Denis Lehane: Hollywood comes to West Cork
Denis swears he saw actor Tom Cruise at the local agricultural co-op. Picture: Kevin Winter/Getty Images.
I was down at the co-op yesterday morning, and as I queued up to pay for scour remedies, I could swear the man in front of me was Tom Cruise.
He looked like Tom Cruise, he talked like Tom Cruise, and dare I say, he smelt the way you'd expect Tom Cruise would smell.
And before I could stop myself, I found myself asking, "Are you Tom Cruise?" - for as ye'll know, I can be terribly inquisitive.
"Well," says he with an American twang and with a smile that showed off his pearly whites, "I do feel the need for speed!"
And with that, he was gone. Gone out the door and down the road on a motorcycle of some considerable size. Heading, I believe, in the direction of Dunmanway.
'Twas all terribly confusing, for he hadn't answered my question at all.
After I had returned home and tended to the calf in need of medication, who I might add has made a full recovery since, I went inside to tell my missus all my news.
I told her about the cost of the scour remedy and of the new pothole that has appeared down by the cross, and then, more like an afterthought than anything else, I mentioned that I believed I had met Tom Cruise down in the co-op.
Well, suddenly, she became very interested in my ramblings and, all flustered, came running to the table demanding that I reveal all.
"What did he say?!" she cried aloud, as if it was the most interesting thing that had ever happened in this most remote and destitute part of the world.
I told her he said he said he "needed his speed" or words to that effect.
"Well, glory be," she says, mesmerised by the whole thing. 'Twas as if I had met the Pope himself.
"But of course," says I. "It was hardly him at all. Sure, what would he be doing around here?"
Well, my wife was having none of it. "Of course, it was Tom Cruise!" she insisted.
She was adamant that it had to be Tom Cruise, and then she told me all about West Cork Film Studios.
It seems a group of plucky individuals have come together back near Skibbereen and have opened a flashy new film studio - West Cork Film Studios is what they call it, I believe.
And they plan to make big budget motion pictures there with all the stars, like the ones we view back in Bantry once the silage is cut.
"Damn it all," I roared across the table, "That's the last thing we need!" I was cross as I grabbed the pot to pour out another cup of tea.
"And why so?" My wife asked while busily fixing herself in front of the mirror that hangs above the sink. T'was as if she was expecting visitors at any moment.
"In the name of the Father, woman," says I. "'Tis hard enough to get a young fellow to give you an afternoon of work as it is. Sure, nobody will want to pike bales now when they have the chance to star in a movie alongside Julia Roberts!
"Do you know how many people it took to make Ben-Hur?" I asked.
She said she didn't.
"More people than this parish even contains."
I was adamant that it was bad news.
West Cork Film Studios, I declared, would be a right disaster for the under-pressure livestock and sheep farmer.
"There will be no work done, with everyone chasing Oscars instead of sheep and bullocks." I was talking sense, of course, as usual.
My wife, uninterested in my prediction of woe, asked me to repeat my Tom Cruise tale.
"What was he riding?" she asked.
"A powerful motorcycle," I declared. "And do you think he wore a helmet?"
She was all ears once again and demanded I continue.
"He did not. He only pulled out a pair of old sunglasses from his shirt pocket, even though 'twas half misty at the time, and then with his hair blowing in the wind he departed the scene in a cloud of dust heading for the heartland of the movie-making world."
And that, alas, my dear friends in farming, could now very well be West Cork.
