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Authors: John Cigarini
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Thyssen, and I asked him if it was he on the set of
Cast a Giant Shadow
. It was.
I worked with a number of other famous stars like Joseph Cotten and Angie Dickinson, but I donât want to over-egg my artistic contribution. I mainly just stood around, rather than acted. It was just a fun job really, giving me that extra pocket money I needed, and it was a great opportunity to see how film sets worked. Sometimes I would just sit on the side for hours and simply watch. I worked with Victor Mature and Peter Sellers on a film called
After the Fox
, directed by Vittorio De Sica. Sellers had recently had a heart attack and had to spend most of the time in his trailer resting, but he was with a new bride â a very pretty woman called Britt Ekland. I saw her and felt rather flabbergasted. I couldnât understand how Mr Sellers managed to gather any rest. Years later, Iâd often see Sellers in Tramp and he was still the lucky charmer. He was going out with my friend at the time, a beautiful Swedish Countess named Titi Wachtmeister.
I met an actor from San Francisco called Clint Eastwood, although on this film he was âthe man with no nameâ. I had heard at the time that he was pretty good, although I had never seen
Rawhide
. I just knocked on his dressing room door with no apprehension at all. He was shooting the spaghetti western
For a Few Dollars More
and was on his break. I asked him if I could work as an extra on his film. I remember he towered over me, his face creased and tensed and his eyes were slit and piercing. âItâs not my department,â he said to me. Looking back, I had a classic Clint encounter and, at the time, I didnât even know it. He was also a friendly man. So, I was just a kid and I had already met John Wayne, Clint Eastwood and Kirk Douglas. One thing was very clear about these men: they had a sense of confidence, a kind I had never seen before, and I guess I wanted it, too. I also worked with Lee Van Cleef, who was a real hoot. He would punch me in the stomach each morning in the coffee bar, just for laughs. They were good days and the work was exciting â much better than frying eggs in the Margate hotel.
In all my time spent on the different sets, I had only two lines. In these Italian films, the dialogue, especially in the spaghetti westerns, was always dubbed and the recorded dialogue was usually badly translated from Italian. So the exact line I had in
The Tramplers
was, âUp there, itâs your son that shot at you!â My grammar teacher would have turned in his grave, but I got the line word-perfect. I was âworkingâ with Robert Mitchum and his real-life son Jim on the film, and now I had a speaking part, I was definitely part of the gang! I would go out with Jim Mitchum, who was about my age, every night to the Via Veneto, the scene of Felliniâs movie
La Dolce Vita
. We would go to Daveâs Bar, owned by Dave Crowley, a former lightweight British boxing champion from the 1930s. Jim and I, of course, would be looking for girls and we were âin the moviesâ, so we found some without much trouble.
In the summer of â67, after my final year at Durham and before I started working in advertising, I had my best film extra job. I was in the Via Veneto one night when I ran into a group of British actors. I met them because I had been to school with one of the actors, Rick Winter, who by then called himself Richard Warwick. Richard was a very sweet man but was not destined to live much longer. He became one of the first victims of AIDS. The rest of the group were: John McEnery, a fine actor; Murray Head, who would become a pop star and have a big hit with âOne Night in Bangkokâ; and Bruce Robinson, who later became famous for what is now considered one of the greatest British films of all time,
Withnail and I
. They were all in Rome working on
Romeo and Juliet
, directed by Franco Zeffirelli. I got a job on the film
Cast a Giant Shadow
. It was.
I worked with a number of other famous stars like Joseph Cotten and Angie Dickinson, but I donât want to over-egg my artistic contribution. I mainly just stood around, rather than acted. It was just a fun job really, giving me that extra pocket money I needed, and it was a great opportunity to see how film sets worked. Sometimes I would just sit on the side for hours and simply watch. I worked with Victor Mature and Peter Sellers on a film called
After the Fox
, directed by Vittorio De Sica. Sellers had recently had a heart attack and had to spend most of the time in his trailer resting, but he was with a new bride â a very pretty woman called Britt Ekland. I saw her and felt rather flabbergasted. I couldnât understand how Mr Sellers managed to gather any rest. Years later, Iâd often see Sellers in Tramp and he was still the lucky charmer. He was going out with my friend at the time, a beautiful Swedish Countess named Titi Wachtmeister.
I met an actor from San Francisco called Clint Eastwood, although on this film he was âthe man with no nameâ. I had heard at the time that he was pretty good, although I had never seen
Rawhide
. I just knocked on his dressing room door with no apprehension at all. He was shooting the spaghetti western
For a Few Dollars More
and was on his break. I asked him if I could work as an extra on his film. I remember he towered over me, his face creased and tensed and his eyes were slit and piercing. âItâs not my department,â he said to me. Looking back, I had a classic Clint encounter and, at the time, I didnât even know it. He was also a friendly man. So, I was just a kid and I had already met John Wayne, Clint Eastwood and Kirk Douglas. One thing was very clear about these men: they had a sense of confidence, a kind I had never seen before, and I guess I wanted it, too. I also worked with Lee Van Cleef, who was a real hoot. He would punch me in the stomach each morning in the coffee bar, just for laughs. They were good days and the work was exciting â much better than frying eggs in the Margate hotel.
In all my time spent on the different sets, I had only two lines. In these Italian films, the dialogue, especially in the spaghetti westerns, was always dubbed and the recorded dialogue was usually badly translated from Italian. So the exact line I had in
The Tramplers
was, âUp there, itâs your son that shot at you!â My grammar teacher would have turned in his grave, but I got the line word-perfect. I was âworkingâ with Robert Mitchum and his real-life son Jim on the film, and now I had a speaking part, I was definitely part of the gang! I would go out with Jim Mitchum, who was about my age, every night to the Via Veneto, the scene of Felliniâs movie
La Dolce Vita
. We would go to Daveâs Bar, owned by Dave Crowley, a former lightweight British boxing champion from the 1930s. Jim and I, of course, would be looking for girls and we were âin the moviesâ, so we found some without much trouble.
In the summer of â67, after my final year at Durham and before I started working in advertising, I had my best film extra job. I was in the Via Veneto one night when I ran into a group of British actors. I met them because I had been to school with one of the actors, Rick Winter, who by then called himself Richard Warwick. Richard was a very sweet man but was not destined to live much longer. He became one of the first victims of AIDS. The rest of the group were: John McEnery, a fine actor; Murray Head, who would become a pop star and have a big hit with âOne Night in Bangkokâ; and Bruce Robinson, who later became famous for what is now considered one of the greatest British films of all time,
Withnail and I
. They were all in Rome working on
Romeo and Juliet
, directed by Franco Zeffirelli. I got a job on the film
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