Val Kilmer's Helicopter

In 2005, the first draft of a spy script I had written was completed. I was quite surprised to learn that at the time there was some buzz surrounding it. A lot of cool brands were keen to get on board the project and I suddenly found myself in a main producing role. It was scary and exciting, especially when I was in Cannes. I had already gained the oddity that was the Die Hard 4 spec association and also Mission Impossible 3 was in production. Whatever the big fish / small fish / size of the pond analogies, I felt that I was, at least, still a fish – whether I could swim or not was a prominent question as it does today.

Names were being banded around and I had interest from Kate Beckinsale, whom I had originally penned the lead role for. I naively chatted to someone in a bar, loose-lipped, in Cannes. The next day, when strolling the Croisette, I received a telephone call from Kate’s agent, laying into me about whether she gave permission for me to mention that I had Kate in my movie. Told off for not disclosing there were water scenes in the script (can’t disclose the answer to when I questioned ‘why is that a concern?') and then told off for unwittingly telling a national newspaper that Kate Beckinsale is reading the script! I had no idea. Yep, that person in that bar in that Cannes was that national newspaper. Oh, what the heck, it was all publicity.

Taking a break from the film festival madness, I took a trip with some US friends into Grasse – (if you haven’t been and do attend the Cannes film festival, then take advantage of where you’re at and venture out). One of my indie producer pals, who was more like a big sister to me, said; “Know who you should get in ya spy movie? Val Kilmer. He’s a Bond nut. He’d love to be in a spy picture.” And with that, I made that my quest.

2005 was a particularly mad year. Being told that I should go to Paris to meet Bruce Willis by Bruce Willis, living in a hotel in Beverly Hills for a while, Will.I.Am, The A-Team, an American girlfriend and in between... tracking down Val Kilmer.

Now, Val was starring in ‘The Postman Always Rings Twice’ in London in May 2005. I thought, once again, with my young naivety kicking in, I could get to Val and have him read my spy themed screenplay. I wrote him a letter, got it to the top people at the theatre to have it on his dressing room table along with a copy of the script.

So whilst he was or was not reading it, I received a bizarre email regarding Val and an incredibly lavish James Bond anniversary party. The email went something like this ‘We have been passed information regarding your spy-themed feature film, described by the British tabloid press as being a ‘female James Bond’ and that the Hollywood actor Mr. Val Kilmer is interested in taking a pivotal role in it. We would really appreciate your assistance with helping us gain Mr. Kilmer’s attendance for our James Bond party.’

I thought ‘Hey, I’d like to go to a James Bond party! If they want my assistance, then I want in, too.’ I wrote them back and said I would try and reach Val and inform him of this 007 bash, but on one condition; I’m invited as well.’ They agreed.

I did my bit and contacted Val again at the theatre, where his play was being well received. I also informed his PR and agent, but didn’t gain any form of response, despite me not particularly expecting a reply, let alone a positive one – but that’s what a Yahoo! address occasionally does for you in this business.

Whilst sitting at my desk, awaiting the reply that would never arrive, I began to wonder how Val Kilmer would actually get to this all singing all dancing James Bond event. The distance was around 40 miles, but that was leaving from Central London and would take forever. I decided to tell those who initially contacted me about the event that travel was a serious deal-breaker for my and Val’s appearances.

They came back with something I really wasn’t expecting at all.

‘We can arrange for a helicopter for yourself and Mr. Kilmer to fly out from London and land in the grounds of the hotel where the event is taking place. Rooms will be provided as will a return flight back to London the following day at noon.’

Gulp. Val had to come. I tried the theatre and his reps one last time…

The day arrived. The East London heliport was readying itself for a forty-mile flight out of the city into another county. The rotor blades whirled round. Whumph. Whumph. Whumph. The door opened. The pilot leaned out and shouted: ‘Please get in, Sir! I thought there were two passengers! Where’s Mr. Kilmer?’

‘It’s just me!’ I yelled.

The pilot shrugged his shoulders and nodded. ‘So you must be Ben? Well, OK, Sir. I was told to fly no matter what!’

The helicopter journey out of London and across the skies was a smooth one. My permanently fixed grin as I gazed out over the city wasn’t dissimilar to The Joker’s. The landing in the grounds of the hotel couldn’t have been a more awesome experience either.

A suited member of staff opened the door and I clambered out of the chopper and onto the grass.

‘Welcome, Sir.’ said the suited, well-spoken man. ‘Nice tuxedo, Sir.’ he continued.

‘Nice audience.’ I said, acknowledging the 50 Bond Girl-esque women, stood in awe watching me approach the back of the hotel terrace.

The suited man gestured for me to look at his beautiful female colleague, an equally stunning red dress, carrying a silver tray housing one single class of Champagne, treading her high-heeled shoes, elegantly and carefully, toward me.

‘Champagne, Sir?’ said the suited man, as his glamorous assistant smiled a blinder and edged nearer.

I exchanged a smile and took the glass, just as a sudden rush of wind picked up, due to the rotor blades still rotating several feet behind. Her red dress rode up to reveal – well, let’s say it was pretty much like Kelly Lebroc in ‘The Woman in Red’.

The woman gasped, albeit with a beaming smile.

I raised one eyebrow, lifted my glass to her and said, ala Roger Moore; ‘Bottoms up.’

I sipped my Champagne, placed the glass back on the silver tray and together with my tuxedo, I walked towards my very own Casino Royale where for the rest of the night, I was ‘Trebilcook, Ben Trebilcook.’