Shooting 007: And Other Celluloid Adventures (27 page)

Oh dear … Paris: the Moulin Rouge and the Folies Bergère, Toulouse-Lautrec and Oswald Morris – names and places which would bring back the youthful fire in me, where the hallowed universities of my further education could now be revisited. Many years had passed since last I visited this beautiful city filming
Father Brown
, then a young man seriously interested in the female form, if not quite the same as that portrayed by Lautrec. Perhaps I would revisit the Folies and give myself more time to study …

Apart from Lewis Gilbert and Roger Moore, it was also another opportunity to work with Lois Chiles, who was confirmed as the new Bond girl while
Death on the Nile
was still in production, so even before shooting began I was familiar with the location, director and leading cast.

Working in this exciting city would be to experience the civilised working conditions of the French film industry, where filming started at midday, after lunch, and continued non-stop through to 7.30 in the evening, with snacks and drinks available on the stage throughout the day – a total of seven-and-a-half hours; so what could be wrong with that? Although this timing may not be to everyone’s preference, it is worth considering the benefits that came with this arrangement, such as getting up later in the morning, missing the early Parisian rat race traffic, cheerfully avoiding the same problem going home in the evening and giving everyone time to eat out or see a film without the worries of having to get up early the next morning. Paris for the Brits was simply heaven. The production also gained from the momentum of filming not being broken by taking lunch. Frogs and Limeys united, all were happy to go along with this very sensible arrangement, except when filming exteriors, when we would revert to normal daylight working hours.

Filming at Vaux-Le-Vicomte with Jean Tournier, Corinne Cléry and Roger Moore. (© 1979 Danjaq, LLC and United Artists Corporation. All rights reserved)

I enjoyed eight wonderful months filming
Moonraker
, which began with my own pre-production filming of Rio de Janeiro’s famous carnival, a spectacle one could only fully appreciate by being there. I had a mixed camera crew of both English and French technicians as our filming extended over three incredible days and nights, with the constant movement of floats in procession and attendants in costumes keeping the excitement alive.

When the festival was over we were invited to join a gathering of press and documentary camera crews who by tradition are all invited to the ‘hookers’ ball’, a grand evening where the prostitutes of Rio take time off from work. Later we would return with the main unit to complete the carnival sequence with the principal artistes, where 007 would enjoy a cable car ride and several punch-ups with his old adversary Jaws, played by Richard Kiel, whose audience popularity in
The Spy Who Loved Me
persuaded the producers to bring him back, making Richard the only Bond henchman ever to appear in two films.

Our location filming in Venice would also bring an invitation card from Roger Moore, inviting Suzy – now my wife – and me to join him in celebrating his fiftieth birthday at a party with friends, where by chance I found myself sitting at the dinner table opposite the American film director Herbert Ross.

One of my many on-screen fights with Roger Moore. This time 007 makes his point. (© 1979 Danjaq, LLC and United Artists Corporation. All rights reserved)

Flashback: This account comes from 1972, while I was working on one of my earliest films for Stanley O’Toole,
The Last of Sheila
. The director was Herbert Ross, Ernie Day was the cinematographer and I was now confirmed as Ernie’s camera operator.

It was during the first week of filming on a millionaire’s yacht off the coast of Nice; a sudden change in the weather conditions moved from glorious sunshine to a heavy overcast mist, with the horizon slowly merging into grey mass. Unhappy with the situation, Ernie explained the obvious matching problem to Ross, who, for reasons known only to himself, urged Ernie to put a white net in front of the lens. Once again Ernie politely made his view known to the director, pointing out that, with the existing conditions and now adding the net, the rushes would look awful. Even so, Ross insisted and Ernie reluctantly complied with the director’s wishes, if only to make the point.

Looking through the camera everything looked dire with hardly any shape at all, which I quietly whispered to Ernie if only to back up his comments to Ross.

‘I know, I know,’ he snapped back; understandably Ernie was unhappy with all this and the obvious result.

When the rushes were viewed the next day they were as bad as Ernie had predicted, but what happened next could not be foreseen – it was nothing short of a total disgrace. Although I was not a party to the post mortem on the rushes it would seem that Ernie was made accountable for this, in spite of his protestations to Ross which had been completely ignored. Ernie was subsequently removed from the film with another cinematographer brought out from the UK, while in the meantime Ross suggested that I should take over lighting until the replacement arrived. Angry at the injustice of everything that had happened, I refused, explaining to Stanley, the producer, that the fault lay not with Ernie but with Ross himself, who obviously had a different agenda and issues with Ernie photographing the film in the first place. I immediately resigned my position.

In past years, when cinematographers were unhappy with photographic conditions, the clapper boy would chalk on the clapper board ‘Shot Under Protest’, which would clearly be seen at rushes the next day. I wondered whether, if we’d done this, it would have changed the situation and put the blame where it should have been laid in the first place, but with the questionable politics of the situation, I seriously doubt it.

With filming suspended for the day I sat alone on the beach in a state of total disbelief at all that had happened so quickly. My wonderful world was now suddenly falling apart with Ernie moving away from the scene as quickly as possible while I returned to the Hotel Westminster where the unit was based to reflect on this disgraceful decision. This disbelief continued when I called my wife Lesley to tell her about the situation, but before I explained the real story she said that she had already heard that I had been ‘sacked’ and was coming home. Of course this was not true, but it was interesting, if not suspicious, how quickly the industry grapevine had moved into action.

The next day, Gerry Turpin arrived to take over from Ernie, along with his camera operator Derek Browne, leaving me to become even more cynical about the cutthroat side of this beautiful industry. Like Ernie, I quickly departed from the scene, but this personal experience would not be lost on me – a reminder that others would always be waiting in the shadows, particularly when the face doesn’t fit!

To bring this sad flashback to a close, which all began at Roger Moore’s birthday party, Ross carefully studied me across the table, his stare somehow recognising me although still unsure where we had met before. Finally came the moment of truth.

‘Alec, have we worked together in the past?’

Knowing the situation, Suzy tightly squeezed my hand, reminding me where we were, so making it necessary for me to bite my lip and say no, though clearly – dearly – I wanted to tell him what I really thought of him face to face. My dad would have approved of that, considering how he spoke to his officers in the trenches; it would seem that we share the same genetic fundamentals in the Mills family.

Back to
Moonraker …

Lewis now had a new cinematographer, Jean Tournier, whom I had also worked with before on a French film called
Allez France
when the unit were on location in London; I was Jean’s camera assistant. This change of cinematographer came about when Claude Renoir, Lewis’s first preference, was unavailable because an eye accident forced him to withdraw from the film. At a private meeting called by Cubby and Lewis to discuss the situation, I was invited to suggest any names who might be considered for the position. I just happened to mention Jean Tournier’s name, explaining that I had worked with him and recommended they see some of his work, in particular
The Train
with Burt Lancaster, even though the film had been shot in black and white. Although I was not party to the final decision, they loved Jean’s work, and rightly so, leaving me quietly pleased with my recommendation. We became good friends and for many years we regularly exchanged Christmas cards until they suddenly stopped in 2004; Jean had passed away.

To be honest, I was hoping they would bring in an English cinematographer, which would have given me the opportunity to suggest Michael Reed, not because Michael was a friend but more for his highly praised work on
On Her Majesty’s Secret Service
from both sides of the Atlantic. This was not to be, as Lewis continued to favour the idea of a French cinematographer, which perhaps made sense with
Moonraker
based in Paris.

Even though I was filming out of the country, other responsibilities across the Channel meant that I was never far from home. Before moving to Paris the new Guild of British Camera Technicians, better known as the GBCT, had been formed. After I had passed some fairly innocuous comments at the first general meeting I was invited to become their first chairman. It soon became clear that some producers were not in favour of this new organisation and they became vocal in their opposition, accusing the guild of being a trade union in disguise, which of course was not true. However, with an untainted guild arriving on the scene, we needed articles for the new magazine; with this in mind the editor, Kevin Kavanagh, suggested that while in Paris I should interview Cubby Broccoli, the legendary producer who deserves much more credit from me than has been offered so far. Even so, this awkward question would need to be asked.

‘After years working with British cinematographers, why did you decide to use a French cameraman?’

I admit it was with some hesitation that I put this improper question to Cubby, who sensed my unease; after all, here I was generously employed by Cubby and working in Paris, so why was I rocking the boat? A long pause followed with Cubby thinking about this carefully, eyeballing me before taking a puff on his Montecristo cigar, slowly releasing the smoke, followed with another long pause, leaving his nervous camera operator waiting on the expected terse reply.

The huge, if dripping wet, 7-foot 2-inch frame of Richard Kiel towers over the camera crew on a stage in Paris while filming on
Moonraker
. After surviving the sinking of Stromberg’s
Atlantis
in
The Spy Who Loved Me
, Richard is the only Bond villain to return in a later film, even if he did end up as a good guy. (© 1979 Danjaq, LLC and United Artists Corporation. All rights reserved)

‘Alec, if the director wants a French cinematographer … British or Chinese cameraman, he can have him. The chemistry of those two on the set is very important for me …’ A pause came with an afterthought. ‘It’s vital for any film!’

It happened that Cubby’s answer was already working for me personally, with Lewis inviting me to be his camera operator in France, so I quickly moved on.