Behind the Scenes – The Magnificent 60s

Behind the Scenes: “The Guns of Navarone” (1961)

It’s time to celebrate the 65^th anniversary of The Guns of Navarone – world premiere on April 27, 1961, in London and New York opening on June 22, 1961. Although the picture set a new benchmark in high-octane entertainment, a fast-moving war thriller packed with twists and a genuine all-star cast, it was far – very far – from the sure thing it appears in retrospect.

For a start, U.S producer Carl Foreman, a victim of the McCarthy anti-communist witch-hunt of the early 1950s, was unable to assemble any of the talent he had set his heart on. He lost his preferred male cast of William Holden and Cary Grant and original scriptwriter Eric Ambler, the thriller writer famed for The Mask of Dimitrios and other novels.

He had a registered a major publicity coup by engineering the screen debut of opera diva Maria Callas, one of the most famous people in the world, but she also dropped out as did his other initial choice for leading lady. On top of that, once filming began he lost his director, Alexander Mackendrick, who had not only achieved a critical and commercial success with the British Ealing comedy The Ladykillers (1951) but also crossed the Atlantic to make the acclaimed The Sweet Smell of Success (1957) starring Burt Lancaster and Tony Curtis, to prove he could handle big Hollywood stars.

On top of that David Niven nearly lost his life during production and by the time the picture appeared Gregory Peck had suffered so many box office flops that he was a potential liability. And Foreman’s own marriage was in trouble.

It was a wonder it was made at all for Foreman was nobody’s idea of a sure thing. Although he had made his name as a screenwriter with three Oscar nominations for Champion (1949), The Men (1950) and High Noon (1952), his career was in ruins after being slung out of America for his supposed communist sympathies. He set up in London where he wrote screenplays under pseudonyms. But in 1956 won a four-picture production deal with Columbia at a time when that studio was investing heavily in making films in Britain to take advantage of the government’s Eady Levy (effectively, a tax rebate) and cheaper costs. But his first film, The Key (1958) with William Holden and Sophia Loren flopped in the U.S. Columbia persevered, seeing Foreman as the man to tackle its biggest-ever European production.

The Guns of Navarone almost fell at the first hurdle. Foreman’s first choice of location was Cyprus which was threatening to erupt into a civil war. At the last minute, he changed his mind and shifted production to Rhodes. Foreman, who also acted as screenwriter, made considerable changes to the book by British bestselling thriller writer Alistair Maclean, not least of which was introducing female characters to a story that had been resolutely all-male.

There was tension on set – four-time Oscar nominee Gregory Peck was annoyed at sharing the screen with two winners David Niven (Best Actor for Separate Tables, 1958) and Anthony Quinn (twice Best Supporting Actor for Viva Zapata, 1952, and Lust for Life, 1956). Replacement director J. Lee Thompson (Ice Cold in Alex, 1958) managed to sink a ship on loan from the Greek navy. The Actor’s Strike in Hollywood nearly forced the departure of the two younger stars.

The set for the titular guns was the largest ever built, costing £100,000, and even though that proved a design miracle, that, too, was not exempt from disaster, having to be rebuilt after a thunderstorm destroyed part of the set. The injury to David Niven was so severe he nearly died, putting the production in jeopardy. Even when the film approached completion there were other obstacles in the way, composer Dmitri Tiomkin (The Alamo, 1960), for example, demanding a record fee and Foreman locking horns with Columbia over his insistence on launching the picture as a roadshow, request which was ultimately denied, and one of the reasons for the film’ release delay,

I’ve written a book about The Making of The Guns of Navarone. Originally published in 2013, it has been revised with over 30 illustrations added for a new edition to tie in with the 65^th anniversary – available both in print and Kindle versions.

If you’re interested in this kind of book, you might like to know that I’ve also written The Making of The Magnificent Seven.

Behind the Scenes: The Long Run, Part Two, 1974-1976

The idea of opening a “summer” picture in the middle of winter would have appeared anathema to movie distributors. A movie that relied on sun, sea and sand might prove a bit of brightness in the gloom of a British winter, but a movie that relied for its effect on that critical element of summer, that thousands of people would have be happy to swim in the sea and potter around on boats, might have lost a considerable part of its market by such poor timing. Except the movie in question was Jaws.

Although it opened in the summer in the United States, it didn’t reach British shores until December 1975, one of the greatest examples of building on the phenomenon of the longer you make an audience wait the bigger the response. By 1975 in Glasgow, Scotland – as with everywhere else in the U.K. – the new era of movie distribution was long consolidated. Big movies were held over in the city center’s biggest cinemas until fully played out, and only then moving into the suburbs or the surrounding towns. But as much as Jaws followed the new distribution path, it also broke the rules.

Paramount had decided not so much to limit the movie’s exposure at the ABC1 but to temper it. It could carry on at that cinema as long as it wished, but after a 13-week run in 1976 (it had opened a few days before the end of 1975) at the ABC1, other cinemas were permitted to book it. But on one condition. They had to agree to an unprecedented four-week run. That didn’t stop the ABC1 trying to milk more from the golden goose and it continued there for another five weeks.

By this point, Glasgow was accustomed to blockbuster movies playing like gangbusters. In 1974, The Sting re-teaming Paul Newman and Robert Redford had lasted 15 weeks at the ABC1, while the La Scala had hosted 13-week runs of both The Exorcist and Papillon starring Steve McQueen and Dustin Hoffman (all three pictures, it should be pointed out, had opened in the U.S. the previous year. Swashbuckler The Three Musketeers had enjoyed 10 weeks at the Odeon complex. Notching up seven weeks were Robert Redford as The Great Gatsby at the ABC2 and an unexpected hit, the double bill of Busting/I Escaped from Devil’s Island at the Odeon.

Clint Eastwood’s first Dirty Harry sequel Magnum Force raced to six weeks at the ABC1, as did compilation feature That’s Entertainment at the ABC2 and Disney’s new animated feature Robin Hood and, separately, a reissue of Peter Pan (1953) at the Odeon. Hitting the five week mark in 1974 in Glasgow were movies as diverse as Don’t Look Now starring Donald Sutherland and Julie Christie doubled up with The Wicker Man at the Odeon 1, Bruce Lee epic Way of the Dragon at Odeon 2, Barbra Streisand comedy For Pete’s Sake at the Odeon 1, Roger Moore in Gold at the Odeon 2, and another in Odeon 3 sexploitation category Secrets of a Door to Door Salesman/Climax.

Prior to the arrival of Jaws, the notion of the extended long run had been established in Glasgow thanks to the short-lived disaster movie boom. Earthquake, in Sensurround, starring Charlton Heston and Ava Gardner and an all-star support attracted audiences for 30 weeks at the ABC2 while it was 21 weeks at the ABC1 for Paul Newman and Steve McQueen fighting The Towering Inferno with William Holden and Faye Dunaway providing even more stellar support. Charles Bronson’s vigilante killer in Michael Winner’s Death Wish shot up 12 weeks at the La Scala while The Who’s rock opera Tommy directed by Ken Russell with an all-star cameo cast notched up three fewer weeks there.

Charlton Heston headed up another disaster movie, sequel Airport 1975, which crash landed for eight weeks at the ABC1. The latest James Bond opus The Man with the Golden Gun in Odeons 1 and 2 lifted seven weeks. The Odeon 3 drafted in further dubious movies – The Night Porter with artistic aspirations and starring Dirk Bogarde and Charlotte Rampling, and, separately, The Devil Within Her with no artistic credentials and the unlikely casting of Brits Juliet Mills and Richard Johnson for seven-week stints. Norman Jewison’s violent sci fi Rollerball starring James Caan hit six weeks at Odeon 1. At the five-week level were Albert Finney as Hercule Poirot and an all-star cast in Murder on the Orient Express (ABC2), Mel Brooks’ Blazing Saddles (La Scala), sequel The Four Musketeers (Odeon 1), a second Mel Brooks’ offering Young Frankenstein (Odeon 3), John Wayne as Chicago cop Brannigan let loose in London (Odeon 1), another Disney reissue Lady and the Tramp (1955) and Mandingo (ABC1).

Jaws was not, in fact, the longest-runner in Glasgow city center in 1976. That honor went to Jack Nicholson’s Oscar-winning turn in One Flew over the Cuckoo’s Nest which clocked up 23 weeks at the Odeon. An unusual long-run contender appeared out of left field. Low-budget weepie The Last Snows of Spring without any marquee names ran for an unprecedented 14 weeks at the Classic. The 70mm reissue of Gone with the Wind (1939) returned in style to the ABC2 for a further 10 weeks. Robert Redford and Dustin Hoffman investigating All the Presidents’ Men scored seven weeks at ABC2 and then a further five at the Scala 2 (the La Scala having been twinned and renamed the Scala.)

Demonic adventure The Omen with Gregory Peck and Lee Remick stung the Odeon 1 and Odeon 2 for a total eight weeks. A rerun of The Exorcist lingered for seven weeks at Scala 2. Lee Marvin and Roger Moore in Shout at the Devil were good for six weeks at Odeon 1, as was Charles Bronson as The Streetfighter at the Odeon 1 and 2 combined, Clint Eastwood western The Outlaw Josey Wales at ABC1 and Dustin Hoffman thriller Marathon Man at ABC2. King Kong five weeks plux X from previous year.

Five-weeks runs were achieved by Peter Sellers vehicle The Return of the Pink Panther at Odeon 1 and another crime spoof Murder by Death at the Odeon 3

Taking three weeks as the definition of the long-run, this form of exhibition had grown exponentially during the decade. In 1970 only three movies enjoyed runs of three weeks or more. The following year the number had jumped to 11 and then nudged upwards to 13 in 1972. Growth in 1973 remained modest – a total of 17 movies hitting the target or better. But by 1974 the number was 25 and the following year it rocketed to 35, with 36 the total in 1976.

Behind the Scenes: Gangster As Hero, Selling “Dillinger (1973) – Pressbook

AIP made no bones about how it was pitching this one. It was selling notorious 1930s gangster as a hero, a folk hero perhaps, a narcissistic character perhaps, but still someone audiences could root for, just as the American public had back in the day when the only way to beat the system was via crime.

“The Gangster’s Gangster” sang the taglines, as if Dillinger was held in extraordinary high esteem by his fellow robbers, to be mentioned in the same august tones as Al Capone. Where Bonnie and Clyde (1967) used romance to leaven the killing, Dillinger preferred charm. Dillinger felt the people he robbed should be honoured to be robbed by such a status symbol as himself.

“His sole ambition was to be the best bank robber in the world,” rang out another of the taglines. He was “the last of the outlaws.” His robbing spree was only curbed after being “betrayed” and hunted by a “friendless” lawman. If the marketeers’ idea was to squeeze every ounce of pity from the audience for the ruthless gangster, they certainly did their best.

The Pressbook/Campaign Manual from AIP ran a handsome 28-pages in A3.

It helped that star Warren Oates bore a remarkable resemblance to Dillinger. He played the role without any make-up or prosthetics. Oates wasn’t as yet a big enough star for the writers of the Pressbook to focus the entire marketing efforts on him. He was recognized primarily as a character actor despite being touted as the “new Humphrey Bogart.”

Rancher’s son Ben Johnson was a better bet, having just picked up the Oscar for The Last Picture Show (1971) and it was another Oscar-winner Cloris Leachman who played the woman who double-crossed the gangster that led to his execution.

In fact, writer-director John Milius was reckoned to be a more attractive publicity vehicle than either Oates or Johnson. Certainly, the article about him too precedence. But then he did have a winning turn of phrase. “I consider John Dillinger to be a folk hero,” claimed Milius, “just as Pecos Bill, Paul Bunyan and Buffalo Bill were immortalized. Dillinger…won a tremendous following because people who were scrounging for the bare necessities of life had no love for the strongholds of finance.”

*One of these is an actor, the other a gangster. Which is which?*

Oddly enough, Dillinger wasn’t born in poverty. He was the son of a prosperous grocer and known as “the cutest kid on the block.” Like he was in a swashbuckler, he would vault over the bank rail. He never wore a mask. He was determined to make his name as a bank robber and anonymity would not suit.

The advertising was limited to three spreads – the bold “gangster’s gangster” with a machine-gun-toting Dillinger and a “nobody did it like Dillinger” tagline; a second one with provided him with a biography and set him up as a good guy; and the final one which including details of his cohorts.

There was plenty meat for cinema managers to feed journalists, plenty of the detail about the filming to arouse local interest. Eight stunt men, many specialists in particular fields like car crashes or falls, were involved and nine antique cars wrecked in car chases or riddled with bullets from Thompson sub-machine guns or Browning automatic rifles. All were pre-1934 models and included three Fords, a Franklin, an Erskine and a Studebaker costing $1,200.

And another 15 vehicles came from the Horseless Carriage Club of Enid, Oklahoma, where the movie was filmed. Real-life modern gangsters though local cops would be so preoccupied with the filmmakers that they could get away with a couple of robberies.

When it came to smashing up the windscreens the director was heavily involved, hammer in hand. Since the window screens lacked safety glass this was a straightforward, enjoyable, chore. Seven gallons of Jerry Cash’s Special Formula Blood, ten times as much as was usual for an actioner, was purchased. The gangsters got through over 150 pieces of weaponry including 88 Springfield Model ’03 rifles, 40 handguns, 25 shotguns and rifles, eight sub machine guns, four automatic rifles, three Lewis machine guns plus a howitzer. They fired off 50,000 rounds of blanks.

And the Pressbook came with two pages of ideas with which cinema managers could attract attention. Antique car clubs were an obvious target for marketing tie-ins as were gun shops. Cinema managers were urged to mount lobby displays using borrowed weaponry. Dressing up usherettes as gun molls and encouraging customers to attend in 1930s costumes would have been cheap promotional devices as well as suggesting clothing stores feature 1930s fashions – which had proved a winner for Bonnie and Clyde. .

“Wanted” posters might be borrowed from police stations. Many banks cooperated with the filming so these were viewed for further cooperation. Cinemas might dress up a “Lady in Red” and have her walking the sidewalks and then loitering in front of the cinema, in imitation of the role played in the picture by the real Lady in Red. A Dillinger tie-in paperback was available in drugstores and retail outlets.

Behind the Scenes: Cinemas Unshackled, The Long Run Beckons

In the 1960s the only way a movie could be guaranteed a long run at a city center cinema anywhere across the globe was if it fell into the roadshow category. Then the long run world was your oyster, runs of three months were standard, six months common, a year or more easily attainable. Outside of a handful of major cities of the size or prestige of New York and London, the same did not hold true of the general release. Most opened and closed in a city center theater within the week. A holdover extending a run to two weeks was rare and unless you were James Bond don’t think of a month.

That all changed in the 1970s, in part due to the gradual dearth of roadshows, in part due to the arrival of the duplex or triplex, in part due to the rise of the blockbuster and determination of studios to keep movies in the biggest and most expensive cinemas for longer to milk potential box office, and in part due to a sea change on the part of distributors. For my own entertainment I had, some time back, tracked on a weekly business all the cinemas in Glasgow so I can comment with some authority, using the many examples I had found, on the altered situation in the 1970s in that city, still, per capita, the biggest cinema-going city in Britain and, most likely, Europe.

The differences were not so obvious in the first two years of the new decade. Only seven movies in 1970 achieved runs of three weeks or more and the longest run – eight weeks – was for the roadshow Cromwell, the opening picture at the new Odeon 1. Next came a distinct outlier. Arthouse the Cosmo saw opportunity in the reissue double bill of The Graduate/The Thomas Crown Affair and held it over for seven weeks. Blockbuster Airport flew to six weeks at the Odeon 2. Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid ran for four weeks at, respectively, the ABC 1 and the La Scala. True Grit at the ABC1, Mash at the Odeon 2 and A Man Called Horse at the ABC1 held out for three weeks. (You’ll maybe note that the westerns were a bit late arriving in Glasgow given that in the U.S. they had been summer pictures in 1969. But distribution lags were still common in those days, little sign of global day-and-date.)

The next year saw a distinct improvement. Of the 12 movies I’ve noted, all ran for four weeks or more (rather than the three-week topline of 1969). One little film took the city by storm. Today, Love Story, without any notable stars, would be considered a sleeper hit. Such was its success Stateside that Paramount drove a hard bargain in Britain, demanding a bigger share of the spoils. So instead of landing at the ABC1 or ABC2, the normal home for the studio’s pictures, it went into the La Scala where it ran for an unprecedented 26 weeks.

One of the interesting aspects of concentrating on a particular city is that it reveals the individuality of its audience. Trends that are invariably deemed national tend in the U.K. to have a southern bias – Scotland, for example, accounts for less than 10 per cent of the British population. So, comparing the performance of pictures in Glasgow to the rest of the country throws up anomalies.

Glasgow’s next longest-runner – knocking up 10 weeks at the Odeon 2 plus three weeks at the smaller Odeon 3 – was bloody revisionist western Soldier Blue. Next came Barbra Streisand comedy The Owl and the Pussycat with seven weeks at Odeon 1. But that’s only if you’re sticking to the mainstream. Glasgow had also shown a predilection for the tawdry, not to say the exploitational. The Nun of Monza starring Anne Heywood and sex documentary Naughty also both managed seven weeks, the former at the Gaumont, the latter at the Odeon 3.

Sean Connery heist picture The Anderson Tapes snared five weeks at the Odeon 1. The La Scala held onto Woodstock for four weeks as did the ABC1 with Michael Caine thriller Get Carter, Dustin Hoffman as Little Big Man, another revisionist western, and Alistair MacLean’s Puppet on a Chain while at the Cosmo it was Tales of Beatrix Potter and The Anatomy of Love.

But it was the next year that brought the real explosion. You’ll remember it as the Year of The Godfather. But it didn’t have it all its own way in Glasgow. Though it ran for 14 weeks switching between the ABC1 and ABC2, that tally was matched by Clint Eastwood as Dirty Harry at the ABC1. Sean Connery’s return as James Bond in Diamonds Are Forever resulted in 11 weeks at the Odeon 1. The French Connection II logged six weeks at Odeon 2 while another sexploitation number I Am a Nymphomaniac did the same as Odeon 3. Barbra Streisand-Ryan O’Neal madcap comedy What’s Up, Doc? was good for five weeks at ABC1. Hitting the four week mark were Yul Brynner in western Catlow (in a double bill with The Jerusalem File) at Odeon 2 and Stanley Baker thriller Innocent Bystanders at Odeon 1. Glasgow audiences were less keen on Shaft and Straw Dogs, both just worth three weeks at the ABC1 and Odeon 2, respectively.

But by now the long run die had been well and truly cast. By 1973, movies were allowed to reach their full potential in Glasgow city center. There was a last hurrah for the roadshow when Norman Jewison’s musical Jesus Christ Superstar – without a marquee name in the cast -knocked up 17 weeks at the ABC2. But that only shaded Roger Moore’s first outing as James Bond in Live and Let Die with 16 weeks at Odeon 2. Another musical roadshow, The Great Waltz, headlined by unknowns, raced to 12 weeks at the ABC2.

There was a sense that the Odeon complex was playing it clever by booking the controversial Last Tango in Paris, headlining none other than Marlon Brando, huge again after The Godfather, in its smallest screen, the Odeon 3. The move paid off as the picture lasted 12 weeks.

Unsurprisingly, the first of the decade’s disaster pictures The Poseidon Adventure sailed along at the Odeon 2 for nine weeks. But few expected thriller Day of the Jackal, star Edward Fox hardly a marquee name, to run for equally as long at the ABC2.

Yet another roadshow, musical Lost Horizon, a remake of the non-musical original – with an all-star cast of Peter Finch, Liv Ullman, Michael York, George Kennedy and Olivia Hussey – held onto seven weeks at the Odeon 1. Stanley Kubrick’s controversial A Clockwork Orange (more than a year after its London launch) notched up six weeks at the ABC1 as did Clint Eastwood western High Plains Drifter. Sarah Miles as Lady Caroline Lamb went for six weeks at ABC2. Showing for four weeks were Lady Sings the Blues at the Coliseum, and reissues Cabaret and Mary Poppins at the Odeon 3 and Odeon 2, respectively.

Other reissues clocked up notable runs for oldies – three weeks apiece for Doctor Zhivago at the La Scala, The Ten Commandments at the Coliseum and the double bill of Soldier Blue/Carnal Knowledge at Odeon 3.

Behind the Scenes: All-Time Top 40

Waterloo (1970) holds on to the top spot but the Alistair MacLean revival gathers pace. The Satan Bug (1965) makes the biggest surge, shooting up to second spot, with Ice Station Zebra (1968) in fourth spot past The Guns of Navarone (1961) which drops slightly to sixth.

I’ve extended this from a Top 30 to a Top 40 so there are a goodly number of new entries. The previous rankings are from December 2025.

(1)Waterloo (1970). No doubting the effect of Ridley Scott’s Napoleon in increasing interest in this famous flop that had Rod Steiger’s French emperor squaring off against Christopher Plummer.
(5) The Satan Bug (1965). The problems facing director John Sturges in adapting the Alistair MacLean pandemic classic for the big screen.
(2) In Harm’s Way (1965). Otto Preminger takes off the gloves to expose problems in the American military around Pearl Harbor. John Wayne and Kirk douglas head an all-star cat.
(7) Ice Station Zebra (1968). A complete cast overhaul and ground-breaking special effects are at the core of this filming of another Alistair MacLean tale. Second Alistair MacLean outing for John Sturges.
(3) Man’s Favorite Sport (1964). Howard Hawks back in the gender wars with Rock Hudson being taken down a peg by Paula Prentiss.
(4) The Guns of Navarone (1961). Alistair MacLean created the template for the men-on-a-mission war picture. Gregory Peck, David Niven and Anthony Quinn topline. Nominated for five Oscars including Best Picture, Best Director (J. Lee Thompson) and Screenplay (Carl Foreman) and enough jeopardy throughout the filming to qualify for a movie of its own.
(8) Barbarella (1968). Jane Fonda was fourth choice after Brigitte Bardot, Sophia Loren and Ira von Furstenberg. Should never have been directed by Roger Vadim who was out of favor with Paramount. One of the first movies to be given a global simultaneous release.
(6) Battle of the Bulge (1965). There were going to be two versions, so the race was on to get this one to the public first. A Cinerama number.
(10) Mackenna’s Gold (1969). Tortuous route to the screen for Carl Foreman-produced roadshow western, filmed in 70mm Cinerama, with an all-star cast including Omar Sharif, Gregory Peck and Telly Savalas.
(15) The Misfits (1961). Robert Mitchum turned down the male lead. Clark Gable failed the medical, both Montgomery Clift and Marilyn Monroe had drug problems. It went 40 days over schedule and half a million over budget.
(24) The Wicker Man (1973) at the Box Office. A flop on initial release, U.S. release delayed, it took a long long time before the movie achieved both cult status and came out of the red.
(9) Cast a Giant Shadow (1965). Producer Melville Shavelson wrote a book about his experiences and this and other material relating the arduous task of bringing the Kirk Douglas-starrer to the screen are told here.
(12) The Sons of Katie Elder (1965). First envisioned nearly a decade before, Henry Hathaway western finally hit the screen with John Wayne and Dean Martin.
(14) The Trouble with Angels (1966). Less than angelic Hayley Mills sparring with convent boss Rosalind Russell. Directed by one-time star Ida Lupino.
(11) The Girl on a Motorcycle / Naked under Leather (1968). Cult classic starring Marianne Faithful and Alain Delon had a rocky road to release, especially in the U.S. where the censor was not happy.
(13). Tora! Tora! Tora! (1970). Richard Fleischer dispenses with the all-star cast in favor of even-handed verisimilitude.
(16) The Bridge at Remagen (1969). British director John Guillerman hits trouble filming World War Two picture starring George Segal and Robert Vaughn.
(17) For a Few Dollars More (1965). Sergio Leone sequel to first spaghetti western brings in Lee van Cleef to pair with Clint Eastwood.
(20) Bandolero! (1968). Director Andrew V. McLaglen teams up with James Stewart, Dean Martin and Raquel Welch to fight Mexican bandits.
(20) The Collector (1963). William Wyler’s creepy adaptation of John Fowles’ creepy bestseller with Terence Stamp and Samatha Eggar.
(13) Sink the Bismarck! (1960). Documentary-style British World War Two classic with Kenneth More exhibiting the stiffest of stiff-upper-lips.
(18) Bandolero! (1968). Director Andrew V. McLaglen teams up with James Stewart, Dean Martin and Raquel Welch to fight Mexican bandits.
(19) The Train (1964). John Frankenheimer replaced Arthur Penn in the directorial chair to steer home unusual over-budget World War Two picture with Burt Lancaster trying to steal art treasures from under the nose of German Paul Schofield.
(17) How The West Was Won (1962). First non-travelog Cinerama picture, all-star cast and all-star team of directors tackling multi-generational western and all sorts of logistical problems.
(New entry) The Way West (1967). Burt Lancaster, James Stewart and Gary Cooper were the original cast. Charlton Heston turned it down. Robert Mitchum couldn’t make up his mind. Director Andrew V. McLaglen claimed it had been savaged by the studio.
(New Entry) The Stalking Moon (1968). Should never have been made, according to existing legislation, even with Gregory Peck’s participation long delayed in part due to original director George Stevens pulling out.
(New Entry) “Barbieheimer” Recalls the Old Double Bill. The perfect double bill aimed to attract different segments of the audience.
(New Entry) Judgement at Nuremberg (1961). Laurence Olivier was first choice to play the role taken by Burt Lancaster. United Artists was not at all keen on the proposition. Innovative use of the camera. Judy Garland and Montgomery Clift overcame personal problems while Marlene Dietrich was acquainted with one of men on trial.
(New Entry) The Thomas Crown Affair (1968). Sean Connery, Jack Lemmon and Brigitte Bardot turned it down. Director Norman Jewison thought Steve McQueen “completely wrong” for the part.
(New Entry) The Cincinnati Kid (1965). Sam Peckinpah was fired. Spencer Tracy quit. Sharon Tate declined.
(New Entry) The Appointment (1969). Booed at the Cannes Film Festival. Denied a release in the U.S., even with Omar Sharif as star and after being heavily edited by MGM. Only shown on American TV. The biggest financial flop of Sidney Lumet’s career.
(New entry) The Birds (1963). Hitchcock sets an apocalyptic tone as Rod Taylor and Tippi Hedren are trapped by feral flocks.
(New entry). Number One (1969). Charlton Heston as ageing pro football player desperately trying to hold onto to fame and its trimmings. Directed by Tom Gries.
(New entry) Hollywood Bloodbath. Why 200 movies were scrapped or shelved.
(New entry) Breathless / A Bout de Souffle (1960). The French New Wave made its name on the back of Jean-Luc Godard’s thriller starring Jean-Paul Belmondo and Jean Seberg.
(New entry) The Top 40 Movies at the 1950s Box Office.
(New entry) The Man in the Middle / The Winston Affair (1964). Robert Mitchum is the titular guy in trouble.
(New entry) Yul Brynner vs Kirk Douglas on Spartacus (1961). The battle to bring the Roman rebel to the screen.
(New Entry) Puppet on a Chain (1970). More Alistair MacLean thrills. This time in Amsterdam and that boat chase.
(New Entry) The Glass Is Greener (1960). Cary Grant, Deborah Kerr, Robert Mitchum and Jean Simmons play the infidelity games.

Behind the Scenes: “The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes” (1970)

Although Billy Wilder had written a script based on The Life of Sherlock Holmes (in fact he had three versions of the project running in his head, initially conceiving of the movie – twice – as a musical) by the time it came round to seeking funding in the early 1960s he was not originally considered as its director. Mirisch was looking to contain the budget to around the region of $2 million, which would rule out any big star. However, at this early stage of the production, there were issues with the Conan Doyle Estate which was in the process of firing up other movies based on Sherlock Holmes, A Study in Terror (1965) being the most recent and also had another Conan Doyle property The Adventures of Gerard (1969) in mind.

A Study in Terror had been the brainchild of producer Henry Lester (who was also behind The Adventures of Gerard) and perhaps to general astonishment these days Mirisch had agreed Lester would be allowed to make more Sherlock Holmes pictures as long as they remained very low-budget, on the assumption, presumably, that the marketplace would treat them as programmers rather than genuine competition.

However, Mirisch and UA retained the upper hand as regards the Conan Doyle Estate and “could cut him (Lester) off at such time as we have made definite plans to proceed.”

There was another proviso to the deal. The Estate would agree to forbid any further television productions unless Mirisch decided it wished to go down the small screen route itself. It was odd that Mirisch had eased Billy Wilder out of the frame given the mini-major had enjoyed considerable success with the director on Some Like it Hot (1959) and The Apartment (1960), a commercial partnership that would extend to The Fortune Cookie (1966).

Instead, Mirisch lined up British director Bryan Forbes who would be contracted to write a screenplay based on the Wilder idea. The sum offered – $10,000 – was considered too low, but it was intended as enticement, to bring Forbes into the frame as director. If Forbes refused to bite, “the only other name suggested and agreed upon was that of John Schlesinger.” Although David Lean was mooted, UA were not in favour. Mirisch didn’t want to risk paying for a screenplay before there was a director in position.

The offer of the Sherlock Holmes picture was seen as a sop to Forbes. Mirisch had canned The Egyptologists, a project which Forbes believed had been greenlit. And why would he not when he was being paid $100,000 for the screenplay. In bringing the project to an untimely close Mirisch hoped to limit its financial exposure to two-thirds of that fee.

Should Forbes balk at Sherlock Holmes, he was to be offered The Mutiny of Madame Yes, whose initial budget was set at $1.5 million, plus half a million for star Shirley Maclaine. Another Eady Plan project, this was aimed to go before the cameras the following year. If Forbes declined, then Mirisch would try Norman Jewison with Clive Donner and Guy Hamilton counted as “additional possibilities.”

As for Billy Wilder he had much bigger fish to fry. He was seeking a budget of $7.5 million to adapt into a film the Franz Lehar play The Count of Luxembourg to pair Walter Matthau and Brigitte Bardot. Should Matthau pass, Wilder would try for Cary Grant (whose retirement had not yet been announced) or Rex Harrison. Both sides played negotiation hardball. UA currently in the hole for $21 million for The Greatest Story Ever Told (1965) and Mirisch, having pumped $13 million into the yet-to-be-release Hawaii (1966), didn’t want to commit to another unwieldy expensive project.

So Mirisch insisted the project advance on a “step basis” allowing UA to reject the project after seeing the screenplay. Wilder countered by insisting that if it went into turnaround he, rather than the studio, would have the right to hawk it elsewhere (generally, studios tried to recover their costs if a movie was picked up by another studio). But Wilder was also in placatory mood and even if UA rejected this idea he was willing to work with the studio on a Julie Andrews project called My Sister and I.

However, UA and Mirisch were all show. “After Billy left the meeting,” read the minutes, “it was agreed we would not proceed with The Count of Luxembourg since we did not want to give Billy the right to take it elsewhere if United Artists did not agree to proceed.” Harold Mirisch was detailed to give Billy the bad news, but use a different excuse.

Initial casting had mooted Frenchman Louise Jourdan (Made in Paris, 1966) as the detective with Peter O’Toole or Peter Sellers as Dr Watson. Jourdan had worked, anonymously as it happened, for Wilder before, providing the uncredited voice for the narrator of Irma La Douce (1963).

By 1967, the Sherlock Holmes business was heating up. MGM was planning an adaptation of Broadway musical Baker Street and Paramount had on the cards The Man who Was Sherlock Holmes. Mirisch was also ramping up production, with $20 million invested in five properties, its busiest period ever.

Although Walter Matthau had been mooted for a supporting role, presumably Mycroft Holmes (the part ultimately played by Christopher Lee), wilder had decided the new picture would have no stars, to keep down the mushrooming budget – the eleven-month shoot would cost $10 million – and so that audiences would not come to the film with preconceived ideas. A future Holmes, Nicol Williamson (The Seven Per Cent Solution) was considered but rejected in favor of Robert Stephens (The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie, 1969) and Colin Blakely (Alfred the Great, 1968). All three effectively qualified as unknowns though by the time the movie appeared, Stephens, by default, had a stronger marquee name.

Although it was know that Rex Harrison (My Fair Lady, 1964) was desperate to play Sherlock, wilder stuck to his guns and opted for the lesser-known names. James Robertson Justice (Mayerling, 1968) and George Sanders (The Best House in London, 1969) were originally tapped for the role of Mycroft but were replaced by Christopher Lee (The Devil Rides Out, 1968).

There was extensive location work including several sequences set in Scotland. Baker Street was reconstructed on the Pinewood lot, where filming began on May 5, 1969.

Problems began after Mirisch viewed the first cut which ran to an epic three hours and 20 minutes. After a disastrous preview, Walter Mirisch kicked Wilder off the picture and carved one-third out of the picture, restructuring it, removing several episodes where Holmes solves various crimes and focusing on the Russian ballerina subplot and then the Belgian woman looking for her missing husband which takes Holmes to Loch Ness.

Naturally, the deletions altered the entire tone of the picture but as it stood it resembled little more that half a dozen 30-minute episodes, the kind of thing audiences could get for nothing on television.

United Artists did its best to make a big splash. It opened in November 1970 at the Radio City Music Hall in New York, the biggest and most prestigious house in the U.S., and that was to be followed by a Xmas release. However, the result at the Music Hall were deemed “dame” – just $150,000 from the 6,000-seat auditorium. Elsewhere it faltered, a “dim” $9,000 from five houses in Baltimore, a “pale” $5,000 in Boston, a “dismal” $3,500 in Cleveland and a “light” $5,000 in Kansas City. It came nowhere near covering its costs.

A gala royal premiere at the Odeon Leicester Square – the biggest and most prestigious cinema in London’s West End – did little to bring in the public and it opened to a distinctly underwhelming £7,000.

SOURCES: United Artists Archive, Wisconsin Center for Film & Theater Research; Walter Mirisch, I Thought We Were Making Movies, Not History (University of Wisconsin Press); “Billy Wilder Return from Great Silence,” Variety, May 19, 1965; “New Sherlock Holmes Pix,” Variety, January 21, 1967; Box office – Variety November 1970-January 1971.

Behind the Scenes: “Two for the Seesaw” (1962)

Had already cost a bundle before one foot of film was shot. Mini-major Mirisch Bros, flush from the commercial success of West Side Story (1961), had forked out $600,000 (plus a percentage) for the screen rights to the Broadway hit by William Gibson. (this was $250,000 more than West Side Story fetched). Between another $500,000 (plus percentage) for star Elizabeth Taylor and likely $250,000 for Gregory Peck, the producers were already well over a million bucks out of pocket.

The play had run for nearly two years on Broadway, earning a $570,000 profit, a remarkable sum in those days, and also set records for a touring production. It marked the Broadway debut of both Anne Bancroft, who won a Tony, and writer William Gibson. They re-teamed for The Miracle Worker both on Broadway and in the 1962 film.

Over-runs on Cleopatra (1963) put paid to Taylor’s involvement, Peck pulled out, temporarily replaced by Paul Newman. Producer Walter Mirisch presumably didn’t think Henry Fonda and Anne Bancroft who’d played the parts on stage had sufficient marquee heft, nor was he keen on Broadway director Arthur Penn, and instead pursued Shirley MacLaine who he’s turned into a star thanks to The Apartment (1960) with Robert Mitchum stepping in for Newman (leaving him free to make the first of his iconic pictures, The Hustler, 1961) Robert Wise, director of West Side Story and looking for a less onerous gig, signed on to direct.

Despite being filmed on a 60-day schedule, the bulk of it on a sound stage, the budget had rocketed to $3 million, around half of which went on the main players and the screen rights.

Mitchum wasn’t too keen on the role, believing himself miscast from the outset. The lighter touch of James Garner, also considered for the role, might have worked better. Mitchum had turned down the movie twice, suggesting Mirisch would be better off with William Holden or Glenn Ford, for whom repression was a given.

MacLaine was on a roll, signed to a four-picture deal with Mirisch. She was given not one but two roles previously advertised with huge fanfare to have starred Elizabeth Taylor. As well as Two for the Seesaw, Taylor had been primed for Irma La Douce. The Taylor deal came unstuck in part due to her illness but also was attributed to her insistence that a role be found for her husband Eddie Fisher.

Wise and Mitchum had worked together earlier in their careers, in western Blood on the Moon (1948). And, no, this wasn’t the director hankering after working again with the actor. Noted Wise, “It was one of the few times I went on to a picture where the cast was already set. I don’t think Mitchum was quite right for the part. He was more believable in rougher, outdoor kinds of stuff.”

When they met at rehearsal, MacLaine was already a fan. Seventeen years younger than her co-star, she’d seen all his films, and was thrilled at working with one of her screen heroes. She was amazed at his photographic memory. He never had a problem with his lines. They certainly seemed to be getting on remarkably well for. Recalled Wise, “they got to ribbing and making jokes and making us all laugh so that the biggest problem we had was getting the two of them to settle down and get into the scene.” Added the director, “I had to have a closed set for a while. It was kind of embarrassed over what they were saying to each other. It was pretty spicy kidding, pretty ribald.2

Mitchum, apt to spout poetry, was revelation as a person far removed from his tough guy screen image. He was popular on set, very down to earth, mingling with all the crew and other actors. There was no entourage just a secretary bringing in lunch – and no hard liquor – for everyone.

What was going on between Mitchum and MacLaine was not obvious to everyone. Assistant director Jerome Siegel thought their light-heartedness was just a way of keeping tensions low on the set. “They were very subtle about it. You never saw anything where you could be sure there was a romance going on. but it didn’t surprise me when I did hear about it.” Needless to say, both actors were married at the time.

When Frank Sinatra and writer Malachy McCourt popped in to the set, Mitchum embarked on a drinking session that temporarily halted production, at least for the day. Wise infuriated his stars by using a stopwatch to time a kiss, one that was maybe going on too long with a pair of enamored characters. In his defense, Wise was just wary of the existing screen censorship, during which an overlong kiss would draw censure.

Wise had opened up the play with scenes set on Brooklyn Bridge and other parts accompanied by music suggesting the character was downcast. There’s a clever use of the split screen when the pair are on the telephone to each other.

The movie did well enough in first run New York and other big cities where the play had been performed but response outside those key sites and in the babes was muted. Most critics blamed the miscasting and Wise’s heavy direction.

SOURCES: Lee Server, Robert Mitchum, Baby I Don’t Cry (Faber and Faber, 2001); J.R. Jordan, Robert Wise, The Motion Pictures (BearManor, 2020); “Two Broadway Play Buys,” Variety, July 23, 1958; “Seasaw Earned $570,000 Profit,” Variety, November 4, 1959; “Shirley MacLaine’s Creamy roles,” Variety, October 26, 1960; “Two for Seesaw Budget at $3-Mil,” Variety, February 14, 1962.

Behind the Scenes: Sidney Lumet (“The Offence”, 1973) Talks Movies

There are plenty books about directors but remarkably few that explain with any coherence exactly what it is they do. Until now, the best book I’ve read upon the subject was by Edward Dmytryk, Oscar-nominated for Crossfire (1947) and shepherding home such triumphs as The Caine Mutiny (1954), Raintree County (1957), The Young Lions (1958) and more obviously commercial fare such as The Carpetbaggers (1964) and Mirage (1965). His book On Screen Directing covers every aspect, often with diagrams and instructions, of movie making.

Sidney Lumet takes a similar nuts-and-bolts approach in Making Movies. In turn, he focuses on the script, acting, camerawork, art direction, costumes, the actual shooting, dealing with rushes, editing, sound, and a vital element in the process that you’ve probably never heard of – the answer print.

Lumet has a heck of a portfolio. Five times Oscar-nominated, from debut 12 Angry Men (1957), through The Hill (1965), The Group (1966) and The Appointment (1969) and picking up the pace with The Anderson Tapes (1971), The Offence (1973), Serpico (1973), Murder on the Orient Express (1975), Dog Day Afternoon (1975), Network (1976), Equus (1977) and running through Prince of the City (1981), The Verdict (1982) and Family Business (1989) all the way up to Before The Devil Knows You’re Dead (2007).

The actual physical process begins in the rehearsal room, a “grungy” space in a big city. Key members of the production team will be present. The unit publicist will make a nuisance of themselves. Directors beware a star who arrives with an entourage. Sean Connery, with whom Lumet, made five pictures, arrives alone, bounds “up the steps two at a time, rapidly shakes hands all round, then plops himself down at a table, opens his script and starts studying.” Paul Newman couldn’t be more different. He “treads slowly up the stairs, the weight of the world on his shoulders, puts drops in his eyes, and makes a bad joke.”

But first, of course, came the script. In the best screenplays, “character and story were one and the same. I think inevitability is the key,” the idea that, without removing the element of surprise, the film will end up where the character’s actions insist.

Stars can ruin scripts. On The Verdict initial star Robert Redford’s insistence on changing the main character from a deadbeat drunk into someone more sympathetic had cost the studio a million dollars in scripts and rewrites before he exited the project and Paul Newman, perfectly happy to play an alcoholic, took his place.

Naturally, Lumet has beefs with critics and nowhere is that more heated than on their opposite definitions of style. Since critics don’t really know much about cinematic style, they’ll plump for the most obvious, something deriving from costume or period setting or some fancy camera gimmick. Lumet recalls no critic mentioning style in reference to Prince of the City, a movie he deems one of his most stylistic. Akira Kurosawa noticed it and talked to Lumet about it in some detail.

Lumet views stars as courageous. Called upon to reveal parts of themselves, or their bodies, it’s a never-ending series of demands on their skill-set. On the other hand, they can set out to test the director and make his life a misery. Like everyone else, he confesses to not knowing what makes a star, certainly appearance counts, but more often it’s more mysterious, some alchemy that jumps off the screen. But stars are well rewardd, as we know, but their perks can add substantially to the bottom line. In the 1990s one major star was getting an extra $320,000 in extras, which, in effect, cost the studio four times as much when taking into account how the box office take is broken down.

“Most actors have their best take early.” By Take 4 they’re given their best. But if something’s gone wrong, a faulty camera or light or someone coughing at the wrong time and they have to go again, actors are “emptied” and it can take several more takes to find the vital “refill.” Perseverance isn’t much fun when it takes 34 takes, as on The Fugitive Kind (1960), for Marlon Brando to get it right.

Camera tricks. At the end of 12 Angry Man, the camera was positioned higher and the lens wider. “The intention was to literally give us air, to let us finally breathe, after two increasingly confined hours.” Backlighting is “one of the oldest” devices used to make people look more beautiful. In The Hill, wide angle lenses were used to give the idea of character distortion. On The Deadly Affair (1967) “preflashing” made the backgrounds drab. The documentary feel of Dog Day Afternoon was enhanced by handheld cameras. Chiaroscuro achieved the “old” look of The Verdict.

When the movie starts shooting “the call sheet is our bible. If it’s not on the call sheet, we don’t need it.” But everything you do need, including actors, is itemized on the call sheet for each scene.

The answer print is the last element in the process. Before that can be created, the director calls in the guy from Technicolor. His job title is “timer.” In a darkened room, he watches the movie, relying on a counter beneath the screen. Reel by reel, he makes notes. “This shot is too dark, that too light, this too yellow, that too red,” and so on. Contrast, too, comes under the microscope. “Every scene, every shot, every foot of film is analysed.”

The Technicolor guy heads back to Technicolor where he sits in front of a machine called a “Hazeltine,” a computerized color analyser. “He feeds the negative into the machine and sees a positive image of the picture on a TV screen. Since electronic color is quite different from chemical color, his judgement is crucial.” He can vary the color balance or lighten or darken the image. Just as in photography, the positive stock moves into the chemical bath and the positive print emerges – the answer print.

It’s not as easy as it sounds. The director is looking for the lab to achieve the effects he requires. John Schlesinger had 13 attempts to get it right on Midnight Cowboy (1969).

The last job is to marry the sound track – known as the magnetic track – to the answer print.

That’s not the end of the story. The movie will be screened to a test audience and a report on dozens of points of detail produced. Maybe that will necessitate change – edits, a reshoot.

Then we get to see it without an idea of the effort it took to create.

SOURCE: Sidney Lumet, Making Movies, was published by Bloomsbury about 30 years ago. You should get a copy online easily enough.

Behind the Scenes: “The Offence” (1973)

“Vanity project” – two words to strike terror into the heart of a Hollywood studio boss. It meant some star or director had you over a barrel. In return for them condescending to make a movie for you, they expected you to fork out for a movie you knew would never make a dime. But, in this case, as far as United Artists was concerned, it was worth the risk if it that meant getting the Bondwagon back on track after the disappointing box office of On Her Majesty’s Secret Service (1969). It was a (relatively) small price to pay to get Sean Connery signing on for Diamonds Are Forever (1971).

There was still a financial downside. In the Connery deal, United Artists agreed to stump up two million bucks for two pictures. The actor would cost nothing, so that might be considered a bonus, Connery relying on the back end to recoup his fee and share of profits. But the movie would still need marketing and advertising, which might add up to another half a million dollars per picture.

Worse, this was what was known in the business as a “put picture.” According to director Sidney Lumet that meant the studio “had nothing to say about it. A budget was picked – and in this instance it was $1 million – and then whatever Sean wanted to do with that million he could do. They would have no approval of script, director, cast, what-have-you and that’s how The Offence happened.”

Connery wasn’t the first actor to think he knew better than the studio or who fancied backing his own judgement. That particular line went back to the silent days of Mary Pickford and Charlie Chaplin and later included the likes of John Wayne, Marlon Brando, Gregory Peck and Doris Day.

Connery planned to adapt a play by John Hopkins called This Story of Yours. He’d met Hopkins on Thunderball (1965) for which Hopkins had written the screenplay. UA might have been more interested had the play had been a whopping success in London’s West End and Broadway. But its London run was restricted to a few weeks at the Royal Court Theatre in 1968, so more arty than the general hit play.

Connery’s second choice for a “put picture” was an adaptation of Macbeth in which he would make his directorial debut.

“There was never a moment’s discussion,” noted Lumet, about how this would play with Connery’s global fanbase. “Sean knew exactly what he was getting into, shut his eyes and dived off the board without checking if there was any water in the pool.”

The budget was trimmed further following changes to the dollar-sterling exchange rate and Connery had only $900,000 to play with. But actually this wasn’t such a bad deal. Apart from three pictures, UA had limited budgetary exposure to $1.5 million for the rest of its slate. And Connery was flush, sitting on an estimated $6 million from his share of the proceeds of Diamonds Are Forever, his record fee of $1.2 million augmented by his 12.5 per cent share of $45 million in rentals.

Sidney Lumet, who had directed Connery in The Hill (1965) and The Anderson Tapes (1971) signed up. Ian Bannen, also from The Hill, took the main supporting role and Trevor Howard (The Long Duel, 1967), with just nine minutes screen time, added marquee lure. Lumet managed to bring the film in ahead of schedule, completing the film in just 28 days of shooting following a couple of weeks of rehearsal. The writer was on the set every day.

And UA hadn’t skimped on promotion either. Some of the 154 journos attending a junket for Man of La Mancha were shipped to London to cover The Offence.

Exteriors were shot in and around Bracknell in Berkshire in March and April 1972, making use of the Point Royal flats – the background made enough of an impression for a PhD student to use it for a thesis on the “brutalism” of modern architecture” – with interiors at Twickenham. The town’s library doubled as the film’s police station for exteriors.

The title was changed to Something Like The Truth – artwork was devised for this – and only switched to the “much more impactive” The Offence a month before the movie opened.

All Connery’s Bond hits had opened at big London West End theaters. So although this might have fared better in a smaller house, or a West End cinema known for more discretionary fare such as the Odeon Haymarket or a genuine arthouse like the Curzon, UA slotted it into the 1,993-seat Odeon Leicester Square in January 1974.

In opening week it took $17,900, a few hundred dollars short of the seventh week of the movie it replaced, Charles Bronson thriller The Mechanic, so “disappointing” was an understatement. According to a later article by Variety’s Peter Debruge, it only lasted four days. But it didn’t. It ran for five weeks. Week two brought in $13,700, the third stanza $10,200 and then $8,900 and a final sally of $7,300. But nothing like his Bond box office.

It transferred to the 139-seat Cinecenta – where it might more sensibly have opened and where demand would surely have outstripped supply and led to a lengthy run. In fact, the second week there improved on the first, $2,400 compared to $2,200. And it shifted over to the equally tiny Centa Cinema where its second week sat at $2,400. The Odeon chain gave it a circuit release, backed by a reissue of western Support Your Local Gunfighter (1971) starring James Garner.

The London figures resulted in a distinct lack of interest in the U.S. Not even Connery’s success as James Bond could induce any notable theater to take it on. U.S. reviews didn’t help. Among the New York critics, six were negative and only two positive. However, Women’s Wear Daily commented on the “beautiful acting by Sean Connery” and the Independentl Film Journal noted, “He is so much more right for this than any glossier star would be that he has an unbeatable advantage.”

Peter Debruge reckoned the poor London box office stalled its opening Stateside for a year. That wasn’t true either. Although it was slow out of the gate. It had received an “R” certificate in December 1974, which generally indicated an opening one month or so further on. Instead, the opening was delayed until 11 May 1973 at the 546-seat Festival in New York, by which point Connery was again in the news, having replaced Burt Reynolds on Zardoz.

Again according to Debruge, the distributor “buried it in a bad house” in New York. That wasn’t true either. The Festival, a Walter Reade arthouse, was the ideal location for a difficult movie that needed to find its feet. Success there could lead to a long run. The movie it replaced, Ten from Your Show of Shows, an equally odd proposition being a compilation of sketches from a 1950s TV show, was coming to the end of a 10-week run.

The first five days at the Festival hauled in $9,500 but neither the second nor third week figures were reported, which meant they were dire. That three-week run was the limit of its American release, as far as I could detect after researching the pages of Variety. It may well have turned up somewhere on the drive-in circuit or as a support. Judging from available posters, it was released at least in Germany, Finland, Australia, Belgium and Spain

Apparently, it turned a profit after nine years but my guess that would take a considerable amount of sales to television to get anywhere near recouping the investment. United Artists reneged on its deal to make another “put picture” with Connery, though likely there was a loophole in the contract that facilitated that. Interestingly enough, that might not have prevented Connery going down the directorial route. He was slated to direct and star in The Drooping W, based on a Leo Marks script, for Twentieth Century Fox.

Both Sidney Lumet and Christopher Nolan, possibly attracted by the complex flashback structure, both asserted it was Connery’s best work.

SOURCES: “About UA Financing,” Variety, May 19, 1971; “Connery Truth 1^st of 2 for UA,” Variety, May 29, 1972; “Lumet Brings In UA’s Truth Ahead of Sked,” Variety, May 31, 1971; “UA Backed Mancha,” Variety, June 28, 1972; “Connery May Earn $6-Mil,” Variety, July 19, 1972; “R for Offence,” Variety, December 27, 1972; “Sean Connery Film Retitled,” Box Office, January 8, 1973; “Review,” Women’s Wear Daily, May 14, 1973; “Connery into Zardoz,” Variety, May 16, 1973; “N.Y. Critics Opinion,” Variety, May 23, 1973; “Review,” Independent Film Journal, May 28, 1973; “Fox Out-Races Hounds of TV,” Variety, September 19, 1973; Peter Debruge, “Helmers Tap into Charisma and Wigs,” Variety, June 7, 2006. Box office figures: Variety 1973, Jan 24-March 14 and May 16-30.

Behind the Scenes: British Renaissance?

On a whim I looked up the box office of British-made The Magic Faraway Tree, assuming it was the usual sort of British dud we’ve become accustomed to. To my surprise it’s cast a spell to the tune of $23 million worldwide including $10 million in the UK and it’s still to open in most markets. And it got me thinking if perhaps British cinema was on the up and up.

We’ve been here before – too many times. From Colin Welland, Chariots of Fire Oscar unabashedly raised aloft declaring in 1982 that “The British Are Coming,” to every unlikely box office success from Four Weddings and a Funeral (1994) and Bridget Jones’ Diary (2001) to Paddington (2014) being acclaimed as a sign that British cinema is not just on the mend but bouncing back to greater heights.

It’s true that Britain has spawned one of the few contemporary directors to carry genuine box office cachet in Christopher Nolas while Ridley Scott occasionally still strikes commercial gold – Gladiator II (2024) made some dough but it was a long way from The Martian (2015) ballpark. And we can shout about action heroes like Daniel Craig, Jason Statham and Gerard Butler and claim Irishman Liam Neeson as our own. Two out of three Spidermen – Tom Holland and Andrew Garfield – have a British connection.

Throw in Daniel Day-Lewis, Anthony Hopkins, Gary Oldman, Helen Mirren, Olivia Colman and Eddie Redmayne and we’re not short of actors dining at the very top Oscar table.

But getting them all to interact together for the good of British cinema seems an impossible task. By and large the country seems to be in the business of spawning false dawns. The list of flops is immeasurably long.

However, few would argue that in the past year or so British cinema has been enjoying something of a renaissance at the box office.

Emerald Fennell’s take on Wuthering Heights with Margot Robbie and Jacob Elordi knocked up $241 million worldwide (UK contributing $33 million). Bridget Jones: Mad About the Boy, with Renee Zellweger in retread, clocked up $140 million (and that’s without a U.S. release) including $62 million from the UK., Chloe Zhao’s Oscar-nominated Hamnet starring an Oscar-winning Jessie Buckley and Paul Mescal was good for $106 million (UK – $25 million).

The world best-loved bear in his third iteration, Paddington in Peru, socked away $211 million (UK – $49 million) – a mere $1million behind Oscar-winner One Battle after Another.

Danny Boyle’s horror sequel 28 Years Later raced past $151 million including $21 million from the UK. The promised last hurrah, Downton Abbey: The Grand Finale, snapped up $103 million (UK – $24 million). Riz Ahmed as Hamlet took home $78 million.

That’s over $1 billion right there in global box office receipts.

In addition, blowing in under the radar have been unsung commercial successes like I Swear, already considered an Oscar contender for next year, with $11 million worldwide. Although threequel 28 Years Later: The Bone Temple disappointed it still stole away with $58 million. Except for truth being stranger than fiction The Salt Path wouldn’t have stalled at $21 million.

And let’s not forget Nolan’s next blockbuster The Odyssey with an all-star cast including Tom Holland is steaming home in the summer with Ridley Scott’s latest sci fi epic The Dog Stars due shortly after.

It’s worth noting that both Fennell and Zhao appear to have hit the current zeitgeist of female-friendly pictures. Although you could argue Wuthering Heights comes with an inbuilt IP, no movie version has been a commercial hit in over 80 years since the Laurence Olivier and Merle Oberon in William Wyler’s 1939 version. Commercially, Hamnet is within touching distance of the most recent of that genre, The Drama and Reminders of Him, while Wuthering Heights has taken in three times as much as either.

No doubt Emerald Fennell can now write her own ticket. If British cinema is on the brink of a renaissance, much depends on what she does next.