pacificsun.com/arts-lifetimes-of-achievement/.
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