As some of you may know my lovely GF Evil-Lyn recently won the chance to go to a semi-intimate Q&A thing with Orlando Bloom, part of the promotional push for the upcoming Pirates Of The Corbynean IX: Tax More, Cut-lass! Naturally, I got dragged along. Since I didn’t have a clue what to ask about and I didn’t want to go for the thoughtless old staple “Have you been doing theatre?” (which might as well be “Is it you that’s dead or just your career?”) I did some quick research on IMDB beforehand. Big mistake. Apparently, like a lot of big name franchises originating in other media there have been scripts for a Sonic The Hedgehog movie (indeed, trilogy!) languishing in development hell forever. For a good while Orlando Bloom himself was attached to the project as an actor, a producer and as quote “a massive, lifelong fan of the Sonic Hedgendarium“.
Anyway, at the event the mood was odd from the start. For one thing Orlando had clearly had a drink or two. He looked a bit dishevelled, but I certainly wouldn’t have said he was Legolas. The first couple of fans’ questions went down poorly, like fell voices on the air. Someone asked him what he’d been doing apart from Lord Of The Rings and The Hobbit (“a lot of theatre”). A young lady who clearly thought she was paying him a compliment asked whether he thought the parts were there for handsome actors, what with the ascendancy of schlubby or nebbish audience-insert male leads over the last decade or so. I swear I saw his lip quiver when Michael Cera and Shia LeBouf‘s box office takings were mentioned. I should have realised then.
Upon being called to ask my question I took a deep breath, ignoring Evil-Lyn‘s urgent encouraging pinches and my own misgivings to go with what I’d prepared: “I see you’ve been involved with the people shopping the Sonic The Hedgehog scripts round Hollywood for a few years now. Can you tell us any more about that?”
There was a pause. A nervous gulp on both our parts.
“They’re taking the Sonics to Eisenberg!” howled Orlando, full of pain and rage.
At this point your reporter made his excuses and left.
This piece is entirely fiction. I imagine the real Orlando Bloom is a much more level-headed chap. Also please don’t ask me to explain the naff joke.