Very Naughty Boys [EBK]

  Not surprisingly, Denis O’Brien appealed against the court’s decision on the grounds that the case should have been tried in England, and that it had been erroneously decided. As the case dragged on further, the toil started to show on Harrison physically; he was greying and at times appeared haggard. Terry Gilliam recalls, ‘I actually saw George well into the case and it looked like he’d aged 10 years.’

  Eventually, in February 1998, the California Court of Appeal affirmed the original trial court’s judgement to award Harrison $11 million. Reiss says, ‘I later heard that George’s lawyers were trying to collect the money from Denis who kept hiding behind legal processes and eventually hid behind bankruptcy. So Denis became bankrupt and now he’s protected. So he had the last laugh financially.’

  While HandMade’s past was being decided and laid open to scrutiny in the law courts of America, Paragon chief Jon Sian was attempting to steer the new HandMade towards a brighter future by announcing a slate of projects for the born-again production company. Principal among them was a sequel to, arguably, HandMade’s most successful ever film —Time Bandits.

  Paragon had approached Terry Gilliam to write a sequel and persuaded Universal to put up development money, though, in the end, the studio was to turn the project down. ‘I said we could do it for $30 million,’ Gilliam says, ‘but they didn’t think so. Or maybe they just didn’t like the script. The plot’s about saving the world from God’s wrath on the millennium. God had bottled out on the first 1,000 years, because he was going to destroy the place, it was a disaster, and now come 2000 he’s finally going to do it. Actually, God is a total schizophrenic at this point, he’s got a devil hand-puppet that he talks to all the time; this was before South Park and the schoolteacher character with his puppet. And there were going to be new Time Bandits, the daughters of the old guys who have worked their way up through the creation departments and are finally getting equal pay as women. It’s a really good tale.’

  Time Bandits 2, sadly, never saw daylight. What did emerge during Paragon’s reign was mostly a bedraggled collection of Indie pictures and comedies, the sort of fare that O’Brien was churning out dismally in the death throes of his tenure. But at least Paragon did try and maintain the Harrison/O’Brien tradition of low-to-medium-budget, off-the-wall, intriguing pictures from mostly first-time writers and directors. Operating from new premises in Golden Square, the whole operation was considerably smaller in size to the Cadogan Square office and mostly run by the two last remaining links between the old HandMade and the new — Hilary Davis and Gareth Jones. ‘Paragon set us up again to go back into film production,’ Davis says. ‘It was quite a smooth transition. When Paragon took over, it was myself and Gareth, we set up the new HandMade, as it were, and we were the feature film division of Paragon.’

  First up was the black comedy Intimate Relations (1996) from first-time director Philip Goodhew, a true tale of sexual obsession, hypocrisy and murder in Fifties Britain that starred Julie Walters and Rupert Graves. Sweet Angel Mine (1996) was a psychological thriller from first-time film-maker Curtis Radclyffe. The James Gang (1997) was a comedy about a young family forced to become fugitives and starred John Hannah and Helen McCrory. The Wrong Guy (1997) was a spoof of TV show The Fugitive and the feature debut of David Steinberg, who’d previously directed episodes of Seinfield and Friends. The Man with Rain in His Shoes (1998) was a romantic comedy and a Spanish co-production, notable for giving Penelope Cruz one of her earliest roles. The Secret Laughter of Women (1998), directed by Peter Schwabach, starred Colin Firth as a man beginning a love affair with a Nigerian exile living with her young son in the south of France. And Dinner at Fred’s (1999) was a comedy from director Shawn Thompson about a young businessman forced to spend Christmas with an eccentric family and starred Christopher Lloyd.

  The failure of these films, both from an artistic standpoint and most crucially at the box office, quickly impacted upon Paragon. In March 1998, the company was struggling so badly it was forced to lay off 50 per cent of its staff. In April, Jon Sian stepped down as Chairman. And in June, Paragon began stripping off its assets. A buyer for HandMade was being actively sought.

  Ironically, the one film that could have saved the company’s bacon was allowed to pass through its fingers. In November 1997, HandMade announced shooting had begun on a low-budget British gangster picture by first-time director Guy Ritchie. It was called Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels. HandMade had agreed to buy the worldwide rights for $1.2 million, but when the film wrapped, Paragon were in such financial straits it couldn’t afford to pay. Polygram gratefully stepped in and made a killing. Amazingly, Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels made more money at the British box office than the price Paragon paid to buy HandMade back in 1994.

  As Paragon headed for bankruptcy, the last thing it needed was what actually happened next. The company was involved in a bizarre court case involving the Monty Python team who had taken great exception to how cheaply Paragon were selling off the TV rights to Life of Brian. Although it formed part of HandMade’s library of films, something like 50 per cent of Life of Brian was owned by the Pythons themselves. ‘In fact,’ Idle adds, ‘when George was trying to sell the catalogue, he kept saying to me, “I’d love to sell you Life of Brian but unfortunately I can’t separate it from the catalogue.” ’

  Steve Abbott was brought in to handle the case and discovered that Paragon’s acquisition of HandMade back in 1994 had created a cash squeeze at the company, putting them almost immediately in the position of scrambling around for money, and so the films were sold off fast and cheap. ‘I’d gone to see Jon Sian at his office in LA to let him know, just in case his lawyers hadn’t told him, of the powers we were entitled to over Brian and that they couldn’t just make any old deal. Even after Python split from HandMade, the deals Denis made for Brian were pretty fair and they reported to us, by and large, on time and I could go in and audit. So Sian didn’t have to be a genius to work out I was really letting him know that we’d be keeping an eye on him. It was all very polite.’

  Paragon were also late in reporting and some of the deals they were making were mysteriously absent from their statements. The writing was on the wall. One deal in particular that Paragon had made with Channel 4 for a paltry sum incensed the Pythons and was clearly breach of contract. Abbott remembers, ‘I think Paragon and Channel 4 thought we were little pip-squeaks that would go away... I think they thought we wouldn’t go through with it. But very few things have united the Pythons over the years I’ve known them more than this, it was a sense of, “This is outrageous, we can’t let them get away with it.” So we took out legal proceedings. It was kind of scary, even though we knew we were on good ground. Terry Jones came in one day and nothing in films means more to Terry than the director’s rights. The words “final cut” are like the holy of holies for Terry and he was there to hear this Channel 4 representative saying in court that, no matter what was said in the contracts, the channel must always have the right to cut films. This was Channel 4, the filmmaker’s friend. It was just wonderful for him to hear that, even though it was illusion shattering.’

  Another Python witness was Michael Palin. ‘I took the stand. It was a very Pythonesque location, the Law Courts, like something out of Gormenghast, all very gothic, beautifully carved panels and seats and then taped to the side of the desk was this cable for the recording device. The architect would turn in his grave if he could see this thing stuck on with gaffer tape. And I remember it didn’t work to start with so the court had to rise while they mended it.’

  Paragon and Channel 4 argued that, because Life of Brian was a notoriously controversial film, this made it harder to sell and therefore reduced its value. Palin observes, ‘It was a very silly point to make because Brian had been out for nearly 20 years, was enormously popular, had proved itself as a film that despite reaction would still do very well. I was being cross-examined by Paragon and Channel 4. The Channel 4 lawyer was by far the toughest. Channel 4
should’ve known better because they’d done a quite shameful deal over the whole thing. I’m a great Channel 4 fan, but I thought this was really their low point to try and actually defend a deal which gave them the right to show Brian for 25 years for $100,000. I mean, “Up yours,” really, absolutely indefensible.’

  After a month, the judge ruled that the deals made for Life of Brian were null and void and all the rights reverted back to the Monty Python team. Abbott says, ‘Basically, they picked the wrong people to have a fight with. It was the fact that the Pythons’ film had been mistreated and that’s what they were fighting for. Paragon and Channel 4 relied on the fact that, once the costs started mounting up, they thought, These guys have got to cave in. Every time they suggested a settlement, we went and tried to work it out and always they were taking the piss. I think they thought we could never afford to go the whole hog.’

  Perhaps the biggest tragedy to come out of the whole Paragon debacle was that the negative and unused footage from Life of Brian, and other films like Time Bandits, that HandMade had been looking after and preserving, were simply junked by Paragon, without consulting anyone, because they weren’t prepared to continue to pay for storage of such material.

  So it was goodbye and, frankly, good riddance, to Paragon. Out, too, went Hilary Davis and Gareth Jones, the last vestige of the old HandMade gone forever. Davis and Jones were later to form their own London-based production outfit. Shingles comments, ‘It’s funny, together with Wendy Palmer, Gareth and Hilary went to a recent Cannes Film Festival, saw Denis O’Brien coming into Nice and they all hid.’

  In 1998, HandMade was once again up for sale. There were numerous takers, including the US/UK private investment company Rubicon and British production company Parallel Pictures, based at Ealing Studios. Another interested party was Ray Cooper who tried to form a consortium to buy back HandMade but, in the end, couldn’t raise substantial funds and was forced to pull out.

  The victor was entrepreneur Patrick Meehan who purchased HandMade in 1999. Meehan began in the music business back in 1969. One of the first bands he managed was Black Sabbath and later prog rock giants Yes. Meehan also bought Nems, an old Beatle company and in 1973 took over the likes of Elton John, Pink Floyd and Deep Purple, who were all looked after by Nems. In the eighties, conglomerate management companies had a rough time. Bands didn’t want a company managing them, they wanted their own individual managers. So Meehan gave up management and went into semi-retirement in the Caribbean. In 1997 he returned to the entertainment business. ‘As I hated the music business, I decided I wanted to do something in films. I saw that HandMade was for sale and I called up to try and buy it. And basically I did the deal and came up with the money and bought it personally. HandMade attracted me because it’s a classic period and they’re classic films, and the name, it’s one of the most special names in the world, everybody knows the name HandMade. Next to the studios I think it’s one of the best-known names there is.’

  Meehan immediately announced plans to back several sequels and remakes of classic HandMade films, including Gilliam’s Time Bandits 2 and a long-awaited follow-up to The Long Good Friday. Ever since the gangster film hit screens back in 1981, there had been plans for a sequel. ‘But I wasn’t interested,’ John Mackenzie states. ‘I said, “That’s the end.” They said, “Oh no, the IRA car goes round the corner, hits a lamp-post and Harold jumps out.” “Fuck off,” I said, “I’ve killed him in my head.’”

  In the mid-Eighties, Bob Hoskins and producer Barry Hanson managed to talk Mackenzie into a script idea where Harold Shand escapes to America and sets himself up as a local mobster, all the time pining for the washed-up England he left behind. But nothing came of it. Then, following in the wake of numerous Brit gangster flicks that spread like a cancer across cinema screens after the success of Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels, The Long Good Friday received a deserved cinema re-release in May 2000 and was again hailed by critics as an all-time classic. Chief among its fans was premier film magazine Empire who voted it the best British film ever made, narrowly beating another HandMade film, Withnail and I, to the title.

  In the face of its successful re-release, talk of a possible sequel resurfaced with a script idea from Hoskins himself which he called The Business and had Shand returning from self-imposed exile. Mackenzie says, ‘It was a very good script. Shand had gone to the Caribbean, taken all his money and got out of the business. He only comes back because he loses it, his brother-in-law embezzles the money, so he has to come out of retirement to get it back. Then it’s all about can he be the man he once was against the new crowd, whether they’re blacks in Brixton who shoot you as soon as you open your mouth, or whatever. It’s all about him being completely lost, trying to get back the power. But Bob just lost interest; he keeps expressing interest but it doesn’t last. We had a huge argument. I was working with the writer, it was about the third draft, and Bob came in on the day we were going to talk about casting and he said, “Maybe it needs another two or three rewrites.” We said, “No, it doesn’t.” So Bob lost interest. He inaugurated it and then walked... typical fucking actor. Anyway, we’ve talked since.’

  Meehan moved to Los Angeles and set up offices there and in London; HandMade was a production outfit again. After the troubles getting the sequels going for Time Bandits and The Long Good Friday, Meehan bought the rights to Eloise, the classic and popular children’s character, and turned it into a TV feature film starring Julie Andrews. And there are more films in the pipeline. ‘New HandMade films will be mostly Hollywood-type films. But I’ll do a few of the English-type movies because I do want to keep the company as an English company, that’s important. I don’t want us to become an American company. We’ll always have our base here in England. We’re looking to make three to five films a year. I want HandMade to be, again, the top English production company that it was and generating a lot of films.’

  Whatever path Meehan steers HandMade in the future, past glories can never be recaptured. It’s doubtful that we will ever see more films of the energy and quirkiness of Life of Brian, Time Bandits, A Private Function and Withnail and I, which are up there as some of the best British comedies ever made. It’s down to George Harrison and Denis O’Brien that they exist at all. HandMade took enormous risks in that respect and had the courage to give fresh talent the money and space to express themselves, launching, into the bargain, the careers of now huge names like Bob Hoskins, Terry Gilliam and Bruce Robinson. Wendy Palmer suggests, ‘I guess if there is a legacy, it is that they did support a lot of people and created a lot of careers. There was a bravery to take on things that most other people wouldn’t necessarily touch. And that was Denis.’

  Unfortunately, the dark side of Denis O’Brien always tended to negate the positive. His habit of fiddling in post-production drew the most wrath from his artist employees, though admittedly it’s a practice not uncommon in the film industry. Richard Loncraine believes, ‘They all get God-like complexes. Very few producers will come on the set when you’re making a movie. You’ve got to have quite a lot of bottle to come up and say, “Richard, excuse me. Are you sure you really want to track here... maybe you should be over here?” Not many will do that because they’re too exposed, because people say, “Excuse me, you don’t know what you’re fucking talking about.” But it’s very easy once you’ve shot a movie to go into the editor, it’s one guy who you can intimidate... you can fire him and get another one. You can’t ruin the movie... well, you can ruin the movie... but it will still come out and it’s always someone else’s work so you’re hidden, you’re not exposed as a producer then, so it’s much easier for them. That’s why Denis, like many producers, would come along and screw around in post.’

  But there are those who’ll defend his method of postproduction supervision. Shingles’ point of view is that ‘Denis enjoyed that side of being a producer and I think he found it difficult to let go of his babies. That’s what they were, all these projects, he nurtured them l
ike everybody else. We all were very protective of them, even the ones you weren’t so keen on, you had to rally. It’s like having a premature baby, you nurture it and hope it will succeed. Denis was very charming and very plausible, a smooth-talker, and after you’d spoken to him you always felt really reassured, and that was a knack. His judgement, I suppose, in movies was suspect, but he was a banker, not a film person. Whatever claims are laid against him, he got the films made. And people seem to forget that when they complained, he was getting their films made.’

  Others too will, to an extent, also excuse the man himself. Cleese admits, ‘I have feelings of goodwill towards Denis, although I didn’t want to get suffocated by his embrace. He was so clever about tax and moving money around that he was able to survive even on films that didn’t work very well. But when everything started to go wrong, I was very sorry because he was a jolly fellow to be around. He laughed a lot. So I had nothing but goodwill towards Denis for making all those films. But he did make an awful lot with rather bad scripts, like Bullshot. I mean, they were really pretty terrible, weren’t they? And when I heard it had all broken up with George, I was very disappointed. I suppose that tendency of Denis to do things behind closed doors without explaining what he was actually doing, that side of his personality must have taken over too much. I have a sense of disappointment at what eventually happened.’

  Perhaps the biggest tragedy in the whole HandMade story is that, given the right circumstances, a little bit of luck and a whole lot more honesty, HandMade could have gone on and survived a lot longer. Don Boyd says, ‘It didn’t surprise me at all when I began to read things about the degree to which the company had had problems. What I think is tragic about HandMade is that George’s money and what O’Brien had as an idea carried through properly could have led to a very vibrant, powerful movie company, but it seems as if ego and the rather peculiar nature of the financing arrangements were such that that was never going to happen.’