Hollywood Here I Come!

Last week, while vacationing at our home on Salt Spring Island, I was invited to the premier of The Bourne Ultimatum in Los Angeles. A friend of mine, we’ll call him PC, is one of the producers and one of my husband’s oldest and best friends. I got to know PC quite well when he was filming parts of the movie in London. I’ll talk more about the movie later, but in a nutshell it was fantastic. Action, action, action!

Sitting in front of me on the plane to LA was Spike Lee. He wore a baseball cap and a bright yellow jacket with ‘Brazil’ written on the back of it. After a few minutes, Dr Dean Ornish, well-known for writing several books about how diet can reverse heart disease got up from his seat, approached Spike and sat down next to him. He introduced himself and offered his card. Why this conservatively dressed, middle-aged doctor would be chatting up Mister Lee, the King of Hip was beyond me. Maybe he was pitching a sequel to Boyz in the Hood, where a balding Jewish doctor saves the rappers and homies from death by cardiac arrest. After all, anything can happen in Hollywood.

The Four Seasons in Beverly Hills arranged a car to whisk me to the premier, although I barely moved in grid-lock traffic. Luckily I got there in time to see the last of the stars being interviewed on the red carpet. Ben Affleck, as attractive as a GQ model, was there to support his friend Matt Damon who looked the anti-thesis of Jason Bourne in a sharp grey suit and black striped tie. And by the way, he looks much better in person than he does on screen. I walked into the theater directly behind Julia Stiles who looked lovely in a floor length, white cotton dress. She probably felt wonderfully girlie in her summer frock after getting down and dirty filming her tense chase scenes through the streets of Tangiers. PC had kindly given Julia my book, The Italian Connection, to read. She’d make a great Christina! I introduced myself to her as she walked into the theater. She was a bit taken off guard, but when she put the face with the name of the author she smiled and said that she'd received the book, and then apologized for not having had the time to read it. She was very gracious and polite. The woman she was with interrupted us (in true Hollywood fashion) and then ushered Julia into the theater.

Joan Allen, who plays a CIA internal investigation agent, glided like a swan along the red carpet. It looked like a starvation diet combined with rigorous Pilates sessions had given her the sculpted body that she proudly showed off in a strapless black and silver dress. I thought she looked great, but I overheard a man next to me say that someone should force-feed her a plate of pasta. Others that I got a glimpse of were Jennifer Garner (all smiles and dimples), Ellen Pompeo and Joely Richardson. I only saw one ghastly plastic surgery nightmare: a woman who looked like a plumped-up Barbie doll with huge fake boobs, swollen lips and a shiny face. She preened for the paparazzi like she was an A-lister but I knew better.

There were several people in the crowd that looked familiar but I couldn’t place where I had seen them. One man in particular seemed to be getting a lot of attention. He was cute in a messy-blond-hair-and-blue-eyes kind of way. I racked my brain, but his name still didn’t come to me. Was he a break-out reality TV star? A supporting cast member of some Emmy winning show I had no idea about? Your guess is as good as mine. He continued to sign autographs and be interviewed by television reporters, but I couldn’t for the life of me figure out who he was. Half-way through the movie, it came to me: Larry Birkhead, the father of Anna-Nicole Smith’s baby girl. I found it strange that a crowd of people would want his autograph, but was absolutely shocked when a young girl about 11 wanted mine! I was flattered but felt bad that I had to tell her I wasn’t anyone famous. “That’s okay,” she said as she smiled and handed me her notebook filled with illegible signatures. I felt foolish actually signing my name, but the girl was on a mission to get signatures and I didn’t want to disappoint.

The movie played on several screens in different theaters at the ArcLight Cinema in Hollywood at Sunset and Vine. It flew by with one action-packed scene after another including a fight scene in a grungy bathroom in Tangiers that went on for five minutes before Bourne killed off the assassin (“asset” in CIA parlance) played by Joey Ansah, a hot English actor of West African descent. Shame to see him go as it would’ve been great to see him again in a sequel. I also learned that he performed his own stunts. Unbelievable! Stunts were a huge part of the movie, and when the credits came on at the end of the movie about 20 names of the actual cast members were listed and then the names of the stunt people rolled on for what seemed like five minutes.

I honestly have no idea how PC and his crew managed to film all those chase scenes in major metropolitan cities. PC told me that they literally had to close down the streets. Not an easy feat in Manhattan, Madrid, Moscow, Tangiers and Paris. In fact the police car that the Jason Bourne character had stolen and then drove like a madman through the streets of Manhattan (and ultimately ended up demolishing) was featured like a piece of art in the foyer of the Palladium at the after-party.

After spending so much time with PC and having dinner with him when he was dead tired—usually having just flown back from New York or Morocco or wherever (and sometimes he was out of the country for only 18 hours to re-shoot a scene), I really felt for the guy. But after seeing the movie it was clear that all his hard work had paid off. It truly was a full-throttle, pedal to the metal ride.

While PC was filming in London, he asked Lindsay and her 8 year-old friend if they’d like to be an extra in the movie. Of course we were thrilled and even took her out of school for the day. My husband and I escorted Lindsay to Waterloo Station and waited and waited and waited for 6 hours until they said Lindsay was up. She and her girlfriend put on their navy blue school coats, donned their straw boater hats with thick blue ribbons (picture Madeline) and walked over to the escalators where they were instructed to hold hands and stand while the stairs descended to the main floor where absolute mayhem was taking place. Bourne was running for his life, trying to avoid getting taken out by another assassin. At this same time, my husband was walking around the station talking on his cell phone (surprise surprise). He was captured on film (five times!) but adorable Lindsay and her friend were cut. That’s Hollywood for you.

The after-party at the Palladium was a zoo, at least 1000 people. I sat at PC’s table and chit-chatted with his other guests about their various movie projects. Seems like everyone’s in the biz. Matt Damon, his family and entourage were surrounded by security so I didn’t have a chance to speak with him, but I did have the opportunity to meet him in London. He’s very friendly, humble and has a wicked sense of humor. When I returned to the Four Seasons after the party, I switched on the TV which happened to be tuned to Jay Leno interviewing Matt. Obviously, it wasn’t live as he was still partying at the Palladium. I enjoyed watching the interview, which reinforced Matt’s charm and self-deprecating sense of humor.

The following morning I awoke to the bright LA sun blasting into my room—WAY TOO EARLY! Unable to fall back asleep I decided to go out for a walk. I asked the concierge where to go, and he looked at me like I was crazy. “No one walks in LA,” he said, “But there’s a great gym on the 4th floor.” Since I’m more of a fresh-air girl, I asked him to show me on a map where all the huge mansions were. I was hoping to peak into the homes of the stars. He pointed to an area above Sunset and highlighted the best way to get there. After passing a car dealership that rented Ferraris and Cadillac Escalades, I ended up in a more modest neighborhood called the flats of Beverly Hills, which consisted of lovely homes, manicured lawns and tree-lined streets. The place was as dead as a cemetery. The only action I saw were a handful of gardeners blowing around some leaves, a personal trainer unloading an exercise ball, a mat and some small weights from his SUV, and a yoga teacher who emerged from her hybrid Honda with a personalized license plate that read YOGA4U. By now it was only 9am but the sun was blistering. Too hot for me, so I aborted my plan of hiking up to the mansions. As I stood at the top of Hillcrest (one of the several palm-lined streets that you see in TV shows and movies) I heard some yelling and honking and then saw a man in a convertible Mini Cooper flipping off a guy in a blacked-out black Bronco. Bad move. The guy in the Bronco honked back and forced the Mini Cooper to the side of the road. This quiet neighborhood had finally come to life but I wasn’t sticking around to see what happened. Californians (especially those in LA) are known to carry guns like mothers of newborns carry diapers.

When I returned to the Four Seasons I ate my breakfast on the outside patio, only to have a guy next to me light up a cigarette. I couldn’t believe it! Here I was in Beverly Hills where your body is your temple and I’m sitting next to a guy smoking. After a bit of writing and a quick shower I grabbed a cab to LAX. By now it was stifling hot and very humid. The driver asked me if I’d like air conditioning—for $2 extra. I had never heard of this surcharge before, but I guess with gas prices through the roof this stuff happens. I said “sure”, but after five minutes of suffocating, I told him I’d like to cancel my air con upgrade and open the windows. Not sure which was worse. By the time I got to the airport I could taste the metallic exhaust fumes.

Even though I had a great time at the premier, I could hardly wait to get out of there. In fact I barely lasted 24 hours. The combination of skin-searing sun, traffic, pollution and all the posers was more than this Island Girl* could handle.

*For those of you who have spent time with us in Canada you'll recognize Island Girl as the name of our De Havilland Beaver.