Love, Sweat and Tears
Page 17
Tad and Craig both knew lots of the same characters from their parents’ generation and the legends from each other’s countries. For example, John Brady—Australia’s best-ever rope spinner and also an awesome whip-cracker, sharpshooter and trick rider—had worked with both their fathers on different shows. There was lots of crossover.
I’ve always loved Wendy and Tad, and I was stoked that they embraced Craig like one of their own. Craig was impressed at what great people they were too.
Despite all of Craig’s previous travelling, he had never been to Las Vegas. So, after the Fort Worth show finished, we decided to hire a car and go and see some shows. We didn’t book any accommodation; we just turned up. We didn’t want to spend too much money either: I said to Craig that I didn’t care about luxury—as long as there were clean sheets and a clean toilet I’d be happy. When you are uncertain when your next job is coming you need to be careful with money.
When we arrived in Las Vegas we found this dive of a place that we will call the Joyous Inn. It was an older-style two-storey motel complex, painted pink, and it was surrounded by vacant land, almost as though someone had bought all of the land around it and was waiting for the owners to sell out so they could develop the block.
I ran into reception to see if I could look at a room. There was an undesirable-looking woman behind the counter and some trampy man standing there eyeballing me in a dirty trench coat. The place smelled of mould and cigarette smoke. But I knew we couldn’t afford to be fussy.
I asked first if they had any vacancies (naturally they did) and then if I could have a look at a room. The woman took me upstairs and opened a door. I didn’t want to touch anything inside—there was a mirror on the ceiling and it was so sleazy. But I pulled back the sheets and, yep—clean. I went into the bathroom and looked at the toilet; both the toilet and shower were old but clean. For twenty-one dollars per night we decided to stay, but we felt like we’d walked straight onto the set of a B-grade movie.
That night we went to see some shows and then wandered through the casinos sightseeing, as you do in Vegas. We arrived back at the motel in the early hours of the morning, and went to bed.
At some ungodly hour there was a knock at the door. It wasn’t a normal knock—it was a frantic, frenzied bashing at the door. We both sat bolt upright.
A man was yelling, ‘Let me in, open the door!’
Craig got up, stark naked, went to the door and asked, ‘Who is it?’
The bloke shouted, ‘There’s a water leak downstairs—I need to get in!’
Craig turned, pointed at me and said, ‘Get your clothes on; I’ve seen this in a movie. He’s going to burst in here, shoot me and rape you.’ I started to laugh, but he was dead serious and I began to wonder if he was right. We both started to get dressed; I kept tripping over my clothes, and even though I was scared I couldn’t stop giggling.
By now this man was almost smashing the door down. ‘Let me in! What are you doing?’
Craig asked for some proof of who he was, some ID, and the man started swearing. I thought then and there that this couldn’t be someone who worked at the hotel. Craig then said that, if he wanted us to open the door, he’d have to go downstairs to reception and get them to ring and verify that there was actually a leak. The man left and next thing we know the phone rang.
We looked at each other and Craig answered the phone. He told them that he had checked and there was no water leak in our room, but they insisted that they needed to get into the room and make sure.
The guy came back to the door and moved over to the window alongside, where Craig pulled back the curtain. The bloke had about two teeth in his head and they were both rotten; he was wearing a dirty trench coat. Maybe it was the staff uniform. He held up his ID and it’s like it is out of a cartoon with illegible writing and a fuzzy photo. Craig told him, ‘That’s not real ID, mate,’ and he said, ‘Yeah, it’s my ticket.’
We ended up letting him in. He burst in, quickly looked in the bathroom and then said, ‘There’s no leak here.’ At that, he stormed back out.
Craig and I lay back down on the bed, unable to sleep, and asked each other if that had really happened. We eventually laughed and then suggested to each other that maybe next time we pay a little more than $21 per night for accommodation!
CHAPTER 39
Wonkey
After our eventful travels in the US, Craig and I went home to Maudsland Road in March. I was there, working horses and doing some trick-riding training, when I received a phone call from Bobby. He said that he was on a job and asked if I was available in the near future to go to Mexico. He didn’t give me much information, other than that I would be training a donkey.
‘How cute,’ I said.
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Bill and I aren’t touching the friggin’ donkey. It’ll be right up your alley!’
He called back a few days later. ‘OK, you’re training a donkey and a pig. We need you to leave in ten days’ time for six to eight weeks’ training pre-production.’ He explained that they might also be able to keep me on once production started, when I would be working alongside them in the horse department.
Woo-hoo! I was heading to Mexico, to work on The Legend of Zorro.
It was the first time I would be away from Craig since the Man From Snowy River show in 2002, and I found it hard to think about being away from him. On the upside though, it was one of the first times I had been confident that my animals would be well looked after while I was away.
I asked Craig if he would come over and visit while I was there; he said he would love to, but it was an expensive flight. He suggested we first see what I would be earning. Craig is cautious when it comes to finances, but I had stopped putting much thought into any type of planning when Grahame died.
When I arrived in Mexico in May 2004, they had all been in pre-production a couple of weeks already. Bobby was the liberty horse trainer, Bill was both Bobby’s assistant and a second horse trainer, and I was there to train a pig and a donkey.
In fact, I needed to train two donkeys (you always need at least one animal in reserve), for a scene with Zorro’s son. Two white donkeys had been chosen for the job. When I first went to look at them, I thought it must be some kind of a joke. One was a cheeky young donkey, but the other looked as though he had been beaten all of his life—he stood with his head lowered and his ears flopped to the side, looking like he just wished the whole world would go away.
I named him Wonkey, because just before I left for Mexico Craig’s little girl Columbia had told me that all white donkeys are called ‘wonkeys’. At the beginning I could not persuade, manipulate or coax that donkey to move one foot. No matter what I did, he just stood there and hoped that I would vanish.
I literally sat in his pen with him for days before he even looked at me or dropped his big ears towards me. Most of the time, he would turn away from me and pretend I wasn’t there. But by the end of the shoot, that donkey had become a wonderful little liberty donkey, and I adored him.
Funnily enough, at the beginning of his sequence for the movie Wonkey’s role involved not moving. Zorro’s son gets on him with a makeshift bridle and no saddle, goes, ‘Yah, yah,’ and tries to get the donkey to chase after his father, but instead of running off the donkey just stands there. Then the boy says something to the donkey in Spanish, and the donkey trots off out of shot (when cued by me off screen). My initial reaction to my stubborn little donkey was: ‘Well, at least you’ve mastered the first bit.’
Much of what I saw in everyday life in Mexico was shocking. Seeing how some of the people treated their animals, through either ignorance or poverty, was difficult for me to accept. Of course, many of these people struggle to feed their own children, let alone giving the little donkey who works for them all day enough feed, or medical care when it needs it.
Many families care for their working animal to the best of their ability; it’s not uncommon to see young kids out grazing the family donkey in the late af
ternoon so it can get enough to eat. But we also saw some shocking things. I had a flashback to a time when I was working in Jakarta and we came across a working donkey with a bridle grown into the side of its head because it was never taken off. In Mexico we saw skinny little knock-kneed donkeys banging their hocks with each stride, pulling a wagon loaded high with who-knows-what, and the entire family sitting on top of it all. You could see the animals’ ribs and hips poking out; they had their heads down, with their ears flopped to the side, and it was all they could do to put one foot in front of the other. It was difficult to walk past and not get involved.
As I’ve mentioned, it seems completely ridiculous to me that, in developed countries such as Australia, England and America, there is so much animosity from animal activists towards professional animal people when it is the animals in third world countries who really need their help and care. I wish that all of the concerned people in the western world who feel strongly about making things better for animals could focus some of their energy towards animals who really do suffer, day in, day out, in hostile environments where people either don’t know better or can’t find a way to make it better. That is where they need to be directing their energy.
That was the world little Wonkey had come from, and it had obviously had a severe impact on him. He had been very poorly treated at some stage. Normally we like to immerse our animals in the pre-production environment, so they get accustomed to the film set. But with Wonkey we had a problem. Because of his past experience, I couldn’t get him to walk through any group that contained locals. He would walk right past a bunch of gringos (non-Mexicans) happily enough, but if local Mexican people were there, he would try to turn around and head back to the animal compound.
I knew we were in trouble because, when he came to do his scene, there would be many locals involved. He would be off lead, at liberty, and I thought he would either take off or just stand still with his ears flopped to one side and refuse to do anything. It was so bad that I had to embarrassingly explain to the lovely first assistant director, Bruce Moriarty, that in pre-production I hadn’t been able to get Wonkey accustomed to working among the local people.
Bruce said, ‘What are you telling me? I have to clear the set of Mexicans?’ Of course, most of the crew were Mexican.
‘I don’t know what to tell you,’ I said.
‘Oh Jeez, alright I’ll just ask those standing around if they could leave.’ Bruce said.
He didn’t discriminate, of course, but he asked everyone who wasn’t essential to leave.
Wonkey happily did the scene after that. He did well, but it didn’t make the film—in the end, it was cut in editing.
CHAPTER 40
Antonio, Mexico’s hero
Once I was in Mexico, one thing led to another, and because of some staff changes, Lloyd Phillips and Bobby decided I could stay for the whole shoot, to help Bobby and Bill in the horse department.
I learnt a lot on Zorro, particularly from Bobby. We all shared a house, lived in each other’s pockets, and saw good and bad things about each other’s work ethic and private lives. They both saw how much I was pining for Craig, until one day Bobby said, ‘For goodness’ sake, if it will cheer you up a bit, get Craig over here. He is good to have around anyway, and we could do with another capable person.’ Seeing Craig again was exciting; I felt like a teenager when I saw him after the weeks we’d been apart. He arrived and due to the staff changes we were both kept on as animal trainers.
We worked with such a beautiful team of local people—hard-working, honest and proud. They felt important; they had a great self-image and a sense of grandeur, but they weren’t big-headed. Some of them had next to nothing, but they were always happy and vibrant and they supported and looked after each other. Their family and team spirit was amazing.
There were some great horsemen there who worked as wranglers. They were very kind and warm towards me and I was happy to be accepted as part of their family. They introduced us to their families—to these gorgeous vibrant happy kids, who could all ride before they could walk. When I started to work in South Africa, it was a culture shock, but I found Mexico incredibly warm and welcoming.
I made a big effort to try to speak Spanish with the wranglers and they thought that was hilarious—I made a fool of myself regularly. The head wrangler, Chico Hernandez, was a highly respected, ‘don’t mess with me’ sort of man. He had an impressive array of equipment and horses, and had done some big movies over time. I got along very well with him, and continue to keep in touch.
I also loved working with Antonio Banderas. He is, to this day, the nicest actor I have ever met. He is warm, kind, considerate and compassionate, and amazingly enough, he seemed to have an endless supply of energy for the countless extras and fans who all wanted a piece of him.
On our first day on set we were filming a scene with about four hundred extras. Not surprisingly, many of them had never been on a movie set before, and when Antonio arrived they could barely contain themselves. He is a hero in Mexico and they adore him because he often portrays courageous Mexican characters on film.
On that first day, Antonio stood up on a section of the set and spoke to everyone in Spanish, and then in English. He said he appreciated them all coming and getting dressed up and being a part of the movie; he made everyone feel like they were important actors alongside him. I hadn’t really seen anything like that before. I had never seen anybody with his degree of fame give so much time to so many.
After his speech, he then proceeded to sign autographs for a very long time. I thought he had started something that would be impossible to finish, because there were so many people lining up, but he just stayed and stayed and stayed. The extras talked about it for days afterwards on the set. I’d be getting a horse ready, and I’d hear them saying things like, ‘I can’t believe he shook my hand,’ ‘He smiled at me,’ ‘He looked into my eyes.’ I thought, ‘What a gift he has given to all those people.’
Even though Antonio’s riding was already very good, Bobby had been doing quite a lot of work with him in pre-production. The horses do a lot of rearing in the Zorro movies and, wherever possible, the director, Martin Campbell wanted to use Antonio himself because he is athletic and coordinated. An inexperienced rider can easily off-balance a horse when it rears, and can even pull the horse over backwards if they use the reins to ‘hold on’, but Antonio is a good rider and he listens.
I think he is incredibly professional, but also has an admirable character. Before Craig came into my life, I had felt a bit sour about the film industry. I’d gone sour on the stunt industry too, because I’d seen too much stuff that I thought was immoral. Sometimes, I found myself in situations where, if I had wanted to cheat, to lie, to be nasty or to backstab, then I too could have climbed higher up the ladder. It could be very bitchy and cliquey, with people using power and position to get their own way. I didn’t want to be a part of it, I didn’t feel I needed to manipulate people or make demands to get my own way, I wanted my work to speak for itself and continue to work in the industry and enjoy the spontaneous lifestyle that comes with it.
Meeting Antonio, and seeing that it was possible for someone to reach his level in the film industry and remain such a lovely person, was sufficient to give me new courage and inspiration to continue in this sometimes tainted industry, knowing that I could still be true to myself and that I didn’t have to join in with the nastiness in order to survive.
CHAPTER 41
Zorro in action
As well as all the rearing, for The Legend of Zorro we prepared some fun liberty sequences, plus a bucking horse, a lot of riding horses and carriage horses. We also had to get horses to tolerate trick riding.
In the 1998 film The Mask of Zorro, my trainer and mentor Tad Griffith had performed an amazing and famous trick-riding sequence, which he was working on when I first met him. It was so cool—so how could it be topped? It was the best trick-riding sequence that I know of in modern film.
I was excited by all of the training challenges. One scene required Zorro to stand on the saddle of a horse galloping alongside a train; then he had to punch his fist through a window and grab a bad guy.
Bobby, Bill and I had a blast training the horses for that scene, and it was my first experience of trick riding on a Friesian. Friesians are a powerful, compact breed with elevated movement. I had ridden them in Namibia with Bobby and Sled and I remembered them as being big cumbersome horses, but was surprised at how smooth these horses in Mexico rode. It was a fantastic experience, galloping alongside a moving train and then slipping down the side of the horse into a ‘forward fender’ (sitting alongside the horse at belly level with one foot in the stirrup) and finally hopping up into a ‘slick stand’ (standing upright on top of the saddle).
We had regular use of the locomotive department for practice and it was great fun galloping along beside moving trains. When we couldn’t rehearse with the train and its crew, we would go out and rehearse the big black Friesian horses on vast stretches of open land nearby. Bobby would park his horse at one end, Bill at the other, and I’d gallop the Friesian, Lobo, who was my favourite, from Bobby to Bill and back again, teaching it to gallop fast and straight while accommodating trick riding.
Bill and Bobby did the rearing horse work, and some great gag stuff. They had a horse pretending to smoke a pipe, and another leaning against a wall cross-legged and acting drunk.
In the climactic horse sequence, Zorro jumps his horse off a rocky outcrop onto the top of a moving train. Then he looks up to see a tunnel fast approaching, so he turns his horse a hundred and eighty degrees and spurs him on, jumping from carriage to carriage. Finally the horse jumps down through a large skylight into the caboose at the end of the train, just before they reach the tunnel. Zorro now hears some bad guys heading in his direction, so he jumps onto the rump of his horse, stands up and cues the horse to buck him up through the skylight again. After a back somersault, he lands on the caboose roof, ready to fend off the baddies.