Size Matters Not: The Extraordinary Life and Career of Warwick Davis (18 page)

Years later I asked him about all the bad press coverage he got; he genuinely didn’t know why it was they seemed to pick on him so often. He told me they hardly ever quoted him correctly.

Although he could sometimes come across as quite moody he was extremely mischievous and he never let me take things too seriously. His most-used word was “fun.” “Let’s have a little fun, Warwick – oh sorry, no offense!”

Val loved his movie horse (a proper racing stallion) to be pumped up so it looked exciting on camera and he said I should do the same with mine.

“Heh, good luck with that,” I told him.

My own trusty steed was a former racehorse that had literally been rescued from the dog-food factory; it had been chosen for me especially because it was ancient, on its last legs and, no matter what you did, it simply wouldn’t budge.

Nevertheless, Val knew every trick in the book when it came to horse riding and he often managed to wind my poor old nag up so much that it bounded off toward the horizon, with me bouncing in the saddle, screaming, “You-ou-ou ba-a-as-ta-a-ard!”

When we were filming on other horses back in the UK, they were trained to go on the word “Action!” so mine would take off down the road at the start of every scene until I asked if we could start using another phrase such as “Begin acting!” The Shetland ponies were the worst. They were far feistier than normal-sized horses – like a terrier – and once they got going they really liked to try and throw me off. I suppose at least there wasn’t so far to fall. There must be something about people and animals that come in small packages; what we lack in height we make up for in pluck.

I was sorry to leave New Zealand. I’m a big fan of extreme and snowy weather and it had plenty of both. It was also a truly beautiful and unspoiled country. If it wasn’t for the fact that I need to be in the UK for work, then I’d be seriously tempted to move there.

It was back to Britain with a bump as filming continued in a Welsh quarry in Snowdonia – which also happened to be the coldest place on earth. We filmed the exteriors of the Nockmaar Castle and the transformation scenes in which the evil sorceress Queen Bavmorda, played by Jean Marsh, turned us into pigs.

The location was stunning but very dark, thanks to an abundance of slate and the fact it was situated between a lake and Elidir Fawr mountain. There was also an eerie rock formation known as the Lady of Snowdon because it had more than a passing resemblance to a human face.

We spent most of our time freezing to death in a caravan with no electricity. Poor Peter, another one of my stunt doubles, was so cold he wrapped himself in trash bags. We were so bored that we spent our days throwing playing cards at melons – if you threw them just right then you could get them to stick into the melon. Eventually we got so good at this we were able to flick them into cracks between cupboards and the joins in shelves.

One day, after filming had moved back to London, Val tapped me on the shoulder.

“What’re you doing tonight?” he said with a grin.

I shrugged. “Nothing.”

“Good. Tonight you’re coming with me and having dinner with Tom Cruise and Mimi Rogers.”

Holy crap!

Tom was without a doubt the number one star in Hollywood at the time (and the world’s most successful little person). We ate in a restaurant in Covent Garden and while I’m sure the food and venue were both fantastic, I have no recollection of either. I was a complete unknown at this stage, and just seventeen years old. Tom and Mimi said “Hello” and I mumbled something like “Hmfglsltmu, heh, heh.” The waiters were just as starstruck and they spent the evening walking into pillars, dropping plates, and colliding with each other as they passed.

All I could do was watch in fascination and with an open mouth as Tom and my mate Val reminisced about the
Top Gun
days, and all the jokes they used to play on one another, while other diners did a bad job of trying not to stare. Sadly, I can’t remember the details. It all went over my head. There was a slight quibble as to who would pay the bill – although there was no way they were going to let me pay so I politely dropped out and let them fight over it.

I checked my watch and glanced out of the window anxiously. Mum was supposed to pick me up; she was under strict instructions not to embarrass me by parking her black and yellow Citroen 2CV in front of the restaurant’s glass windows and to wait in a nearby street.

“Something wrong, Warwick?” Val asked.

“Not at all,” I replied in my finest “Mr. Cool” voice. “It’s been amazing but I’ve got an early start tomorrow. I’ll just head off now and, you know, grab a cab from Covent Garden.”

We said our good-byes and I headed toward the main door. It was then, with rising horror, that I saw it. My mum’s 2CV slowed to a halt and pulled up right outside. I looked behind me. Tom, Val, and Mimi still seemed deep in conversation about the bill. A waiter held the door open for me.

“Good evening, sir,” he said.

I looked back at him, checked the table one more time, and sprinted out through the door at top speed, yanked the car door open, and performed a commando-style dive into the back, yelling, “Go, go, go!”

Mum floored the accelerator and we roared off at five miles an hour through Covent Garden.

“Now what was all that about?” Mum asked.

I glared at her. Mothers!

I just hoped that Tom, Mimi, and Val hadn’t turned in time to witness my extraordinary exit.

Willow
was granted the honor of a Royal Premiere at Leicester Square in December 1988, attended by the Prince and Princess of Wales. I was driven there in a Bentley and felt every inch the superstar as it rolled up to the red carpet and I emerged to a hundred-flashgun salute.

Ever the conservative (by now) eighteen-year-old, I’d opted for the white dinner suit. Being the star of the film, I was seated next to Princess Diana, the most famous woman in the world; she could hardly see me behind my giant tower of popcorn.

She was absolutely charming and looked every inch the princess in her white evening gown, which sparkled in the glow of the screen. I watched her out of the corner of my eye and she laughed in all the right places. She came across as fun-loving and carefree; there were no obvious signs that her seven-year marriage to Prince Charles was in turmoil.

Afterward, Princess Di and I had a little chat. Shyly, she said, “You give us princesses a rough ride!” (The baby I was carrying throughout the film was a princess.) I did her the honor of turning bright red and mumbling incoherently.

After that, cast and crew went off for dinner at the Waldorf – Mum, Dad, and sister Kim came, too. Oddly enough, just by coincidence, I was seated next to Sam. We’d still barely met. She looked absolutely stunning in a gorgeous red dress. We even looked like a couple, me with my white dinner jacket and red handkerchief. But Sam was there on a date with Pete, the stunt double who was adept at throwing playing cards into melons. As we chatted I managed to undo some of the damage the
News of the World
had done to my character and did my best to erase my “brat” image.

To promote
Willow
I flew from city to city all across Europe – Paris, Berlin, Copenhagen, Oslo, you name it, I was there doing press junkets for
Willow
. It was a freezing cold December and I was somewhere different every day. Soon, I’d forgotten who I’d spoken to and what I’d said to them and constantly contradicted myself. I didn’t mind, I loved everything – except for the food. Everybody always wanted me to try the local specialty but I simply can’t stand foreign food. I made the mistake of saying, “All I want is a nice piece of Cheddar” while in Paris, the land of the stinky cheese, which didn’t go down too well. This became my mantra as we traveled from city to city and various gofers were dispatched to hunt down a piece of Cheddar or near substitute for Mr. Bigshot.

While in one European capital, my ice-skating friend David Steinberg stopped by my hotel room to say “hello.”

We chatted and caught up for a few minutes before he asked to use the bathroom.

“Sure,” I replied.

He returned a few minutes later. “Gosh, Warwick, that’s impressive.”

“What is?”

“They’ve installed a sink for you so you can wash your hands.”

He’d only gone and washed his hands in the bidet.

“Oh yes, they do that for me now I’m a star,” I replied, trying to conceal a wicked grin.

“Wow, that’s amazing.”

It was. Did David think a crack team of plumbers and tilers raced into each hotel before my arrival to install a new “sink”? I like to imagine that for years after, whenever he arrived in a hotel room with a bidet, David thought, “Wow, Warwick’s been here!”
^f

Val and I did a few meet-the-fans signings. The routine was that we’d both sign the same photo; Val usually signed them first before passing them on to me. What he’d actually done was written a message to me on the photo such as “When’s lunch?” or “She’s hot!”

The initial reviews for
Willow
were somewhat mixed.
Time
magazine said that Lucasfilm had “hit its dark age” and that
Willow
was simply “a reprise of his
Star Wars
plot” while the
New York Times
praised my “earnest performance” and
Variety
said, “kids will love it.”

It was a hit at the box office, grossing $57.27 million from a $35 million budget in the United States and, while this wasn’t as profitable as George had hoped, it was a slow grower. Its popularity has increased over time and it is arguably regarded as a bit of a cult movie today. I’ve lost count of the number of times people have told me that they wore out their VHS copy of the film from playing it so much. Thank goodness for DVD.
^g
I think its success is due to its timelessness. It isn’t particularly dated and certainly follows no particular fashion.