Always the Bad Guy

by Shane Briant

  'ANZACS,' PAUL HOGAN & 'BUTCH LESSONS.'

  My first major project in Australia was a mini series titled 'Anzacs.'

  At the time it was made, this production was the most expensive mini series ever mounted in Australia, costing thirteen million dollars. Ten hours of film, it took the best part of six months to shoot, and told the tale of a platoon of soldiers in the First World War from Gallipoli to the Armistice; a huge project, the brainchild of Geoff Burrowes and John Dixon. Pino Amenta, who was to cast me many more times over the years and become a good friend, directed along with George Miller, and John Dixon. I was cast as one of the key players – a member of the platoon of 'diggers.' It was all shot on a barren plain called Werribee, an hour outside of Melbourne. Unfortunately the schedule dictated that the winter in Europe would be shot during the Australian summer, and the European summer shots in the winter; this meant we wore great coats and scarves in the boiling heat, and froze in the winter with our sleeves rolled up.

  The Sommes, or was it Ypres?

  There were no major stars in the cast except Paul Hogan, who had been the comedic face of Tourism Australia for many years, but was still to become a big 'movie star' – Crocodile Dundee' was in the works but not filmed for a year.

  A nice guy for a change! Kaiser.

  Funnily enough, 'Hoges,' as everyone knew him, often mentioned how well the pre-production of 'Crocodile Dundee' was coming on, telling us there were still parcels of investment we could buy. Each time he cracked on about his damned movie, we'd all chuckle – after all, how often is investment in a film a great idea? Once in a lifetime?

  Of course we weren't to know that this was a lifetime opportunity. The screenplay was nominated for an Oscar. Every five grand invested made about a million. Were we ignorant jerks or what? Would we have leapt at the opportunity to invest in the

  adage is never to invest your own money – use someone else's unless it's a short film project and you only stand to lose a few grand.

  The casting of 'Anzacs' was interesting. As I mentioned before, when I was living in London I didn't normally have to audition if a reputable casting director recommended me. But things were very different in Australia where everyone tested for every role. They still do, unless you're Nicole Kidman, Naomi Watts, Hugh Jackman, Colin Friels, Judy Davis and a few others.

  I had a meeting with John Dixon – who presumably had been informed by Shirley Pearce, my agent, that I had grown up in Germany after the war and I spoke passable German. The first thing he asked me to do was read a passage of the dialogue with a German accent. I did so. "Too much," John said. I reduced the accent by fifty per cent. "Still too much." I reduced it to five per cent. "Nah, still too much," he said, rubbing his chin. Frustrated, I spoke the dialogue in my normal English and forgot the accent altogether. John's face brightened. "Beauty! That's perfect. I can just hear a hint of German coming though."

  So I became 'Kaiser,' and, apart from Hoges, the father figure of the platoon, the cast dominated by actors in their early twenties. All of us in the platoon bonded really well. We developed a camaraderie that mimicked what we would have felt for each other during the war. If Hoges was the father figure, then I was the uncle. Everyone knows Hoges, so I don't need to tell you he's a quintessential Aussie 'bloke.' As such, he saw me as a stitched-up, BBC Englishman. So he set about setting things straight by giving me what he referred to as 'Butch lessons' every day.

  An example of such a lesson was how to hold a cigarette properly.

  "You're holding it between you forefinger and middle finger like some sort of a faggot," he'd start. "Chuck that ready made smoke away and roll yer own. Right! Now pick it up by squeezin' it between your forefinger and thumb. Point them at the sky—that's important. Then suck on it like that's the only thing that givin' yer lungs air."

  The way he did it looked bloody good. Unlike most comedians, who are depressive by nature, he was very funny and good-natured, twenty-four seven. He kept us all in stitches, regardless of how cold or hot it was. He introduced me to 'Aussie-speak,' such as the way

  the mutton dagger.' He also told me a wonderful tale he'd heard as a young man: -

  "This bloke in the middle of Woop-Woop says to me, 'Yer know the definition of pain?'

  "Nah, tell me.'

  "He says 'Pain is when you're chocker-block up an emu's arse running across a salt flat and the bastard breaks his stride!'"

  Even remembering this crude story now makes me laugh and brings back great memories of our 'phoney war' in Werribee.

  With Paul 'Hoges' Hogan. 'Butch lessons.'

  Hoges also taught me how to add the word 'mate,' to any sentence imaginable, so I could become a real Oz.

  Example: ''nother beer, mate?'

  Despite the help of a master, I never mastered this. "I'd like the sirloin, please. Rare, mate," It never sounded quite right. Sounds better with the word 'mate' coming after the word 'sirloin.'

  Tim Dalton would never have stood for it, but I was given a

  small apartment in Melbourne that I didn't much care for. We all had similar apartments. Hoges was different – and justly so.

  The solution was simple. I had a word with the production manager and asked her how much the production was paying for my dreary apartment. Then I made a deal that if I went somewhere else they'd give me the same amount. This meant I could go anywhere providing I paid any difference – another tip for the aspiring actor. It's worth a few dollars extra to be snug.

  Of course once I was ensconced in Gordon Place, a lovely hotel in Chinatown, all my fellow actors wanted in, but it was the last one on offer. I stayed there for almost six months. 'Loverly,' as Eliza Doolittle might have said!

  Andrew Clarke played our Lieutenant. The perfect Aussie gentleman officer – but a very different kettle of fish from the English version.

  Andrew loved a punt, and when it came to the Caulfield Cup that year he advised me on which horse to bet on. And how much!

  "Everything you have, Shane. If you own a house, liquidate the asset and put that on too. I'm serious."

  I bet ten dollars and won around thirty bucks. Andrew was in heaven the day that horse passed the winning post.

  Then, come the Melbourne Cup a few weeks later he reminded me of his former advice. "Same horse. Same advice. It's going to win the double. The house and everything. Right!"

  "Right," I replied.

  I put twenty on this time and made another hundred odd dollars.

  But Andrew was Andrew; he had to put all he had on anything he thought would win. How was I to know he was on a winning streak then? At the end of the six-month shoot, I had squirreled away quite a sum from my per diems; I believe he'd gambled quite a lot of his away. He'd had his fun – mine was still to come.

  Jon Blake and Andrew were the young heroic spunks, the late and very beautiful Megan Williams was the love interest, Tony Bonner the reserved officer, and Jonathon Sweet, Peter Finlay, Jim

  Holt, hard man Patrick Ward, the young Chris Cummins, David Lynch as the hesitant officer, and Alex 'Pudden' Wilson as the big lug from the bush made up the oddball platoon. I was the older man, an Aussie of German heritage, which made my role interesting.

  As we were a platoon of twelve, the core cast were in nearly all the scenes together, and this caused a few problems, primarily because the three directors would start every rehearsal by studying the script and saying something like "Okay, guys, you're all in this barn, so come on in and sit wherever you like. Then we'll run the lines."

  That was the cue for a stampede, as all the young actors had been eyeing up the spots they wanted. These positions, in their opinion, were key. After narrowly avoiding being trampled three days in a row, I no longer joined in, and took whatever spot was left. Since Hoges wasn't about to indulge in this kind of race, I usually ended up close to him – which wasn't so bad.

  Another thing the younger platoon members would do would be to busy themselves doing all the 'stuff' soldiers do, such as cleaning r
ifles, loading magazines, taking machine guns to pieces, shaving, polishing webbing, whittling a stick – anything that might attract the interest of the audience. The actors with dialogue had to do their best to concentrate – as well as being heard.

  Every now and then I'd plead with director Pino Amenta to ask the up-stagers to cut the noise. He'd invariably help me out, though the result was always a few discontented actors staring at me.

  The platoon – without Blakey.

  I greatly miss that part of my life. It really was like being part of a very close-knit group of blokes who trusted each other with everything and anything. I'd never been 'one of the guys' before, but with these twelve people for the first and last time, I was.

  It wasn't easy to replicate the extreme conditions of Ypres on a desolate landscape outside of Melbourne, but the art department managed it really well. The trenches were dug and looked outstanding, huge piles of car tyres were set ablaze in various areas, so the entire forty acre set was plunged into semidarkness (they stopped doing this when someone, three months into the shoot, pointed out that car tyre smoke was carcinogenic) While the tyres were operative we would always hear a shriek just before a take. "Beef it up, Stewey!" Stewey was our second AD. Our lungs would be black at the end of the day. The trenches were flooded with water as and when necessary, and when a particular scene called for heavy rain the local fire brigade would be paid to drench us. This was undoubtedly the toughest acting I've ever done. Thank heavens for Hoges' 'Butch Lessons.'

  During the last two weeks of the shoot, Wendy finally arrived in Australia. All our belongings had been sold, given away, or shipped to Oz. To keep her dry during the autumn on set, I bought her an Australian icon, the Drizabone raincoat. She wore it to set everyday and most times she was up to her knees in mud. The platoon loved her – she'd chat with Hoges for hours. She didn't think an investment in 'Croc Dundee' was such a great idea either.!

  When the film was aired on television it was a huge hit and beat all previous Australian ratings records for drama. It was nominated for 'Best Drama' at the Logies – Australia's answer to the Emmys.

  'THE LIGHTHORSEMEN,' & 'NANCY WAKE.'

  The second film I made that year was a thriller called 'Cassandra,' written and directed by Colin Egglestone, a charming yet eccentric man who had already made quite a few smaller budget films in the eighties. I played a fashion photographer with a very strange and terrifying family.

  I think it went into production way before the script was ready, and

  so veered towards the ludicrous too often to be taken seriously, either by the critics or the public. It was one of the films I mentioned before, those that actors accept because they hope it might turn out better than it looked on the page. I don't think this made it – and I feel to blame as much as anyone else.

  Soon to be beheaded in 'Cassandra.'

  My foremost memory of 'Cassandra' was having my head sheered off by a madman with a shovel. That and the fact it was our beloved pidog, Coco's first film role. Though 'Cassandra' turned out to be less than first rate, 1986 was a great year for me financially. The film, 'The Lighthorsemen,' made up for having my head sheered from my torso. And the mini series, 'Nancy Wake,' was wonderful too.

  Of course most actors don't have the luxury to pick and choose – so I recommend that unless a film is patently ridiculous in concept, accept any leading role you're offered, make sure the price is right, then do your utmost to make your part, and the film as a whole, work.

  'The Lighthorsemen,' was produced and written by avid war historian Ian Jones, and directed by Simon Wincer, the director of 'Phar Lap,' and Emmy Award winning director of the American television series 'Lonesome Dove.' Together the producers assembled a great team, including Dean Semmler as DoP, a man who was to go on and win the Oscar for cinematography in 1991 for 'Dances with Wolves.' Heading up the young cast were Jon Blake, with whom I had worked in 'Anzacs,' Peter Phelps, Tony Bonner, Sigrid Thornton and, to hopefully boost the box office appeal 'Brideshead's' Anthony Andrews. Even then, producers still considered it prudent to have a 'real' English actor in the cast to lend the production a certain cerebral credibility. Ahem! I no longer qualified because most people in Oz now thought of me as a 'local' – so I could no longer be considered an 'import.' Instead, I was offered the German role, 'Captain Riechert.' The wonderfully robust and oddball actor Ralph Cotterill played the German General, who before the battle headed for the hills. I was very happy to play Reichert, as the film opens with an overly long but very showy title sequence of Reichert's arrival in Palestine. So effectively I opened the film. Not only was I the central figure at the start of the film, I was also one of the pivotal characters at the end as 'Reichert' attempts to blow up the wells in Beersheba and the Aussie hero, played by Jon Blake gallops in to stop him.

  The film centred on the Battle of Beersheba, also known as the Third Battle of Gaza. The British were intent on breaking the Ottoman lines that stretched from the Mediterranean to Gaza. The story centred on the historical fact that there was an almost complete lack of water available to the divisions of the Light Horse Brigade.

  The finale of the film was the legendary charge of the 4 Light Horse Brigade – the last of its kind ever! I'm not sure of the exact number of horses assembled in this production, but word had been sent out far and wide across Australia that the last great cavalry charge was to be filmed and the producers welcomed horses and riders, wherever they might come from. It proved to be a magnificent turnout – farmers and bushies arrived many days before the projected shoot with their swags, and a tent camp grew. On the day of the charge, there must have been two hundred horsemen lined up on the ridge. It was a magnificent sight.

  As the commander of Beersheba, I stood on the parapet of the fort and waited to see the horsemen show themselves. Imagine looking at a ridge a mile and a half away, and seeing just the ridge and the sky. Then seeing two hundred horsemen appear and halt on the skyline. It was breath-taking!

  History tells us that the horsemen were quite widely spaced, so when the Ottoman artillery opened fire with shrapnel it proved mostly ineffective. The horse artillery also quickly took out the Ottoman machine guns.

  The charge started out as a walk, developing into a trot, then a canter, and finally into a full speed gallop. It was magnificent to watch – and looks absolutely fantastic in the movie.

  One of the major flaws of the Ottoman defense was to underestimate the speed at which the horses kept on coming. The charge was so swift that before the Turks knew it, the Australians were under their guns. The horsemen leapt the trenches, dismounted in the rear and then engaged the Turks with bayonets. The Ottomans soon surrendered.

  Keeping up with the trades in the Flinders ranges.

  There were several cameras rolling for that charge, one of which was behind me – I was a kind of 'book end' on camera left with the ridge was between us. Simon Wincer stood beside our camera when he called the shot.

  I'd been standing in awe for a good minute, when I felt a hand tugging at my left sleeve. Fortunately I knew better than to look around. I had the sneaking suspicion that Simon needed more space, so he simply pulled me to one side. I tried to make it look as

  though I had chosen to move but I'm not sure it worked. If you ever see the film watch me shift several inches to one side.

  'The Lighthorsemen,' is to my mind a classic Australian film, and I recommend it.

  As Captain Reichert in the final scene in Simon Wincer's 'The Lighthorsemen.'

  I wasn't so much a part of the general camaraderie because I was playing a German and came and went many times during the shoot, but I had a wonderful time in the Flinders Ranges, where the film was shot.

  The actors who weren't scheduled to film for a number of days were usually sent home in the small plane that serviced all the hospital supplies in the area.