Fran asked, ‘What would we write? What type of story would it be?’ And I said, ‘Well, it would be a Lord of the Rings-type of story, that’s the kind of world that I’d want to create.’
Of course, a lot of so-called ‘Sword & Sorcery’ films have been pretty blatantly ‘Middle-earthish’, which is not surprising, because the moment you think of fantasy, you think of Tolkien.
Suddenly, several memories flooded back…Memories of seeing that animated film which Ralph Bakshi had begun but never finished…Memories of that book with a movie tie-in cover that, while an apprentice photoengraver, Peter had bought at a bookstall on Wellington station and started reading on the long train ride to Auckland…
So, my first idea was to make a picture in the style of The Lord of the Rings, but to keep it very real: amazing buildings and creatures but real environments, characters and emotions. It should be a story that was relatively serious, have depth and complexity, but nothing should look artificial or fake.
It should feel as if the world in which it is set has a past and a sense of history. Why should a character named Théoden, King of Rohan be any less real than Henry VIII, King of England? Why shouldn’t such characters be grounded in cultures and worlds that feel genuine and authentic–even historical? That, after all, is precisely what Tolkien did so well in his book.
Then Fran said, ‘Why would you want to create your own story when The Lord of the Rings or The Hobbit are the really great fantasy stories; and, anyway, we could never write anything as good as that?’
And almost immediately I found myself wondering why no one had ever made The Lord of the Rings as a live-action movie? Then I wondered whether some studio had the rights–Disney, perhaps, or Spielberg– and was already planning to film the book and why, if they were, we’d not heard about it. From there I moved on to wondering who actually owned the film rights to The Lord of the Rings and whether it might be possible to get hold of them…
‘That’s how it all started,’ says Fran Walsh. ‘It was what I call one of Peter’s “epiphanies”: an idea right out of the blue that, by a series of strange coincidences, would eventually come to pass.’
Of course I was thinking, ‘Oh, come on! There’s no way we can do that! We’re not famous film-makers–we’re not even particularly successful film-makers! How on earth would we ever get the opportunity to make The Lord of the Rings?
But that conversation over a cup of tea on a Sunday morning, was enough to get me to pick up the phone and call my agent, Ken Kamins, in Los Angeles, and ask him to find out what the situation was with the rights to The Lord of the Rings…
Within a few days, Ken Kamins had tracked down The Lord of the Rings film rights to a legendary Hollywood name: Saul Zaentz. Producer of the ill-fated animated version of the book, Zaentz’s other –far more successful–credits included One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, Amadeus and The Mosquito Coast.
In the early 1970s, Saul Zaentz had bought the rights to The Lord of the Rings from MGM who had, in turn, acquired them from J. R. R. Tolkien for the reputed sum of £10,000. Although various directors, including John Boorman (of Deliverance and Excalibur fame), had expressed an interest in making a live-action film of the book, nothing had ever come of the idea.
The word was that Saul Zaentz didn’t seem very keen on either making a picture or selling the rights. Frankly, our chances didn’t look good.
Not only that, but the situation concerning the rights was extremely complex, involving not just those concerned with making the film but also connected with any merchandising stemming from the movie, as well as issues relating to the original literary works. It was an intriguing situation: Peter had hit on a hot idea that was currently not being pursued by anyone else, but which involved having to fight through a jungle of contractual complications. Ken Kamins discussed the situation with Peter and Fran’s lawyer, Peter Nelson, who remembers, ‘We realised that it would make sense to have a studio involved from the beginning of any negotiations in order to deal with the other studios and individuals who held rights in the Tolkien books.’
An obvious studio was Miramax, where Harvey Weinstein was still waiting for a project under that first-look deal with Peter and Fran. However, both agent and lawyer were not convinced that this was a project that Peter was obliged to offer to Miramax. ‘There is a fair amount of text and detail that goes into a writer’s and director’s agreement,’ explains Peter Nelson, ‘and we felt that the terms Miramax had were outdated. We are now talking about going into a movie that would be ten times the budget of Heavenly Creatures and, as a consequence, everybody’s expectations about the terms under which it would be made would obviously increase. For Peter that involved issues about whether he’d have more creative prerequisites to make the movie: how much he would get paid to make the movie; how we would do, financially, if it was successful; and whether Peter would have the right to design the movie himself or whether the studio would have a ton of influence. That’s how Hollywood works.’
Whilst the issue of whether or not the terms of the first-look deal still held, there was, as Peter Nelson saw it, a moral obligation to take The Lord of the Rings proposition to Miramax: ‘We chose to look at it that we should take it to Miramax because, if we did, then Miramax would be honoured in its relationship with Peter and served for what the studio had done for him, particularly in promoting Heavenly Creatures so well.
‘But if it was only a “should” rather than a “required”, then we weren’t obliged to introduce the project under the terms of the overall deal, which would have been economically restrictive and unfair to Peter, Fran and the company. This is an argument we had to sell to Miramax. They preferred to view it that we had to bring the project to them; we said, “We don’t really have to bring it to you, we’re not bound by the terms of any existing deal, but we want to bring it to you and so here it is: a chance to work with Peter Jackson across this huge tableau of The Lord of the Rings.”’
There was also a sound tactical reason for taking the project to Miramax, because Miramax happened to have an interesting connection with Saul Zaentz. Earlier that year, a film crew had been about to start shooting a picture in Italy and Tunisia entitled The English Patient, based on the best-selling novel by Michael Ondaatje. Eleventh-hour disputes arose between director Anthony Minghella and Twentieth Century Fox who were financing the movie: Fox wanted a star name in the role of Katherine Clifton opposite Ralph Fiennes–and Demi Moore had lobbied hard for the part–but Minghella had decided instead to cast the not-so-well-known Kristin Scott Thomas.
Fox finally pulled out of the film leaving the future of the production in jeopardy and the cast and crew abandoned in Italy. The hero of the hour was Harvey Weinstein who stepped in and rescued Saul Zaentz’s picture by providing the finance for filming to go ahead. Eventually, of course, The English Patient would go on to win nine Oscars and to make a hatful of money.
Now, with Saul Zaentz owning the rights to The Lord of the Rings and Harvey Weinstein in a relationship with a film-maker who wanted to direct it, this might, just possibly, be seen as being payback time!
‘October of 1995,’ remembers Ken Kamins, ‘we get on the phone to Harvey and pitch The Lord of the Rings. The idea is that Peter would make The Hobbit as one movie and, if successful, The Lord of the Rings as two movies, shot back to back afterwards.’ Two films, back-to-back: Peter had already thought through the advantages of such a proposition when devising the concept for Jamboree–Bad Taste 2–Bad Taste 3. As Ken recalls, Weinstein’s response was wildly enthusiastic: ‘Harvey said, “This is great! This is a huge, fantastic idea! I’m going to call Saul and get into it now!” And immediately started in on the process of negotiation.’
And while Harvey was talking to Saul, Ken Kamins and Peter Nelson were talking with Harvey, as the lawyer remembers: ‘It took a few weeks for us to iron out the question of whether or not we were required to bring the project to Miramax under the outdated terms of the existing deal and event
ually we convinced them that they would need to negotiate with us for a new deal.’
It is a fascinating but characteristic tale from the labyrinthine ways of moviedom that a casting decision of a British director making a film in Tunisia should bring about a response from one Hollywood studio that would–several dominoes down the line–result in another studio having an interest in pursuing rights in a property for a director in New Zealand.
Meanwhile, however, another potential project suddenly appeared on the horizon: a suggestion which came unlooked for but with an eerie appropriateness that seems to have constantly attended Peter Jackson’s career. ‘What about a remake of King Kong?’
The question was asked by Universal vice-president Lenny Kornburg, who was working with Peter on The Frighteners.
Lenny called and said, ‘Would you have any interest in doing King Kong?’ And I said ‘What?! You do realise, don’t you, that this is my favourite film?’
The prospect of taming King Kong, the Eighth Wonder of the World, was altogether irresistible. Peter had kept faith with the great ape ever since he had first fallen on him as a boy watching the 1933 version on TV, its primitive black-and-white footage exerting its own unique appeal, almost as if it were an old but authentic newsreel from the archives. He had read articles on the original film in magazines such as Famous Monsters of Filmland and, later, Starlog. He’d read all there was to read about Merian C. Cooper and Willis O’Brien and Marcel Delgado and Fay Wray, about the giant Kong face and hand created for the film, and the stop-motion animation that allowed Kong to battle with the dinosaurs on Skull Island and scale the Empire State Building. And as a teenager, he had read with excitement of the coming of a new Kong…
In the mid-Seventies, two studios announced their intention to remake King Kong: Paramount and Universal both believed they had the rights to the original material and while lawyers were arguing over the paperwork, the two giants decided to start slugging it out to be the first to get their ape onto the screen. Universal planned a version that, like the original, would be set in the Thirties but would be made in ‘Sensesurround’ (used in movies like Earthquake and Rollercoaster) and would feature stop-motion animation by Jim Danforth, a veteran special effects creator whose film legacy included When Dinosaurs Ruled the Earth, 7 Faces of Dr Lao, The Thing and Day of the Dead.
Paramount, on the other paw, were planning an updated version of the story with new characters, a new exotic and mysterious location (one of the Micronesia group of islands) and a new icon for Kong to surmount in New York–the twin towers of the World Trade Centre. Most significantly, Italian-born producer Dino De Laurentiis announced that his Kong was no stop-frame puppet, but a giant robot ape! Universal eventually retired from the fray.
The Universal one had gone quite a long way down the track, but had finally reached a point when they realised that, because Dino was employing quicker methods of making a film and not bothering with any stop-motion sequences, Paramount’s Kong would reach the cinemas first and that they were going to be behind the eight ball by coming out second. It was at that point that Universal pulled the plug on Kong.
Universal’s withdrawal left the stage to De Laurentiis and a cast headed by Jeff Bridges and Charles Grodin and introducing Jessica Lange in her feature debut as ‘Dwan’–the Ann Darrow equivalent, who had allegedly changed her name from ‘Dawn’ to make it more distinctive! There were, with hindsight, many disappointments about the new Kong–the lack of dinosaurs and, as it transpired, the very limited use of the much-touted robot since, for the most part, Kong was portrayed by a man in a gorilla suit. In mitigation, De Laurentiis did succeed in getting Rick Baker to be the person to put on the suit– even if he was doubly disguised by the euphemistic screen credit, ‘special contributions’.
Today, De Laurentiis’ Kong is recognised for the misguided and disappointing project that it was; when it was released, in 1976, it was greeted with anticipation and excitement–especially by eager young monster fans. On the day on which the film was due to open in Wellington, the 15-year-old Peter Jackson was at the theatre three hours before tickets went on sale!
When the call from Lenny came asking if we were interested in King Kong, I was, first and foremost, excited about the concept of being involved, but secondly I was just intrigued as a fan.
I thought, ‘Oh, so Universal still think they’ve got the rights to do Kong!’ and I started interrogating Lenny. I soon realised that I knew a heck of lot more about it than he did. In fact, he didn’t even seem to know that Universal had attempted to make a version in the Seventies…
Peter’s questions prompted some research at Universal into the tangled question of rights, as a result of which Lenny Kornburg was able to report back that whilst the studio didn’t own the re-make rights to the 1933 film itself, they did own the movie adaptation rights in the original ‘novelisation’ of the movie! The ‘book of the film’ written by Delos W. Lovelace, originally published in the year the film was released and happily close to the screenplay, would be their source material on which to base the screenplay. It was a text that captured the power of the story, the power of Kong:
‘A sense of impending fate lifted Ann’s eyelids…She was aware of …a Shadow. She turned her head. Then, while her eyes widened, the Shadow split the dark cloak of the precipice and became solidly real…Its vast mouth roared defiance, its black, furred hands drummed a black, furred chest in challenge…Ann’s scream sped piercingly into the dead silence.’
To be offered the chance to create a new Kong seemed like yet another gift from the gods.
I was immediately very fired but Fran had never seen the original movie, so we watched it on video together and once she saw that it could be an enjoyable project to work on, we started getting into serious talks with Universal about Kong.
No one could have guessed that it would be ten years before those talks would eventually result in the names of Peter Jackson and King Kong sharing movie poster billing.
Peter was now in the position, as Peter Nelson puts it, of having various ‘ardent suitors’: ‘There was a tremendous amount of heat on Peter, in part because Heavenly Creatures had performed so well and gotten him into a broader context where he was the young writer/director with whom everybody wanted to be in business.’
It was time to start thinking about what was going to be demanded of whichever studio decided to put their money on a Jackson film.
‘We decided to set the terms ourselves,’ says Peter Nelson, ‘because we didn’t think anybody would step into the range that we thought they should. Ken and I sat down and designed a prototypical deal; we said, “The first company who will step up to make this deal with us will in fact be entitled to make Peter’s next movie.” We put a premium on the fact that it would be his next movie, because Hollywood is full of deals where people develop material that don’t become movies; but if you are willing to have your client be contractually committed to turn his attention (and that of his writing partners) to a particular project next and to be working on it whilst still shooting his existing one, then that is of value in Hollywood. There was also added value, in that we were talking about the next Peter Jackson project.’
The terms of the deal on offer were, in Ken Kamins’ words ‘pretty severe’ or, as Peter Nelson puts it, ‘extremely onerous’. ‘Aside from what Peter got paid,’ says Ken, ‘we were insisting that, as part of any deal that was made on whichever of these three movies, the studio had to put up a considerable sum towards special effects “research and development”.’
More than that, as Peter Nelson explains: ‘Peter was also to be what is called “a first dollar gross participant”, meaning he would share in the revenues of the motion picture from the first dollar into the till to the studio and not be subject to the very considerable vagaries of studio accounting. But at the heart of these proposed deals was an agreement that Peter would have final cut of the movie, he wanted the ability to say: “This is my movie, nobody else can chang
e it.”’
In 1995, the terms seemed too onerous, too severe: there were no takers. Ask who you would have to be to get a deal like that, and Peter Nelson will tell you, ‘Today you have to be Peter Jackson! At the time we gave it a try. When all three studios passed, we said to Peter, “It didn’t happen on this pass but we think there is tremendous value in your next project so let’s wait a beat
…”’ So, they waited a beat and Universal kept seeing footage shot on The Frighteners and began to like what they saw. Robert Zemeckis flew down to Wellington to see an early cut of The Frighteners, which Universal was planning to release the following year, at Halloween 1996. However, looking at the way in which the film was coming together, Zemeckis began considering a different scenario. Universal’s big summer release in ‘96 was to have been Daylight, a New York disaster movie starring Sylvester Stallone–and Viggo Mortensen. However, Daylight was currently running behind schedule and Zemeckis decided to suggest to Universal that they bring The Frighteners forward to release in its place.
Peter hastily put together a trailer-cum-showreel that showed off the digital effects in the film and Zemeckis flew back with it to Los Angeles. The footage was screened at Universal and, as Lenny Kornburg happily announced, ‘People were jazzed, very, very jazzed
…’ Jazzed enough to agree to The Frighteners being accelerated to Universal’s summer release schedule.
The studio got very, very excited about what they saw: they thought the film was a lot better than they had imagined it was going to be; they saw Michael J. Fox, they saw some comedy, they saw some special effects, and they thought, ‘Ooh, this shouldn’t be a Halloween movie, this should be a summer movie!’
Peter Jackson: A Film-maker’s Journey Page 32