Pissing With Stifler, a short story from The Netherlands.

Pissing With Stifler, a short story from The Netherlands.

In June 2010 I arrived in The Netherlands with the notion of finally ‘settling down’. Young, in love and still just a little wet behind the ears, my girl and I had all the typical rat race dreams.

Get the jobs so we could save money. Save money so we could get the house. Get the house so we could have kids. Have kids so we could be a happy family, a regular functioning cog in this big old machine we call society. What could possibly go wrong?

——

Those first few years in Amsterdam were a blast! I loved the city, had the job of my dreams and S and I were saving plenty of money. As a result, we soon began looking to buy a place of our own. In January 2011 a bunch of my old schoolmates flew over from London for Adam’s stag weekend. He was finally getting married and it was up to me to make sure he saw the best (and worst) of Amsterdam.

“How was Cameron Diaz?” enquired my old friend Palmer as we exchanged hugs in Rembrandt Square’s Old Bell Pub. “Delightful!” I grinned, “she complimented me on my shoes”.

It was a really fantastic weekend, the last time we were all together in one place. And we certainly made it count, devouring plate after plate of delicious Indian food at Tagore Restaurant. Needless to say, we also hit the city bars and did The Heineken Experience in Amsterdam’s old brewery.

Pissing With Stifler, a short story from The Netherlands.

I’d hardly got all the beer out of my system when it was time to go back to so-called work for interviews with the cast of The Impossible. The film was great, a surprisingly affecting dramatisation of the 2004 Indian Ocean Tsunami.

I’d expected stunning visual effects and ferocious carnage, but was more impressed by several genuinely moving scenes and Naomi Watts’ excellent, Oscar-nominated performance. Furthermore, the movie marked the beginning of big things for Tom Holland, who would later play Spider-Man.

I had to do some serious homework on Spanish director Juan Antonio Bayona, who I’d admittedly never heard of. It was Bayona’s first Hollywood film following his Spanish language debut The Orphanage, a chilling horror that went down a storm at The Cannes Film Festival.

Bayona the man meanwhile proved to be a lovely guy. Thoughtful, humble and softly spoken, he greeted me with a pat on the shoulder before inviting me to sit down. It was as if I’d just wandered into his living room. Happily, this was one of those interviews that felt more like an informal chat than anything official.

We could have just met on a train or something as we discussed the delicacy of working with child actors. He also admitted to feeling a great responsibility for bringing such a tragic, real life disaster to the big screen. When the junket rep began to motion that I was running out of time, Bayona immediately requested that she give us an extra five minutes.

“It was nice to meet you,” he said, as we parted ways.

“This is a great city, don’t take it for granted!”

Instinctively, I felt Bayona was destined for great things. And so it proved. Four years on from our Amsterdam meeting, his critically acclaimed fantasy drama A Monster Calls hit cinemas starring Liam Neeson and Sigourney Weaver. Good enough, apparently, for him to be entrusted with the Jurassic Park reigns for a new instalment, Fallen Kingdom.

They were exciting times. After a short and reasonably painless search, S and I bought a three-bedroom apartment in Amsterdam’s allegedly up and coming Bos en Lommer neighbourhood. The area was a little rough and ready, particularly the ghetto-like network of social housing that dominated the view from our living room window. 

Our building was a brand new structure called The New Kit, located right next to a subway and tram stop. This was the first home either of us had owned and the next logical step in our marriage. “It’ll be kids next!” said absolutely everyone. I figured they were probably right.

The New Kit, Amsterdam.

Not that we’d even begun thinking about a family. Both S and I were snowed under at work and all our free time went into transforming our shell of an apartment into the home of our dreams. The walls needed to be painted, there were floorboards to be laid and our open plan kitchen still had to be installed.

It was a hell of a project, the pair of us constantly scuttling between our offices and home. We met with estate agents, let in decorators, signed papers and checked up on handymen. Elsewhere, our designated bathroom was empty, not even a damn sink. Plus we were planning to furnish the entire place completely from scratch. It was stressful but very exciting. And for perhaps the first time ever I felt I was living the life of a legitimate adult.

I recall one particularly hectic day when I had to leave a busy writing and recording schedule at the office for interviews with director Destin Daniel Cretton and the actress Brie Larson. The movie in question was an independent drama called Short Term 12.

Nobody had heard of Cretton and it would be another two years before Larson shot to fame with her Academy Award for Room. Naturally the careerist interviewers at work didn’t give a fuck about it and the junket ended up in my lap.

Pissing With Stifler, a short story from The Netherlands.

It turned out to be another wonderful experience. Although largely ignored by the movie watching public, Short Term 12 is a powerful and often disturbing account of life at a mental health facility for troubled teenagers. Cretton meanwhile, shy, bookish and almost painfully polite, told me how he’d written the script based on his own experiences working with suicidal youths.

Larson revealed how she’d auditioned for her part over Skype after reading the screenplay. Her costar John Gallagher had described Cretton’s work as “probably the best script I’ve ever been sent!” Both Cretton and Larson seemed proud but humble about the finished product. Moreover, the critics agreed, with Short Term 12 winning a bunch of industry awards.

As soon as I got the flash disk copy of my interviews, I caught a tram back home. Jumping off outside my apartment, I was just in time to meet the giant Ikea van and its endless parade of brown boxes.

The delivery included an army of towering storage units for my ever-growing media empire. I got started on it that afternoon, though it took almost three days to assemble the units. Then, file our music and film collection as per my specifications. That’s alphabetical order in case you’re wondering.

Piece by piece our home took shape as the months flew by. Finally the kitchen became operational, the sofas arrived and we began peppering the joint with all those little personal touches. I honestly never thought I’d be that guy. But after my years on the road and the unwavering belief that S was the one, I had to concede that domestic life suited me.

We still had our travel plans of course, as my hunger to discover new places and delve into different cultures never went away. Therefore, in many ways, it felt like I had the best of both worlds.

Pissing With Stifler, a short story from The Netherlands.

I can’t exactly call myself a fan of the American Pie franchise. But like most people I consider the original a bit of a classic. American Pie Reunion turned out to be a decent instalment, especially when compared to the other sequels and those regretful Band Camp disgraces. 

When I entered the room Tara and Thomas were in deep conversation about an Amsterdam restaurant she’d been to some years before.

“Amazing food… candlelit tables… great service… it’s perfect… you’re gonna love it!”

I’d been so curious to meet Tara. As someone who wrote celebrity news for a living, I knew all about the stories surrounding her private life. Hell, I’d even written a few myself.

However, on the day of our interview she was in great spirits. Indeed she laughed and joked with Thomas and I as we discussed the Dawson’s Creek nature of their characters’ relationship.

Dressed in a red and pink figure-hugging sleeveless dress, Tara looked great. Albeit so heavily made up her face appeared to be melting a little under the lights.

Reminiscing over the runaway success of the original movie, she told me how back in the day she’d received thousands of letters from teenage girls identifying with her character. Many of these fans, who understood perfectly the social pressures of losing one’s virginity, simply wanted to thank her for an empathetic performance.

Pissing With Stifler, a short story from The Netherlands.

Thomas meanwhile came across as one of the friendliest, most unpretentious actors I’d ever interviewed. Discussing Kevin’s role in the three films, I suggested that he was almost certainly “the sensible one”. The grounded thinker who never really got into those ridiculous scrapes. Bearing in mind these were the scenes that made American Pie so memorable, did he perhaps feel a little left out?

“No man…!” he replied, leaning in. And I swear for just a moment his eyes began to tear up. “I always thought of Kevin as that ‘heart’ you know. Thank you for recognising that grounding force!”

In contrast, my interview with Seann William Scott and Eddie Kaye Thomas was chaotic. “What’s with the toilets in Amsterdam?” quipped Eddie, raised eyebrows, eyes diluted. “Like you have to drop your load… onto a shelf… WITHOUT water. You can’t help but take a look and be like… ok, that’s what I’m made of!”

Talk of Amsterdam lavatories morphed nicely into American Pie’s ever-increasing levels of toilet humour. Was there a danger of over-reliance? Was American Pie Reunion trying to push the boat out to see just how much they could get away with?

“I don’t think we were ever DISGUSTING”, claimed Seann.

“I mean… well… except maybe the doggy doo scene in American Pie 2”. “Ah yes, the doggy doo scene” muttered Eddie, head in is hands. “Yeah, that was gross”. 

I was back in the lounge waiting for my interview with the directors when nature called. Unzipping at the urinal, suddenly Seann William Scott waltzed in and took the free one next to me. “Hey!” he said. “Oh hey!” I answered, a little surprised that there wasn’t a private, gold-plated toilet somewhere just for the stars. “

Dude, did you really like the first American Pie?” he enquired, as we stood doing our business.

“Sure!” I confirmed, perplexed as to why that would need double checking. “But you know… my favourite movie you’ve done has gotta be Road Trip!” “Duuude!” he exclaimed, still urinating, “that was a great movie!” Standing there, pissing with Stifler, it was another one of those surreal this is my job moments that I’ll always remember.

—————–

My chat with the directors was a pretty standard affair. Whatever I asked, it was clear they’d already decided on a batch of scripted, readymade answers. Nevertheless, it struck me that Hayden Schlossberg and Jon Hurwitz had approached the movie with a genuine love for the franchise. Thus they’d felt determined not to screw up and to restore its battered reputation.

Describing themselves as “American Pie fanboys” long before they’d even made their debuts as directors, Schlossberg admitted that getting the gig had felt like winning the lottery. Subsequently, in those first few days of filming, they still had to pinch themselves that it was really happening. “We’d be rehearsing,” said Jon with a wide grin. “And I’d literally be thinking OH MY GOD I just told Stifler where to stand!” 

That night I hit the red carpet for American Pie Reunion’s Amsterdam premiere. A bunch of national celebrities were attending, which meant I had to do some interviews in Dutch. This was pretty nerve-wracking, but I did my best with the dull soap opera star and a god-awful girl group called Djumbo. 

After that it was round two with the American Pie stars. “Hey, I haven’t seen you in like four hours!” laughed Seann. When I asked him about his feelings for Amsterdam, he claimed that the charm of the place wasn’t about pretty girls or the weed. Actually, the big draw was its scandalously underrated coffee.

“Nobody talks about the coffee!” he lamented. “Good coffee city dude!” 

I was on the tram back home that night, my voice a little hoarse from the day’s exertions. I’d been thinking back to the time when I first saw the original American Pie film as a twenty one year old. I couldn’t help but surmise what an innocent time of my life that had been. And how, in the intervening thirteen years, I’d been through so much that I barely felt like the same person.

My golden period, professionally at least, was right now and I knew it. I understood that it probably wouldn’t get any better than this, so I resolved to simply do my best and just enjoy the ride.

Pissing With Stifler, a short story from The Netherlands.

I guess in many ways there may have been similar emotions among the Pie crew. Deep down they must have all known that the success of that first film would be the defining moment of their careers. Other movies would come and go without much consequence. For some, personal troubles would end up getting far more coverage than their actual work.

For me, a huge personal crisis lay in wait just around the corner. It was about to get very messy indeed. But at least it wouldn’t be played out against a backdrop of tabloid newspapers, flashing cameras and online comment threads. For that at least, I’ll always be grateful.

‘Pissing With Stifler’ is the fourth part of my short story collection Notes From The Netherlands.

For my travel reports on the Dutch capital, take a look at my articles on Amsterdam.

To read tales about my adventures in Qatar, Slovakia, India, China and Belgium, head to My Short Stories.

I’ve been living, working and traveling all over the world since 2001. So why not check out my huge library of travel reports from over 30 countries.