Shooting 007: And Other Celluloid Adventures (24 page)

However, things would not work out as planned when a phone call from production manager Basil Keys asked me to meet him at Pinewood Studios about a film called
Crossed Swords,
an adaptation of Mark Twain’s
The Prince and the Pauper
, which was also the eventual title of the film. This would be my second film with that story background, the first having been with Paul Beeson in 1961 during his Disney period. This time, though, our filming would take place in Budapest, Hungary. Although I had no intention, wish or desire to spend the next three months away, my curiosity allowed me to meet Basil and a lengthy discussion followed, but only with Basil’s assurance that I could leave the film if
The Spy Who Loved Me
came forward. With this agreed I accepted his generous offer.

Lining up the village scene in which Oliver Reed is put in the stocks and pelted with rotten fruit. From Left to right: Jack Cardiff (leaning against the table), Richard Fleischer looking through his viewfinder, while I look on, with Suzy standing next to me, to control the Hungarian extras.

A photographic compilation of Frank Elliott’s sense of humour on
The Prince and the Pauper
. When working in front of the camera as ‘Second Guard’ Frank took the stage name of Tyrone Cassidy.

Discussing a set-up with director Richard Fleischer.

Even the grip had an opinion.

No wonder I’m losing my hair …

If truth be told, the only reason I found
Crossed Swords
remotely interesting was the cinematographer Jack Cardiff, whom I had never met before but whose name alone went before him as a respected ‘painter of light’; suddenly there was now an opportunity to work with the grand master himself.

Among the many films credited to Jack Cardiff were
Black Narcissus
, for which he won an Oscar,
The Magic Box
,
The Red Shoes
,
A Matter of Life and Death
,
The African Queen
and
Scott of the Antarctic
, all classics lit by the man with whom I would now be working. Perhaps it was Jack’s CV to which I succumbed, but now with this sudden chance I would hope to learn much from working with the great man himself, let alone the many interesting conversations we would share together.

Filming began at Pinewood Studios before we moved on to Budapest, where we would meet up with a party of professional Hungarian technicians all waiting on our arrival. My only problem with foreign locations was the inevitable challenge of language and communication, where – if past experience had taught me anything – it was helpful, indeed necessary, to have a good relationship with the first assistant director in my work. However, with the Hungarian first assistant constantly busy with British assistant director Nigel Wooll’s problems, his assistant could work alongside me as my interpreter.

Szemes Zsuzsanna’s English was perfect; an assistant director who would understand the camera operator’s problems. ‘Just call me Suzy!’ would be the answer to the pronunciation problem with which I struggled; how could either of us visualise what those few words would eventually lead to – a relationship neither of us could possibly imagine!

By working with Jack Cardiff I would meet and work with his regular crew for the first time: Frank Elliott, his camera assistant, and Miki Thomas (clappers). Both were generous in their support to me, though I remained cautious of Frank’s reputation as a ‘character’. I would soon find out why he had this reputation when a series of events led to my initiation into ‘Club Oliver’, which inevitably got me into all sorts of trouble.

Oliver Reed – ‘Ollie’ to his friends – with whom I had previously worked on
The Hunting Party
was, for all his faults, a very good actor, and glad I am to tell that Ollie and I shared a good working relationship. But of course that came at a price. Oliver’s well-known off-screen drinking exploits were no help to him or his reputation, which would increase one morning when he did not turn up for work; Ollie had been arrested for fighting, which you could be sure was alcohol related.

At another party celebrating Mark Lester’s eighteenth birthday, Oliver arrived late to the gathering with a young lady on his arm – a prostitute – his present to Mark on reaching manhood! As you might imagine, Ollie’s ‘gift’ did not go down well with the invited guests, and it was also embarrassing for the young ladies in the cast who were present at the celebrations.

Soon it would time for my own initiation into ‘Club Oliver’! This happened when I was ‘summoned’ to attend Oliver’s birthday party, who insisted that the camera crew should join him, along with other invited guests. Knowing well of Oliver’s past exploits on
The Hunting Party
, there was little chance that I would be interested in Ollie’s merrymaking, but I then made the silly mistake of asking Frank to phone Oliver and apologise for me: ‘Tell him I cannot make it – make up some excuse …’

Frank duly obliged: ‘Ollie, Alec bottled out and doesn’t want to come!’

It will come as no surprise that Frank’s pathetic plea on my behalf would be rejected out of hand, so for the sake of Oliver’s cooperation I succumbed to the inevitable, which I still suffer in nightmares.

The dinner was held at one of Budapest’s finest restaurants, the Hundred-Year-Old Restaurant, where Ollie had invited a dozen hand-picked guests who, on demand, would be required to celebrate anything that entered his head. This began by toasting every member of his family, absent friends, everyone at the table and that chap over there in the corner who smiled. Ollie was heading for one glorious ‘mis-’ap!’

Here I should explain that I cannot drink more than a half-pint of lager – and would prefer a shandy. However, Ollie was not having any shandy nonsense that night, bellowing: ‘We toast with wine – bull’s blood!’ – deadly poison for any non-drinker. It was a hot, sticky summer night and a musician was walking around the garden playing a violin – the perfect setting for Ollie’s celebrations. Desperately in need of salvation from what lay ahead a cunning plan came to mind. Hoping that this would save me, I carefully positioned myself with my back to the bushes with Frank sitting opposite and our host seated at the head of the table. My confidence slowly returned with the knowledge that my ingenious survival plan was in place, thanks to the seating arrangements.

The evening began with a sober verse of ‘Happy Birthday’ with Ollie insisting every toast should be downed in one go, with the guests obediently accepting Oliver’s ruling. To start the proceedings his first toast was to his mum, with the guests conforming by downing the ‘poison’. Although I went through the motions, instead I cunningly tipped the glass over my shoulder, polluting the sad, ill-fated shrubbery behind. I managed to get away with this clever deception for three or four toasts when Judas sitting opposite noted my ability to stay clear-headed and decided to watch me on the next round of drinks.

Frank would not have long to wait. With hindsight, if I had acted with a hint of inebriation then I might have got away with this clever deception; sadly, the thought escaped me and Frank whispered to Oliver what I was up to. Now closely watched by my host the inevitable happened and I was soon pissed out my mind and totally incapable of doing anything in that condition, leaving my previously sober reputation now hanging in rags!

The rest of the celebration is a hazy blur, apart from the vague memory of Ollie and Frank dragging me back to the hotel, covered in chocolate with the scuffs on the tips of my shoes providing the evidence; I was in a terrible mess. Seeing my condition on entering the hotel lobby, the guests asked what had happened; Frank completed the evening’s entertainment by telling everyone that I had been in a fight! Apparently the double act carried me to my room and put me to bed. I remember little of this but at least I was now a fully paid up member of ‘Club Oliver’, where I could expect to be left alone and in peace.

Should any consolation come from all this nonsense it would be that Ollie and I ended up good pals; the sacrifice made was worth the pain suffered and from now on I would enjoy Ollie’s unending cooperation throughout what would be a difficult film for a camera operator. Although Ollie’s drinking exploits would leave a sad mark on his standing as an actor, I always believed that his performances came from the heart – possibly from personal experiences.

With filming soon to end, it was no longer possible to hide my relationship with Suzy, which had become personal. I knew that I would miss her when I returned to the UK but I still had my appointment to keep with 007 and now it was time to say goodbye. However, fate had other plans for me, even when my replacement arrived to take over for the last two weeks of filming …