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232As we boarded the flight from London to Inverness, it seemed
perhaps
that shooting for Blaine Tessier's new film, Mister Landlord, had
already begun. A 6ft 2in, bristly chinned, barrel-chested
"stewardess"
announced, in a booming baritone, "Good Morning, My name is Sarah.
Welcome aboard."
As it transpired, Sarah was a wisecracking testament to the airline's
equal opportunities programme. (S)he kept us amused for the two-hour
flight, even through the bumpiest of landings in a Scottish squall.
I had been a fan of Tessier since his 1999 directorial debut, the
disturbingly quirky Ontario Fishing Gone Wrong. However, I had no
idea
that the fidgety, punky livewire I recently spent two hours chatting
with at a London party was Tessier. I never thought to ask him what
work he did - we were laughing too much, exchanging ever-more
outrageous stories, and comparing near-death experiences. Only when I
was leaving the party did we exchange phone numbers.
A week later, as I was about to fly to Los Angeles for a three-month s ...