PLAYING WITH HUSTON
Robert Morley looks back on
working under John Huston, who died last Saturday
I HAD taken a fancy to the winner of a small seller at Sandown. 'Let's buy it,' I urged him, 'we'll go halves.' Huston appeared to agree. I turned back to catch the eye of the auctioneer and the horse dropped dead. 'Thank you, Bob' was Huston's only comment. It was not the first corpse we had examined together. The man lay dead on the pavement of the grand boulevard, John had knelt briefly, then taking my arm propelled me forwards. `He's going to be fine Bob, just fine,' he reassured.
The first time I worked for him I hadn't learnt the script; American actors always knew their lines, in those days we British were more casual. With Bogart and Hep- burn I should have known better. When Huston was asked that evening how I had fared, he replied that I had failed to turn up, but had sent another actor instead. `But I think,' he added, 'he will come himself in the morning!'
He found it easy to forgive and I played for him in two other pictures. It might be more accurate perhaps to write, I played with him. Only one actor ever got the better of Huston and he was Italian. We were operating in a tank, the boat in which we were passengers was supposed to be sinking, all were expected to climb down a short rope ladder and finish in four feet of water. Huston got the idea of getting someone to make out a form exonerating the producers in the event of an accident. Then he asked the actor to sign. The actor refused, he also refused to budge when action was demanded. Huston hated to explain his joke but on this occasion he felt called upon. He even summoned a young lady extra to demonstrate that no risk was involved. The actor replied that she was young and presumably unmarried while he had a wife and five bambini to support. In the end the cameras were realigned so as to exclude him from the shot.
All of this took time but then John had previously spent an entire night trying to get Jennifer Jones to memorise a long speech handed to her just before the shooting while every other member of the cast marched past her up the gangway, on the dockside of Amalfi. The dawn came up and he was still without a print. In the morning the Money arrived and John was persuaded to shoot the scene in a series of close-ups and everyone got to bed by midnight.
On that picture the boat caused prob- lems. We sailed out to see for about eight hours, then John ordered the boat to turn round and by five in the morning we were still out of sight of land and, what was worse, of sandwiches or any other refresh- ments. The next day the British technicians invoked their inalienable right and it took three days to end the strike.
There were a good many hold-ups in Beat the Devil. While waiting for ten days for the weather to clear on the Pontine marshes, John whiled away the hours playing baccarat for enormous stakes with his school while we tyros were allowed to punt for one tenth of the pot. On the first fine day and for reasons never explained, to me at any rate, Jennifer Jones in full make up and beautifully gowned suddenly plunged into the waves. Huston got through five days shooting in one after- noon and then flew off to keep his date with Suzanne Flon in Paris.
We were all impressed that he should have chosen Miss Flon, but then we were impressed by everything he did. To be directed by John was always a privilege and often a pleasure. Film-acting unless the director watches it can be an excessively boring occupation. Nowadays most of them watch the budget and not the actor. As they say in television, we don't want a performance, we want it Thursday. Huston always wanted a performance, indeed in- sisted on it. During the last picture I made for him, he took the stage as an Irish landlord and master of a pack of fox- hounds. He enjoyed it all hugely as was his custom but the picture, Sinful Davey, sank without trace in a lake of Guinness. A wake to end all wakes.
Perhaps I dwell too much on what seemed to go wrong and have failed to emphasise what went right. Pictures like The Maltese Falcon, The Treasure of the Sierra Madre, The African Queen and the most brilliant of all, Reflections in a Golden Eye attest to his genius as the master of the magic lantern.
One is tempted to ask what on earth Griffiths, Duvivier, Rend Clair and Lean could have done in life if the profession of film director had not been invented for them. In Huston's case he could have become a preacher, an explorer, even perhaps a great political leader. He had the courage, the gift of leadership, the confi- dence, the charm and, the cheek.
One final anecdote from the filming of Beat the Devil. A Rolls-Royce was sche- duled for a spectacular climax as it hurtled over high cliffs into the ocean. Bogart and I were to be the sole occupants except for a driver, hidden on the floor, to apply the brakes. First we had to push the vehicle up a small incline and, as it gathered momen- tum, leap aboard. I faltered by the wayside. Bogart jumped in and then observing the absence of the mechanic jumped out. The Rolls completed the manoeuvre unobserved by the camera. I could easily have been killed, I protested. `Why no, Bob,' Huston told me, 'you would have been fine, just fine.'
Previous page
