‘I’m retiring,’ he said.
‘What?’
‘I’m leaving you to take care of things now. I think you know enough about producing to ensure your movies get made.’
‘Why? Why are you retiring?’
‘Because it’s time. It seems written. I’ve had a very rewarding career. I’ve made enough money and I daresay I’ll be remembered when I’m gone. I’ve never felt so content with my work, with my life. The peak anticipates the fall, but it’s been a great journey.’ ‘I’ll miss you.’
‘I don’t doubt it!’ He laughed. ‘But I think it’s time for
Mace Productions
to change the face of the movie industry. Alone. You don’t need me anymore. You’re ready for it, Daniel.’
‘I can’t thank you enough for the opportunity you gave me.’
‘People have to help each other out in this business. There are so many steppingstones. I owe you a lot of thanks as well. Now, as a celebration, I suggest we go for a nice meal. Caviar and champagne sound good to you?’
‘Definitely.’
‘And we’ll toast to your future. You’ve got a lot ahead of you.’
‘You were a superb director. And a superb producer.’ I looked deep into the old man’s eyes.
‘Yes, I know! And so are you. Let’s hope you continue my little legacy.’ He buttoned his suit jacket. ‘So, let’s go for that meal.’
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Playing with Pandora’s Box
When I look back at the output achieved with James Johnson I struggle to believe we did so much.
I never grasped what James was trying to say about me being young to art or art being young to me and whatnot. There was something clever beneath his words that had maybe been clouded by the onset of senility, but that didn’t matter. We produced four films together in that short space of time and the majority of my fans would agree that they were the best scripts I’ve ever written, and some of the best movies I’ve directed.
Curious Pandora
has been praised for bringing a whole new level of maverick filmmaking to Hollywood, although critics at the time struggled to understand its interwoven plot strands and the powerful symbolism that featured throughout the movie. If I had to compare my work to someone as great as James Joyce, pretentious as it is, I’d say
Curious Pandora
was the
Finnegans Wake
of my canon. Extremely experimental, overly difficult to interpret maybe, but a piece that will be forever studied and always yield new meanings to enthusiastic viewers. The script was a collaborative effort between me and James (Johnson, not Joyce, of course). I wrote the first draft and he revised it, interpolating new scenes and adding a bit of intimacy between the characters.
At the script’s heart is the myth of Pandora’s Box. We wanted to play with the story created by the Greek poet, Hesiod. In Greek mythology, Pandora was a kind of Eve figure, the first woman in the world. We subverted this idea by having our Pandora be the world’s last survivor. Pandora was given a container by the gods and ordered to never open it. Of course, like Eve munching the fruit from the Tree of Knowledge, curiosity got the better of Pandora and she opened the container, releasing all the world’s evils: plagues, diseases, hurtful emotions and those annoying charity fuckers with clipboards who attack you on the streets. Many critics still can’t work out the movie’s plot, so attempting to justify it here is tricky. But the film opens with Pandora, played by the gorgeous Natalie Storey, discovering an old container between two trees, representing the Tree of Knowledge and the Tree of Life, in a park. Natalie was a perfect casting decision by James. A model with no prior acting experience, but such an amazing look for the part. Pale skin, the blackest hair I’d ever seen, big brown eyes, an innocence about her. A real-life Snow White. It was great to work with Anthony Miles again, although James Johnson was hell-bent on getting the superb Anthony Hopkins for the role. Miles played Pandora’s father, a strict figure who realizes he’s been emotionally distant from his daughter as the story progresses. After Pandora opens the seemingly empty container, the image of two trees morphs into the two radio masts that are mysteriously ignited near her school. This is the start of the apocalypse, as the world is attacked by horsemen, dragons, demons and the figure of the anti-Christ.
The movie is full of symbolism and gematria, from the numbers of Pandora’s classrooms to her pet snake, Daniel. The script was inspired partly by a play (never performed, thank fuck) I’d written during a lovesick spell at university, called
Blue Demon
. It involved the upcoming Judgment Day and the protagonist’s opportunity to escape hell, following his suicide, and relive the moment he broke up with his girlfriend. It was showy bollocks, to use the official literary term for such a play, but certain elements of it filtered into
Curious Pandora
.
The picture was visually stunning, from the frequent dream sequences to the flaming cityscapes, but most fans would agree that Anthony Miles’s performance was the best thing about it. He could whip through a series of emotions and tell so many stories with a single look, such was the power of his glassy blue eyes. He embraced the emotional resonance of a father realizing he’s let his daughter down and a man trying to survive in an apocalyptic world.
Curious Pandora
was his last performance before he entered the world of retirement, which involved voluptuous young blondes and a sumptuous mansion in Prague, I believe. His death concludes the movie, the death of the authoritative God-like figure, leaving Pandora alone, gazing at the rifts in the black clouds above the war-torn city of London - the renowned final shot of the film. The shot was James Johnson’s idea. He imagined it in a dream and gave me hell for the multiple other takes I was responsible for, none of which captured what he’d envisaged. He actually came onto set and filmed the last few seconds of the movie himself. And I’m glad he did. What he filmed was better than any image I could come up with, and it’s become the most famous still from that movie.
‘Leave an old man to paint you a picture of death, old boy.’ He smirked at me after calling, ‘Cut!’
Our next three movies, although not as complex and visually stunning as
Curious Pandora
, were the products of a very happy time in my career.
Springs Eternal
was a simple love story, but I think it’s the closest Hollywood has come to capturing the true nature of relationships. It makes me sick when I see characters in movies saying, ‘I love you’ every few seconds and being all mushy. I wonder how many screenwriters have been in real relationships, judging by their scripts.
Springs Eternal
was all about giving the middle finger to soppy (although I’m well aware I have a massively hypocritical tendency to be schmaltzy at times) love stories and showing what love was really about. It details a couple’s story from the moment they meet, to their first argument, to the birth of their first child, parenthood and finally, death. Depressing maybe, but beautiful at the same time.
Upon the Moors
was a venture into thriller/horror, and it attempted to put some spark back into what I felt was a flailing genre. James put it best when he told me, ‘It’s no good having something leap out at the audience with loud music in an attempt to make them jump. Have something linger on the screen, something that will eat into their brains. Something magnificent but terrifying at the same time. That will make them jump every time they notice movement in the corners of their eyes, every time they remember that image late at night while a huddled mass of sweat and dread, I can assure you.’
Our last film together
Willful Murder
was a comedy about two police investigators seeking the identity of a modern Jack the Ripper in London. A hilarious mix of transvestism, mistaken identities and crude puns, I’d say it’s the funniest movie I’ve done. It really was a happy time in my career, although something haunted me every time I closed my eyes after a long day of filming or attending interviews. Images eating into my brain as I slept, a mass of hot sweat and icy dread.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
What Dreams May Come
I had strange dreams during that period. Elusive dreams that fragmented in the morning. Troubled thoughts filled my head each night, until the temporary darkness blotted the troubles out. But the numbers, logistics and ideas for problematic productions conspired with my dreams. I’d wake and try to remember the images from the night.
Formless or misshapen pictures, like Cubist portraits of figures from my past, materialized amid the darkness and light. Branches whipping at my skin. A child crying. Lauren’s face. I often woke with that horrible feeling of being pursued. I couldn’t remember who’d been chasing me, but I knew my imagination had formed frightening images. A cartoon character, distorted. The eyes of a childhood friend turned red and bloody with Technicolor rage. I’d open my eyes and reach out to make sure Lauren still slept next to me, hold her close, splinters of ice coursing through my veins.
Bouts of depression grew frequent with each passing year. I’d be at an elegant dinner part, laughing and joking. And then a shroud would descend on me. Utter unhappiness. A sense of futility. I could go for ages without those manic changes and I’d be happy. But depression could last for weeks when it came and it seemed to last longer every time it reoccurred. I didn’t know where the melancholy came from. I had everything a guy could wish for. A successful career and a beautiful wife. Despite those strange bouts, in actuality life just got better.
Every actor dreams of playing the perfect role. A character they can relate to, with powerful emotions. But few actors ever find that role during their careers.
I wrote a script called
The Concert
. A protagonist emerged from its pages named Kieran McGraw. The movie was about Kieran organizing a great rock concert. He was a fading rock star and pulling off the event was his last chance to get back on the scene. But the movie wasn’t just about regaining fame. It centered on McGraw’s battle with drink and how he’d lost his family and friends because of his rock and roll lifestyle. The script delved deeply into McGraw’s personal life.
I’d never been involved in such an ambitious project. I wanted to organize a real concert. Fortunately, my position in the movie industry meant that many famous artists wanted to help. The concert was held in Cardiff’s Millennium Stadium.
I asked my childhood pal Elliott if he could do a rewrite of the script. He’d developed an excellent reputation as a screenwriter since we’d met up at the premiere of my last Mathis movie – in particular, his script for a biopic on Marilyn Monroe was universally lauded. He sharpened the dialogue for my movie. The by-play between the central characters ranged from being witty to poignant. He added extra emotional depth.
McGraw has a furious argument with his wife during one scene. But then the character breaks down and sobs. Suddenly, he feels weak and his anger subsides. I loved doing scenes like that. I enjoyed being tested as an actor. The movie left me emotionally drained. I gave everything I could to that production.
Kieran McGraw wasn’t like the heroes I’d played before. As an ageing rock star he drank, smoked and cursed a lot. But he spent the entire movie fighting for his dream. He wanted to organize a musical extravaganza on the scale of great concerts like
Live Aid
. He loved to perform, but people wouldn’t listen to him because he wasn’t considered a star anymore. He had to claw himself upwards, out of nothingness.
I performed in front of a full capacity crowd in Cardiff and became a real rock star for a day. The weeks of vocal training had paid off. I wasn’t a great singer, so I felt very proud of myself for delivering that vocal performance. I jumped into the crowd during my last song. That moment defined the movie, the moment Kieran McGraw achieved his dream.
The movie’s massive
Cleopatra
-like budget caused a stir in the press. Few actors had ever been involved in something of that scale. But the financial risk was worth it. Show-biz celebrities turned up on set and asked for cameos. Everybody wanted to get involved. The press knew my first feature for (the post-James Johnson)
Mace Productions
would be special because so much talent was involved. Nothing like
The Concert
had ever been attempted in cinema. I never doubted the project. Not for a moment. I knew it would be a box-office smash.