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How I Met Mickey

by Nic Saunders

March 13^th 2009

 

    As a 36 year old guy, Mickey Rourke is my generation’s Steve Mc Queen. He’s the guy with the lethal combination of a ferocious talent and an even more ferocious reputation, he epitomises the word ‘Cool’. I probably first saw Mickey on screen in “The Pope of Greenwich Village” and was hooked from that moment. He was who you wanted to be like, to dress like, to walk like, to speak like. That fascination hasn’t diminished over the years. Of course, since “Sin City” and now with “The Wrestler” Mickey’s everywhere again, but long term fans will know it wasn’t always like that. Ten years ago, you’d read the odd snippet in a film magazine or gossip paper, but finding the actual films was no easy task. Getting hold of “Francesco” or “Thursday” required serious effort and often serious money. But Mickey was always the actor I was most interested in and even in the worst movie (and some were pretty bad) they’d been something worth watching, some spark that made you remember why you loved The Motorcycle Boy or Harry Angel.

 

   I first saw Mickey Rourke in the flesh in 2003. I skipped an evening class I was attending to stand outside a small London cinema that was hosting the UK premiere of a film called “Spun”. I’d spotted Mickey looking cool in the way only he can adjusting his collar under his white cowboy hat on a poster outside the cinema the day before. Having found out Mickey was in London to support the film, I waited outside that cinema for three or four hours hoping to see HIM in person. There were probably five other people there – no big crowd, no big deal. This was London in November, it was cold and raining. But Mickey Rourke was going to be there. At about five to eight, wearing a black suit and sunglasses Mickey arrived. He posed politely for the couple of press photographers present before turning to go inside. I called out his name hoping he’d sign an autograph, but I’d been told earlier it was unlikely. “He’s a bit of an arsehole. He never signs” one of the event organisers had told me earlier. But Mickey turned and came over. He looked down at what I was holding out to him – a May 23^rd 1991 Fort Lauderdale boxing programme – and smiled. “Where’d you get that?” he enquired. “Oh, I got a lot of stuff” came my reply. “Cool”, he replied and signed his name. “Take care” he said and went inside. Mission accomplished, I thought. Seen Mickey Rourke in the flesh and got an autograph. What the fuck did that event women know anyway? It wouldn’t be the last time Mickey would prove people wrong.

 

   After “Spun”, Mickey’s name started to appear more regularly. First there was his appearance in Bob Dylan’s criminally underrated “Masked and Anonymous”, then a cameo for Tony Scott and another for Robert Rodriguez. These were good days – Mickey seemed to be making a slow, but steady comeback. A comeback that was cemented by his turn as Marv in “Sin City”. Suddenly Mickey was big news again. And with “Sin City” came my next chance to meet him.

 

   My autographed boxing programme had hung proudly on my office wall for two years and I’d achieved my aim of seeing Mickey in the flesh, but if he was going to be in London it seemed almost rude not to try to see him again. So, to those ends, I managed to buy a ticket for the West End premiere of “Sin City”. It wasn’t difficult, “Sin City” was being advertised everywhere.  I was rewarded with watching Mickey and director Robert Rodriguez walk up the red carpet signing autographs and shaking hands. Mickey looked in his element and it was great to see him so appreciated again. I’d got my autograph last time, but couldn’t resist a few photos this time. Once inside, I saw Mickey again as he joined the director and other cast members on stage to introduce the film. Every now and again during the film I had to turn round and check if he was really here. He was. He sat about twenty rows behind me next to Madonna and Guy Ritchie! It was great to see Mickey back where he should be, appreciated and doing great work, but it’s funny how a tiny bit of you feels that your favourite actor is about to become everyone’s favourite actor again. It’s as if a little bit of you craves recognition for having been there through the lost years. I never imagined that recognition would come from Mickey himself in less than 24 hours.

 

   I’d heard someone at the premiere say that Mickey was going to be on the Jonathon Ross TV show this week. Now, I knew from having attended the filming of that show some months ago that the show aired ‘as if’ live on a Friday, but was actually recorded on a Thursday. I also knew from having been at a recording of the show which exit the guests left by and roughly how long after the recording had finished. I knew this because the episode I’d seen being filmed had U2 as guests and there was no missing the large crowd of fans waiting for them outside. The following evening I headed over to the BBC TV centre and stood by the guest’s exit. I didn’t really know what I was doing there, I didn’t know what I’d say if Mickey came out or even if I had anything worth saying. I didn’t have anything to sign and I already had a photo. It was only once I was there, I began to question why I was there. Was standing by a traffic barrier at 10pm on a cold night normal behaviour for a grown man? What had possessed me to come here? I began to feel slightly embarrassed by my own behaviour when a large black car slowly crawled past. I recognised the man in the front seat as being Mickey’s bodyguard and I mouthed something like “How’s Mickey?” before the car drove off. I couldn’t see if Mickey was in the back as the windows were blacked out. I felt slightly pleased the car had gone and I could now go home and I promised myself I’d not do this kind of thing again. Lucky escape.

 

    I was about twenty yards down the road when a black car pulled up and a window slowly went down. The man behind the window asked “How long you been waiting there?” “About an hour”, I replied. “In this weather, Jesus”, came the reply, “For me?” “Uh, yeah, I guess” came my less than eloquent reply. I was having a conversation with Mickey Rourke. I heard him order the car to stop and he opened the door and got out. “Well, you deserve an autograph” he said.  “I’ve got nothing to sign” I said. “Okay, then let’s do a photo” he said and before I knew it, his bodyguard had joined us and was taking my photo with Mickey. “Take another in case it don’t come out right”, he said. I thanked him and told him how great “Sin City” had been. “Oh, you were there last night?” he asked. “Yeah”. I told him it was great to see him in a movie worthy of him again. “Yeah, there’s been some shitty ones”, he said. “Shergar was rough”, I joked. He smiled. We spoke a little bit more and then he got in the car and drove off. Unbelievable, but it happened. I have the pictures to prove it.

 

  I’d now seen Mickey Rourke in person three times. There would be one further time.

 

   The last time would be an accident. A friend of mine invited me to visit them at Pinewood Studios. They knew I was a theatre director and secretly harboured a dream to work in movies, so they thought I’d appreciate the chance to come on set and watch a film being made. “Some kid’s film, nothing special, no big names”, they told me and I almost didn’t go. Thank God I did as I found myself watching Mickey film his last scene in the film “Stormbreaker”. Another cold night (a recurring theme in these meetings) and I was stood less than 40 feet away from Mickey filming a scene with Damian Lewis in which Mickey’s character is inspecting his army and witnesses Lewis’s character shoot a fork lift truck driver. Mesmerised, I watched Mickey film for about ninety minutes before the director yelled “It’s a wrap and that’s Mickey’s last scene on the film”. Mickey played the scene differently each time, keeping it fresh, finding a way to turn banal, functional lines into something a little edgier, a little more interesting. I asked a crew member what Mickey was like – “A complete arse hole. Rude to everyone” was his reply, “Keeps himself to himself, doesn’t talk much.” Didn’t sound like the guy who less than a month earlier had taken the time to instruct his bodyguard to take a photo and who had taken 10 minutes or so to shoot the breeze with some guy on a street corner.

 

   I watched Mickey walk off, an associate carried Loki for him. I decided that I’d say hi before leaving. I’d been told not to approach anyone, but what would they do? Ask me to leave? I was leaving anyway and this might be the last time I’d ever see Mickey Rourke in person. I followed discretely behind as Mickey went into the makeup trailer. I recognised his car and asked his driver how long he would be. “Ten minutes, Mickey’s not one to hang around”, he told me. I thanked him and waited a little distance from the car. Again, I found myself asking “What am I doing here? What will I say?” Mickey appeared and his driver whispered something in his ear and pointed at me. To my amazement, Mickey walked over – “Hey ,it’s the dude from the Jonathon Ross show” (or something similar) “How the fuck you get here?” “Friends in all the right places”, I joked. Mickey smiled. “Good to see you.” We talked for a few minutes. “I got something for you” he said and his driver opened the car boot. “What’s your name?” I told him and he produced a large Marv poster and wrote “To Nic, Best, Mickey Rourke” (I’d never seen him sign more than a squiggly M before). “There you go, brother. You take care and see you later”. We shook hands, he drove off and I’ll never forget his hand waving out of the window as he left. Didn’t seem like an arse hole to me.