Ornery Old Wits

I’ve started this blog as an exercise for myself. It’s not really a New Years Resolution; I’ve been meaning to do something like this for ages. Years even. I’ve tried and failed several times. With so much time on my hands and no-one here to talk to, I’m hoping this will be a good way to indulge my interests without getting so stuck in my head. I’m hoping to write every day, even if it’s just a little.

However, some days are obviously going to be harder than others. Days like today when the stress is weighing me down and I just don’t have the strength to get my thoughts in any kind of order. On days like today, I may just share something I’ve read and enjoyed. Somehow, sharing something with the universe is still meaningful to me, even if no-one reads it. It means I’m sharing something of myself. Putting my real self out there. That’s definitely something I need to get better at.

So, in that vein, I shall share something that made me laugh uproariously. Two of the many things I adore are Star Wars and ornery old wits like Alec Guinness. So I thoroughly enjoyed these excerpts from Alec Guiness: The Authorised Biography by Paul Read (originally posted on Nightly.Net).

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“Big part. Fairytale rubbish, but could be interesting”

By Piers Paul Read

Alec Guinness was unimpressed by the Star Wars script, but a percentage of the film’s profits was to make him a rich man, according to this extract from a biography of the actor.

WHILE ALEC GUINNESS was in Los Angeles in 1975 making Murder by Death, a screenplay was sent to his hotel by a young director, George Lucas, who in 1973 had won Oscar nominations as both writer and director for American Graffiti.

His new project, Star Wars, was a science-fiction adventure with a role for Alec as Ben Obi-Wan Kenobi, a Jedi knight. Alec was “attracted to the idea of the film”, reputedly because it was a fable of the battle of good and evil in which good is triumphant.

He took Lucas to lunch and recorded in his diary: “I liked him. The conversation was divided culturally by 8,000 miles and 30 years; but I think we might understand each other, if I can get past his intensity.”

He wrote to a friend, Anne Kaufman: “Science fiction — which gives me pause — but it is to be directed by Paul (sic) Lucas, who did American Graffiti, which makes me feel I should. Big part. Fairytale rubbish, but could be interesting.” There was also a handsome fee attached. In January 1976, Alec’s agent informed him that 20th Century Fox had come through with an offer of $150,000, plus a small participation: “This is double what they offered last week.” The “small participation” was 2 per cent of the producer’s profit.

Filming started at EMI studios in March. “Can’t say I’m enjoying the film,” he wrote to Kaufman. “New rubbish dialogue reaches me every other day on wadges of pink paper — and none of it makes my character clear or even bearable. I just think, thankfully, of the lovely bread, which will help me to keep going until next April . . . I must off to studio and work with a dwarf (very sweet — and he has to wash in a bidet) and your fellow countrymen Mark Hamill and Tennyson (that can’t be right) Ford. Ellison (? — no!) — well, a rangy, languid young man who is probably intelligent and amusing. But oh, God, God, they make me feel 90 — and treat me as if I was 106 — Oh, Harrison Ford, ever heard of him?”

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Filming in North Africa, he wrote to his son Matthew: “The set-ups and costumes etc all looked good . . . trying to get the feel of the character. Not much comes to me, I must confess; there is an indecisiveness in the script which troubles me. And I cannot yet find a voice which I think suitable.”

Lucas also seemed to have his doubts over Alec’s role. “Irritated by Lucas saying he hadn’t made up his mind whether to kill off my part or not,” he wrote in his diary. “A bit late for such decisions. And Harrison Ford referring to me as Mother Superior didn’t help.”

Later he wrote: “Apart from the money, I regret having embarked on the film. I like them all well enough, but it’s not an acting job, the dialogue — which is lamentable — keeps being changed and only slightly improved, and I find myself old and out of touch with the young.”

In another letter to Kaufman he said: “The film plods on. I’ve had a week off while they all blow themselves up electrically etc. I only have three brief scenes more to play. Play? Drift through aimlessly. I like Harrison Ford, but doubt if he’s going to fire the Thames or the East River.”

A little over a year later, when Alec was recovering from his hernia operation, Star Wars was released in the United States. “George Lucas telephoned from San Francisco,” Alec noted in his Small Diary on May 22, “to say trade reviews of Star Wars excellent and wanting me to accept another quarter per cent.” It was a gesture of unique generosity which, Matthew recalls, astonished and delighted his father: Alec had never before been offered an unsolicited benefit of this kind.

When Alec himself saw the finished film he was impressed: “It’s a pretty staggering film as spectacle, and technically brilliant. Exciting, very noisy and warm-hearted. The battle scenes at the end go on for five minutes too long, I feel, and some of the dialogue is excruciating and much of it is lost in noise, but it remains a vivid experience. The only really disappointing performance was Tony Daniels as the robot — fidgety and over-elaborately spoken. Not that any of the cast can stand up to the mechanical things around them.”

It soon became apparent that Alec’s 2¼ per cent would make him “a temporary fortune”. “Bank telephoned to say they’d received £308,552,” Alec noted in his diary on February 1, 1978. “First Star Wars money.” Another £131,700 followed on November 10.

The gush of money brought on protracted quarrels with Alec’s tax inspector. “The tax authorities here are being quite awful about my Star Wars earnings, and it looks as if I’ll have to employ a top tax counsel and fight them in the law courts . . . I’m not sure that I’m not going to be out of pocket for having neared a rough million pounds and only spent £6,000 (on the new kitchen — already shabby).”

Another disadvantage, for Alec, of the film’s great success was Lucas’s plans for a sequel. “It’s dull, rubbishy stuff, but, seeing what I owe George Lucas, I finally hadn’t the heart to refuse. Also he was clever enough not to plead his cause. I have insisted on no billing and minimum publicity.”

Less than a year later, he was invited back to Cecconi’s restaurant with George and Marsha Lucas. “He was sounding me out, of course, about apppearing in Star Wars III. I was non-committal, but said I couldn’t see myself in it if I had to expound the force or any phony philosophy. I left them saying ‘I’m an unreliable character’.”

However, Alec finally agreed, again accepting as payment a small percentage. “It’s a rotten, dull little bit, but it would have been mean of me to refuse.”

His few days of tedium were well paid. In November 1983 he recorded “an unexpected windfall from Star Wars — $250,000. That will pay for Sally’s schooling, our Italian holiday and our pre-filming holiday in India (where he was making A Passage to India).”

The extraordinary success of Star Wars and its offspring made Alec wealthy — though he complained that the extent of his wealth was exaggerated in the press. “The Times reports I’ve made £4½ million in past year. Where do they get hold of such nonsense?” It also made him known to a new generation of moviegoers and spread his fame worldwide. Yet while Alec, as he had always done, loved making money, he was depressed that his celebrity was based on work that he himself did not esteem.

When a mother in America boasted of how often her son had seen Star Wars, Alec made him promise that he would never see it again. His hut at Kettlebrook Meadows grew cluttered with unopened sacks of fan mail. “Star Wars people ask me for an interview — I continue to refuse,” he noted in his Small Diary on January 16, 1997. “They are ghastly bores.” February 13: “Was unpleasant to a woman journalist on Telegraph, who wanted to know how much I earned on Star Wars. Oh, I’m sick of that film and all the hype.” March 12: “Head waiter (at Dorchester Oriental Room) said, as I was leaving, ‘Now Star Wars is to be shown again, you’ll be famous once more’.”

Alec would live in the shadow of Ben Obi-Wan Kenobi for the rest of his life, and felt demeaned by the tinselly nature of his worldwide fame. However, to his peers his life seemed quite enviable.

Here’s to Fears

Every now and again, an article comes out that lists people’s most common fears. The top rated fears are usually a cliched bunch of suburban phobias like spiders, heights and public speaking. Death, serious illness, or accidents are rarely mentioned.

Those kinds of lists always bug me. Are these really the things that most people fear? Sure, I’d probably freak out if I saw a snake and I don’t feel comfortable on cliff tops, but I certainly wouldn’t list them as my greatest fears. I spend very little time thinking about those things (despite living in a place where snakes, spiders, crocodiles and deadly jellyfish are a very real threat).

So what are my greatest fears?

I actually had to really think about this. I believe strongly in not letting fear rule your life so I always try to challenge those feelings when they arise. But if I had to pick, I’d say:

1. Developing an illness or condition that restricted my diet. This may sound odd but I really love food and in particular, I love trying new food and new restaurants. I’d hate it if I couldn’t indulge the way I like. Especially if it meant giving up alcohol!

2. Becoming so physically or mentally incapacitated that I am dependent on my family permanently.

3. Wrists. Or more specifically waking up in a hospital with a catheter or whatever in my wrist. I have a whole wrist thing. It’s weird, I know.

I guess what we fear reveals something about ourselves. I don’t know what my fears say about me, and I’m not quite sure I’d want to know.

Comedy as Humanitarianism

I just got a book in the mail that I completely forgot I’d even ordered (this happens a lot. My 2013 resolution is to curb late night Internet shopping). Anyway, the book’s called I Found This Funny. It’s a collection of humorous writing edited by Judd Apatow. Obviously I haven’t read it yet so I’m not here to recommend it. But it got me thinking about comedy.

I was thinking that I don’t think I’d have gotten through this last year without comedy. I’ve always been into ‘serious’ shows and books and movies but I think this year is the year I really came to appreciate the value of comedy. I’ve always enjoyed it but I’ve come to NEED it in a way I hadn’t before.

When I lived in Cambodia, my flatmate used to watch all these ridiculously shitty shows like One Tree Hill. I would always think ‘she’s such a smart girl, why is she into so much crappy TV?!’ Of
course, I knew that she was working on child trafficking so I got that she probably needed to unwind with something mindless. But back then thought that smart people should watch smart TV and movies, and for me that meant ‘serious’ stuff.

But this year I find myself less likely to sit through serious movies. I still watch serious shows like Breaking Bad. But I can only tolerate smaller doses. What I really live for is comedy. Shows like Parks & Rec, Happy Endings and comedy podcasts are what get me through the long evenings and weekends here on my own.

They also make me feel better about the world. It’s really hard sometimes to stay positive up here. This week, a 10 year old kid hung herself and sometimes when I hear shit like that and I look around at the community trying to bury their head in the sand and pretend it was murder or gulka (evil spirits) rather than actually deal with the issues that make these things happen, I just want to scream. I just want to quit and move to the suburbs and get a job as a data entry clerk where I’d never have to deal with people or serious issues again.

But then I come home and turn on the Daily Show or listen to some of my favourite comedians and I remember that the world is an awesome, fun place and there are great people out there who can make me smile. It makes me think that comedy and humour are important. Like, really important. As important as any art form. Because it makes everything worthwhile. It reminds me that the world is a ridiculous place and even though its worth fighting for a better world, it’s also important to remember the absurdity of it all.

And I think that those people who make a life of producing humour and comedy are doing something important too. So long as they’re not being bigots of misogynists or perpetuating ugly stereotypes, I think that their work is just as important as what I’m trying to do up here. It might sound wanky but there’s something to be admired about bringing joy into people’s lives for a living, even though I’m sure most comedians aren’t doing it to be so noble.

The Great Book Purge

I buy a lot of books. Too often, I buy books for the reader I want to be rather than the reader I am. I’ve always had a short attention span and I think it got worse through my 20s as my mental health deteriorated. Obviously, I way better now but now my attention span is worse than ever and I’ve developed some really bad behaviours regarding self-discipline and commitment (namely, I struggle a lot with those).

The point of mentioning all this is to say that I have managed to collect a heap of books over the years which I’ve never read but which I refuse to throw out because I keep thinking that some day I will read them. That I should read them. I’ve moved these books with me from place to place, house to house. I’ve lived in 15 different places since I first moved out of home (I mentioned my problem with commitment, right?) and I’ve been carting some of these books around with me for more than a decade.

Right now, I’m living in a remote island community where there’s no nightlife, no cinema, no restaurants, no social life. I’ve made the commitment to stay for at least another 6 months. After that, I don’t know where I’ll end up. But one thing I know for sure is that I don’t want to move a ton of books with me again.

So, I’m setting a challenge for myself. I’m going to read as many of my books as I can before I leave. Then, when I move on to the next place, I will leave all my books behind, whether they’re read or not (except for the ones with particular sentimental value, of which there will be few). I will not buy any more books for the next 6 months, except for work or study purposes.

I think this will be good for me. It’ll force me to commit to reading. But it’ll force me to be more authentic about myself as a reader. Rather than having books on my shelf for show, and reading what I think I ‘should’ read, I’ll instead focus more on reading for pleasure. Plus, I think forcing myself to read many of these books will help me discover more about myself and the kind of books I actually like.

So, here is a list of all the books on my bookshelf that are to be part of the Great Book Purge*:

  1. The Stranger’s Child – Alan Hollinghurst
  2. My Brilliant Career – Miles Franklin
  3. Praise – Andrew McGahan
  4. Out – Natsuo Kirino
  5. Labyrinths – Jorge Luis Borges
  6. The Leopard – Guiseppe Tomasi Di Lampedusa
  7. Brighton Rock – Grahame Greene
  8. Dead Man’s Chest – Kerry Greenwood
  9. The Happiest Refugee – Anh Do
  10. The Tortilla Curtain – TC Boyle
  11. Orlando – Virginia Wolf
  12. Love in a Cold Climate – Nancy Mitford
  13. A Vindication of the Rights of Women – Mary Wollstonecraft
  14. A Room of One’s Own – Virginia Woolf
  15. Confessions of an English Opium Eater – De Quincy
  16. The People of Paper – Salvador Plascencia
  17. The Satanic Verses – Salman Rushdie
  18. She-Wolves – Helen Castor
  19. The Death of Bunny Monro – Nick Cave
  20. The Year of the Flood – Margaret Atwood
  21. Iris – Peter Conradi
  22. Love in the Time of Cholera – Gabriel Garcia Marquez
  23. Crime & Punishment – Fydor Dostoyevsky
  24. Falling Leaves – Adeline Yen Mah
  25. A Long Way Gone – Ishmael Beah
  26. The Brothers Karamazov – Fyodor Dostoyevsky
  27. The Way of All Flesh – Samuel Butley
  28. To The Lighthouse – Virginia Woolf
  29. Maus – Art Speigelman
  30. One Crowded Hour – Tim Bowden
  31. Carpenteria – Alexis Wright
  32. The Virgin in the Garden – A.S Byatt
  33. The Unbearable Lightness of Being – Milan Kundera
  34. South of Broad – Pat Conroy
  35. Anna Karenina – Leo Tolstoy
  36. 1Q84 – Haruki Murakami
  37. Still Life – A.S. Byatt
  38. The God of Small Things – Arundhati Roy
  39. Eucalyptus – Murray Bail
  40. The Name of the Rose – Umberto Eco

If anyone has suggestions, recommendations or thoughts on any of the books, I’d love to hear them. I’m posting this here because I’m hoping that making this challenge public might make me a little more accountable.

Wish me luck!

*I haven’t included short story collections or reference books that I tend to dip into sporadically and therefore intend to keep.