The Elephant to Hollywood - Michael Caine [141]
And then my generation didn’t have to deal with drugs and the violence that follows in their wake – or at least not on the same scale. Half the time these kids are so drugged up they have no idea what they’re doing: there was constant activity from the police on this estate while we were filming. I remember one day in particular when we wasted half the day on retakes, because every time we were finishing a shot with dialogue, a police siren would come along and ruin it. But even more than that, these kids had nothing to do, and nowhere to go, and that, I think, is essential. I had Clubland, the youth club and the drama class and that was where I found the thing I wanted to do more than anything else, the thing that, in the end, set me on my future course.
If it hadn’t been for the Reverend Jimmy Butterworth, who ran and founded Clubland, I would probably never have made it out of the Elephant. He was a tiny little man – he was only about five foot – and referred to himself as a ‘little Lancashire Lad’, but he was a giant to me. He built that youth club out of nothing but determination and an extraordinary ability to persuade wealthy donors to back the project. It was through this that I met my first real star – Bob Hope. Bob was a very generous man and always gave a lot to charities, but somehow Jimmy had managed not only to persuade him to donate the proceeds of his entire two-week run at the Prince of Wales theatre to the club, but to come and talk to us as well. He made a great impression on me, but I had no reason to think that he had even noticed a gangly teenager hanging on his every word and I didn’t mention it when, years later, I appeared on the Bob Hope Show during the publicity for Alfie. I should have known better . . . When I got back to England, my agent called to find out if the fee for the show had gone direct to me rather than via him as would have been normal. It hadn’t – and a week later I got a call from Bob himself. He had sent the money straight to Jimmy Butterworth at Clubland. ‘You owe them,’ he said. And I do.
On Harry Brown, I saw for myself the difference that involvement with something creative can make to the lives of kids who have nothing much to do. The director, Daniel Barber, used a number of the young men who had been watching us on the shoot in the movie. It was late one night and as I stood there watching them rehearse, I thought to myself that he had bought himself some real trouble – I assumed they would get bored very quickly and all be gone by take three, which would mean he would have to reshoot. I was completely wrong. As I watched Daniel directing these kids it dawned on me that here was proof of what was lacking in their lives. They were doing something they really wanted to do, they were interested enough to want to know how to do it well and they were responding to an authority figure who knew what he was talking about and was treating them with the dignity and respect their lives were lacking. By take five, they were completely into it and making their own suggestions – I loved watching the way their confidence grew by the minute. Daniel was happy to let them ad lib and the only direction I heard him give was, ‘You can only say “fuck” twice each and no one can say the “C” word or you’ll get us an X certificate!’
The art of directing kids from the street wasn’t the only thing I learnt on Harry Brown. I was also introduced to the art of ecological film-making. There’s one scene