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| Never Underestimate the Power of the Producer | Jul '08 |
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| By Cliff Robertson |
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Movie producers have always been (to this actor/writer) dark clouds threatening—or at least they were or have been ominous enemies of the writer and ofttimes the actor. At least that's the way it was when I first began acting in film and television. They were ofttimes cigar-smoking, bellicose, canny and threatening figures. They had power out of proportion to their talents (or so it seemed to me). They were frightening. They wielded their power with a ruthless sense of authority. They were the toughest side of the film business. Their artistic contribution was minimal —or so it seemed to my callow eyes. They were not part of the creative team. They were not writers, though too often they believed they were. Too often, they tried to take over the story, including the acting. They were the archenemy of the writer, the director and the actor.
Like many writers, I have often wished I had the autonomy of Woody Allen. For Woody Allen—a little man with a towering talent—has declared war, I believe, albeit a secret war, on Hollywood, which explains why he rarely works there. Woody usually prefers the East Coast. A native of Coney Island, he distrusts Hollywood. But strange as it may seem, he seems to trust Coney Island. He has an exalted position as the writer/actor/producer of most of his films. And most of his films are very fine, with a scathing comic edge. Woody Allen doesn't trust Hollywood—and he has reasons. Happily, for the movie audiences, Woody rules every foot of film he shoots.
Fortunately, Woody, being a most intelligent man, is very aware of what he is not knowledgeable. When on foreign turf, he leaves it to the experts, be it the stunt man, special effects or the esoteric. Those are some of the reasons most people in the industry hope to work with Woody Allen at some point in their cinematic lives.
Several decades back, before Woody had achieved his current standing as one of the world's finest directors, I was asked to act in a film to be shot in France and Spain. I had just finished doing several other films at the time and was disinclined to take the job. When I heard who the executive producer was, I was more than disinclined—I was scared as hell. For the executive producer of this flick was none other than Darryl F. Zanuck. Darryl Zanuck, for those who may not remember, was without question the single-most important, dynamic producer in Hollywood—not only for 20th Century Fox, but also for films abroad.
I had never met the man, but he was legend—reputed to be tough as hell. I was being asked (translation: demanded) to meet Mr. Zanuck in London at a very prestigious restaurant. Just the mention of the restaurant intimidated me to my bones. It was reputed to be the most expensive restaurant in London, peopled by heads of state, as well as studios.
The director, Bob Parrish, was to meet me there as well. Bob Parrish was no problem; I had met him before, and he was a very kind man. I had just finished another film at the time and was certain that he would understand my disinclination to jump right into another film playing the lead role of a World War II sergeant. However, the night of the dinner was beginning to feel like "the Last Supper," so nervous was I.
Immediately upon arriving, I was ushered to the table of Darryl F. Zanuck himself—waiting with the preverbal cigar in his private booth. I was trying to appear cool and professional. In truth, I was nervous as a cat. I was prepared, I thought, to have all my defenses effectively at the ready. I was ushered into the booth by the maitre d' and, of course, Mr. Zanuck was on a long-distance telephone call to Hollywood. This scenario in itself was off-putting. I waited in obedient stillness for him to finish his Hollywood call. There was nothing to do but have a glass of scotch the waiter supplied. I imbibed it in about 10 seconds. Finally, Mr. Zanuck hung up with a victorious laugh, leaned back, took a huge drag on his Havana cigar and began to talk. The following conversation began as I recall:
Zanuck: Well, Cliff. It's about time.
Cliff: (after a pause) Uh. ... Uh. ... Yes, sir.
Zanuck: Glad you're going to do this flick. Shouldn't be any problems.
Cliff: No sir. I mean. ... I mean. ...
Zanuck: No problems at all.
Cliff: Well. ... Uh. ... Uh. ...
Zanuck: Right? Right?
Cliff: Well. ... Uh. ... Well, I was. ... I was. ...
Zanuck: What? You were what?
Cliff: Well. ... I was. ...
Zanuck: Speak, damn it! You were what?
Cliff: Well, I was wondering if. ... Uh. ... If. ... Uh. ...
Zanuck: (cutting sharply) Shouldn't be a problem. No problem at all. Right?
Cliff: Well. ... Uh. ... Well. ... Uh. ... I was wondering, sir, if. ... Uh. ... If. ... Uh. ...
Zanuck: If what? What, damn it?
Cliff: I was wondering if I could maybe have another drink of scotch.
Zanuck: Oh sure. Hell yes. Glad you like it. It's my favorite blend.
Cliff: Yes, sir.
The waiter, ever on the ready, immediately poured me another glass of scotch and I immediately raised my shaky hands to the glass.
Zanuck: Yeah. ... Yeah. ... I saw your tests. Not bad. ... Not bad. ... And Bob, call Hollywood right away and tell them it's a deal.
Cliff: (A deal? That's the fastest deal I have ever seen or been involved in. But I guess that's Hollywood—or at least Zanuck's Hollywood.)
Zanuck flicked his cigar, turned directly to Bob, and to my utter amazement, started talking about airplanes. Famous airplanes and famous pilots—all of whom he had met in his life. I, of course, was mesmerized. He recounted meeting Lindbergh, Will Rogers, Roscoe Turner and virtually every pilot I had ever heard of. He had known them personally. I was glued to my seat as he puffed away between famous names—ignoring me completely. Though completely ignored in his recounting, I was thoroughly impressed and immersed. After an absolutely hypnotic 30 minutes of aviation narrative, Zanuck got up and followed his cigar towards the front door, still giving orders to the director.
Zanuck: Oh, and by the way, Bob. That Messerschmitt we're going to use for the film can be bought. Put it on our production costs. We'll buy it outright, whatever the fair price.
Outright? Buy it outright? I couldn't believe it. As a pilot and collector of old vintage aircraft, I could not believe what I was hearing. Here is a man able to buy—outright—a WWII Messerschmitt 108 without even asking the price.
He left a sizable tip for the waiter and kept on walking towards the front door—a little man following a very big cigar –already placing his next call to Hollywood. He abruptly said goodbye to everyone and marched toward the waiting limo. I couldn't believe what I had seen and heard. Nor could I believe myself as I trotted behind Zanuck like an eager puppy. The chauffeur quickly opened the door for "His Highness." I stopped at the curb and Darryl F. Zanuck, the most powerful mogul in Hollywood, snapped:
Zanuck: Yes, what is it Cliff? What can I do for you?
I was stunned. What can he do for me? Oh my god! What ever can he do for me. It was a surreal moment and I heard myself say:
Cliff: Oh. ... Nothing, sir. Nothing. ... Uh. ... Uh. ...
Zanuck: Uh what?
And the pitiful, weak, callow actor and obedient servant, if ever there was one, peeped in a plaintive voice:
Cliff: Nothing, sir. ... Well, I was wondering about that Messerschmitt. ...
Zanuck: Yes? What about it?
Cliff: Oh. ... I'm so glad you're going to use it in the movie.
Zanuck took a long drag on his cigar, eyed me carefully and said:
Zanuck: What movie?
Cliff: Uh. ... Uh. ... The movie I have the pleasure of working for you on.
Zanuck: (Without a beat) Oh yeah—that movie. That's no big deal. No big deal.
With that, he gestured the chauffeur to leave. The car accelerated quickly, leaving a shocked young actor standing at the curb watching a trail of exhaust smoke following a cloud of cigar smoke headed for more important deals. I had met my first mogul. It was to be a reminder—a dramatic reminder—of the power of a Hollywood producer.
Obviously, Zanuck's minions were on the ball. Very quickly thereafter, all logistics were attended to and I was soon heading for Brussels to pick up my newly acquired costar—the Messerschmitt 108 (part of my deal), then preparing to fly from Brussels to Marseilles. Unbelievable! It was all done like magic. The magician was Darryl F. Zanuck and I was the new owner of a Messerschmitt 108 WWII vintage airplane. Such was the power of Hollywood's most impressive producer and such was the awe imposed upon Cliff Robertson. I had learned another lesson about the movie business and was to learn even more in the future.
Academy Award and Emmy Award winning screen star Cliff Robertson has owned and flown a wide array of aircraft, including a Spitfire MK IX, a Messerschmitt Me 108, a French aerobatic Stampe SV4 biplane, a Grob Astir glider (in which he still holds a distance record) and a Beech Baron 58. A holder of single, multi, instrument and commercial licenses, as well as balloon, the pilot of many thousands of hours has accumulated many aviation awards, including EAA's highest Eagle award and the AOPA Sharples Award. He was inducted into the National Aviation Hall of Fame, and the American Veteran Association has honored him as Veteran of the Year. His columns will appear in his soon-to-be-published book. For more information, visit www.cliffrobertson.info.
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