Chapter 33: Gandalf’s Smash-and-Bash Incident
“Faster! Go faster!” Edward shouted from the passenger seat, acting more zealous than Hawk as if he were a crusading journalist chasing truth. “If we don’t get this scoop, we can kiss those freelance reporter credentials goodbye! Without them, I’ll just be a fraud—and I won’t get into her house!”
He turned to Hawk with desperate urgency. “Boss, you wouldn’t want me homeless, living on the streets, would you?”
Ignoring the melodrama, Hawk deftly turned the wheel, exiting Highland Street onto a quieter road.
The phone rang again. Edward answered and spotted a bald man under a streetlamp ahead. “Hey, buddy, is that you? I see you.”
“Black Ford, right?” the man replied.
Hawk stopped the car next to him.
Edward jumped out and asked, “Where is he?”
The bald man pointed ahead. “At the McDonald’s. Gandalf’s gone nuts. He’s smashing everything with his staff. I tried to calm him down, and he almost hit me instead!”
Edward slipped him $20, hopped back into the car, and shouted, “Big scoop ahead! McDonald’s! Gandalf’s out of the movies and went berserk! He’s throwing fireballs and mistook this guy for a goblin!”Hawk had no idea what Edward was rambling about, but he slammed the accelerator anyway. Whether it was Gandalf or Galadriel, nothing was going to stop him from making money.
As the McDonald’s sign came into view, the sound of smashing grew louder.
Sure enough, it was Gandalf—specifically, Sir Ian McKellen, the actor who played Gandalf in The Lord of the Rings. Clearly drunk, he was wildly swinging a broken wooden stick at the McDonald’s glass doors.
The usually 24-hour location was completely dark, its doors locked.
Hawk guessed it had gone out of business, a victim of the area’s increasing decline. Hollywood’s traditional neighborhoods were becoming more impoverished, with significant population flight.
“Take pictures,” Hawk ordered Edward.
Edward grabbed the camera, quickly adjusted the focus, and snapped away.
Outside the McDonald’s, Ian McKellen, reeking of alcohol, yelled as he swung his stick: “Open the door! Open up! I want a burger! I need a burger!”
His shouting grew louder. “Open the door! Give me my damn burger!”
After the massive success of The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring, the cast and crew had dominated the Oscars and were celebrating. Ian McKellen, heavily intoxicated, had sneaked out of the hotel, taken a car, and driven to the nearest McDonald’s he remembered—only to find it closed.
Fueled by frustration and alcohol, McKellen, a tempestuous British actor, channeled both Magneto and Gandalf, smashing the doors in a rage and demanding his burger.
Spotting the approaching car, McKellen turned into a drunken hooligan and shouted, “Get lost! Don’t get in the way of my burger!”
When the car didn’t leave, he picked up a glass Coke bottle from the steps and hurled it at them.
Hawk floored the gas pedal, narrowly avoiding the bottle, which shattered on the sidewalk, scattering glass shards everywhere.
“Damn it!” Hawk cursed. “British people really are hooligans!”
Edward opened his door, camera in hand, ready to get out.
An idea struck Hawk, and he stopped Edward with a quick command, laying out his plan in a few short sentences.
Edward hesitated. “Will that even work?”
“Why not? You’re Black!” Hawk reminded him. “If it backfires, just claim he’s being racist.”
Edward, remembering the struggles of his ancestors who picked cotton and ate fried chicken, nodded. If he didn’t use that legacy now, what was the point of their suffering? ṙ₳ΝО₿ƐS̈
He stepped out of the car and ran toward McKellen.
Hawk grabbed his handheld camcorder from the backseat, got out, and positioned himself for the perfect shot as Edward approached the McDonald’s.
Edward snapped a few quick photos as he neared McKellen.
“Get lost, you bastard!” McKellen snarled. “Get out of here!”
The British actor’s gentlemanly veneer was completely stripped away, replaced by a drunken rage. He raised the stick and shouted, “Leave, or I’ll bash your skull in!”
“This is a public area! I have the right and freedom to film!” Edward declared loudly before muttering under his breath, “Hey, British troublemaker, are you the one stirring the pot, or the one getting stirred?”
McKellen, an openly gay man, flew into a fury and swung his stick at Edward.
Edward, trained by Hawk, managed to snap two more photos before turning and running.
McKellen’s swing missed, further stoking his anger. He gave chase, stick in hand.
Edward had time to glance back and snap another shot mid-run.
Hawk, hidden behind a streetlamp, captured the entire chaotic scene on his camcorder.
Edward’s natural speed outpaced the enraged McKellen, who couldn’t catch up.
But then, an unexpected twist.
Five figures turned the corner ahead, the most recognizable being Orlando Bloom. Spotting McKellen with the stick, Bloom called out, “Ian, what’s going on?”
McKellen shouted back, “Orlando! Sean! John! Stop that bastard up ahead!”
Realizing the danger, Edward turned around and sprinted back toward the car.
Orlando Bloom, Sean Astin, John Rhys-Davies, and two others immediately gave chase. Seeing the camera in Edward’s hand, they needed no further explanation—it had to be one of those detestable paparazzi.
With pursuers ahead and behind, Edward veered onto the road.
Hawk filmed the bizarre scene, then jumped into the car, spun it around, and opened the passenger door mid-turn.
The open door lined up perfectly with Edward’s trajectory, allowing him to dive in effortlessly.
As soon as Edward shut the door, Hawk floored the gas, leaving only a cloud of exhaust behind.
Back on the street, McKellen leaned on his stick, panting heavily.
Orlando Bloom, catching his breath, asked, “Ian, what happened?”
“You disappeared, so we went looking for you,” Bloom explained quickly. “Someone said you drove off. Elijah and Billy went north while we came south.”
McKellen, still drunk, muttered, “I just wanted a burger. A McDonald’s burger.”
John Rhys-Davies called Elijah Wood to bring their car over.
Orlando, piecing together what had happened, turned to the others and whispered, “This is trouble. We need to alert the director and producer immediately.”
Sean Astin nodded. “Make the call. Now.”
At a nearby hotel where The Lord of the Rings cast and crew were still celebrating, the party was abruptly paused as emergency calls came in about Ian McKellen’s antics.
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