At The Lord of the Rings premiere, ticket winners like me were the lowliest of hobbits

In this life, there are the blessed few on the red carpet – and then there are the rest of us, the fan pen scum

Last night, I attended my first ever red carpet premiere, for Amazon Prime’s much-anticipated and famously expensive The Lord of the Rings prequel, The Rings of Power. I didn’t go to Leicester Square as a journalist. My partner won tickets online, and I’m a big fan of Tolkien (and a big nerd generally).

Winning two tickets felt like a Big Deal – not just because we would see the first two episodes of Lord of the Rings: The Rings of Power, but because we needed to arrive at 4pm for the red carpet. However, the excitement quickly turned sour.

The red carpet (actually a taupe colour) wound upwards through trees and ivy-draped elven structures, as though those who would walk it were journeying into Middle Earth. At the bottom, on the ground level, were the 100 or so lucky ticket winners.

I didn’t feel very lucky. We were immediately confined in a “fan pen”, which was hot and overcrowded. We were not allowed to bring food or “open” drinks containers. After about an hour of standing there, unable to see anything (being 5’2 does not help in these situations) and with nothing actually happening, claustrophobia struck. The metal gates penned us in at waist height but I wasn’t even near one – I could just see people on all sides.

It dawned on me that we weren’t going to be leaving the pens anytime soon, and the sense of being trapped was making me light-headed with panic. Eventually, I made a crab shuffle through, past people sitting on the spiky plastic mats on the floor, climbed over a bin, and squeezed out of the gap where one of the metal barriers met the wall.

After explaining to several members of staff that I’m claustrophobic and have panic attacks, my partner and I were put in a less crowded fan pen. I asked if there was an option to leave and then come back for the screening – but didn’t get an answer. Again, the metal barrier closed on us, but at least I could see and breathe more easily.

The main issue was a lack of transparency. We had no idea of what to expect, due to a dearth of information from the organisers, ApplauseStore. We knew what time to collect wristbands and then queue up, but nothing further. No one told us “you’ll be in a fan pen for at least three hours with just 330ml of complimentary water” or “it says formal dress on the email but you won’t get to take any pictures on the red carpet or near the cool set built for the occasion”.

Ticket winners were merely set dressing for video coverage of the event, with no opportunity to walk round the amazing structures we could see from our cattle pen. On Twitter, fans voiced their disappointment, with one user remarking: “Thought we’d won a ticket, not signed up for a shift.”

Another wrote: “I was used as a human prop, made to stand and cheer on people I didn’t know, without being able to hear a word they were saying, for 3 DAMN HOURS (WITH NO SEATS). Then going into a screen with only fellow competition winners. There was a pointless applause at the end, as there was nobody that worked on the show there to hear the applause.”

There was also discussion of the perceived lack of care for disabled ticket winners: “Accessibility organisation an absolute s**t show at the #RingsofPower premiere @LOTRonPrime Disabled people clearly an afterthought at best.”

I don’t know what anyone with reduced mobility or who couldn’t stand for long periods of time was supposed to do. With no information about the schedule, there was no opportunity to speak up and say “actually I’ve got a really bad back and I’ll need to sit down in maybe half an hour”. The organisers seemed to not worry about things like that! They just corralled us into our pens, and that was it for between three and four hours. Seems pretty ableist if you ask me.

We were like factory farm animals awaiting their fate. Or, in keeping with the Tolkien theme, like countrified little hobbits, all dressed up in our most uncomfortable togs to watch the elves float by. Or maybe we were Sauron’s orcs – lowly fodder, anyway.

The treatment of ticket winners sucked all pleasure and excitement from the event. When the actors and people of varying degrees of fame finally began to file up a ramp above us, a group directly in front took a scattergun approach, emitting piercing shrieks of “you look stunning”, directed indiscriminately at whoever happened to be nearest. Occasionally, a celebrity would wave or do a little dance from their raised platform, like they were tossing scraps of pastry to a horde of half-starved pigeons.

Staff presented us with posters bearing a bingo grid of cast faces, and Sharpies so that the actors could sign. If it was a “gotta catch ‘em all” situation, my fan pen peers were going to be seriously disappointed – the majority of the actors didn’t come anywhere near our barrier.

To keep up to speed with all the latest opinions and comment, sign up to our free weekly Voices Dispatches newsletter by clicking here

It felt very “us and them”, very “know your place”. And I was kicking myself for being taken in, and not simply waiting for the show (which is genuinely excellent) to come out on 2 September and watching it at home like everyone else.

Sure, there was a flash of nostalgic joy when I spotted Effy from Skins (Kaya Scodelario), but otherwise, the red carpet experience left me cold. Maybe it’s because my feet (in my most formal shoes, as per the invite) hurt so much, but I certainly wasn’t alone in feeling cheated.

Confined to what was literally described on the cards that staff were holding up as a “fan pen”, with no idea when the interminable and largely far-off parade would end or when we could get more water (that 330ml didn’t last long) and maybe something to eat, catching a glimpse of Jeff Bezos swanning past; the takeaway seemed to be that in this life, there are the blessed few on the red carpet – and then there are the rest of us, the fan pen scum.

ApplauseStore did not respond to requests for comment at the time of publication