Somebody That I Used to Know

by Bunkie King

  This is a really dark movie to work on. A replica of the main street is constructed parallel to the real main street. Lots of local people, many of whom are hired as extras, remember the events. For Jack, this character is one of the hardest to leave behind at the end of the day. He is pretty well in Stan Graham’s mindset the whole time, never really getting out of character. When Stan completely snaps and is on the run, Jack portrays craziness with a lot of grimacing and a very murderous gleam in his eye.

  One night when we’re sleeping together he suddenly sits bolt upright and exclaims, ‘I just dreamt I’d lost the farm … lost everything … it was all burning.’ He is cringing and shaking.

  I do my best to comfort him, ‘Shhh, it’s all right. It didn’t happen. It was just a dream.’

  He eventually settles and goes back to sleep.

  Watching the rushes a few days later, I see this same conversation in one of the scenes with his wife. Jack had been rehearsing the nightmare scene without telling me! It was almost identical to the scene in the film where Jack/Stan frets over a dream about losing his farm. I accept this kind of behaviour as part of life with an actor. Jack rarely leaves his characters completely on the set. He often brings aspects of them into our home.

  At the wrap party he finally sheds his mad and murderous, self-destructive alter ego. I’m relieved we’re leaving the next day. The next morning, I drive through dense fog over rough road as we climb the spectacular mountain range that separates the west from the east coast. Jack sleeps on the back seat while Le sits beside me, terrified again; in some places we can hardly see the turns of the road. We just make our flight.

  Chapter 19

  How’s the serenity?

  The year 1981 is incredibly busy. We’re all constantly in motion. After Bad Blood we fly from New Zealand to begin filming The Man From Snowy River in the High Country of Victoria. Jack plays Clancy of the Overflow, a legendary character from Banjo Paterson’s poem. While filming a scene that requires Jack to ride at full gallop, his horse steps in a rabbit hole, propelling Jack onto a tree stump. He grazes his leg very badly and it is extremely painful for him to walk.

  Immediately after Snowy he has to be in Los Angeles for a part in a telemovie, a remake of Somerset Maugham’s The Letter. He arrives in a wheelchair and manages to limp through a week of rehearsals. Each evening I treat and dress the wound. For the filming of one scene Jack has to spend the entire day in a bathtub and his leg becomes seriously infected.

  Le and I rarely visit the set of The Letter. This is the first time I have my driver’s licence overseas, so I drive us over to Dennis Hopper’s house, where we spend days reading next to his swimming pool or watching cable TV, which is quite a novelty. We also go for a few drives exploring LA; once we drive the length of Mulholland Drive. Other times we drive around the various areas of LA, like downtown and Santa Monica. We soon learn there are some places where you roll up the windows, lock the doors and find the quickest way out.

  Le and I go to Burbank Studios to be shown around but I don’t feel comfortable on set so I don’t go back again. But it was fun to check out the back lots with their fake western streetscapes and the facades of houses stacked in rows waiting to be used again one day. I am taking pleasure in my ‘luxury’ life. I have accepted my role in this three-way relationship and am enjoying the relative freedom that I have. I can sleep, watch TV, read, go swimming — pretty much anything I want really — as long as it doesn’t require any money. Shut up and enjoy the ride, I tell myself.

  In the early 1980s the US is awash with South American cocaine. Everyone from celebrities to regular middle-class people use it. I imbibe this seductive white powder on a daily basis. If you feel at all insecure, then cocaine provides a sense of confidence and dissolves inhibitions. Over an evening, I snort two to three lines, sometimes more. When Jack is at work I might have a line before going window-shopping or sightseeing with Le. The drug allows me to open my mouth and speak comfortably and confidently in social situations, something I’m usually unable to do.

  Cocaine is known as ‘Bolivian marching powder’ because a Bolivian general was supposed to have given it to his soldiers to keep them marching without the need to eat or rest. I have to agree. I lose so much weight I am almost a skeleton. I have never had much of an appetite but with coke so readily available, I hardly eat at all. Cocaine provides a sense of excitement and makes me feel worthwhile, if only on a superficial level. It helps me to ignore the feeling that I’m living vicariously, not following my own dreams. Still, as diversions go, cocaine does the job.

  Once work on The Letter finishes we travel up the coast so Jack can visit award-winning film-maker Francis Ford Coppola at his Zoetrope studios. The end of any film is quite stressful for me as it means we now travel on a budget. On a film every single thing is provided — accommodation, meals, transport, everything — but afterwards we revert to our customary frugal state. Le and I habitually economise. Unconsciously I am festering inside. Physical and financial security is a recurring anxiety for me. I am still apprehensive when travelling. Where are we going to sleep tonight? Do we have enough money for food?

  On our return to Australia, Jack buys a Clarice Beckett painting from the 1920s.

  ‘It’s yours,’ he tells me. ‘A gift.’

  It is a beautiful work featuring a small boat on the Yarra River near Warrandyte. I hang it in my bedroom above a black lacquer bookshelf. My pink feature wall brings out the pink tones in the painting. The sky has beautiful grey, blue and pinky/yellowy/purple streaks; it’s absolutely gorgeous. There’s something tragically romantic about the fact that Beckett died of pneumonia because she went out into a storm to paint the wild sea. This feels like a special gift from him to me. But no amount of things, beautiful or practical, makes me feel financially secure. I know they’re mine only while I am with him. I actually challenge Jack about this asking, ‘So this is mine as long as I’m with you?’

  ‘Well, yes,’ he replies.

  ***

  We travel to Israel at the end of August 1981. Jack is cast in A Woman Called Golda, an American telemovie about Golda Meir, the Prime Minister of Israel, starring Ingrid Bergman. He plays Ariel, a blond European composite of a number of men in Golda’s life who loved her. Miss Bergman is one of Jack’s childhood idols.

  A Woman Called Golda is filmed entirely on location in Israel. While Jack is shooting in Tel Aviv, Le and I go to the beach. One of the things I enjoy about being away is that Le seems to need and appreciate my companionship. When the production moves to Jerusalem, I drive us to the Old City and we wander around the bustling, colourful markets. The narrow cobbled streets are filled with people from all over the world; religious pilgrims and tourists stroll along the rows of stalls selling souvenirs. At a food stall we eat falafel in pita bread loaded up with salad and hummus.

  On the way back to our hotel I get lost in a maze of one-way streets and keep making wrong turns. I see the hotel up on a hill but just can’t get to it. The 10, maybe 15-minute journey takes an hour. Later I find out that in Israel the secret service followed us to ensure nothing happened. I can imagine the two agents getting really frustrated with the stupid driver of the car to which they have been assigned: Why is she turning right here? Oh no! Now she has to go all the way up there again! Noooo! Turn left, please TURN LEFT! Oh, she’s turning right … Mashugana!

  As his is a supporting role, Jack has frequent breaks in filming. We take these opportunities to travel around and experience places like Masada, Jericho and Acre. On one trip we camp for a couple of nights on a beach in the Gulf of Eilat. The Israeli man who brings us to this magical place comes here often, but he tells us it is about to be given back to Egypt, so this will be his last time. We don’t have tents so we tie the four corners of some drop-sheets to sturdy poles to make a canopy to sleep under. With sarongs spread out underneath, our sandy beds are quite soft and comfortable. I imagine it is similar to how life might be for the Bedouins who are camped furth
er along the beach — although their accommodation is obviously more sophisticated than ours.

  I relish looking out over the starlit water or staring up at the night sky whenever I rouse. I go snorkelling for the first time in my life — such wondrous days. This is really being one with the environment. How’s the serenity? I really love this time, this feeling of being completely surrounded by nature. I’m definitely more at peace in this type of situation — on the farm, in the orchard behind Cannes, camping on Pebbly Beach. It’s this element of our life together that I really take pleasure in — the opportunity to share these sorts of fantastic experiences.

  Just before my birthday, during another break, we are planning to go to Egypt but President Anwar Sadat is assassi­nated. It’s not a good time to travel there so we head to Crete instead. I hadn’t registered the underlying tension in Israel. Helicopter gunships hover overhead and the Israeli military machine is everywhere; the debris of war is strewn all over the countryside. It’s a very tense time. Fortunately, waking up on Crete, the remote and peaceful Mediterranean island is another wonderful sensation. We visit Knossos, the famous Minoan palace that dates back thousands of years, then travel on to Athens to see the Parthenon.

  With Jack returning to Israel to continue filming, Le and I decide to visit our sister Julia in Italy. We catch a bus from Athens up through Corinth to Patras, then take the overnight ferry to Ancona on the east coast of Italy. Julia meets us and drives us to her home in Macerata, an ancient town with beautiful renaissance palazzos and cathedrals.

  After a few days we place a call to Jack at the hotel one night. The receptionist puts us through to him. Jack seethes through gritted teeth when he gets on the line, ‘Do you have any idea how embarrassing this is? I’m in Miss Bergman’s room having a massage!’

  Miss Bergman had brought her own Swedish masseur with her on location. In the face of his anger I fall back into the old pattern of feeling guilty for following up on him. I apologise, say good-bye and hang up quickly.

  Chapter 20

  ‘People like you’

  I travel with Jack and Le to the Cook Islands in 1982 for the filming of Merry Christmas Mr Lawrence, a Japanese-American coproduction to be directed by Nagisa Oshima, starring Tom Conti and David Bowie. The Cook Islands lie halfway between New Zealand and Hawaii. Arriving on the main island, Rarotonga, it’s great to see some of the same crew we worked with on Bad Blood the previous year. We’re already friends with the film’s producer Jeremy Thomas, who also produced Mad Dog Morgan and has visited us at the farm.

  The Merry Christmas Mr Lawrence production is full of mys­tery from the start. We arrive to learn that a close collaborator of Oshima’s has disappeared while on the island. Completely vanished. I hear that Oshima is upset and this casts a shadow over everything. The shoot is made even more uncomfortable by the natural segregation caused by the language barrier between the Japanese crew and the English-speaking crew.

  Despite the heavy atmosphere on set, I love being on this idyllic island. We stay in small bungalows right on the beach. Hibiscus flowers bloom beside the front door that overlooks the palm-fringed bright white sand and sparkling turquoise lagoon. Behind us, lush tropical forest rises gradually to a 400-metre peak in the centre of the island.

  This is Oshima’s first English-language project and he has a team of interpreters to communicate with the actors and non-Japanese crew. Jack really respects the director, but communication is difficult.

  David Bowie plays a British officer who rebels against the Japanese camp commandant played by Ryuichi Sakamoto. Ryuichi is a world-renowned musician who also composes the film’s wonderful soundtrack. Tom Conti as Lieutenant Colonel Lawrence confronts the sadistic guard played by Takeshi Kitano. Takeshi is better known in Japan as comedian ‘Beat’ Kitano.

  Jack plays Group Captain Hicksley, the Allied soldiers’ commander, who has no comprehension of the Japanese psyche or the subtleties of Japanese behaviour. Dressed in over-sized Bombay-bloomers (the shorts worn by servicemen in World War II), his portrayal is a parody of a blustering officer more English than the English, who clings dogmatically to an irrelevant code of conduct. I think Jack finds the film quite harrowing to work on. He is playing a raging, fearful man who mistrusts the Japanese.

  David Bowie is an enigma who remains quite insulated from the rest of us. His role is pretty intense so perhaps he’s saving his energy, or maybe he’s just being English, a trait I know only too well. His reserve dissolves only towards the end of an evening after he’s had a few drinks and becomes more sociable. He doesn’t have a girlfriend with him but his assistant Coco acts as his minder. One night David is jamming with some of the extras, playing guitar and singing, unwinding in the hotel lounge, and someone records this on a cassette tape. The next day Coco finds the person and confiscates the tape.

  Towards the end of the shoot David devises and choreographs a musical show with all the female crewmembers playing parts. When some of the cast need to leave for New Zealand, the producer’s wife, Le and I replace them as performers. The revue parodies the making of Merry Christmas Mr Lawrence, scenes from the film, and what it is like being a film crew in the Cook Islands. David has chosen music to suit and we perform his routines. One of the songs is Monty Python’s ‘I Like Chinese’.

  After the first rehearsal of this number I approach David and comment on his choice of song, given the history between Japan and China and how this is a Japanese-English co-production.

  He looks up sharply, ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, you know … the history between China and Japan.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he replies.

  ‘Well, you know the history between England and France?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It’s the same thing between Japan and China, the same dynamics.’

  David says nothing but the number is later scrapped.

  From the Cook Islands we return to Auckland to complete some post-sync recording of dialogue. On the eve of our departure for Australia, David visits our two-bedroom town­house. The four of us are sitting around the dining table late at night having a cup of tea when David suddenly pats his knees and says, ‘Bunkie, come and sit here.’

  I am surprised but comply. It seems pretty harmless but I am stunned when a few minutes later he turns to Jack and asks, ‘Would it be all right if I sleep with Bunkie?’ in a tone as neutral as if asking to pet Jack’s dog.

  Jack hesitates only slightly before replying, ‘Yeah … Uh, yeah, sure … Of course.’

  I am in turmoil. My heart starts racing and hands shaking. My mind spins into overdrive: Is David Bowie offering me an opportunity to be a special person in his life? Or has Jack just become my pimp?

  David asks me to come outside with him. On the front steps I look into his eyes, wanting to know what’s behind his offer and nervously stutter out some questions to attempt to determine whether he is genuinely interested in exploring a relationship or if this is a one-night-only offer. I’m mostly thinking, What the fuck …? I try desperately not to come across as too intense, but the Sri Lankan incident when Jack climbed three floors up a drainpipe flashes into my mind. I am acutely aware of the possibility of this situation taking a bizarre turn. I know things could so easily get out of hand if I go with David. On the surface Jack is cool, but from my experience when it all becomes real he can implode and explode at the same time. I feel a distinct danger in that possibility.

  David smiles, ‘Well? Do you want to come with me or not?’

  I hesitate … too long. He turns and walks away. As I go back inside I hear tyres screaming as a car drives off into the night.

  The next day Le is furious with me. Jack was upset the whole night and hadn’t slept. ‘You must have egged David on! You must have flirted or given him some indication that you would sleep with him!’

  She refuses to believe that I have done nothing to encourage the proposition. I am as shocked as they are. But consider
ing I haven’t been sleeping with Jack lately, what’s the big deal?

  Someone takes a Polaroid of Jack and me before we leave for Australia. He is sitting very close to me with a triumphant expression on his face. It’s like, I won over David Bowie, while my expression is completely blank and disconnected. I have totally drifted away, unable to make choices in my life.

  That day, something in me snaps. I am sick of being treated as the blonde bimbo. I want to be known and loved for who I am. In the depths of my being I feel both a sadness and emptiness that I know my life with Jack will never fill.

  ***

  Jack’s stocks as an actor have never been higher after the success of the two American telemovies The Letter and A Woman Called Golda, and the critical acclaim for Merry Christmas Mr Lawrence. The trouble is that his ego seems to be inflating at the same rate as his stardom, a fact not missed by the media.

  Jack is a compulsive Don Juan. It is rare that a woman doesn’t respond to his magnetism. The women he can’t charm are few and far between. Twenty-four-year-old Greta Scacchi is one of them, but I think she is mostly not interested because Jack is already with two women. They flirt a lot when Greta plays his love interest on the TV miniseries Waterfront, filmed in Melbourne.

  Jack is 43 yet makes it quite obvious to us that he is infatuated with this intelligent, divinely beautiful younger woman. There is constant flirting and innuendo going on between them. They share their own private jokes. Jack keeps telling Le and me how attracted he is to Greta and implies that we should be grateful he isn’t running off with her, that the opportunity is there. One day he asks us to buy a posy of flowers for Greta and, in reference to some joke they have between them, to put a sprig of parsley in it. He then asks me to deliver the posy to where she is staying. And I do! I don’t think this is strange; I don’t even question his motives. I just compliantly follow his wishes as usual. Happy to be of service — and you’re very welcome.