When I Awkwardly Met Bill Nighy, Steve Martin, and Tom Hardy

A random toilet encounter, a joke just for me, and a collaboration that wasn't to be

Working in the film industry, if you’re any good at what you do, you’ll eventually work with well known people who you admire.

This isn’t a story about those people. This is the story of my very random encounters with three household names.

BILL NIGHY

It’s 2010 (I think) and I’m in the Cineworld Haymarket (as it was then known) watching a film called ‘Conviction’. It’s about halfway through the movie when I glance to my left, and see a man sitting two seats away from me who looks almost exactly like Bill Nighy.

I want to look again, to see if it is in fact Bill Nighy, but I want to be subtle.

I immediately swing my head left and see that yes, it is Bill Nighy. At this point, his eyes are on me, giving me the ‘I’m trying trying to watch a movie, don’t talk to me about Love Actually’ look.

I watch the rest of the film, and as it ends, I feel an inexplicable need to talk to Bill Nighy.

After a brief board meeting within the confines of my mind, I realise there is no earthly reason to talk to him, so I leave.

Then I’m upstairs using a urinal, doing the obligatory post film pee. And who ends up standing next to me?

Bill Nighy.

I am standing next to Bill Nighy and we are both peeing. Again, I feel an inexplicable need to talk to him.

I confer with myself for a few brief moments and decide that, no, there is no reason to talk to him, especially while he’s standing there answering nature’s call.

I leave.

But I find myself standing around outside the cinema. Why? Because I realise I absolutely MUST talk to Bill Nighy.

I wish I could tell you why I needed to talk to him, but I don’t quite know why. It’s not like I’m his biggest fan. If I ever got the chance to talk to Steve Martin, I’d just HAVE to talk to him because of the impact he’s had on my career. Nighy is just a guy I like quite a lot, but it shouldn't have been crucial that I talk to him.

When Bill finally left the cinema I was there, outside, ready for my moment.

“Bill!” I said, like we’re old friends. He looks up and sees me.

I ramble something about being a fan and also working in the industry, and he instantly warms to me. I ask him what he’s working on and he says he’s working with ‘Judi’ and ‘Helen’.

Yes, he mentioned them by their first names and I knew exactly who he was referring to.

He asked me what I was working on and I didn’t have anything to say. I wanted to say I had a meeting with ‘Kate and Leo,’ or perhaps “I'm giving Quentin some notes on his new script,” but I had nothing.

We chatted briefly — a bit longer than Bill wanted, and then he was on his way.

STEVE MARTIN

It’s 2013 and I’m in New York. I don’t often go to the theatre, but Tom Hanks is on Broadway in the late Nora Ephron’s ‘Lucky Guy’ and there’s no place I’d rather be.

I buy a ticket last minute and somehow I bagged a place in the 6th row. The play’s about to start and I hear a few people around me whispering some gossip.

I listen more and I hear the words ‘Steve Martin’ being said by lots of people. Then, I look down my row and I see, at the end of the next aisle - the man himself - the icon, STEVE MARTIN.

I am a grown up, and I’ve matured since Nighy-gate, I’m not going to speak to a famous person for no reason. I settle down and enjoy the first act of the play.

Act break.

I go for the obligatory intermission pee, then I head back to my seat.

Except that I don’t head back to my seat, I find myself walking down the aisle to where Steve Martin is sitting, quite happily looking at his phone, being in his own world.

I’m standing right by him and I start talking, “Hi, um, Steve, I just want to say I am a huge fan of your films, your writing, your stand-up, I just wanted to say hello and tell you that I really enjoy your work.”

“Thank you so much,” he says. “What’s your name?”

I stumbled, trying to remember my name. And after I told him, he asked an even more perplexing question:

“And what do you do?”

All the confidence had drained out of me. Do I dare say ‘writer’ or ‘film director’? If I say that he’ll ask what I’ve made and the answer will be unimpressive and then he'll know I'm a complete fraud.

Although I felt like a fraud, an amateur unworthy of talking to this legend, the way Steve framed the questions was very kind. ‘What’s your name?’ and ‘What do you do?’ may sound like generic questions, but coming from Steve Martin, he was validating me as a person, as a creative. It was an act of kindness that he didn’t need to do. He wasn’t brushing me off. He politely gave me my moment.

Now for the best part:

Steve Martin performed a joke just for me.

At the end of our brief conversation I said, “I’m sorry I bothered you, I just really wanted to tell you that your work means a lot to me, and I just wanted to shake your hand and say thank you.”

“Sorry, I can’t do that,” he responded.

He said it like a complete celebrity asshole. Refusing to shake my hand.

But then, with a little glimmer in his eye, he glanced downwards.

I followed his eyes to see….. his arm - which was in a sling.

He couldn’t shake my hand, because he’d broken his arm.

It was HILARIOUS, in a way I can’t even begin to explain. One of the funniest men in the history of the universe had performed a joke, just for me.

A quick Google and I can see no evidence that he broke his arm in 2013, but I promise you it happened.

TOM HARDY

Whenever I tell this story, I comfort myself with the fact it was in 2006, before Tom Hardy was famous.

But a quick Google search just now has informed me that no, Tom Hardy was already very famous, and this was my chance to become Hardy’s best friend. The Scott Mosier to his Kevin Smith, the Ben Affleck to his Matt Damon. It very nearly happened.

Someone somewhere had asked me to film a reading of a play. So I sat there, at the back of some old room above a pub, hit record, and watched this rather boring reading of a play.

But one of the actors, Tom, just happened to be far and away the best actor there. He was utterly riveting. Clearly a brilliant actor who was going to be a star (he already was, it seems).

The play reading ends, and Tom comes up to me. Tells me he’s starting a production company. Or maybe he said ‘I need some camera operators for a project,’ it was one of those, but it was also nearly twenty years ago so I don’t remember precisely.

Anyhow - I said it would be great to work with him, and I handed him a business card.

He took it and wrote something on the back of it. Then handed it back to me.

The note read: “Tom Hardy,” followed by his mobile number.

Yes, Tom Hardy gave me his number.

And the future of our very many creative projects together became a possibility.

Only problem is - I lost the business card.

It was a few weeks later when I was watching a movie - possibly ‘Layer Cake,’ when I realised ‘oh, that’s Tom!’.

Tom Hardy.

I’m sure he often thinks about that day, wishing, too, that I hadn’t lost his number. Tom Hardy has struggled without me, and I hope one day he’ll forgive me.