Ten, nine, eight, seven…The lad from Sheffield is having his few seconds of fame. He’s been shown the drill: walk forward, present jaw for clenched fist and smile into camera. Boosh! One blinding flash and it is over.
The star-struck Yorkshireman is instantly shepherded back into obscurity and the owner of the fist has a moment to compose himself before doing it all over again. And again. And again.
What, one wonders, is going through Sylvester Stallone’s mind as his dignity drains slowly away?
Sylvester Stallone is presented with a new Rambo knife by fan Reg Cooper in Sheffield
There’s a girl with a purple Mohican now, and a guy in a beanie hat, and behind him a long, snaking line of expectant fans, women in their 20s, men in their 30s. The star of the Rocky, Rambo and Expendables sagas is warming to his task, and time per photograph is reducing rapidly, from ten seconds to seven and — remarkably — three.
For him, it must be a blur of faces not even half-remembered. For them, it is a once-in-a-lifetime moment. The picture sitting proudly on a mantelpiece will be a talking point for years to come.
The minders, British ex-military types, observe the queue with suspicion, looking for The Nutter. But there is nothing to worry about. Sheffield — or at least that bit of Sheffield that likes its movies simple, violent and muscle-bound — loves Sylvester Stallone.
This is the latest thing, the Hollywood meet-and-greet. Big names — Stallone, Schwarzenegger, Travolta, Pacino — are imported into British venues for one night only to talk about themselves on stage before pressing the flesh and smiling for the camera.
If you think A-list stars like Sly or Arnie are too busy, too famous or too rich to swap their Malibu beachhouse for a Yorkshire civic hall, think again.
With northwards of £200,000 on offer for a couple of nights’ work, the temptation is too great to resist.
Rocco Buonvino, the wonderfully indiscreet promoter behind these events, says it costs about a third of a million pounds to stage each one. With that kind of money to recoup, second-division talent simply won’t cut it.
‘I turned down Danny DeVito because of his fee,’ he explained. ‘When I tried to work out what clients would pay for Danny DeVito I realised it wouldn’t be enough.’
Likewise, Sir Roger Moore. ‘There’s no way on this earth somebody will pay £2,000 to meet Roger Moore. No offence, I love Roger, I know him.’
The phenomenon has its roots in the music industry, where performers’ declining record sales have been offset by fans willing to pay to meet them.
There was controversy when Beyonce asked for £1,100 for meet-and-greet tickets for her 2009 tour — with a ‘no hugging’ rule.
For Stallone, it must be a blur of faces not even half-remembered. For them, it is a once-in-a-lifetime moment. The picture sitting proudly on a mantelpiece will be a talking point for years to come
But with the faux-intimacy of social networking stoking fans’ appetite for ‘personal’ encounters with their idols, other celebrities are following suit.
The format for an evening is simple: the star subjects himself to a one-hour interview on stage — allegedly revelatory in nature but not really — followed by half an hour of questions from the audience.
The masses, having paid from £75 to £300 depending on the seat and venue, then depart. That leaves the so-called VIPs, who pay more than £1,000 to have their picture taken with said hero, a privilege that’s over in the blink of an eye.
Then it’s time for the serious spenders, the Very Very Important People, who each pay something in the region of £2,000. That buys them front-row seats and photos but, far more importantly, quality time with the star. For tonight’s event, ordinary seats cost up to £200; the VVIP package was £2,100 a pop.
Following the show, they are ushered into a quiet bar, plied with champagne and canapes, and the group is allowed a whacking 20 minutes with their idol. Numbers are small and the atmosphere intimate — or as intimate as it can be with a group of minders hanging around in the wings.
‘It is incredible to be able to speak directly with an A-lister flown in from Hollywood,’ says Emma-Jane Brown, who organises the VVIP part of the night through her events company EJB. ‘It is such a rare opportunity, a dream come true. I make it as personal as possible: just 20 to 40 people, no more.’
She denies the stars are in it only for the money. ‘It’s something they want to do,’ she says. ‘It’s a chance to talk at length about their lives, careers and challenges, without the time pressure of television. They give more away.’ Up to a point.
At the start of the evening, the VVIPs gather in a bar in the venue, Sheffield City Hall. There is an atmosphere of quiet anticipation as they sip champagne and feast on nibbles. The Very Verys include a group of Brazilian restaurateurs from Bromley, Kent, and a lady from Tunbridge Wells, who won her ticket in a local radio competition. But they are amateurs compared to Monika.
Monika Nwankwo is 41, an IT worker and German. She has flown in from her native Karlsruhe for the evening just to see Stallone up close and personal. To call the actor her hero would be a considerable understatement.
‘I live for him,’ she says. ‘It is his existence that makes me happy. I feel for him what I never felt for my husband.’ That’s her ex-husband, by the way.
‘I like Robert de Niro and other people, but I don’t love them like Sylvester. If he worked in a supermarket I would still love him.’
She has followed Stallone ever since clapping eyes on his biceps on a cinema screen some time in the Seventies. And now she has started to seek him out in person. On one occasion, the actor was filming an Expendables film in Bulgaria when she cornered him at breakfast in his hotel. He was taken aback at first but, says Monika, he soon relaxed.
Today, she has brought with her a Rocky doll and a little plastic Oscar she hopes to present to Sly.
There was controversy when Beyonce asked for £1,100 for meet-and-greet tickets for her 2009 tour — with a ‘no hugging’ rule
Stefan Larsen has flown in from Oslo. He’s a salesman with Carlsberg and a fitness enthusiast, and this outing to the old steel city has cost him £3,500 because his partner has insisted on coming along, and she’s managed to spend a lot in Sheffield’s shops.
‘He’s the man,’ says Stefan, when asked if it is worth all that had-earned money. ‘Simple as that.’
The stage show, hosted by broadcaster Mike Read, passes off well enough. Two thousand people roar as Stallone takes the stage to the sound of the Rocky anthem.
Perched on a sofa, Sly talks about hitting and being hit, how he dabbled in soft porn acting when he was on his uppers, and more.
His style is engaging and self-deprecating and at the end of the chat the world knows nothing more about him than it already knew.
The real fun starts when the audience gets its turn to ask questions.
‘Sylvester,’ says a woman in tears, ‘Could you say one thing to me?’ Could you say, ‘You’re the disease and I’m the cure’?’ The line comes from Stallone’s film Cobra. He obliges. She’s in raptures.
A man spoils it by rambling (or is that Rambo-ing?) on about himself until he is shouted down by other fans.
Another woman tries to ask a question but is reduced to silence by the emotion of it all. Then the microphone is taken up by a younger woman who asks Sylvester to make her boyfriend propose to her on stage. After a moment’s obvious reluctance, he agrees, officiating over the proceedings.
Next, a woman asks Stallone to arm-wrestle with her on stage. This seems to be one stunt too many.
‘I’m outta here,’ he says, and looks ready to walk off. But he regains his composure and accepts the challenge. It’s so embarrassing that one forgets to notice who wins.
After the show and the marathon photo session, the VVIPs gather back in the bar. In comes Stallone.
Sylvester does almost all the talking, describing how he once lost weight for a film by eating only egg whites and half a hamburger a day. His audience gasps in admiration. And so the small talk goes on for 30 minutes — ten more than usual!
He is 68 now but you wouldn’t know it. Up close, he is a natural performer, and a fundamentally decent guy, you think.
Then, as swiftly as he arrived, he is gone. That once-in-a-lifetime moment is over. ‘What a night,’ says Stefan.
What did he talk about with Sly?
‘Roses! With Mr Rambo himself — there were roses on the table and Sly started to pick at them and said roses were an expensive way to say sorry to your wife and it was better to give her candy. Roses died but the candy you could see on her hips for ever. We all laughed.’
Monika is frustrated, feeling others hogged the conversation. But she managed to hand Sly the Rocky doll and the plastic Oscar as he left. He stared at them, bemused. Then he signed the Rocky doll and handed it back. ‘Wonderful,’ she says of her night. ‘His eyes, so beautiful.’
Mr Buonvino has high hopes for the future. Dustin Hoffman and Michael Douglas have been approached — and the star he covets above all others, Robert de Niro. A-list meet-and-greets seem to be here to stay. But de Niro? Saying ‘You talkin’ to me?’ for a crowd in Wolverhampton?
Now, that would be something.