Size Matters Not: The Extraordinary Life and Career of Warwick Davis (15 page)

“Wow! Look at the TV!”

It actually had woodworm. I swear it was powered by a gas and valve system. I switched it on and it shook and hummed into life. I stared at the screen. And stared. The screen lightened fractionally.

“Maybe it’ll have warmed up in half an hour or so,” Daniel said hopefully.

“I suppose you don’t come on holiday to watch TV,” I said gloomily, not believing that to be true at all.

Outside it was raining cats and dogs but I had to admit, after a quick walk on a nearby wild beach, the scenery was really quite spectacular.

After two days of rain, as we still waited for the TV to warm up, I decided to call home. This was before the days of cell phones and meant I had to go in search of a public call box. “I’ll be back in a tick,” I said, and went on the hunt for a telephone. Luckily, I soon spotted the familiar red box in the local village.

Using a phone box was just one of many situations in which I had to employ a certain unusual ingenuity to compensate for my lack in height. After heaving open the heavy metal door, I then had to climb up the inside of the box, with one foot on either side, using the windowpanes as steps until I was halfway up. Then, pretty much doing the splits, I was able to make a precarious and short (it was quite tiring) phone call.
^a
An old lady strolled past and did a double take.

“Mum?” I said, slightly breathlessly. “It’s me.”

“Oh, Warwick, thank goodness you’ve called!”

“What is it?” I asked, sensing the urgent tone in Mum’s voice.

“It’s George, he wants you to come and meet him and Ron Howard at Elstree Studios to talk about a new film.”

That was all I wanted to hear. “I’ll be right there!” I hung up, carefully made my way back down the interior of the phone box, and ran back to Daniel. Once I’d explained, he insisted on accompanying me. Fortunately for us, his wonderful parents clearly understood that meeting George Lucas was about one million times more important to us than staying in Cornwall with them.

Ten minutes later we were packed and hopping up and down with excitement on the station platform. After a couple of slow starts, we got an express that whisked us back to London. Mum met us at the station and took both Daniel and me to meet George and Ron at Elstree.

We were in a big office right at the far end of the building. As usual, whenever he met anyone famous, Daniel turned into a babbling wreck and just managed to introduce himself as my “friend.”

“Warwick,” George said, “this is a project I’ve had in mind for some time. I told your mum back in ’83 and we decided we needed to wait until you were old enough.”

George said he and Ron were considering me for the title role in
Willow
, a $40 million fantasy adventure.

“To be honest,” Ron said, “I think you’re too young. I mean, the character we have in mind is a father – married with two kids – a worldly kind of fellow.”

I resisted the temptation to insist that, at seventeen years old, I was of course by now a worldly fellow. George was in my corner and fought hard to persuade Ron. Eventually, he said to Ron: “Well, you’re the director so feel free to do more casting.” I was going to have to fight for the part.

I was soon auditioning alongside hundreds upon hundreds of little people as the casting director scoured the globe for actors to play Willow and his wife and children. I went to several auditions where I was paired up with various actors, to see who went with who. Finally after about ten of these auditions, Ron asked me to go to America and audition there.

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.