Last Man Standing: Tales from Tinseltown (30 page)

Lew’s brother, Lord Bernard Delfont – or Bernie to his friends – was also very active in film finance and production and was, in fact, the person who invited my old friend Bryan Forbes to head up ABPC’s production activity in the late 1960s. Later on, in 1978, Bernie, as chairman of the now renamed EMI Films, had backed a little British film called
The Life of Brian
, which was the brainchild of the Monty Python team.

Bernie was set on investing a great deal of his company’s money in the movie but at the last minute got cold feet about the religious subject matter – and not least about the image of ‘Brian’ on a crucifix singing, ‘Always look on the bright side of life’. Bernie pulled out just days before shooting was due to start.

Faced with finding another backer at short notice, the team were all set to throw in the towel when Eric Idle suddenly remembered a chap he recently met at a party – former Beatle George Harrison. Not having time to beat about the bush, Idle came straight to the point and asked Harrison if he would be interested in bailing out the film for $4 million. Harrison read the script the following day,
loved it immediately, and agreed to come on board. Idle later described this moment as ‘the most expensive movie ticket ever purchased’. Harrison formed Handmade Films with his business manager Denis O’Brien and production commenced.

The film was an enormous success and although Handmade was formed originally to produce only one film, they soon found themselves becoming involved with another when the gangster movie
The Long Good Friday
came their way. The film had been completed but its production company, Black Lion Films, which was owned by Lew Grade, was becoming nervous about its prospects due to the high level of violence and a key subplot involving the IRA. Handmade made an offer to buy the rights for £700,000 and released the film, which proved to be another huge hit.

Harrison once said, ‘As a musician I’ve been the person who’s said of the people with the money, “What do they know?” and now I’m that person. But I know that unless you give an artist as much freedom as possible, there’s no point in using that artist.’

The company continued producing movies into the early 1990s when it was sold, though, alas, they never gave me a job!

Another important producer in my life, and indeed in the movie business as a whole, was Harry Saltzman. The often brash, frequently loud and always extravagant producer was actually Canadian, born in Quebec, and not American as many people incorrectly assumed.

I know Harry didn’t have a particularly happy childhood and ran away from home aged fifteen to join the circus. Such was his entrepreneurial spirit, two years later he was running his own circus troupe.

During the 1940s he joined the army, serving in World War II, where he was posted to Paris and was later recruited to the OSS – the Office of Strategic Services, an intelligence division. Such was the sensitivity of his work that when in 2003 his daughter Hilary wanted to move to Quebec from LA, she had to prove her father was a Canadian citizen, so contacted the Department of State to retrieve Harry’s records. Those relating to his military service were said to need the permission of the Secretary of State himself before they could be released, and even then they were edited heavily – some sixty years after the fact.

After the war, Harry stayed on in Paris where he met Jacqueline, a Romanian who had escaped from the troubles of her homeland, and they married soon after. In Paris he found work as a casting agent but despite modest success he never really made his mark in the profession, nor a great deal of money. He next became involved in a TV series about the French Foreign Legion, which proved more profitable and, after joining British producer Betty Box to work on
The Iron Petticoat
, Harry realized that there were more rewarding opportunities in the film business and, together with Tony Richardson and John Osborne, he formed a production company with the hopes of being able to find finance for more features. They called the collaboration Woodfall Productions and Harry finally found his real vocation in life.

Look Back in Anger
cast rising Welsh actor Richard Burton as the lead, and Harry sought out various other stage plays
he thought fitting for the screen.
Saturday Night and Sunday Morning
followed in 1960, starring a young Albert Finney. When the James Cagney film
The Gallant Hours
opened in Leicester Square, it did terrible business and was pulled
after just three days. The manager, keen to find something else to screen immediately, was offered
Saturday Night
and the rest, as they say, is history ... The film scooped three BAFTA awards, including Best British Film and made a fortune!

Harry Saltzman (
left
) and Cubby Broccoli (
right
) with the man who created James Bond, Ian Fleming.

The Entertainer
, starring Laurence Olivier, was another award-winning production, but soon after that the Woodfall team parted ways to pursue their own projects. Harry was looking for another investment and turned to a successful series of novels by Ian Fleming. He reportedly paid $50,000 for the rights in 1961, a huge sum for the times, and his pricey offer earned him just a six-month option on the James Bond character. But in teaming with Cubby Broccoli on the eve of expiry of his option, a deal was done with United Artists and Jim Bond hit the big screen.

Jess Conrad told me a great story about when he came across Harry. Jess, who, aside from being a big singing star had also made a foray into films, went up for roles in a number of TV commercials but never seemed to get them. It was, he reasoned to his friend and fellow struggling thespian Gareth Hunt, who was experiencing similar problems at the time, because neither of them had blue eyes – all the Paul Newman lookalikes were getting the jobs they went up for. So they decided the best thing to do would be to invest in a pair of blue contact lenses between them. At the time, contact lenses were very expensive and they could only afford one each. They agreed to take it in turns to wear them.

When the call went out to find a new James Bond in 1968, Jess wangled himself an audition and called Gareth Hunt, ‘Can I borrow the lens tomorrow?’ When Gareth asked why, Jess wanted to throw him off the scent of this
juicy role. ‘Oh, it’s nothing, just a commercial for something or other,’ he lied.

So, Jess got the lenses. You must remember that at this time contact lens technology was pretty young, and the only problem with the lenses was that although they
looked
good, you couldn’t actually
see
much through them.

Jess duly reported at the production company EON’s South Audley Street office and, running a little late, told the receptionist that he had a meeting with Harry Saltzman. He was told to go up to the office so he dashed up the stairs and when he reached the top he realized he hadn’t put the lenses in so, a little out of breath and somewhat nervous, he started trying to put the lenses in, only to drop one on the floor. On his hands and knees Jess started feeling through the deep carpet pile for the lens. Eventually he found it and stuck it straight in, knocked on the door and entered.

‘The name’s Conrad, Jess Conrad,’ he stated confidently.

‘I’m over here,’ replied Harry Saltzman, wondering why this actor was talking to a hat stand.

‘Oh, yes,’ Jess said, swivelling around.

Unfortunately, the lens had picked up some fluff and grit from the carpet, and as if it wasn’t bad enough that he couldn’t see much with the lenses in, now tears were running down his cheek thanks to the grit in his eye – not
quite
the persona for a fearless 007.

The interview lasted a few minutes and Jess left, still wearing the lenses, only to miss his footing on the top stair, and fall all the way down. As he clattered to a halt at the bottom, Harry appeared at the top of the stairwell, laughing riotously, and shouted, ‘You’ll never be James Bond – but I’d love to sign you up as a stunt man!’

Such was the success of the Bond films that Harry and
Cubby began to make more money than they knew what to do with. Guy Hamilton was in Cubby’s office one day after
Goldfinger
opened and Harry called through on the
speakerphone: ‘Cubby, I know what we should do with our money,’ he said. ‘We’ll buy gold!’

I’ll always be grateful to Harry and Cubby for giving me the chance to play Jimmy Bond.

‘But where would we keep it all?’ Cubby asked, worriedly.

I had been great friends with Harry from the early 1960s, though that all changed when I started working for him. You see, Harry had this belief that if he paid you, then he owned you. I know he had a contract with Albert Finney, for example, where Albie had to seek his permission to work elsewhere.

When we started
Live and Let Die
his partnership with Cubby was beginning to crack around the edges, and Harry effectively ran the production on the film by agreeing Cubby would do similar on the next – it was a way of minimizing the time they had to spend working together.

Harry loved making movies and made many other non-Bond films, whereas Cubby was content to concentrate on the franchise.

Once I signed as 007, Harry became very possessive and felt he owned me. He demonstrated it, for example, by not allowing my friend David Hedison to stay at the same hotel as me because he was jealous of our friendship. He argued about my long-time hairdresser, Mike Jones, joining the production ... and things like that.

I know director Guy Hamilton felt caught in the middle of the two producers and told UA that he could happily make a film with Harry, and could happily make a film with Cubby, but he wasn’t keen on making a film with Cubby and Harry together.

However, for all his faults, Harry was still an amazing showman and he loved making movies.