It was the summer of 2007 that I decided I wanted to blog. I was watching Mulder from the X-Files (David Duchovny), star in Californication, a new series about a hip, womanising Los Angeles writer. X-Files was good, but I’d never been much of a fan, so when I looked at Duchovny, I didn’t see Mulder. That’s important, because familiar typecast actors have it all to do.
Take Danny Dyer. You might see him as a TV presenter who fronts those hard knock shows late at night, but I see him strictly as an actor. For a while, he was gold, proper talent, but for me, now, he’s done too many films in too short a space.
Some writers complain when their scripts get optioned and made into movies, because the end result doesn’t match their original vision. I’d be absolutely keen for someone to rework some of my material and do whatever the hell they liked with it – as long as it didn’t involve Ewan McGregor.
The best movies, the real gems, almost always feature unknown actors – faces you haven’t, at the time you watch them, seen before. A movie could come out tomorrow starring Russell Crowe, and it doesn’t matter how good it is, or what it’s called, because it’s just another Russell Crowe movie. You get me?
Mulder’s good in Californication. He lives the life. He blogs. I could do that, I thought, because it’s just rambling with words, expressing yourself like in a diary. Of course, there’s blogging, and there’s blogging, just like there're movies, and there’re movies.
After just over a year doing it, there have been too few personal entries. I’ve been making an effort trying to keep me-time to a minimum, stressing over pictures and colour and presentation of external subject matter, when most people on the web are talking a load of shite. It’s time to start talking shite myself. And if you think I've been talking shite already, then you ain't seen nuthin' but nuthin' yet.
Pish. Tosh. Piffle.