Nerd Do Well

by Simon Pegg

  Shaun wasn’t a massive hit theatrically in the States and was considered more of a cult, word-of-mouth sleeper than a smash in the vein of The Full Monty or 28 Days Later. Nevertheless, the support we got from the likes of Quentin Tarantino, Peter Jackson, Robert Rodriguez, Stephen King and of course George Romero gave the film sufficient momentum to become a genuine smash on DVD, to the point where, according to Universal, 40 per cent of American males between seventeen and thirty-nine consider themselves to be fans of the film. How’s that for a slice of fried gold?

  The relationships we cultivated as a result of Shaun of the Dead have persisted, and I firmly believe this is because all those directors recognised themselves in Edgar. A young film-maker with a singular vision, combined with the drive and tenacity to get things done. Edgar and Quentin certainly found themselves kindred spirits, and it wasn’t long before Edgar passed on a DVD of Spaced, no doubt knowing Quentin would get all the references, not least the ones to his own films.

  A few years later, in a recording studio in Santa Monica, Edgar, Jess, Quentin and I sat down to record commentary on episode one, series two of Spaced, which featured a shot-by-shot recreation of a scene from Pulp Fiction, in which Bruce Willis returns home to find a machine gun discarded on the kitchen worktop and John Travolta using the toilet. In Spaced it is Daisy who finds the gun, while its owner Mike Watt is in the bog. The moment was intensely personal for me, since the scene featured Nick as the careless Uzi owner, recreating a scene from a film which had united us as friends, for the viewing pleasure of the very film-maker that created the original. I only wish Nick had been there, if only because we were knocking back the margaritas, and if there’s one thing Frost loves, it’s a salted Mexican booze bowl.

  At the Spaced screening in Hollywood’s much loved ArcLight Cinema, guests including our new raft of commentators were milling around in the bar before the show. To my barely disguisable delight, Edgar introduced me to John Landis and pretty much made my night. The circularity at work here was fairly dizzying, not only because it was Landis’s movies that had so informed my tastes long ago in those darkened front rooms, but also because we had paid specific tribute to him in Spaced. At the end of episode five of the first series, an evil vivisectionist is stalked on Hampstead Heath by a feral dog and unwittingly quotes one of the victims in American Werewolf just before he is attacked. It never occurred to us as we made our very low-budget comedy for Channel 4 that we would one day be able to show it to the very people that inspired us.

  The second time we met, John took me to see Terminator Salvation at the Directors’ Guild and then for dinner at the Kate Mantilini Restaurant on Wilshire Boulevard, the location of Robert De Niro and Al Pacino’s famous face-to-face in Michael Mann’s Heat. There he told me about his plans to direct a film called Burke and Hare in the UK. He said the story revolved around two notorious 1820s Edinburgh killers who, between them, bumped off seventeen people and sold their cadavers to medical science.

  Less than a year later we began shooting in London with myself and Andy Serkis as the titular ‘heroes’ in a film that boasted, among its players, three of the original cast members of American Werewolf in London: David Schofield, John Woodvine and Jenny Agutter. Even more interestingly (for me), Burke and Hare also contained four members of the cast of Spaced: Jessica Hynes, Michael Smiley, Bill Bailey and me. And with that pleasing flourish of circularities, I think it’s time to bring proceedings to a close.

  Wait a minute! I hear you cry. What about [insert thing you wanted to know about here]?

  Well, I probably have enough anecdotes about my professional life to fill a whole other book, but to be honest I’m not sure how interesting that would be for any of us. Unless you are blithely indiscreet or just mercenary, you have to be a little bit more guarded and careful when talking about other people in the public eye. I’m not harbouring any devastating secrets or vendettas, but the truth would have to be modified to protect others and no amount of Meredith Catsanus or Eggy Helen-style pseudonyms would fully insulate against clever people working things out or, perhaps worse, misconceiving. My professional life has been eventful and emotional and I have met a wide variety of people. It hasn’t all been plain sailing; there have been struggles and conflicts and not everyone I have met has been a delight, but I’m just not that interested in dishing the dirt, and besides, I don’t really have that much dirt to dish. The journey has been fun and exciting, but there are few things less beguiling than ‘hilarious’ celeb stories, which culminate in the crushing sensation that you really had to be there and a vague feeling of resentment that you weren’t. And anyway, as Johnny Morris used to say at the end of Tales of the Riverbank, that’s another story.

  In the end, this memoir has turned out to be far more personal than I ever intended. My first inclination when faced with the task of writing a book about myself was to keep it strictly professional, for fear of constantly defaulting into tales of dogs and hosiery, but the truth is, the most interesting stuff to write about, and hopefully to read, took place as a prelude to the whole showbiz malarkey. Ultimately, we are all products of the experiences we have and the decisions we make as children, and it remains a peculiar detail of the human condition that something as precious as a future is entrusted to us when we possess so little foresight. Perhaps that’s what makes hindsight so intriguing. When you’re young the future is a blank canvas, but looking back you are always able to see the big picture.

  Epilogue

  The jet lifted off from the roof of Hendon Garden Hospital, a sleek black exercise in vertical grace. Nobody noticed as the silent bird drifted into the sky, apart from a tramp but his description of events would have seemed dubious on account of him being drunk and mental.

  Simon Pegg sat in the cockpit next to Canterbury, his friend and faithful robotic butler. Very little had passed between them since they delivered Murielle Burdot, aka the Scarlet Panther, to the A&E department with a gunshot wound to her back.

  The doctors had whisked her away to the ICU and an hour or so later reported her condition to be stable. Pegg felt a honey warmth spread through his body at the news and fought back his tears of joy, not wanting to look like a whoopsie in front of the cops who had been called as a matter of course.

  Pegg had participated in a short interview, which the rozzers kept brief because they fancied him so much. Besides, this wasn’t the first time Pegg had rocked up to an NHS hospital carrying a woman with a bullet in her back and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

  Pegg looked over at his treasured friend, watching him for a moment as the android cycled through various flight procedures with obvious efficiency. A smile stretched across Pegg’s face and he found himself filled with a wave of devotional love. Was it possible to love a robot? Pegg mused to himself as he considered his friend. There had been that incident with the BJ5000 at the Birmingham NEC in 2005, but that was hardly love, more like gratitude.

  ‘Is everything all right, sir?’ chirped Canterbury, breaking Pegg from his reverie.

  ‘Yes,’ said Pegg, ‘I was just thinking how much it sucks.’

  ‘What sucks, sir?’ enquired Canterbury.

  ‘Murielle’s going to be in hospital for at least six weeks,’ Pegg sighed. ‘What am I going to do?’

  ‘You could always write your book, sir,’ suggested the intuitive automaton, a hint of amusement in his smooth synthetic tones.

  ‘Is that an attempt at humour?’ asked Pegg, fighting to conceal his smile.

  ‘Not at all, sir,’ replied Canterbury. ‘I was just thinking, with the benefit of a moment’s solace, you might finally find the motivation to put finger to iPad.’

  ‘What shall I write about, though?’ asked Pegg honestly, reminding his mechanical companion of the young man who put him together from a shop-bought robo-kit so many years before, ingeniously adding a number of specialised modifications without invalidating the warranty. In fact, with the exception of the flashing earring and the spray-on tits, Pe
gg’s additions to Canterbury’s hardware and programming had created a unique individual, whose experience and ability to learn at a geometric rate had made him all but human.

  Canterbury looked at his master for a moment and felt a fizz of data sparkle across his silicon synapses. If he didn’t know better, he would have concluded it to be love, little knowing how much it was reciprocated.

  ‘Write what you know, sir,’ said Canterbury. ‘Write what you know.’

  Pegg laughed, an explosive chuckle that surprised even him.

  ‘Perhaps Ben from Century wasn’t as mad as we thought,’ mused Pegg. ‘I suppose, in the end, he helped me more than he knew. It’s funny, but I wish he was here so I could thank him.’

  ‘Perhaps you should have thanked him when you pulled the knife out of his brain,’ suggested Canterbury helpfully.

  ‘It slipped my mind,’ admitted the handsome adventurer and sex expert.

  ‘Much like that blade slipped his,’ quipped Canterbury.

  Pegg roared with laughter for six minutes. When the laughter subsided, Pegg and Canterbury looked at each other for a moment, Canterbury’s ocular illuminations pulsing in the moisture across the surface of Pegg’s crystal-clear eyes.

  ‘I’m sorry I doubted you,’ Pegg said suddenly.

  Canterbury said nothing for a few seconds, his fixed face unreadable. Then he spoke.

  ‘I forgive you, sir.’

  Pegg smiled, a look of relief melting through his expression of concern.

  ‘When we get back, I’m going to give you a full overhaul,’ Pegg enthused. ‘I’m going to paint over those tits, and get rid of that earring, I don’t care what those wankers at Comet say, they can go fuck themselves.’

  ‘I’d appreciate a lick of fresh paint, sir, but you can leave the earring. I’ve grown to like it.’

  ‘Whatever you say,’ said Pegg, grinning broadly at his best friend.

  They sat in comfortable silence for a minute or two.

  ‘I was thinking . . .’ Pegg began hopefully. ‘When Murielle is fully recovered, I might ask her to come and stay with us for a while.’

  Canterbury couldn’t be sure but it seemed as though Pegg was almost asking his permission.

  ‘That sounds like a capital idea, sir,’ said Canterbury, as if Pegg hadn’t been thinking about it since he discovered Murielle was still alive. ‘Shall I make up the guest bedroom in the east wing?’

  ‘That won’t be necessary,’ said Pegg.

  Canterbury wasn’t looking at his master but he could hear the slight smile on his face.

  ‘Perhaps you could start thinking about some recipes,’ suggested Pegg. ‘I’d like to put on a nice dinner for her on her first night at the manor.’

  ‘How about quail tagine with prunes and almonds?’ Canterbury offered.

  ‘Perfect,’ said Pegg.

  Pegg stretched and looked out of the viewscreen into the darkness of the night. The future seemed full of potential, full of warmth and even fun, not just the grim promise of danger that usually haunted the time before him.

  ‘Where shall we go now?’ Pegg asked absent-mindedly.

  ‘Zihuatanejo,’ said Canterbury.

  ‘Zihuatanejo?’ replied Pegg.

  ‘Mexico,’ continued Canterbury. ‘Little place right on the Pacific. You know what the Mexicans say about the Pacific?’

  ‘You keep asking me that,’ said Pegg, a note of frustration in his voice.

  ‘Might I suggest we just go home, sir?’ Canterbury said happily. ‘I think you earned yourself a rest.’

  And with that, the sleek black jet cut into the velvet blackness and slid away through the night, towards Pegg’s top-secret hideout in Gloucester, between Brockworth and Upton St Leonards, near the ICI factory but with nice views of the Cotswolds and a huge swimming pool.

  Appendix

  I

  wrote this shortly after playing through Star Wars: The Force Unleashed on the PS3. It features the characters of Rahm Kota, Kazdan Paratus and Shaak Ti, the last remaining Jedi Knights after the execution of Order 66. Shaak Ti is glimpsed in Revenge of the Sith; the other two exist within the expanded universe of the game which charts the rise of the rebellion between Episodes III and IV. The other characters should be familiar to anyone who has watched the original Star Wars saga more than three times. If that criteria fits you, read on; if not, I’d give it a swerve.

  The Plan

  Massassi Temple, Yavin 4. Mon Mothma and Bail Organa are seated around a large stone table discussing the aftermath of Order 66 with the last remaining Jedi: Shaak Ti, Kazdan Paratus, Rahm Kota, Obi-Wan Kenobi and a holo-transmission of Yoda. Captain Madine enters looking worried.

  MADINE

  Our spies bring disturbing news from the Imperial Sector. Anakin Skywalker is alive.

  KOTA

  What?

  MON MOTHMA

  How can this be?

  KENOBI

  But I stood on the lava banks of Mustafar and watched him die.

  SHAAK TI

  I still don’t understand why you didn’t help him. He was your padawan.

  OBI-WAN KENOBI shrugs.

  YODA

  Master Kenobi?

  KENOBI

  I was tired.

  YODA

  Grave news, this is.

  KENOBI

  I wouldn’t worry. He was in a terrible state when I left him. Both his legs were off and he was on fire.

  KOTA

  That’s another thing. Why did you just leave him there?

  KENOBI

  I dunno.

  PARATUS

  If what Obi-Wan says is true, can Skywalker really be much of a threat?

  MADINE

  The Emperor has rebuilt him. Apparently he’s more machine now than man.

  KENOBI

  Creepy.

  MADINE

  What is more, intelligence reports suggest that he has been reborn as the Sith Lord, Darth Vader.

  KENOBI

  Cool name.

  YODA

  Feared this, I did. A terrible ally the dark side has found

  MON MOTHMA

  What about the babies? Surely he will seek them out.

  YODA

  Hidden, they must be.

  KOTA

  Hidden and separated.

  KENOBI

  Awwww.

  YODA

  Right, General Kota is. Strong is their bond, easy to sense.

  ORGANA

  I will take Leia. My wife and I have long yearned for a daughter. We will raise her as our own. Concealed by the bright light of royalty.

  KENOBI

  Nice.

  MON MOTHMA

  What about the boy?

  PARATUS

  He needs to be hidden as far away as possible.

  KENOBI

  How about Tatooine? I have a friend there who has always said, if there’s a bright centre to the universe, Tatooine is the planet that it’s farthest from.

  MON MOTHMA

  Who is this friend?

  KENOBI

  His name is Owen Lars.

  SHAAK TI

  Can he be trusted?

  KENOBI

  Oh yes.

  PARATUS

  How did you make his acquaintance?

  KENOBI

  He’s Darth Vader’s stepbrother.

  EVERYONE

  What?

  KENOBI

  It’ll be fine, seriously. He won’t think to look there.

  ORGANA

  Are you sure?

  KENOBI

  Positive.

  KOTA

  Master Yoda?

  YODA

  Out of ideas, I am.

  PARATUS

  Very well. Leia Organa and Luke Lars –

  KENOBI

  Skywalker.

  EVERYONE

  WHAT?!

  KENOBI

  He should be called Luke Skywalker. Come on, it sounds cooler.

  MON MOTH
MA

  What is it with you and names?

  KENOBI

  I think it’s important. Why do you think I changed my name to Obi-Wan? Nobody’s going to be frightened of a Jedi called Benjamin.

  YODA

  Fear leads to aggression . . .

  KENOBI

  Yeah, yeah. If I had a credit for every time you wheeled that one out –

  YODA

  Up shut!

  MON MOTHMA

  Really, this bickering is pointless.

  YODA/KENOBI

  Sorry.

  KOTA

  Doesn’t keeping his name defeat the object of hiding him?

  MON MOTHMA

  Yes, what if Vader vanity surfs?

  ORGANA

  Mon Mothma is right. He may have a Galactanet alert attached to his name. What if he checks to see what people are saying about him and happens upon an article about Luke winning a spelling competition or a pod race or something?

  KENOBI

  Never gonna happen.

  KOTA

  Very well, if you’re sure.

  KENOBI

  Hey, have I ever let you down?

  YODA

  Anakin Skywalker, did you train?

  KENOBI

  Oh, throw that in my face, why don’t you!

  KOTA

  Silence. General Kenobi, we will abide by your wisdom . . .

  KENOBI makes a nah-nah face at the holographic YODA.

  KOTA

  But you have to go and live on Tatooine.

  KENOBI

  WHAT?

  KOTA

  You have to go and live in a little house on Tatooine and keep an eye on him.

  KENOBI

  Oh man! It’s boring on Tatooine. And what about all the sand-people? You have to make that funny noise to scare them off and I can’t do it because I’ve got a deviated septum.

  PARATUS

  You’ll have time to learn.

  KENOBI looks sulky.

  KOTA

  It’s either that or we change his name and hide him somewhere less obvious.

  KENOBI

  All right then, I’ll go.

  ORGANA

  Good.

  KOTA