I Am C-3PO--The Inside Story Page 17

  This was the last shoot day of the, as yet unnamed, Episode II. I’d like to say it had been fun. But here was the crowning tragedy. The wedding of Anakin and Padmé. Curiously, there was a kind of glum humour in the situation. I had always felt I was never allowed to be the bride but here, for real, I was almost officially – a bridesmaid. The other was Artoo. Apparently, Kenny had asked if he could take part in at least one scene of this film, for old time’s sake. So here he was, clambering into Artoo for the last time, for this one iconic shot. Sadly, we were not on the beautiful shores of Lake Como, in Italy. Slightly less exotic – we were at Ealing Studios in London. On blue screen.

  Of course.

  EXT. NABOO – LAKE RETREAT LODGE – GARDEN – LATE DAY

  ACTION!

  I remembered all the weddings I’ve attended. They all seemed to have been rather more enjoyable than this one. I gave muted bridesmaid, not wishing to upstage the unhappy couple. Two minutes later, like painful dentistry, it was all over.

  CUT!

  It was a wrap. And being the final shot of the movie, there were actually nibbles and wine to celebrate, just like a real wedding, except something had been missing.

  Or someones. The groom and his bride. Anakin and Padmé. Hayden and Natalie had already done the deed by the lake in Italy. Threepio and Artoo’s attendance would be down to Industrial Light and Magic. We would be inserted later.

  And, inexorably, the third prequel rolled in.

  48 relationships

  The relationship between Threepio and Artoo was an aspect of the original script that I found very appealing.

  The strangely believable banter – Threepio says this, Artoo replies or blows a raspberry. Threepio cleverly returns the insult. Charming. I naturally took it for granted that my counterpart and I would be acting out this delightful repartee together, when we eventually shot the film. The reality was a shock.

  Much to my surprise, on location in Tunisia, I discovered that I was required to say my lines with no response or feedback at all. Nothing. Nobody had bothered to mention that I would be working with a silent companion. Artoo’s unique voice wouldn’t be heard until months later, when it was added in production by Ben Burtt. It was a bit of a blow. I quickly learned to leave pauses for replies that would never be forthcoming. And I soon realised that I had to work out in my mind, and sometimes on paper, what those responses might be. I needed to be able to mime an appropriate reaction, as I pretended to listen. Of course, the editor could move everything around in post. But on the day, I was on my own.

  We shot the first six films with many versions of Artoo. For the most part, I worked with mechanical models, packed with motors, batteries and gadgets, depending on what was required in a particular shot. In later films Artoo would, for the most part, be added digitally back at ILM. This was especially useful when he suddenly acquired surprising new talents, like flying and climbing stairs. Otherwise, Artoo moved when he was pulled along on piano wire, or yanked on fishing line, or poked with a broom handle or, hilariously, by Don Bies sticking his hand up through the back panel like a farmyard vet giving an internal exam.

  Of course, there was a version of the unit that Kenny could fit inside. This was effective for wobbling, bowing and sometimes, turning the dome. His waddling into the escape pod scene was especially memorable. Otherwise, pinioned in that rigid structure, Kenny had few resources at his command. But he sat in his tiny prison like a trooper. He couldn’t hear me at all and could barely see. It was frustrating for me, and most assuredly for him, to work with a fellow performer where we were unable to perform together. But we both got on with what we had been given to do.

  The loving, on-screen relationship between the two characters was not mirrored by Kenny and me off screen. It was an unfortunate situation that only worsened with time. He repeatedly asked me if I would tour the world with him, as a human double act, a “reunion” of sorts. We had never been close friends, but Kenny thought we could make a lot of money by appearing together on stage. It wasn’t something I felt at all comfortable about. Perhaps I considered it would trivialise what, I felt, my performance had brought to the Saga.

  Over the years, Kenny publicly made comments that hurt me greatly. I know his oft-repeated criticisms gathered a considerable following of believers. For the most part, I refrained from commenting and will resist the temptation to do so here. Kenny adored his association with Star Wars and Artoo and the fans. He appeared at countless conventions and the fans loved him. Sadly, our off-screen history prevented me from feeling the same.

  49 officer

  “George. I’d like to have my face somewhere in a Star Wars movie. Would it be all right, if I played an extra in some scene?”

  “Shurr.”

  We were filming Attack of the Clones. It was great to be working in Australia. But the script didn’t give Threepio much to occupy his mind. Or mine. And I suddenly had an urge to be myself for once – to show my face – in this great Saga. The First AD suggested I could be in the bar scene. I looked in the script. Ah, yes. The bit where a beautiful girl, Zam Wesell, played by Leeanna Walsman, turns into a hideous creature, having been lightsabered by Obi-Wan the Younger. Leeanna looked thrilling in her costume. Not so much, when she shape-shifted into her true self, as a Clawdite assassin. But what about my costume? I went to Wardrobe.

  “I’m afraid you’re a wee bit late.”

  Michael Mooney was assistant costume designer – assistant to the wondrously talented and eternally modest, Trisha Biggar. The fact that Trisha’s superlative designs, including Zam’s body-hugging sheen and Padmé’s vast array of gowns, and the even more extravagant robes for Palpatine, never won an Oscar, is a matter of regret, and an eternal misjudgement by the Academy. But that would be a year on. Now, it was my turn.

  Michael explained, in his gentle Scottish way, that all the costumes had been assigned, except two military-type uniforms. I thought that would be fine. We had a fitting and it was more than fine. Quite dapper, really. However, the blue jacket, picked out with gold trimmings, had been created for someone even smaller than me. I could, at least, fasten the high collar around my neck. Soon, I would be given highly polished boots and a hand-made, Sam Brown holster array. Such detail, for my five minutes of fame. Of course, I didn’t know my character enjoyed going to the opera. That was later. However, now there was a snag.

  The problem was my arms. They were too long. Or the sleeves were too short, depending on your point of view. From Michael’s point of view, this was an easy fix. In an hour, he had added a piece of blue cloth and an exuberance of gold braid to the cuffs. Now my arms were the right length. Even better, the extra detail meant that I had been promoted. I was now an officer.

  Many months later, back at Lucasfilm in California, one of the post-production crew, Fay David, was tasked with finding this handsomely clad officer a name. Thanks to the scrambled egg around his wrists, he was clearly a lieutenant – at least. Ah. Daniels became Dannl. Fay joined with Tony, short for Anthony, became Faytonni. He even got a bio. Turned out, I was playing a con man.

  INT. CORUSCANT – OUTLANDER CLUB

  It was one of those grand party scenes that always, eventually, come along in a Star Wars film. Stunning set – lots of wonderful and weird extras. George thoughtfully positioned me at the bar. That’s where all the action was going to be, so my face was guaranteed to make the cut, at some point. The Second AD parked two stunning girls beside me, while Matt Doran was at my other elbow, with his death sticks. His name – Elan Sleazebaggano. With his already long career, Matt was fascinating to talk to. Which was lucky. A party scene like that takes ages to shoot.

  It got exciting when Ewan and Leeanna did their thing, as Obi-Wan and Zam. But I hadn’t thought of all the coverage George would film, to make the scene as effective as possible. It took a long time. Life as a background artist is harder than it looks. I was standing at the bar all d
ay, with a glass of ginger ale in my hand. I certainly needed a glass of something stronger when I got home that night.

  There had been two uniforms. I told Ahmed Best that they were going to let me reveal my face in the movie. Normally, he was in a similar situation to mine, of being disguised. But Jar Jar wasn’t in the scene, so he decided to join in on the act. I think he looked better in the outfit than I did, especially with his intricate facial decoration. Turned out, he and Faytonni were a criminal partnership. And he, too, eventually, acquired a character name. Achk Med-Beq. Clearly, Fay was on a roll that day.

  50 green

  This was a job with benefits.

  We were back in Australia again to film, what was meant to be, the last and final Star Wars movie, Revenge of the Sith. It only took me moments reading the script to see that Threepio’s role continued to be fairly minimal. So my duties were slight. There were clearly lots of exciting scenes in the continuing storyline of Anakin’s fall from grace. I was never sure about all the political aspects of the drama. But these pages showed promise of something good to come. It seemed like I would be watching from the wings. Threepio’s talents were always available to the story but the story was not about him. Maybe he was simply there as a historical reminder of times past – a recognisable figure from everyone’s childhood. It didn’t matter to me. That I was there at all was a wonder.

  If anything, my previous feelings of unease working on Attack of the Clones were greater now. As for the rest, the sense of discomfort was worse for some than others. I felt the industrial, rather threatening atmosphere.

  As before, the main pleasures of this production were the joys of Sydney, and Sunday lunches with the Design Department, led by Gavin Bocquet. Lovely Trisha was there, too. Again, she had designed another array of wondrous costumes, not just for Padmé. Supreme Chancellor Palpatine’s wardrobe bulged with even more gowns and robes of ever-increasing sumptuousness. Lunch was always a relaxed affair, our meal scrutinised by hungry pelicans at the water’s edge.

  Visitors came out from California. Wonderful, exuberant Lynne Hale, Publicity Head. Howard Roffman, ace Lucasfilm head merchandiser and Yoda in Residence – someone whose wise counsel I would regularly seek and value.

  Sydney’s restaurants are renowned. And I know why, though I always had to remember that my one-size suit lay waiting for me at the studio, like some dread Nemesis. I maintained my shape with regular workouts in the hotel gym and a certain discipline towards food intake. It was especially difficult to resist the on-set catering at Fox. In general, it’s sensible to spend a hefty budget on food, to keep everyone happy. Here it was superb – and tempting. I tried to avoid looking at the dessert buffet. On the last day, they made me a huge pavlova.

  That made me happy.

  Australians are renowned for being straight-talking. I like that. I like a lot about Australia and Fox Studios was a comfortable, pleasant place to work. My dressing room had a view of a grassy playing field and the trees around it. One day the sun went out. I went to see why night had fallen early. Nothing to do with daylight hours – Ewan had parked his huge camper van, with its chunky motor cycle attachment, right outside my window. I didn’t say anything. Right from day one, he’d exclaimed his exuberant joy and disbelief that he was working alongside See-Threepio. I was always happy to be in scenes with him.

  After the camper van moment, I was walking past a group of extras, playing footie on the grass. I stood there in my full-length, purple dressing robe, enjoying the fresh air and fun. They paused to cool down. Seeing me under the trees, they came over, clearly excited, thrilled to be meeting someone who was in this film, and not just as one of the many stormtroopers.

  “Hey, mate. You a Jedi Knight?”

  I paused, knowing they were about to be amazed. I was modestly prepared for their awed reaction.

  “No. Actually, I play the gold robot, See-Threepio.”

  “Oh.”

  “No worries.”

  Their disappointment was palpable. They went back to kicking their ball.

  Of course, there were some fun times. The crew were so good at everything they did, and hugely supportive and patient, weaving around each other with all their heavy and delicate gear, always courteous to each other and the cast – a pleasure to work with. I tried to enjoy myself, against the odds. I accepted that this would be the last time I would wear my gold suit, that I was nearing sad farewells to my old friend. I might have hoped for a more satisfying conclusion, than ending up as a discomforted bit-player. Clearly, the future was an unknown country, one I couldn’t see, couldn’t have dreamed of. Or maybe I’d had enough.

  George had become devoted to green-screen technology. Mostly, we seemed to shoot on ever-repainted floors. Gravity planted our feet in semi-reality but everything around us was in George’s head, and several other heads at ILM. Only months later, would I know where I had been, and it would be a year before I saw what alien critters had flashed past when I’d opened a door.

  It had always been a challenge for me to hit my mark, the position you’re meant to go to so that you’re in the right place at the right time. It also means that the camera can see you and you’re in focus. A mark can be anything – chalk, a pebble, a twig, a sausage sandbag. It had to be something I wouldn’t trip over because I couldn’t see it as I came close. Often I would rehearse the number of footsteps from my start to my end mark. Then I would toe it, feeling it under Threepio’s foot. It was fairly impossible to get it right. As time went on, I seemed to become reticent about approaching obstacles when I couldn’t see or judge how close I was. Perhaps Threepio’s fears were becoming mine. But the camera crew and the focus-puller were ever patient. They even created an elaborate T-mark in gold and black tape. It made me feel special – Threepio, too – though I still couldn’t see it.

  Padmé’s sitting room was a memorable set. Dreamy pale blue and gold, the drapes moving gently in the breeze from the off-camera fans. Constructed to a height of about forty feet, it was magnificent and tasteful. Obi-Wan’s vehicle was parked at the bottom steps. George looked at Artoo in his navigation position, jutting out of the front.

  “Take him out. We’ll do it digitally.”

  “Why?” said Don.

  “It’s too high in the shot.”

  “I could drop it down for you.”

  “Hmm. Okay.”

  George looked miffed. He had grown to prefer digital.

  EXT. CORUSCANT – PADMÉ’S APARTMENT – VERANDA – AFTERNOON

  Newly arrived, the serious-faced Ewan mounted the steps, to be greeted by Threepio, who conducted the visitor towards his mistress. Natalie was gazing into a blue screen. Eventually she would be gazing at the Jedi Temple, burning in the distance. Threepio discreetly left them to it. Except there was nothing discreet about it.

  The set was a gorgeous design, incorporating elaborate steps that curved in various directions, narrowing at the ends. The two humans spoke of their fears for Anakin and the galaxy. I needed to get out of shot. For once, I hadn’t checked where the edge of frame was. I soon found a different edge. I walked into the thin end of the steps. That dread feeling again, as I toppled forward. I managed to stop myself falling through a window, bracing myself on the ledge. I could only watch, as Don sprinted down the side of the set, below. He ran over sheets of hardboard that slid on each other and sent him crashing to the floor. I kept bracing, not wishing to join him. Suddenly.

  “Are you all right, Anthony?”

  Ewan’s concerned voice reminded me how caring some actors can be. But now Don had limped up and rescued me. The actors finally completed the tragic scene. It was the next day that I saw the alternative facts. Recording some of my own lines to picture in the edit suite, that scene came up by accident. It looked beautiful and very moving. Both actors appeared so concerned and fearful. There was Natalie talking earnestly with Ewan; Ewan listening to Natalie’s worr
ies. Suddenly, a strange noise. They stopped talking. They looked around. They paused. Their hands flew up over their mouths. Not in shock – in mirth. The camera rolled as they suppressed their giggles. The sight of Threepio’s golden butt sticking out and about to defenestrate was too much, even for two such pros. At last, Ewan managed to control his voice enough to say, “Are you all right, Anthony?” Actors. But we would laugh together some days later.

  INT. NABOO – SKIFF

  Padmé sat mournfully at my side. I was piloting some kind of flying machine. I didn’t know what because it wasn’t there – ILM would add it later. We did each have rather splendid pilot seats and a sort of joystick, held down with sand bags. That was it. The rest was green. Natalie just had to look tearful as I pretended to fly.

  In a later scene, Ewan would be in my seat and I was looking to leap into the other.

  “Don’t worry. We can take you from yesterday’s scene with Padmé and put you in digitally.”

  “But Anthony’s right here. Why doesn’t he just sit down?”

  George gave Ewan a look. How we both giggled as we went into action with me sitting beside him. For real.

  It was one of the most memorable moments of being on set. Hayden and Ewan were simply marvellous in their lightsaber fight. The two actors were more like dancers, as they played out the scene. Their choreographed steps and sweeping blades got faster and faster. Even without the digital effects that would enhance the whole thing, it was breathtaking to watch, and scary, and disciplined – and beautiful. Though they were both exhausted at the end, no one got hurt. What they did get was a round of loud applause from the crew. And me.

  A wistful moment. Jimmy Smits was a delightful addition to the cast as my new master, Bail Organa. He was such pleasant company on set. He fondly talked about his early memories of Star Wars and See-Threepio in particular. But he was concerned. He felt bad about it – didn’t want to say the lines. It seemed like a personal thing. Certainly, it was for me. But I became devil’s advocate and reassured him that it would be okay, that Threepio was no more than a household appliance. All right, one that had attracted some degree of affection, over the years. But nevertheless, no more sensitive than a dishwasher. He wasn’t convinced. But he was a consummate professional.