Star Sightings

No. 39: Attend a film premiere at Leicester Square

If you’re genuinely British, you prove it by talking about how much you hate Leicester Square. It’s big, crowded, noisy, flashy, filled with tourists, and I love it. The area is surrounded by little theatres, outdoor cafes, street painters, shops selling those obnoxiously tall hats with the Union Jack on them, and lots and lots of cinemas.

These movie houses attract worldwide attention, as every film ever has its big London premiere at a Leicester Square theater. Anything Colin Firth, Emma Thompson or Mr. Bean has been in was first screened here.

I learn this one evening as I cut across the square to get to China Town for some crispy duck on pancakes. I’m walking along innocently enough when shrieks the stuff of Beatles mania fill the air. I see an astonishing crowd of people and camera flashes going off, above me a large banner with the word “Twilight” emblazoned on it.

Huh. Must be a run on Pick n Mix at the Odeon. (I’ll take a moment here to praise the English tradition that is Pick n Mix. Americans have hot buttery popcorn at the movies, the Brits have jars and jars of gummy fried eggs, shrimp-shaped Smartees and banana smiles. Look into it.)

I’m reading my morning Metro on the Central line the next morning before I understand. Photos of Robert Pattinson are splattered on the pages, with background shots of dreamy eyed girls fawning over the vampire heartthrob as he walks the red carpet in Leicester Square. I’m amazed at my powers of observation, and shrug it off as a missed opportunity.

But this is not the last time this happens to me. Like a moth to a flame, I seem to continually find myself walking past huge Blockbuster mega stars as they publicize their latest films. I hear women screaming for Will Smith and tweens crying over Zac Efron; see ladies falling out of windows to sneak a peek at Josh Hartnett and watch cars filled with James McAvoy’s entourage speeding away. I find it very bizarre, this element of the superstar walking down the little side road where I like to pick up a box of takeaway curry.

I thoroughly enjoy anything having to do with celebrity, though, and begin to keep track of the A-list brushes I walk by; my piece de resistance came one afternoon when I passed Patrick Stewart walking down Shaftesbury Avenue in sunglasses and a baseball cap. I followed him for five blocks.

Unfortunately, such ready access to fame begins to lose some of its sparkle, a truth I realize one evening when Lauren and I stake out a spot in the bustling square where we heard rumor some filming would be taking place for the next Harry Potter movie. There’s a crowd of people lined up behind a small barricade and we assume we must be in the right spot, until we learn the eager bunch are waiting to catch a glimpse of Russell Crowe, who’s about to step out of his SUV. We sigh in disappointment, shrug our shoulders, and promptly head home.