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Tuesday, April 13th, 1999 — Zurich to Chur, Switzerland
Zurich was cooler than Paris had been. Fifteen degrees Celsius (59°F) outside which my jacket did well to keep at bay. It wasn't too different from London but the weather seemed a week or two behind on getting warmer.
The train ride from Zurich to Chur was operated by a SBB, a Swiss company. This time my books and scripts took less attention from me. I couldn't help it, when we left Zurich, we started to hug the Lake Zurich for another scenic ride. It was a serenely beautiful body of water that went for miles and miles. There were trees right up to the train tracks that drooped down onto the lake. That was only the first lake I'd see today. The sight took away most of my worries about my future roles and auditions. Who knew when I would see this lake again, I simply enjoyed the sight and the constant rhythmic sound coming from the train.
In my introspection, I realised that the answer was staring me in the face. I'd been doing it since I had left London. Solution was not to search deeper, it was the search wider. My hand went ruffling into my rucksack again, out came my phone. A trusty phone that I was paying ridiculous amount of money to keep I service. A service that I now put to the test, I didn't make a call to let my parents know that we were doing fine. No, that seemed a call that I can make once I was on the set of Tea with Mussolini.
"Hi?" I said stupidly when the phone finally stopped ringing.
"Yes?" an Englishman answered.
Roaming worked without an issue. Brilliant.
"Mr Baldini—"
"Uh-oh, what's wrong, Wilfred?" Adrian asked, worried.
"Nothing's wrong."
"You only call me 'Mister' when you're cross with me or you need something. Ah — you need something, don't you?"
"Yes."
"Aren't you in Italy?"
"No, we're in Switzerland."
"Why? Wilf, mate, you do realise you're in an Italian film? That's a different country, lad," Adrian teased.
"Long story — we're travelling by train. Granddad says it'll be worth it."
"Damn right it is," Granddad chimed in.
"What did you need?" Adrian asked.
In that moment, I was struck speechless. Another lake had come into view — the Walensee — and even as my eyes roved over the astonishing turqoise water, I couldn't help but notice what towered behind it. A massive Alpine mountain rose straight from the lake's edge. I'd had a completely wrong idea of what mountains were; the hills we'd passed earlier were nothing in comparison, lacking both the stature and the sheer presence of the sight before me. Did mountains have auras? This one certainly seemed to.
I followed the opposite shore of the lake until an even larger mountain appeared — a peak so high I couldn't even see the top, the rock face so sheer it simply vanished into the sky.
I knew why people travelled — who wouldn't want to see new places, meet new people, explore new cultures? But I think I only felt the love of travel when I saw that mountain rising into the sky at such a sheer angle. The limestone ridges seemed to tell a story untouched by humans or animals — too ancient for creatures as young and mortal as us. No, these mountains told the story of the planet itself. The weathering on the limestone showed markings that hinted at where the sea level had once been — thousands, even millions of years ago. A timeline so impossibly long, and a mountain so impossibly heavy in weight.
The water was a mix of turquoise and deep blue, fed by the glacier that must have supplied the lake. The cliff face was so steep it felt almost like a fjord, and the contrast between the lake and mountain was so beautiful that it left me utterly speechless.
"Are you there, Wilfred?" Adrian asked.
"Sorry," I said, finally managing to look away. "I wanted to discuss auditions."
"Oh. I've told you, we're quite dry at the moment. You've got everything I've got in my office. I'm submitting you to auditions as they come in."
And it was true — I had sides for every new BBC, ITV or Channel 4 production. Anything that was filming in London. Though, if we're being honest, not every agent received every casting call. There were always hierarchies in this business; everything ran on who you knew. Especially if you were an agent. But I wanted to stick with Adrian — I'd feel that there could always be a different agent with a better reach even if I had the best in the business. It was rare to find someone who seemed as invested into my career as he did.
My introspection as I left Zurich made me realise I'd been thinking too small, too close-minded and short-sighted. I'd been staring at the lake when the mountain — vast and undeniable — was right behind it.
"I want to start looking foreign — global. Whatever you find, I want to audition for it. Even Wales, though I doubt they've got much—"
"Hey!" Granddad and Nain both said in mock anger.
Rolling my eyes, I continued.
"—Scotland, Ireland. Maybe even north of England," I said with a shudder. "I want to cast out nets so wide and large. I want to go to both Americas. Film movies in Italy, Spain and the US. I need more roles and I want to compete for them now," I said seriously.
"Why do you need more roles, Wilfred? You've not even started filming your current project," Adrian said, incredulous of my passion.
There was a dog in me that Adrian just didn't understand — it was greedy and it wanted to fight for any scrap of meat that it could chew on. Problem, though, was the timeline. I had just about a year before Harry Potter started filming. Worst of all, I had no idea how long the filming lasted or when the auditions would start. When the casting call came out I needed to have my schedule open and myself available. Which meant I needed to get all of my credits before that deadline. Auditions happened up to a year before things ever started filming and, theoretically, the movie could be cast as early as this time next year. It worked the other way too — if I wanted to start filming movies, I needed to be cast now rather than six months from now.
"It's been six months since I booked a role—"
"You did book some roles, and then you rejected them." Adrian interjected,
He was right of course, but the scripts were so terrible that I had to bail out. I could do many things but I really didn't want to put out a show as bad as those had been.
"Yes, and I've told you why. I want you to find me something to do after this summer, something to do in the winter. Something interesting, something boring — most anything will do. Start making calls — start closer then farther out: Manchester, Liverpool, Birmingham, Limerick, Aberdeen or wherever. I need my next audition booked before I'm in Florence."
"I can do miracles, but you can't just ask me that on such short notice," Adrian spluttered.
"You said you're the best agent when you signed me, Adrian. I don't want a London agent — I want an agent who can get me jobs anywhere in the world. I don't want the best in London — I want the best in the world," I said partly to show how serious I thought it was but mostly to try to stoke some of Adrian's own ego.
He had a dog in him too, didn't he? Or he'd never have left his job to start his own agency. Adrian stayed silent on the line for some time; my grandparents were sending me worried looks. They didn't like me talking about finding more jobs. I had a focus so unnatural to a child my age. They simply didn't know about the deadline or how massive what I was working for was.
"Fine, I'll do it. I know people all around England. Some in Edinburgh, don't know any in Ireland, though. Even if I did, they'll kick you before they hire you. Troubles and all that," he said with a laugh.
That seemed to track — Irish weren't all too happy with England. How much would they hate it if I stole a job from a nice Irish lad?
"But you've got it, kid. I suppose we've been too lax in this," he said, chuckling. He didn't seem to think so. But he seemed excited all of a sudden, "I could find more work for everyone else too. They're hungry and won't mind taking a train to Inverness or a ferry to Dublin. Get them out and auditioning."
"Thank you, Adrian. You're the best!"
"You can call me the best when I've got that audition lined up for you. No promises, but I'll try."
"Yes, I will!"
"You seem a lot happier now," Nain pointed out once I put away my phone.
"We've been in three different countries today. I need to be in films in more places than London," I said, smiling.
"You're going to film in Italy. That's a place other than London," Nain said.
"I need to be on the lookout," I clarified.
"You also need to look out there," Granddad said with a gentle push on my cheek.
While I was talking to Adrian, the train had turned away from the lake. Alpine mountain ranges surrounded us on both sides — even larger and taller than the last before it. One mountain in front of me, ten behind in long rows, dozens surrounding the area I was in. It felt like the enormity of what I was planning to do — and how small I was compared to it all.
We had taken just under twelve hours to reach Chur in Switzerland. A city smaller than Chester yet had more tourists going through it each year. Despite being surrounded by the Alpine mountains, the whole city had more orange and warm tones than I would have gone with. Our teeth made clattering noises with how cold the breeze turned. We waddled our way towards our hotel. Stretching my legs after sitting around all day felt like a reward — but as soon as my head hit the pillow, I was out like a light.
—✦—
Wednesday, April 14th, 1999 — Bernina Express, Switzerland to Italy
Cold breeze helped me truly wake up; it had snowed overnight in Chur — though by the time we left the hotel for our train, it had turned into an icy sludge. The Bernina Express was a train line operated by Rhaetian Railway. Original railways had been built more than hundred years ago. The line had won plenty of awards since then and had become a tourist attraction of its own.
The train was unlike any I'd been on. A red and sleek-looking train had more windows than walls. The glass went all the way up until it curved to a stop right overhead of a window passenger. The whole thing was like a glasshouse on wheels. Me and my grandparents spent the first hour ogling outside at the sudden winter wonderland we were surrounded by. It was April and the season was turning warmer in Europe — only, the Alps hadn't been told the news and everywhere was still capped with snow. Yesterday's snow hadn't helped but I doubted it made a difference where we were going. The panoramic windows offered unprecedented viewing angles that we were almost snow-blind from the sight.
My eyes couldn't leave the white fields before me, a sight so beautiful that it kept me in hypnosis. I was warm and comfortable and outside was a frozen, cold and quiet place. There are beauties in contrasts — and so I was enjoying looking at the blue toned evergreen trees that crusted under white snow. We kept going up and up like we were in a roller-coaster, ascending the Alps. When we reached the top, would we drop down as fast?
Higher we climbed, more I could look almost directly down. At some point the valley below me had both green and turquoise flowing in it like oil and water, forever barred from mixing.
"In a few minutes, we will be running the sixty-five metres high, Landwasser Viaduct. It is one of the most impressive constructions on the line as it curves elegantly above the valley below before entering a tunnel carved into a sheer rock face," the intercom announced.
Bernina Express was a tourist attraction and the train company had done their best to provide a respectful tour-guide experience. I now knew more about the route than I cared telling.
Bushes and twigs dusted in white snow and the hazy mist hanging over the treeline. Seeing it all from the train didn't seem to do it justice. I wanted to be outside — in the quiet and serene environment. Perhaps to rent one of those lodges I saw by the train tracks when I grew older. If my plans worked out, I would need some time to get away from all the attention. This seemed the perfect place.
We passed over a viaduct with a small valley underneath. I had heard a lot about the Landwasser, but it wasn't as impressive as what Granddad had been hyping it up to be. I looked over at my Nain and Granddad with a questioning look but they had this cheeky face that made it apparent they were holding back a secret.
"What?" I asked.
But Granddad only cupped my cheeks to turn me back to the large windows to the outside. We kept ascending and ascending until we passed through a short tunnel. Then I saw it — and even the train slowed down so all the passengers could enjoy the absolutely beautiful mountain and its cliff face in front of us. Within moments we were over on the viaduct and I saw the front of the train in full. This viaduct was so much bigger and taller than the last — below I saw a glacier like river running, in front I saw a rock formation crusted with snow, erosion on the cliff face and the trees made the mountain look like it had broccoli for hats dipped in powdered sugar.
As my head turned with the curve to look at the beauty of the world around me, the tunnel kept creeping nearer and nearer. Right before I was plunged into the tunnel I read a sign that said:
Landwasser Tunnel 216m
I found it almost a religious experience — that we were surrounded by super-bright lights reflected by snow, then suddenly stuck in complete darkness. Train tracks made clicking noises, a low hum rang all along until we were out; my eyes couldn't help but squint while my face grimaced at the extreme brightness. Like a baby born again, I wanted to cry out.
"You know, Granddad?" I said quietly.
"What's that, Wilf?" he asked knowingly.
"I like trains," I said with a smile.
"What else?" Granddad asked, a grin on his face.
"It was worth it," I admitted.
That seemed all the approval that Clive needed. He was serene as the winter paradise around us.
—✦—
We reached Ospizio, which the intercom told me was the highest elevation the line reached, and the sun seemed to get ever brighter then. We were treated with the sight of the Lago Bianco — Italian for White Lake — and the sign that we were now nearing the Italian border. Going beside the green lake of the glacier in a train felt like touring another planet.
Granddad and I even went to the back of the train where there were open windows and came back with red cheeks and happy smiles. When the train stopped at Alp Grüm station, we saw folk in proper winter gear, unlike us tourists who were passing by the Alps. Our descent began from there, and snow seemed to disappear. The plain fluffy white snow was replaced by twiggy snow into dusting and then into muddy browns. The more we descended, the serenity was lost — and even the trees started to look less dead and white and more brown and struggling. When we went through another tunnel, the snow and cold gave way to green trees and actual grass.
I had forgotten about the character I was to play or the scripts I was to read. The train ride had shown me all seasons of a year within four hours. I don't think you could have found me in a more serene mood.
"Hey, Wilf. There's something ringing," Nain pointed out.
I woke from my dreamscape and noticed my phone was ringing. Caller ID said Agent 47. Mr Baldini was calling — right as I was in Italy. I had a couple more days left on the journey before reaching Florence, and plenty more touristy things to do. Could he have gotten me an audition in less than a day?
"Hi?" I asked, barely paying attention to my surroundings.
"I've got a few auditions for you. But you might have to fly out to a few different countries," Adrian cut to the chase.
"You've already got me auditions?" I asked in amazement.
"Yes — but you may have to lie."
"Lie about what?"
"About where you're from," Adrian said.
"Oh?"
"You might want to work on your Spanish accent. Maybe some northern English too."
"What are the names of the productions — what else have I got to prepare for? What about the sides, any breakdown?" Questions seemed to tumble out of my mouth.
"That's just it. One of them has seen hundreds of boys in open audition but they haven't found their boy yet. You've got the dancing skill they need. Only problem is — you've got to be from the north of England. They've not looked for anyone south of Middlesbrough. The other one is in Spain; you'll need a Castilian accent."
I started to hear a hum — only this time it wasn't the train. It was my brain. A revelation was so close to the surface. I only needed one tiny push.
"What is the name of the project in England?" I asked.
He told me — but it didn't help. So I asked for the name of the director, the producer, and a bit more of the story summary. Adrian read it off from whatever notes he'd taken. The hum turned into a proper buzz until the revelation burst into my brain in one big packet. A whole film played out behind my eyes and in my mind.
I'd been staring at the beautiful scenery through the last leg of the Swiss Alps and northern Italy, but I couldn't bring myself to care anymore — this was more important than anything else I had lined up or auditioned for. This could be my ticket to Harry Potter. My head buzzed with all sorts of new ideas. This was going to be a new experience for me in more ways than one.
"How much money will I make from Tea with Mussolini?" I asked no one in particular.
"£50,000. You keep asking me that — does it really make you feel that proud?" Adrian laughed down the phone.
"So I'll have money, right? I need to hire a dialogue coach. Can you book Sally for more sessions — or whoever can do this West Durham accent?" I asked.
"Sure, I can get that sorted and ready for when you're back," Adrian agreed.
"I don't want it done then, Adrian. I want it done now. I want Sally flying out to Italy. I'll reimburse her and even pay extra."
"Hey, hey. Having money doesn't mean you've got to throw it around," Adrian said.
"You can do your haggling with her, Adrian. But I want her here and teaching me the accent as soon as possible. I don't remember a Geordie accent. Please — I need this more than anything in the world."
"Anything?" Nain asked, eyebrow raised.
"Well, no…" I admitted, ashamed. "But I want it. This is a test just for me. I've been practising for this since I met Gilles — I just didn't realise it."
I beamed, radiant in knowing it was true.
"I also need to hire an actor who'll act as my parent," I added with an evil grin.
"Who taught him this?" Adrian muttered, even though he wasn't on loudspeaker.
Somehow Nain heard him over the hum of the train.
"That'll be him," she said, pointing straight at Granddad.
Even without seeing it, Adrian knew exactly what she meant.
"Bad influence, that man," Adrian said.
"You watch your words, Baldini," Clive warned — though it was all in good humour.
"Are you trying to book one of my clients, Wilf? When did you become a producer?" he teased.
If he expected me to back down, he'd underestimated me.
"I want someone who can do a West Durham accent. Someone around forty or fifty. Grandmother-slash-teacher type. Redhead, if you can swing it," I said, sporting the most wicked grin.
For the first time, I'd been handed an audition for a film I already knew — scene for scene, beat for beat. I finally had an edge. I could study the accent, the rhythm, the movement of the actor who'd come before me and sharpen it into something new. I could picture every partner in the scene, every prop, every shadow of the set. I wasn't walking in blind anymore. I had the map to the treasure.
The revelation hit hard — I'd grown just enough as an actor to use this, to turn the future knowledge into an armor and weapon for me to wield. I could dive into this role in a way that I couldn't in Tea with Mussolini.
"To be what you want to be, you must give up being what you are."
Gilles had said that to me once — cackling as he claimed it was Voltaire's quote.
He and Voltaire were both wrong, though. For me, it wasn't about giving anything up. It was about becoming more, wearing other face and being other people. Adding lines to my credits, layers to my acting and notches on my belt.
If I wanted to be Harry Potter… I had to become someone else first.
To be Harry Potter — I must first become Billy Elliot.