The story behind my RocknRolla coverage could actually be a Guy Ritchie film -- you'd have to add a few car chases and shoot-outs, but I think the framework is there. Due to the insanity of Hall H, I decided I would sit through the next three panels in order to be guaranteed a seat at RocknRolla. My phone rings. "RocknRolla press. Here's the room. You've got five minutes." I grab my tape recorder, and phone, and I run. I run up the escalator, yoga and stomach crunches actually paying off as I arrive with only the minor warnings of a heart attack.
And once I get in, what befalls me? Only an entire slew of strange technical difficulties -- my tape recorder refused to record, as did my cell phone, and my cell phone camera decided to take half the photo in blinding white, half in black. Naturally, everything worked outside the room, so go figure, and thank goodness for good old fashioned pen and paper, eh? There must have been something on my face -- shock, fear, or the paleness of impending death / bad coverage because Gerard Butler took one look at me, and stuck his tongue out in a "Total insanity, right?!" face. (At least, that's how I interpreted it. I hope he wasn't commenting on my appearance or broken tape recorder.)