by Ron Perlman
“Absolutely.” He took me to the producers and said, “Give this man everything he wants. Except more money! That’s how we lost the last guy!”
I told them I wanted to visit mental institutions, and within twenty minutes I was on my way to the first one. The place was a locked-down facility for people with Down syndrome, who, of course, back then were insensitively referred to as mongoloids. This place had patients who were distorted physically and were mentally challenged beyond the point at which they were capable of living on their own, but they were marginally functional. This, indeed, was where I found Salvatore! I watched this one guy interacting with a group, having been given a bunch of ice cream Popsicle sticks so as to create a little house or something; it was the institution’s version of occupational therapy. But while he was doing it, he was touching every girl’s tit that he could get his little hands on, including the nurses and all the patients. And he was just getting the biggest charge out of this, squeezing a titty and then giggling profusely over how clever he was to cop a feel. This obsessive proclivity for sexual thrills was a huge window into one of the completely illogical attributes Salvatore displays in the movie. And so now I was locked into this guy! As he went back to his little task of building a stick house with Popsicle sticks, all the while his eyes were darting around, seeing which titty he could snag next. That was a part of Salvatore that I needed. Suddenly I am infused with power and well-being. I am on a roll. I decided to check out one more place, a prison for the criminally insane. To say I didn’t find my guy in there was an understatement. In fact, all I knew was that I needed to get the fuck out of there as quickly as possible. Aside from the open call for Quest for Fire, that was the sickest place I’ve ever been in my life.
When I went back to the set I thanked everybody for making my little tour happen. Then I got my marching orders. They told me Jean-Jacques wanted to have dinner with me that night. I checked into the hotel and waited until a driver fetched me at around nine o’clock to take me to a restaurant where J. J. was waiting.
“Good to see you, my friend.”
“Same here, mon ami, same here! So, tell me, J. J., how the fuck did I get here?”
“Well, frankly you were very close to getting the role from the beginning, but because this movie is a coproduction between Germany, France, and Italy, and because each country is responsible for putting in a small modicum of money to come up with the budget, after the Italian government put in their four million, they said, ‘Who are the Italian actors in there?’ I said, ‘We don’t have one.’ And they said, ‘Well, what role’s open?’ And I tell them there are none. So they flex some muscle and said, ‘Well, you either open up a role, or we take our four million dollars and go home.’”
“Ergo, Franco Franchi,” I said.
“Exactement! The only role I was still figuring out was Salvatore. So I said, ‘Salvatore is half-open,’ and then they directed me to Franchi. So, reluctantly, I sign him on and tell him to come in for a haircut. I wanted to make him look like he had mange or something, with patches of hair missing and exposing his scalp, giving him an even more unsettling demeanor. It was a special haircut I had designed. So we made an appointment for Franchi to come in, and he doesn’t show up. A week later we made another appointment. Again he is a no-show. He did this about four times, and then finally, on the day I called you, it was the day prior to when he was scheduled to do his first scene. This is after weeks and weeks of him not coming in for the haircut. So he arrives to get the haircut, when, apparently, trouble brews. They pull me from what I am doing and call me into the makeup room. They say, ‘Jean-Jacques, we have a problem.’ And I say, ‘What’s the problem?’ Franco Franchi stands with the haircutting cape around his shoulders and raises his voice. ‘I tella you what is de problem. If I cutta my hair . . . now, you haffa pay me double.’ And I said, ‘Excuse me? What did you say?’ And Franchi repeats, ‘You hearda me. I want twice as mucha money, and then I cutta ma hair.’ I turned my back on him and said to the producer standing behind me, ‘I want him off my set. He’s trying to rob me, and if he’s not off my set in five minutes, I’m going to go get my gun and I’m gonna start shooting at him. You got it?!’ And the producer says, ‘Yes J. J., I got it, but the character works tomorrow. Do you have a second choice?’ And I say, ‘HE IS MY SECOND CHOICE! MY FIRST CHOICE IS ASLEEP IN LOS ANGELES!’ That’s when you got the call at five in the morning.”
“Over a fuckin’ haircut. What kinda beautiful fuckin’ luck is that?” I said.
The next day on the set I met Sean Connery. I couldn’t believe I was in the presence of a movie star. And not only was I in the presence of a movie star, but I was in the presence of the movie star. Because in my mind there was everybody else, and then there was Sean. To this day I feel as though Sean Connery is the very last of the great movie stars of old, like in the mold of the guys who were around when I was a kid growing up—larger-than-life, guy-guys . . . nothing ephemeral about them. Complete masculine forces of nature. Like Gable, Gary Cooper, Spencer Tracy, Jimmy Cagney, Humphrey Bogart, Lancaster, Kirk Douglas, Jimmy Stewart, and Robert Mitchum. Sean was cut from that cloth. And there have not been any to replace him since. The closest you come these days is Clooney, but pretty much everybody else is ephemeral, everybody else is kind of like . . . I’m not talking about a lack of talent, because there’s a lot of actors out there who are incredibly talented, but what we are looking for in our leading men has changed, starting with McQueen, Newman, Redford, all of whom possessed a bedroom sort of manliness. Then that morphed into the leading men of today. But back then there was the final hold out for the fuckin’ OG, fucking alpha-male thing. That was Sean fucking Connery. And so to be in his presence, the very first true, bona fide movie star I ever worked with, was indeed a gift of a very singular nature.
He seemed delighted to meet me and was so welcoming and warm: “You’re that fellow who Jean-Jacques keeps talking about. He adores you. It’s good to meet you. I can’t wait to work on this film with you.”
And so he immediately welcomed me into his world, even to the point of giving me the feeling that he was gonna have my back. Regardless of what happened, he was completely behind me playing this role. There was nothing I had to worry about. Sean was tickled that Jean-Jacques got his way in this particular thing. He was completely up on the whole story about what happened to the original guy, how he got fired, and how happy it made Jean-Jacques. He was such a fan of Jean-Jacques; he was truly one of “us.”
As soon as we began shooting the same scenes together, he made me realize that he was as dependent on me giving a performance that was gonna fuel him as I was on him. I felt part of this exclusive club, even if I had that same ol’ fucked up tape running in my head: “I’m not worthy.” At first I was thinking I had no business being on the same set as Sean Connery, much less in the same scene as Sean Connery. Then, not long after we met, one scene was scripted in which I spit in his eye. I was hesitating . . . how do you spit in the eye of the great Sean Connery?
Sean leaned in to me and said, “You have to spit in my eye because if you don’t, I won’t have anything to play.” And that’s how I came up with the fucking balls to fucking spit in 007’s eye. And you really, really gotta do it, ’cuz the only thing more terrifying than spitting in the muthafucka’s eye is “take two” of spitting in the muthafucka’s eye!
There were not a lot of moments in my life when I got the acting lessons I did from Sean. I remember one day I was not on the call sheet. It was going to be this very, very big, dramatic scene in which William of Baskerville, the character that Sean played, is in serious trouble. He was to be investigated by all of the Brotherhood because at one point he had been labeled a heretic, thrown out of the church, and spent a huge chunk of his life paying for this empty accusation. Now he’s back, and there’s this whole host of guys from this other order just laying for him. He’s a Franciscan, but his rivals are desperate to finally and decisively take him down. So there is t
o be this kangaroo trial, and it’s this big scene with probably thirty actors. Sean has some gorgeous dialogue to speak in this scene.
Because we were on location and I didn’t really have anything much better to do, I went to the set that day just to observe. I watched Sean do this one moment about twelve times. It was the first time I realized the glory of language when it is loved and respected as if it were a beautiful woman you wanted voraciously, for that is how Sean caresses his every word and every syllable. I was never able to catch it by watching his movies, but being on that set with him, seeing him grappling with giving this performance each time as if it were the first time—my God! Glorious! No word should be uttered unless it is important enough to be uttered beautifully. So the pace at which Sean Connery speaks stems from a decision he’s made. And every single vowel delivered is with respect for the language. But he delivers it so naturally and with so much humanity that you don’t realize that, technically, he is giving a master class in how to deliver a line. And because I watched him do this thing over and over and over again, I would never have seen it otherwise. This is something I’ve taken with me for the rest of my time as an actor: Don’t say a word unless that word is worth saying, and if that word is worth saying, say it beautifully. I learned that from Sean Connery. And I’ve never delivered a line the same way since.
A lot of people say, “Well, he was 007. He’s no big thing as an actor.” Fuck that shit. He is a fucking master. He is good as anybody I’d ever seen. In fact, it’s always the ones who look so incredibly natural who are constantly being accused of not acting; those are the ones who are the most sublime of professionals. He is somebody who truly loves what he does and does it as if it is the most important thing on Earth. Completely on top of the fact that he is a complete OG—son of a coal-miner, dirt poor childhood, would never take himself seriously, loves to play golf, loves to party, loves to eat well, loves to have a great drink, and loves, loves, loves to laugh. What a combination. But what an incredible example for a young actor to take away from someone who put in that much time, spent that much time with greats like John Houston, Alfred Hitchcock—you name it. He worked with the greatest of the great, and all of them regarded him highly. His legacy has proven itself out.
My favorite interaction with him occurred in a night scene we shot together. It was about three-fourths of the way through the film and took place in the cemetery adjacent to the monastery, where we bury our own. In the scene Sean’s character is in the process of narrowing down who the killer is, who’s responsible for all these deaths taking place throughout the storyline. He’s at a frenzied point of the film, for he knows that unless he unearths the killer, responsibility will fall on him, thus destroying him.
So he comes upon me in the cemetery in the middle of the night, and I’m chasing rats and killing them for a midnight snack. He’s supposed to interrogate me for clues because he knows this is where I hang out and from this vantage point, chances are I saw the murderer. So it’s this thing in which he’s dealing with this guy who’s mentally challenged and doesn’t quite understand rational thought, and he’s having to speak to me as if I’m some sort of child, but he is desperate for vital information, which, at its very core, is life or death. And I am trying to hide the fact that I’m only there on a rat-hunting mission. He said to me during our first rehearsal, “My God, that’s really funny, that thing you’re doing with the rats. How about I do this when you do that so it’s even funnier?” And suddenly I felt this guy was going full vaudeville on me. He’s a bigger scene stealer than I ever thought he was—he was trying to turn this into an Abbot and Costello moment. I fuckin’ love this guy!
We started off playing the scene one way, and by the time we were finished with it we were out-hamming each other to the point where it’s completely different from how I imagined it was going to be. It was like these two fucking teenagers having the time of their life, stealing each other’s thunder.
Something else happened on the set of Name of the Rose that was one of those solidifiers, completely epiphanous in nature, sublime. It was about five o’clock one afternoon, and we were on the exterior set perched on a hillside about twenty kilometers outside of Roma. And the crew was dashing around, trying to get a shot right at magic hour, that tiny little window between dusk and nightfall when the light is different from any other part of the day, light that is just magical on film. Hence, magic hour. But the window to get the shot is tiny, thus preventing us from having too many takes at it. So the pressure was on to get it right and quickly.
Now, I didn’t happen to be in this shot, so I was up there, having a smoke and enjoying the respite. And observing! And the energy that was going into the making of this magic moment to be forever captured on celluloid is insane: there were about 150 adults running around egolessly as if they were kindergartners preparing for the school pageant. Except they probably had around forty-five Oscar nominations between them. There was Dante Ferretti, the production designer; Tonino Delli Colli, director of photography, after having done six Fellini movies; Jean-Jacques Annaud, director; Manlio Rochetti, makeup artist; Gabriella Pescucci, costume designer; Jake Eberts and Bernd Eichinger, producers; Sean Connery and Oscar-winning F. Murray Abraham, who was just coming off of Amadeus, and on and on and on—all running around like kids, like their lives depended on it to get one tiny moment in this huge moving mosaic. All of which had sprung out of the imagination of a man with a Nobel Prize. And it hit me: if this ain’t the coolest art form ever invented, it’ll do till the real thing comes along. And if I ain’t the luckiest white Jew to ever make his way to just outside Roma, then I’d like to meet the schmuck who beat me!
Every time I’ve seen Sean since that film he’s been just like family. He’s just incredibly loved, giving his signature big bearhugs. It was clearly one of the most pleasurable collaborations I’ve ever had with anyone. And the fact that it just happened to be Sean Connery makes it all the more magical.
When the film was done I went back to LA to our Hollywood quasi hotel/apartment. The experience of having shot this movie infused me with just enough resolve to feel Hollywood might in fact truly be the place I needed to be. But if I was gonna stay the course, some career adjustments should probably get made. So to balance out the past and pave the way for the future, I called my then current manager with an edict: no more roles in which I am obscured by heavy makeup. That’s when he decided to send me a script for a new TV pilot that was beginning to cast. Curiously it was called Beauty and the Beast. I called my manager, saying, “This is for the role of the Beauty, right?”
Mom, Dad, and I visiting my bro playin’ a gig at the Concord Hotel, Catskills, New York, circa 1964. From the author’s personal collection.
My dad, immersed in what he loved most—and the way he will always be remembered! From the author’s personal collection.
The gorgeous Opal Stone and yours truly on our wedding day, February 14, 1981. From the author’s personal collection.
FUCK! I’M MARRIED! From the author’s personal collection.
The Godfather, Burton Levy, and his pal, Buddy. The two toughest Jews I ever knew. From the author’s personal collection.
Throwing a little birthday party for my adopted pop, the beautiful and amazing Roy Dotrice! One of those men who are too good to be true! From the author’s personal collection.
From The City of Lost Children: one thing is for certain: I’ll never be in that shape again! The City of Lost Children, © Twentieth Century Fox. All rights reserved.
In St. Paul de Vence, in the south of France, on a break from filming The City of Lost Children, circa 1994. Blake and Brandon, ten and four, respectively. From the author’s personal collection.
Salvatore, The Name of the Rose. From the author’s personal collection.
Johner, Alien Resurrection: Jeunet and me, redux. Alien Resurrection, © 1997 Twentieth Century Fox. All rights reserved.
Josiah Sanchez, The Magnificent Seven: taking my place amon
g all the other Jewish cowboys? The Magnificent Seven (TV series), © 1998 MGM Television Entertainment Inc. All rights reserved.
Guillermo del Toro and I in a moment of off-camera love. Out of multitudes! Photo by Bruce Talamon, © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. All rights reserved.
Can you blush? Iconic moment between Snipes and me, Blade II. Photo by Bruce Talamon, © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. All rights reserved.
William H. Macy and I in Happy Texas: if that ain’t a screen moment, I just don’t know what is. Courtesy of Miramax.
Hellboy I: where the rubber meets the road! Hellboy. © 2004 Revolution Studios Distributions Company, LLC. Courtesy of Sony Pictures Entertainment.
Hellboy with Liz and Manning: the adorable Selma Blair and the equally adorable Jeffrey Tambor. Hellboy. © 2004 Revolution Studios Distributions Company, LLC. Courtesy of Sony Pictures Entertainment.
Clay Morrow, Sons of Anarchy: during some of his better times. From the author’s personal collection.
Game-changers, all!! From the author’s personal collection
(CHAPTER 13)
Birth of the Beast
“Close! The role does start with a B; it’s just not Beauty,” my agent said.
“Don’t send it!”
“Hear me out. The writing is great, the team is great, and CBS has ordered a go pilot. And you are on a very short list for one of the leads.”
“The Beast, right? Don’t send it.” The two films I was most known for up until that point had me completely and unrecognizably covered in makeup. And I kinda had this gut feeling that maybe my time spent behind bars like that had served its purpose. I’m thinking that if I had been in Quest and Rose in roles in which people knew it was me, then maybe I’d be getting better offers. I didn’t know whether I wanted to be the Lon Chaney of my generation. But the next morning, when I open up the front door to get the newspaper, instead there’s an envelope from my agent with a copy of the pilot script for Beauty and the Beast. I called him up, saying, “Did you not fucking hear me? I told you. I told you not to send me this script. Why’d you do that?”