One of the occasionally embarrassing parts of being an ex-patriate Brit is that I'm subject to passing fits of sentimental nostalgia for Ol' England. With the biggest sporting competition in the world (the Soccer World Cup) starting today, there are sure to be some such moments for me in the coming month. In fact, it happened today, already, and no, I'm not talking about the fact that cup-holders France lost in their opening game (I'm sure there were a few bottles of champagne opened in England at this result). It happened when I tuned into CNN to a report about nationalistic soccer songs. They played a clip of a new song and video, "We're Coming Over" from Chas, who was the singer from the 80s group Madness.

As soon as I saw the video, I knew it would be one of those songs that would be an instant classic in England. And it brought tears to my silly old eyes. It was the combination of the jaunty tune (using the theme from the "Great Escape"), the cockney accent of the singer (shades of 60s Michael Caine), and the crowds marching through a leafy, summertime England. Just give me one of those sudden rushes, a mix of nostalgia and helpless nationalism. But mainly, I think, nostalgia for an idea of England that only exists in our national myths, or in the memories of childhood. Still, it left me looking forward to my trip home in mid July.

I didn't intend to get up at 4.25 this morning to watch the opening game of the tournament (which is being played in Japan and South Korea). But I happened to wake up at 4.20 for a middle-of-the-night potty break, saw the time, and decided to watch the game. Great way to start the day, although I may regret it during the tired stretches of the afternoon today.

Over the last few days, I've been flooded with emailed photos from voluptuous females who want to be cast in our short movie. I suppose if I was heterosexual, I'd be excited about meeting some of these women when we hold auditions a week on Saturday. The disappointment has been the low number of headshots for the male roles. We've only had two submissions for the crucial role of Nicky, the 20s Italian-American macho actor I was particularly looking forward to casting. One of the actors who submitted for the role sent a photo of himself in his underpants, which I thought was less than professional. Not only that, but he was bald! How is he supposed to get his hair styled in our hairdressing-salon comedy if he's got none! The other submission came from an extremely hot guy who is, unfortunately, Philipino. Unfortunate for us, I mean, not for the guy. Luckily, Scott, with his extensive contacts in Los Angeles, has a friend who's interested in flying up for the shoot, so we may not be lost.

Now that I'm back in the director's seat, I'm in the middle of developing the shooting script for the movie. Not a few people in the world of film-making believe that the director's importance is overstated. Of course, the people who usually say this are people like grips and gaffers. But this experience is making me wonder. It's the first time I've directed somebody else's script, and I'm coming up against the issue of what I'm allowed to do. Can I add shots and visuals that aren't in the script? And if I can't, then, truly, what influence do I have to make a statement with the movie? Maybe this is what people are referring to when they say that the director's job is overrated. I mean, the two major roles the director plays are to write the shooting script, and to direct the actors on the set. I'm beginning to conclude that unless you have a really strong director who's willing to ride roughshod over the writer, then it's actually the screenwriter whose hand is most evident in the finished product.