I was at the BAFTAs, at least geographically...

In my actor's class this week, I spent some time being a dog. I also had an argument with my character, which involved swapping chairs so that I could BE my character. You'll be glad to know that the dog bit was an extension of the conversation as I had to ask my character if she was an animal, what animal would she be and then I had to swap chairs and answer. I also got told off for acting as though I had been covered in ice. In my defence, the woman leading the class had gone around saying that she had a hose and was spraying us with ice and that it was hailing. If you want me to react, I'm going to properly react. In her defence, she told me I was good so she's not entirely crazy. She is quite crazy though. I must admit, the whole method thing is something I find quite frustrating. A big part of me quite often just wants to get on with it. I'm quite good at looking like I'm buying into it (I was totally the best animal) but that generally comes from the knowledge that they will only let us move on if we look like we're really absorbing ourselves in the exercise. Bits of it are useful; paraphrasing the text so that you can really analyse a scene and what is being said, I do genuinely like being an animal because it's fun and I'm a little odd and it does also help with things like changing voice and physicality - see Beanie in Wild Duck once he fixed the idea of being a bird in his head. It's just the submersion that I object to and the fact that you have to take everything so gosh-darned seriously. Is it bad that I feel myself to be a little too English to really do the whole Lee Strasberg thing? That said, it's all experience and it is kind of cool to say that I'm being taught by someone who was in The Godfather.

It was also kind of cool that I came down off Endell Street and past Covent Garden before realising that I was in the middle of BAFTA land. I assumed it was in Leicester Square and actually resented the whole thing because I couldn't just carry on past the Lyceum. I may even have grumbled out loud about letting me get on my bloody train, stupid BAFTA, grumble, grumble. Then a very nice car stopped by me and I forgot my troubles as it was only Ridley-freaking Scott! Granted I may be less and less interested in him as time has gone on (I liked 80s, sci-fi Ridley best) but it was still pretty damn cool to have an actual directorial legend within a metre of me. Bless him, he'd gone to the wrong end and had to be redirected (much like Blade Runner, the film of a bazillion versions) to aother bit so it wasn't as though I could hang around and do some star-spotting, although my train journey was 2 1/2 hours as it was so I didn't really want to miss it. I watched the ceremony and although there were several people there that I would have got quite excited over (if I'm honest, anyone I recognised), a bit giggly about (Paddy Considine and James McAvoy) and awed by (Joel and Frances), there was no-one there for whom I would have legitimately stayed and risk missing my train for - such as Gorgeous George, Jack Nicholson, Scorsese and Kate "my friend were we ever to meet and me get over the whole worshipping her for being so damned good" Winslet. I can't imagine any of them really buying into Strasberg either, you know.