BUMS ON SEATS FOR THE OSCARS


I thought that Ireland acquitted herself quite well with the recent IFTA ceremony (Irish Film and Television Awards). The show was a tad long but the new venue of the Conference Centre was much more suitable for an Awards Show with its theatre style seating. However, particularly as the show went on (and it did go on…. for ages in fact), each time the camera panned over the audience there seemed to be rather a lot of empty seats. “Not great for TV guys”!

Where were the seat fillers? Ya wha Gay? Seat fillers? Where were the seat fillers?

You see I am an expert on this subject because a few years ago I was lucky enough to be in Hollywood on holidays and had a fascinating tour of the Kodak Theatre, home since 2001 to the annual daddy of all awards ceremonies, The Academy Awards. It was here that I learned about seat fillers. Americans know how to do events properly. They know that when a high profile event is going to be carried on live TV, a lot of empty seats does not lend the occasion a sense of prestige. Hence the need for seat fillers. And as it’s not just the Academy Awards that uses seat fillers, all major televised award ceremonies do.

A seat filler is a volunteer who will quickly slot into a seat vacated for any reason during the ceremony. So when Tom Cruise heads off for a pee, a designated seat filler is immediately dispatched to keep his seat warm as it were.

This is a serious business. There are strict rules to being seat filler. You have to look the part – so the ideal (read successful) seat filler is usually young (under 35), good looking and ‘svelte’. They must turn up to the event, looking every bit as glamorous as the invited guests. They must then be content to wait in a corridor or back room until required. When they are required to fill a seat, they must do so quickly and quietly. Under no circumstances should they speak to ‘the talent’ (the movie stars etc) unless they are spoken to first. They must not make eye contact with ‘the talent’. Of course it goes without saying they are not permitted to have a camera or to ask for autographs. And as soon as the star arrives back from the loo or fag break, they must steal away quietly back to whence they came.

So, yes you have guessed it, there are agencies who ‘recruit’ suitable seat fillers. I have no doubt there books are full of wannabe actors and screenwriters, the pinnacle of whose careers may well be to sit for a few minutes in a seat which still carries the body heat of their idol!

So IFTA, there is no excuse – get your seat fillers in line for next year!

The Annual Academy Awards take place in Hollywood on this Sunday night and will be screened on Network 2 on Monday at 9pm! There won’t be an empty seat in the house!

The Imposter in the Biscuit Tin – A True Hollywood Story

Ever since I was a child, I have loved to spend a rainy afternoon with the box of family photographs; wrapping myself in memories of days out and birthdays and other events which might have merited being captured forever. Being a bit on the disorganised side our family photographs were often not marked with dates or any other information which added to the excitement of delving into the captured past. And as was the norm in the innocence of the 60’s and 70’s, our photos were held in an battered biscuit tin which lived in the dark recesses of an old, enormous side board in our dining room. As a young child, one particular photo in this biscuit tin always bothered me somewhat.

Unlike our small, out of focus, family snaps, this offending photo was a shiny, large black and white image of my father being kissed by some very glamorous woman. The photo was taken at Dublin Airport where my father worked as a Customs and Excise officer. He was a handsome man and looked very dashing in his uniform. But who was this impostor woman kissing him? She was clearly not my mother. The photo always made me feel mildly uncomfortable. When I asked my mother, she said “Oh that’s Margaret O’Brien. She was some actress or something. She arrived in Dublin and a press photographer asked your father to step in for a photo.” I still felt she had no business kissing my father, regardless of who asked her to. Although I must say that my father looked altogether delighted with himself. But as a child, I had a sneaking feeling that Ms O’Brien must have been a bit of a hussy and was not entirely happy about her image resting in our biscuit tin with the rest of the family.

All of that was a long time ago and nowadays photos are held on hard drives and only those good enough for framing ever see the light of day in our homes. So the joy of rooting around in an old box full of family history is slowly dying out.

Two weeks ago we were lucky enough to be on holiday in Los Angeles. We did all the usual sights of Hollywood including a tour of the Kodak Theatre which is home to the annual Oscar Ceremony. Although it only opened in 2002, it is a very beautiful building, full of art deco lines and subtle glamour. Our tour group was very small and our guide was a wonderfully knowledgeable and articulate woman called Barbara (aptly named of course).

We stood on the stage and gazed out over the auditorium, dreaming of how it must feel on Oscar night. We were then taken on the same route that the stars are taken when they leave the stage with Oscar and head off to do their first press interview before returning to the theatre.

Our journey took us down a long corridor which is hung on both sides with beautiful black and white images of various actors and actresses down through the years receiving their award. There was Clint Eastwood, Meryl Streep, Julia Roberts, Dustin Hoffman, Tatum O Neill. Suddenly I am stunned to find myself looking into the face of the impostor in our biscuit tin, Margaret O’Brien. “Oh my God, she kissed my father” I exclaim. My own children and indeed my husband are stunned. They have never heard the story or had a rummage in the old biscuit tin in my mother’s house.
Barbara, our guide explained that Margaret O’Brien was a young actress who won an Oscar for her part as Tootie in the movie “Meet Me In Saint Louis” with Judy Garland in 1944. As I recounted the story for our little tour group, I could feel my father’s presence beside me, grinning from ear to ear just as he had in that old photo. And as the group moved on down the corridor, I took a last backward glance at Margaret O’Brien. “Good for you Dad” I thought. An Oscar winner no less!
p.s. How handsome was my old Dad?

CALIFORNIA DREAMIN’

Regular readers will know that I have been (virtually) very quiet this week as I was away with the family on holiday in California. It seemed like a long way to go for a week, but eldest daughter, who works in travel, got us a great deal which was too good to pass up. And although we spent 24 hours travelling each way, it was well worth it and not half as difficult as I thought it might be.

We had a busy schedule of things to do and we feel like we have been away for a month. It is like having an amazing dream and on waking, finding out that you were only asleep for ten minutes. But then again, many of us already know that time is elastic and not the straight line we perceive it as being!

I will refer you to Mia’s Room for a flavour of what we got up to. Mia can capture the spirit of our holiday much better than I. And if you visit – do leave her a comment. The excitement when she gets a comment on her blog is pure joy echoing through the house.

For me, suffice to say that I love America. We in Europe (and particularly in Ireland) could learn a thing or two about service from our neighbours on the other side of the ocean. And once again I have returned wondering how the Irish got the reputation of being the friendliest nation on earth. My experience of America has always been that they, in fact, are far worthier than us of this particular accolade.

And so from the sunshine and palm trees and fantasy of Hollywood, we return to Ireland which seems to be reluctantly moving into autumn. And one of the great things about travelling abroad is that it provides us with fresh eyes coming home. And as our flight sank through huge layers of grey cloud at Dublin Airport, we were greeted with the greenery and the autumnal colours of the fields of North Dublin. It’s great to get away. And it is also wonderful to arrive back home. Home, to the unbridled joy of Dylan and the more subtle welcome from the four moggies. Home to where we can feel complete, to where we belong and to where our hearts are. And home to begin to dream about where we might be able to travel to next.

What do you think? Do like returning home after holidays?