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Authors: John Cigarini
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through Richard Warwick and we worked together for a month. The funny thing was, I was an extra in the film for both the Montagues and the Capulets, but mostly I can be seen in the finished film as one of Romeoâs gang members.
Director Franco Zeffirelli and his producer Dyson Lovell were seriously gay, and would take young film extras into their trailers whenever there was a break in filming. On my last day, Zeffirelli gave me a line to speak: âWhich way went he that killed Tybalt?â It never made it into the finished film, but then neither did most of the parts played by the British actors, and they were professionals who had worked on the film all summer. I, however, was less than an amateur and only on the film a month. I am sure Zeffirelli only gave me the line to soften me up, or should I say harden me up, and I suppose I was grateful to him for it, but there was perhaps yet another ulterior motive. He came into my dressing room just as I was down to my briefs, put two floppy wrists on my shoulders, and said in broken English, âWhy you âave to leave so soon? I âavenât seen nearly enuff of youâ, while staring at my crotch. âWhy you no stay in Rome and become actor?â
âIâm going back to London for a job in advertising, because I want to use my brain,â I replied, slightly offhandedly. Well, the man went ballistic, defending the acting profession. Perhaps it was a stupid remark, but at least it brought the seduction attempt to an end. I had obviously refined my firewall over the years. The other thing that historic moment did was help me realise how made up my mind was to work in advertising, how determined I now was. Maybe I even had it in me to get good at it? Win some awards? What about even gaining respect? Like some of those movie actors had, or even like my father had gained in his profession.
It was true; the images on the internet I later found, that my father had taken of those movie actresses, was advertising work he was doing. I was following in his footsteps, subconsciously. The war had prevented him from achieving, so perhaps I could continue the things he couldnât â like carrying on a legacy. Maybe even creating one.
Part 2
Chapter 7
Freedom
âItâs all for nothing if you donât have freedom.â
â William Wallace
After my last summer in Rome, and working on
Romeo and Juliet
, I returned to London to start work at Hobson Bates Ltd. I bought myself a cream suit with black pinstripes from Burton the Tailors. It was September 1967, the Mamas & the Papas were top of the charts with âSan Franciscoâ, and
Casino Royale
had just hit the flicks. It was a September I will never forget. I went to work at my first pro job and my salary was £1000 a year, plus luncheon vouchers of course.
I joined on the same day as two other graduates, but when we got to the office, it was all a bit of an anti-climax. To start, no one seemed to be expecting us, or in fact know what to do with us. They all seemed too busy, everything was so frantic â it was the world of advertising. I recall standing at the front of the office, admiring the ringing phones, the papers being thrown, the loudness, the tempers, the red faces. We idled away the morning until someone suggested we go to the pub over the road for lunch. I guess I was nervous and needed to calm the old nerves, so I had a couple of pints that sunny day, but I was not used to drinking at lunchtime. I was also tired from my journey back from Rome. We got back to the office they had allocated for us and there was still nothing to do. I laid myself down on the sofa and went to sleep, but only for a moment. Roy Beaumont, the director in charge of the graduates, came into the office and cried out loud to all who could hear him, âHA⦠that Cigariniâs already ASLEEP!â I suppose it wasnât the best thing I could have done on my first day in the office.
Director Franco Zeffirelli and his producer Dyson Lovell were seriously gay, and would take young film extras into their trailers whenever there was a break in filming. On my last day, Zeffirelli gave me a line to speak: âWhich way went he that killed Tybalt?â It never made it into the finished film, but then neither did most of the parts played by the British actors, and they were professionals who had worked on the film all summer. I, however, was less than an amateur and only on the film a month. I am sure Zeffirelli only gave me the line to soften me up, or should I say harden me up, and I suppose I was grateful to him for it, but there was perhaps yet another ulterior motive. He came into my dressing room just as I was down to my briefs, put two floppy wrists on my shoulders, and said in broken English, âWhy you âave to leave so soon? I âavenât seen nearly enuff of youâ, while staring at my crotch. âWhy you no stay in Rome and become actor?â
âIâm going back to London for a job in advertising, because I want to use my brain,â I replied, slightly offhandedly. Well, the man went ballistic, defending the acting profession. Perhaps it was a stupid remark, but at least it brought the seduction attempt to an end. I had obviously refined my firewall over the years. The other thing that historic moment did was help me realise how made up my mind was to work in advertising, how determined I now was. Maybe I even had it in me to get good at it? Win some awards? What about even gaining respect? Like some of those movie actors had, or even like my father had gained in his profession.
It was true; the images on the internet I later found, that my father had taken of those movie actresses, was advertising work he was doing. I was following in his footsteps, subconsciously. The war had prevented him from achieving, so perhaps I could continue the things he couldnât â like carrying on a legacy. Maybe even creating one.
Part 2
Chapter 7
Freedom
âItâs all for nothing if you donât have freedom.â
â William Wallace
After my last summer in Rome, and working on
Romeo and Juliet
, I returned to London to start work at Hobson Bates Ltd. I bought myself a cream suit with black pinstripes from Burton the Tailors. It was September 1967, the Mamas & the Papas were top of the charts with âSan Franciscoâ, and
Casino Royale
had just hit the flicks. It was a September I will never forget. I went to work at my first pro job and my salary was £1000 a year, plus luncheon vouchers of course.
I joined on the same day as two other graduates, but when we got to the office, it was all a bit of an anti-climax. To start, no one seemed to be expecting us, or in fact know what to do with us. They all seemed too busy, everything was so frantic â it was the world of advertising. I recall standing at the front of the office, admiring the ringing phones, the papers being thrown, the loudness, the tempers, the red faces. We idled away the morning until someone suggested we go to the pub over the road for lunch. I guess I was nervous and needed to calm the old nerves, so I had a couple of pints that sunny day, but I was not used to drinking at lunchtime. I was also tired from my journey back from Rome. We got back to the office they had allocated for us and there was still nothing to do. I laid myself down on the sofa and went to sleep, but only for a moment. Roy Beaumont, the director in charge of the graduates, came into the office and cried out loud to all who could hear him, âHA⦠that Cigariniâs already ASLEEP!â I suppose it wasnât the best thing I could have done on my first day in the office.
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