Acting in Film

by Michael Caine

  Sometimes a director will insist on a lot of takes for reasons that have little to do with perfecting craft. There's a famous story that Jack Hawkins tells about the filming of Ben Hur. He and Stephen Boyd were playing a scene, and the director, Willie Wyler, kept saying:

  "No, do it again."

  The actors said, "What should we do differently?"

  Wyler would say, "I don't know. Just do it again."

  Two days later, when they were on take 150, Wyler finally said:

  "Print it."

  Jack blew his top. "That's the same way we've been doing it for the last hundred takes!" he said.

  And Wyler said, "I know, but the next set wasn't ready yet."

  Some directors are famous bullies. But a bully needs a victim, and you have to make it clear that you're not the victim type. Before I started work on Hurry Sundown, I knew Otto Preminger's reputation for picking on people. So the moment I met him I said:

  "You mustn't shout at me."

  Taken aback, he said, "Why do you think I would?"

  Calmly, I said, "Friends of mine worked with you on Saint Joan, and they said you shouted."

  He said, "You shouldn't make friends with bad actors. I only shout at bad actors."

  He never shouted at me because I'd raised the issue straight away. And I did learn from him how to do a long take in a movie-seven minutes long.

  HANNAH AND HER SISTERS

  Directed by WoodyAllen. Orion, 1985.

  Academy Award-Michael &ine-Best Supporting Actor

  Pictured with Mia Farrow.

  Don't think there aren't gentle directors, though. Carol Reed carried tact so far that in order to save an actor's ego he'd disguise the reason he said, "Cut." Carol always carried a nail or coin in his hand, and when he had to stop a scene because it wasn't going well or because the actor had blown his lines, Carol would drop the nail on the floor and say, "Cut. We must have quiet, you know. Now, since we've stopped anyway, would you mind doing it again?"

  Some directors will ask you to improvise during a take, an impromptu approach that can strike panic into performers who are afraid of the slightest alteration from the working plan, the merest departure from the script. But script changes are routinely made at the last minute simply because the writer just hasn't allowed for the physical reality of the shoot. You've got to be flexible. Directors do a massive amount of planning and homework, and if after all that your director decides to throw it all out of the window and shoot spontaneously, then you must follow his lead. You aren't working on an assembly line. A stage set is more like a trampoline. Even with John Huston's meticulously prepared script of The Man Who Would Be King, we were expected to improvise. I remember one scene where I was drilling recruits. Now these were all Arabs who didn't understand a word of English. So I really drilled them, making it all up as I went along. There was one spectacular incompetent in the front row, which gave me the opportunity for a very funny scene. It couldn't have happened if I had been told to stick to the script.

  Movie scripts are not Holy Writ. As if to prove its fallibility, the director, on the first day on the set of The Ipcress File, put the script on the floor, set fire to it, and said, "That's what I think of that." We all stood there looking at each other. I was a bit baffled. "What are we going to shoot?" I said. In the end, the director used my copy. But I was allowed to improvise a lot. My favorite scene was a sequence in which I was shopping in the supermarket while talking to the "M" character, the secret service boss. The director tossed us a few guidelines and off we went-three minutes of ad-libbed dialogue.

  1979 Warner Bros Inc.

  BEYOND THE POSEIDON ADVENTURE

  Directed by Irwin Allen. Warner Brothers, 1979.

  Pictured with Karl Malden.

  Sometimes you wind up initiating changes yourself, without the director's urging. In A Bridge Too Par, I had the luck to be standing next to the man I was actually playing, Lieutenant Colonel Joe Vandeleur, just before I had to order a column of tanks and armored cars into battle. I had always thought that my scripted line, "Forward, go, charge," didn't have an authentic ring, so I asked him what he actually said on the day of the battle. He said, "I just said quietly into the microphone, `Well, get a move on, then."' And that's the line I spoke. I felt much more secure as the actor knowing that the character's line had been tested in battle.

  Improvisation can work extremely well if the atmosphere is relaxed and you are in tune with your character. Of course, you shouldn't get creative with the script unless you know you can really improve on what's already there on the page. I did a picture called California Suite, which was written by the great American comedy writer Neil Simon. He visited the set the first day, came over to Maggie Smith and me and said, "Listen, if you think of anything funny, you know, ad libs, put 'em in. But tell me what they are first. And they better be funnier than what I've written." We thought and we thought. Our poetic license hung heavy on our conscience. And needless to say, we never ad-libbed a word.

  Even if the director doesn't edit the film himself, he certainly has the final say over the final cut. The editing can alter the pacing and rhythms of performance-in fact that's what it's for. It not only orchestrates line delivery, it determines how you are emphasized; whether you are in close-up or part of a group. Editing can shape a lot of your performance, and a career can be made or lost by editing. The worst fate, of course, is to be cut out altogether, unless your performance was so bad you're lucky no one will ever see it. Yet even a very good performance may have to go if it adds superfluous elements to a film where they're looking for time cuts. On the other hand, a mediocre performance can be given a shot in the arm by skilled editing-the pacing can be finessed and clumsy moments can be contracted or eliminated. Cutting away to a strong reaction shot on your slightly misplayed line can give the impression that you delivered it far more effectively than you actually did.

  I feel about editors the way I do about directors: they know their jobs. You and I are betting that their decisions are right for the film as a whole and that ultimately what's good for the movie is good for us. Recently I dubbed a film called Without a Clue and had the chance to see the edited version. There had been a sword fight in the picture, and when I saw the fight on the screen, I said, "You've cut out the funniest moment in the whole film-a slow reaction I did during the fight." The editor said, "I know. You're right. It would have been the funniest moment in the film, but that reaction took five seconds. The scene is at the end of the film, when all the momentum should be gathering. We can't afford to take that much time out of the action however wonderful that isolated moment is. You can't slow things down at the end of a comedy." He ran the sword fight back to show me where my reaction would have been, and he was right. I was sorry to lose that moment, but clearly it had to go. Editors know their business and, honestly, I've never once thought, "Well, if they'd left that moment in the film, I'd have got an Oscar."

  But regardless of how good the editing is, no one relies on the editing room to get them out of trouble. Directors want to get it right on the floor. There's a story about George Cukor, who was relentless about getting it right, and Jack Lemmon. Jack had come to Hollywood from the Broadway theatre and George was directing him in his first film role. Jack kept doing a scene, and George kept saying, "Cut. Less, Jack, less." And Jack would do it again.

  CALIFORNIA SUITE

  Directed by Herbert Ross. Columbia, 1978.

  Pictured with Maggie Smith.

  George: "Cut. Less, Jack, less."

  And Jack would do it again.

  George: "Cut. Less, Jack, less."

  Jack finally said, "If I do any less, I'll be doing nothing."

  George: "Now you've got it!"

  ®1968 Blazer Films, Inc. All this reserved.

  THE MAGUS

  Directed by Guy Green. 20th Century-Fox, 1968.

  Pictured with Candice Bergen.

  On

  Being

  A

  Starr />
  "To be a movie star, you have to invent yourself."

  Movie stardom is not necessary. From my own experience, not a lot of it is recommended. But to be a good movie actor is quite a trip, and one I highly recommend that you take.

  I try to remember what it was like to be the new boy. I was on a picture once as a one-day actor; the director was explaining what he wanted me to do, when the star, who definitely was short, walked over to us. He came over, looked me in my chest, and said: "You're fired, kid." "What?" said the director. The actor said, "He's fired. Go and collect your money, kid, and go home." He wasn't about to have anyone in the film taller than he. That old star power still exists and, unfortunately, can still be abused.

  To be a movie star, you have to invent yourself. I was a Cockney boy and obviously didn't fit anybody's idea of what an actor was supposed to be, so I decided to put together elements that added up to a memorable package. I got myself seen around the "in" spots, wearing glasses and smoking a cigar. I became known as "that guy who wears glasses and smokes a cigar." Then people began to say, "Ile plays working-class parts." Suddenly I was "that working-class actor who wears glasses and smokes a cigar." Then word spread that I was quite amenable, so I became "that easy-to-work-with working-class actor who wears glasses and smokes a cigar." It was the truth, but I had quite consciously assembled that truth so nobody could miss it. I did for myself what the major studios used to do for their contract actors. I created an image. Image can be true, false, or in between, but until you have one, for the world of the movies you don't exist.

  In fact, I tried to conduct my whole career the way the big studios used to handle their actors. I did as many films a year as I could, to get the experience. If you sit around waiting for "the big one," when that opportunity finally comes along, you won't be ready for it. You won't have all that small time experience that adds up to big time ability. Success, it may surprise some to hear, comes from doing, not negotiating, not counting lines, not weighing credits. Do it, do it, don't wait for it. Some very good actors sit out their entire lives while waiting for the right part. Make every part the one you've been waiting for. Learn the confidence you can only gain under fire. The confidence lends relaxation. Relaxation opens all your resources for the demands of your role. And when the big role does come along you'll need all 100 percent of what you've got to give. Don't be caught 25 percent short; don't be caught one percent short. Be completely available to whatever challenge comes your way, by being totally in charge of your craft, your material, yourself.

  A star has certain obligations. The money for a film is often raised on his name and the expectation of his continuing and reliable presence. Any scene he's in, he's going to be responsible for. This does not mean that he wants to hog his scene. People have come up to me on a set and said, "Did you see that character actor steal that scene off you yesterday?" And I'll say, "Thank God for that. At least that's five minutes I'm not responsible for."

  THE ISLAND

  Directed by Michael Ritchie. Universal, 1980.

  Obligations continue off the set, too, with interviews, public appearances, promotions. I do all that because it's part of the job. Acting means communication. If no one knows the picture is being released, you've failed to communicate. So the same standards of reliability, good humor, and punctuality are required for the off-the-set duties. Fan mail is important, too (and you can usually write off the expenses). I don't personally answer every letter because that would be impossible. But I do sign every photograph-I don't have a secretary who fakes my signature. Now there are some stars who refuse, temperamentally, to do any off-the-set promoting, but the only actors who get away with that get so much publicity for not cooperating that the production company is probably just as happy that they won't.

  Temperament usually comes from insecurity. Real stars aren't insecure. They say what they want, and they usually get it. I call the temperamental ones "almost" people: they can almost act, they almost know their lines, they are almost on time, they are almost stars.

  Half my energies as a leading man in a picture go into keeping the tensions down. You set the tone on the set. And when you're the leading man, you're always the one who gets sent to get the leading lady out of the dressing room if she won't come. Everyone says, "I can't get her out-Michael, you go and get her out." She's probably still in there because her hair's not right, or she's not too keen on the director. Very few leading ladies have to get the leading man out of the dressing room.

  I always try to have a good relationship with my leading lady. But that's it. You must never get emotionally involved with her. It weakens you, and it weakens the movie. If you're going to be a film star you have to be made of a certain kind of steel.

  I choose a script because the part is good for me and because it's different from the last role I did. I look for an acting challenge. But as I get older, I'm also a lot more interested in the circumstances under which a film will be shot. Will it be a little shoestring picture that will have us sitting in mud huts in Tanzania? Or are we going to be put up in the George V in Paris? I never used to look at that side of making a film. I once spent twenty-six weeks in a Philippine jungle which, looking back, could just as well have been the tropical garden at Kew, for all the difference it made to the picture. In the jungle, you can't see the sky, you can't see the scenery. All you can see is jungle. We lived for twenty-six weeks in an unfinished brothel. The rooms were expected to be used for twenty minutes at a time and were furnished accordingly. Twenty-six weeks in rooms like that. And there wasn't a girl in any of them. After that experience, I did The Magus without ever reading the script because the weather in England is lousy in January and I'd get a few weeks in the South of France out it. That choice was a bit of a mistake on some grounds, but in terms of climate, I had a winner. I close a script quickly if it starts, "Alaska: our hero is stumbling through a blizzard ... "

  It's much harder to act in a bad film than in a good one. A terrible script makes for very difficult acting. Yet you can win an Academy Award for some of the easiest acting of your career, made possible by a brilliant script. There ought to be an award for triumphing over the odds. But nothing is dead certain; you are always taking a risk. On the face of it, Sleuth (formerly a very successful play), starring Laurence Olivier and myself, looked promising; but it was a two-handed picture, and no film with just two actors had ever made money-that is, until Sleuth was released.

  THE SWARM

  Directed by Irwin Allen. AIP/Warner Brothers, 1978.

  Pictured with Henry Fonda.

  When I analyze myself as a screen actor, I think part of my appeal is that I am not an obvious winner. Put Sean Connery or Charles Bronson up there and you know they are going to win. But I have the air of a loser and I've often played losers in pictures. I spent a large part of my life being a loser, which I think adds an interesting dimension to my personality. It's important to understand what you convey. And you mustn't overlook or ignore the changes that occur. I was sent a script when I was on the cusp of middle age and I sent it back, saying the part wasn't big enough. They rang me up and said, "We don't want you to play the romantic juvenile; we were thinking of you as the father." Actually I enjoy getting older. It's much easier for actors than actresses. All the best roles for an actor of my type are the mature ones. I'm growing up and the roles are growing up with me, like they did for George C. Scott and Lee Marvin. So my middle years are turning out to he my best because I'm getting meatier parts. I'm quite glad to have got through the other lot.

  I lollywood is divided up socially into the A Team, the B Team, the C Team, and the Fun Team. The A Team is just a handful: Redford, Eastwood, Stallone, and a few studio heads. I don't belong in there. Those people don't mix with the B Team or the C Team for the simple reason that they don't want to be asked for jobs. But they do mix with the Fun Team. I'm in the Fun Team. I get invited to dinner because I'm reasonably amusing, I have an exceptionally beautiful and intelligent wife, and I
have the sense not to ask for jobs. But if I was in the B Team, which I would be if I weren't in the Fun Team, I wouldn't be invited.

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  BULLSEYE!

  Directed by Michael Winner. 21st Century Productions, 1990.

  Pictured with Roger Moon.

  Other stars can be useful funds of advice. Peter Finch told me it took him thirty years to find out that you mustn't listen to anybody's opinion at lunch. I endorse that. Eddy Robinson, who was a close friend of mine, used to advise me to buy paintings. When he died, his collection was worth millions. And Peter O'Toole told me not to play small parts, even in vehicles that would get a lot of exposure, because that would make me a small-part actor. Ile advised me to play leading parts anywhere-in rubbishy scripts, if need be-but play leading parts.

  I'm not competitive. I don't think of stardom or acting as a sort of competition. Montgomery Clift once said that jealousy of another actor was the highest compliment you could pay him. Clift thought it was healthy to loathe another actor for his performance because it was like saying, "I wish I'd done that." I don't advise actors to see things that way. It's self-destructive. If you're competitive and you're not always on a winning streak, you'll get bitter. Actually, I'm really quite vain about the whole problem because I figure there is no competition-I am what I am, and either I am needed as that or I'm not suitable anyway.