Size Matters Not: The Extraordinary Life and Career of Warwick Davis

by Davis, Warwick

  They also added some steps to the breakfast buffets so we could see what we were choosing, which made a change from playing “buffet roulette” or having to get the server to list everything (which in New York can stretch to more than sixty items and includes numerous baffling delicacies such as muffulettas, pastry mistas, and zucchini bread).

  While I was checking in, I turned back and looked across the lobby, which was packed full of little people. Just as I did so an airline pilot (I don’t think there are any little ones, not that I know of anyway) and three flight attendants walked in. They were still in full uniform. For them, this must have been a surreal moment. They clearly weren’t expecting to see a couple of hundred little people staring back at them.

  As they walked uncertainly up to the desk, the captain turned to one of the flight attendants and said, completely deadpan: “This jet lag’s worse than I thought.” LPA members tend to be very enthusiastic people and the LPA itself is very forward-thinking. They make sure that some of the world’s foremost medical experts on little people are always on hand, so if you don’t yet know what variety you are, then there’s a good chance someone there will be able to tell you – as well as help treat some of the little physical aches and pains that are sometimes part of being little. I, for example, have to take good care of my joints as they wear a lot quicker than normal. This provided me with a great excuse to build my very own customized indoor pool and hot tub at home.

  I love going to the LPA conference because it provides a rare chance for me to mix with people who share the same perspective; it’s a great place to swap stories. It also works as a great matchmaking event; many, many little couples have found romance at the LPA dinner and dance.

  The LPA is all about encouraging little people to make the most of the world. “It’s your planet, too,” they say, “so get out there, enjoy it, embrace all it has to offer!” One evening, staying true to that motto, I went out for a stroll around the local neighbourhood. The hotel itself was wonderful and the street immediately outside was clean and sparkled in the neon lights of posh stores, bars, and restaurants. Once I was a couple of blocks further west into Brooklyn, however, I found myself in a nightmarish ghetto where I saw drug deals, cardboard cities, and the sort of people who made the gangsters I’d seen in L.A. look like the Chuckle Brothers. If I’d had my Leprechaun costume on, then I would have fitted right in, but as it was I was attracting no little attention.

  As I hurried past one zombie-like individual he whispered, “Look at the midget, man, look at the midget!” to his friend. I looped back around at the next corner and zipped back to the hotel as fast as I could.

  I’m not bothered by the many different words used to describe little people, although many little people find “midget” an incredibly offensive word. I want very much to do my bit to raise awareness about little people, to try to reduce the number of startled and awkward reactions people sometimes have when they bump into a little person. It was this that made me say “Yes” when BBC Children in Need asked me to sign up for the reality show Celebrity Scissorhands, in which celebrities take over a hairdressing salon and attempt to cut people’s hair to raise money for charity.

  I had no ambition to be a barber, but I thought if I did this then it might inspire people to try something that they might once have thought was too difficult, or that other people had told them was impossible, or beyond their reach.

  Cutting people’s hair actually proved to be quite tricky, and not just because of my height. The only practice I had was with my daughter’s Play-Doh Mop Top Hair Shop play set and the first time I picked up the scissors they shook in my hands, not the most reassuring of sights for my first vict– . . . er, customer.

  Steve Strange, the former Visage front man, had already shaved two people’s heads by the time I got going, which was a simple but courageous cut. Customers soon stopped telling Steve to do what he wanted as that meant he would simply shave their hair off.

  Nothing could have prepared me for the cold-blooded terror I felt when I cut someone’s hair for the first time. After a long three weeks, I started to get a bit better but I was never comfortable doing it; my last haircut was just as difficult as my first. One guy who came in worked with problem teenagers and I sent the poor man home looking like he had more than a few problems of his own. I even added insult to injury by cutting out the shape of a pair of scissors on the side of his head.

  One of the “famous” clients who came along for a chop was celebrity “medium” Derek Acorah. I had no idea who he was at the time and so I guessed he had something to do with football and started talking about that. It then seemed as if I was the one with psychic abilities as he’d been a professional football player as a young man.

  Derek’s hair was pretty neat already and didn’t need much cutting, so I stayed around the back. All of my best work was done at the back because no one was able to see what I was doing. When I was around the front I could see their eyes widen in terror at the sight of my shaking scissors and this made it very hard to concentrate. In the end, I trimmed Derek’s eyebrows while he started to talk about ghosts and spirits.

  “You should talk to Steve Strange,” I suggested. “I think he’s had quite a few paranormal experiences.”

  Chris Moyles came along to watch the live final show, as his producer Aled was taking part. I also had the honor of waxing Moyles’s sidekick Comedy Dave’s backside and I couldn’t help but collapse into giggles as he screamed in agony. I signed the wax strip, now resplendent with a thick coating of his bottom hair: “From a short arse to a hairy arse,” and he kept it as a souvenir. I was excused from doing any more “intimate” waxes, in particular the back, sack, and crack, as my face was so close to the action, so to speak, that the BBC wasn’t able to show any of it. Thank God for that.

  The event was a lighthearted competition. We were judged by Toni and Guy of the well-known hairdressing company and a hairdresser whose name I can’t remember (I recall he was very tanned with far too many highlights but that doesn’t really narrow it down). To my surprise, I finished third out of nine.

  I went back as a client the following year and my daughter Annabelle had a go at cutting my hair while Harrison had his chopped by Jessica-Jane Clement from The Real Hustle. A look of panic crossed his face about halfway through but he was happy in the end.

  The whole Celebrity Scissorhands experience was great. I learned loads while I was there – although I haven’t touched a pair of scissors since.

  Once the show was finished, I treated myself to a nice pair of battery operated hair clippers. I was in the shower when I decided to see if I could use them to trim my own eyebrows, just like I’d done in the salon. I did it without a mirror and it was with no little horror that I looked down and saw, after doing the first eyebrow, that I’d put the clippers on zero, which meant I was now practically missing one eyebrow.

  “Kaggernash!”

  I had no choice but to do exactly the same thing to the other one so they’d match. This time it was much more difficult as I was now knowingly shaving my other eyebrow off.

  Sam stopped what she was doing as I came downstairs and looked at me curiously. “Have you got an acting job on today?”

  “No,” I said, “why?”

  “There’s something different about you.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. You look like you’ve got makeup on.”

  “Oh, good grief.”

  Sam was paying close attention to my movements at this time because she needed to pull the wool over my eyes for a very special surprise event. On the day in question, Sam had told me we had to be home at a certain time because we were having an important home assessment by someone from the school board. When I say this now it sounds ridiculous, but Harrison was in fact about to start school and so I bought Sam’s tall story hook, line, and sinker. I even obeyed her orders to spruce myself up, remembering that my dad had done the same thing for me when he successfully got me into Little
Chint, my primary school. I don’t smarten up for anyone in my own home; in fact it’s rare to find me with my trousers on at all.

  I noticed there was a bit of a commotion coming from the back garden and saw someone with lots of wild bleached hair and wearing a large brown duffel coat marching toward the house.

  “Mr. Warwick Davis, you lovely man.”

  The crazy hair turned out to belong to comedian and broadcaster extraordinaire Justin Lee Collins.

  Justin was making Bring Back . . . for Channel 4, a show in which he tries to locate people from cult music, TV, or film backgrounds to reunite them for a one-off performance or get-together. He was after me for Bring Back . . . Star Wars.

  When Justin saw my hot tub he immediately suggested we do the interview in there.

  “Erm, okay,” I said hesitantly, “but I don’t think you’ll get into my spare swimming trunks.”

  “That’s all right, I’ll keep my pants on.” And, thank goodness, he did. I swear he wasn’t naked, even though he said so during the program.

  So, despite Sam’s best efforts, my trousers were on the floor just five minutes after Justin arrived and we spent the next ninety minutes being poached by the hot tub. By the time we climbed out, our skin was so shriveled we looked like a pair of Dressillians.c

  Justin was lovely, full of infectious childlike enthusiasm. When I told him about Return of the Ewok I thought he was going to pop with excitement and we watched it together, sipping lots of fruit juice to try and rehydrate. It was the first time I’d seen it in years and the memories came flooding back. That was where it had all started, thanks to good old Nan.d

  As I saw my eleven-year-old self clowning about with Mark, Harrison, Carrie, and so on, I wondered what would have happened if I hadn’t made it into Return of the Jedi. I’m pretty certain I would have ended up acting one way or another, but life could have been very different. I’m extremely grateful for the way things turned out, which is thanks – in no small part – to my parents, who gave me the best possible start in life.

  Justin stayed all day, and seemed to be really enjoying himself, and the fun and games continued long after Annabelle and Harrison returned from school. We stayed in touch after the program was finished.e I liked Justin, he was a charming chap with a kingsize heart, and I had a brilliant experience going down memory lane with him. Good times!

  And I’ve had a wonderful time going down memory lane here. So much has happened in my life already and I’m barely halfway through. Like so many people I meet, I’m full of hope for the future and, although I’m in no hurry, I’m looking forward to writing part two of my story in another forty years’ time.

  Just before Willow came out, George Lucas took me to one side. He looked me in the eye and said: “Warwick, when this film comes out, your life is going to change.” He stared me dead in the eye and said, “If you remember nothing else, just don’t let the fame get the better of you. Stay true to yourself.”

  George was completely right. Lots of other people have given me all sorts of advice but this is the only thing that has stuck in my mind and is still there twenty-one years later, and it’s something I’ve found surprisingly easy to live by. (Although there has been the odd slip-up – once when some movie fans ran up to me in a London street and bowed down in front of me chanting, “We’re not worthy!” and I agreed with them.)

  I still don’t believe the hype and remain, despite all my weird and wonderful adventures, my tragedies, failures, and successes – much like Willow – firmly me: a son, father, husband, and friend.

  A case in point occurred a few years ago. I was in London with Sam, Annabelle, and Harrison and we were just on our way home to Peterborough when the iPhone rang.

  “Warwick!” an American voice yelled excitedly, “it’s Val! I’m in London doing a play, where are you?”

  “Wow! Val, hi! Well, I’m in London but we’re on our way home, the kids are just about asleep.”

  Val insisted we come to his apartment. “It’s my birthday, come on! Just five minutes!”

  I looked at Sam. She shrugged. “Okay then, five minutes.”

  “Great!”

  He gave me the address, which was right on the banks of the Thames near Battersea. I was pretty excited and curious to see him again, it had been some years since we’d last met. He was in London starring in a West End play, The Postman Always Rings Twice.

  He was in a huge and extraordinarily beautiful modern apartment, the likes us mere mortals never get to see, let alone live in. He grabbed me as I arrived. “Where’s your family?” he asked.

  He insisted I bring them up and wouldn’t take no for an answer, so I did. The party was amazing, it was full of famous folk; Kevin Spacey was at the piano singing a jazzy number. It was utterly surreal to see Harrison in his Babygros in Val’s huge arms. “Remind you of anything, peck?” he joked.

  “Hey, don’t call me peck!” I laughed.

  “Peck, peck, peck, peck!”

  We stayed for five minutes and then I insisted we had to go since it was a school night. Val almost blocked the door so we couldn’t leave and said, “Wait just a second, I’ve got to give you something,” and vanished. He ran upstairs and returned a minute later with his entire uncut birthday cake and a picture he’d painted.

  “Here, these are for you.”

  “I couldn’t . . .”

  “Seriously, take them!”

  “It’s been amazing to see you again,” I said, staggering under the weight of the cake and Val’s artwork as we left.

  “Likewise, kid.”

  As we headed back down in the lift after our very sudden and surreal glimpse of Hollywood in London, and as Kevin Spacey sang “Fly Me to the Moon” to a room full of A-list stars and champagne-drinking artists and multimillionaires, I looked at Sam over Val’s giant birthday cake, which I was struggling to hold.

  “I don’t know about you,” I said with a sigh, “but I could murder a cuppa and a chocolate digestive.”

  Justin Lee Collins invaded the Davis household for Bring Back . . . Star Wars. The kids loved him – and so did I. You lovely man!

  Annabelle at Jedi training school.

  The Davis family at a Star Wars Weekend in Walt Disney World.

  Of all the places I’ve been in the world, my favorite place for a family holiday has to be the Lake District.

  Sam and I treasure every moment with Annabelle and Harrison.

  Harrison attended his first premiere in 2009. It was for Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince in New York.

  a I don’t know why, but the Internet Movie Database lists me as an extra. I wish I’d been in it but really, honestly, I promise you I wasn’t.

  b There is an equivalent UK version called the Restricted Growth Association.

  c One for the geeks.

  d She’s now haunting her old house, no doubt giving the new owners the willies.

  e The climax of Bring Back . . . Star Wars came when Justin, myself, Kenny Baker (R2-D2), Jeremy Bulloch (Boba Fett), and David Prowse (Darth Vader) met for a reunion in a London nightclub. Carrie Fisher appeared via hologram as Princess Leia. It was all very civilized.

  Epilogue

  The Moral of the Story

  Some time ago, we had a decorator working in our house. He whistled incessantly while he painted, which irritated me no end. It was one of those random up-and-down, this-tune-is-going-nowhere whistles. He’d done several jobs for us before and we’d got on quite well. This time, however, he seemed to be a bit standoffish.

  Eventually, I couldn’t let it lie any longer and asked him straight out: “Is something the matter?”

  “Well,” he said hesitantly in a strong Welsh accent. “I had a run-in with one of you lot the other day.”

  “A run-in?” I repeated. “With –”

  “One of you lot, yeah.”

  I let the term “you lot” go – for now.

  “What happened?”

  “Well, I was doing some work down ne
ar the public swimming pool and had just parked when this little guy came out of nowhere and drove straight into the back of my van.”

  “I was there, I saw it,” said Sam, “that was the day of the swimming championships for the World Dwarf Games.”