Michael York: The Hollywood Interview

Actor Michael York.


MICHAEL YORK SHOWS HIS BLINKERS
By
Alex Simon

Editor’s note: This article originally appeared in the November 2005 issue of Venice Magazine.


Michael York became one of Great Britain’s most beloved exports starting in the 1960s, when the young actor appeared in two of director Franco Zeffirelli’s classic Shakespearean adaptations: The Taming of the Shrew (1967) and Romeo and Juliet (1968). Born Michael Hugh Johnson (He later borrowed his stage name of York from a popular brand of English cigarette) on March 27, 1942 in Fulmer, Buckinghamshire, England, York enjoyed a comfortable, middle class childhood, which was punctuated by a considerable amount of relocation as his business executive father moved up the corporate ladder.

He started acting on stage in his teens and, after finishing studies at Oxford, Michael joined Laurence Olivier’s National Theatre. His good looks (marred only by a broken nose) got him frequently cast as bored aristocrats (often with a subversive side) early in his career, but Michael quickly proved his diversity by becoming one of the busiest actors of his generation, to date appearing in over 100 films and television productions. Just a few of the highlights of his early career include Accident (1967), Something for Everyone (1970), Murder on the Orient Express (1974), Conduct Unbecoming (1975), Logan’s Run (1976), The Island of Dr. Moreau, The Last Remake of Beau Geste (both 1977), and Riddle of the Sands (1979). Beginning in the 80s, Michael appeared in dozens of television movies and series, many of which took him to locations the world over. Recently, he has become a familiar face to a new generation appearing as Austin Powers’ boss Basil Exposition in the Austin Powers trilogy.

Michael published his autobiography “Accidentally on Purpose” in 1993, and his just issued a new memoir about his adventures making a film in 21st century Russia entitled “Are My Blinkers Showing.” Married for 37 years to his wife Pat, a renowned photographer, the Yorks have made their home in Los Angeles since 1976. We sat down with Michael York recently to discuss his latest literary effort, as well as his remarkable career as one of the cinema’s most prolific performers.

Tell us how this book was born and what moved you to write it.
Michael York: The book was born out of an instinct to write and a love of writing. This is about book number five for me. If you’re doing a day job and you want to write as well, the best thing to do is get up early, around five o’clock, then you have time to yourself before the phone starts ringing. So that had become a habit, and I guess I was looking around for something to do. I had a feeling that this film I was about to do in Russia would be different, as it was. So I initially just took notes during the production so I could remember what went on. And I recalled the question that you’re always asked by journalists when you come back home: “Do you have any funny stories about the making of the film?” Inevitably your mind goes blank. So this book is an answer to that often-asked question, and the answer is ‘Yes!’ (laughs) One of the Russian quotes I use in the book is “Everything is funny, as long as it happens to someone else.” (laughs)

Give us some of your overall impressions of Russia as it is today, which seems to be a bundle of contradictions.
I’m glad you hit on that, because that’s the term I use: disparities, inequalities, especially in Moscow. This wasn’t a sociological study of Russia. How could it be? I was only in Moscow. It was sort of a fly-on-the-wall estimation of what one saw around one, what you heard being with the people, also set against previous visits during Communist times. It was a very interesting moment to be there, with this system in transition from one thing to another. I think the changes gave people a feeling of stability initially, after the chaos of the Yeltsin days. I know this book is time-specific, which is why I’m glad it’s coming out now. I also have to contrast Russia with what’s happening here, with our Patriot Act and the ownership of the press by a handful of oligarchs. Are we absolutely free?

I think in this country we’ve reverted back to the late 19th century where you have a handful of powerful families controlling the strings that pull all the connective tissue of our society: industry, government and media.
You’re absolutely right. In fact that goes along with one of the last roles I wrote about in the two Omega Code films: a media mogul who crossed over into politics.

You’ve played a lot of wealthy white guys.
(both laugh) Yes, except this one just happened to be the devil!

In the case of several people, who shall remain unnamed, that scenario is entirely plausible.
(laughs) Yes, right!

One thing you mentioned several times in your book is that there are now more billionaires in Russia than there are in Japan, yet much of the country still lives in poverty.
Yes, although I’m sure the statistics have changed again since the book came out. It’s quite extraordinary and you feel it. I think the greatest contrast is in thefashion industry which was, as you can imagine, pretty dull during Communist days. Now Moscow is the headquarters of every great designer in the world, and you have them all there, cheek by jowl. Armani sells more beaded dresses in Moscow than anywhere else in the world.

I know you saw the film you worked on, Moscow Heat, both at The American Film Market and at its premiere in Moscow. What did you think of the product that resulted from the adventure portrayed in your book?
Well…it is what it is. (laughs) It’s kind of a miracle that it was finished and that it was in focus, but it was presentable and you’re grateful for a lot of small mercies. But it moves, it’s entertaining, and it gives a hell of a lot more bang for your buck than some of the dreary films I’ve slogged through recently as a viewer. It’s an action film, and makes no bones about that or tries to be anything more than that.

Let’s talk about your background. You moved around England quite a bit as a kid, a common theme in an actor’s childhood.
Yes, it makes one very adaptable to different situations.

When did you know you were an actor?
I was very lucky. I went to a school in Bromley, that’s in the suburbs of London. The West End was fifteen minutes away by fast train. I went to this school where there was an English teacher who also ran a semi-professional Little Theatre company and did two plays a year. That was a feast for me. I found out I had a facility for it, and we did Shakespeare and other plays. Then when I was sixteen, I heard about Michael Croft, who started the Youth Theatre in England. The idea of putting all these kids together from different schools into a big Shakespeare production was sort of an approximation of what happened during Elizabethan times, with their companies of boy actors. Eventually they opened it up to girls and it became The National Youth Theatre of Great Britain. What’s interesting is that Ed Wilson, who ran the company for the last few decades, is over here in LA, and we want to do the same thing here with a company of young actors. One reason I’m Chairman of the California Youth Theater is because funding for the arts has been cut so drastically. It’s tragic really, because the arts are such a vital part of our culture. Sports are very important as well, and a lot of money is spent on them, but the imagination is a muscle that must developed also, and it is just as vital.

From The National Youth Theatre, you went to Oxford.
Which in itself was a great, unofficial drama school, from the classics to modern plays. Also comedy : it was a real tradition at Oxford, especially going to the Edinburgh Festival and putting on that sort of cleverdick, college humor.

Wasn’t that sensibility born largely out of The Goon Show?
Yes, absolutely. We were all Goons at heart! We just couldn’t believe how daring and irreverent it was. This was during the 1950s, which in England was much like the Eisenhower period in America: respectable, gray, conformist. There’d been enough of the chaos of war and things were straightforward and prosperous, then along came The Goon Show, and The Beatles, and Monty Python, and nothing’s been the same since! But The Goon Show was a very important development and it chimed in with a lot of absurdist humor which was around.

Your first big break in film came when Franco Zeffirelli discovered you.
Yes, and I remember traveling down to Rome with a group of other actors to audition for him, that included Ian Ogilvy, Fionnula Flanagan, and Natasha Pyne. We said we all liked each other so much, we said we didn’t care who got the job. Such bullshit! (laughs) You know how anxious you always are as an actor, and how cruel this business is, and the audition process is something you never put behind you.

When I interviewed Michael Caine a few years ago, he said that for years he was always afraid whatever acting job he was currently working on would be his last. And this feeling stayed with him until very recently. Does that feeling of insecurity ever go away?
Yes, but mind you, show me an actor who says he doesn’t think every job is his last, and I’ll show you a phony—which is maybe a good thing. You can never coast along. It’s always life or death. You learn to be proactive. You don’t wait for the phone to ring. The autobiography I wrote for Simon & Schuster is titled “Accidentally On Purpose,” which is partially a play on words, but also partially a serious investigation: is it all an accident? Is it all happenstance, or is there a sort of destiny that links everything?

Well, there’s a fine line between being proactive and setting yourself for the universe to laugh at you.
Yes, quite right. I was talking to Pat recently about some recent experiences being asked to go on auditions for jobs, and the necessity of dealing with people who may have no knowledge of what you have done. Sometimes I can go completely Zen, and just say ‘This is what it is,’ and just go with it. I’m also glad to do it because I want to audition them as much as they want to audition me. But at other times I’m reminded of the famous bootleg tape of Orson Welles making a commercial about peas, and being directed by some twit. And this is one of the great consummate artists of our generation, and he suddenly loses it! It’s just delicious. I always operate by that golden rule that nobody really knows anything. The most unlikely things are often the things that ultimately work out. And that puts things in a very sort of balanced perspective. I don’t think life is straightforward. I don’t think it’s healthy to be on the crest of the wave the whole time. In fact, it’s very boring . (laughs)

It’s like the old analogy of wanting to ride the merry-go-round or the rollercoaster.
Yes, and I much prefer the latter, don’t you?

Yeah, definitely. Let’s get back to your film work. Your first major film was The Taming of the Shrew, for Zeffirelli. What was it like working with Liz and Dick?
Well, you can imagine how exciting it was to be in one’s first movie in a very prestigious way. Liz and Dick were just gods, and I think we forget that today with our little teeny-bopper divas. But they were. They did “ bestride the narrow world like Colossi,” to borrow from The Bard. They brought with them not just their physical presence, but they trailed these clouds of glory. They were also the producers of the film, and were very kind to me. I had the most wonderful time, and it was a great start. Working for Zeffirelli was a enriching experience. He’s a most interesting, provocative director. He seems to get along especially well with Anglo-Saxons. Right from the start, during the war when he was in the Italian underground, he met up with the British forces and felt this affinity. I think he’s a justifiably famous opera director, but working with Anglo-Saxon sensibilities helps him to dampen down some Italianate excesses when making a film. It was a revelation to have Shakespeare’s Italian plays directed by an Italian and shot on location in Italy.

Another film you did around this time was Joseph Losey’s Accident, with Dirk Bogarde.
I went almost straight from Rome back to England to work on that film at Oxford, and started being a student all over again—but being paid for it this time! Joe was a little intimidating for me at first, because he was a director I’d admired enormously. He was very taciturn, but very helpful and I sensed the pressures he was under. A lot of the film took place in sunlight during a long, hot summer afternoon. It was filmed during a summer of bleak, miserable, rainy weather where the sun was fleeting. In order to get film in the can, you just had to keep going. During night shoots, we were setting up shots lying on the freezing lawn, and lit by all these giant lights. The crew were wrapped up in ski wear. The fact that you can’t tell the difference when you watch the film was another revelation to me . That’s when I really started to learn the technical side of filmmaking.

What was Dirk Bogarde like?
He played my tutor in the film, and was my tutor in the basics of filmmaking as well. We got to be very good friends and spent a lot of time together during the shoot. Also you learn by example, just by admiring his technique. It was a very sort of golden time for me.

You also met your wife, Pat, around this time.
Right, exactly. I had these two films out simultaneously and this beautiful, young photographer was sent over from New York to take my picture.

And the sparks were instantaneous from the sound of it.
Well pretty much, yes. Yes…yes! (laughs) It was the 60s, what more can I say? (laughs) It was great. Summer of love, and all that. And now we’ve been married a long time! (laughs)

But you have that rare thing, which is a show business marriage that has endured.
I’m very grateful to Pat because she loves traveling – she used to be the travel editor of Glamour magazine. The more improbable the location, the more she found subject matter for her lens. So moving as a unit has been great. I’ve seen what it’s like, that sort of lonely life spent in hotels as an actor on location. But to have been able to share those experiences, both good and bad, with such an extraordinary woman has been fantastic. Also, her recognition as a really superior photographer and having exhibitions all over the world, it’s been a real joy for me to proudly go along.

You got to work with one of my all-time heroes, Bob Fosse, on Cabaret.
I agree with you. With Bob you encountered someone remarkable. At the time the Bob Fosse legend hadn’t kicked in yet. The triptych of the Oscar, the Tony and the Grammy was a year away and in fact, he was under the gun to really prove himself as a filmmaker because Sweet Charity (1969) hadn’t been a success. On Cabaret there were a lot of people putting pressure on him to get it done. But Bob had a vision, and he was adamant about achieving that vision under the circumstances. What endeared me to him right from the start was his handling of the script. My American agent said I shouldn’t do it as originally written. I couldn’t believe it : it was a lead role! And I went off to Morocco to do this film for Philippe de Broca (Touch and Go, 1971), and then went to Munich to really get down to studying the script. Then I realized that my agent had been absolutely right: although my character was based on Christopher Isherwood, he was practically invisible! All the really extroverted, fabulous characters were revolving around him. And I had no idea how to play him. I had met Bob only briefly at this point, but I got up my courage and finally spoke to him, not wanting to seem like a temperamental actor, but to my unending delight, he agreed with me! And he, Hugh Wheeler, Liza and myself took a couple weeks during rehearsal and beefed up the text, and I think it shows. And after that film the Bob Fosse star just zoomed, like a shooting star.

How was Fosse with his actors?
He was relentless. As we all know film is a highly technical medium and the technicians need to take over at times. If you want to do it properly, it takes time. But actors don’t have to wait around, and that’s what Fosse recognized. Hefilmed one thing, then you went off with himand rehearsed while the next scene was set up. There was no down time. It was wonderful. So by the time the set was ready, you hadn’t been switched off. You were very much switched on.

That brings us to Richard Lester’s The Three and Four Musketeers.
Dick Lester called with the offer to play D’Artagnan, just as I’d agreed to do this Tennessee Williams play in New York, which could have run for a year. So I said, ‘Sorry.’ And Dick said “Well look, it’s Tennessee Williams, but it’s also a new play, so let’s see how it goes.” And he didn’t cast anyone else, for which I’m very grateful. Doing the play was a fantastic experience which I wouldn’t have missed for the world, but it didn’t run, unfortunately. But working with Tennessee was remarkable, so I was able to have my cake and eat it, which is my entire ambition in life. (laughs) The films were made on location in the Spain of Franco, a very different Spain coming to the end of its medieval sleep. We had access to all these beautiful royal palaces and incredible locations. Very little was done in studios. We were on horseback all summer. I’ve never been so fit in my life with all the riding, running and dueling. Dick Lester wanted to use a fighting style that was a lot more dirty and gritty. He’s a director who loves to film with several cameras while shooting an action scene. So it was helpful to him when the actor in question was willing to do his own stunt work, and being young and stupid, one wanted to do it anyway! So on the second day, my double was injured and I doubled for him. And we got away with a lot. Then there was this infamous thing where this huge picture called The Three Musketeers became so long it had to be subdivided into two films. So all the agents were screaming that their clients had to be paid twice, and so on. In fact, it gave rise to the Salkind clause, which went into all contracts from then on.

What was Lester like?
I had been a big fan of Dick’s films with The Beatles (A Hard Day’s Night, 1964 and Help!, 1965), and in fact Dick’s involvement with The Three Musketeers was borne from the fact that it had originally been thought of as a vehicle for The Beatles. He really had his finger on the pulse of that period. And the way he told the story in those two films reflected the zeitgeist of the times.

It sounds like Oliver Reed was one of a kind.
I was very fond of Ollie. He was a bit of a legend, and unfortunately the press liked him to keep up that legend, which he did, as this wild carouser. He was also a fine actor, which many people tend to forget. But Ollie did get up to some stunts, my favorite of which was when he was thrown out of the Hilton Hotel in Madrid, which had this fish pond in the lobby with goldfish in it. He and his mate cut up these carrots and put them in the pond when no one was looking. Then they both dove into the pond, and appeared to be pulling out these goldfish and eating them raw! (laughs) This to the horror of the clientele! Ollie was a force of nature, and it didn’t surprise me when he left this world in the manner that he did: on a barstool after beating five British sailors at arm-wrestling!

Another seminal film from the 70s was Logan’s Run.
You know I just heard that Bryan Singer is going to do a remake of it, which I think would be brilliant because special effects can now be very special. A bigger budget would help. The version we did was reasonably low budget for its time, but in a way, I was glad that the effects didn’t dwarf the acting. The narrative was left intact. I see this imbalance a lot in films today, with actors upstaged by CGI effects. Whereas the real special effect is being in contact with an actor who’s made confident enough to do his stuff. Again, that film was one that almost got away. I was doing a play at the Ahmanson and one of the young members of the company had been deputed to drive me. And we spent a lot of time chatting. I mentioned that the script had been sent to me, and I didn’t think it was for me. He said “Well, could I take a look?” I said ‘Sure.’ He came to pick me up the next morning and pointing a finger at the script, said “You have to do this. Maybe you don’t understand, but there are things going on in this country that this taps into.” And he was right. Plus it was directed by Michael Anderson, who was one of the great, undervalued directors - a straightforward, wonderful filmmaker.

It really got to me as a kid, when I initially saw it, and it’s stayed with me.
It’s interesting, because ever since it came out, a lot of people have come up to me and said “You know you did a film when I was growing up that really got to me.” And before they even say it, I know it’s Logan’s Run. In a way it reminded me of the Elizabethans , because very few of them lived to be 30. You had to get it all done quickly.

You jumped into zany comedy with Marty Feldman’s The Last Remake of Beau Geste.
You know Pat and I had been in a horrible car accident in Italy and were recuperating in hospital when I got Marty’s script. And Pat read it, and laughed so hard, all her stitches came undone! It was such a brilliantly funny screenplay. Unfortunately, the studio cut the guts out of the final film, although there were some very funny moments . There’s a great movie out there somewhere, and it’s one of those films that I hope someone will restore one day, to the specifications that Marty had wanted. Hopefully the excised footage still exists. It’s funny how these films come back into your life after being in limbo for years. I just had the pleasure of working on the DVD of Conduct Unbecoming, which is a wonderful film of a famous play, directed again by Michael Anderson, with a cast that includes Trevor Howard, Christopher Plummer, Richard Attenborough, Stacy Keach, and Susannah York. I saw it again after more than 30 years, and I couldn’t believe how good it was. So I was so grateful that one of these houses took it and restored it.

You got to work with Burt Lancaster on The Island of Dr. Moreau.
Burt was like an old, grizzled lion: magnificent, noble. A little past his powers, but still formidable enough that he could bite. And you know, you’re working with a legend. I had the utmost respect for Burt. It was a huge thrill to work with one of the titans of the business. I like what we tried to do with that film, which was to make a classic version of the story. I think some things worked better than others. The “humanimal” element, for example. I think we saw too much of that, instead of leaving more of it up to the audience’s imagination. It was an extraordinary experience because we took this menagerie of animals to St. Croix. I would love to go swimming at lunchtime and would take these Bengal Tigers and bears with me. But it was more like waterskiing, they were so powerful.

Lancaster had that wonderful, stentorian presence right to the very end.
Yes, he did. That’s the wonderful thing: when one keeps adding pearls to the crown right up to the end. And that’s what I love about this profession. You shouldn’t be put out to pasture if you still have your wits and your health, and can still contribute.

Any artist is going to improve with age, since you have more in the well into which you can dip.
We’re in an age now, or maybe we’re heading out of it, where the powers that be assume the audience is made up of teenage boys. All the awards and adulations you can get are meaningless compared to someone saying “Please, go and make us another.”