Last Man Standing: Tales from Tinseltown (10 page)

‘Emma Chisset.’

He duly signed and handed her the book.

‘What’s this?’ asked the lady, looking at the inscription.

‘Your name!’ exclaimed Williams.

‘No, I didn’t say “
Emma Chisset
”, I asked “
Ha much issit
?”.’

Aside from his acting work, and borrowing other people’s stories, Kenneth also took great pride in another job within the industry, which not a lot of people know about.

When director Kevin Connor and casting director Allan Foenander set out in search of a young leading lady for
Arabian Adventure
in the late 1970s, they scoured the length and breadth of Britain without success, but then someone suggested they go and see a young girl at drama school by the name of Emma Samuelson. They were absolutely bowled over by the young actress and Kevin was in no doubt that he’d found his young lead. However, there was a problem: being still in drama school, Emma was not yet a member of the actors’ union Equity and as such wouldn’t be allowed to work on a British film. Ironically, the rules at the time stated that she would not be able to get her Equity ticket until she had a certain number of paid acting jobs under her belt. It was quite a ridiculous situation, but the union was all-powerful back then. All was not lost though as, in extraordinary circumstances, Equity might consider waiving
the rule provided they
could be convinced there was no one else suitable for the part.

Kevin, Allan and producer John Dark convened a meeting at Pinewood for the visiting Equity representative, in the knowledge it was really make or break for young Emma’s film career – and the picture. They sat solemnly waiting for the rep to arrive ... and in walked Kenneth Williams, with his trademark nostrils flaring.

The trio argued the case for casting Emma, and a stern and very serious Kenneth asked, ‘And there is no member of Equity who could play this role?’

‘No, we’ve cast extensively and Emma really is the only one suitable,’ replied Kevin Connor.

‘Then, in the circumstances, we shall offer Miss Samuelson membership and permission to be contracted.’

Despite taking his union role very seriously, he couldn’t help but then let his guard down over tea and biscuits and revert to his outrageous self, telling everyone about his recent ‘bum trouble’.

Incidentally, producer John Dark said that the name ‘Emma Samuelson’ would be too long to appear on cinema marquees and so shortened it to Samms. And so began the career of a wonderful actress.

The first Bond girl, Eunice Gayson, had a similar discussion with her employers. She was born ‘Eunice Sargaison’ and when she secured her first West End play, the producer – who paid for signage out in front of the theatre by the letter – said she must shorten her name. Funny how these things happen, isn’t it? And as for my old mate Maurice Micklewhite, his agent suggested it wasn’t the sort of name that tripped off the tongue easily, so young Maurice looked across from the phone box at Leicester Square where he was calling from and
saw
The Caine Mutiny
was playing at the Odeon. Henceforth Michael Caine, film star, was born.

Kenneth Williams, meanwhile, had a habit of flashing his manhood around the Pinewood sets. ‘Oh no, Kenny, put it away!’ his female co-stars would moan. I think he did it more in an attempt to shock than anything else, although I did hear on one occasion that he complained to producer Peter Rogers that he had ‘grazed his penis’ on set and was sent off to see the nurse. Twenty minutes later, and with his director and co-stars waiting, there was still no sign of Williams, so Peter marched down to the nurse’s office, opened the door and saw him lying on the table naked, sighing gently, while the nurse was massaging his tool with a handful of ointment.

‘I’ll be there in a few minutes,’ replied the star, as Peter almost wet himself with laughter.

On another occasion, at a party thrown by comedy actress Betty Marsden, the hostess said to Williams, ‘Now, Kenneth, are you behaving yourself?’

‘Is my cock hanging out?’ he asked.

‘No,’ she said, cautiously.

‘Well then, I must be!’ said Kenny.

Kenneth – unlike me, of course – took great pleasure in talking about his various ailments whenever he was on the chat show circuit, such as the occasion he was in his theatre dressing room, washing his rear end in a pot, when Noel Coward sprang through the door to congratulate him on his performance. Kenneth apologized for his appearance, and said that following his last operation, the doctor had advised that he should bathe rather than use paper after visiting the loo.

‘My dear boy,’ replied the Master, ‘you have no need to explain. I had that very operation and know just how painful piles can be.’

‘Piles! Oh nooooooo,’ protested Williams, ‘I don’t have them! I have pipilles.’

Without missing a beat, Coward replied, ‘Pipilles, dear boy, is an island in the South Seas.’

I can’t write about Pinewood and not mention the biggest film never made there, can I?
Cleopatra
with Elizabeth Taylor in the title role, Richard Burton as Mark Antony and Rex Harrison as Julius Caesar (though that part was actually cast with Peter Finch when production commenced in 1960). So many problems plagued the film, not least the runaway budget which, at the time, made it the most expensive film that had ever come out of the studio. In fact the trouble started when the proposed leading lady, Joan Collins, was rejected by director Rouben Mamoulian in favour of Elizabeth Taylor who demanded – and got – the previously unheard-of fee of $1million for her participation.

Following that huge investment, lavish sets of previously unprecedented dimensions were constructed on the back lot, including the harbour in Alexandria (which held one million gallons of water – that’d take a few days with a bucket, I’ll bet) and the Egyptian desert, but the construction coincided with a plasterers’ strike and, in desperation, the studio took out advertising on prime-time TV to fill the vacancies. Before even a foot of film had been exposed, the expenditure had exceeded £1 million.

Then there were the 5,000 extras to accommodate with extra trains, buses and shuttles and mobile toilets that were brought in from Epsom racecourse. But the one thing the financiers didn’t bank on when they opened their wallets
was the British weather. Torrential rain fell and shooting was abandoned. Worse still, Elizabeth Taylor fell dangerously ill and had to undergo an emergency tracheotomy, and Joan Collins was put on standby to replace her. But with the rain still falling incessantly, and news of Liz Taylor’s recuperation likely to be a long one, the decision was made to relocate to a warmer climate, which would help aid their star’s recovery, and so everyone shipped out to Rome to remount the production. Well, except for Finchie – he’d had enough. Rouben Mamoulian also left the production at that point and was replaced by Joseph Mankiewicz.

Spotting an opportunity to use some of the leftover sets and costumes, producer Peter Rogers made
Carry On Cleo
and at one point fell foul of 20th Century Fox by emulating their posters. It wasn’t the first time that had happened either, as when Peter made
Carry On Spying
the Bond producers raised their concerns about his poster looking similar to
From Russia With Love
.

While we on the Bond films had the luxury of six-month schedules and generous budgets, the
Carry Ons
were made for a few hundred thousand pounds and shot in about five weeks, with only occasional location work outside the studio – usually in Maidenhead. When
Carry On Up the Khyber
was made they used Snowdonia in Wales to double for the Afghan mountains (again no expense lavished) and at the premiere, one of the invited dignitaries sidled up to the producer and said he’d served in the Army and, ‘I remember so many of those locations in Afghanistan and India. What marvellous memories.’ Peter Rogers didn’t have the heart to tell him the truth. But that is the magic of movies.

Donald Sinden told me a great story about working at the studios, a story that typifies the ethos at the studio at that time. Donald was a familiar face at Pinewood as a Rank contract star and later on in the 1970s I worked with him on a film called
That Lucky Touch.
He used to love chatting about all the people he’d worked with and is a brilliant raconteur. Apparently he was in the bar at Pinewood one day, and bumped into the producer Joe Janni, who started telling Donald about a script that involved three months’ location work cruising around the Greek islands. On hearing that, Donald said, ‘Count me in!’ and didn’t even wait to read the script.

A few weeks before shooting, Janni called to say that, unfortunately, the budget wouldn’t stretch to the Greek islands. It was to be the Channel Islands instead. It still sounded good though. However, a week or so before shooting, Donald went for a costume fitting and the wardrobe man said, ‘Shame about the Channel Islands, isn’t it?’

Donald didn’t know what he meant … until the wardrobe man explained that the budget wouldn’t stretch to the Channel Islands … and the location was now Tilbury docks near London! They shot out to sea on one side, turned the ship around and shot the other way, and spent three months in those wretched docks … the magic of the movies indeed!

Another great friend in the early years was Kenneth More. Kenny and I met in 1962 when he was filming
We Joined the Navy
at ABPC Elstree and I was filming my first series of
The Saint
on the next stage. We struck up an immediate friendship and saw one another all the time thereafter. Kenny had been a huge star over at Pinewood for Rank, starring in films such as
Genevieve
,
Reach for the Sky
and
Sink the Bismarck!
and in 1960 Rank’s Managing Director, John Davis, agreed to release him to appear in a big-budget film at Shepperton Studios called
The Guns of Navarone
. However, shortly before production commenced, Kenny made the mistake of heckling and swearing at Davis at a BAFTA dinner, and in one fell swoop lost both the role (which went to David Niven) and his contract with Rank.

My dear friend Kenny More was best man on my wedding day, 11 April 1969, seen here with his wife Angela Douglas.