by Shane Briant
There were two leads in Peter Weir's 'Gallipoli,' Mark and Mel Gibson. For reasons I have never quite understood it was Mel Gibson that rocketed to stardom, thanks to his next film Mad Max.' The luck of the draw to be cast in an iconic film, I suppose. I think Mark's performance in 'Galipoli' was much more sensitive and interesting than Mel's. That's showbiz, I suppose.
It was about the time I made 'G.P.' that another very curious thing happened. I was about to head to the beach with my dog Coco, a couple of chili salami sandwiches, pickles, a bottle of
Williams. He had a proposition – would I host a literary lunch at the Hilton Hotel.
"Did someone actually ask for me?" That was the first thing I asked.
It amazes me now that I didn't first ask who was the author I was to introduce, but there we are… vanity!
"Well, you sort of came up in the conversation, so it's an offer."
"Because I write great thrillers, or because I have a film profile?" I asked.
"Because we all thought you had Noel Coward's 'talent to amuse'," he replied, and then added wryly, "On a smaller scale."
"So who is the guest of honour?"
"Sir Peter Ustinov," came the reply.
I was stunned. It was like being asked to introduce Vladimir Ashkenazy at the Wigmore Hall by giving an impromptu performance of chopsticks.
"Come on, Shane," Tony continued, cutting into the silence. "It'll be great fun, and you've got plenty of time to think up a short speech."
I agreed, and my pulse doubled for ten hours.
Eventually the day came. There were approximately four hundred and eighty people seated, waiting for lunch to begin. Wendy and I were introduced to Sir Peter who was in a very jolly mood but looked a trifle frail. The lunch was delicious, and Wendy very kindly chatted to Peter throughout so I could concentrate on my short speech. Eventually I bit the bullet and stood. I looked around my table and saw all the faces; publishers, media people, publicists. Sir Peter was smiling in a very encouraging way – maybe he could smell my fear. Anyway, I introduced the author and told a few stories. I even made a few jokes and people actually laughed. When I sat, Peter stood and winked at me. As he mounted the rostrum he whispered, "Not bad." Peter then went on to make the funniest speech I've heard, rivaling Mel Brooks' reminiscences of the Bronx.
Before he left, he gave me a copy of the book he was promoting
another." I treasure this book.
WARNER BROTHERS & MY FIRST NOVEL PUBLISHED.
The eighties saw the birth of the Warner Brothers studios on the Gold Coast in Australia. And with the studios came a man by the name of Jeffrey M. Hayes. Born in Los Angeles, he came to Australia during the boom years and set up shop at Warner Brothers. I'm personally delighted he did so because I appeared in many of the television series he produced on the Gold Coast to sell in America, as well as all over the world. He'd been an associate producer of 'Vegas,' producer of 'T.J. Hooker' starring William Shatner, and executive producer of the 'Mission Impossible' series of 1988 and 1989.
Sometime in 1993 I was cast as the bad guy in an episode of a new series that didn't really stand the test of time but I thought was passably good, called 'Time Trax.'
It starred American Dale Midkiff and Australia's Elizabeth Alexander. The log-line? 'A cop from the future is sent back to contemporary times to track down fugitives hiding in the past.' I thought at the time, and still do, that it was a premise that should have gone places, but there were only four episodes produced.
All I remember of the episode titled 'Optic Nerve' was that I had to wear some very painful hard contact lenses.
'Optic nerve.' Definitely a bad guy.
Nowadays there are more modern contact lenses – but these thick yellow lenses were very painful to wear for long periods, I can tell you. But since life as an actor is usually so comfortable, I tend not to complain on the odd occasions where I'm too hot, too cold or uncomfortable. I was to discover true discomfort a few years later when I played the brain-sucking beast, 'Karvock,' in the series 'Farscape,' but we'll come to that later.
It was about this time, way before I met Peter Ustinov, that Tony, my literary agent, rang with the news that he had sold my first novel to Harper Collins Australia. I was over the moon. My father had written plays, novels, and biographies – now I was to have my first novel published too. And to have sold it to Harper Collins was interesting because, before securing Tony Williams as my agent, I had foolishly sent the manuscript of 'The Webber Agenda' to Harper Collins personally. Not a good idea – always secure an agent first. Never send out unsolicited manuscripts, they will always come back with a note from someone in the basement thanking you for thinking of them.
I felt that someone deep within the bowels of Harper Collins Australia had possibly read, or maybe speed-read, my manuscript a month prior to Tony suggesting to the publisher at Harper Collins that my thriller was highly commercial. I didn't tell either Tony or my publisher that it had been knocked back months before. That would not have been the smartest move.
I'd wanted the title of the book to be 'Savage Arena,' but those who knew a thing or two at Harper Collins told me that the word 'Savage' never sold well. I was tempted to argue the toss. What about Christopher Hampton's 'Savages,' Robert B. Parker's 'A Savage Place,' 'The Savage Garden,' by Mark Mills? People in publishing think they know everything, yet everyone in Australia passed on J.K.Rowling apart from Bloomsbury so exactly how smart are they?
"Think of a title that tells us it's an espionage novel," I was told. "Like all of Robert Ludlum's novels." So I offered up 'The Webber Agenda' and they liked it. Boring, but at that time my aim was to please.
After eight months of editing, I geared up for the book launch of 'The Webber Agenda.' I asked Australia's foremost film critic, 'Mr. Movies' Bill Collins if he would be the speaker on the day and he said he'd be delighted to take part.
The launch took the form of a lunch at the lovely old Tilbury Hotel in Sydney's Woolloomooloo. Harper Collins picked up the tab and everyone said a lot of nice things about the book. I invited all my close friends and it was a great day.
I followed this launch with another up on Pittwater where we lived. It took place at what was then 'Carmel's Boatshed' café and was hosted by my friend and Chanenel Seven national news anchor Ann Sanders. She gave an inspired speech.
One of the most picturesque spots anywhere in Australia, the 'Boatshed' is located on the Pittwater side of Palm Beach. The owner at that time was my very dear friend Carmel Walton. I organized a coupe de theatre involving a seaplane diving the boatshed, and an actor pretending to be a gangster racing towards a getaway speedboat – all with a soundtrack of sirens and machine gun fire to match. Carmel's son Russell and his former water police pals came up with some wonderful ideas. Everyone dressed in costume. Russell, and his pal 'Friendly' were policemen, of course. Ken Tarrant was a sleepy Mexican, Egle Tarrant was a dancer, and Egle's daughter Debbie Tarrant looked fantastic as a younger Mexican dancer. Even Roger Mirams and his wife Irene sailed across from Mackerel Beach dressed as pirates. The food, care of Carmel, Gaynor Jones and Pat Dunphy was magnificent. I paid for the drinks. Lots of tequila.
New Zealand films & TV.
ALMOST A WATERY GRAVE, 'CONSTANCE,' and 'shaker
run.'
When we returned from the second European 'Mission Top Secret' tour, we had to shoot all the scenes that were supposed to look like Africa but were in fact going to be shot in New Zealand.
The two most memorable escapades in 'Kiwiland' filming extra material for Mission Top Secret' both involved water, and both were very uncomfortable.
In the South African 'Treasure at Elephant Ridge' episode, Neville Savage tries to escape with a huge gem attached to a spear, but as ever is foiled by the 'Centauri' kids. In trying to evade the children he boards a small dinghy and sets off down a raging river in Africa. But because the rivers in South Africa had not been 'raging' when we were there, it was decided to film those scenes i
n the Shotover River near Queenstown.
It's on the Shotover that one can experience the 'Ultimate Jet Boat Experience.'
The day we filmed on the river, it was really 'raging'! The week before a Japanese tourist had been drowned in a nasty accident on the river. However, I was assured, as actors inevitably always are, that 'all would be well.'
The scene called for Bill Flynn and me to negotiate the rapids of the Shotover River in an inflatable dinghy that supposedly had a broken outboard engine. Bill is the first to bail out as he sees the Niagara Falls approaching, while Savage, stubborn as ever, refuses to give up his jewel. As he screams invective at the kids, Savage accidentally falls backwards into the torrent and we see him carried down the boiling river until he disappears over the Niagara Falls.
As this certainly qualified as a stunt, a discussion was held, at which I was present, to determine the safety measures. I was to wear a wet suit under my shirt, a double-breasted business suit and Savage's signature heavy black brogues.
As the inflatable passes on the right hand of the camera, Savage stands, loses his balance and plunges backwards into the rapids. Then he's supposed to flail around, gasping in the torrent as he's taken down river, at what I was informed was then running at approximately twelve knots. There were to be two jet boats in the water ready to fish me out the moment I passed the camera stationed fifty feet down river on the opposite bank.
It's tempting to suggest you're a 'good bloke,' unafraid to do a stunt or two. What I had to do was pretend I wasn't scared.
When it came to the shot, my heart was pounding so hard I was in two minds if I should call it off. However, it was far too late to go back on my word, so when I heard a distant call of 'Action!' and one of the assistants pushed my inflatable out into the centre of the raging river, I bit the bullet and hoped for the best.
I clearly remember sailing past the first camera and just managing to stand up in the boat to shout invective at the Centauri kids. Then I launched myself backwards and immediately plunged several feet below the ice-cold water's surface.
I came up for air and found no difficulty in 'gasping and flailing.' But the power and speed of the Shotover River took me by surprise, even though I'd been staring at it all morning. I'm here to tell you, it's a very different thing when you're in a mini tsunami.
It seemed like five minutes, but I am assured I was picked up within twenty-five seconds by a safety boat. I looked back at the second camera, where Colin was waving at me delightedly. Why had I not been picked up where I was told – fifty feet back? Colin explained later. "It was such great footage. You seemed to be in control, so I let you run a bit," he said with no hint of an apology.
The footage looks great, but I choke every time I see it. I wasn't in danger, but I most certainly wasn't 'in control.'
It didn't matter – it was in the can.
The other incident involving water was at Milford Sound, a fjord in the south west of the South Island. Rudyard Kipling called it the eighth Wonder of the World, with sheer rock faces rising nearly four thousand feet on either side.
As you can imagine, this majestic lake is massively deep and also cruelly cold. And what was Neville Savage to do in this scene? He was to emerge from the icy waters of Milford Sound, dressed as ever in his black suit, shirt and brogues, pull a live fish from an inside pocket and toss it casually over his shoulder. The only problem was the extreme cold.
They gave me a wet suit; then I dressed as usual. When the camera was ready, I was handed a fish – sadly it was dead, so I couldn't 'accidentally' release it. I was asked to place it inside my jacket and walk as slowly as possible into the water to avoid making too many ripples – the water had to be absolutely flat before my head immerged.
When only my nose and eyes were above the water, I was given the thumbs up and crouched down, stayed there for several seconds then, very slowly, walked out, casually tossing the fish over my shoulder.
It turned out to be a great scene, as. Very funny, I think. But boy, was I frozen that day.
While we were in New Zealand we also shot the bulk of a new episode commissioned by a Japanese television company. My sidekick in this story was a Japanese born Australian actor called Kazuhiro Muroyama. His character was 'Tagahashi of the Seven Secrets.' Think 'Kato' in the 'Pink Panther' movies. My favourite line was "Tagahashi of the Seven Secrets, do you know what the eighth secret is?" He looks at me blankly. "You are an idiot," I answer. Very obvious, but it worked. It's all in the delivery, they say. This was dry as parchment.
I happen to love minimalist acting. Make one gesture that means something, rather than five that mean nothing. Shoot one glance that impresses, rather than stare at your fellow actor throughout a scene. If it's funny keep it dead pan and if you want to scare people never shout. Whisper when people think you're going to shout. Shout when the audience least expects it. Never be predictable.
I love performances where you have no idea quite what the actor is going to do next. Smile just before you do something quite violent. And if you are a pitiless killer, always find time for a quiet moment where you can smile – just the smallest one. It's the element of surprise that's exciting; the not knowing what's going to happen. That's what makes a performance dangerous.
In the New Zealand episode with me was my old friend Barry Quin whom I'd worked with on 'Darlings of the Gods.' Unlike me, I think he's a better 'Good Guy,' because that's exactly what he is!
Oddly enough, with the exception of an episode of the television cop show 'Special Squad,' the first film I was involved with in Australasia was one shot in New Zealand called 'Constance.'
Directed by an up-and-coming wunderkind by the name of Bruce Morrison, and written by Bruce and a very funny man by the name of Jonathan Hardy, it was a wonderfully retro look at life in New Zealand just after the Second World War.
Donna Rees played a bored, movie-loving schoolteacher who begins to fantasize that she's a Hollywood star – with tragic consequences. I was the catalyst who shakes her to the core – a famous photographer that ultimately rapes her and changes her life.
I've made some silly films in my time – most actors have to, to survive. This wasn't one of them. It was well written and intelligent, and Donna was a formidable actress with just the right period look.
If you're going to write a frank autobiography you have to include the bad with the good, otherwise people will think you're simply blowing your own trumpet. Bearing that sentiment in mind, I'll now offer a cautionary tale.
During the third week of the shoot, we were filming a garden party scene. Lots of extras – maybe a hundred – were gathered on the lawns of the Governor General's residence in Auckland.
On the N.Z Governor-General's lawn. 'Constance.'
This was clearly somewhere to behave oneself. Unfortunately for me, I had partied far too hard the night before, something one should never do during a shoot – though we all know the acting fraternity is riddled with 'piss-pots.' The result was that I had the mother and father of a hangover during the afternoon tea party, which started at eight in the morning. I think the only thing that might have saved me that day was a hair of the dog, but Eddie Knight was the other side of the world. So I had to grin and bear it. I was dressed in a white linen suit. Make-up had done their best to
I was going to be violently sick. It all happened so quickly that I couldn't even make it to a flowerbed. The Governor General of New Zealand and his wife had come out to see what filming was like and were seated about fifty feet from where I was standing.
I threw up like a cannon. Three times.
I managed to avoid soiling my white suit, but that wasn't the point – I had barfed in front of the Governor General, his wife, a hundred extras and the entire crew.
My advice is simple. Don't get pissed during a shoot – even after hours. It will come back to haunt you.
The film won the premier award at the Taormina Film Festival in Sicily the following year, and it was an official entry
at Cannes. Donna was asked if she'd attend, but apparently was not a believer in film festivals and awards. Another piece of advice – take the opportunities when you can.