Martin Short and I…
You know that when you start shooting a comedic mockumentary (i.e. a fake documentary) and straight up find your character face-to-face with Martin Short, things are gonna be a little downhill from there.
Yes, last night was the perfect example of preparation meeting opportunity. Straight after seeing the incredibly funny no-punches-pulled Avenue Q, Liz, Andrew and I set out ready to do some filming with my newest comedy character: a Finnish pop-star wannabe named Vinka.
As we headed towards Broadway, we noticed a queue of people waiting outside the next theatre. Ah! It slowly dawned on us: they were waiting for Martin Short to exit following his show (which, if you hadn’t noticed, I’d seen the previous night). AHA!
I got into costume.
Andrew seized the camera.
We squeezed into position.
And suddenly…there he was.
My heart was pumping like a roided-up bicep…I was torn between wanting to get Martin’s attention and not ruin the entire scene for all the other fans, being all altruistic and all. 😉 What happened was something like this:
Crowd: Martin, Martin, Martin!
(Him signing autographs, cameras clicking, etc.)
Vinka: Meeester Shot! Meeester Shot! Woulda you be signing my wrist???? (Handing him an arm)
Martin: (looking slightly bemused) No!
(Him continuing to sign autographs, including a moment where one middle-aged guy handed him a program to sign, a program which, on further inspection, turned out to be for another show. Martin didn’t sign it.)
Vinka: Meeester Shot! I be loving you! (to camera) Heeee’sa so beautiful. Even more beautiful in da flesh. Like leeetle tuna fish.
(His security guard thought that was funny)
(Then, after signing more autographs and getting ready to hop in the car…)
Vinka: Pllleeeease Meeester Shot! Wouldn’t you pleeeease signa my wrist?
Martin: NO!!! (gets in car and drives away)
Vinka: Oh. (to camera) I think he likes me!
Some might say our conversation was short-lived, I prefer ‘efficient.’ One thing’s for sure though – if I ever do meet him again, he will remember Vinka. Namely because she was wearing this. I suspect he thought I was taking the piss out of him because – it occurred to me later – Vinka’s accent could be mistaken for sounding a little like Martin’s camp wedding planner in Father of the Bride.
After all that excitement, I de-Vinka-ised myseld. To be perfectly honest I just needed a stiff drink.
We wandered up the street and stumbled into Birdland, a tres cool (and tres expensive) jazz club where, in the spirit of Avenue Q, I tried my first Long Island Iced Tea. A-Men! We kicked back, soaked up the atmosphere and watched the jazz dudes do their jazz thing. And yes, Mango Lick, I thought of you.
We then unleashed Vinka onto the streets of Times Square, where she chatted with the locals and:
– inhaled air at a newsstand where Britney Spears bought a magazine; – touched the hand of a cab-driver who’d driven Mayor Giuliani; and – rubbed her buttocks on the same leathery bicycle seat where Pierce Brosnan’s cheeks once sat.
Oh what a night.