I freaking love Star Wars. Even the rubbish ones.
The first three are my go-to movies when I’m feeling happy, sad, bad, glad, mad, pleased or bored. I believe that the genius of taking a conventional fantasy story and plonking it in space cannot be overestimated, and although the prequels have their faults, they add to and enrich a universe that has enthralled millions. And I am the sort of person that owns not one, but twolightsabers.
Technically three if you count that one of them is double-bladed. Therefore, when the open casting call for ‘an athletic male, 19-23 years old’ came in last week, I was pretty damn thrilled. I knew thousands would line the streets for this chance, and I vowed to be one of them.
Queues hold a special place in Star Wars history. I wish I was old enough to have queued up to watch the originals. I queued up to watch Episode 3, I’m going to queue up to watch Episode 7, and damn it all, I was going to queue up to get my shot at swinging a real, honest-to-god elegant weapon (from a more civilised age), despite my friends and family dutifully informing me that I haven’t got a hope in hell.
I’ll be honest, as ridiculous as it sounds, I was actually pretty hopeful that I was going to get a callback. I could quote Shakespeare monologues on cue, and I have swordfighting experience thanks to a decade of martial arts. I was going to crush it.
Job done, three film contract. Next.
There were mixed messages in the queue. Some said it closed at three, others said six. Some said twenty-five were going through at any one time, others said thirty. This was the second day of auditions, and I had done a bit of research beforehand. Thanks to that, and me asking some men in hi-vis jackets that may have been working the crowd, but could also have been some local builders screwing with me, I became the font of all knowledge to my neighbouring hopefuls.
This was due to the casting director scouring the lines, pulling out people he liked, and telling others to go home. After four hours, we were told that the wait would be a further five hours. Soon after that, we were told to go home.
It was a bit Chewie.
By Matthew Evans, http://cheaperthanabook.blogspot.co.uk/