Always the Bad Guy
Page 24
Despite his faults, his children Natasha, Rosalind and Toby turned out to be such wonderfully balanced, loving, funny people. I remember Dermot as the loving brother I grew up with. He'd have done anything for me, yet couldn't help being a rogue when it came to chancing his arm.
Theo, Jessica, Harriet, Jonah, Livvy, Beatrice.
Toby and Donna's son William - no fiction is too strong for him!
Meanwhile back in Hollywood…
'VERONICA CLARE.'
In 1990 my old friend Jeffrey Bloom (from the 'Dorian Gray' days) had been putting together an American cable series he was to call 'Veronica Clare,' and unbeknown to me, was thinking of me as a regular.
Screen writer and director Jeffrey Bloom on the set of 'Blood Beach.'
Jeffrey had by then written eight Hollywood scripts, including '11 Harrowhouse,' which starred, Charles Grodin, Candice Bergen, James Mason, John Gielgud, as well as 'The Swashbuckler' starring Robert Shaw, Geneviève Bujold, Beau Bridges and a heap of other heavyweights. He'd also had a stellar television career, the highlights of which were several episodes of 'Columbo,' 'The Right of the People,' and 'Jealousy.'
Jeffrey proposed to produce as well as write his new series.
By this time I knew Jeffrey well and appreciated his nature was
to write the script, produce it, be cinematographer, operate the camera, and design and edit the film if at all possible. The cable channel, Lifetime, financed this essentially film noir series about a jazz club owner and gumshoe by the name of Veronica Clare; a gorgeous vamp who solves a variety of mysterious cases. It was all to be set in period Los Angeles.
Jeffrey told me he'd always had a vague thought to write something for me, and this had been the perfect opportunity. So he fashioned the role of Veronica Clare's business partner, 'Duke,' especially for an Englishman – me! I was touched. No one had ever written something for me before. Not only was I touched, I was also very excited. A lead in a continuing American series? This might be a break into American mainstream television – another way forward. Maybe I would make a name for myself in American TV after all. The decision to return to England after 'Dorian Gray' might not have killed that possibility. I few over to L.A. to celebrate the new series with Jeffrey and his wife Carole. But even the 'sure thing' has a habit of falling down.
Once Jeffrey had found his Veronica Clare, a very sophisticated actress, literally reeking of film noir, named Laura Robinson, and had contracted the other key regulars, Robert Sutton, Tony Plana and Robert Ruth, he organized a read through in front of the Lifetime execs so they could check out the main cast and listen to them perform.
By this time I had signed a lease on an apartment close to Studio City where Jeffrey had a lovely house, and I'd put down a deposit on a car – I'd always wanted a Mustang and had found a cheap one in a lot near Universal Studios.
The read through was short. I shook hands with the colourless Lifetime executives (I'm biased, of course) and then left Jeffrey to chat to them while I drove across town to the fashionable Beverly Hills restaurant Kate Mantolino's, where I'd booked a table for the three of us. It was my treat, to celebrate the final piece of the puzzle being clicked together.
I think I'd had way too many margaritas by the time Jeffery and Carole arrived. They were an hour late, and both looked decidedly glum. I wondered what on earth could possibly have happened in such a short space of time. I ordered yet more drinks and waited for their news.
Wunderbar! A sigh of relief.
Without me. Not so wunderbar.
How I felt mentally when I heard about Lifetime's decision!
Apparently the Lifetime execs had decided that the co-owner of the nightclub should be a Latino, rather than an Englishman.
"But I wrote it for an Englishman," Jeffrey had argued forcibly. "I wrote it for Shane."
However, the grey-faced Lifetime execs were in no mood to budge. Whose money was paying for the show? Theirs. Who made the final decisions? They did. It would be a Latino. End of story.
I'm not a producer, so I don't know all the ins and outs. People often tell me that those who supply the money like to flex their muscles every now and then. If they don't do this, then people will think they are weak. So they find something trivial such as firing an actor just to make a point. Robert Beltran took over the role and did a great job. They wanted their Latino and they got one. The apartment people were very obliging, as was the used car salesman.
"Hey, man. That's some kind of tough shit," he said and then shook my hand. "Pity. It's a sharp car!"
"Guess you get to keep the deposit?"
"Guess I do, Shane. Good luck."
I flew back home a few days later.
My advice here is simple – don't tell any of your friends at home you're starring in an American TV series until the director calls action and you've got a watertight contract. Even then there's probably something that can go awry.
A short while after I lost the role of 'Duke,' Jeffrey cast me as a very odd psychiatrist in an episode titled 'Phoebe.' I don't think Lifetime ever knew I was back on their show. Jeffrey has always been a very loyal friend.
Back in Oz, I was soon guest starring in an Aussie outback detective series called 'Bony', starring Cameron Daddo as the Detective, and the celebrated Aboriginal Australian by the name of Burnam Burnam as the tracker. I'd put all thoughts of an ongoing television career in America on the back burner, and I'm telling the truth when I say I wouldn't have been nearly as happy living in Los Angeles, making lots of money, as living in my adoptive home in Sydney, simply making ends meet. No contest!
I fell in love with Sydney the day I touched down there in 1981. It's the only city I've lived in where, at the end of a fabulous holiday overseas, I feel more excited just to be home. Sydney has everything; a vibrant culture of theatre and film, the Sydney Symphony Orchestra, The Sydney Theatre Company, numerous fringe theatre groups, a hundred galleries celebrating the work of gifted painters, the most beautiful harbour in the world, and wonderful Australian and New Zealand wine.
An apartment in Paris would be nice too.
Working in Europe.
'MISSION TOP SECRET' - A JUNKET PAR EXCELLENCE!
'Till There Was You,' didn't exactly reinvent my career – as I'd hoped. I'd had visions of the American box office receipts being
modest. So when Shirley, my agent, called me asking if I'd care to do a day's work on a modest pilot for a children's series, I wasn't exactly thrilled. Especially when I heard that the day's work was paying Equity minimum. I think Shirley registered the lack of enthusiasm in my reply, because she added, "Oh, come on. What are you doing next Thursday? You never know what these things may lead to."
The result of this day's work was a job lasting several years – the best acting junket of my life!
Produced by the Australian doyen of children's programs for many years, Roger Mirams, and directed by the late Howard Rubie, the pilot was the story of a group of kids who use an obsolete satellite to communicate with each other across the world via a computer network they called 'Centauri.'
When it was written in 1990, this futuristic concept was fantastically original. It was way before the explosion of Facebook, Twitter, Skype etc.
'Mission Top Secret' was one of four competing pilots made by Grundy, with ours winning out.
I don't remember too much of the story line of the pilot, which is a pity. But I do remember that a year or so later Shirley rang me with the news that Roger, as executive producer for the Grundy Organization, had been given the green light to mount a television series that would be filmed all over Europe!
There were initially six European partners. The idea was that each would have an episode filmed in their country. It was a masterly idea for raising a significant sum of money, and, as far as I know, each network had a separate contract with Grundy – some would furnish a portion of the budget, while others would take care of the filming costs in their particular country.
Yet ag
ain it goes to show that out of the least likely projects comes extreme joy. Two years after the small cheap-budget pilot I was to travel to Spain, Switzerland, Germany, England, France and Poland to film six two-hour episodes. Each would take about five weeks to film. And the following year, South Africa would be added to the list of locations.
As a point of interest, the role of 'Pamela' in the 'Mission Top Secret' pilot was played by Danielle Spencer, who was to marry
Russell Crowe in 1993, and as well as being a talented actress is also a wonderful musician.
In 1992 Roger finally signed contracts with five European television partners, and his children's series, 'Mission Top Secret' was ready to go into pre-production.
I looked at the schedule with amazed happiness. We'd start off filming for five weeks in Majorca – and that was just one segment of the trip!
The kids were the real stars, but there also had to be a 'good guy' and a 'bad guy.' Fred Parslow, an Australian actor of note who'd been around a long time by then, was the zany Professor. I was the criminal mastermind, Neville Savage.
It was the most perfect role. I could be amusing, wry, wicked, and dastardly at will. Because the children always foiled Savage's plans, I saw him as the cartoon character, 'Wile E. Coyote' while the kids were 'Road Runners.'
Savage in another disguise for Savage in Sydney!
Prior to leaving Australia, our line manager, Emmanuel Matsos, came to see me in order to give me my 'per diems.'
Generally per diems are just the barest amount to keep body and soul together. It might be ten dollars for a lunch and twenty for a dinner. I often wondered where Equity thought one could eat for this amount – McDonalds? On this occasion Emmanuel would hand me all my per diems for the next six months! All in the separate currencies.
Euros didn't start circulating until 2002, so I was handed various bundles of French francs, pesetas, deutsche marks, pounds, and Polish zlotys. Our meeting resembled criminals sharing out the loot after a bank heist – a surreal Monopoly moment! Six months of per diems felt very pleasant in a single wad. It didn't concern Emmanuel that Freddy Parslow and I would have to travel around Europe with a hat full of money – a walking target for muggers. Once I had signed for the cash – that was my problem.
It was hard saying good-bye to Coco and Wendy – oops, Wendy and Coco – because I knew I wouldn't see them for six months.
And while I was away, I determined to write a novel – one set in each country I'd be visiting.
My bizarre idea was to make up a story that depended entirely on where I was and what I saw. I'd simply see what came to mind; the ambiance of each city, the architecture, the nightclubs and restaurants etc. A recipe for a dreadful thriller, everyone told me – it'll have no central thread.' I hoped I could prove them wrong.
Before I left, I debated whether of not I should take a portable typewriter. Amazingly stupid. "I suggest you buy what's called a computer," Wendy advised me with a wry smile.Embarrassed by my ineptitude, I bought an Apple Mac.
Apart from Executive Producer, Roger Mirams, producer Noel Price, and line co-producer Emmanuel Matsos, we took two directors, Howard Rubie and Marcus Cole, the production designer Nick McCallum, a continuity lady, a tutor for the kids, and a costumier – the now famous Margot Wilson. All other members of the crew would be hired in the various countries.
Our first stop was Palma, on the island of Majorca.
Before I talk about the work, something far more important – my memory of the best nightclub I've ever visited.
The La lonja district of Palma is home to the best nightclub in the world. Abaco, a club owned by two Spanish princes. This exquisite seventeenth century Mallorcan manor house is filled with fabulous antique Spanish furniture; chaise longues, graceful embroided armchairs, period Persian rugs and tapestries. The cocktails are served in cut glass crystal balloon glasses. Back then, a fifteen-dollar cocktail would last an hour, it was so generous.
At precisely midnight every Friday, the music would stop and a cascade of fresh rose petals would stream from a hole in the ceiling of the great room. Everyone would cheer and literally bathe in the petals as they fluttered down – basket after basket after basket! When the cascade was over, the music would re-start, and the dancing continued.
So impressed was I by Abaco that I set the first chapter of 'The Webber Agenda' there.
That was how I continued my story – I made the action to suit the most enchanting and interesting places I chanced upon. So when I visited the cathedral of La Lonja, across from the Palace of Almudaina, in central Palma, and saw the giant wooden cross there,
I knew Sam Webber had to die beneath it, his last vision looking upwards at the crossbeam where it reads 'For those that died for King and country.'
After five glorious weeks of good food, wine and breathtaking scenery–especially the northern area called Pollensa – we boarded a plane and flew to Switzerland to start filming in Lucerne.
I loved Lake Lugano. The highly polished antique wooden speedboats are glorious – they look brand new yet were probably built in the 1930's.
We had the final weekend in Switzerland free, so I asked Noel if I could take the Post Bus from in Lugano to St. Moritz for the weekend. He gave me the green light, making it very clear that I would be totally irresponsible if I were even to think of skiing. As the bus pulled out onto the road and headed for skiing heaven, I had no intention of skiing. But temptation was to prove far too much. I arrived in the Swiss ski resort just before lunch and checked into a pension. I immediately headed for the cable car that would take me to where I'd been told there was a great restaurant. But as I tucked into my wurstl, rosti, and sauerkraut on the café balcony at over three thousand feet, drenched in the hot sun, I watched the happy skiers swoosh past down the mountain. I was weak at the knees. I could not help myself.
An hour later I was skiing. As I had no ski clothes with me, I wore denim jeans, an open-necked shirt and a leather jacket. It was one of those perfect ski days, and although I knew Noel would be horrified by my lack of judgment if he ever found out, I placed my safety in the hands of Saint Christopher and Saint Jude, and my weight on the downhill ski.
In my opinion St Moritz is a rich man's resort – most of the lovely old restaurants in the town cost a fortune. But it is just possible to eat reasonably cheaply there. I did. Very well indeed.
One more divine day and I was back on the Swiss Post bus, driven at speeds that would have scared Fangio. Swiss bus drivers just hurtle into tunnels after sounding their horn very loudly for eight seconds. It's up to everyone else to get out of the way. Within a few hours I was back in Lugano, telling Noel how much I wished I could have skied. A white lie at this point hurt no one.
Next day, after a breakfast of Swiss pastries and hot
Hamburg. How I managed to struggle through that arduous week I just don't know!
NOTE: Attention all producers! I can now be trusted not to ski if I am on a film shoot and near a ski field. (Exclusions apply: Zermatt, Lech, Val d'Isere, Kitzbuehel, Obergurgl, Davos, Gstaad etc etc…)
I happen to love Germany; I suppose it's because I lived there as a child for so many years. Hamburg is not the prettiest city in Germany but it's certainly one of the most fun. It has a vibrancy that I love – the 'Dom' fun fair, jazz clubs, good German food and great beer.
We stayed in a hotel called the Hotel Bellmoor. It occupied the fifth floor of a vast nineteenth century building. The rooms were curiously varied in size. For one week I had a room that looked more like a ballroom, but because it was booked the second week, I was moved to what the manager insisted was a 'very similar room, Herr Briant.' It turned out that in the very 'similar room' I could almost touch both sides of the room with outstretched arms.
The best thing about the Bellmoor was the elderly woman who served breakfast. She looked like the Witch of Endor. She never smiled. Every morning she'd wait for us to seat ourselves in the breakfast room before bringing each of us a boiled
egg, and a dish of cold meats. She never spoke, even when I tried to engage her in conversation in my childish German – she simply looked me in the eye as if that was confirmation she had heard me speak.