Halfway To Hollywood: Diaries 1980-1988 (Volume Two) (6 page)

I have to puncture Denis’s epic enthusiasm here. She may do a great old lady, but Ruth Gordon
is
a great old lady, and would easily be my choice (if we need names) for the part.

Schizophrenic weather. Today almost continuous rain – yesterday bright sunshine.

To Eric’s for a Python meeting.

Over lunch we discuss the general balance of material, which seems to fall into School, War/Army and North-West Frontier. Lists are made in the p.m. and a putative running order worked out. This is the stage when there is much talk of ‘What is the film about?’ and how we can relate the various themes – whether we should start conventionally or with an apology for what’s to be seen. Quite good progress.

Revision of the railway script proceeds rather slowly. I think one reason is that I have become so steeped in the material over the last three or four weeks that I’ve lost a lot of the initial enthusiasm. Also concerned about how funny to make the start. In short, I don’t think I’ve found the right tone yet.

Run off my uncertainties at lunchtime. Back to a phone call from Denis. He has just received a mortal blow to his pride from Edna Jones at BBC Contracts. Denis, international financier and deal-maker extraordinary, cannot get the BBC to budge from a max of £2,400 plus £1,800 once and for all foreign sales on the railway programme. Denis, who believes in the success ethic even more than the work ethic, says he’s contemplating throwing himself off his balcony!

A dull morning, but no rain, fog or snow to threaten departure. With only a couple of light bags, a book –
Moviola
by Garson Kanin – and a
Time Bandits
script for Ruth Gordon (Garson Kanin’s wife!), drive the Mini to Heathrow and park it, as I’m only away for one night.

Board the 11.15 Concorde, a few minutes late – some problem with the earlier flight. But we’re airborne, with thunderous noise, by twelve, and there are no more problems. I’m VIP listed and this means it’s impossible to quietly stew in a mixture of champagne, relief and a good book without being hauled out to sign an autograph for the crew and visit the flight deck.

The pilot and co-pilot seem more anxious to ask me about Python than to tell me about Concorde, but I do ascertain that they use five tons of fuel every hour and that the fastest Atlantic crossing so far has been two hours 56 minutes.

Well, they catch up half an hour and I’m at Kennedy and through customs and into bright sunshine and crisp snow cover just after 10.30 NY time.

Arrive at NBC at four. Rehearse the moves cold. See Lorne,
¹¹
the cast, Belushi, who is back to do a special appearance. Of
1941
he says ‘I was bad, the film was bad’, but he’s very pleased with the state of the
Blues Brothers
– his soon to be released picture with Aykroyd.

As usual Belushi’s presence does not please everybody. He’s very rude about the present state of ‘
SNL
’ – and seems disgruntled that he’s come back to do so little. Both points are understandable. The material on this 100th show reflects age rather than quality and Belushi isn’t given much funny stuff. He’s smarting because he’s been cut out of ‘Update’ to accommodate one of the ‘star guests’, Ralph Nader.

After an hour of reacquainting myself with everybody and rehearsing in a darkened set, a dull, persistent headache has set in. So I take an hour off before the dress rehearsal, go back to the Berkshire Place and lie down. Don’t sleep, but at least I’m not working or talking.

Shower and leave the hotel at seven, US time – which means it’s midnight UK time. I have somehow to try and pace myself to perform live in front of the watching millions at what will be, for me, about 5.30 in the morning at the end of a very crowded day.

When 11.30 finally arrived and the signature tune blared out I knew that I would be alright as the adrenaline started working to clear my befuddled system of the combined effects of too much food, alcohol and fatigue.

The sketch went better than ever and I got a gratifying round of recognition applause when the audience saw me for the first time. I also over-acted happily and shamelessly. John Cleese would have been proud of the way I killed the tarantula.

Spring starts either today or tomorrow, I’m never sure. The rain’s stopped, but there was a frost last night. It’s cold, clear and clean.

At a quarter to ten Helen, Tom and I drive up in the Mini to William Ellis School for our interview with Mr Perry [the headmaster]. Talk to one of the senior boys – wearing a gown. Will they still keep gowns in the comprehensive era? He was very well-spoken and presentable and surprised me by saying, quite undefensively, that he wanted to become an accountant.

Into Mr Perry’s bland but unintimidating study. Tom is asked most of the questions. What he likes about Gospel Oak – Tom, seriously, ‘Well, it’s very spacious, but quite small.’ His hobbies, interests, friends, preferences (Tom declared for science). Tom answered quite unprecociously and at greater length than I expected. Mr Perry said that it was almost an accepted fact that children from Gospel Oak were more articulate than the norm.

Drive over to EuroAtlantic for a meeting with Denis and T Gilliam. Main subject is whether or not we think J Cleese is right for the Evil Genius. Apparently Denis took the bull by the horns and met the disgruntled Cleese, who’s not so far forgiven Denis for promising us a quarter of a million pounds each for
Brian
.

Denis has so successfully charmed JC with soft words and capital allowance schemes, that JC can now see the advantage of being in TG’s movie after all – as a partner. Denis is keen, but both TG and I are unconvinced. Other names hang in the air. Connery still isn’t fixed. Ruth Gordon neither. Denis is disappointed that John cannot be easily fitted in.

Watch the BAFTA awards at 9.30 with a glimmer of hope, but little more than that. The Light Entertainment Award is the first. Bruce Forsyth
comes on to present it and does an annoyingly unnecessary and lengthy preamble, whilst Anna Ford, Edward Fox and Princess Anne watch lugubriously.

My first pleasure is to hear the laughter in the hall as they show the shooting scene from ‘Roger of the Raj’, but I can’t believe it when Forsyth announces ‘The winner is … the winners are: Alan Bell and Jim Franklin for …
Ripping Yarns
.’ I just leap up and give a few lusty yells. Its like Wednesday scoring twice against Everton in the ’66 Cup Final.

The boys come downstairs and stare at me.

TG and I drive down to the King’s Road in pouring rain to dine with executives from Paramount and Denis O’B at the Casserole Restaurant.

There were three Paramount people. A young, bright little man, with a combative heckling approach which settled down as one got to know him. He was called Jeffrey Katzenberg, was 29 years old and admitted that he was paid a lot because it was a very high-risk job – the turnover of Hollywood execs is spectacularly fast. His bluffer, less devious, funnier friend was also younger than TG or I and was called David.

They joked heavily as we arrived. Probably to cover their embarrassment at the fact that an hour earlier Paramount HQ had telexed Denis O’B to say that if he stalls on the next Python deal (which he has) then they will stall on the
Time Bandits
. So Paramount in LA are playing Denis’s game.

But these two were at pains to deny any close association with their colleagues. These two were interested purely in talent and were keen to know more about the
Time Bandits
. They particularly wanted to be reassured about the dwarves (I mean, just how odd would they look?).

At my desk at 9.30 to confront the formidable task of rewriting two scenes for the
Time Bandits
before leaving for the Python promotion in Paris at 3.30. But the muse is helpful and by one I have rewritten the ‘Future’ and, even more satisfactorily, I hope, the ‘Titanic’ scene.

Leave for the airport at a quarter past three. Onto an airbus for Paris. Packed solid – must be two or three hundred people. Read my book on
the Greeks by HDFKitto. Most inspirational. In the air only briefly, but on the plane for over an hour.

Python Sacré Graal
is in its 71st week of its third reissue in Paris! So clearly there is a cult here, and it’s based on only one movie.

A rather dreadful evening at a Sofitel in the 15th Arrondissement. Up to a bleak room on the 16th floor of this French Holiday Inn, where we ate. No-one knew why we were here, or who all the guests were, but it turned out to be some sort of special viewing for Avis, who are renting us the cars for the three days.

Python spirit was high, despite this debacle, though, and much enjoyment was derived from trying to find how many things on the table we could assemble around John before he noticed. Huge numbers of plates, glasses, bread baskets and even an ornamental bowl of flowers were discreetly manoeuvred in front of him, but he never noticed.

Interviews – for
Le Figaro
,
La Revue de Cinéma
and finally a cartoonist called Gottlib, who has a Gumby fascination and gets me to enunciate clearly and slowly the
exact
words for ‘Gumby Flower Arranging’ into a small tape recorder. The more seriously I try to oblige, the more ridiculous the situation becomes. Eric doesn’t help by constantly cracking up and, when I finally make it through to the moment of flower arranging the doors of the room open to reveal an enormous bunch of flowers being carried through. The interviews draw to a close by seven. Terry J and I go off to eat at La Coupole. I have ears and tail – and TJ is most impressed. We talk, for the first time, about the
Time Bandits
script, which TJ has half-read. He wasn’t impressed with it until the Greek scene!

Woken from a very deep sleep in the Hotel Lotti by the soft clinking of a breakfast tray. It’s half past seven. Pull myself out of bed and wander across to meet the breakfast, wearing only my underpants, when I’m suddenly aware of the nervous, twitching, apologetic presence of the Very Naughty Valet in my room.

Terry had warned me that there was a man who very lasciviously enquired whether he wanted his shoes cleaned, and here he was, in my room, having caught me with literally everything, apart from my pants,
down! He wasn’t at all phased by my appearance, but came on in and started to arrange my chair for breakfast in a most epicene manner.

Finally I fled to the bathroom and made loud and hopefully quite unromantic sounds of ablution until I knew he’d gone. Then I crept out again and got to grips with two fried eggs, coffee out of a swimming pool cup and croissants which were pale imitations of Patisserie Valerie’s.

The door I never heard open. But I was aware of the presence of the lustful valet even before he said ‘I have something for you, sir … ’. With virgin-like caution I extended my hand to his and he dropped two small bars of soap into it as if they were ripe grapes.

No work – for the first time in many weeks. The weather back in London is crisp, with high white clouds and breaks of sunshine – and the city looks a lot less grey than Paris.

William and I go for a lunch picnic in St James’s Park and walk up the traffic-free Mall. Gentle Sunday strolling in the heart of the city. We eat our lunch on the deckchairs, then improvise a quick game of cricket. Afterwards we drive on to the London Dungeon – William is doing the plague at school, so this
can
be called an educational visit.

This evening Helen – who has bought a £150 dress for the occasion! – and I dine out at Leith’s with Denis and Inge [Denis’s wife], Terry G, Maggie, George H and Sean Connery – our latest casting coup for
Time Bandits
. Connery is as he seems on screen – big, physically powerful, humorous, relaxed and very attentive to women. He talks with the unaffected ease of a man who is used to having an audience. His main love is clearly golf, but he has some good and sensible suggestions to make on his part as King Agamemnon.

Arrive at JC’s by ten.

Some progress, but nothing sweeps the gathering off its feet. JC reaches a peak of frustration. ‘Nine weeks of writing,’ he practically sobs in anguish, ‘and we haven’t got a
film
.’

But we make lists and from the best elements
-
mainly ‘Kashmir’ – I suggest that we play six members of a family – a sort of Python saga, set in the
Ripping Yarns
period of 1900-1930. The idea of telling the story of
a family seems to appeal and quite suddenly unblocks the sticky cul-de-sac we appeared to have written ourselves into. It suits me, a
Yarns
film with all the team in it – something I’ve often been attracted to.

So, quite unexpectedly, the day turns around. At the eleventh hour we have a style, a subject and a framework for the new film.

Ride back with Eric, who becomes very angry when I tell him that John Cleese is doing something in the TG film. He feels this is a plot on Denis’s part to make TG’s into a new Python film. Eric seems to be able to take
Ripping Yarns
and
Fawlty Towers
, but Gilliam’s extra-Python work he has no tolerance for, feeling that it just copies Python and isn’t original.

A half-hour phone call with a researcher from the
Dick Cavett Show
, who’s doing a pre-interview interview. He says he thought my remark about showbiz being ‘a branch of American patriotism’ was brilliant, but I can never remember saying it.

The sheer pleasure of having a morning to myself – even though I have to spend it reading the
Time Bandits
latest revised script – is incredibly healing to my creaking system. Clear the desk, write the diary, pull down the blinds against the strong sunlight, brew up strong coffee, and settle down to reading.