Sniff

I'm continually impressed by the advancements in security. Ah yes, gone are the days when you could lift an orange from your local fruit stand and vanish into the crowd. Nowadays satellite images can zoom in to the face of a coin. Why? Because they can. There's no escape. Unless of course you're 6 foot 6 and America's most wanted. Then, you can...well, lift an orange and vanish into the crowd. But mischievous quarters and devious dimes beware! We're onto you.

The latest addition to goverments' arsenals? Counterfeit DVD sniffer dogs. Yes, you may need to re-read that phrase to make sense of it, but it doesn't make these talented hounds less effective. Two highly skilled labradors, Lucky and Flo, travelled to the US recently to display their sniffing abilities. Like you, I was dumbfounded at how a dog might smell a sliver of plastic through one's airport luggage. Let alone how the heck it can differentiate between a DVD I buy in a store and one I've burned on my computer. Now THAT'S talent. These dogs should have their own show.

It seems that Lucky and Flo can indeed sniff out a pirated DVD and identify it to their handler. Though probably not down to the bonus features. (I'm told they can only identify titles and lead actors) Incredibly, they can also sniff out legally purchased DVDs. They just can't tell the difference. Which kinda makes the whole exercise fairly pointless. They'll be pulling everyone over! I always carry (legal) DVDs on trips, to play during my journey. That means I'll be pulled to one side and searched. Again. That's just great. And what of the other multitude of DVD carriers? I mean, you have DVD stores prominently placed in airports. People buy them. And what about people who have CDs? Can they possibly smell any different? Now all these folks will inadvertantly add an anal probe to their pre-flight checklist. Sweet. That's like having a drive-thru bar 50 feet before a DUI roadblock!

There are two clear options open to Joe and Janet Shmo. Either you leave the DVDs on the shelf, or you pack as many discs on your person as humanly possible. That's my choice. If I'm gonna get sniffed-up, I'm gonna get my tax-paying monies worth. Personally, I can't wait for my next plane trip. Hey- it's been a while. I'm gonna shove the Frasier box set down my pants. Just to be sure.

Oh, yeah. One more thing. I want Flo, please. Not lucky. FLO. Got it? We all remember what happened last time...

The Sex Drive is Up

A fabulous little short I acted in (and by little I mean REALLY small) is now online for viewing. Damon Berry's "Sex Drive" is a great piece with clever dialogue about a woman asking for directions to love. You can check it out at New York Minute Film Festival. Just click on the title, Sex Drive, and away you go.

Also look out for Digby Young's inspired "Land of Opportunity" - a witty take on life in SA. Bear in mind when you're watching, that both films were shot in one continuous, uninterrupted take AND went from filming to completion within 24 hours! Quite an achievement I think.

Do have a visit when you get a chance. They're short files and take hardly any time to load. Also, this is a competition and voting opens soon, so, if you're delighted by them, please vote for our efforts and tell a friend!

Akaroa and Bolo

It may only have been one cinema, but Akaroa finally hit the big screen. Kelsey Johnson's short film screened at the LA Shorts Fest in Hollywood this past week. Great to see it at the Arclight and, being shot on 16mm, it translated well to the size. This snap is of Jerry Angelo as Eric and Morann Peri as Efrat. No I'm not in the picture. Yes it is a kitchen.

I play dodgy a-hole, Vince, who is a bit of a d*ck, but still gets the girl - much to Eric's chagrin. That is also the first time I have ever used the word "chagrin". Make that the second. Akaroa can also be seen later this month at the Route 66 Film Festival in Springfield, Illinois, famous for the Simpsons. Or at least famous for sharing the name with Bart's home town.

And yes- I am struggling for topics these days. At least I haven't bored you with last night's dream of Bolo "Enter the Dragon" Yeung.

That is, until now...

In the dream, he walked down the aisle of some rudimentary theatre and I stood up and shouted "Bolo! Bolo!" But no-one joined in. Clearly these people were not martial arts buffs. Nor were they akin to magic shows, as no-one saw the nifty switcheroo, as Bolo (in a grey wig), changed places with a guy who had real grey hair. (Everyone still thought it was Bolo, you see!)

I don't know why they did the switch (after Bolo had hoisted several children on each arm). Nor do I know why Bolo was in my dream. Hoisting children and wearing a toupe. I really haven't thought of Bolo in years.

But when I do, it's always with fondness...

Farewell my Friend!

Russian born actor and entrepreneur Alexander Sergeyev died 3 weeks ago in a car accident, driving his beloved black beemer from Moscow to Helsinki. He was shipping it home to California and sadly never made it back. Sasha and I met on a film set in Czech Republic 2 years ago. Trapped in a castle for 6 weeks everyone got to know each other pretty well. He delighted me with his New Yorkified accent, his machine gun delivery and absolute passion. You couldn't win an argument with him, as he would either beat you down or wear you down. And it was a delight to witness. He made me laugh. He made me cry with laughter. And he made me smile without a word.

Sasha never got to see the film we worked on. He did see his parents in Moscow however, who now look after his dog Boo, an excitable recent family member who travelled with him. Sasha will be remembered for his generosity, charm, passion and fabulous sense of humour. I knew him for so short a period of time, but he left an indelible mark. I visited him the night before he left for Moscow. I'm sorry I left it so long. A truly unique individual, he will not be forgotten.

A few memories I have:-

Arguing about NY streets: "Don't tell me about New York! I know every Goddamn brick!"

Downing Tabasco shooters together.

Spending hours making calls to source a part for his beemer. Then driving from Czech to Germany on his off day to get the damn thing.

His love of red wine. And the great conversation that came with it.

Blue jeans, white sneakers (no socks), polo shirts and Abercrombie & Fitch sweaters over the shoulders.

And the myriad of Sasha-isms..."Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit"

Я буду тосковать без Вас!

Nachos Gid

The creatures keep on coming. I present to you my answer to Jack Black's fabulously funny Nacho Libre.

Yes that IS me. No those are not my sideburns.

Just returned from a fantastic trip to Mexico, relaxed, stuffed and smiling. Learned to surf (-ish), something I'd never attempted before. I actually managed to stand, which was quite a rush. Nicole boogie boarded with panache. I understand now what Dominic Purcell was on about - thanks Dom.

Thanks also to our fab companions (and guides!) Lynsey & Simon, Gavin & Narissa and Marnie & Josh. Nice to know it IS possible to escape LA for a couple of days to paradise. Haven't felt this relaxed in years!

Sufficiently relaxed to put on a wrestling mask and completely lose my mind.

Like there was any of it left...

Slither

In keeping with this year's animal theme, here's the latest addition - a python from Valley of 1000 Hills in Kwa Zulu Natal, South Africa. This guy weighed a fair bit, was smooth to the touch and, IMHO, highly judgemental. S/he sat very still, watching, watching, glancing casually from side to side. Didn't contribute to the conversation at all. I felt certain the snake could speak and was just waiting for the right moment.

To strike.

The moment never came. But the rain did. In buckets. Thus my bedraggled look. And the expression which says everything from "how cool is this, I'm holding a python", to "geez don't crush me don't crush me", or even "maybe if I hold this big snake people will think I'm straight".

Minutes after this shot was taken, we (Brooke Langton, pic snapper Greg and I) went outside to meet "Junior" - a 101 year old croc of generous proportion. He was nowhere to be seen, but it didn't stop our intrepid guide from leaning over the fence and using a long stick to splash Jnr's pond. Moments later, a pair of nostrils surfaced, then a massive head and then (after a beat) the whole beast lunged at the stick and fence. Brooke screamed and we all leapt back, laughing and breathing hard. What a thrill.

So that's chimps, crocs and snakes. What does that leave me with?

Oh dear.

I know...

Kids!

Pride

I felt very American today. Patriotic. I even detected a smile creeping over my face as I drove across town with a flag flapping proudly from my car window.

So it wasn't a US flag. It was an English banner for the World Cup. And yes- it did look a little like a wounded pigeon struggling to free itself from the clutches of a menacing black Volvo. But still, for a moment I was a part of something. Something bigger than myself. Part of a greater collective, a brotherhood of man. People who would sooner leap from a bridge than let a fellow brother down.

Of course that's just a fantasy. Not the lots of men bit. The belonging bit. Truth is, I don't belong to anything. I'm just another loon belting along Wilshire waving a piece of coloured cloth. And that's plain daft. People have been shot for less.

Which makes me fortunate I suppose. There. I am a fortunate man.

With or without brothers...