Diaries 1969-1979_ The Python Years - Michael Palin [111]
Weston Taylor of the News of the World, a rather dog-eared, but quite amiable sort of chap, has been hanging around. Eric was very rude to him, mistaking, I think, one individual for a newspaper’s policy. But then Eric was also very rude to Andrew Tyler of NME who arrived in Killin on May 4th, and tried to interview Eric on the mountainside, with very little success. Perhaps ‘very rude’ isn’t quite fair, but Eric gave him a rather sharp little homily. ‘Most of my friends who I know and like have done interviews, and I don’t recognise them in the interviews,’ he said.
Anyway it turns out that Tyler’s one-week sojourn with us turned out to be a largely accurate, amusing, exhaustive and informative account of Python filming. (Copies of the ‘Python’ issue of NME with Mr Gumby plastered on the front and the flimsy record of extracts from Live at Drury Lane and the big interview arrived on the set when I was doing the Prince’s Room scene. Greeted with much interest by the make-up girls – whom he described as ‘sour-faced’. Much mirth from everyone.)
Saturday, May 18th
End of third week’s filming. I’ve had the second longest single speech in the film to do today. A large crowd scene with lots of mutilated extras. Must have done the speech at least fifteen times.
There’s a party tonight organised by the camera crew – so I’ve had a bath – gratefully washing away two days in wig, beard, moustache and heavy make-up, and I’m thinking how much longer I can delay having a drink!
Downstairs – Met one of the crew waiting to go to the party. He looks serious. ‘Mike,’ he says. ‘We work bloody hard out there, and I think we deserve it.’
I’m a little puzzled. ‘Deserve … what, Ron?’
‘Women.’
He looks me in the eye like a man who thinks I can give him medical treatment. ‘Women … Mike … that’s what we need.’
Monday, May 20th
Spent a day in the hills above Callander doing a great deal of silly riding.
Strange surreal moment: a wooden cut-out of Camelot, which stood on the top of the hill, and looked utterly three-dimensional and realistic, suddenly blew away.
12.00 midnight: whilst soaking in my bath I hear a distant shout. ‘I’m going to bed, but I don’t necessarily have to go to bed alo-o-one.’ It’s Dr Chapman in the passage. He repeats the line three times, like someone selling scrap iron and it recedes along the corridor.
Friday, May 24th
In the hotel room catching up on the diary whilst they film the Historian. A very heavy week for me – with two long speaking parts on Wednesday and Thursday. I am not sure, but I don’t feel quite on top of the performances. Something tightens up inside me during a take – the relaxation and control of a rehearsal is lost. Mind you, filming is an appalling process for reducing an actor to the role of machine.
In the Knights of Ni, for instance, I was to do close-ups first. Directly in front of me are a group of anoraked people squatting down, far more preoccupied with their equipment than with me. Someone reads the lines off in a flat voice, which gives you little encouragement. An eyeline keeps you looking at no-one at all. Two huge white polystyrene reflectors enclose me on either side – it feels like acting in a sandwich. Then you are about to start and the sound isn’t right – and then the sun comes out and that isn’t right, as the camera focus has to be adjusted – and during this so much of one’s spontaneity and relaxation just drain away.
Yesterday a long day as the Father – for the second day running a part involving heavy make-up, beard, moustache, etc. A great sense of relief when it was finished. Have not done such sustained and exhausting acting as I have this week since the last Python series. Creating new characters suddenly seems an enormous effort.
A little disappointment at the rushes tonight – saw my first appearance as the Father in