Size Matters Not: The Extraordinary Life and Career of Warwick Davis

by Davis, Warwick

  Suddenly, there I was in Hollywood. Unbelievable. And I was acting alongside rising star John Cusack, who was auditioning for the role of Madmartigan, a wild mercenary. At the time, I didn’t really know who John was, but I was very excited about the next actor – Max Headroom, a.k.a. Matt Frewer.

  Ron had cast his net wide and was finally on the verge of casting. He was testing me and had me read with actor after actor, for eight hours straight. Taking on the role of Willow would push me mentally and physically and he needed to know I’d be able to cope.

  By the time the last reading came round I was so shattered I didn’t even notice the extraordinary actor I’d been paired with until he was standing right before me. He had wild, unkempt hair, his scruffy shirt was open to his belly button, he was wearing open-toed sandals, his jeans were worn and faded, and his face was very, very red. “I’ve driven for six hours across the desert with the top down,” he said in a deep, dry voice, scratching his stomach.

  My God, he was really sunburned. I didn’t realize that standing before me was one of the most famous men in the world at that time: Val Kilmer, a.k.a. “Iceman” from Top Gun. It was no wonder – he looked like Iceman’s exact opposite. He’d made a smart move by arriving in character.

  Val had grabbed my attention and had woken me up. I launched into the read-through with renewed energy. As we spoke I was blown away by his energy; there had been an immediate spark between us.

  I loved Val’s quirkiness. The last of my fatigue vanished as we started to play the scene, yelling at one another, much to the amusement of Ron.

  Val: Well, that was really stupid, peck!

  Me: Don’t call me a peck.

  Val: Oh. I’m sorry . . . peck. Peck, peck, peck, peck.

  Me: You be careful! I’m a powerful sorcerer. See this acorn? I’ll throw it, and turn you to stone.

  Val: Whoo, I’m really scared. No, don’t! Don’t! There’s a peck here with an acorn pointed at me!

  Me: Oh, I wouldn’t want to waste it.

  Val: Ha! Peck, peck, peck, peck, peck, peck, peck, peck, peck!

  “That was great, guys,” Ron said. “Can we try the next scene?”

  Val and I were already there.

  Val: Mornin’. Rough night last night, wasn’t it? I don’t think I introduced myself yesterday. My name is Madmartigan. And you are, uh . . .

  Me: You’re dangerous.

  Val: I am not.

  Me: I suppose you’re a warrior.

  Val: I am the greatest swordsman that ever lived.

  Me: Humph.

  Val: Say, uh, could I have some of that water? I guess I am gonna die here. Who cares?

  Me: Here.

  Val: Thanks, friend.

  Val winked. He knew and I knew we’d nailed it in just a couple of short scenes. We looked at Ron, who smiled. “Well, Warwick, if you still want the part after all I’ve put you through, it’s yours.”

  We’d passed the test; we’d both won our parts, fair and square. I still prefer to be cast against fellow actors today, so that I have to win the role as opposed to being given the job straight out.

  This meant I had to forget about college; I was now going to play the title role in a major movie and would be away for eight months. This was going to be an extremely demanding production and I still didn’t realize quite how massive a challenge it would be. And I had no idea this film would make me famous. When I told Daniel the good news, his response was “Wicked! I’ll be best mates with a proper star!”

  This would be my first role with my face on camera. In the Ewok costume I had overexaggerated the emotional expressions to bring them out in the physical behavior of my character and Ron warned me about overacting. “I want you to watch a few James Stewart movies,” he said, handing me VHS copies of It’s a Wonderful Life and Rear Window. “I want Willow to have a matter-of-fact style, like Stewart.” Ron would prove to be instrumental in turning me into a “proper” actor. I think the fact that Ron had also started young – he had become a TV star at the tender age of five – meant that he was more than qualified to take me under his wing. He supported me every step of the way and always wore a smile, no matter how difficult and trying the days became.

  Work began before we’d even signed the contract; there were numerous costume and wig fittings and I needed to be measured for props, such as weapons. I also went through a barrage of mental and physical health checks. It was kind of like being an astronaut. It seemed as though there were hundreds of people who were preparing me for this great adventure – which, of course, there were.

  Then there were the dozens of sword-fighting and fencing lessons, not to mention the baby-handling classes. Various mothers brought their babies to Elstree thinking their child was going to be the star (the whole film centers around a lost baby, which I take care of). These infants were in fact the rejects from the castings and were handed over to me to practice holding, calming down, changing, and how to carry them while running down a mountain being chased by a sorceress’s evil minions.

  While the fencing lessons were terrific,b I was horrified to learn that I also had to learn to ride a horse. My sister had once tried to teach me. She sat me on the thing, gave it a whack, and it trotted off down the street with me perched unsteadily atop, unable to do anything to stop it.

  “Couldn’t a motorcycle be magically transported into the film?” I implored. Alas no. To make matters worse, when I was introduced to the trainer, she mistook my name for “Merrick.” It rapidly developed into one of those awkward situations where I didn’t correct her straight away and so it soon became impossible. Forevermore I was “Merrick” to her.

  It was a nightmare – my short legs stuck out at right angles. “You just don’t have the equitation, Merrick,” the trainer told me. I didn’t know about that, but one thing I knew for sure was that I couldn’t control the damn creature and it would canter wherever it wanted, despite my yells. After two weeks of lessons I looked like one of those plastic toy cowboy figures that you sit on horses with their legs fixed in a permanent U-shape.

  Val came over to London about two months before we were due to start shooting so we could rehearse. This would hopefully mean that when we were on location we would be able to knock out solid performances of each scene in one or two takes, saving time and money.

  Val and I were together the whole time he was in the UK. He was loads of fun and completely crazy, a real maverick and totally unpredictable. He constantly improvised his lines, which really kept me on my toes. He was always thinking about his character, how far he could take him, how he would respond in almost any situation.

  Val wasn’t afraid to speak his mind and was only too happy to pass on some acting tips, starting early on in rehearsals when he said, “Hang on a minute, Warwick. Why aren’t you breathing?”

  I hadn’t realized that whenever I spoke my lines I held my breath as I delivered them. Val, thank goodness, taught me to act and breathe at the same time.

  Willow was the biggest casting call for little people in movie history, bigger than Jedi and The Wizard of Oz. In the end they found 240 little people from all over the world.

  I felt there was some resentment among them toward me. I wasn’t the most popular person on the set and I could understand it – some people would have given their right arm for my part (in the movie, I mean).

  I tried not to hide in my own large “superstar” trailer but sometimes, as the “star,” you can’t help but be treated a certain way. For example, I was always called out to the set at the last minute, once everyone else had rehearsed and was in position and knew what they were doing. Some of my fellow little actors thought of me as a bit too big for my boots, but I’d been rehearsing most of the scenes for several months in England, and I usually had the longest day of all of the actors, so the production team were simply trying to conserve my energy. Still, it was a bit difficult and I sensed there was quite a bit of envy, although no one was especially nasty.

  We started w
ith the Newlyn village scenes, which were shot in Brocket Hall in Hertfordshire. I’ve heard rumors that the set was never dismantled and that the village is still there to this day, hidden by foliage and just next to a golf course. I can imagine errant golfers stumbling across it when hunting for lost balls and being thoroughly amazed and puzzled at this miniature-sized Stone Age–style encampment.

  During filming those village huts were, er, ahem . . . “well used” by the little people; after all, it’s not that often we get to see so many of each other in one place – so things can get a little “heated,” shall we say. Sam, whom I’d met on the set of Labyrinth, was in the film as an extra, but we didn’t meet again until after the film.

  There must have been something in the air as all the village pigs were at it, too. Scenes were constantly being interrupted by their sudden and extremely noisy lovemaking. Buckets of water were eventually used to dampen the poor creatures’ ardor. The pigs, that is, not the little people.

  As George Lucas and Ron Howard were involved there was a huge media interest in the film from the UK press. Most of the journalists were kept away but I remember one young lady who managed to dip below the radar. She surprised me near my trailer.

  “I’m doing a piece for Look-In magazine, for the back page where we put an interview with a famous actor and list their likes and dislikes,” she said, and started firing off a few questions. In my innocence I answered them freely. She asked me all sorts of silly little questions like “What’s your favourite color?” and “What’s your favorite food?” and so on.

  Little did I know that she was actually freelancing for the News of the World. From the answers I gave they conjured up the headline: “I Want a Tall, Dark, Six-Foot Lover!” (confirming Sam’s suspicions that I was a brat) and stuck it on the front page of the Sunday supplement magazine with a picture of me at the Cannes Film Festival wearing sunglasses and a sharp suit with a leggy woman (my sister) beside me.

  At the time it was awful; my mum was horrified but that was nothing compared to Lucasfilm, who sent in their heaviest lawyers and got an apology from the News of the World printed in the next issue. Mind you, it wasn’t much of an apology, and you had to look very hard to find it in-between all the breasts.

  With a roar another wave came crashing down, my boat spun in the raging Force 10 wind, foam and air roaring like a jet engine. This had been a really bad idea. I could barely swim. I’m going to drown! I thought, fighting the panic as wave after wave crashed over me.

  Water poured down on me from above. Finally, I felt the edge of the tank and grabbed hold. “Cut!” Ron yelled.

  I clambered over the side of Pinewood’s million-gallon reservoir as the storm, created by six airplane engines, countless pumps, and wave machines, subsided.

  “Okay, people!” Ron yelled, “let’s go again!”

  “What?!”

  I’d spent the last two weeks in that reservoir being tossed and turned by wave machines. The tank is really a huge man-made lake. Any UK-made film that featured a lake, sea, or river would be shot in it, including just about every Bond movie.

  We were filming a long and complex storm sequence. In the film, Willow had to journey to an island to pick up the good sorceress Fin Raziel, who was disguised as a possum, but on our way back to the mainland, the evil sorceress cast a spell that whipped up a great storm in an attempt to drown us.

  Part of the scene involved me swimming underwater for extended periods, using a respirator between takes. We shot this scene in a special underwater tank back at Elstree. As a proud seventeen-year-old, I was embarrassed to admit that I couldn’t swim. I’m not as naturally buoyant as most and although this was normally a disadvantage, it also meant I could remain underwater with no difficulty at all, so as long as the respirator and safety divers were nearby I guessed I’d be okay.

  After two weeks in the tank I was at the end of my tether but I remained determined to prove my staying power to Ron and the crew. It’s amazing how far you will push yourself for a director like Ron. You can get to what you think is your limit but then somehow you manage to push through it.

  I was never forced to do anything and Ron was always very careful not to work me too hard, but when you’ve got hundreds of people toiling around the clock to set up a scene that then all depends on your performance it’s very, very hard to disappoint them and to admit that maybe you haven’t the strength to continue. Or even just say you would very much like a break.

  So I went again.

  The enormous waves were created by giant water chutes at the top of which were suspended giant tip-tanks. These held thousands of gallons of water that, at the right moment, would be released down the fifty-foot chutes into the tank, creating man-made tsunamis. I was supposed to try and ride these in my tiny boat for as long as possible before falling overboard.

  I was just below two of these slides, standing on the boat, easing myself further into the center of the tank, readying myself for the cry of “Action!” when I heard a whooshing sound, which quickly turned into a roar. I looked up to see a wall of white water crashing down at me from above. Someone had released the door of one of the containers too early.

  “Oh F–” was about as far as I got before I disappeared under tons of water. I popped up like a cork at the other end of the tank, found the little boat beside me, and clambered aboard. I turned, looking for Ron, and saw him staring at me in shock.

  I took a deep breath and yelled at the top of my voice: “What the hell are you trying to do, drown me?”

  As defiantly as I could, I stomped out of the wobbling boat and off the set in a huff. Although this was nothing compared to the huff that followed when Ron told me that the footage from these two sodden weeks wouldn’t make it into the final cut! They had too much material and it was felt that this sequence did not add anything to the story – so it remains unseen to this day. The empty underwater tank is now hidden below the stage for Who Wants to Be a Millionaire.

  A few weeks later the entire cast and crew were flown to New Zealand on our own jumbo jet. I had arrived at the airport dressed in white and wearing fake Ray-Bans. I really thought I looked the business.

  As I was about to step on the plane, Val came over to say “Hi,” or so I thought. Instead, he snatched the glasses off my face, snapped them in two, and threw them in a nearby bin. Then he just stood there, smiling at me.

  I was speechless. “I . . . What? . . . Why? . . . My image, ruined!” was all I managed. What the hell was Val playing at? He was just standing there. In my path. Grinning.

  “Here you go, Warwick,” he said, and presented me with two new pairs of genuine Ray-Bans. He’d just bought them in the airport. He turned, his shoulders shaking with laughter, and boarded the plane before my brain had time to readjust and thank him. That was typical of Val, completely unpredictable and generous to a fault.

  Flying to New Zealand was an incredible experience. I was in first class and the seat, to me, was about the size of a four-poster bed. At one point in the flight I peeked between the gap in the seats and saw that Joanne Whalley – who played Sorsha, Madmartigan’s love interest – and Val were getting very cozy indeed, and got more and more so the longer the flight went on.c Some scenes were reshot once they became a couple, because their sexual chemistry was then so much better.

  I, on the other hand, brought out Joanne’s motherly instincts. I seemed to have this effect quite often when I was younger and, like Carrie Fisher, Joanne always wanted to make sure I was well cared for.

  I was being made up when a production assistant popped her head around the door.

  “Is Warwick ready yet?” she asked.

  “Just five more minutes,” the makeup artist replied.

  “Okay. I just wanted to let you know that the helicopter is ready and standing by, so just come straight over when you’re done.”

  As the door closed I suddenly sat up. “Helicopter? Nobody mentioned a helicopter!”

  And nobody had. We had to
fly by helicopter to a remote location for one of the more action-packed sequences of the film. Most of the crew weren’t so lucky and had to view the spectacular scenery from a bus, which wound its way along narrow mountain roads with 200-foot drops and hairpin bends galore.

  Mum elected to take the bus because she was afraid of flying. I suspect she came to regret this decision when the bus turned one mountainside hairpin corner, skidded, and came to a halt with its rear end hanging, à la The Italian Job, over a sheer drop.

  “Nobody move!” the bus driver said. “If we all keep still the bus won’t slide any more. I’ll call for help.”

  The “help” turned out to be a tractor, which, in its haste to reach the stricken bus, lost control on the very same bend. It started skidding down the road toward the bus.