by Zelie Bullen
That sequence was filmed using green screen. The horse was ridden across stationary simulated train carriages. At the end of each ‘carriage’ were small jumps for the horse to jump over; these were removed during editing so it looked like the horse was jumping from carriage to carriage.
Bobby’s father had been a South African show-jumping coach, and Bobby himself is very experienced in show jumping, so he was invaluable in that entire sequence. The ‘train’ stood about a metre and a half off the ground; although it obviously wasn’t as hazardous as doing the sequence on the roof of a real moving train, it was still a difficult and dangerous sequence to shoot and it took a lot of planning and safety measures to keep both horse and rider as safe as possible.
The stunt and horse departments normally work together in pre-production to practise any hazardous horse action. Gary Powell was the stunt coordinator on this movie; he was great to work with, as he was very respectful of the horse department’s knowledge and opinions. However, the stunt guys had a very hectic schedule and, although they intended to rehearse the back somersault for the final sequence, my suspicion is that they probably thought it would be pretty simple, not too technical. I don’t think they considered the complication the weight of a grown man pushing down on a horse’s rump in high-heeled cowboy boots would have for a horse trying to buck. The person would have to know how to stand, how to distribute their weight, so they’re not making it uncomfortable for the horse.
While we were training the horse for this part of the sequence I had been the guinea pig. Bobby had trained the horse to buck and kick up as high as he could, and I would stand on the horse’s rump in a harness underneath a scaffold that the stunt department had rigged up for us. This enabled us to take the weight off the horse’s rump at just the right moment. Craig was on the other end of the rope; when the horse bucked on Bobby’s cue, Craig would work the rigging and haul me up off the horse’s back at the moment he felt me move, making it look as though the horse’s movement is flinging Zorro onto the roof. It was my job to time it so as to get my weight off the horse as he bucked, to make it as comfortable for him as possible.
Directors are extremely busy during pre-production, so it’s common practice for the different departments to send video footage of rehearsals to the director to update him on how they are progressing. Bobby sent a video to Martin Campbell’s trailer of the shot he wanted, filmed from the angle he’d requested, of me being bucked off the horse. It was successful and looked good—everyone seemed pleased with it.
Antonio Banderas had six stunt doubles on The Legend of Zorro, if I remember correctly. We arrived on set the day we were to film the bucking shot and Antonio’s main acrobatic double had the rigging fitted and climbed up on the horse’s rump. But the horse was visibly uncomfortable; he wouldn’t stand still, let alone be cued to buck.
So Bobby discretely said, ‘Zelie, get over there and tell the stunt guy how to stand, or this is never going to work.’
I tried to explain to the stuntman what he needed to do. At first he was receptive and appreciated my help; but, after a while, when it still wasn’t working, he became frustrated and made it clear that he felt the horse hadn’t been well trained.
The problem was that the way he was standing in those cowboy boots was uncomfortable for the horse. We made several more attempts, but even when the horse agreed to buck and the winch was pulled at the same time, it didn’t look realistic at all. Worse still, the horse was getting to the stage where he didn’t trust the system we’d set up in training—he didn’t know when he was going to get a poke in the bum from those heels or why.
The director was understandably getting very irritated and wanted to know why it wasn’t working. The horse department didn’t want to blame the stunt department and the stunt department didn’t want to blame us, but in fact each side thought the other was to blame. It is a difficult situation when something like that happens on set.
Finally the director said, ‘OK, I’ve seen footage of this working in rehearsal—what’s the problem today?’
To the stunt department’s credit, they accepted some of the responsibility. The director said, ‘Put Zelie in the costume. That’s what she does, that’s her job—to stand on horses.’
So they did. They put me in the boots and the costume, and hid my hair under a little black wig. Antonio thought me doubling him was funny.
I doubled Antonio to do that stunt. I didn’t do the acrobatics; I only did the lift. They filmed it in short sequences: they needed to show Zorro standing on the horse, the horse bucking, Zorro being shot up through the roof. Then they cut to the top of the train—the stuntman, using a mini trampoline inside the carriage, did a back somersault out onto the back of the carriage.
A lot of people said I did such an amazing back somersault out of the train and I still find myself explaining that, no, it wasn’t me. All I had to do was be bucked off a horse. It worked well, and it looks great in the movie.
CHAPTER 42
Moriarty to the rescue
I was so pleased to be able to meet and work with Jack Lilley on Zorro. Jack has been working in movies since the 1950s; he is one of those old-time legends who did the crash-and-burn horse work in the early westerns, and he has fantastic stories to tell. He was great fun and he spent a lot of time sitting in a chair in the animal compound, telling people what to do.
One day Jack was barking orders at someone when his mobile phone rang. He talks loudly at the best of times but he’s even louder on the phone. While he was having this conversation, I was busy training a pig for a scene where she licks Antonio’s face.
This particular pig had been picked for her looks, not her temperament, and when she arrived she was totally feral. She was a grown sow who had just had her piglets weaned off her, so she was hormonal, with big saggy boobs, and she would squeal at me when I went near her.
I taught her about kindness and restraint. She learnt ‘looks’ (to turn her head a certain way), to ‘mark’ (to go to a spot marked on the ground) and to ‘target’ (to look at and hold her gaze on a particular object, for example a tennis ball on a stick, to achieve specific eye lines). But, above all, I taught her to trust me, which was perhaps the most important ingredient in our relationship if I was ever to get her gentle enough to lick Antonio’s face. It was Jack who had suggested we call her Stella, after Antonio and Melanie Griffiths’ daughter, who really liked her and would come to visit her in the animal compound. Jack had seen the progress I was making and seemed to be impressed with my work, but I figured most of what he was saying was just encouragement. Anyhow, I wasn’t really listening to his phone conversation, but after a while I heard him say, ‘She’s the best little pig trainer I’ve ever seen. Yeah, take her, take her. When does it go?’ I realised that he was talking about me and was instantly curious.
He got off the phone and said to me, ‘I’ve just been telling my nephew, Larry, about you. He’s doing a pig movie in Australia, and he wants you on board.’
‘When’s that?’ I asked.
‘Next month.’
Pre-production began on the pig movie Charlotte’s Web while Zorro was still being filmed. Craig was able to be replaced. I was in deep, so I stayed in Mexico until the film ended. Craig flew home early, picked up our dogs, drove down to Melbourne, rented a house for us and got everything set up, so I was able to just waltz in and start work when I arrived back from Mexico. But before I left, there was something I had to sort out.
I had become very attached to both of the donkeys I worked with in pre-production. Once filming was over, the younger donkey was going back to his home, a little Mexican farm where he had been well looked after before the film. I was happy seeing him go back there because, unlike Wonkey, he hadn’t arrived traumatised—he was a happy, healthy little donkey.
Wonkey was also supposed to go back to where he had come from, and I was heartbroken. I had spoken with Craig extensively about bringing Wonkey home with me to Australia. Craig at fir
st said I was being ridiculous. Did I know what the quarantine procedures would be for donkeys coming from Mexico to Australia? Not only the cost, but what Wonkey would have to go through?
I said, ‘I can’t do it, Craig—I can’t leave him here to this life.’
Then I had an idea. I called Tad and asked, if I paid for the shipping and quarantine, which would not have been as arduous for Wonkey as coming to Australia, whether he and Wendy would house the donkey in California for the rest of its life. Tad and Wendy said, ‘Yes, of course.’ So that was the plan. It was still an expensive option—it would have swallowed up a good portion of what I earned on the film—but I felt I had little choice.
I ended up telling Bobby and Bill. I’d expected them to ridicule me, but they actually thought it was pretty cool: the donkey had been good, they had seen in what condition he arrived, and they saw how he had developed. Every day when I arrived at the compound, he would call out to me when he saw me—Heehaaaawww—and carry on until I’d answer him in the same seesaw tone: Wooooonkeey. It was just beautiful—I loved him and he loved me.
One day I was telling Bruce Moriarty how much I was going to miss Wonkey and about Tad and Wendy taking him for me. I told him that I thought the world of Craig for supporting me in this. I was about to spend a lot of the money I had just made in the last six months in order to get that donkey to Los Angeles, where the Griffith family now lived.
Bruce said, ‘That’s a pretty big deal.’ Then he thought about it and said, ‘You know what? I might just talk to my wife.’
He made a phone call and came back. He told me that he and his wife Jill had a lot of coyotes around their horse ranch. In the past they had lost foals to coyotes, before they started keeping a mule in with the weanlings to protect them. ‘We lost our mule last year,’ he explained, ‘and we’ve been thinking about getting another mule or a little donkey to run with the weanlings, to keep them calm and safe.’ He had explained the situation to Jill and she had said, ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, save that donkey.’ I thanked Bruce and cried. Then I went and privately cuddled Wonkey, and cried some more!
They bought him from his local owners and paid for him to go to their ranch in the US, where they have ten foot of snow every year! The donkey and weanlings are stabled at night; they get well fed and cared for. He certainly landed on his feet, that little Wonkey. He is their family pet; the Moriarty children apparently love him.
Bruce is one of those incredibly busy men in the film industry, but he still finds time every now and then to send me an update photo of Wonkey, being cuddled by a kid, playing in the snow or snuggled up in his stable. It makes me feel so happy.
CHAPTER 43
Tita and Flaca
Jack Lilley’s nephew, Larry Madrid, is one of Hollywood’s most successful animal trainers, and he was the head animal coordinator on Charlotte’s Web. So, in November, off we went to work for Larry.
The main animal character in Charlotte’s Web is, of course, Wilbur the pig. There were five full-time pig trainers on that film, but every trainer at some stage or another ended up training at least one pig or two extra, to help keep the number of pigs up to the amount we required.
Piglets grow fast and we used sixty-four pigs in total, divided between the trainers, with tiny new piglets arriving approximately every six weeks. Craig’s background makes him incredibly versatile, so he was a floating trainer, helping everyone. On Charlotte’s Web he trained pigs, cows, geese and ducks. But it was while we were working on Charlotte’s Web that we found out Craig had developed an allergy to ducks. This big strong man, who handles and trains big cats and elephants, can’t handle a few ducks! He kept breaking out in a rash. I found the whole thing pretty funny and told him he was such a wuss.
One of the challenges in the movie was that the pigs had to all look the same, so as to successfully play the same character. In different weather, pigs grow different amounts of hair, and individual pigs at different ages grow different thicknesses of hair, so not only were we washing piglets all of the time to keep them clean, we were also running horse clippers over them regularly to trim each piglet’s hair to exactly the same length. As a result, we had to buy industrial-size heaters to keep them warm all of the time without their winter coat. It was quite comical seeing the trainers trying to keep sixty-four different-sized piglets still, while giving them a quick trim with the clippers—until the piglets got used to it they would wriggle all over the place.
The very first piglet that I was allocated and fell in love with I called Tita, after a lovely young Mexican girl who had worked in the horse department on Zorro (and who would come back into our lives a few years later). Tita was a great little working pig but she developed black spots between her shoulder blades and we couldn’t use her as she no longer matched the other piglets. Jodie McKeone, one of the other trainers on the job, found her a beautiful home, where she was going to grow to be a big fat sow.
My next favourite piglet was Flaca. Flaca is a Spanish word that means ‘skinny girl’, and a couple of the Mexican wranglers who couldn’t remember my name would call out to me, ‘Ay, flaca.’ It’s usually intended as a compliment in a rough friendly sort of way, like a wolf whistle.
On Charlotte’s Web, we had different trainers working together using different methods. We all needed to pull together and work as a team to make different shots work, but there was a little bit of rivalry between the American and the Australian trainers at times. I remember feeling amused by some of the American trainers—at how surprised they were by my lack of technical training knowledge and my poor ability to put into words exactly what my training plan was or whose technique I was using.
Typically, pigs respond predominantly to food reward. But, knowing that pigs have a hierarchy within their social group, as many animals do, I choose to train pigs with a degree of pressure. I’m comfortable using pressure as one of my training techniques, because animals naturally put pressure on each other within their natural hierarchy. However, this technique differentiated me from the other pig trainers.
In training, we use an animal’s natural instincts as much as possible. For example, horses are a herd animal, and we sometimes use the presence of a horse off camera to get a desired look or attitude from the horse working on camera. An example of using pressure as a training technique is when teaching a horse to move off; if you want a horse to walk forward, pressure is applied behind the ears by the halter and the horse walks forward to release that pressure. Eventually the horse will move forward without the pressure, whenever the trainer provides the appropriate cue.
One of the misunderstood issues concerning animal trainers is the use of pressure during training. People sometimes think using pressure is cruel, and it certainly can be if you’re not a good enough trainer to be able to read the animal, and to know how much pressure to apply and exactly when to stop. It is the trainer’s responsibility to make the animal feel as safe as possible, so it trusts that you are not putting it in danger; then the animal can do what is asked confidently. I don’t see it as being any different to asking and reinforcing, like teaching (training) a child to brush their teeth daily.
During filming, any one of a number of things can prevent the animals and their trainers successfully completing the desired shot. Where an animal’s training is entirely based around food rewards, once it is full there’s no chance it will continue working. But because Flaca was accustomed to working under pressure and could happily perform even when she didn’t feel very hungry, she was often brought in when the other pigs wouldn’t comply.
When Craig and I watch Charlotte’s Web, we can see that Flaca is in a substantial part of it. In the story Wilbur grows up, and so, as our little piglets grew, we were sometimes able to use them in different scenes. The older pigs were easier to work with, because they’d had the most handling—some of them up to six months of training. It was during the training and filming of the youngest piglets that I believe Flaca made me look good. She trained up v
ery fast. She was the smallest pig that could lie down, and she was the only pig that was trained to look up. Pigs find it quite hard to look up, because of the structure of their neck and body, and in the movie the pig was required to look up a lot, to talk to the spider.
One American trainer in particular seemed incredulous and wanted to know the name of the method I had used. My methods are a complicated mix of many things learnt from many people, as well as from my own trial and error, and this was the first time I had really thought about how I train. I eventually told her that I simply tried whatever I thought would work to get them to understand what I wanted them to do.
We laughed about the fact that I didn’t have a specific method, but I had some very successful pigs and I know I held my own.
Craig and I also trained a very large boar for Charlotte’s Web, which was a change from the multitudes of sweet little piglets. His name was Percy; he was three or four years old and weighed over three hundred kilos and was over a metre and a half in length. He was a very big pig and therefore potentially dangerous. Because pigs are so food orientated and because he was like a bottomless pit, with Percy food training became our main method.
The problem was that we needed him hungry enough to want to work, but not hungry enough to become pushy. It took a bit of trial and error to work out what foods worked best. We found out from his owners that he absolutely loved chocolate Nougat Honey Logs, and they knew someone who worked at Cadbury who could get chaff bags full of off-cuts. Percy loved them: it didn’t matter if he was almost full, he could always squeeze in another little Nougat Honey Log, a bit like Flaca with a cream bun.