Slough goes to Hollywood

Slough goes to Hollywood

Limos, the world's press, Clint Eastwood ... it was unaccustomed glitz and glamour for the Office party - including Ash Atalla - in LA last week for the Golden Globes

Ash Atalla
Monday February 02 2004
The Guardian

I was at my desk a couple of months ago when an email came through. "Congratulations on your Golden Globe nominations". I replied "Brilliant. What are the Golden Globes?" CUT TO: Sunday last week. BBC America had kindly laid on the big star treatment for the little show from Slough, England. Back of a limo, and on our way to the ceremony. We don't know what to do with ourselves. Too hot, too cold. Does my face look fat in this? Through security and the car pulled up. I can only imagine the biblical levels of disappointment the assembled crowds felt as out stepped a chubby bloke from Reading (Gervais), a tall bloke from Bristol (Merchant), and a brown bloke who needed a wheelchair assembled (err ... me). It's bedlam. On a raised platform slightly above the noise is Joan Rivers. I think she smiled at me, though perhaps her plastic surgery gave her no option.

And there we are. On the runway at the Golden Globes. Martin Freeman is pushing me past thousands of journalists and cameras. The cast of 24 walk by, and although it's one of my favourite shows, I'm furious the president ignores us. But he's not alone. When even the BBC correspondent looks underwhelmed as we pass, I start to wonder if we've been asked on the red carpet to do the vacuuming. Richard Curtis stops to say hi. He's just so polite.

Finally we're inside. Having done a couple of interviews Ricky has now caught up with us. The first thing he does is nearly push me in front of a bank of cameras taking Barbra Streisand's picture. Imagine the shot. An enormous nose with just the top of my head somewhere below her sagging chin. The awards room itself feels genuinely turbo-charged. An engineer approaches me and tries to mic me up. We explain that if we were to win, which we won't, Ricky will do the talking. He walks off, but re-appears to try again. We repeat that if we were to win, and there's no way on god's earth, but if we were, which we won't, then Ricky will do the talking. Umm. Don't even think about it. It's the ad-break before our first category and I notice there is no ramp on to the stage. Oh well, at least Stephen Hawking or Christopher Reeve haven't won either. I look around our table and see we have all been lying about how winning doesn't matter. I'm dreaming of first-class travel and women.

And the winner is ... THE OFFICE. And our music plays. And we are on stage. And Ricky is reminded to thank the Hollywood foreign press, which gets a big laugh, though I don't know why. All these millionaires with white teeth and wigs are staring at us. Clint Eastwood must be perplexed. And we are back at our table. And in that two minutes we have made hundreds of new friends.

Only 10 minutes later, I'm watching Ricky up there again. He's beaten the loser, Matt LeBlanc, to best actor. He makes a great speech, but I'm thinking we've benefited from the most horrific clerical error. At a time when it's fashionable to blame your secretary, somewhere the chairman of the Golden Globes is going mental. But so are we as it sinks in. I haven't been so elated since my 400-metres swimming badge.

The party afterwards is like going to the cinema, except all the actors keep walking into each other's films. For my own amusement, I decide to call everyone by both their names. This results in the following unlikely lines. "Oh, thanks very much Jennifer Aniston"; "That's nice of you to say so Jude Law" and my favourite - "Cheers Kevin Costner. I really liked Dances With Wolves". I make an exception for the Duchess of York, Sarah Ferguson, who for some reason I greet with "All right Fergie?" Other than winning, this becomes Ricky's favourite moment. Later Danny DeVito walks by and I tell him we are the same height, except I'm sitting down. Not even a smile. The faux pas and the night rolled on.

We were the cool kids, and Hollywood wanted a little Slough magic. Ricky Gervais, Stephen Merchant, Martin Freeman, Lucy Davis, Mackenzie Crook and everyone who worked on the show - I salute you all. These have been extraordinary days, but all surreal things must end. I am writing this piece on the plane on my way home. Over the intercom, the pilot announced that he was proud to be flying some of the members of the Golden Globe winning Office team back to London. A few people applaud, and as I'm smiling away, an Englishman to my left says, "I wonder where they are. I'd love to meet them."·

-Ash Atalla is the producer of the Office.
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