Shooting 007: And Other Celluloid Adventures
Read Shooting 007: And Other Celluloid Adventures Online
Authors: Sir Roger Moore Alec Mills
For Lil
CONTENTS
On Her Majesty’s Secret Service
Avalanche Express
…
The Awakening
Octopussy
: My Private Revolution
Christopher Columbus: The Discovery
(© 1982 Danjaq, LLC and United Artists Corporation. All rights reserved)
by
Sir Roger Moore
I can’t think how long I’ve known Alec; it feels like forever – and I mean that in the nicest possible way! We’ve shared some interesting times, whether it was hundreds of feet underground in a South African goldmine, on an orbiting space station or on a nuclear submarine planning to destroy western civilisation as we know it.
The one thing I enjoyed most about the Bond films was coming together with a family to make the movies, and Alec was a long-standing member of that family. Well, not long standing in the vertical sense as he isn’t that tall, as the box he often stood on to help him reach his camera viewfinder will testify. But in terms of talent and personality, Alec is a big man.
At the time of writing, I haven’t yet read my old friend’s autobiography, so I cannot really make any comment about its readability. However, if he tells the truth about the shocking way I behaved on film sets over the years, on various continents, above water and below, above and below ground, then I think you will be amused and appalled at the disgraceful way some actors behave because of the inflated egos that they develop due to their good fortune.
If, on the other hand, Alec just boasts of his artistic achievements in the world of cinematography you will have to believe it, because Alec does not lie … except when he is writing or talking, as I discovered on the ten or so happy occasions we worked together.
Knowing Alec, I can safely promise you a good read, and I always tell the truth.
Sir Roger Moore
I well remember my mother, Lil, reading fairy tales to me in bed to try to get me off to sleep. I was young and believed everything she read from the book to be true. Mouth wide open and totally convinced that all this could be a way of life, I slept well. Many years later I wondered if I had been brainwashed and had had my future played out before me on the 10-inch black-and-white Murphy television set which my parents somehow managed to buy. Lil smiled when she reminded me of those past early years as we strolled down memory lane. In a strange way, those scenes reflected both my life and career, somehow mirroring those fairy tales.
I had to think carefully about how I would write about my life and profession. I want not only to write about the film world – so unlike the current technology of high-definition digital cameras – but also to share my hidden emotions, which may be difficult to explain. But I will try …
Autobiographies of my predecessors, the people who contributed much to my filming education over the years, were useful, as were my personal experiences in a fast-changing film industry. Those experiences are not easy to describe now, with new technology moving on and leaving behind a generation of ‘oldies’ to salvage past memories. With my generation of film people now fast in decline, I suddenly felt the need to explain my own images, particularly when reading Sir Roger Moore’s memories of me; indeed, I have memories of Sir Roger, which I will come back to later. It is also necessary to establish personal images of my early background which may be of interest to others. My story is one of a retired generation and it may be difficult for the modern reader to understand our environment. I and others came from a world that is now seen as past history as the evolution of the film industry continues on its journey with its fast-changing technology.
‘Past history … that’s right, accept it’s too late to argue about that now – we are what we are,’ Suzy quickly pointed out, looking over my shoulder as I made a few notes. Suzy was always ready with her opinion, even when discussing my possible retirement. At the time I had hated the very idea but my caring wife thought it would be worth considering and that I should wake up to the fact that the phone had finally stopped ringing.
‘But I’m not dead yet!’ I said, fighting back.
This issue inevitably brought up the subject of my appalling memory, an unfortunate inheritance handed down from Lil and now more noticeable as I struggled to recall fast-fading reminiscences while keeping alive the idea of writing an autobiography – private moments for the family to enjoy before all are lost to memory. We were both aware that I would need to do something in retirement, more than likely retelling past adventures and experiences. Even if they were recorded out of sequence, my accounts would remain as honest as memory allowed.
Then I asked why an old fool would want to reveal his private life – exciting as it was – when it would be easy to disguise the reality to his advantage. In all likelihood all those who take on the challenge of writing their memoirs are tempted by this.
‘I assume you mean taking licence?’ Suzy asked, reading over my shoulder … wish she wouldn’t do that!
I enjoy reading autobiographies, usually of those with whom I worked in the past, though there were times when I hardly recognised the author, the person I thought I knew. So now I wonder if the writer had an outside influence suggesting that a little exaggeration of past experiences would be accepted – even if it was not entirely honest. With this in mind, I felt I must look carefully to what I write, should I take up the challenge. My book should be interesting to read, perhaps entertaining, while at the same time it would need some licence to flow, to keep the reader’s interest – which is easier said than done. Should the thought of retirement finally become reality, we would probably move to Devon, where Suzy and I could look out across the glistening water breaking over the rocks bordering our garden – the perfect atmosphere for ageing memories to flow back. Again, this is easier said than done; in truth, I would always be captive to an occupation that dominated my life.
There are many better qualified in putting pen to paper with their entertaining wit while remaining comfortable in their humility; at this early stage I’m not sure where I stand on this one. With these humble thoughts in mind and the constant maltreatment of my wife who bullied me into accepting this late challenge to write of past experiences, I knew it would be a difficult task to face up to, even more so should I tell the ‘whole truth’. I suppose the only reason I accepted this challenge was in part my refusal to accept any awareness of passing years. Like friends and colleagues before me, I am well into the chapter of holding a pension book, so perhaps delaying acknowledging the truth was my denial of growing old, hoping to delay the inevitability of my retirement. Be that as it may, my physical condition remained good for my age – brain still functioning normally, my enthusiasm and energy have never faded. It was there for all to see. The problem now was that the phone had stopped ringing. Suzy was right – I had been rumbled … What to do?
It would be easy to sit down in a comfortable armchair and reflect on days gone by, making notes or perhaps watching one of my old films on the telly, if only to lift my morale, my self-esteem. But this would inevitably depress me too, knowing that my work could have been better had it not been compromised by schedules which were more important for the director; at least I could improve the lighting in my head. I supposed I could also do a little gardening, which I really hate. More than likely I would just sit there dozing, waiting for the Grim Reaper to come calling. Obviously, my thinking was becoming negative, allowing depression to set in.
As a result, I decided to take a second glance at my colleagues’ autobiographies – those directors and cinematographers with whom I had the pleasure to work. I had gained knowledge through these people’s kindness when I pestered them for information – how they did this or why they did that – hoping not to become a pain in the bum! My options remained open about what I thought I should do, or perhaps what I should not do. There was a long way to go and I was still not confident about writing a book.
Slowly a more optimistic attitude grew within me and I felt positive about the challenge to join this well-known club of authors, but this was soon followed with disturbing negative feelings when I reminded myself of the famous names who had already and successfully taken up the challenge to write of their personal experiences; I doubted I could match their accomplishments. Again I was quickly reminded this was ‘unhelpful’ to the cause. I pressed on despite my concerns, while at the same time knowing that my attempt would produce much the same subject matter as other books, scripting the same theme but with different labels attached. Already I was convinced that my efforts would be a waste of time, and possibly less interesting anyway.