I Am C-3PO--The Inside Story Page 18

  INT. ALDERAaN STARCRUISER – HALLWAY – SPACE

  ACTION!

  “Have the protocol droid’s mind wiped.”

  And yes, it was casually insensitive. But it was the script.

  On another day.

  INT. CORUSCANT – SENATE OFFICE BUILDING – MAIN HALLWAY – LATE AFTERNOON

  “I could do with a good tune-up myself.”

  We were in a sea of green. I rehearsed the simple action of me trotting towards camera, berating Artoo on my right. I was in costume but wasn’t yet wearing the head. I walked back to my start mark. Don locked me inside Threepio’s face and picked up the Artoo remote. Don is versatile. I turned and clocked the camera.

  ACTION!

  I busily puttered forward as before. Sudden confusion. My mind told me I was flailing in a giant bowl of breakfast cereal. Lots of snap and crackle. And I was falling. Bewildered. And scared. Don was running. Again.

  The rehearsal had shown the crew just how much green was reflected in Threepio’s shiny surfaces as I walked straight towards the camera. It would take a lot of retouching in post. Why not place large sheets of black polyboards under the lens, sloping outwards at an angle. They had assumed I would see them, since they were now blocking my path. I didn’t. I walked straight into them. Of course they were concerned but, thankfully, I hadn’t damaged the costume. This time.

  Another time.

  “You can just talk. We’ll put Artoo in later.”

  So business as usual, another blue wall, more blue floor. I was so used to working with the Artoo unit that I knew its height and could easily fake the eyeline. I noticed they’d just finished cleaning the carpet and spotted that they’d left the vacuum cleaner nearby. For the camera rehearsal, I dragged the domed machine along by its hose, chatting away as scripted. It was a lot shorter than my usual counterpart but that didn’t matter. His name was plastered on his forehead – Henry. He was cute. I thought my new double-act was amusing. So did the crew. Sad, but Henry didn’t make it into the movie.

  Sad, too – it was all over for me. A sadness tinged with a certain relief. I had survived it all, and now it was finished. As a traditional gesture to an artist’s last day on set, the First AD announced that I had completed my role and would be leaving the shoot. The crew made some nice applause noises, and then they were gone, all of them, racing to another set-up on another stage.

  I had been involved in all six movies, over many years. Now they were past and done – over. Don took off my Threepio head for the last time. In the quietness of this huge green space, I had thought we were alone. But Tippy Bushkin, our gentle and talented documentary maker, was standing in front of me. She wasn’t pointing her camera. She held out a bottle of champagne and a polystyrene cup.

  “Congratulations.”

  2012. It was lying on a bench, on a ferryboat to Manly Harbour, Sydney’s nearest surfing shore. Not that I was a surfer, just a tourist back in this great country. And Manly made an interesting sightseeing trip – like stepping back into the 1950s. But there it was. The Star Observer, Morning Herald or whatever. A newspaper, abandoned by a fellow passenger, left to flap in the salty breeze. Like a magic effect in some cheesy film, the wind fluttered it open at a page. I read the headline.

  “George Lucas sells Star Wars to Disney.”

  51 exhibits

  2015. I was in New York, lurking round a corner, waiting to make my entrance – listening in shock.

  Many years before, I’d been invited to front The Art Of Star Wars exhibition, at the Barbican in London – a terrific collection of artifacts from the movies. Here were objects that whizzed by on screen, with no time to admire them. Now guests could stand and stare. They could marvel at the intricate designs and the amount of careful detail, the surprise of the true scale of objects, the tiny Rancor, the huge model of the Star Destroyer that had filled the screen in A New Hope. Many of the artists involved were themselves displayed in video format, explaining just how these objects were created.

  I felt a little sorry for Threepio, locked inside his glass box. It’s not always easy to protect exhibits. Souvenir hunters can reduce an artwork by degrees, unless it’s behind a barrier of some kind. Not everyone is respectful – some can’t resist pinching a piece of the real thing. And this was Threepio’s first appearance in a display case. It was interesting to see him standing so still. But I was on the other side of the glass, so moving about, at this moment, was not an option for him.

  Then I noticed something peculiar. His knees were bare, his elbows similarly – just blackened spaces. Against all the laws of protocol, he was incomplete. I pointed out the lapse to the over-worked exhibition designer. She said Threepio always looked like that and nothing could change now. She rushed off. I noticed that the glass wasn’t actually locked, after all. I went off and rummaged in a backstage area and found bits of redundant computer cables. I cut and glued gaffer tape patches and sneaked them behind Threepio’s knees, slid them into his elbow joints. Now he was fit for the public. They’d never know these wires weren’t actually in the film and Threepio wasn’t about to tell them.

  And the fans loved the exhibit from the moment they saw the stunning poster – Threepio peeking through an extravagant, gold picture frame.

  Lucasfilm, under the leadership of their Director of Special Projects, Kathleen Holliday, had asked me to front the opening events which, with the help of the nascent 501st stormtroopers, were full of drama and wonder. Kathleen had seen me speak at an after-hours launch of Star Wars toys at FAO Schwarz in New York. Planning a few words of welcome, I narrowly escaped making an embarrassing gaff. Part of my address had been to suggest that guests go down to Broadway and see the stage musical of the film, Big. The show featured that giant piano keyboard danced on by Tom Hanks in this world-famous toy store. I ran my words past Howard Roffman. He winced. Apparently, though the ads were still running on TV, the show had suddenly closed as a bit of a flop. I desperately improvised some remarks about how many years it was since I first stood on a distant planet and said those immortal words.

  “I am See-Threepio, human-cyborg relations.”

  Better than any remarks about a defunct musical, the audience loved hearing Threepio’s voice in person.

  It turned out that I shared his ability as a master of ceremonies, though he would always remain the complete master of etiquette and protocol – two skills rather more useful in the worlds of exhibitions than in the mayhem of the Saga.

  Like hosting Star Wars – In Concert, live events bridged the gap between my fond memories of work in theatre and my life in films. I loved being able to share with a live audience. And guests seemed to be amused that my beautiful gold costume was locked inside a glass display case so, even if I’d wanted to wear it, I couldn’t. And that was fine by me. I had a silky gold tie made to wear at similar events – a gesture – and there were many similar events.

  My close connection with the movies and my ability to present, took me around the world. Back in 2002 at The Powerhouse Museum, Sydney, Australia, Star Wars – The Magic of Myth, had arrived. And so had an attentive and select group of museum patrons. They were here to marvel at the inaugural event. All beautifully arranged and produced, in the absence of the Museum Director, the production was planned and timed, to the minute. Go. Lights down. Music. Thirty seconds in, lights up. First speaker enters on stage. Three-minute speech. Exits. Next speaker enters. Three-minute speech. Exits. Anthony Daniels enters. Three-minute speech. Exits. Intro Museum Director. Enters. Seven-minute speech. And so on. Being a professional actor, used to following directions, I followed this very tight schedule. I crossed out all the prepared comments and anecdotes I had planned to share with the audience.

  With great discipline, I just had time to say that I was thrilled to be back in Australia to celebrate the arrival in Sydney of this superb Star Wars exhibition. My time was up. I exited. Polite applaus
e. Now the turn of the Director. He’d literally arrived only moments before, rather jet-lagged from a European trip. He hadn’t heard my brief, hello everyone. They stuck his script in his hand as he walked on stage. He started with the words, “Thank you Anthony, for that fascinating insight into the film-making process.” Fortunately, I was round the back by then – not sure if the egg was on my face or his. In spite of my failing to share insights, the exhibition did prove hugely popular.

  Most enjoyed by me, among the impressive array of costumes and props and videos, was a tiny booth in a quiet corner of the display. There was a miniature stage set in the darkened interior. A beautiful version of Yoda’s home forest perfectly replicated the moody scene from the movie. There were the gnarled trees and filthy pond, all wreathed in strands of mist that eerily floated above the surface. And there, half-hidden in the swamp, was Master Luke’s X-wing.

  The guest was encouraged to raise it from the waters, as Luke had done in Empire, to find the Force within them, and use it. It was fascinating to watch adults concentrating on freeing the craft from the tangled clearing. They waved their hands in mystical gestures, thrusting them upwards, in growing frustration. Many of the younger guests, too, would become impatient and saddened that the Force was not with them – for today at least.

  Then I would see a child stand and gaze and concentrate their thoughts. And magically, the craft would slowly rise at their unspoken bidding. They were entranced. I was entranced. Of course, I had learned how it all happened. But I wouldn’t spoil it for a child, who might have imagined that the Force was strong in them. For adults, I would explain.

  The beautiful little scene was fitted with a movement sensor. Nothing would happen – the X-wing would stay water-logged forever – unless you stood very, very still.

  I loved fronting another major Star Wars exhibition – one that concentrated on aspects taken for granted in the movies. In particular, it was aimed at getting kids to think beyond what was on screen and about the real science that they would come to know in the future of their planet. Star Wars – Where Science Meets Imagination, was the brainchild of the Boston Museum of Science, master-minded by Ed Rodley and Jan Crocker. It was hugely popular – and not just with kids. Such a wealth of props and gadgets and experiments and augmented reality gizmos to play with. How could Luke’s hover landspeeder actually work – because there was the real one from the movies and you could see the wheels. Could you construct a robot like See-Threepio – because there he was in his ‘naked’ state, inside a glass box, thankfully having been reassembled after his unfortunate experience in Matmata.

  Dr Cynthia Breazeal was one of the expert brains behind the exhibit. Born in 1976, her work at MIT had been inspired by seeing A New Hope. In particular, she had been delighted by Artoo and Threepio. From that moment she wanted them to exist in her world – not just on the screen. Movie makers are only limited by their imaginations. Their inventions don’t actually have to work. Dr Breazeal has become a world expert in the field of socially intelligent, personal robots that can interact and communicate with humans. It was delightful to be working with her on the exhibit. But I was concerned that her astonishing research and development would put me out of a job. Reassuringly, she thought that Threepio was a hundred years ahead of his time. Good. I need the work. But now I’m not sure she was right. Robotics seems to be fast-tracking itself into the near future. But in her case, it all started with George’s imagination.

  The whole exhibition experience was all educational fun. The kids asked lots of questions, mixing science and fantasy and their own imaginative ideas. They wanted to know if you can really hear explosions in the vacuum of space. Of course you can – but only in Star Wars space.

  And here I was, November 2015, back in New York, at the Discovery Times Square. Star Wars and the Power of Costume had arrived. Again there were lots of museum patrons and friends. Naturally, it’s proper for the host to welcome the guests and thank everyone involved – of course it is – but when the guests have had quite a go at the fancy snacks and cocktails, it is possibly not the best time to rabbit on. There was nice applause for the host, when she eventually handed over the microphone, but the preliminaries weren’t over yet. A representative from another sponsor did the same thing in different words. By the time the Lucasfilm producer had waded through several prepared thoughts and pages, the crowd was quite raucous. They were having a good time – quite right, too.

  But there was a problem. I was on last.

  Next.

  Now.

  Those who noticed my arrival, applauded when I came out of my hiding space. Some of them listened briefly. They were simply not following the appropriate etiquette. I realised that drastic action was needed. I began to speak. They could see my lips were moving. Gradually they began to take notice.

  “You will listen to Anthony’s opening remarks.”

  They looked puzzled. I had to explain the process. Some guests needed individual training – to the amusement of others. Eventually they managed to intone together.

  “We will listen to Anthony’s opening remarks.”

  They had all remembered that scene from the movie – the one where Obi-Wan does his gesture thing to the inquisitive stormtrooper. After that, they listened and laughed and still had a good time. So did I – but I certainly needed a glass of whatever they’d been drinking, afterwards. Doing a Jedi mind trick is harder than it looks.

  But that was later.

  The day before, arriving at its new venue just off Times Square, I was hugely impressed by this latest iteration of the costume exhibit. Thrilling reflections of stormtrooper helmets suspended in an eternity of mirrors, dynamic postures of Darth Maul defiant with his double-edged sword, dramatic theatrical lighting and at last – the Droid Room. The Force had finally awakened and enough time had passed, that a new member of the droid family had joined us.

  Oh dear.

  Artoo and the normally exuberant BB-8 stared vacantly, head-on into the void behind me. No sense of movement. No attitude. Simply objects. But there was worse. With the opening events just a few hours away, the production crew had rushed to other areas for final touch-ups – there were mirrors to polish. I needed to help. If I thought the two shorter droids had a sad, unloved air, they were rolling drunk happy compared with Threepio. He slumped there in his own spotlight as if institutionalised, waiting for his meds. I’d have to have been switched off, to give a performance like that in the movies. I couldn’t leave him in that state. His propensity to view the future, or indeed the present, as doomed, was one thing – but his forlorn stance here was too much. I stepped in, took off my shoes and jumped up onto the black shine of his stage.

  First were his arms. I gently uncovered the wire armature that held him in this droopy posture. Anxious that I might snap something, I twisted and pushed and adjusted. An arm raised up, an elbow bent, a hand suddenly gestured. Now the other side. His shoulders were immovable as he gazed forlornly at the floor. Threepio always looks directly at humans, employing a particular choice of his six million forms of communication – eye contact.

  I’d noticed some production off-cuts so, as before, I scavenged and manufactured several foam inserts. Under his chin, inside his neck – nothing snapped. Eventually I slid off the stage, looked back. There was Threepio, as we know him. I put on my shoes, glad I was there to help my friend. I glanced back as I left. I’d like to think he smiled at me.

  But that would have been weird.

  52 merch

  I should admit it – I just don’t get Bobble Heads.

  I find them mildly disturbing but they’re bought by thousands of delighted fans around the planet. The much collected Funko Pops, too. What’s all that thing about giving these toys huge heads? On the other hand, I love my softly golden, Beanie Baby Threepio. A squidgy caricature of the character.

  Merchandise. Merch. George almost invented it. Everythi
ng Star Wars, from bath soap to dangly earrings, and many a stuffed alien and action figure on the way. He famously created a “sandbox” concept. He wanted fans to use his film as a launch pad for their imagination, for them to be inventive with his story and with the merchandise – always within the laws of copyright, of course. Star Wars was his sandbox but everyone was welcome to come and play in it.

  I was overcome with wonder at the creativity I saw on the film set. But now it came in miniature form – the toys. How amazing to receive boxes of them, that I would give away to friends or the local hospital. Amazing, since their value has now multiplied many, many times.

  I was lucky to be in all sorts of TV commercial shoots, often for the superb Kenner toys. Making ads is serious business but under the leadership of feisty, funny producer, Barbara Barrow, we were a bunch of adults having fun. On a non-toy shoot with her, I did learn something useful. It was an ad for Puffs. Little boy in bed in the stars has a bad cold and can’t sleep. Artoo and Threepio arrive, bearing a box of the eponymous facial tissues. Problem solved. Except there was another problem.

  The set was a real bed with real pillows and blankets and a real child. The rest was blue walls and floor. The stars would not be real. They wheeled an Artoo into position and keyed in the star-field effect, on camera. Anything blue became part of the galaxy, including Artoo. It was as though he was being X-rayed. The stars shone brightly through his arms and his head – and other bits. There were some red faces. Barbara was not happy. I got the morning off while they repainted the entire place green. That’s where I first learned about the use of blue screen, and its limitations. Little did I know that over the oncoming decades, I would see a lot more blue – and a lot of green too.