An Account From A Fan’s Mind

By : David B. Graver

My heart was pounding faster than any ADHD child's first caffeine high. I was standing cloaked in a flowing black robe with a yellow button down shirt and tie, none of the ensemble mine. Yellow, however, is in fact the official color of Hufflepuff. How did I end up in a position where I would be introducing myself to the cable television world? How was it that I was about to do what many people fear the most and what I intended never to do, the exposition of my inner dorkdom. We would have to jump back one day prior.

My alarm sirened to the sleeping world at 8:00 a.m. The remainder of the Little Italy rooftop party I had attended the night before kept me sleeping until I could no longer delay waking. The mission at hand was far too important to neglect. I showered and was quickly out the door. I arrived at Radio City Music Hall five hours before the stars were due to appear. Luckily, few other fans were as determined as myself and I was able to stake my plot along the metal fence that functioned to keep the fans a safe distance behind the press and red carpet. I was stationed perfectly between the limousine drop off position and the entrance into the premiere. Beyond the fence, only half a city street and the line reserved for press separated myself from the theoretical red crushed velvet road.

The waiting began. Under the scorching midday sun, I stood armed with my video camera. I interviewed other fanatics and documented the decorative setup.

I was joined by my fellow Fordham College at Lincoln Center fanatics at 1:30. By now, the fifty odd people who had arrived early were cramped between the fourteen hundred or more than had arrived since. We all thanked God every time the sun disappeared behind a cloud. The camaraderie among the fans resulted in shared water and sun block. We were in this together; united by our helpless fandom.

Around this time I received a phone call; One that I was both dreading and expecting. My Warner Brothers insider had to revoke my college press tickets due to an overbooking. The most disappointing aspect of this event was sharing said news with my coconspirator in premiere attendance.

I would not leave empty handed.

At about 3:00 p.m. everyone was still, internally. On the outside we all praised the intricacy of the set, the large purple Knight Bus and the moving pictures showcasing real wizard actors. We also cursed the press who occasionally blocked our view of the goings on. The younger fans occupied their time by screaming every instant a press camera would zoom in their direction or if a drop from the trickle of cars beeped its horn at a "Honk if you love Harry Potter" sign. Inside, however, we were all nervous. When would they arrive?

Cheers erupted as the first black limo hit the drop off. Out stepped Rupert Grint with his shaggy mane of flaming red hair. It was damn near surreal as the real life Ronald Weasley waved to his fans and entered the red carpet. At this instant everyone became deeply burdened. How could we follow Rupert's progress on the red carpet and keep tabs on new arrivals? Every glance was worth a fortune.

From this moment on, time became an amorphous blur. One by one Alan Rickman, Robbie Coltrane, Alfonso Cuaron and Chris Columbus arrived. It was then that Tom Felton shocked all. He was dropped off at the opposite end of the carpet and chose to walk to the entrance. He passed through the tiny half a street in front of all his fans. He strutted, absorbed, and gave back.

As he disappeared behind the shifting mass of press, anticipation pressed upon our hearts until a runway model dressed Emma Watson stepped from her limo. She walked fan side until directed to the press. The air was ecstatic.

Devon Murray, Bonnie Wright, Matthew Lewis and Oliver Phelps all arrived to cheers. Jamie Waylett took the same route as his Slytherin compatriot Tom Felton. Rob Thomas, Christie Brinkley, Cynthia Nixon, Susan Sarandon, Tim Robbins and LL Cool J all came to see the highly anticipated film.

It was now unbearable, too much stimuli. All the crowd could do was chant: “Dan! Dan! Dan!” And then…

He arrived. Dressed in a dark pinstriped suit with a deep blue button down he exuded both movie star and hero. Fans screamed. Everyone snapped photographs. He was who all were waiting for. Especially the French Canadian girl who pulsed next to me. She had driven seven hours by bus for this moment.

Meanwhile, Rupert snuck out the opposite end of the carpet. He greeted fan after fan until he was called back. We all tracked Dan’s progress through the press, and much faster than it began, it was over. All the stars were inside and The Prisoner of Azkaban would showcase in half an hour. Some of the crowd dispersed. Other fans took a seat to wait for the cast’s exit.

I, however, was on a mission. I had requested that my good friend and fellow fanatic Flannery delay her return to La Jolla, California in order to attend the world premiere with me. I owed it to her to get us in, and I intended to do so.

We asked guards, Warner Brothers employees, premiere attendees, all if there was anything available. We offered cash to anyone willing to let two die hard fans procure their tickets.

The doors were about to close at 4:20. A man with two extra tickets slipped in without waiting for his two missing friends. Rather than share his excess, he ripped the two extras in half. We were heartbroken. I felt ready to cave, but not Flannery. We speed-walked to the last remaining accessible entrance. There we perched for any sign.

It was a lifetime before I saw a reporter pass by with two tickets in hand. He would not be attending and we knew it. After a minute of intense pleading he handed over the coveted golden tickets.

We jetted to the security guard at the entrance. Having just overheard our conversation with the reporter he proceeded to tell us that we had been ‘juked.’ Our tickets were not real. He sent us to his ‘boss,’ a man wearing the same security outfit minus the opalescent thrift store nametag. On the verge of tears, these men ended their sadistic joke. We were in.

Flannery grasped my arm as we were escorted to the front and center orchestra. As the lights dimmed we crawled into our seats to find the icing: a special gift bag for each of us. It, and we now, had a muggle t-shirt, a Potter lego set, and numerous wild candies.

Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban began. From the opening shot, every frame contained an indescribable magic. As the camera ebbed and flowed in the midst of the actors’ best performances yet, I knew Alfonso Cuaron was a genius. He had created a work truly loyal to the mood of book three. Everything had matured; the gothic nature of the grounds, the sharp comedic dialogue, the physical and emotional ride the students and Harry, especially, were on. Every shot overpowered the senses until the grand sweeping conclusion.

I had seen this masterful portrayal before ninety-nine percent of the world. I bore witness to the unveiling of the newest jewel in the Harry Potter crown. It was a film that would stand on its own atop the fiction fantasy world.

Rumor had it that Daniel Radcliffe had been directed to watch The 400 Blows to aid in preparation for this film. His misunderstood angst was more than a channeling of young Antoine Doinel, but a wicked revitalization of it.

After the film ended, my companion and I scanned the orchestra seats for any sign of today’s heroes. Simultaneously, we struggled to absorb the magnitude of what had just occurred. We were sitting in the same room, watching the same screen with people we adored.

We slowly made our way out the main entrance. There we were, on the red carpet. Hundreds of remaining Potter fanatics gazed our way. Not long ago we had stood with them. Rather than hustle off, we stood our ground in order to meet the remaining cast members. Unfortunately the trio had bolted just post showing, but there still remained gobs of talent to meet.

We wildly praised and congratulated Matthew on his portrayal of Neville. We informed both Devon and Oliver of their comedy skills. I had and took the opportunity to tell Alfonso that he was a genius. He laughed and headed to his waiting baby daughter. Christie Brinkley told us “cheers.” We stood gapping as Tom Felton breezed by us into a waiting SUV.

Everyone cleared out. It was just us, the fans, blown away by all the luck that had fallen our way. Flannery and I stood next to a young eccentric actor from the Upper East Side. He decided to walk northbound with us until the split at Central Park. On our way he informed us that Dan and Emma would be on MTV’s Total Request Live tomorrow. I immediately called my friend Alexandria Hart. Her friend happened to be an intern on TRL and should have been able to place me on the reserve list for tomorrow’s show.

After a trek to Union Square to dine at The Yummy House I received a call back from Ali. I would know first thing the next morning if I would have a spot. Sleep that night was restless.

I awoke at nine and was in work by ten. The Monday doldrums were pushed aside by yesterday’s success and today’s worried anticipation. Half an hour into the workday I received my call. Two friends and I were on the reserve list. “Be there on time Dave, and, just, do not go crazy.” I understood.

I immediately asked my coworker Maggie to attend with me. She had been loyal throughout the red carpet stake out and was not able to get into the premiere with me. She deserved this; today however, was her first day of work.

I used my lunch break to help Flannery deliver her boxes to the Post Office and get her suitcases into a taxicab. She was off westward and I returned to the office. Maggie and I were given an afternoon leave. At three we could depart for MTV’s studio in Times Square.

We took our time and strolled from 60th to 42nd street, arriving upon two massive lines. One was bearing wrist bracelets, the other not. Expecting V.I.P. treatment, we asked the clipboard-toting woman for our bracelets. We were given them and informed that we must proceed to the end of the reserve line. We accepted this. We knew that we had connections on the inside.

We entered the building and were briefed. “Please no bombs or weapons. All cell phones off.” We were lead, double file, into the studio. Our eyes passed over everything. We searched for any glimpse of the boy hero and his brainy friend. We passed a V.I.P. room. I was envious.

The intern at the bag check looked familiar. I inquired as to whether or not she knew Ali Hart. Indeed, she did. I had piqued her interest. She asked if I was as big a Harry Potter fan as Ali suggested. I nodded overzealously. She told me to wait. She would be right back.

An attractive blonde woman also bearing a clipboard approached. “Do you have a passport?” Yes. “Would you be able to fly to London on Thursday if you win?” Yes, I stuttered. “Name the Harry Potter houses.” Feeling she was looking for something far deeper than what was actually asked I responded. “4 Privet Drive, Harry’s house with his Aunt and Uncle. Or wait, do you mean Grimmauld Place, Sirius Black’s house in book five?” Maggie sent me a nudge to inform me that I was pursuing this to far. I immediately spun out the four Hogwarts houses: Gryffindor, Slytherin, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. I was in.

The blonde woman pulled me from Maggie and brought me to the V.I.P. room. I was outfitted in Potter garb and read what was about to happen. A hip older gentleman asked me a series of commitment and health questions. I passed. I asked the gentleman if he was an intern on the set. He informed me he was the producer.

Three similarly dressed others and I were taken to the uptown set. It was a room a few feet from the TRL set. There lay four desks arranged in a Hogwarts classroom style. After being mic’d we were brought behind the main stage and given sitting blocks. The Video Jockey’s introduced themselves and were off. The show began. We were informed that after the ninth most requested video we would be introduced. Life without stress is not life.

The door to our backstage hideaway opened. In popped the head of Daniel Radcliffe followed by his ultra trendy well-dressed body. A SoHo-esque Emma Watson was not far behind. After their briefing and mic’ing Dan approached. He shook our hands and wished us luck. I kept repeating aloud, “I am the luckiest boy in the world. I just met Daniel Radcliffe.”

Dan approached again. He shared that he imagined we were nervous and that he himself always gets nervous on live television. Taking the opportunity I wished him luck and told him his shoes were amazing.

The tenth video ended and Dan and Emma were called out. They rocked the crowd with their energy and humor. The ninth video aired and ended, bringing us to where we began.

I was called out and stood in front of the camera with the three other contestants. They were all Julliard students and had been aware that they would be participating since seven days prior. I was a replacement for a girl who lied about her passport and was chosen because of my energy, and because “Ali always knows cool people.” Elizabeth was from Ravenclaw. Jessica was Slytherin. I was representing Hufflepuff. Greg was Gryffindor. We announced this to the world exactly as we were told, enthusiastically. We were asked why we loved Harry Potter so much. The other’s answers were foolish and cliché. I loved Harry Potter because it transcended generations, because it is exciting, imaginative and adventurous, and because it makes me happy. Simple enough. With that, we were off to the uptown studio.

The four of us took our seats and when given the go, the first task in the dubbed ‘House Cup’ began. We had an extremely difficult ten-question examination. It was a very obscure test at fill-in-the-blank Potter trivia. My mind went blank and I stumbled over the questions. What was Hagrid’s dragon’s name? And this was the easiest. I finished as time ran out. The tests were collected and we were escorted backstage.

After a commercial break we were once again lined up in front of the camera. This time we stood beside Dan and Emma. To prove to the audience just how difficult this test was VJ Damien asked Emma “what is the license plate number on the Weasley’s flying car?” She was stumped. Dan, finding humor in this, also did not know.

It was time to reveal the results. Elizabeth received one hundred percent. Greg scored eighty percent. Jessica squeaked by with a forty. I was left behind with a disappointing thirty percent. I took the nationally televised trauma in stride. Dan shook my hand and apologized. Emma did the same. I apologized for letting them down, but was offered back, “You did better than we could have.”

The disappointment that I would not be going to London to be an intern on Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire soon subsided to intense pleasure. As us four contestants and two stars were escorted backstage, I disrobed and took the opportunity to talk with Dan. Aware of his general musical taste I asked him specifically if he was a Strokes fan. Of course he was. Dan is the man. I told him about my meeting the Strokes and we both agreed on Julian Casablancas’ super coolness. Our conversation progressed musically when make-up arrived. I had assumed from his Pixies fandom that he might be a Flaming Lips fan. The question was on the table when the make-up woman stepped between us. The most uncanny event occurred. Daniel Radcliffe sidestepped the woman and we made eye contact. I was amazed that the third richest minor in the UK and the most brilliant child actor in fifty years moved in order to continue a conversation with me. He did indeed like the Flaming Lips earlier music, but not so much Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robot. He recommended some British bands to me and told me he listens to about six hours of music a day.

I realized time was of the essence so I asked him then and there for his autograph. He said he would be pleased and reached for a loose piece of paper. I stopped him and continued that I was wondering if he could sign my premiere ticket from the previous day. He perked up even more so. “You were there?” Nod. “What did you think?” Oh, did I tell him.

He took my ticket and signed it. I folded it up. He had to run. He asked if I would be hanging out afterwards. Thinking I would I said yes and with our third handshake he was off.

I took my block seat and watched the live feed screen. The remaining contestants had to match incantations to their resulting spells. I very quickly succeeded and in doing so struck up a conversation with Mr. Watson. He told me he had overheard my conversation with Dan and that Dan was very interested in film and music. I asked him about the actors’ stresses and their contractual agreements. After feeling inquisitively satisfied I asked what their family had been up to. “Greene Street. Mulberry Street. Shopping.” I suggested Magnolia Bakery on Bleeker and West 11th. An advisor to Mr. Watson knew that was near Marc Jacobs. I knew they would be fine.

As the contestants came backstage, newly eliminated Jessica and I were taken to sit with the audience. I hoped I would be able to return backstage and continue conversing.

I watched Greg dive into a pit of packing peanuts and pull out the golden snitch. He had won, but I did too.

After the show we were slowly escorted out row by row, but not before I was given an application to interview for a VJ position. My eyes pleaded with the walls for one last chance to see Dan or Emma. Unfortunately, I found myself outside without an official goodbye.

As Maggie and I decided where to get food I remembered my ticket. I ripped it from the clutches of my pocket and read it out loud. “To David, Magic Rocks! Love, Daniel Radcliffe.”

I won all right.

Maybe one day the conversation will continue. In the meantime, I thought I’d write this down in order to not forget where we left off.