‘You were a superb director. And a superb producer.’ I looked deep into the old man’s eyes.
‘Yes, I know! And so are you. Let’s hope you continue my little legacy.’ He buttoned his suit jacket. ‘So, let’s go for that meal.’
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Playing with Pandora’s Box
When I look back at the output achieved with James Johnson I struggle to believe we did so much. I never grasped what James was trying to say about me being young to art or art being young to me and whatnot. There was something clever beneath his words that had maybe been clouded by the onset of senility, but that didn’t matter. We produced four films together in that short space of time and the majority of my fans would agree that they were the best scripts I’ve ever written, and some of the best movies I’ve directed. Curious Pandora has been praised for bringing a whole new level of maverick filmmaking to Hollywood, although critics at the time struggled to understand its interwoven plot strands and the powerful symbolism that featured throughout the movie. If I had to compare my work to someone as great as James Joyce, pretentious as it is, I’d say Curious Pandora was the Finnegans Wake of my canon. Extremely experimental, overly difficult to interpret maybe, but a piece that will be forever studied and always yield new meanings to enthusiastic viewers. The script was a collaborative effort between me and James (Johnson, not Joyce, of course). I wrote the first draft and he revised it, interpolating new scenes and adding a bit of intimacy between the characters.
At the script’s heart is the myth of Pandora’s Box. We wanted to play with the story created by the Greek poet, Hesiod. In Greek mythology, Pandora was a kind of Eve figure, the first woman in the world. We subverted this idea by having our Pandora be the world’s last survivor. Pandora was given a container by the gods and ordered to never open it. Of course, like Eve munching the fruit from the Tree of Knowledge, curiosity got the better of Pandora and she opened the container, releasing all the world’s evils: plagues, diseases, hurtful emotions and those annoying charity fuckers with clipboards who attack you on the streets. Many critics still can’t work out the movie’s plot, so attempting to justify it here is tricky. But the film opens with Pandora, played by the gorgeous Natalie Storey, discovering an old container between two trees, representing the Tree of Knowledge and the Tree of Life, in a park. Natalie was a perfect casting decision by James. A model with no prior acting experience, but such an amazing look for the part. Pale skin, the blackest hair I’d ever seen, big brown eyes, an innocence about her. A real-life Snow White. It was great to work with Anthony Miles again, although James Johnson was hell-bent on getting the superb Anthony Hopkins for the role. Miles played Pandora’s father, a strict figure who realizes he’s been emotionally distant from his daughter as the story progresses. After Pandora opens the seemingly empty container, the image of two trees morphs into the two radio masts that are mysteriously ignited near her school. This is the start of the apocalypse, as the world is attacked by horsemen, dragons, demons and the figure of the anti-Christ.
The movie is full of symbolism and gematria, from the numbers of Pandora’s classrooms to her pet snake, Daniel. The script was inspired partly by a play (never performed, thank fuck) I’d written during a lovesick spell at university, called Blue Demon. It involved the upcoming Judgment Day and the protagonist’s opportunity to escape hell, following his suicide, and relive the moment he broke up with his girlfriend. It was showy bollocks, to use the official literary term for such a play, but certain elements of it filtered into Curious Pandora.
The picture was visually stunning, from the frequent dream sequences to the flaming cityscapes, but most fans would agree that Anthony Miles’s performance was the best thing about it. He could whip through a series of emotions and tell so many stories with a single look, such was the power of his glassy blue eyes. He embraced the emotional resonance of a father realizing he’s let his daughter down and a man trying to survive in an apocalyptic world. Curious Pandora was his last performance before he entered the world of retirement, which involved voluptuous young blondes and a sumptuous mansion in Prague, I believe. His death concludes the movie, the death of the authoritative God-like figure, leaving Pandora alone, gazing at the rifts in the black clouds above the war-torn city of London - the renowned final shot of the film. The shot was James Johnson’s idea. He imagined it in a dream and gave me hell for the multiple other takes I was responsible for, none of which captured what he’d envisaged. He actually came onto set and filmed the last few seconds of the movie himself. And I’m glad he did. What he filmed was better than any image I could come up with, and it’s become the most famous still from that movie.
‘Leave an old man to paint you a picture of death, old boy.’ He smirked at me after calling, ‘Cut!’
Our next three movies, although not as complex and visually stunning as Curious Pandora, were the products of a very happy time in my career. Springs Eternal was a simple love story, but I think it’s the closest Hollywood has come to capturing the true nature of relationships. It makes me sick when I see characters in movies saying, ‘I love you’ every few seconds and being all mushy. I wonder how many screenwriters have been in real relationships, judging by their scripts. Springs Eternal was all about giving the middle finger to soppy (although I’m well aware I have a massively hypocritical tendency to be schmaltzy at times) love stories and showing what love was really about. It details a couple’s story from the moment they meet, to their first argument, to the birth of their first child, parenthood and finally, death. Depressing maybe, but beautiful at the same time.
Upon the Moors was a venture into thriller/horror, and it attempted to put some spark back into what I felt was a flailing genre. James put it best when he told me, ‘It’s no good having something leap out at the audience with loud music in an attempt to make them jump. Have something linger on the screen, something that will eat into their brains. Something magnificent but terrifying at the same time. That will make them jump every time they notice movement in the corners of their eyes, every time they remember that image late at night while a huddled mass of sweat and dread, I can assure you.’
Our last film together Willful Murder was a comedy about two police investigators seeking the identity of a modern Jack the Ripper in London. A hilarious mix of transvestism, mistaken identities and crude puns, I’d say it’s the funniest movie I’ve done. It really was a happy time in my career, although something haunted me every time I closed my eyes after a long day of filming or attending interviews. Images eating into my brain as I slept, a mass of hot sweat and icy dread.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
What Dreams May Come
I had strange dreams during that period. Elusive dreams that fragmented in the morning. Troubled thoughts filled my head each night, until the temporary darkness blotted the troubles out. But the numbers, logistics and ideas for problematic productions conspired with my dreams. I’d wake and try to remember the images from the night.
Formless or misshapen pictures, like Cubist portraits of figures from my past, materialized amid the darkness and light. Branches whipping at my skin. A child crying. Lauren’s face. I often woke with that horrible feeling of being pursued. I couldn’t remember who’d been chasing me, but I knew my imagination had formed frightening images. A cartoon character, distorted. The eyes of a childhood friend turned red and bloody with Technicolor rage. I’d open my eyes and reach out to make sure Lauren still slept next to me, hold her close, splinters of ice coursing through my veins.
Bouts of depression grew frequent with each passing year. I’d be at an elegant dinner part, laughing and joking. And then a shroud would descend on me. Utter unhappiness. A sense of futility. I could go for ages without those manic changes and I’d be happy. But depression could last for weeks when it came and it seemed to last longer every time it reoccurred. I didn’t know where the melancholy came from. I had everything a guy could wish for. A successful career and a beautiful wife. Despite thos
e strange bouts, in actuality life just got better.
Every actor dreams of playing the perfect role. A character they can relate to, with powerful emotions. But few actors ever find that role during their careers.
I wrote a script called The Concert. A protagonist emerged from its pages named Kieran McGraw. The movie was about Kieran organizing a great rock concert. He was a fading rock star and pulling off the event was his last chance to get back on the scene. But the movie wasn’t just about regaining fame. It centered on McGraw’s battle with drink and how he’d lost his family and friends because of his rock and roll lifestyle. The script delved deeply into McGraw’s personal life.
I’d never been involved in such an ambitious project. I wanted to organize a real concert. Fortunately, my position in the movie industry meant that many famous artists wanted to help. The concert was held in Cardiff’s Millennium Stadium.
I asked my childhood pal Elliott if he could do a rewrite of the script. He’d developed an excellent reputation as a screenwriter since we’d met up at the premiere of my last Mathis movie – in particular, his script for a biopic on Marilyn Monroe was universally lauded. He sharpened the dialogue for my movie. The by-play between the central characters ranged from being witty to poignant. He added extra emotional depth.
McGraw has a furious argument with his wife during one scene. But then the character breaks down and sobs. Suddenly, he feels weak and his anger subsides. I loved doing scenes like that. I enjoyed being tested as an actor. The movie left me emotionally drained. I gave everything I could to that production.
Kieran McGraw wasn’t like the heroes I’d played before. As an ageing rock star he drank, smoked and cursed a lot. But he spent the entire movie fighting for his dream. He wanted to organize a musical extravaganza on the scale of great concerts like Live Aid. He loved to perform, but people wouldn’t listen to him because he wasn’t considered a star anymore. He had to claw himself upwards, out of nothingness.
I performed in front of a full capacity crowd in Cardiff and became a real rock star for a day. The weeks of vocal training had paid off. I wasn’t a great singer, so I felt very proud of myself for delivering that vocal performance. I jumped into the crowd during my last song. That moment defined the movie, the moment Kieran McGraw achieved his dream.
The movie’s massive Cleopatra-like budget caused a stir in the press. Few actors had ever been involved in something of that scale. But the financial risk was worth it. Show-biz celebrities turned up on set and asked for cameos. Everybody wanted to get involved. The press knew my first feature for (the post-James Johnson) Mace Productions would be special because so much talent was involved. Nothing like The Concert had ever been attempted in cinema. I never doubted the project. Not for a moment. I knew it would be a box-office smash.
Filming could be tough but good fun at the same time. Some of the acts were incredible. I’ll never forget the two-man band, The Know. They were at the top of their game at the time. Their music could only be described as psychedelic rock. They spent most of filming in the bog doing drugs. I’ve never met two quirkier guys than Steve Christian and Derren Evans, but they were a pain in the arse to direct. When they weren’t doing drugs, they were shagging fans in their trailers. On one occasion, Derren couldn’t do any filming because he’d overdosed on Viagra and had a nob like a baseball bat.
‘I’ll end up poking the leading lady’s eye out at this rate!’ he screamed. ‘I need to get back in the shower. It’s fucking killing me. Hey, Steve, roll us up another joint would ya?’
The press got hold of all sorts of stories from the set. Most of the cast were used to living excessively. The picture became a documentary on the music industry. I didn’t need a script when it came to guys like Steve and Derren. In one part of the film, Steve runs out of his trailer and announces that he’d reached up a fan’s skirt and found a pair of bollocks. That really happened. He had the shock of his life. I asked members of the crew to walk around the set with handheld cameras so I didn’t miss anything worth putting into the final cut.
Cinema audiences will always remember the footage, the tears and roars of excitement. How could anyone forget the impact that performers like Alice Hope and David Simpson had on stage? I know I’ll never forget the unintentionally comic moment when The Know did their set.
Steve jumped into the crowd, while security did their best to drag him back onto the stage. Meanwhile, Derren tripped over an audio wire and accidentally threw his microphone at an unsuspecting girl in the front row - she received a nasty bump on her cranium. The band was forced off the stage at the end of the catastrophic performance.
‘I’ve never felt a buzz like that,’ Steve said backstage.
‘I’m pretty sure there was more than just adrenaline involved.’ I frowned.
I was relieved when filming wrapped. I’d had so much fun, but the production left me exhausted.
The picture busted all sorts of records and became a huge smash. Audiences loved it. Nothing could have prepared me for its reception. I mean, to this day, it’s still regarded as a cult classic.
I was nominated for an Oscar in the Best Actor category. I remembered when I was younger and I’d sworn to my mother that one day I’d win an Oscar. I wanted to win it for her. It was an honor to be nominated. I’d come so far in my career.
To celebrate my nomination, I organized a big Hawaiian themed party in Cardiff. I dressed in a bright pink Hawaiian shirt and hula necklace, while Lauren wore a grass skirt and a coconut bra. But my bodyguard Jonathon, clad in a dazzling orange shirt and a pink luau skirt, definitely had the loudest attire. He looked so awkward, like a professional wrestler in drag.
My mother couldn’t attend the party because she’d felt ropey over the previous two weeks. I received a message at eleven o’clock in the night, telling me she’d been rushed to hospital. She’d collapsed on her way to the local supermarket. I’d told her to stay in bed and call if she wanted me to send someone to get her groceries. Photographers scrambled to get shots of me in a stunning pink shirt as I left the party.
I was conscious of people raising their eyebrows as I stumbled through the hospital entrance. I’d been drinking champagne all day.
I’m wearing a bright pink Hawaiian shirt and a hula necklace, plus I’m struggling to walk straight, I thought to myself.
Fair enough, I looked like a tit. But I didn’t care at that moment. The scent of disinfectant burned my nostrils and the persecutory white lights in the corridors hurt my eyes.
The nurse told me my mother’s blood pressure had gone down to her boots. The doctors believed she was having serious problems with her circulation.
I entered her room. She slept, a silhouetted form under a woolen blanket. I didn’t wake her. The first movement of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata played from an old radio in another room.
‘This is the quietest she’s been since she got here,’ the nurse interrupted the gentle melody.
I smiled.
‘She’s quite a character. The other nurse is only a young girl and she’s frightened to come in here!’ She giggled.
‘So when do you think you’ll know what’s wrong with her exactly?’ I kept my eyes on my mother’s still form.
‘Within twenty-four hours, I imagine. We’ll do some tests and see how she is.’
‘Right.’
‘Hopefully she’ll be okay.’ The nurse touched my shoulder. ‘Nice shirt by the way.’
‘Yeah, I think so too,’ I muttered, lost in thought.
She looked so out of place in that hospital bed. I sat beside her. I couldn’t believe how pale and feeble she’d grown, her hand in mine, her breathing heavy and erratic. I hoped she would be okay. I couldn’t imagine life without her.
Those memories, they’re painful. It had come so unexpectedly. Children think their parents are invincible. Even as adults, we find it hard to believe our mothers and fathers can pass away. They’re supposed to be the idols of childhood, the supreme superheroes.
My mother had always been a major figure in my life. I couldn’t imagine her dying, couldn’t imagine her not being there for me. Death is eternal. The dead are lost, forever. And forever is a long time.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Fierce Tears
My mother propped herself up in the hospital bed. I’d never seen her like that before. She’d lost so much weight in so little time. Her face was skull-like, skin dry and tight. Her eyes had sunk into their sockets.
‘I’ve been waiting for you,’ she croaked.
‘How are you feeling?’ I asked.
‘Um, not good.’
My eyes burned. But no, I had to be strong. I took a seat next to the bed and held her feeble hand.
‘You need to eat more,’ I said. ‘You’re looking thin.’
‘Yeah, it doesn’t suit me, does it?’ She broke into a self-deprecating cough. ‘But there’s no point in eating, Daniel. I’m just delaying the denouement, as you literature types would say.’
‘You’ve been reading my articles… But what do you mean, mum?’
‘My heart is ruined. I’m rotting inside. I’m drowning. I’m just a talking corpse at the moment, and you know it.’
‘Please, don’t speak like that!’
‘I always knew it. Always suspected I had heart problems. But NO, nobody believed me!’ Triumph blazed in her eyes.
‘You suspected everything. You always thought you were a walking plague!’ I chuckled, still trying to suppress tears.
‘I’ve been thinking a lot in here.’
‘About what?’
‘About life and death. That’s all there is to think about. It all seems so futile. It goes so quickly.’
I kissed her hand.
‘You know I’ve always loved you?’ She searched my eyes.
‘C’mon, that’s the sort of question someone who’s going to lose would ask.’
‘I’ve lost. Jackie Mace is finally gonna be silenced.’
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