Always the Bad Guy

by Shane Briant

  The reason? He'd inadvertently made such a strong impact with my skull that my head had made violent contact with the glass table in front of me and my mouthpiece had split my bottom lip open. Blood was spattered everywhere and was dripping onto my shirt.

  There was a few seconds silence, and then I heard Huston call loudly from his director's chair, in his signature deep booming voice. "Tell the boy to keep it there. We'll go again."

  Later on we posed for a publicity shot. The blood had caked and I looked a tragedy so they cleaned me up.

  But that wasn't my only mishap during the filming. At Pinewood, we filmed the moment where Cox kills 'The Mackintosh Man' himself, played by Harry Andrews. In the script, Mackintosh travels home in a commuter train, and as he crosses the road outside the station a car accelerates into sight and mows him down. Cox is the driver.

  When you read this kind of thing in a script, you take it for granted that you will get the lead up shot and a close up, while a stunt man will do the driving. Not so in this case.

  I was approached in my caravan by the stunt co-coordinator, an American by the name of James Arnett.

  "Hi Shane. Look, John likes his actors to do as much of the stunt work as they feel comfortable with. I've checked everything and I don't think this is in any way dangerous. How about it?" He hesitated as he saw my expression. "The thing is, we get to see that it's you driving the car and not a stuntie, so that's great for you," he cooed.

  I thought about it. If it wasn't dangerous and I would get to seem 'cool', then why not? And not only that, I'd get in Huston's good books.

  "Sure, I'll do it," I replied.

  Advice for young actors here. Never volunteer to do work that should be done by a stuntie – you take work from them, and put yourself at risk at the same time. It may make you look like a hero, but it may see you dead or crippled.

  The stuntie who was to work with me that evening was world famous Nosher Powell.

  Half an hour later I was sitting in a rather old Rover car. Arnett explained exactly what I had to do. I remember his words almost word for word. "Nosher will come out of the station and walk at a forty-five degree angle across the road. When you see me drop my hand, accelerate to nineteen miles an hour and drive in a straight line at that constant speed. Nosher'll do a roll across your bonnet. When he's over and in the ditch the other side, accelerate like hell. Okay?"

  "Sure… fine," I replied, uneasily.

  James looked satisfied with my reaction. "Right! Now, we're going to do a rehearsal. But this time in slo-mo, at five miles an hour. Just to show you exactly what's going to happen."

  I saw Nosher, dressed as Harry Andrews, exit the station, and Arnett dropped his hand. I drove off, trying to keep the speed at a constant five miles an hour (rehearsal speed), but as the car was an old one, the speed indicator was all over the place from four to eight miles and hour, despite my best efforts. At the exact spot that had been designated, Nosher arched his torso upwards, and while still keeping his feet on the ground, rolled over my bonnet. I then accelerated away. Arnett then came over to me. "That's great! Now we shoot one okay. Huston loved it!" The car was returned to its starting point, and I waited to do the real thing. My heart rate was now nudging 180. Just before we were about to shoot, Arnett again approached the car. He was carrying some heavy-duty leather gloves.

  "Hey, Shane. Take these and put 'em on. You won't need them, but I'm a firm believer in safety."

  "Actually, James, I prefer not to wear gloves," I replied. "I feel I have a better grip on the steering wheel with my bare hands."

  James made a face. "Look, it's not going to happen… But if Nosher should make any contact…and I repeat it isn't going to happen…with the windscreen, you just punch through the crazed glass so you can see where you're going." He mimicked someone punching.

  At that moment my heart rate skyrocketed to 250. But I had no time to argue the toss, as James was already hurrying back behind the camera and someone was calling for 'absolute silence.' There was nothing else to do—I was now in the expert hands of Nosher Powell.

  "Aaaaaaaaaaand….ACTION!" came the scream through the

  loudhailer.

  I accelerated, doing my best to keep the car between eighteen and twenty miles an hour. Then in my peripheral vision I saw Nosher just five feet from my car. That's when he was flipped by the front left bumper bar, flew up into the air and exploded headlong through my windscreen. I could just make out his head hanging down inside and his body still on the bonnet. I swear I thought I'd killed him. Nosher was dead!

  Instinctively I drove on, figuring that if I braked hard, the motion would propel Nosher out and under my wheels. Not so bad if he was dead, but not so good if he were simply crippled.

  Eventually I stopped, and immediately looked down at Nosher. His hair was a mass of tiny shards of glass. He immediately looked at me and grinned sheepishly.

  "Sorry, mate, I caught my foot in the bumper bar. Shouldn't have been there. Won't happen next time."

  By this time James was at the car pulling my door open and helping me out.

  "You okay, Shane? You come with us and we'll make sure there's no glass around the eyes."

  George Frost, the head of make-up, dusted my face for glass with a make-up brush. "Got to make sure no glass gets into the eyes—it can lodge there and creep around, severing the nerves at the back. We're not going to let that happen," he said with a reassuring smile.

  That's when Arnett entered the make-up truck. "Anything I can get you Shane?" he asked.

  "A brandy?" I replied.

  "Nice one, Shane. Not allowed. Safety thing."

  I remember thinking, 'safety?' I can't have a brandy because of safety regs? Just ten minutes after a near-death experience?

  Arnett brought me out of my stunned reverie. "Look, Shane. We may have to go again. I just looked at the footage on the video screen and you seemed to hesitate when Nosher came through the windscreen."

  like a brandy."

  "Fair enough," James replied and left me.

  I did get a large brandy.

  One night back at the Hilton in Valetta, 'Wolfie' Morris and I decided to 'fine dine' in the hotel restaurant. Our per diems – the money we got to feed ourselves in the evening – were not overly generous, but we'd had enough of taxiing down to the 'Gut' for some bistro fare. So we dressed in what we thought was appropriate – shirt, pants, jacket – and made our way to the dining room.

  As we got there we saw Paul enter, dressed in a one-piece air force jump suit. He looked great. But surprise, surprise, as we walked in we were stopped inside the door. "I'm afraid you have to wear a tie, sir," the maitre d' told us. I pointed to Newman's table. "There's a guy over there, wearing paramilitary fatigues," I replied.

  The maitre d' simply shrugged. "That's Mr. Newman," he said. What else was there to say or do? He was right. We fetched our ties.

  In the middle of the first week we had a night shoot scheduled. The crew call was midnight. Yet at 1 a.m. there was no sign of Huston. Calls were made to the hotel, but we weren't told what the problem was. We waited around until almost 3 a.m. when Newman decided he'd take matters into his own hands. He marched up to the doors of the best restaurant on the waterfront and knocked loudly. The bleary-eyed owner came to the door. Newman then asked him if he'd open his restaurant for a couple of hours. He wanted to buy everyone drinks, because Mister Huston was unwell and couldn't make it down to the waterfront that night. The proprietor beamed, and fifteen minutes later the cast and crew – about a hundred and fifty people – were having a party. Newman paid for everything. It was a great evening. Paul only stayed an hour, but as you can imagine most of the crew stayed much longer. As Paul said goodnight to the patron of the restaurant and thanked him for opening up, the man pulled out a small photo. It was a head shot of Paul. I could see the patron wanted an autograph, but couldn't understand why Paul was so reticent to sign. The next day I asked him why and he told me. "The last time I signed an a
utograph was around ten years ago. I was peeing in a urinal in New York somewhere and this guy comes in, sees me and pulls out a piece of scrap

  still pissing. I ignored him and he said I was a spoilsport. I made up my mind then to quite signing my name altogether."

  The final scene in John Huston's 'The Mackintosh Man.'

  On the last day of the Malta shoot the final scene of the film was scheduled. But since the script was still being hatched night by night, no one knew what would happen when we got to Pinewood, so Huston decided the answer lay in covering all bases. The denouement was to take place in 'The Church at Marsha Schlaack' in Malta. Would Newman triumph? Of course he would. But who would die? And would his love affair with Dominque Sanda stand the test of time? They filmed every possible permutation. Firstly, Newman came out of the church door looking very sad. Then he came out looking very happy. Then he came out looking triumphant. Then he came out holding Sanda's hand and they kissed. I watched them all, thinking they'd go with a happy ending with all the bad guys dead. It was the obvious choice. I was right.

  In the preamble to the scene that we were to film later inside the church, Newman forces me to drive him to where Mason is hiding with Ian Bannon. The car I was given to drive was a huge old Mercedes. This was problematic because I had to maneuver the clunker between a whole bunch of fishing boats. There was about an

  inch leeway one side and a foot the other.

  I was shown a mark for the front right wheel of the car. It was a slice of gaffer tape about two inches wide.

  "I want you to cover that piece of tape with the tyre, okay?" I was told.

  "Sure. No problem," I replied easily.

  Newman slid in the back and we backed up into our first positions. I was acutely aware it would be like parking a Hummer in a Mini parking spot, but I wasn't about to argue the toss – Newman had seen what I was being asked to do and he clearly had no problem with it. We set off on 'action' and I wove my way through the fishing boats and stopped the car right on the tape. Phew. I was delighted. Then the First AD walked up. "We have to go again, you left the engine running." I was disappointed. "But I have to put the hand brake on first," I countered. That took time. Then I heard a voice behind me. Newman. "Pop the clutch." I hadn't thought about that. But he was right. Just as I reached the gaffer tape the second time, I took my foot off the clutch and the car stopped suddenly. Success.

  One last memory of 'The Mackintosh Man.' The interior shots of the church in Valetta took place weeks later at Pinewood. The last minutes of the film are a standoff between the good guy; Newman, and the bad guys; Mason and Bannon. Oh, and the girl who couldn't quite make up her mind what she should do – Sanda.

  Newman brings me in with a gun to my back and the scene begins. As the sparks was lighting us, Newman nudged me slightly to my right saying, "Hey, I don't need this scene. Why don't we make you look good, what do you say?" He then made sure that I was in the best spot while he was lurking somewhere behind me. That was the kind of man he was – generous and aware of what it was like when he started out as an actor.

  Maybe someone had been kind to him when he was beginning his career – I don't know, he didn't say. Yet here I was, in the forefront of the shot, well lit thanks to Paul, and the lead was standing just behind me. This was the ideal time to make the most of an opportunity – and here's a word of advice to young actors. Never be overwhelmed by the stature of the actor you're working with. If you think his or her performance will outshine you, it will. In front of the camera every actor is just that, an actor – it's up to you

  scenes with many big names, but I've only been nervous prior to meeting them – never while I was acting. The reason? Because it is the best experience imaginable to look and listen to a great actor and hear the dialogue always as if for the first time, despite it being take thirty-four. There's always so much coming back at you. The best actors bring out the best in other actors. Suddenly you have movie magic.

  So here I was in a long scene standing in the best spot with Newman at my elbow, without one word of dialogue. I had two choices; stand there like a rock, or do some hard work. I decided on the latter. I listened like fury to every single word that was spoken by all the other actors in the scene, and I listened to the silences that followed every statement. I watched their faces as they spoke and as they listened, debating, in character, who was going to live or die, who was believing who, who knew they were beaten and most importantly, whether I was going to die.

  I expect everyone who watches the film will be glued to Newman. That's understandable. For those who glanced at me, I was acting every microsecond – and by acting, I mean I was thinking!

  During rehearsal I decided that Cox was such an arrogant bastard he wouldn't be scared – he'd be working out the odds against Mason getting away with things and then nailing Newman.

  We all learn 'stuff' till the day we die. Actors worth their salt keep learning every day, while those who think they know it all never progress to the next level. From Paul Newman I learnt a lot of things, not the least of which was to treat everyone on the set with the same respect, be they the director, director of photography, the so-called stars, those with the supporting roles, cameo players, fifty-worders, extras, and the entire crew. This not only guarantees a happy and productive atmosphere, but also gives the film its best chance of being a great one. Newman treated everyone the same and had time for every man and woman working on the film. The result was that everyone loved him – I doubt if he had an enemy in the world.

  You may think this is the way everyone behaves on a set, but it's not true. I have seen many an actor behave very differently depending on whether he or she is talking to a director or director of

  When I'd finished my last scene I went to say good-bye to John Huston. He was standing talking to Ozzie Morris, in a haze of cigar smoke.

  He smiled broadly as I approached, holding out a hand. I said, "That was my last scene, Mister Huston, I'm off back to London. I greatly enjoyed being a part your film."

  He took a massive puff of his cigar and replied; "Paul's been saying good things about you, Shane. Says you're going places."

  I drove back to London on cloud nine. Paul Newman had told Huston that I was going places! Of course I now know what he meant. Somehow he must have felt in his bones that I was going to emigrate to Australia in 1982!

  HAWK THE SLAYER,' PLAYING JACK PALANCE'S SON!

  When I'd finished filming the American television movie, 'The Flame is Love,' with Linda Purl and Timothy Dalton, I flew back from Dublin to London to start in on a medieval drama titled 'Hawk the Slayer.' The most exciting aspect of this project was that it was to star the incredibly larger than life Jack Palance! And I was to play his son, no less – Drogo, son of Voltan!'

  The other star was an up-and-coming American actor called John Terry – every inch the tall dark and handsome hero – and the great thing about John was that he could act as well as look good! He went on to star as Felix Leiter in 'The Living Daylights,' had a leading role in 'Full Metal Jacket,' and has appeared in just about every television production in America – 'E.R., '24,' 'Las Vegas,' etc.

  John's character, 'Hawk,' is bent on revenge on his older brother 'Voltan,' played by Palance, for killing his father and fiancé. With him he takes his 'mind-sword,' and a motley band of warriors: a giant, a dwarf, a one-armed man with a machine-crossbow, and an elf with the fastest bow in the land. It was the perfect pilot for many movies to come, but while it still has a cult following, these films were never made.

  When I met Jack Palance for the first time on set I was astonished at how big the man was – six foot four inches tall, and

  wide as a small car. Not one once of fat. He was in full costume at the time, wearing a heavy leather and metal jacket and a black metal helmet.

  My screen 'dad,' Voltan, in 'Hawk the Slayer.'

  He looked terrifying. I'm six feet tall, but I felt about a foot shorter. I shook his hand, and then waited for him to rele
ase it so I could work some blood back into it. Not only was his presence something to experience, his voice came out of a black hole. Just when you think Lee Marvin has a deep voice in 'Cat Ballou,' along comes Jack and it's an even lower growl. He knew the effect it had.