Daniel Craig Vies For Unlisted Cameo In Star Wars: A Fanfiction Tribute
We have a bad feeling about this.
Pinewood Studios is not the sort of place that any casual observer can just drop in on unexpectedly, especially now that the long-awaited Star Wars are currently being filmed at their London location. But Daniel Craig is not just a casual observer. He’s the highest-grossing Bond of all time, damn it, and he will not be denied.
“Heeeey, J.J. Good to see you!” Deep breaths, Craig, he thinks to himself, deliberately making eye contact with no one but the famed director. You didn’t rehearse this in the giant wall-to-wall mirror at your lavish Lincolnshire estate for several hours this morning just to crack under the pressure now.
“Hi, Daniel. Are… you wearing a suit?”
“Of course I am. I always wear suits.” I am definitely not wearing this suit to impress Carrie Fisher, he adds silently, adjusting his tie exactly the way in which a very confident man who does not have a 30-year-old poster of Princess Leia currently mounted on his bedroom ceiling would do. “So Star Wars! That sounds like quite a bit of fun, yeah? You’ve sure got a lot of… space! ‘Round here.”
“Well, that is where the franchise takes place. Galaxy far far away and all.”
“Haha, yes!” says Craig, not listening. “So… d’ya have any for me?”
“Space. For me. Like, you know, in a scene. It’s a joke, you see.”
“I just thought that since I’m in town, and we’re friends…”
Abrams sighs. The lenses of his eyeglasses catch the light as he rubs his head, because of course they do. “Daniel, it’s just that so many friends are already calling me all the time for cameos and if I gave one to everybody, we wouldn’t have time for the plot.”
Feeling the weight of his dreams slowly collapsing on themselves as rebels in a Death Star garbage compactor, Craig grins to save face. “C’mon now, it’ll only take a few parsecs!”
“Parsecs are a measure of dis—”
“I KNOW THEY ARE A MEASURE OF DISTANCE IT WAS A JOKE J.J.”
Silence on set. John Boyega looks concerned.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry I yelled,” Craig stammers, beads of sweat rolling down his forehead in a way that should be upsetting but which actually makes him all the more attractive. His shoulders begin to heave. “I just l-love Star Wars so mu-hu-huch.”
“Nooo, it’s okay, buddy,” Abrams says, placing his hand on Craig’s back gingerly so as not to disturb the fine Italian fabric of his suit. “I’m sure we can figure something out. You wanna be a Bothan? You’d make a great Bothan.”
Craig sniffs. “K.”
“Come on, buddy, let’s go to makeup and make you a Bothan. And then we can go for a ride in the Millennium Falcon and get some lightsaber popsicles from Kraft services. Would you like that?”
“C-can I have a blue one?”
“Of course you can.”
Update: we are not alone.
— darth™ (@darth) September 18, 2014
(via The Verge)
Have a tip we should know? firstname.lastname@example.org