“The pain of
parting is nothing to the joy of meeting again.”
(Charles Dickens)
“K”
has told her side of the story as to how we all arrived at Lloydalists, and
she’s told her story with great flourish and enthusiasms and a bit of light
poking in my general direction (which is fine—I encourage gentle derision and,
in fact, small acts of self-mockery ought to be part of a daily diet. It keeps you “so very humble,” to quote the
incessant refrain of that David Copperfield
creep Uriah Heap, but without being quite as annoying and meaning it!). You can read all about “K’s” side of things
here, if you have
not already. (If you haven’t, what are
you waiting for?! If you have, good for
you! We’d reward you with chocolate if
we had any left. I, “C,” am a
chocoholic. In fact, perhaps that is
what “C” stands for.)
In
any case, this is not Chocoholics Anonymous, so we will put that to rest as I
grab a napkin and wipe the Hershey’s smudges from my fingers and resume typing. Focus, “C”!
Now, it is up to me to round-out the story of Lloydalists’ conception
and bring us all up to date.
It
starts with literature.
Books
take me everywhere, make me interested in everything, and rattle me to through until
the smallest neuron is ablaze. So, while
it may seem odd for others to learn that I stumbled upon an actor like Harry
Lloyd rather roundabout, through books rather than film, it does not feel quite
so unusual to me.
I
am of that exotic (read: nerdy and proud) breed called the insatiable reader
and my lifelong fondness for things like the BBC, history, art, and maybe even
teatime may all be traced back to an early fascination with books. Can we talk about Charles Dickens for a
moment? And not just because Harry Lloyd
is among the youngest of his kin?
Victorian
novels are a not-so-secret indulgence of mine, up there with eating too much
chocolate, buying too many shoes, and writing too many non-work-related pieces
when I should be writing work-related-pieces. David
Copperfield (1849-50, serialized) and Great
Expectations (1860-61, serialized) are (at least currently) my two favorite
Dickens works. Coincidentally, Harry
Lloyd is in a BBC film adaptation of each of these novels, but that’s just what
I said it is: a coincidence. I was a fan
of these books long before I knew of Harry Lloyd, long before he had taken the
role of young rapscallion Steerforth or loyal-‘n-loveable Herbert Pocket, and
long before I was wise enough to even stop and think, “hmm, I wonder who
Dickens’ relatives are now and what are they doing with their lives? Are any of them writers, too? Or maybe artists?” Sure, I knew he had a family and I knew of
his family drama, but the Literary Fiend in me liked to emerge frequently and
linger a bit too long on nerdish fantasies.
I liked to think of Charles John Huffman Dickens smoothing his hair and
twirling his mustache while in his own self-preserving bubble of literary
greatness. It was a wide yet closed expanse populated by deliciously
dilapidated curiosity shops, gurgling moors, brackish stone walls, and secret
cemeteries; where he is untouchable unless he longs to be touched; where he is effervescently
self-sustaining and potent Lord of the Manor; and where his only real “ancestry”
is comprised of the saplings of writers who have sprouted from this great
English Oak. Or those who hope to
somehow entangle their meager roots in his.
Or,
in my case, trip over them and fall face-first into some shockingly great
things!
Fast-forward
to 1999 when David Copperfield was
made into yet another film manifestation. Oh, another Dickens picture? (Young “C’s” antennae were beginning to
show.) What, it’s produced the BBC? (Yes,
the antennae were definitely out.) Yes,
I’ll watch it, please! (Her antennae
began to rotate.) And re-watch it. (The
antennae have malfunctioned from excessive use and retracted out of fear). And
buy the DVD. (Now “C” has her wallet out.)
And fawn over it for the next 13 years. (Now she can continue this blog
post.)
On
the cusp of 16, Harry Lloyd took his first role on the screen, portraying, as
mentioned above, young James Steerforth, the figure who would take
wet-behind-the-ears David Copperfield under his wing while at boarding school,
and teach him the ways of the world.
Harry does not last long in the film, as he—like all boys who are not
part of the Peter Pan brigade—do have to grow up, and even the BBC has its
moments of rushing stories along so that time passes, people age, and we are
faced with the inevitable: trading in the child actor for the adult “version”
(in this case, Oliver Milburn made his entrance). Still, I am the same age as Harry and, so, it’s
natural that a teenage girl would take notice of a charming, cheeky, and dare I
say “cute” (pardon me while I cringe over such an irreverent term) teenage
boy. That’s all it was at the time,
though—a “take notice” moment. I
watched, I saw, I moved on. To say that I
forgot the young actor’s face entirely would be a lie, but at the time, I didn’t
know his name, nor did I know if I had seen him anywhere else.
Allow
me, please, a little side-tracking about Harry’s role in the film. First, the budding actor did not get the role
due to his Dickens connection but, rather, by hard work and a bit of fortune.
It wasn’t until after he’d landed the part of Young Steerforth that the truth
was out. Back then, when asked about his
preparation for the part, the young actor, quite composedly, admitted, “I was asked
what I knew about Dickens,” and “I said I should know loads because of the
family heritage, but I don't really know anything” (Lloyd, qtd. in “James”). When the producers prodded for more about what
he meant by “heritage,” Harry continued, “‘Well, Charles Dickens was my
great-great-great-grandfather. My mum's maiden name is Dickens.’ They said it’s
the best answer they'd ever had to that question! Then they said it wouldn’t
affect their decision in any way, being related! I don't think it did any harm,
but I don't think it was a distinguishing factor’” (qtd. in “James”).
So,
the actor’s start began literally from the roots up. He happened to be spotted
while attending the Eton School, during a casting visit. We can imagine what happened next. It wasn’t exactly the kind of “family
business” Charles Dickens may have had in mind but, then again, the Victorian
likely did not envision the future to include such pleasures as DVDs,
high-definition television, and the BBC.
Image: Harry Lloyd as “Young Steerforth” in David Copperfield (1999) © BBC
Productions. Image from PBS <http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/masterpiece/archive/programs/davidcopperfield/whoswho/young_james.html>.
I
went about my daily routine of reading, writing, working, watching films, and
enduring the “daily grind” we all know so well.
A double-penchant for both the Robin Hood story and actor Richard
Armitage led me to dive head first into Robin
Hood (2006-2008), the Tiger Aspect production that was cheekily
anachronistic, lushly landscaped, and charmingly cast. While I went into the series expecting to
scrutinize Mr. Armitage’s right-hand-man to the nasty Sheriff of Nottingham,
Guy of Gisborne, it was not long before I found myself drawn to one of the “lads”
in Robin Hood’s motley crew of outlaws or, as they call themselves “Dead Men.” This younger lad, the son of a widowed
carpenter and member of a starving village that was once beneath the protection
of Robin of Locksley—and then tormented by the malignant reign of Gisborne and
his stoolies—was typically silent in the series, a lurker, a thinker, a
watcher. I liked his stony stares, his
penetrating glances, the way he used his eyes, his mouth, his props to convey
bodily the emotive qualities that, at times, were lacking from the dialogue
elsewhere in the series.
I
was probably at least two-thirds of the way through Season 1 of Robin Hood when I couldn’t stand it
anymore. Who is he? Where had I seen
this guy before? Had I seen him before? If I hadn’t
seen him before, why not? A quick
perusal of The Internet Movie Database
(imdb.com), the Holy Bible of any
cinephile, revealed to me what I had not suspected.
Dear
readers, I had no idea that this actor I was staring at—draped in course
textiles, with large cross-stitched hems, ratty neckerchiefs, and earth-rubbed
pants—was the same bold youth of David Copperfield
from seven years earlier. Of course,
he was much taller, his voice much deeper.
His once-babyish, round face (that, to be honest, made even 15-year-old
Harry look about 12) had grown angular, with notable cheekbones and a sculpted
jaw. Somehow, his eyes had grown fierce,
if not penetrating—a necessity for the strong-and-silent Will, whose thoughts
are mostly retained.
Learning
that “Will Scarlett” was “Young Steerforth,” all grown up was less shocking
than it was a joy at returning to an old friend. And it was about this time, too, that I learned
of Harry’s Dickens background.
Naturally, the literary-nerd in my did all but squeal.
But
it was a sad day, dear friends, when (spoiler!) Will and his beloved did not
return to the third and final season of Robin
Hood.
Harry Lloyd as Will Scarlett in Robin Hood, a role he played from 2006-2007. This image was one of
the photographs I sent to Harry to sign for me. Photo Credit: ©Tiger Aspect/BBC
Productions
I’ll
gloss over any more specific thoughts regarding Robin Hood and Harry’s portrayal of Will Scarlett therein because
that is fine fodder for future blog posts, other Lloydalists’ reactions, and
deeper insights as “K” and I, I’m quite sure, re-watch the series yet again.
Instead,
I’d like to turn now to the “reencounter” with Harry Lloyd and how it led to
writing to him.
As
“K” has mentioned in her previous blog entry, she and I decided to write to
Harry earlier this year. Here is the
appropriate excerpt from “K’s” entry, which echoes my sentiments about the
matter:
[…W]e decided that we wanted to wish [Harry] good luck
during the run of The Duchess of Malfi,
and send our humblest but truest “best wishes” for everything beyond. Certainly, a talented actor like this deserved
to know he had supporters “across the pond” sending thoughts and good-vibes his
way.
“C” and I selected our stationary, ordered our International
Reply Coupons, waxed with anxiety for weeks over what we wanted to write,
reorganized our stationary drawers, bought our padded envelopes, selected the
stamps, agonized some more, and, a couple of weeks later, we’d each
(independently) written a supportive letter to Mr. Lloyd. Additionally, we both included two pictures
of him that we (politely, we hope!) asked him to sign. And then, after the stuffed-and-sealed
packages sat on our dressers for a day or two, “settling” and gathering courage
for the flight in the U.S. Mail plane across the Atlantic, we finally got up
the courage to mail them.
“C” mustered her courage sufficiently to send that packet of
love and support the second week of April; I sent mine on Tax Day (that’s one
way to take the edge off a not-so-wonderful day; distract yourself with
pleasant letters, not unpleasant tax forms). My co-blogger will undoubtedly
fill you in on her side of the story at some point, so I will leave that portion
of our “tale” alone. As for myself, I received a response last week on June 1,
2012.
Here,
I begin to recount the return of my signed pictures and a letter (actually two
postcards’ worth of writing) from Harry, which I received on April 24,
2012. I was on my way to my office,
checked the mail on my way out of the apartment for some odd reason (typically,
I check it on the way in, not out), and was perplexed as to why I was getting a
small padded envelope with my own “return address” label affixed to the front. Because I’d only just sent the letter to
Harry a few weeks before, I wasn’t expecting a response quite so soon. I was assuming that he would not have time
for fan mail until after The Duchess of
Malfi had wrapped on June 9th.
I was assuming that the mail from New York City to London and back would
take some time. I was assuming that he
would be swimming in fan mail, particularly after his unforgettable turn in Game of Thrones (2011), and that I’d
just have to be patient. So, when it
suddenly hit me that what I was holding in my hands was none other than a
response from Harry Lloyd, I did what any sane Lloydalist would do.
I
ran back up to my apartment, slit the padded envelope open, and called “K”
immediately. She knew why I was
calling. She knew. We’re psychic like
that—and since I’m a phone-a-phobe who hates talking on the phone, she knew
that I’d only call her in cases of great excitement, such as this.
Please
be patient with me: out of respect for Harry’s privacy and a desire for my own,
I do not want to post scans of the letter he wrote back to me, nor of the
signed photos (since he wrote my name on both of them). I wrote to him to express my admiration,
support, and encouragement—not to reveal all to the world. And, plus, I like the feeling of having an “intimate”
correspondence just between Harry and me.
I will describe a few points, however, and mention that the letter was
written on “17th April” (Harry crosses his “7s”) and continued
through two glossy-cardboard postcards from the Royal Shakespeare Company. The 17th of April. He’d written it two days following his
appearance as a presenter at the Laurence Olivier Awards and the same day as he
had a performance of The Duchess of
Malfi. I imagined him sitting
backstage, in between rehearsal and the night’s performance, picking my
blue-paisley-patterned stationary out of the pile of mail and reading it while
rubbing his tired eyes. And then, after I’d
hopefully made him crack a smile at least once, he’d set about responding,
still keeping an eye on the clock and likely careful not to get any ink on his
wardrobe (see “K’s” Exploding Pen Theory post).
Then again, Charles Dickens worked as a labeler once upon a time; maybe
being covered in globes and blobs and globs of ink is a hereditary trait?
Anyhow,
here is his response, in a nutshell: Harry thanked me for my “lovely letter”
and added, “I really enjoyed reading it.”
That made me crease with delight—because I enjoyed writing my letter to
him, too, even if it did take me longer than normal. He also thanked me for having enjoyed all of
the characters he’s played (I’d mentioned in my letter a few of my favorite
performances, such as Will Scarlett and Viserys Targaryen, how much I got a
kick out of Oscar & Jim (2009)—his first big-screen picture and short—and
how I was so looking forward to watching him play Herbert Pocket in Great Expectations (2011), which had not
yet aired in the U.S.A.).
I
also promised him that I would not gush about his relation to Charles Dickens
because I am a self-confessed book-nerd and I’m sure he’s sick of being asked
about it. True to my word, I did not say
anything more about my Idol.
In
order to help him think of a response (since I didn’t know if he’d feel
obligated to write something pedestrian and impersonal, just to fill some
space), I’d asked him “is there any particular role that you are positively
dying to play? And if you weren’t an
actor, where do you think you’d find yourself?”
His response was wonderfully insightful: “Not sure what I’d do if I wasn’t
an actor. I feel like I change jobs
every time I change jobs you know? So I never
have to think about that.”
From
this wonderful response, I got the impression that this is an actor after the
thrill of each role, not someone necessarily looking for stability or a
safety-net of a job that will allow him to stay put for years on end. He is a young man chasing after a dream and
quite contentedly doing it, finding something new, reenergizing, and amazingly
engaging in ever role that comes his way.
He’s doing this for self-fulfillment, not just as a career, and it’s
likely the reason why his rise to public attention has been gradual and
somewhat inconsistent. Harry Lloyd is an
actor more concerned with his own happiness and self-fulfillment than anyone
else’s goals for him.
I
knew there was a reason I respected and admired this artist.
Harry
ended the letter, “Thanks for taking the time to write. Very much appreciated.” I’d like to say, thank you, Mr. Lloyd, for taking the time to write. Your letter, the signed pictures
(personalized, doodled-on, marked up with “xs” that I will cash in some day for
three hugs, if I am so lucky and you will allow it!), and most of all time taken to respond to an enthusiastic
viewer of your work “across the pond” is so very, very much appreciated.
He
signed his letter with the precise phrase found in the Lloydalists masthead,
which is scanned from the letter: “All good things, Harry x.” This phrase, dear loyal Harry Lloyd admirers,
shall become something of the central crux of this blog, so don’t be surprised
if you see it popping up here and there.
He
also returned the two 5"x7" pictures I had sent him—one of himself
from a few years ago (the same one “K” has posted in her blog post) and another
picture of Will Scarlett, aiming his bow and arrow and looking quite
intense. On the Will photo, he drew two
arrows, one labeled with my name and pointing at him; the other, labeled “Harry
x” and pointing away from him. How this
little bit of doodling is meant to be interpreted is up for debate. I take it as a reference to me sending him a
letter and him sending one back, with each arrow representing an arrow. Certainly, I don’t want to shoot him or be
shot! In any case, I am flummoxed with
how sincerely nice it was for him to personal the photo in such a way. On the second photo, he wrote “Dear C____,
Love Harry x.” He certainly loves those “x”s! And I am properly chuffed!
For
those Lloydalists also hoping to share with Harry messages of support and
encouragement, you can try (as “K” and I did, with success):
Harry Lloyd
c/o Curtis Brown
Group Ltd
Haymarket House
28-29 Haymarket,
London, SW1 4SP
United Kingdom
Please
send no more than two photos to sign, as well as International Return Coupons
if you are outside of the UK. A little
warning: “K” and I had a horrible time of tracking down IRCs at the local Post
Office, so we wound up ordering them from usps.com. For those of you in the
U.S.A.—two should be sufficient (unless you’re sending anything more than
photos and pictures to be signed). Make
sure you include a self-addressed envelope that is sufficiently large and
padded enough to contain and protect the photos and/or any letter Harry may
send back. And be aware that he may not
send a letter at all—he may write his “letter” on a photograph, personalize
things differently, etc.. “K” and I sent
our letters fairly close together in time and yet, the responses each of us got
were slightly different. I’m sure that
he manages to do what he can in what little free time he has, but it seems that
he does read through his fan mail and
replies by hand. I highly recommend
writing your letter by hand, too, as “K” and I did. I’m a huge advocate for hand-written letters
in general, but there’s nothing that says “I took the time to think of and
write to you” than a hand-written letter.
Especially if you’re writing to someone whom you’ve never met, this form
of correspondence is as intimate as you can get. Then, be patient! Harry is reportedly going to be spending his
summer (or at least part of it) in the United States, particularly the West
Coast, so it’s unlikely he will have his mail at hand as readily as when he’s
based at home in London.
And
please, Lloydalists, keep your letters respectable, thoughtful, and polite. The
more sincere and like yourself you are, the better. Don’t be afraid to be funny, too (although,
steer away from creepy! You don’t want
to be “that fan”), and ask questions,
especially unusual and interesting ones that are a little
thought-provoking. From the response I received,
I was left believing that Harry likes somewhat mentally-stimulating letters
that are written with a bit of sauciness and even some diversions to irreverent
things, but always well-penned and proofread.
A copy of the reverse-side of the postcards Harry used
to respond to my April 2012 letter. Note
the amusing Shakespearean reappropriation of the London transit system.
Have
you had a response from Harry that you’d like to share? Let us know by emailing us at
Lloydalists@gmail.com, tweeting us @Lloydalists, or commenting right here on
our blog. Please specify if you’d prefer
your information remain unshared, anonymous, or edited in any way.
Now
that I’ve gotten much of my energies, as well as some poor attempts at mild-humor
out of the way, I think I speak for “K” as well when I say that, for the most
part, we are serious about Harry Lloyd here and, so, our blog entries, updates,
and tidbits of information will attempt to retain a level of formality. We will insert our fun on occasion, if a
particular topic allows for it, but in our celebration of “all good things,”
it’s crucial to remember that there is room for sobriety and shenanigans, and
we will offer dashes and dollops of both whenever we can, when we can. Harry’s roles have ranged from loveable to
ludicrous to lustful: we’ll take a cue from his spectrum of parts and let our
blog entries fit the setting, the stage, and the atmosphere.
Until
the joy of meeting you all again, Lloydalists, keep reflecting on all of those “good
things.”
~C~
Works Cited and
Referenced
David Copperfield. Dir. Simon
Curtis. Perf. Daniel Radcliffe, Maggie Smith, Ian McKellen, Emilia Fox, Pauline
Quirke, Harry Lloyd, et al. BBC Productions. 1999. Film.
“Harry Lloyd
(I).” The Internet Movie Database. IMDB.com.
Web. 9 June 2012. <http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0516003/bio>.
“James Steerforth as a Young Man.” David
Copperfield: A Who’s Who. Pbs.org. 1999. Web. 12 June 2012. <http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/masterpiece/archive/programs/davidcopperfield/whoswho/young_james.html>.
Robin Hood. Dir. Matthew Evans et al. Perf. Jonas
Armstrong, Gordon Kennedy, Sam Troughton, Keith Allen, Richard Armitage, Harry
Lloyd, et al. BBC/Tiger Aspect, 2006-2008. TV Series.
~Written and Posted by C~
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