villa in the hills outside Cannes. Owned by Michael Hamlyn’s father, it is the Versailles of rustic retreats, its grounds the size of a small country.
Much of what is being served at lunch beside the swimming pool was grown on these grounds, we are told; from which onecould reasonably anticipate a spread consisting of most of the fruits, vegetables and wines of the south of France, supplementing a few roast suckling pigs from a neighbouring farm. Across the pool, the telephone rings.
Stephan is being courted by representatives of the three principal American show-business agencies, CAA, ICM and William Morris. The most effective courtship is being conducted by Bobbi Thompson of the William Morris Agency, whose tenacity is tempered with a playful intelligence; the most aggressive, by various CAA operatives. A few nights earlier, a couple of them, monitoring the bars for new clients, Perriers in hand (a recent feature of Cannes: the suits stay sober, the talent get drunk), came straight to the point with him outside some squalid watering hole. What exactly, they enquired, would it take to get him to sign with them? Sensing the absurdity of the moment, and regretting not having swum out to sabotage the now-withdrawn inflatable Arnold Schwarzenegger, Stephan replied that the day he joined the agency, CAA’s potentate Mike Ovitz would have to be wearing a dress. The operatives agreed unblinkingly.
Like all good stories, it has travelled quickly and has reached a reporter from the New Yorker, who is calling to verify it. So while the other lunch guests eat olives and table-hop, Stephan finds himself, phone in hand, pacing the perimeter of the pool recalling the details of a half-forgotten encounter for the benefit of a journalist he will never meet.
Other than ourselves, the guests we have brought and the host family, there are only three people present who are not employees of PolyGram. One is Mario Van Peebles, the director and star of the black western Posse. The others are Rupert Everett and Jason Donovan.
Jason’s style is collaborative — he talks to everyone aroundhim without apparent regard for their status — while Rupert’s is more conspiratorial, seeking out those whose view may carry some weight. Stephan, who is supposed to be orchestrating a conversation between them, is not doing so. Meanwhile, they do not speak to each other.
Although still exhibiting traces of yesterday’s exhilaration — a director in competition at Cannes is king for a day — he is clearly exhausted, and it becomes apparent that this vital exchange, which could determine the future of Priscilla, is going to occur only in the most fragmented and rudimentary way.
He takes Rupert for a stroll through the olive grove and hears what he has to say. Then he wanders off with Jason for a few minutes, and afterwards I walk him around the orchard to find out what happened with both of them. The various configurations, and their concomitant by-play, are witnessed with some amusement by the PolyGram people, who are aware that what is taking place is a highly irregular casting session. Most bewildered of all is probably Mario Van Peebles, whose elected spot for a post-prandial snooze is next to the orchard path. From this position, he would hear every possible variation on the theme.
The decision is that there is no decision. We leave Cannes as we left Sydney: without a cast.
4
The Preparation
It is the choice of foreign actor, as is so often the case, which is going to be the decisive factor in whether the film is made, and Rupert Everett has decided to do the Italian movie. So we make lists.
It plainly needs to be someone affordable — eliminating the prospect of Bernadette being played by, say, Nick Nolte, whose usual salary is well over our total budget — but it is important we remember that some stars will reduce their fee if the role activates whatever vestigial sense of daring has not been eviscerated in becoming famous, and if
Much of what is being served at lunch beside the swimming pool was grown on these grounds, we are told; from which onecould reasonably anticipate a spread consisting of most of the fruits, vegetables and wines of the south of France, supplementing a few roast suckling pigs from a neighbouring farm. Across the pool, the telephone rings.
Stephan is being courted by representatives of the three principal American show-business agencies, CAA, ICM and William Morris. The most effective courtship is being conducted by Bobbi Thompson of the William Morris Agency, whose tenacity is tempered with a playful intelligence; the most aggressive, by various CAA operatives. A few nights earlier, a couple of them, monitoring the bars for new clients, Perriers in hand (a recent feature of Cannes: the suits stay sober, the talent get drunk), came straight to the point with him outside some squalid watering hole. What exactly, they enquired, would it take to get him to sign with them? Sensing the absurdity of the moment, and regretting not having swum out to sabotage the now-withdrawn inflatable Arnold Schwarzenegger, Stephan replied that the day he joined the agency, CAA’s potentate Mike Ovitz would have to be wearing a dress. The operatives agreed unblinkingly.
Like all good stories, it has travelled quickly and has reached a reporter from the New Yorker, who is calling to verify it. So while the other lunch guests eat olives and table-hop, Stephan finds himself, phone in hand, pacing the perimeter of the pool recalling the details of a half-forgotten encounter for the benefit of a journalist he will never meet.
Other than ourselves, the guests we have brought and the host family, there are only three people present who are not employees of PolyGram. One is Mario Van Peebles, the director and star of the black western Posse. The others are Rupert Everett and Jason Donovan.
Jason’s style is collaborative — he talks to everyone aroundhim without apparent regard for their status — while Rupert’s is more conspiratorial, seeking out those whose view may carry some weight. Stephan, who is supposed to be orchestrating a conversation between them, is not doing so. Meanwhile, they do not speak to each other.
Although still exhibiting traces of yesterday’s exhilaration — a director in competition at Cannes is king for a day — he is clearly exhausted, and it becomes apparent that this vital exchange, which could determine the future of Priscilla, is going to occur only in the most fragmented and rudimentary way.
He takes Rupert for a stroll through the olive grove and hears what he has to say. Then he wanders off with Jason for a few minutes, and afterwards I walk him around the orchard to find out what happened with both of them. The various configurations, and their concomitant by-play, are witnessed with some amusement by the PolyGram people, who are aware that what is taking place is a highly irregular casting session. Most bewildered of all is probably Mario Van Peebles, whose elected spot for a post-prandial snooze is next to the orchard path. From this position, he would hear every possible variation on the theme.
The decision is that there is no decision. We leave Cannes as we left Sydney: without a cast.
4
The Preparation
It is the choice of foreign actor, as is so often the case, which is going to be the decisive factor in whether the film is made, and Rupert Everett has decided to do the Italian movie. So we make lists.
It plainly needs to be someone affordable — eliminating the prospect of Bernadette being played by, say, Nick Nolte, whose usual salary is well over our total budget — but it is important we remember that some stars will reduce their fee if the role activates whatever vestigial sense of daring has not been eviscerated in becoming famous, and if
Similar Books
