That time I was almost a dead body for Danny Boyle
And Cillian Murphy was almost my boyfriend.
OK, so it started when I saw an advert for ‘extras’ for a new film in a secret location ‘up north’. Nothing much happens ‘up North’ so it caught my eye. I had never been an extra before, or ever aspired to be one, but I had heard on the grapevine that Danny Boyle was directing it and that it was something to do with zombies. So now we get into Sherlock mode. I’d seen an interview with some actor a year before who said Danny Boyle might be making a follow up to 28 Days later (and the crap one that came after it). I checked back to when the first one came out and bingo! Twenty-eight years ago. It’s got to be, right? And who was in that? Cillian feckin Murphy is who! And who do I love more than my husband, but not quite as much as my dog? The man himself. So, I figured that if I could be an extra in this movie I may, just may, get to meet Cillian Murphy. What a story that would make down the pub, especially, when he came in the pub with me, because by then he would be my new boyfriend.
I’m on it. I click on the link and check out the criteria. I have it all. Even the right height and hair length. The ad says:
“must be prepared to lie still for long periods, outdoors, in mud.”
Who can’t do that? I once worked in an umbrella factory where the ‘health and safety manual’ was just a post-it note about where to find an out-of-date sachet of Lemsip and a packet of plasters. And I’m from Sheffield. I’m fucking hardcore. I can do mud. ROAR!
To be an ‘extra’ or should I say, ‘supporting artist’ as they are now called, you must take photos of yourself called ‘head shots’ and they have to be against a plain background. I didn’t really grasp the significance of this part of the process and hoped I would get by with hanging a sheet over the wardrobe and standing in front of it. After all, this was a one-off, with a clear goal, and that goal was to meet Cillian Murphy and make him my boyfriend, not aim for a portfolio that Kate Winslet would be proud of. So, off the application went.
I got a reply saying to keep the 18th July free as that would be the date of filming and they would let me know. I eagerly wrote in my diary: ‘Danny Boyle, dead body’ and sat back and waited.
It wasn’t that I lied exactly, it’s just that I didn’t tell anyone. Firstly, because of the obvious reason that I might not get ‘the part’ even though I knew I would make an excellent dead zombie and secondly, because, actually, I don’t think there was a second. But if there was it would probably have been some whisper in the back of my head that poked at my amygdala and in fairy breath said, “Paddy will roast you, unmercifully, for this until you die,” or something .
Anyway, everything was fine and then Paddy decided to have his eyes lasered. For our American friends, we have to ‘go private’ here in Blighty for this sort of thing as it’s considered ‘cosmetic’. As ‘private’ healthcare is not the norm here, when we do have to indulge this form of capitalism, we don’t really know what we are doing and ‘clinics’ pop up in all sorts of places. This one popped up in York in some hired room in a hotel, so I took Paddy for his consultation and had to wait in a nearby supermarket carpark. An hour passed as I sat there, conspicuous by my lack of shopping activity and probably looking like I was about to do a drug deal. Then I get a call from Paddy and this is what happened:
Paddy – I’m here with the doctor and he’s got a cancellation, but you will need to take me to Leeds for it and bring me back. It’s on July 18th.
Me - *Long silence
Paddy – Are you there?
Me – Yes. *More silence. Oh fuuuuuuuck what am I going to say? I’ll have to lie. I can’t lie. Oh God what do I do?
Paddy – Hello?
Me – What?
Paddy – You know what. Can you do the 18th?
Me – Well… I can’t really.
Paddy – Why?
Me – I’ve got something on.
Paddy – What?
Me – Something.
Paddy – What ‘something’ can be more important than this?
Me – All sorts of ‘somethings’.
Paddy – Look, if you don’t do this, there are no other appointments until September so come on, what’s going on that you can’t do it?
Me - *More silence. Fuuuuuuk and more fuuuuuuck now I’m going to feel guilty if he doesn’t get it done. What shall I say? What can I make up? Oh God, oh God, my brain is frozen, I can’t think…
Paddy – Are you there?
Me – Yes. Yes. OK. I’ll tell you, if you must know.
Paddy – Go on then.
Me – I’m going to be a dead zombie for Danny Boyle on that day.
Paddy – You what?
Me – You heard, I’m going to be a dead body and lie in mud all day and Danny Boyle is going to be the Director, so I can’t take you to Leeds for your eye op because I will be busy being a zombie. A dead one.
Paddy - *Mumbles to someone, “this is what I have to live with.”
Me – Who are you talking to?
Paddy – The doctor. We’re on loudspeaker.
Me – What? Fuck, sorry doctor, what? Nooooo! You didn’t tell me we were on loudspeaker.
Paddy – Sod the loudspeaker, look I really want it done in July so I’m all recovered for the holiday. Anyway, what the hell is this mud, zombie, Danny Boyle stuff all about? It can’t be that important.
Me – Well it is actually. The thing is, Cillian Murphy might be in it. And I might meet him. And all I have to do is lay still in the mud for a few hours and pretend to be a dead Zombie. That’s all. I’ll be a ‘supporting artist’ to Cillian Murphy. *Thinks: Don’t tell him you are going to make him your boyfriend.
Paddy - For Fk…sorry doctor…sake. You can’t sit still through a whole episode of Succession, how the hell do you think you are going to lay still for hours. In mud!
Me – I absolutely can. Did you not hear me. Cillian Murphy will be there.
Paddy – You know that for sure do you?
Me – Not really, but he definitely will be in it because he’s finished Oppenheimer and Small Things Like These and hasn’t started the new Peaky Blinders film yet, so he has space in his diary and…
Doctor – Oppenheimer. That was a great film
Me – Oh God, wasn’t it? The bit where they are interrogating him in the…
Paddy – Can we get back to the 18th please?
Me – OK. *Stall, stall, stall, Ooo, I think I might have thought of something…
Paddy – Well?
Me - I have an idea. I’ll call you back in 2 mins.
I remembered that I had a friend coming to stay that week as she’d broken up with her partner. I hadn’t thought about her at the time because, had I got ‘the part’, she would have been happy left on her own, hanging out while I was busy being a zombie few hours. She might just turn out to be the saviour of my acting career and my future marriage to Cillian Murphy. I phoned her:
Me – It’s me. Listen I need to be really quick. On the 18th when you’re here, I might be going to be a dead zombie for Danny Boyle in a film as a ‘supporting artist’, so if I am, can you take Paddy to Leeds for an eye laser operation and bring him back? I think he’ll be blind. You will have to lead him around. People will think you’re kind.
Lorraine – Err, you’re what? Err, yes, I can take Paddy, I can be kind. But why do you want to be a dead…whatever you said, in a film with Danny Boyle?
Me – Because Cillian Murphy might be in it.
Lorraine – Say no more mate.
Me – Thank you.
See, women get it.
I hung up and called Paddy back and gave him the good news. Yes! I had solved the dilemma. Paddy would get his eye op, Lorraine would get a mercy (*cough- shopping) trip to Leeds and I would get to be a dead body for Danny Boyle and meet Cillian Murphy and make him my boyfriend. Everyone is happy!
Of course, when I didn’t get ‘the part’ I was heartbroken. All that time training in ‘The Method’ so I could fully immerse myself in the role. The hours spent watching re-runs of Shaun of the Dead. All wasted. I spent days telling everyone who would listen, in my best thespian voice, about my brush with stardom. Of how I had been cruelly rejected by Danny Boyle, and how I would have been fabulous as a dead zombie but for “that awful little man who didn’t have the vision to see my potential.” They all agreed. The postman was particularly moved.
“He was obviously so in awe of your talent that he thought you were wasted on being a dead body,” said Paddy, supportively.
“I think he was,” I agreed, “but I’ll never work with him again, on principle. He had his chance.”
“He doesn’t deserve you,” said Paddy, and right then, for a few seconds, I was very pleased that he was my husband and that I hadn’t made Cillian Murphy my boyfriend.
And after all that, as we now know, Cillian Murphy wasn’t even in it. But I reckon that was probably because he’d heard that I wasn’t. That’s how things work in showbusiness.
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Zombie extra, you would have been a star
Showbiz is a cutthroat racket, kiddo.