DAYS 225 – 242: Through the Director’s Eyes

As a director, one of the most daunting tasks is having to turn away a plethora of talented actors after an intense month of auditions.  When the casting call announcement was posted on the various social media sites, a flood of resumes surfaced on my desk – each one vying for a role in my upcoming war drama “74”.

As each potential candidate took to the stage, immersing themselves in their respective role, my assistant director and I realised that the proficient level of acting in Cyprus would not make the elimination process any easier.  My lengthy absence from blogging was largely due to the haunting hours spent in an enclosed part of my home, fighting through the copious evaluation forms submitted by my team of professionals.

And, after meticulous deliberation, the results were posted on Facebook amidst the jubilant cheers of the selected, and the disappointing cries of the precluded.  The marketing campaign had officially begun.

The weeks that followed saw a tide of professional emails flooding my inbox – the majority of which thanked me for the experience, and the opportunity given to them to audition for the production.  A small group of actors chose to voice their displeasure, not realising that such a response would categorise them as “avoidable”.  The level of immaturity, which is often revealed by the so-called “bad-sportsmanship”, was evident through the hidden innuendos concealed between the sentences; metaphorical figures of speech used to reveal their frustration of not being selected. 

But why should one care?  Surely Julia Roberts doesn’t call the director and blast him for his choice of another leading lady?  The acting game can easily be compared to a beauty pageant: only one winner can take the crown.

Perhaps one could ease the laws on a society which is, in my opinion, intimate? I think so; c'est la vie.

The creative juices are ripe.  I have just completed the script for a royal comedy titled “Divorced, Beheaded, Died… Divorced, Beheaded, Survived”. Based on the illustrious life of King Henry VIII, this royal comedy focuses on the Tudor king's royal appetite for the opposite sex, and the women who found themselves tangled in his lustful quest.

Prior to my explicit interpretation of Henry’s sex life, I will be directing a bio-drama based on the life of Aristotle Onassis.  Inspired by the true story of the relationships between the Promethean shipping magnate, his first wife Tina, his lover Maria Callas and second wife Jackie Kennedy, this is an extraordinary account of one man's voracious appetite for sex, money and power – how those with great wealth and political influence live their lives detached from the moral code and realities of ordinary mortals.

I’m almost certain that one would consider me a hypocrite.  I’ve babbled on about the silly innuendos implied by the agitated actors in their emails, but my overtones of sex are quite apparent in the scripts for my forthcoming dramas.  One might suggest a hint of “Fifty Shades of Grey”, but I don’t foresee any explicitly erotic scenes featuring elements of sexual practices involving bondage/discipline, dominance/submission, and sadism/masochism.  Although, King Henry VIII’s marital indecisiveness could leave one thinking otherwise.  I’ll have to dwell on those thoughts for a while.  I’m not implying any sexual deprivation, but it’s reassuring knowing that the audience will observe everything through my eyes…

Weight for me soon. Paul

Paul Lambis is the author of “Where is Home?” – A journey of hilarious contrasts. 
For more information on Paul Lambis, and to order his book online,
visit www.paul-lambis.com

DAYS 219 – 224: “What you see, is what you get.”

My Facebook timeline this morning declares that my start to the day was cataclysmic. I’m not implying that a tornado whip-lashed my car to the other side of the island, but I carelessly forgot my mobile phone on the charger; communication with the outside world has now come to an unexpected halt.

I spent the first part of the day bombarding the social media sites in order to fill the void, but the fact remains that an absent phone is as torturous as being caught publicly with your pants down.  One only realises how reliant one is to this indispensable form of communication.  I’m sitting on a bed of thorns, wondering if my phone has beeped without my knowing, humming its technical tunes of Facebook and inbox alerts.  What’s even more frustrating is that I am trying to locate the numbers of two talented individuals who have agreed to work with me on my upcoming production of “74”; my absence is suggesting a hint of unprofessionalism.

The drive to school this morning had me lecturing my son, yet again, on the principles of healthy eating.  His obsession for an Adonis figure has him skipping meals and submitting to an intense workout session of cardio exercises in his bedroom.  I’m convinced that beneath his drive of image consciousness, lies an interest in the form of a female classmate.  Although my son has never openly confessed his motives, the signs of infatuation are evident from the hearts squiggled on random pieces of paper scattered throughout the house, or the late-night Skype calls which require bedroom doors closed, and a lengthy pre-session of hair styling.

The consequences of starvation were addressed briefly as I swerved the car into one of the school’s parking bays. 

“Starvation will only encourage weight-gain,” I remarked as I pointed towards the permanent cushion of flab surrounding my waist.  Admittedly, the slogan on my briefcase screaming “I beat anorexia” did not encourage my argument, and I suggested that his [my son’s] mother would be more qualified to answer any concerns relating to exercise and nutrition.

And then, in a moment of father-son bliss, the boomerang question clouted me across the face, leaving me thoughtful and bewildered.

“Is mom happy with the way you look?”

My arrogance intervened as I defended by physique by saying, “What she sees is what she gets!” 

I bid my son farewell, and spent the next few minutes absorbed in a cloud of self-judgement. 

I've always believed that one should lead by example.  I’ve often quoted these scripted words from the bible to the squad of degenerates who manage the workplace.  My maturity should force me to take a stance, for once in my life, and bolt those urges of emotional eating.  But that infamous group of people trapped within my body are teaming up for their daily protest.  I’m feeling the urge to call my psychologist and ask for advice, but the reality lies with my infuriating mobile phone, held back by a wire in a socket at home.

Weight for me soon. Paul

Paul Lambis is the author of “Where is Home?” – A journey of hilarious contrasts. 
For more information on Paul Lambis, and to order his book online,
visit www.paul-lambis.com

DAYS 212 – 218: Conspiracy Theories

These are the golden days for conspiracy theorists. If you believed your government was spying on you, Edward Snowden’s revelations have shown you’re probably right. WikiLeaks and Bradley Manning laid bare a world in which the authorities routinely do one thing and say another. You may be paranoid, but they’re still out to get you — or at least to detain you at Heathrow Airport for questioning.

Now, just a week after the 16 years since a Mercedes plowed into a pillar in the Pont de l’Alma tunnel on August 31, 1997, depriving Britain of her People’s Princess and the young royals William and Harry of their mother, along comes a fresh allegation in the story that has generated more conspiracy theories than any other.

Scotland Yard announced that it is “scoping” new information about the Paris car crash that killed Diana, Princess of Wales and patron saint of conspiracy theorists. The claim surfaced during the trial of a member of Britain’s elite and secretive SAS army regiment; according to some reports, the estranged in-laws of a key witness told the military police that the witness had alleged SAS involvement in Diana’s death.

The circumstances of that death, though, have been exhaustively investigated, by the authorities in France and the U.K., most recently in the 90-day inquest at London’s Royal Courts of Justice that reached the conclusion in April 2008 that the Princess and her boyfriend Dodi Fayed had been “unlawfully killed.” The verdict highlighted the “gross negligence” of the driver Henri Paul, who died at the wheel and was found to have blood alcohol three times above the French legal limit, and of the paparazzi, whose reckless pursuit of the couple sparked the high-speed chase that ended in tragedy.

A quick internet search reveals a plethora of sites devoted to “exposing” Diana’s murder. A large and vociferous online community remains convinced, despite evidence to the contrary presented to the inquest, that the Queen’s former daughter-in-law was pregnant with Fayed’s child, provoking nebulous rings of vested interest at the heart of the British establishment into ordering her assassination to protect the monarchy. The more lurid versions of the tale claim the crash itself never happened (the Mercedes was dented in a car crusher; the Princess hijacked in the tunnel, forced into a vehicle masquerading as an ambulance and slaughtered). A surprisingly persistent meme depicts Diana as the victim of giant shape-shifting lizards that secretly control Britain. There are queries raised too about how and when a white Fiat Uno came into contact with the Mercedes, leaving paint traces, or whether Paul’s blood toxicology tallies with what is known of his last movements and usual habits, or why Diana’s seat belt was found not to work.

These queries seem sensible enough, and if we’ve learned anything from the whistle-blowers, hackers and leakers, it’s that the authorities don’t always tell the truth. But we knew that already. We may be in greater danger of forgetting that the authorities often do tell the truth too. Sometimes things are exactly as they seem: President Obama was born in Hawaii and Diana died in an accident, a victim not of unseen malefactors but of a collision between her desire for a private life and public fascination with her private life.

Scotland Yard — itself seeking to restore public trust after the twin blows of the News Corp phone-hacking scandal and the Jimmy Savile sex-abuse revelations revealed its tendency to protect the establishment rather than question it — has no choice but to evaluate the information it has received. To fail to do so would spark new conspiracies. Yet to divert more taxpayer money into a new inquiry also risks criticism. Hence the Yard’s carefully worded statement, which made clear: “This is not a reinvestigation.” Die-hard Diana conspiracists will be disappointed. They will always be disappointed.

Weight for me soon. Paul

Paul Lambis is the author of “Where is Home?” – A journey of hilarious contrasts. 
For more information on Paul Lambis, and to order his book online,
visit www.paul-lambis.com