“WATERLOO, MAKING AN EPIC: The
Spectacular Behind-the-Scenes Story of a Movie Colossus”
By Simon Lewis (BearManor Media), 534 pages,
illustrated (B&W), Hardback, Paperback & Ebook, ISBN 978-1-62933-832-3
REVIEW BY BRIAN HANNAN
One would think that a film that
flopped as dramatically as Waterloo would scarcely deserve a book as superb as this. In quite extraordinary detail,
author Simon Lewis discusses every aspect of the making of the film, from
initial set-up to release, by way of analysis of dozens of separate scenes
through to rarely discussed elements like the editing and mixing, and even the
myth of the missing longer version and the importance of wooden boxes. It might have helped the movie’s commercial
chances, and not put too much of a dent in the ultimately massive budget of
$26.1 million if producer Dino De Laurentiis has snagged original dream team of
Richard Burton (Napoleon) and Peter O’Toole (Wellington), both of whom carried
much greater box office marquee than Rod Steiger and Christopher Plummer.
Burton was never really a possibility but by 1968 O’Toole was “practically set”
although turning it down because he thought it would flop. John Huston, who had
just completed The Bible (1966) for De Laurentiis, was original choice
for director and got so far as being involved in the screenplay being written
by H.A.L Craig (Anzio, 1968). When he dropped out, Gilles Pontecorvo (The
Battle of Algiers, 1966) was briefly in the frame. However, a six-hour
version of War and Peace (1965) ultimately put Sergei Bondarchuk in the
director’s chair.
Requiring thousands of
properly trained and preferably “celluloid-seasoned” troops to carry out
disciplined manoeuvres rather than extras, De Laurentiis was in negotiation
with Turkey, Hungary, Yugoslavia and Bulgaria before plumping for Russia, whose
production arm, Mosfilm, pumped in $8 million (later rising in line with budget
increases). Paramount and Columbia contributed a combined $7 million with
worldwide rights selling for a total of $25 million. Once filming began, Paramount
chiefs Charles Bludhorn and Robert Evans, watching elements of shooting, were
so taken with what they saw they wished they had invested more. Evans was
reportedly “enthralled by hours of film material.” Craig’s screenplay was
augmented by the director and Vittorio Bonicelli as well as uncredited contributions
by Jean Anouilh (Becket, 1964), Samuel Marx and Edward O. Marsh, not to
mention additions by the two main actors. Steiger pocketed $385,000, Plummer
$300,000, Craig $121,000 but Anouilh only $21,000. Gordon Highlanders pipers
and drummers picked up £7 a day.
Lewis is at his best when
forensically examining particular scenes, for example, the Duchess of Richmond
Ball which used 4,000 candles inserted into candelabras, the slightest draught
causing these to melt and drip wax on performers. A carpet was used to get
camera shots from a very low level.
Steiger played Napoleon almost
as a dead man walking, having got hold of a copy of the French Emperor’s autopsy
which revealed advanced cirrhosis and gonorrhoea. Steiger and Bondarchuk met
the night before to iron out ideas for the following day but Steiger was not
above forcing the director’s hand. In in one instance the actor removed his
trousers to ensure he could only be shot in close-up. Orson Welles matched
Steiger in trickery. Only hired for two days, Welles extended his employment by
insisting on doing his own make-up which of course was never up to scratch and
required amendment. And in terms of movie trickery, Steiger was required to sit
on a wooden box on his horse to ensure he could be kept in focus. Jack Hawkins
dispensed with the horse altogether – he was either atop a box or on top of
stilts, as he was unsteady on an animal. In the absence of CGI of the kind
Ridley Scott could eventually employ for his battle scenes, the real soldiers
were occasionally augmented by mannequins. Five thousand were made, two real
soldiers at either end of a row held eight mannequins in place by the use of a
single wooden plank – “this allowed all regiments to march forward.” Among the
many wonderful candid pictures in this lavishly illustrated tome – 200
photographs, many never seen before - is one of three girls staring at the
mannequins as well as photos of Steiger and Hawkins on their boxes.
The Waterloo battlefield had
one of the biggest sets ever built. A total of 17,000 soldiers, mostly from
Siberia and including 2,000 cavalry,
lived in a tented city a mile away. Steiger noted, “It would have taken assistant
directors three days to put untrained men, mere extras, into position. When
they broke for lunch it would be another three days to arrange them again.
These guys are superb.” Real soldiers working with their actual commanders was
the difference between waste and superb. Having a general in charge of the
troops often created issues. Bondarchuk would select the horses he wanted based
on the effect he wished to achieve with the light, demands often obstructed by the
commander if it meant the chosen horses had not been properly fed. “I will
order soldiers – but how do I order animals?” was the dry comment from the army
chief..
Although the battlefield was primarily
authentic – mud for one scene created by
pumping two days’ worth of water into the soil before cavalry churned up the area
– there were occasions when filming conformed to the Hollywood norm. “The use
of fiery explosions had been cinematic shorthand for battle scenes long before Waterloo”
when in reality these would be minimal. “Most ammunition that was fired
comprised large iron balls and so low was its speed it was possible to watch
their progress.”
The famous charge of the Scots Greys was
described thusly in the script: “they came straight into camera – like centaurs
in their magnificence.” The sight of 350 Arabian mounts travelling at breakneck
speed was captured by use of a specially constructed railway powered by a
diesel locomotive. Five cameras were sited in different positions on the train.
The famous slow-motion effect – possibly the most exhilarating moment in the
picture – was achieved by over-cranking the camera at 100 frames per second
which slowed what you saw by a factor of four.
Perhaps the best reveal
regarding movie trickery was the moon above Wellington as he rode past the
carnage. It comprised “special silver paper for front projection – 3M – like
shark skin. You put one light on it and it reflects ten times brighter.” The
moon was shown as one quarter less than full since the effect of a full moon
would be harder to carry off. “Blue ink made some spots as moon craters.” The
fake moon was suspended with one wire on top and two left and right to prevent
it from moving, then one light was projected onto it.
Lewis rebuts the myth of the
missing longer version. He reckons this probably came about because over
300,000 feet of film – 55 hours – was shot and the first rough cut was five
hours long. The final cut was 123 minutes and 42 seconds - not much longer than
if you had worked out the length by counting the pages of the screenplay - and
release cuts varied because, for example, the British censors cut out 28
seconds of horse falls and the ending includes 50 seconds of music over the
credits. It was never shown with the intermission which was de rigeur at
the time for longer roadshows and would have, artificially, inflated the
running time. There was some confusion
over the final print because a novelisation by Frederick E. Smith included some
scenes that didn’t make it into the final print, and Smith’s book, written of
necessity before the film appeared, would have used as its main reference tool
the screenplay. But Lewis spends a whole chapter explaining why a longer cut
never existed.
The world premiere was held on
26 October 1970 in London where the movie released as a roadshow (i.e. separate
performances) was a huge success. It ran for a few weeks short of an entire
year in the London West End, breaking box office records at the Odeon Leicester
Square and the Metropole where it opened on December 3rd, 1970, before
shifting to the Columbia on June 17, 1971, and then a final week at the Odeon
Kensington from September 30 1971. But audience appeal in the United States was
at the other end of the spectrum. It went from a strong opening week of $25,436
at the Criterion in New York to just $1,775 in its fourth week, and nationwide
racked up only $1.4 million in rentals (the studio share of the box office). It
was derided in France in part because the film was about the defeat of a legend
and the French could not come to terms with the idea that it was directed by a
Russian.
Where most “making of” books
concentrate on the stars and the director, Lewis goes into fantastic detail
about all aspects of the production, the chapter on editing and mixing an
education in itself. There’s a chapter on how historically accurate the film
actually was. The author was helped by the discovery of a diary kept during
production by actor Richard Heffer who played the small part Mercer. But Lewis
also managed to make contact with Dino De Laurentiis’s daughters, Raffaella and
Veronica, and around two dozen people connected with the film in some way, and
clearly examined every scrap of information available on the picture. The notes
are another mine of information.
Even if the film is not at the
top of your must-watch list, this book should go to the top of your must-read
list.
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(See Simon Lewis's article on the making of "Waterloo" in Cinema Retro issue #46.)
(Brian Hannan is the author of
When Women Ruled Hollywood (Baroliant, £10) and writes a blog The
Magnificent 60s at https://themagnificent60s.com)