By Phil Bostwick, Flicks.co.nz

The drone of incessant name calling and shrieks of delight had just hit feverish levels, like sunrise in a monkey enclosure. As Kevin Spacey, Samuel L Jackson and Helena Bonham Carter sauntered across the scarlet carpet, I found myself falling for the magic of it. Unexpectedly a smile took hold of my face and kept growing as the adrenalin levels deep within started to rise; I looked at my giggly new fan friends nearby and saw that they too were succumbing to celebrity worship madness.


I was in a mêlée of lunatic fans and even madder autograph hustlers. Behind me two flamboyant dudes were screaming and climbing a barrier separating ordinary public from those in the celebrity viewing public pens (aka the Pig Time!) like myself. “It’s F***ing Tom Ford!” one of them said, and again in case anyone missed it, “Oh my god, it’s F***ing Tom Ford!!”

Tom Ford, famous for his fashion label, was greasing up the crowd well; leaning in for personal photos and distributing evenly his attention between signature-seekers and amateur photographers.

Bonham Carter on the other hand displayed every expression under the sun (the kind that have helped her portray everything from the Red Queen in Alice In Wonderland to the Queen Mother in The King’s Speech). To the untrained eye she looked perturbed and overwhelmed but after watching her work the crowd in front of me for at least 5 minutes (easily the longest time of any star), it suddenly dawned on me. Her many expressions were the physical representation of countless snippets of conversations. These split second interactions played across her face while she juggled signing and smiling at a rate of knots.


The next most dedicated were Mark Ruffalo (Shutter Island, The Kids Are All Right), James McAvoy (Atonement, The Last King of Scotland) Jesse Eisenberg (The Social Network, Adventureland) Gemma Arterton (Clash of the Titans, Quantum of Solace), Tilda Swinton (Michael Clayton, The Chronicles of Narnia), Spacey and Samuel L.

Ruffalo was all smiles and basking in the fact that he is now well and truly on the top tier of American actors. Arterton seemed to be operating under the same pretense, and loving it (“It’s madness out here!” she later said in a red carpet interview brimming from cheek to cheek). McAvoy was a charmer, Eisenberg a nervous bundle of energy, and seasoned professionals Swinton, Spacey and Samuel L, all business.


Nicholas Holt (About a Boy, Skins) on the other hand got whisked away after only 2 minutes on the red carpet by his minder – obviously a well-rehearsed get out of jail free plan. But worst of all was the next Spiderman Andrew Garfield (The Social Network) who refused, albeit apologetically, to give even one autograph and got a rousing “Boo” for his troubles. The message there: Shun the fan biz at your own peril.

On the other side of the fame barrier directly in front of me was a group of 3 surprisingly professional autograph hustlers, clutching bulging manila folders. Inside were carefully filed images of every big star attending that night printed onto high-gloss photo paper.

Apparently a signed Daniel Radcliffe is worth up to 100 pounds (NZ$220 approx.), while a Natalie Portman commands 30-40 pounds, or 20-25 pounds for an everyday star, whoever they are. Apparently it all depends on your status and/or autograph giving tendencies. Needless to say Radcliffe is known for being a “stingy bastard”.

About 5 people down from them in the direction of approaching celebrities was a tall guy I nicknamed the “spotter”. He was like a walking IMBD and knew every celeb by their full name. When an important one approached Spotter would turn and announce proudly (and with bulging eyes – irrelevant but amusing at the time): “Nicholas Holt!” Like clockwork the 3 hustlers would rifle through their pictures and make a surge for the barrier, shouting “Nicholaaas! Nicholaaas!”


Perhaps the weirdest ‘fan’ however, was a plain-card autograph hustler stationed on the barrier directly in front of me. He showed no emotion and got the attention of each celebrity who crossed his path in a cold, calculated manner: a whiney, slightly angry ‘Pleeeease!’ dished out like a man in pain.

Sometimes his “pleases” were delivered in full sentence form and gave a hint at just how dedicated/ crazed he was: “Harvey, please! You wouldn’t sign last night for me, pleeease!”

Luckily a bunch of screaming teenage girls took the cake for their dedication to celebrity worship. They had travelled 3 hours to attend the Baftas and started lining up at 10.30am the previous day, 30 hours before stars were due to arrive. They had brought a two day picnic, frequented the nearby McDonald’s toilets and slept on the pavement in sleeping bags. True dedication courtesy of true fans.

Being a crazed English fan is going to be a fulltime job.