My daughter's school made a film this week. Not for them the humble school play, oh no, not in this information superhighway, digital, virtual, broad & bandy, 21st Century. I'm not, if I'm honest, 100% sure of the educational reason for it (aka, how they managed to square it with the governors) but then "operating the digital camera" gets a whole section to itself on our daughter's school report so maybe the need to be acquainted with the technology is enough of a reason. And it's true to say that she's pretty good with technogubbins - we have a little digital camera at home (so why don't we get more pictures in my damn wordy columns, you might well ask) but I'm hopeless at working it (which rather quickly answers that question doesn't it).

But anyway, and to recap in a slightly clearer version (as Hugh "I wrote about him last week" Grant might have put it) my daughter's school made a film this week. We were forewarned the previous Friday, and since I'm sure, dear reader, that you've by now established my level, you can well imagine the Norma Desmond references that have been filling my conversations this past week. Incidentally that reminds me of my favourite ever line from "To The Manor Born" when in the first episode faithful butler Brabinger puts on his full chauffeur's outfit to drive Penelope Keith away from the manor. She asks him why he's "dressed as Eric Von Stroheim"...

I can't vouch for the entire content of the film (although it's been passed with a 'U' rating, so I'm guessing it's fairly tame stuff) but my daughter's role was "Kind Child". I made the mistake of referring to the part as "Kind Girl" and received a very stiff rebuke from the little lady in question. Clearly she's far more PC than me... Her section of the film involved her character witnessing some bully (possibly Gripper Stebson in a cameo role, but this remains unconfirmed as at time of writing) stealing a teddy bear, and Kind Child is then sympathetic (and I would deduce, kind) to the owner of said teddy bear. It's probably not going to rival "Gone With the Wind" but quite frankly, my dear daughter doesn't give a damn about that. And, no, she would have no idea what that last sentence meant. Another "incidentally" moment - I first saw "Gone With the Wind" when it was televised one Christmas, and thinking about it I can't have been that much older than my daughter is now. I was gripped by it (although rather queasy at the, by today's standards, tame amputation sequence) but I can't imagine she would even get as far as Clark Gable's first appearance before switching off. Kids today, tt!

This isn't my daughter's first acting role, although it is the first to be on film rather than on the stage (she did mumble something about the theatre being her true love, darling, sweetie, but to be quite honest I was only half-listening). Her first ever role was when she was in Playgroup (or "Pre-School" as they call it now, a term which for no rational reason, I detest) and she was one of the Wise Men. Or, given the girl/child issue above, Wise Persons. The stage direction was for all three Wise M-- Persons, to enter the village hall at the back, and proceed (sans camels, alas) down the central aisle between the chairs, and finally onto the stage. My wife and I, as well as her parents, my sister-in-law, and two nephews, were all sat waiting. We'd had the innkeeper, we'd got through the teatowelfest that was the shepherds, and we knew that our daughter's moment (like morning in "Away in a Manger", a carol which for no rational reason, I detest) was nigh.

Imagine then the reaction when we heard the hall door open, to admit two well-behaved Wise Persons, and a third, red-faced, loudly-crying Wise Person. Yes, it was ours. With the accompanying hand of the playgroup helper, she did eventually get, still crying, to the stage, and took her place, still crying, next to her fellow Persons. Of course no such event nowadays is attended without an audience of cameras, and we were no exception. My wife was actually quite annoyed with me that I refused to take a picture of our little girl in that state, but to be honest I couldn't see any point in risking cracking the lens, and although my daughter normally loves having her photo taken, I got the distinct impression that she wasn't overly keen at that moment. Besides, my mother-in-law was already snapping away like a cross between David Bailey and Lee Harvey Oswald, so coverage was ensured. (We do in fact have a well-composed, clearly-developed, brightly-lit photograph of our little girl dressed up in lovely robes, crying her eyes out and being thoroughly miserable, courtesy of said mother-in-law, but I have hidden it in the one place neither of my two ladies will ever look - my Doctor Who bookshelf. In between "The Monster of Peladon" and "Planet of the Spiders" for anybody who's interested.)

I could at this point turn this column to questioning why children at such a young age are expected, even forced, to "do their party piece", to get up in front of a crowd and perform, and why we automatically expect them to be happy about it... but to be quite honest, the above traumatic debut is a singular exception. On every other occasion since then my daughter has more than loved to get up and perform - and for that matter, even I (who it has to be said was a fairly shy child - although that was obviously years ago, before I grew up and matured into a very shy adult) even I used to love it when I were a lad. And although the memory from my days as a Sunday School teacher, of a little boy who spent the entire Anniversary performance with his hands rummaging in his tracksuit bottoms will stay with me until either death or senility robs me of it, I nevertheless think that in general getting children to do a bit of performing is no great hardship, and is no particular affront to their human rights.

Going back to my daughter's CV then, the following year, by which time she had moved to school, she was an angel. (I believe this is referred to as "casting against type" in the industry.) So thrilled by this new role was she, that when the local Church asked for volunteers for a Crimewatch UK-style reconstruction which formed part of its Christmas Sunday service she was straight in there: "I'll do it Miss - and I can bring my own wings!" She repeated this same role at Church this past Christmas, while in school terms she was cast in the non-speaking part of "King's Attendant". This role owes rather more to having not enough parts for all the children, than it does to the New Testament. Effectively she had to walk behind one of the Kings (formerly Wise Persons) carrying the Myrrh, and then bow before presenting it to the baby Jesus. Personally, if I'd been involved in the planning stage, I would have suggested giving the Kings a camel each as a way of finding parts for people - after all, that gives six children something to do (and the audience something to giggle at).

Indeed, it seems that the dreaded (some might say, dreadful) Nativity Play is where most people's early dramatic experiences come from. In my Primary School days I myself trod the boards in the "small but crucial" (at least that's what my agent told me) role of Innkeeper. Another year I played a sheep - head sheep I might add, before you all start sniggering. The Christmas Story was told from the point of view of the animals concerned, and there was a trio of sheep. We had to sing a little ditty the first line of which went: "I had a funny dream/So did I/So did I". Of course being sheep number one I had the longest lines (the other two being reduced to "So did I"-ing their way through the song). My chief memory of that was of losing one of my white socks before the dress rehearsal, and having to wear a grey one instead. Honestly, the costume department was an absolute disgrace!

Before you forever mentally typecast me as a sheep (which would of course, say it with me, be a very baaaa-d thing to do (ho ho ho)) can I add that in Secondary School I appeared in a school production of "Oliver." To misquote Margo from "The Good Life", Mark Lester played my part in the film. It was most noticeable (from my point of view) for the small amount of rehearsal we had for everything past about scene 7, which made for some very nerve-wracking performances. It was also noticeable for being the last time I ever appeared on stage not wearing a dress.

Dragging myself back to the subject of my daughter's film, we hope to get a copy of it on tape, once the CGI and the incidental music have been added of course. To that end we had a permission slip from the school yesterday, because of course all the parents have to give permission before the film can be duplicated and distributed - in other words the rights issues need to be resolved, a particularly sore subject for Doctor Who fans this week since we've discovered that the Daleks will not be appearing in the new season for precisely that reason. When I was my daughter's age I would have loved for our class to have done a film, although the technology obviously wasn't there, but it would never have occurred to me then that there might be something dubious about producing a film starring a lot of little children, available to watch at home. Probably a sign of the times, but the permission slip did make me think for a moment - it even says that "No family names have been included in the credits - just first names" for the very reason of preserving anonymity. I'm not suggesting that it would get into the wrong hands, but in this information superhighway, digital, virtual, broad & bandy, chatroom-infested, sometimes horrifying 21st Century it is the sort of fear and concern that from time to time makes its presence felt.

The permission slip also informs us that the children "wrote, acted and directed" the film. I don't know who did the writing (although I sincerely hope that somebody other than the children checked the spelling on the Skrippt) and I don't know who did the directing (although I think it was probably little Jimmy DeMille) but I do know one of the stars. I'm not saying she's vain, or that the camera has gone to her head, but I'm sure I heard her upstairs earlier, talking to herself in front of the mirror. I don't know exactly what she was saying, but it sounded something like, "Members of the Academy, this is the first award I've ever won..."

As long as she remembers to thank her parents, I'll be happy!