I know, I’d never even heard of them either and couldn’t quite believe it when I did. I’m not a massive sports fan and so they had somewhat passed me by, but I was delighted to learn that my home town was playing host to 200 competitors from around the world, in what was essentially the Olympics for little people.
It turned out that one of the competitors had been about to drive off when the bolts that fastened the adapter pedals for the accelerator, brake, and clutch in their car came loose and they fell off, landing on the accelerator. The car took off across the car park, the driver helpless to do anything but grip the wheel in terror and to bravely stop his vehicle by crashing into the first thing he could – which happened to be our whistling decorator’s van.
“Well, you needn’t tar us all with the same brush,” I told him sternly. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned in life, it’s always make sure my nuts are tight.”
Beyond the Epilogue
A New Beginning
The Egway, the vehicle of choice for the discerning small man about town. It does 0 to 12 in three seconds flat—just ask a certain cameraman from Harry Potter.
Harrison takes his suits very seriously. Honestly, it’s the longest he’s stood still in his entire life.
Annabelle models a “wand wound,” courtesy of the Harry Potter make-up department. Harrison wasn’t impressed.
Bellatrix Lestrange during a rare moment of sanity.
Rupert Grint’s Mr. Whippy ice-cream van, which he brought to Leavesden Studios on the last day of filming. It turned out to be more of an explosive Mr. Drippy than Mr. Whippy, as Emma Watson found out.
Hello again! Surprised to see me here? Just when you thought it was safe to close the book, wondering what on earth my moral of the story meant, up I pop with a bonus chapter for this new special edition you’re holding in your hands right now.
Since I finished writing the first version of Size Matters Not, a landmark cinematic event has taken place. No, not the long-awaited and much-anticipated Leprechaun 7: A-Pirating We Will Go; this was a landmark that I was both delighted and saddened to be a part of – the completion of the Harry Potter series of films.
Below is my unique version of events surrounding the end of the franchise. And then I promise the book really will be over.1
Annabelle’s thirteenth birthday fell on a Sunday. I’d never worked on Harry Potter on a Sunday before but of course, wouldn’t you know it, that day, for the first time in ten years, I had no choice but to come in to film a hugely important scene that takes place in Hogwarts’ Great Hall.
Now, for any other twelve-year-old a trip to the film studios with Mum and Dad would have been an amazing birthday treat—but not Annabelle. She’d already been to the set many times before and although they are full of magic, and as I’ve already mentioned, the studios are not nearly as glamorous as you might think – they’re vast, damp, chilly, and drafty—much like the open sea in a Force 10 gale.
Besides, I spend hours in makeup and then when the magic finally happens, it’s either over in a flash or I end up doing the same thing over and over while light, sound, position, and script adjustments are made—all while everyone else has to keep deathly quiet. Not the best place to celebrate one’s thirteenth birthday.
I tried to make it sound special when I broke the news and said we were going to spend Annabelle’s birthday on the set of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: “Won’t that be a nice treat?” I asked optimistically. Annabelle’s muted response left me somewhat deflated.
I was, however, determined to do something to make this day memorable for Annabelle. On the day when everyone was finally ready to shoot the scene in the Great Hall, it was packed full. Alan Rickman, Maggie Smith, and Michael Gambon were there along with three hundred Hogwarts students, all in uniform.
On the teachers’ table at the head of the hall sat a large birthday cake with twelve candles.
“Now I believe it’s someone’s birthday today,” Michael said in his finest Dumbledorian tones.
Annabelle turned bright red as, gradually, all faces turned to look at her. I waved her forward and as we walked to the front table, Michael led the way: “All together now: Happy Birthday to you . . .” The whole hall—even “Snape” in his distinctive monotone—sang at full volume, nearly blowing the enchanted ceiling off.
This moment was captured on film as part of our “Golden Board” collection. These were very personal (and often very silly) scenes shot with the cast and crew throughout filming. One was filmed every day, and a special golden clapperboard was used to start each shot with the day number recorded on it. The clips were edited together into a DVD that was played to the entire cast and crew on Saturday, June 12, 2010, the very last day of filming.
That final day was extremely emotional, just like the last day at school before everybody heads off into the big wide world and you really don’t know when you’re going to see all the people you’ve been hanging out with for the past ten years or so (which is not always a bad thing, of course).
A half day was planned with a barbecue to follow. England was due to play America in the World Cup, so all the football fans wanted to rush off and watch the big match.
Of course, just my luck, I had to work right up to the last moment and was in costume as Griphook, filming a short insert shot in the Lestrange vault.
Once my scene was done, I scrubbed up and trotted across to the only other stage in action that day, where Rupert, Emma, and Dan were diving into the Floo Network in the Ministry of Magic in front of a high-speed camera.
As I watched them jump time and time again, I realized that they really had undergone a magical transformation since I’d first seen them in Professor Flitwick’s classroom (Harrow School) a decade earlier. They were now young adults and fine actors.
I was struck by the fact that they were about the same age I was when I’d finished filming Willow. “Gosh,” I thought, “I’ve been through quite a bit since then!” Goodness knows what awaits these young stars.
Finally, director David Yates announced he was happy with the shot and it was left to Jamie Christopher, the first assistant director, to call out, with reluctance, and for the final time: “It’s a wrap!”
We were then ushered over to watch the compilation of all the Golden Board clips. I was soon chuckling along with everyone else2 until I suddenly saw myself in one of the clips. I stopped and mouthed a silent “Uh-oh.” I’d forgotten all about it.
I am the proud owner of a specially adapted Segway, one of those two-wheeled, self-balancing electric vehicles, which helps me whizz around large studios (unfortunately it’s not street legal so its use is limited to the film sets). I had the steering column shortened, chopping off the “S”—making mine the one and only “Egway.” In the clip, I was cruising on the Egway through Malfoy Manor in full goblin costume, which was surreal enough. When Jamie Christopher spotted me, he had a bright idea for the Golden Boards: “Whizz up to the camera,” he said, so, in full show-off mode I floored it (well, I leaned forward as far as I dared, which is how you get them to move). I suddenly realized, as I hurtled toward the camera, the Egway’s electronic engine whining at a rapidly increasing pitch, that I’d never driven it this fast before and I wasn’t sure what the braking was like. I was also hurtling toward a very expensive-looking studio camera that had shot a morning’s worth of scenes, not to mention the walls of a very carefully and lovingly constructed set.
I had visions of an Egway-sized hole in the side of the wall, or smashing a million-pound camera and ruining a morning’s worth of footage. As a look of comic determination was replaced with a flash of genuine panic on my goblin face, I threw myself backward to brake and to my amazement I pulled up perfectly, right in front of the camera.
“Wow, you’re good on that thing,” the cameraman said. “I thought you were going to ram me then.”
White knuckled, panting heavily, and covered in a cold sweat, I nodded.
After watching the DVD
, it was time for the barbecue. Once our glasses were fully charged with pumpkin juice, butterbeer, red Currant Rum, gillywater, cherry syrup, and soda with ice and umbrella or mulled mead, Dan gave a speech.
Harry Potter had been a huge part of his life since he was nine and, with tears in his eyes, he said: “I really don’t know what I’m going to do now. This is all I know.”
It was quite a weird feeling, coming to terms with the fact that, after a decade, this was it. I think many of us were slightly stunned and bewildered and, amongst the laughter and love, we shared a strong sense of poignancy.
Dan also said that he hoped he’d be able to find work, adding: “I suppose there’s always panto.”3
Rupert brought smiles to everyone’s faces by turning up in his ice-cream truck and, along with his glamorous assistant, Emma Watson, proceeded to serve everyone ice cream. This was despite a peculiar problem with the ice-cream maker.
It produced ice cream that was more the consistency of Mr. Drippy than Mr. Whippy (who would have spun in his cone-shaped grave if he’d seen what was coming out of one of his trademark trucks).
Heads turned when shrieking suddenly came from within the van. It seemed as though the furious spirit of Mr. Whippy had sought unholy vengeance on Rupert and Emma and had taken possession of the machine, turning it into an ice-cream fountain. By the time Rupert had hammered it into submission, both he and Emma looked like a pair of sticky snowmen.
Of course, although filming was over, Harry Potter was alive and well, as Sam, Annabelle, Harrison, and I saw when we arrived in Orlando, Florida, for the opening of The Wizarding World of Harry Potter theme park on June 16, 2010.
We turned up bright and early with most of the cast to be given our own private tour before the official opening. After being separated into small groups, my family and I ended up taking the tour with Michael Gambon.
First stop was Ollivanders Wand Shop. J. K. Rowling had been very specific with the designers, and it was an exact replica of the shop you see in the movie. It was stunning. In fact, every little detail had been accounted for, nothing had been skimped, everything was real, and it was “actual size,” so pretty small in person. At a push, it’s possible to squeeze in about twenty to twenty-five people at one time (depending on how many little people are in your party).
Once inside, with the help of a shop assistant, you’re able to choose your own wand. It takes a while as—just like in the book and the movie—the first two or three wands have strange results, like causing flowers to wilt and die, books to fly off shelves, lights to go off and on, bells to ring, and so on. Annabelle went first, and when she finally found the right wand, she was lit by a spotlight as Harry’s theme played and a mysterious wind ruffled her hair.
The actor in Ollivanders was obviously delighted to be “working” with Mr. Gambon and put on a very fine performance. Michael loved every minute and became entranced, much like a child. A hushed silence fell over our small group at the moment “Dumbledore” got his wand. Michael broke the peace by springing up and kicking off a real wizard’s battle with Harrison and Annabelle, casting all manner of spells from a Diffindo to a Furnunculus.
As our tour continued, it was clear that the people who’d built this park really, really loved Harry Potter—the attention to detail and sheer scale was truly awesome. Sadly, I wasn’t able to go on any of the rides because I was too short. This was no bad thing as far as the roller coaster was concerned—because I hate roller coasters. Now when I say I hate roller coasters, I’ve never actually been on one, but as far as I’m concerned, you don’t have to try something to know that you’re going to hate it (like climbing into a tank full of man-eating piranhas, for example).
The first-grade students, however, leapt for joy when they saw the Flight of the Hippogriff and eagerly climbed aboard. A virtual Hagrid introduces the ride, telling the young “wizards” that he’s about to teach them how to fly this fearsome magical creature that has the front legs, wings, and head of a giant eagle, and the body, hind legs, and tail of a horse.
“Why aren’t you joining them?” one of the attendants asked.
I looked back at his smiling face in amazement. Was he trying to be funny? “Erm—because I’m too short.”
“No you’re not,” he answered cheerfully. “Here, take a look.”
He pointed out a board that showed the height restrictions. Sure enough, when I stood next to it, I was a good four inches over the minimum height.
This was the one time I wished I was shorter.
“Come on,” a six-year-old girl said, grabbing me. “Don’t be scared.”
“It’s a very gentle ride, comparatively speaking,” the helpful attendant said, “for lit—, I mean sma—, er, children.”
“I’m not scared but—”
“Well what are you waiting for then?” the attendant said, gently pushing me forward. He really wasn’t getting on my good side.
“Look!” one of the kids exclaimed. “We’ve saved you a seat at the front.”
“Ooh, lovely,” I replied as I climbed in and was clamped into my seat.
As the infernal machine slowly ground its way up its seemingly interminable sky-bound rail, I was overcome with an urge to leap out and crawl back down the rail to safety.
“This is so exciting!” a little girl’s voice said as we reached the top of our climb. I could see a long, near-vertical drop below, followed what looked like a never-ending spaghetti junction of rails, all positioned at impossible angles over a replica of Hagrid’s hut.
“Not quite the words I’d use,” I muttered just as the world blurred.
I screamed “Were going to die!” and looked across at the little girl seated next to me who was laughing hysterically. At that moment she might as well have been wearing a red cloak and holding a pitchfork, with pointy horns on her head.
I shut my eyes but jerked them open again; I had to see how my life was about to end. We twisted and turned, my internal organs bounced around like a collection of rubber balls, and, just as I thought I was about to pass out, it was over and we slid to a stop. As I meandered away from the ride in a daze, desperate to put as much distance between it and me as possible, I staggered into a group of journalists.
“How was it?” one of them asked.
“Erm. Well that was the first time I’ve been on a roller coaster,” I replied swaying unsteadily. “I think it might also be the last.”
I zigzagged my way toward the Three Broomsticks for a large glass of butterbeer.
That night I was due to give a performance at the grand opening ceremony. As Professor Flitwick in the Prisoner of Azkaban, I’d conducted the frog choir and had been given the honor of repeating this live with fifteen singers and six giant “magical” frogs.
Everyone who was anyone in the world of Harry Potter had walked up the red carpet that night—just about the entire cast as well as Her Royal Harry Potter Highness, J. K. Rowling.
I was a small barrel of nerves in front of the thousand-strong audience (and the Orlando Philharmonic Orchestra who sat behind the choir) as I raised my baton. The singers (human and frog) performed the Hogwarts’ March, followed by Something Wicked This Way Comes without a single duff note—or croak.
As I left the stage, another great maestro entered: the legendary John Williams, composer of the Harry Potter theme music. John was there to lead the Orlando Philharmonic through a Harry Potter medley. As we passed one another, I looked up, nodded in greeting and said, as one maestro to another: “Let’s see you top that then.”
The next big Harry Potter event was the London premier of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part I. We did a whole lap of Leicester Square on the world’s longest red carpet, waving at the thousands of screaming Harry Potter fans, many of whom were in costume, and signing posters and, every now and again, a body part.
I get a real tingle whenever I enter the Odeon Leicester Square on premiere night; with almost 1,700 seats, it’s the St. Paul’s Cathedral of B
ritish cinema. Apart from its amazing history (I can’t help but think of all the hundreds of famous feet that have stood on the red carpet before me), the building is immaculate; it’s one of the most well-maintained and expertly built cinemas in the world. Restored touches of art deco are everywhere, and it still has an upper-circle area, rare for a cinema these days. I’ve yet to see the Royal Retiring Room, for visiting monarchs who attend Royal premieres, but I’m sure it’s something special. I’ve also yet to see its fully functional Compton Organ.4
Okay, I think I’ve established that this cinema is truly fabulous. There’s just one small but extremely significant problem as far as I’m concerned: the booster seat. I think the Spanish Inquisition invented them because after sitting on them for a few minutes you’ll do or say anything to get off.
It’s essentially a hard plastic box with a razor-sharp plastic rim around the edge, which is supposed to stop one from slipping off. My bum started aching within a couple of minutes.
Size Matters Not: The Extraordinary Life and Career of Warwick Davis Page 29