Elton John: Don't shoot me, I'm only the producer

He's rich, he's famous and his tantrums are legendary. No wonder he's moving into the movies

I'm kicking my heels in Holland Park, wondering what on earth I'm going to talk to Elton John about. What can there be left to discover about a man whose life has been playing out across the tabloids for three decades? We know all about the drugs, the drinking, the temper, the marriage, the hair. Just as we know all about the money. Oodles of it. A stack of cash atop of which sits Sir Elton, a modern-day Pearly King, his well documented profligacy only topped by his apparently boundless generosity.

The Prince Charming from Pinner wept on Diana's shoulder at Gianni Versace's funeral, only weeks before singing at the eulogy of the People's Princess herself. You wouldn't call him an icon, but he's certainly a phenomenon. And I'm standing on his doorstep, my mind a complete blank. I really have no idea what to expect.

I shake hands with a squat, middle-aged man with a red bouffant that barely blends in with the neighbouring grey sideburns. I must have seen hundreds of pictures of Elton, but he appears more exaggerated in the flesh; shorter and squarer, the hair crying out to be brushed down an inch. The clothes are immaculate and clearly expensive – no surprise there – but the man inside them is trembling. He's nervous. About talking to me.

We take a seat in a living room bursting with stuff; expensive baubles, ornate knick-knacks, a huge, square coffee table so piled with books and magazines that there's nowhere to put my mug of tea. I wouldn't want the task of keeping it all tidy, but I'm happy to sit back and enjoy such unapologetic opulence for an hour. Elton, though, still looks decidedly uncomfortable.

He's endeavouring to sit casually on a sofa that's so big and soft that he can't lean back and keep his feet on the carpet at the same time. As he bounces about, trying to look relaxed, I feel as if I'm looking at a big kid rather than a big-time rock star. Because no matter how successful, how rich, how famous Elton John becomes, underneath he's still Reg Dwight from Pinner, an ordinary bloke determined to live an extraordinary lifestyle.

We're here in his London home because Elton John, the musician, the Aids fundraiser, etc, etc, has added yet another string to his ever-bending bow: film production. Rocket Pictures' first feature film – Women Talking Dirty – will open on 7 December.

I ask what brought him to put his money into the movies, and he takes a quick breath, stares down at his clasped hands and talks for four and a half minutes without a break.

Following the enormous success of The Lion King, he explains, Disney felt impelled to offer their Oscar-winning composer anything that it was in their power to provide. Elton plumped for a development company, and Michael Eisner and Mike Ovitz stumped up a deal under which Disney would have first refusal on all of Rocket's productions.

Unfortunately for Elton – and perhaps more importantly, for his boyfriend, David Furnish, who is Rocket's real producer – Disney turned Women Talking Dirty down: "It's quite amazing what a big company will turn down and what it will make," says Elton, without a shred of irony. "They said no, but that was fine with us. We just did it without them."

Disney has, he is quick to point out, said "yes" to two subsequent projects, both animations: "An adaptation of the Just So Stories, which I've always wanted to do – and," he begins to snigger in spite of himself, "a film called Gnomio and Juliet."

Pardon?

"Gnomio and Juliet, about two sets of warring garden gnomes."

We're both in stitches. The dog – Joseph – jumps up on the sofa to join in, sending both my mini disc and Elton flying and, after we've collected ourselves, the ice has been smashed to smithereens and the conversation turns into the kind of gossipy chat you'd have with your mates in the pub.

Elton, it turns out, has a passion for movies. "I love them. I love all that escapism," he enthuses. "I just think it's so exciting to go to the pictures. The pictures..." he rolls his eyes and chuckles, correcting himself and putting on the posh, "...the ciné-mah.

"In Atlanta [where Elton has one of his many houses], sometimes I see 12 or 13 movies a week, and I never do that over here. Who wants to go to Leicester Square?" He answers his own question: "I don't, thank you very much."

He must go to anything and everything?

"Oh, no," he replies, slightly shocked. "I have a list of films I need to catch up with – I want to see The Deep End, The Others, Bully. I haven't seen AI. These are films I should see. I loved Memento – that's the kind of intelligent film I like... I won't be heading towards Planet of the Apes or Lara Croft: Tomb Raider."

He doesn't just watch films, of course, he collects them. "We have about four or five thousand videos at Woodside [his Windsor country pile]; I used to collect laser discs, but they don't make those any more. I don't know where to start replacing them with DVDs. I'm always down at Tower Records with my DVD list" – lists are a big thing with him – "because they don't announce the back-catalogue stuff, the Bette Davis and the Cary Grant, the ones you don't want to be without."

We discuss our favourite movies (he complains about how difficult he finds it to make a list of his all-time 100 greats), and I ask him what film he would most like to have produced. He thinks for all of a split second: "From a script point of view I'd have to say All About Eve, then there's Mildred Pierce, La Cage Aux Folles – the French one..." I raise my eyebrows at such camp predictability, but he hasn't finished. "...Apocalypse Now, The Godfather and Godfather II, Monsieur Hulot's Holiday..."

Of the current crop, he likes Neil LaBute – "usually his films appeal to my sick sense of humour. Nurse Betty was different" – and Todd Solondz's Happiness – "the ending was just incredibly moving.

"But the dross..." he sighs so hard we're in danger of succumbing to the upholstery again. "Dealing with the big studios, you want to say, 'God, how could you make this?' It's so depressing. I hate sequels and I hate remakes, and if Guy Ritchie is going to remake [Lina Wertmüller's 1974 film] Swept Away – please don't. It's a classic, it's wonderful and why would you do that?"

Though there have been offers to put him on screen – "Rod Stewart and I as feuding rock stars. I don't think so" – the rock opera Tommy remains his only foray into film acting.

"The only thing I was ever offered that was any good was the lead in Harold and Maude," he says casually. As I'm busily gathering my jaw up from somewhere around my knees, he continues: "Hal Ashby had seen me perform live and he offered me the role. It was a genius script, but I was too busy trying to cement in my career. I've always regretted it, even though Bud Cort was brilliant – and we're good friends. He wanted me to do the music, but I couldn't, though I did suggest Cat Stevens." He doesn't think he has the temperament for acting: "It's bad enough doing videos – all that waiting around. You have to have the patience of Job."

And patience is something we all know Elton struggles with. His volcanic bursts of petty-minded fury were what made the documentary Tantrums and Tiaras so completely delicious, and what renders the couple of warm references he makes to that film a surprise.

But then, Tantrums and Tiaras was made by the man in his life. And David Furnish is the real reason why Rocket Pictures exists; it's all for love. "Disney's offer appealed to my vanity," Elton admits with equanimity. "But I knew it was a real opportunity for David to work in film, which is something he really wanted to do."

Elton is, he says, very happy. Happy at work, happy at home. His wants are simple: "I would like David to have a really successful movie, for him. I would like success for him."

Then he jumps up and insists that I come to the kitchen and meet David. We hover slightly awkwardly for a moment, and the next thing I know, Elton John is hugging me warmly, planting a big kiss on each cheek, and I feel like I'm saying goodbye to an old friend.

And whatever I might have expected, it certainly wasn't that.