Life and Laughing_ My Story - Michael McIntyre [76]
Initial feedback was good, but the readers didn’t seem to share my conviction that it was Oscar-worthy. The consensus seemed to be that it was funny, but there were various comments regarding the plot. ‘What do these people know?’ tended to be my overconfident reaction to opening these rejection letters. ‘Idiots.’ I had read stories about successful film scripts being rejected for years, so I wasn’t disheartened; I genuinely believed I was sitting on a goldmine. I missed most of another term writing, rewriting and flogging my script. Again I was summoned to see the department head to discuss my poor attendance and again I assured him I wanted to be a biologist … or chemist.
I sent Office Angels to Scottish Screen in Glasgow. They developed screenplays and are an entry point into the film industry. They enjoyed the script and I travelled to Glasgow for a meeting with them, but again they weren’t overly interested, just encouraging.
Then I had a bit of a breakthrough. There was a show on BBC2 called Scene by Scene hosted by the Northern Irish film maker Mark Cousins. I watched his show on Sunday nights every week. The show consisted of one-on-one interviews with directors and actors. I watched avidly, recorded and re-watched again and again as he interviewed the likes of Martin Scorsese, Steve Martin and the highlight, Woody Allen. While drinking with friends in a bar in Edinburgh, I spotted the man himself, Mark Cousins. Outside of the Edinburgh Festival, you don’t tend to see TV faces around (although nowadays everybody seems to claim to have sat next to J. K. Rowling in a café), so I had to double-take. But it was him, the man who had met Woody Allen. I wasn’t going to let this opportunity slip by and immediately made my way over to him.
‘Hello, you’re Mark Cousins,’ I said.
This is the kind of nonsense people say when they meet people from the telly. People say it to me now all the time. ‘You’re Michael McIntyre.’
What am I supposed to say? ‘Thank you, I’ve been having these bouts of amnesia where I forget who I am, your reminder has been a great help to me.’ Thankfully Mark was more polite.
‘Yes, I am,’ he said in his very trademark Northern Irish accent.
‘I’m really sorry to disturb you, but I’ve written a screenplay, and, well, I was …’
I didn’t really know what I was asking, but before I could finish my ramble, he said, ‘Sure, I’ll read it. Have you got a pen and paper and I’ll give you my address?’
‘Really, oh, thank you,’ I said. I didn’t know it, but Mark Cousins was a bit of an industry player. He was the head of the Edinburgh Film Festival and had access to all the producers I needed to get at. I just wanted to ask him what Woody Allen was like. But I left the bar that night aglow, clutching Mark Cousins’ address. I couldn’t believe I had met Mark Cousins from the TV, and he was going to read my script.
I packaged it up along with my covering letter and sent it special delivery the next day. Meanwhile, I had end-of-year university exams. I didn’t care; I had found my vocation. University was actually becoming successful for me; I was socializing and working incredibly hard for my future. The problem was that I wasn’t working hard at the course I had signed up for. I was concerned about being kicked out, and my department head told me he was interested to see how I would perform in the exams. I started to revise; I didn’t see that I had a choice. It was during my half-hearted revision of chemical equations that the phone rang. It was Mark Cousins. He loved the script and wanted to meet. I slammed shut the textbook, which was never to be opened again. He loved my film, I knew it, I knew it was good. I was so thrilled to have that vindication, from a professional, who had met Woody Allen.
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