I Am C-3PO--The Inside Story Page 22
My costume was hanging in the little wardrobe. It seemed extremely complicated. Undershirt, overshirt, coat, bandages, scarf, hat, ugly boots – all mangled and filthy. Newly filthy. These were no ordinary threads, these were designer rags. Costume had spent ages drawing and cobbling together my ensemble. We laughed as they gleefully tore extra tatters in it all. Finally, I looked shipwrecked enough to go to Makeup.
I had been growing a beard. Well, stubble at least. I didn’t like it. It was a little itchy, and grey. However, it looked the part, but not enough. My face was gradually decorated with bruises and lines and scars. Then, the crowning glory, a disgusting straggle of a wig. It had been carefully crafted to look this way and it fitted me perfectly. As I stared at him in the full-length mirror I could see Human Slave was complete. Everyone around me in the trailer laughed and applauded my new look.
Back on set once more, it was show-and-tell time. Chris and Phil loved it. Costume, Makeup and I had passed the test. I would come back next week to add Human Slave to the scene. However, it would be two months before that actually happened.
Chris and Phil had left the production the next day – over “artistic differences”. None of my business. I had enjoyed our brief knowing but wondered what was next, as I scrambled my diary, clearing space for something I still assumed would happen. Eventually it did. Back again, I was surprised and amused. Human Slave was no more. My trailer was labelled “Tak”. I stood in front of the new, replacement director in my tatters, scars and newly regrown grey stubble. Ron Howard was a pleasure to meet, one of Hollywood’s stalwarts, ever since starring in TV’s Happy Days. He had arrived to pick up the shoot from where it had been interrupted. He approved of my “look” but wanted more grime. I would finally appear on set – in just a few more weeks. My diary was now officially a mess. But it was all fun. It was going to happen.
Weeks indeed passed when, for the third time, I had been transformed into the hapless Tak. Shrouded in my ghastly rags, I was driven from my trailer to set – another brilliant creation from the Art and Construction departments.
Murky yellow tunnels were thronged with people attired in clothes even more ghastly than mine. Various burrowing machines added to the threatening drama as I raced forward with my team. One was a tall, thin Wookiee but my friend Joonas was at the front, pushing a heavy cargo as I ran by. I passed into blinding white fog. I did manage not to fall down the steps, rendered invisible by the effect. After several takes it was over.
But now we were coming out of the tunnels into another extraordinary landscape. Cliffs of yellow stone towered over slimy, bubbling rock pools. Sulphurous gases belched across the surface, the ground a sandy, yellow mess. It was wonderful. And here on the back lot we were in daylight – a welcome relief from the steam-filled atmosphere below. And now I developed a new game.
Picking out various faces from my recent and not-so-recent past, I first approached our fanatical sound recordist, Stuart. Standing right in front of him, I said hello, in a voice he might not recognise. He looked at this ragged creature before him and politely returned the greeting. I stayed staring at him. He began to look uncomfortable. Then his eyes widened. He laughed in amazement.
“It’s YOU!”
It was such a joyful trick that I did it around the set, surprising everyone with my uncharacteristic appearance. Then it was time to work.
The script had been waiting in my trailer. Even with Ron Howard’s grip on the direction, I wasn’t sure about the scene. It was confusing. It was meant to be confusion. But Ron was very patient in explaining everything – almost. Who was Sagwa? What was he to Tak, or Tak to him? Did they have a history together? Perhaps a sequel would explain.
EXT. Kessel – MINES – DAY
ACTION!
“Sagwa! This way. Come on!”
Yelling, I bounced through and off the crowd of human slaves and alien creatures, with their strange, improvised weapons. The steam hissed and bubbled. Special Effects fired blaster hits to spark off the rock walls – careful to miss any passing actor.
CUT!
Of course we did it several times. Being a slave was exhausting. Some of the Crowd were growing rather tired and the ADs had to work equally hard to maintain the desired level of mayhem. Everyone escaped in the end but I would return for yet another day to ride upwards, with my fellow escapees, in a large freight elevator. That scene never made it. But I did. I had finally arrived at a legendary place of dread – for Threepio, at least. I had been sent to the Spice Mines of Kessel.
60 joy
Well, it was a free dinner. At my favourite restaurant, in London.
So I changed my tickets and got back to the UK, just in time to change my clothes. The Ivy has long been a sort of second home to me. This night, it was something of a family reunion. There was an empty seat next to mine but there was J.J. and Kathy, Oscar, Daisy and John and Kelly Marie. I was pleased to see them again. But what fun to meet Naomi Ackie and Keri Russell and all sorts of other jolly colleagues around the table. As always, lovely food and wine but I was trying to be careful, fat-shaming myself on a daily basis. Rumours were that we would be making Episode IX. Soon. Very.
I was delighted at the prospect of working with J.J. again. I just didn’t know what to expect after The Last Jedi. I knew nothing of the plot. Where could the story be going? How could anyone wrap up all the strands and tatters and make something complete and satisfying? Would Threepio’s last hurrah be a faint cry of disappointment? He and I were inured to being marginalised. But it really was nice to be asked back. And to be invited to dinner with the stars.
I muttered to the elegant Richard E. Grant that I had yet to see a script. He too. Worse. At least I had a name. He didn’t even know what he’d been cast as. Probably, he would be a baddie. But he didn’t have a name. So we had a drink. It was a great way to start what, for me at least, must be drawing to a conclusion. Those in the know at dinner, said warm words about Threepio’s role in this film. That merely increased my frustration at not seeing even an outline draft.
The empty seat next to mine at least had a name card – Chris Terrio. He wasn’t feeling well. He wasn’t coming. He was the writer. Was he avoiding me? I would have enjoyed discussing his excellent script for Argo, one of my favourite films. So inventive, funny and exciting – with more than a hint of Star Wars in the plot. I would have loved the opportunity to praise him. And ask him about his most recent work, Star Wars: Episode IX. It seemed I would have to wait.
Days passed. Still no script. I learned that J.J. wanted me to have the latest version from Chris, who was feeling better but who was chained to his laptop, tapping away. I would quickly learn what “latest version” meant. There would be many latest versions lying in my trailer each morning. Fresh new words for a new day. Each one a thoughtful, inventive improvement. Over the ensuing months, various updates would follow on coloured paper – Blue Version, Green Version, Pink Version, Beige Version and my favourite, pages with a yellow tint, “Golden Rod Version”.
I had emailed J.J. some months before it all started.
Sent: Wed, Jan 23, 2018, at 9:11 AM
From: Anthony Daniels
To: J.J. Abrams
Subject:
I'm getting antsy, since I have heard nothing about youknowwhat. Who do I talk to about my upcoming, finale role in a grand finale epic that will restore balance to the Force; asking questions like...How can I see my script pages (both of them) to get a feel of where/what in, 3PO is involved and get over any shock/surprise at external design modifications, especially paint finish! (Personally, I liked my rivet-sticking-plaster design from way back. Oh well…
Has the Director remembered that…
3PO works best in Conflict situations as a Useful Part of a Team where he is Personally (though a machine, a sentient one) in Danger; where he is the Voice of Reason, reflecting the audience’s concerns, and not just the sou
nd of worry from a cupboard in a remote office;
that he shows up well, to the benefit of the humorous element of any epic, in well-crafted, wryly comic, characterful, (for ref, see Eps IV, V, VI, VII) scripted lines in interpersonal relations (benign or otherwise) with humans or machines with attitude; that in TLJ he showed signs of determination to stand up for the Cause of Proper Behavior against a human behaving badly (in his opinion); that his prognostications are always ignored, (he would be floored if anyone finally listened to him); that he regrets the passing of his favourite human – Master Luke;
that he longs for a peaceful life where he can gently translate and make tea;
that the audience enjoys references, in lines, attitude or otherwise, to his previous experiences in the Saga;
that he has accompanied that audience for 40 familiar years, over 3 generations, and should not leave either party feeling let down at the end of the Epic.
There must be more but I haven’t got there yet. Anyway, that’s enough homework for you today. And for me.
A
XX
Nothing. For weeks.
Sent: Sat, 21 Apr 2018 18:16:54 +0000
From: J.J. Abrams
To: Anthony Daniels
Subject:
You’re either going to love or hate how much you have to do in this new movie.
J.J. XoXo
So who knew what was coming?
Sent: Sat, Apr 21, 2018, at 11:28 AM
From: Anthony Daniels
To: J.J. Abrams
Subject:
I’ll settle for hate. It’ll be quicker.
A
XX
And nothing happened.
I would send out feelers but always got the response that J.J. wanted me to have the latest version. I tried to relax about it all. I trusted J.J.’s instincts. It was still rather frustrating.
Finally. A script. The only place allowed to read this precious text was in the security-ringed studios at Pinewood. Fortunately, Sean O’Connor was available to take me there in comfort. Sean – always my favourite driver over the last two movies. Mark had pinched him from me on several occasions but he wasn’t around today.
I sat on the terrace of the new Carrie Fisher Building on the East Lot. It seemed sweetly appropriate that I was reading the script there. A gentle softness to the day mixed with the sun, dappling through the newly planted greenery. I paused for a moment of bitter-sweet reflection, then realised that I had no idea how to work the electronic reader they’d given me. The spell was slightly spoilt as I went in search of someone more tech savvy, to explain.
Back in my spot, I began to read. And read. And suddenly three-and-a-half hours of my life had gone by. Never to return. Just like that. But it had been time well spent. And there was a distinct possibility that either J.J. had indeed read my words or that he already knew exactly what to do. I suspect both.
I loved the script. Chris had clearly steeped himself in the lore of the Saga – certainly, as far as my metallic friend was concerned. Threepio had been away a long time. Now he was back.
For some time, I’d made the mistake of watching YouTube rants about the previous two films – The Force Awakens and The Last Jedi. I could acknowledge some of the bloggers’ points. But so much vicious negativity. I knew that the fans had lovingly attached themselves to the Saga. I was genuinely sad that they felt their loyalty had been slighted.
This was the third time I was there to be part of a final Episode. A curious situation. Each one had enjoyed its own dynamic – some more happily remembered than others. The froideur of the Prequels was irrevocably archived in my mind. Here was a new start. To a final end.
Arriving at Pinewood for the first day’s shoot, I wondered what doom-laden atmosphere awaited me.
I found a warm bath of enthusiastic affection. So many old faces, colleagues from the past, all working on a terrific script that seemed heading for a very satisfying conclusion. I stopped watching YouTube.
I’d made several visits to the Costume FX Department at Pinewood to try out various new adjustments to the suit. While David Merryweather was still being his wonderful, enthusiastic creative self, Pierre Bohanna, head of the department, had asked Sophie Allen and Joe Fysh, from The Last Jedi, to come back in as my on-set team.
It was terrific to be working with such familiar and attentive companions again. They carefully dressed me up and I stuttered around the workshop, remembering that first try-out at Elstree around forty years before. The whole team seemed thrilled to watch Threepio trotting past their work stations. Someone’s pet dog was very intrigued. I suspect he thought I was a lamp-post – but the moment passed without incident.
And now I was on set. And like most films, we were shooting in an order that fitted practicality rather than linearality. It took a while to get the sequences in their proper order in my head, essential to avoid confusion. But at least being Threepio was familiar to me – well it would be, wouldn’t it? But here was a challenge of a different kind. It was our first scene.
The set looked so real and atmospheric. However, the terrain was hopelessly difficult to navigate, with its unstable and varied surface. Being enclosed, the temperature rapidly reached sauna levels. Joe was instantly there to mop my face. There was a new addition to the costume, a capillary cooling vest – a thin undershirt, woven with small plastic tubes. This could be attached to a bag filled with ice and water and a circulating pump. The effect was almost instantaneous and rather alarmingly efficient. With the desert location in mind, it was going to be a welcome gift.
We struggled through the terrain, all the actors quite fluent and in character as they shared the drama. I had been slightly unsettled at the last-minute arrival of any script. Lines don’t get remembered as they used to, in earlier times. The simplest phrases stumped me. Thousands of repetitions still didn’t get it into my head and out of my mouth inside the costume. So I gargled place-holder sounds, much to Oscar’s amused, arched eyebrow. The next day, I could say it all fluently without a pause. The three words that had eluded me – “a common emblem”.
It seemed I was having a memory wipe on a daily basis – a devastating thought for man and droid. Later, I could see the team brace themselves for a complicated conversation with Threepio. Surely they’d be there all day in that sweltering, claustrophobic set. They were amazed. Not a fluff. Not a hesitation. Word perfect. I was amazed, too. So, I suspect, was J.J.
And I was also amazed by the astounding creativity that was all around me. I’d now read about the huge, malevolent creature. I’d assumed it would be CG – computer graphics, created at ILM in San Francisco. I thought that we’d all be looking into empty space, maybe with a cardboard cutout for reference – perhaps a mop head. In reality, it was real. A giant, living thing that towered and menaced right in front of me.
Even more astounding, I finally had hands that corresponded to my own. Pierre’s team had worked hard to give me what I had lacked before. Threepio could pick up objects with ease. He could gesture freely. No more flapping and flailing at props, smacking them with double-sided tape to get a grip. If I could see it, I could grasp it. This proved vital from the start. The gruesome tunnels soon revealed their secret and I was there to handle it.
Suddenly, over the weekend, the entire unit had upped and dumped itself deep in the English countryside. Though it might only appear in documentaries, the sheer scale of this troop movement was literally as awesome as anything we were filming. And difficult. We were at the top of a wondrous escarpment, a huge hill shoved upwards by giant forces millions of years earlier. More prosaically, it meant the food and toilets and home comforts were far off, on flatter terrain. My trailer had been transported along with the others. Its home comforts of bedroom, shower, sitting room and kitchen were fifteen minutes away in Sean’s car. Like a child asking permission to leave the room, we all had to a
sk for a vehicle to take us to the less distant honey wagons – the toilets. A great leveller.
It was strangely grounding, too, to be performing a dramatic moment and seeing white van man casually driving down the main road below. Traffic whizzed by, seemingly unaware of the magic that was being created far above. For the most part we kept our privacy, thanks to the team of vigilant security guards. They did discover one infiltrator lurking in the bushes with a camera – “bird watching” apparently. She wouldn’t have got much. It was mostly the gang admiring the view with interest, and me trying to keep upright. Even the orbaks weren’t looking themselves yet as they thundered up and down – their silky, grey coats flying in the wind. But they and everything else was stunning and would be more so in the finished film, with ILM painting over the distant pastures. It was all so magical. Before it turned rather horrid.
The clear sky was suddenly filled with tiny flying things. A plague had descended, not biblical, just unpleasant. The tiny insects swarmed around us, cast and crew, they made no distinction. Now everyone was slapping themselves or waving. It was mildly funny but very irritating. The bugs were relentless. Joe and Sophie were draped in scarves as they put Threepio’s head around mine. I was madly blowing into the face as it came together, ensuring there’d be no bugs joining me inside.
Back in the studio, my star support team had suddenly disappeared. Daisy, John and Oscar had already raced away, as I tried to rush after them down the ramp of our transport. Slamming my arm into the low-slung architrave avoided making a mess of Threepio and me on the polished floor. I wished it could have been designed with a more droid-friendly slope. We did six takes as, each time, I grew more frightened and self-protective. I could never be a Stunt person – a fact enforced by chatting with Andy Wareham, who was.