On paper, kissing a famous actor sounds terrific. Imagine it again but this time there’s lots of strangers pointing bright lights and cameras at you and if that doesn’t make you light-headed, you’re a better person than me.
I’ve being doing bits and bobs of acting for a few years but I rarely have to do kissing scenes as I don’t get cast as the romantic lead. Why? See whatever photo of me they’ve included with this article.
Now I was stood anxiously chewing on a Trebor mint, opposite one of the most glamorous movie stars on the planet, paranoid she could smell the crisps I’d just snacked on. I suddenly heard myself blurting out, “Kissing scenes are weird aren’t they?” I’m 50 now and I care a lot less if I sound like a wally. I’m not sure if it’s because I’m more confident with age or, as I fear, I’ve completely given up on myself.
Either way, I’d burst the bubble and we had to talk about the kiss. To my relief the movie star agreed. She too finds them uncomfortable. I should have realised. The tell-tale sign that you are both dreading your kissing scene is, you talk about everything except the kissing scene.
We’d been nervously nattering about what we were having for our tea and constantly mentioning our partners as a way of communicating that we both saw the kiss as nothing but a professional interaction. But now it was less awkward, although neither of us were ever totally at ease. I knew I was loosening up when during one of the latter takes, whilst kissing, I found myself thinking about the tip run I had to do the following morning.
The first acting job I ever did there was loads of kissing in the show. Mainly from the two lead actors, but at some point we all had to have a snog and that filled me with terror. Like any normal person who’d been working in an office a few weeks previously and was then suddenly thrust onto a television set for the first time, I had huge imposter syndrome.
I’d never acted in anything before and I had no idea what I was doing. In the first scene I ever filmed, I just had to wish someone a happy birthday. I was reciting my lines but my inner monologue was screaming “what do I do with my hands?” In my blind panic, I’d became very aware of my lower arms for the first time in my life. I was officially out of my depth.
On the first morning of rehearsals we sat reading the scripts. In an early scene, it was written that the two main characters are snogging. So unbelievably to me, the actors sat next to me started actually snogging. It wasn’t even 9.30am. No one else seemed perturbed by this, so I pretended I wasn’t either. To this day it’s the best bit of acting I’ve ever done.
That rehearsal fortnight should have been fun as everyone got to know each other. But I had a grey cloud hanging over me. I knew that for a later scene in the series, I’d have to kiss someone I hardly knew, on the lips. Here comes the light-headedness again.
The day arrived. We would be rehearsing the scene where my character drunkenly kisses the object of his affections. I reluctantly discarded the option of going method and getting hammered, and instead I went for sweating and panicking for the entire day.
We were reading the day’s script and the director was giving us notes but I was distracted, counting down the pages until the kiss. We’d turn the page and I’d get more light-headed.
We were only five pages away, and I was getting even more light-headed. Then we were four pages away, more light-headedness… three pages… two pages… it was the next page. I thought I was going to faint. Then the director breezily announced that we were breaking for lunch. I’d had a reprieve. A stay of execution.
I felt too nervous to eat lunch. Heartbreakingly, as the food on film sets is usually free.
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The actor I was scheduled to kiss was the wonderful Camille Coduri. One of the kindest and most talented people I have ever met. Like she often did, she checked in on me to see if I was okay. I couldn’t contain my anxiety and I ashamedly admitted that I couldn’t enjoy my free Pret A Manger chicken wrap because I was terrified about our kissing scene. She laughed sweetly and taking pity on me, she suggested we could get the kiss out the way now, so I could enjoy my lunch.
She planted a massive friendly smacker on my face and then carried on eating her free Pret A Manger wrap, like the kiss was nothing. And she was right, it was nothing. What had I been worried about? I was so relieved and thankful for what she’d done for me that, ironically, I could have kissed her.
But that was a long time ago and unfortunately I’ve since forgotten that there was nothing to worry about. Fifteen years later, I was back, dreading my second on-screen kiss.
Only difference is in the scene we shot earlier this year, I was too anxious and light-headed to eat my free Waitrose chicken wrap.
This week I have been…
Weeding… the pavement. We’ve just moved and I’m desperate to be liked by my new neighbours. I didn’t know you could do this but our road has opted out of the council using weedkiller on our pavements, as it’s obviously better for the environment. Fantastic idea.
BUT this does mean we all have to weed the pavement out the front of the house, otherwise it can quickly become unsightly. Frustratingly, every time I scrap the weeds away with the communal hoe, none of my neighbours are about to witness how neighbourly I’m being.
Weeding… my driveway. For the first time in my life, I have a driveway. But as the road has opted out of using weedkiller. I can’t then use the stuff on the weeds that grow between the bricks on my new driveway. I’d look like a right arsehole.
So instead, I’ve been pulling them out by hand and I’m too embarrassed to ask anyone if there’s a more efficient way to get rid of them. I’m also aware that there are non toxic weedkillers but I’m loath to use them incase the neighbours think I’m just using normal weedkiller and they think I’m a bad neighbour.
WhatsApping… poorly. I was recently added to my new street’s WhatsApp group but under the pressure of wanting to be seen as a valuable new addition, I’ve become overly helpful. This week I was the first to suggest a reasonably priced local hairdresser when requested, even though it would be impossible for me to know of one since I’ve only just moved to the area.
Plus, the last two comments I’ve added to the group have stopped the flow of conversation and the topic has then speedily changed, and the chat moved on. The subsequent shame I feel has made me consider moving again.
Joe Wilkinson does a mundane podcast with David Earl. It’s called Chatabix and is available on all the usual pod platforms
