GUNS, TESTICLES, COKE: more adventures in Co-Production Hell

Dare I say - take a long, hard look at that picture, which brings a new dimension to the term woody? Dr. Freud, your slip is showing. As you can see, I am a sick puppy with a twisted sense of humor. Somehow, I want to believe that the decision by the relevant executive at the publishing house back in the early 60’s to use this particular still as the front cover was not a perversely funny accident; rather, it was the work of a subversive mind, devising a time bomb joke for a cynical future generation to unearth. For nearly 50 years his/her private irony has squeaked by without notice…till now.  But no. Those were more innocent times. How could it have occurred to anybody involved? But if it had…It would make a good episode of MAD MEN. (What a great show that is.) Another episode of MAD MEN could center around the Advertising agency that lured Glenn Ford into this cigarette ad.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tobacco not withstanding, Mr. Ford lived to be 90.  And he was in good spirits on arrival for Day 2 of the Assassins shoot, his second and last scene in the picture. It also involved Taylor Lacher, the actor he had brought with him. They had become buddies on the set of CADE’S COUNTY, a high profile but short lived series in 1971. I had actually visited the set as promo exec of Sydney’s Channel 9, who had purchased the show, and watched Mr. Ford do a scene with Taylor Lacher (not the older man pictured on Mr. Ford’s left). Little did I know as I observed Mr. Lacher discreetly from the side that I was watching an actor who would, nine years later, spit on the ground in front of me as a gesture of his contempt for a creative decision I had made. My directing style does not normally produce this kind of response, by the way. But that encounter was a pleasure yet to come.  Day 2 was the business in hand, scheduled to finish early so trucks could take off for location in Ixtapa. Pressure was on to get through the betrayal and murder scene (only the climax to the whole story!) as fast as possible, with a Spanish DP who spoke no English. This movie was my personal LOST IN TRANSLATION. Mexican crews are great, incidentally. 10 years later I did 12 episodes of TARZAN in Palanque with a fantastic crew. They got the job done and made it fun.

So, fast forward to…Taylor has to pull a gun, harangue his Onassis type boss (Glenn Ford)  then shoot him. As I set up the first shot, an argument broke out between Mr. Ford and one of the producers. It degenerated into name calling, hissed loudly at each other while the crew worked around them as if nothing was going on. OI! But the first few set ups went smoothly enough, then came the actual gun firing moment. When he saw the armourer load the pistol, Mr. Ford’s mood changed. He came to me quite agitated, and stated that he had a mortal fear of firearms. Puzzling, I thought, given the number of westerns he had made. By reputation he had the fastest draw of any Hollywood actor, firing at 0.4 of a second, faster than John Wayne or Gunsmoke’s James Arness.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He was a Rear Admiral in the Naval Reserve. In 1967, he volunteered to serve three months in Vietnam, spending some of his time under bombardment, and accompanying five special forces missions. So what’s the problem with the quarter load blanks? He took up hang gliding at the age of 64, for God’s sake! OI!

As he was costumed in his own clothes, (another smart decision by the American producers to save money) he was not prepared to be squibbed. He begged me to allow him not to be in any shot in which the gun was fired. I had hoped to have him pumped full of lead Peckinpah-style. So much for that wild idea. I looked to a producer. He shrugged and walked off. Brave, brave, Sir Robin. Of course, actors have a right to be nervous around firearms. The tragic loss of Brandon Lee was a safety lesson to the whole industry. I knew: You pick your battles. This was not one of them. So, I set it up as: an insert of the gun firing/cut to Glenn Ford clutching his chest dropping out of frame/cut to a wide 2-shot. He completes the fall, etc. When I called “Cut” on that shot, he got up and approached me, beaming from ear to ear. He put one arm round my shoulder to hug me…

Then I felt his other hand cup my balls and give them a quick squeeze.  “Oh, thank you, thank you so much for doing that, I really appreciate it…” I recall him saying. It was over in a flash. I lurched forward, disguised my gasp as a big laugh, Whoa! Ho Ho! Just jocular locker room humor, nothing to see here, folks. Of course, I did not think Glenn Ford was gay. He had brought with him wife number 3 (out of a total of 4), actress Cynthia  Hayward, also a cast member from CADE’S COUNTY. (She treated my wife, another beautiful but younger blonde, with lofty disdain.) There was nothing sexual in Mr. Ford’s act, rather it was a demonstration of power, a direct metaphor for our relationship during his two days of work. He had me by the short and curlies the entire time. Perhaps it was a parting handshake for satisfactory service. So the only way to take it was as a compliment. How many directors have the privilege of getting their balls squeezed by a star from Hollywood’s Golden Age in front of the entire crew? I am deeply blessed. By way of comparison, perhaps this is a good time to remind everybody of how a director/star relationship can turn out.

 

That must have been quite a set to work on! So was mine, Once Upon A Time In Mexico… Not as spectacularly volatile as Huckabees of course (click the poster to see what I’m talking about), just a daily slog through ugly mud. This was a movie made without a completion guarantor, but with a plethora of producers, all of whom felt entitled to give the director conflicting notes. Their ranks expanded weekly, as the Americans sought to repair their cash flow crisis by offering potential investors executive producer credits, and a holiday trip to our Ixtapa hotel. Some took the trip at the company‘s expense, then reneged on the investment. All were given to me to look after, like lost dogs. “Hang out with the director. Ask him anything you like.” Which they would sometimes do in the middle of a take.  I have a motto with car crashes: if in doubt, blow it up, or at least set fire to it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I was able to indulge this practice only once, as the budget see-sawed. Another time when money was short, the stock ratio was cut. I countered by saying in front of cast that I could no longer afford close-ups. The stock ratio was restored. Our passports however, which were taken from us for visa processing - “just a few days, nothing to be concerned about” - they showed no sign of returning. My wife and I developed a contingency plan should the movie collapse, freezing or losing our passports. We would take a bus to Juarez and phone Margaret’s brother Rick, a former detective, who would drive across the border and collect us. It helped that Chuck had a huge platonic crush on my wife. In my presence, he would occasionally pretend to be a vampire and try to bite her on the neck. (She has a lovely neck, by the way) It was as close as he would ever come, he said, to playing a vampire on the screen, which was, in fact, his heart’s desire. But a hit western series had typed him solely for gun carrying roles. Even though his politics was to the right of Attilla The Hun, we got on famously. He was a true Hollywood Character. A former Brooklyn Dodger, Chuck was often guest sports commentator on NBC till he accidentally dropped the ‘f’ word during a primetime live telecast, startling the nation, and endearing him further to his male fan base. Chuck told us not to worry. He was an honorary Treasury Department Agent, a rank awarded to him because of the Department’s affection for The Rifleman series.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Treasury Department windbreaker he wears in the movie was a gift from them. He would make a phone call if necessary, and we would be home. Matters finally came to a head in the sixth and last week. Still no passports, and the Spanish producer Carlos Vassallo wanted the hero (Chuck) to participate in an armed robbery of a security truck and shoot the innocent guards. I pointed out the damage to audience identification with the hero. So I was fired. Vassallo took over the last few days of the shoot, and gave himself co-director credit in the territories he had sales rights to. Chuck just gave me that it’s Chinatown look. Later he commiserated with me over wine and cocaine. In vino, veritas. In white powder, hubris. I prefer the vino. He did give me some good advice. Call people on their shit right away. If you see producers are weak, take control; do it diplomatically, but take it. You only have power during the shoot. Of course, it helps to have a bond company to appeal to, which we did not. The Day of the Assassin experience stiffened my backbone. Over the years since then, I have been sent in by completion bond companies to take over 4 films late in prep or early in shooting, and several more in post. Such assignments require juggling the age old contradiction: Make decisions. But be flexible.

Passports returned, and back in LA, we got a call from Chuck to see how we were. He did not drop us, as many might. We would meet occasionally for lunch before I returned to Australia 2 years later. Once he picked me up in his Mercedes, with a photo medallion of the Pope hanging from the rear view mirror, and a 357 Magnum in a cowboy holster mounted on the passenger side of the drive shaft, ready for a quick draw. Once a Rifleman, always a Rifleman. Vale, Chuck, you made your mark.