I Am C-3PO--The Inside Story Read online

  And we flopped right. We were shifted around like bowling pins, being careful that we didn’t actually fall over. Then the final indignity. Being switched off. Carrie put her hand behind my back and Brian Lofthouse – my new, eternally dedicated and patient right-hand man – flicked the remote switch he’d rigged earlier. Threepio’s eyes went out. I slumped to my left, one arm hanging limp. As the crew eventually poled the cockpit upright, I made sure my arm followed suit. That wasn’t hard. But there I was again. Breathing shallow.

  The whole sequence looked very dramatic in the final edit. But I remember the static camera crew peering from their adjacent platform. With arms folded, their faces said they’d seen this sort of stuff before. They were really waiting for the lunch menu. Catering is a big deal on a film shoot.

  Of course, the new pairing of droid and smuggler gave opportunities for more dramatic and comedic tension between the characters. At least the droid was allowed to show equal contempt for that “impossible man”.

  Others may have found our director, Irvin Kirshner, to be impossible in some ways as well. I found him a total joy. His enthusiasm and energy were infectious. He brought his immense intellect to bear on a script that would end up as the fan favourite. Personally, I still prefer A New Hope, as being the most complete and unselfconscious story of the Saga.

  Kirsh was always encouraging. Little bursts of praise were followed by small tweaks to the performance. I felt he was always watching and appreciating. It all felt inclusive. I did notice that some shots grew more elaborate as we worked on them. Set-ups would become bigger and wider; more background; more troopers. The schedule expanded. So, apparently, did the budget. Not my department. I was just there to act.

  Threepio had new feet. No more deck shoes that peeped out from the gold covers at awkward moments. The new look was one-piece plastic with shoe laces at the back, almost unnoticeable when covered in gold tape. And I had new pants. The two-piece, flimsy “space eroticism” was now a onesie, which I had to wriggle myself into. I had returned to the plasterers’ shop and been smeared with gunk and plaster again. But not all over. Just the area of my body in question. To my embarrassment, the resulting cast would sit on a desk in the workshop. It looked like a retail display for Y-fronts. I don’t know what happened to it. Possibly, it became a collector’s item.

  As filming continued, I began to feel an odd sensation in my hands – or rather, a lack of sensation. It was rather disturbing. It grew worse, until I couldn’t easily turn my own front door key. At that point I saw a doctor. When I described what I was wearing, he explained that the arms of the costume were pressing on my nerves – the ulnar nerves. I was risking permanent damage, if I kept on doing it. He’d seen it before. Arms draped over the back of a chair, sort of thing – though he’d never encountered a robot with this problem before – probably never encountered a robot at all. Being left in the costume for such long periods, I had to develop a resting stance, to relieve the pressure – arms raised upwards. I must have looked as though I was about to dance a highland fling. In that costume?

  I kept reminding myself that no one had attempted this sort of suit before. Its creators had tried their best. I asked them nicely for some alterations to improve the fit but they had other more pressing things to do for the production. I asked several times over the ensuing weeks. But I would see the ugly cuts and bruises and pinches every night. At some point, my frustration and physical hurt got so strong that I took metal cutters to open the tops of the arms like petals. Now they’d have to repair and hopefully enlarge them. It would give me a little more clearance.

  It worked, somewhat.

  But they weren’t happy.

  INT. MILLENNIUM FALCON – MAIN HOLD AREA

  “I have reversed the power-flux coupling,” Threepio proudly boasted, completely unaware of the sexual tension in the air. Finally the Princess was going to get a good kiss.

  But no.

  I waded into the scene, gatecrashing the steamy moment. It wasn’t exactly a crash but as I tapped Harrison lightly on the shoulder, I did hear a Ting! I knew that something had fallen off something of mine. It was getting tedious. I was aware George was frustrated by the suit’s malfunctions. How did he think I felt? So, because of the costume glitch, we would probably have to do the scene once again. Not, I think, that Carrie and Harrison would have minded. We didn’t do a retake, because you could only hear the Ting. The sound would be replaced in post-production. And you wouldn’t notice what happened, unless you watched closely, frame by frame. In which case, you would see a small gold object falling from my arm and exiting the bottom of picture. It was a greebly.

  An elbow greebly.

  Then there was Hoth. Norman Reynolds, the Production Designer, and team had created a wonderland. A world of ice and snow. Giant frozen icicles were, in fact, elegantly crafted, hand-blown glass sculptures. Inverted and filled with water, slowly weeping through a pinhole at the tip, they were totally convincing, and beautiful. The floor was covered in salt crystals. The ice corridors were carved out of polystyrene blocks. A coating of melted wax and salt created completely believable walls of frosted snow. Convincing – until you touched them, which I did, often – out of a sense of curious wonder.

  Now I was shuddering in the huge, icy entrance way.

  EXT. HOTH REBEL BASE – DAY

  ACTION!

  The crew chucked fake snow into the air around me as I was blasted by the huge and extremely noisy fans. I naturally reacted to the dramatic onslaught of the scene and I desperately waved my arms against the snow-laden gale. I yelled at Artoo, to come inside.

  CUT!

  Kirsh came up close. He patiently explained that, when I came to see the finished film, I would hear a gentle breeze, drifting off the snow field beyond. In other words, I was over-acting. Not for the first time, I fear. It had become a habit. Threepio was taking me over.

  But in an ice cavern, I did do a remarkable thing.

  INT. HOTH – REBEL BASE – ICE CORRIDORS

  Running away from the stormtroopers, Threepio sees a red and yellow sign stuck on a door, set in the ice wall. He pauses in his flight and considers. His circuits processing the information, he niftily swipes the sign off, before rushing onward. The sign was in fact a warning that on the other side of the door was a herd of ever-hungry wampas. In earlier drafts of the script, the poor captured beasts had been teased to fury by a malicious Artoo, incessantly squeaking high-pitched whistles at them. Now, Threepio used his wits, hoping the pursuers would enter the cell and be chomped up, thus allowing him and his friends to escape. That was all scripted. The remarkable thing was that I managed, with my limited field of vision and poor depth perception, to take aim and grab the paper with my all-but-useless hand. A minor triumph perhaps. But for me, a landmark. The scene was cut.

  I wasn’t feeling great as the rebels frantically evacuated their collapsing base. I chased Han and Leia down a narrow corridor in this world of whiteness; smoke and explosions around me, wearing my body-clenching gold costume, unable to hear Kirsh’s shouted directions or see obstacles in my path. It was ghastly. The more so, since I had clearly overdone it the night before. I learned an important lesson that day. Never go to work with a hangover.

  INT. STAR CRUISER – MEDICAL CENTER

  It couldn’t be the end of the story. This was only the second film of a trilogy. Nevertheless, there was a sense of apprehension as we approached the open end of this chapter. We stood there, gazing at the Falcon flying away on a mission to find Han Solo. Luke and Leia wore expressions of concern, as they stared out of the giant viewport. So did I – but you couldn’t see.

  The iconic craft swept across our view and out into the dark reaches of space or, in this case, an expanse of blue screen, the Falcon not actually being there at the time. But the gravity of the situation still hung in the air, as a crew member provided a moving eyeline for us to look at. He w
alked away, holding up a rather bedraggled floor mop. We giggled, briefly. It was a serious moment.

  32 illusion

  There was a new member of the gang. Billy Dee Williams. Lando Calrissian. A seasoned and charismatic actor and indeed, a charismatic character. It can’t have been easy for him to join a group of a ready-made cast who’d been there before. And the script cleverly put doubts in the mind. Whose side was he on? Betrayer or benefactor? Either way, quite a gutsy role. It quickly became apparent that here was a cause of some tension. Harrison had been the only real macho hero thus far. Was there room for another one? Were Han and Lando now playing two sides of the same coin? The tensions gently simmered. Perhaps they were bound to explode in the prison cell with Chewie. The fight was eventually choreographed but Harrison’s anger was clearly apparent. And matched by Billy’s. Method acting at its finest. But not my problem. I had other concerns. I was in pieces.

  I turned the page quickly. Having been rudely insulted by a familiar metal face in Cloud City, Threepio’s curiosity was about to become his nemesis.

  INT. CLOUD CITY – ANTEROOM

  Exploring an intriguing corridor, he had just been blastered apart. Horrifying! When the assault actually happened, the Effects crew had simply stuck a small firework, a squib, on my chest. Fine wires led out of frame to a battery. I tensed slightly as I apologised to an off-camera, non-existent assailant. A quick touch of the wire ends...

  BOOFF!

  Disembodied parts, hurled across the floor, spoke eloquently of Threepio’s fate – the details of his destruction, horribly told by implication and the power of the audience’s imagination. But now I was concerned to see whether that was finally it, for the protocol droid. Would the next page reveal a funeral or at most, a careless scrapping? I read on, searching the stage directions for what happened next.

  INT. CLOUD CITY – JUNK ROOM

  Months later, at Abbey Road Studios, I would be thrilled to watch the London Symphony Orchestra scoring the moment with John Williams’ iconic music. After a few takes, they turned towards the screen to watch a playback to picture. There were the filmed shots from the ensuing script pages that I had eventually discovered. As Threepio’s severed head rattled fatefully towards the maws of a radiant furnace, the musicians let out a cry of sadness. The orchestra had scored A New Hope and had clearly grown fond of the metal man. I was rather touched. And, of course, it wasn’t the end of Threepio.

  INT. CLOUD CITY – LARGE CELL

  Chewbacca had come to the rescue and collected Threepio, albeit in pieces. After a thoughtful Hamlet moment, Threepio needed to be rebuilt. Brian lent Props a selection of my second-best parts. They swagged these in a net on Peter Mayhew’s shoulders. He could crudely keep the elements alive by tilting his weapon, up and down. Fishing line attached at both ends, threaded through and animated the plastic parts behind him. An excellent effect for a long shot. But a closer two-shot required a different approach.

  I knelt at Peter’s feet, wearing the torso as normal. Chewbacca was being kind and thoughtful. But clumsy. He managed to put on the head, backwards. Brian had cut most of the back away from a copy head, to allow my face to stick out. I wore the character’s face on the back of my head, while my face poked out of the rear. It was more simple than it sounds. I just had to remember that, to glance at Chewie, I had to look away from him. I eventually got the hang of it. But there was a bigger issue. My nose. It stuck out of the back, more than the rest of me. When I turned to the side, it protruded beyond the curve of Threepio’s cheek. Brian found the answer. He stuck shiny gold tape on it. All good. But freeze frame and for a moment you can see an odd-shaped “thing” on the edge of Threepio’s face. My nose.

  Similar disembodied effects were achieved with me sitting on the floor with my hand up through Threepio’s chest, animating his head, like a ventriloquist. That was after Peter had attached it as I sat adjacent, talking out of shot. Running down the corridors was even more fun. Wearing jeans and the top half of the suit, I stood on a wheeled luggage trolley. Peter and I were tied together, with a harness around our waists. The camera shot upwards from a low angle, avoiding my state of partial undress. Where Peter dragged me, I followed.

  But my favourite trick was safely back in the Falcon, where Artoo thoughtfully welded a severed foot onto Threepio’s ankle. Sitting on a packing case, Threepio’s legs stretched out, complete, apart from his feet. This high-tech film set, in a faraway place and time, was employing an old stage illusionist’s trick. I wasn’t sitting at all. Wearing the top of the costume, with the lower half artfully arranged in front of me as if attached, I was actually kneeling inside the case. And you can’t tell. Magic. Except for two sore knees.

  INT. MILLENNIUM FALCON – HOLD

  “I’m standing here in pieces and you are having delusions of grandeur!”

  A cute line. Easy to say but very difficult to deliver – the scariest illusion so far. Now complete, but for the last unattached shin, I stood on one leg, waving the remaining part in the air. At the same time, I had to bend my real leg up behind me and make sure it was hidden behind my thigh. It only worked from a certain angle. The camera’s one eye can’t see round the side. But with the weight of the torso pressing down on me, my centre of gravity shifting precariously, it was a real and scary balancing act. These days they’d do it with green-screen effects. Back then they weren’t so into green-screen. That would certainly change.

  33 cake

  I knew Frank Oz, a real star, because he was Miss Piggy from The Muppet Show.

  I had appeared in scenes with her – or rather – him. And I had loved the show. And especially the Pig. And here he was wandering around Elstree but on our side of the street – his show being taped across the road at ATV Studios.

  We would chat together, and I soon discovered what he was doing in our sequel. He had laid the world-famous porker aside for a while and had his hand up a character with a totally different personality – Master Yoda. The funny, wise, crinkly green face was one of creature-maker, Stuart Freeborn’s best creations. In repose, his features had a remarkable personality but when Frank infused the rubber doll with his energy, Yoda truly lived.

  Since Threepio never got to meet the gnome-like Jedi on set, I watched some scenes from the sidelines. But I would regularly see Frank around the studios. One day we were talking about puppetry and character acting, when he asked me an astonishing question.

  “How did you come up with a voice for Threepio?”

  I was literally speechless. Here was one of the masters of character voices known around the world, asking my advice. Of course he was voicing the puppet during scenes, acting out the whole thing with Mark. But he gathered that George was unsure, to say the least, about Frank’s vocal performance. That certainly resonated with my experience. It wasn’t the first time that George had failed to see the true connection between body and soul and voice and character.

  I murmured that I’d had six months to prepare while they’d been making my costume. I’d thought a lot about the character and the situations he landed in and I admitted that, on the day, Threepio had arrived on set as a complete personality – through some kind of magic. Frank frowned and pottered away. I’m not sure I’d been much use.

  Some months later, I was set another amazing question.

  “You know Yoda?”

  I was sitting at a large, round table, with all sorts of people from Production – people like George and Kirsh and Howard Kazanjian, our new and considerate producer. We’d been working in the Samuel Goldwyn Studios across the street in West Hollywood. Now we were taking a break in the famous, if florid, Formosa Cafe. The food was fine but the restaurant’s real fame was due to the amazing cast list of movie stars who had eaten there over the years – Humphrey Bogart, Frank Sinatra, Johnny Depp. And me, sitting there, from a different league altogether. I did wonder who the guest was, sitting next to me. A real star perhap
s?

  “I’m the voice casting director for Yoda.”

  “Really? So you’re looking for a sort of scrunched-up, squeaky, weird voice?”

  “You know Yoda!”

  He look stunned. Amazed that he was eating chicken stir-fry alongside someone familiar with the diminutive Jedi Knight. He explained that the character was so secret that he hadn’t been allowed even a glance of a design or photo. Really, it felt that Production were giving themselves an extra headache. They were certainly doing that to my rather deflated dinner companion. Of course, there was a precedent – Threepio and me.

  “Looping” was long gone. The slightly clumsy way of re-recording sound to picture had been replaced by Automatic Dialogue Replacement. The computer whizzed the digitised material back and forward, at will, vastly speeding the re-recording process. Doing ADR with Kirsh extended the inspirational time I spent working with him. I really enjoyed that. I was back in Los Angeles – in the dubbing suite.

  Kirsh was making a fine job of helping me give Threepio the right vocal attitude. Then the producer, Gary Kurtz, began giving his own direction. Lines went by. He joined in directing, more and more. Kirsh left. A few takes later, I wondered what had happened to my director. I went out to the water cooler to see. Kirsh was there. He was irritated – very. He told me. We talked. He wasn’t going to direct the session any longer. I was shocked. Out came Gary. I left them to it. Some minutes passed. Kirsh returned. Alone. We carried on, happily working together, just the two of us. He was very relaxed. He lay down on the floor. I continued for a couple of takes. The engineer was encouraging.

  “Great. But there was a funny noise at the end of that last one. Let’s go again.”

  The funny noise was Kirsh. Snoring.

  George eventually realised that Frank’s vocal performance was brilliantly aligned to his physical one. With Frank speaking the lines, Yoda was Yoda. But it would be a long while before I saw Frank’s portrayal, and indeed my own, on the big screen.