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Words by Ian McKellen
14 December 2001
Premiere in London
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In my early teens, I had a daydream, based on the BBC radio’s
programme A Seat in the Circle (or somesuch promise of romance)
where new cinema and stage shows were previewed for avid listeners
like me. So when I was about to open in a new play at school, perhaps
during the long walk from the bus to the dress rehearsal, I would
fantasize that our play was important enough to have me interviewed by
the BBC’s entertainment correspondent. Pretending I was a
famous actor, I would mumble a monologue of modest answers to non-existent
questions, which baffled any passers-by, who could rightly have assumed I
was a little loopy. Fifty years on, this forgotten memory returned
last Monday, somewhere during the evening of the world premiere of Fellowship
of the Ring at the Odeon Theatre, Leicester Square in the heart of
London. Tolkien honoured, as Peter Jackson put it before the
screening, in his own country first.
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Photo by Mark Heithoff
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At the New York Premiere of Iris
Photo by Katie
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Fans at the premiere
Photo by Eledhwen
theonering.net
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I was allowed 10 tickets for the premiere and party, two of them
for my cousin’s grandchildren Andrew (16 years old and hasn’t read
Tolkien) and his brother Robin (14, who has). We drove together in a
Mercedes Saloon (tailed by my other friends in a people mover) –
London has a paucity of limousines – and heard the fans before we
saw them, in their thousands lining Leicester Square behind police
barriers. “Just keep walking Ian, don’t sign autographs, the press
is inside the cinema” - the sort of instruction that should be
ignored, especially when you have cousins to impress! Hearing one’s
name called out, no, screamed out, might lead others to think there
are a lot of people around with nothing much to do on a cold winter
evening. But this was my first chance to meet presumably the hardcore
Tolkien-on-film fans, and anyway I had a childhood dream to live out
for real.
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Before we got there, a Gandalf lookalike was on parade. I wish I’d
met him. By comparison, I was a wizard in mufti, my new brown tweed
suit by John Varvatos, my hair dressed with cold cream that I had
mistaken for gel in my home bathroom. Andrew, Robin and I waved a lot,
signed posters, stills, books galore and wondered how much of it and
how soon it might land up on Ebay, where a recent peddler of a signed
photograph of Magneto, claimed that I rarely did such things. It’s
true that I don’t send a signed pic every time I’m asked by e-mail
but I’m as diligent in signing playbills outside the theatre as are
Nathan Lane and Matthew Broderick across West 44th Street in The
Producers. They do of course have many more to attend to than Helen
Mirren and I do, but I have one grouch. Parking is permitted only on
the south side of the street, by their St James’ Theatre’s stage
door, where chauffeured Town Cars are purring. We northsiders at the
Broadhurst must dodge limos, yellow cabs, garbage trucks and other
jaywalkers on their way to Sardi’s restaurant or the Times Square
lights, where Jim, my driver, is legally waiting. But then, on really
crowded nights when the tourist theatre district is belying the image
of a New York still in recovery, there’s often a friendly young
cop who guides me over as if I were the President.
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The Broadhurst Theatre, Broadway
Photo by Keith Stern
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Piccadilly Square, as shown in the introduction to the television
version of In Town Tonight
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But last Monday I was invited to feel like a film star, going
down the banks of blinding flashlights and the line of microphones and
TV cameras, which I’ve done a few too many times before yet still
can enjoy. I like the idea of being observed afar by someone in their
early teens who is acting-struck as I was, listening to A Seat in
the Circle. This time I was keen most of all to get out the word
that the dedication and love which Peter Jackson evoked in us all, is
evident in the performances of the actors. That was why there was a
full turnout of the Fellowship, who had come "by land, sea and
air to be in town tonight" – I quote the line which introduced In
Town Tonight, the half hour of celebrity interviews, another BBC
favorite in our house. My mother loved the radio and one of my
earliest memories was her bathing me as she told me the plot of the
previous night’s episode of the Basil Radford and Naughton Wayne
comic adventure serial on the Home Service.
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I’m not sure if BBC radio was there last Monday but I saw BBC
TV, Jonathan Ross’s Cinema 2001, BBC World Service, bbc.com,
alongside every commercial channel I’ve ever heard of in Europe and
the United States and beyond. The next day it was Liv Tyler, the image
of a beautiful woman in scarlet, who dominated the coloured pages of
the British press. I got in with her and Elijah Wood on the front page
of "The Independent," which instantly became my favourite
broadsheet, till I read their rather sniffy review.
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Liv Tyler, Ian McKellen, Elijah Wood
Leicester Square, Premiere
Photo by Reuters/Stephen Hird
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It was lovely to see Ngila Dickson (Costume Design), Peters Jackson
(Director), King and Owen (hair and make-up design), Rick and Melissa Porris (Co-producer and
Publicity), Claire Cooper (Publicity), Bob Shaye (CEO New Line
Cinema), Mark Ordesky (Executive producer) and the New Line team, Fran Walsh (Writer), and
her family. And the actors reunited. A merry band. I sound like Liz
Smith. In the Odeon we were on the front row upstairs next to
Christopher Lee and in front of Ian Holm. Afterwards neither of these
eloquent men could easily articulate their reaction to seeing the film
for the first time, which is what I was like when I saw it three weeks
ago in a New York screening room. The Odeon screen is spacious and the
film filled every square inch.
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After the Balrog I left for some fresh air and a cigarette.
There the fans were still waiting, entertained only by the repeating
relay of Howard Shore’s score. They were mostly in their 20’s and
younger. I know of one 40 year old who flew from
the States just to stand outside the cinema, the occasion was so
momentous for him. Momentous for me too, who made the same
journey.
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Premiere, Leicester Square
Photo by AP/Max Nash
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Tobacco Dock, only a mile from my home on the Thames, had been
Middle-earthed by Dan and Chris Hennah and their team who
executed the sets for the films. About ten areas under one roof were
themed, each serving the appropriate food. I made for the vegetarian
compound, which may have been Hobbiton but was catering to crowds of
humans all talking about the film. There were free bars but no drunks
– a well-heeled guest-list. Our party had a group dance. Jetlag
began nagging at 2.30 when we all drove home for a cup of tea.
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The press seem to be unanimously in love with the film,
confirming my impression that the Tolkienites and the uninitiated can
enjoy it equally. The only question is how old do you have to be not
to be scared witless by the excitements of Fellowship of the Ring,
as I was by the witch in The Wizard of Oz and the death of
Bambi’s mother the first time round. Well, it would depend on the
child, but from my own experience, the witch and the death didn’t
stop me soon relishing Shakespeare’s often violent plays. Tolkien’s
11-year-old grandson loved it on Monday. He asked for my autograph and
that was a sweet moment at the party.
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I relish these days so much because I want Peter’s film to be
enjoyed by as many people as possible. If today’s British press
reaction is repeated in other countries, particularly in the United
States, it’s looking good.
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