WHY I NEVER SIT IN A DIRECTOR’S CHAIR

I can never allow myself to sit in a director’s chair on a movie set. Standing is a good thing. There are lots of reasons to stand. For one, when you are shooting a major stunt scene, especially one including colliding cars or explosions, it’s smart to stay on your feet. If something goes awry, which occasionally does happen, you can run like hell. When working with the large cats, the lions and tigers, the trainers always remind us that it is a smart idea to stay on your feet. Tigers and panthers love to jump things that are smaller than they are. This rationale behind standing in regard to the big cats actually eludes me. If you have ever witnessed the speed at which a great cat can strike, you will understand that whether you sit, stand, or climb a tree, it’s all meaningless. If a tiger wants to get you, it will get you.

An excellent reason to stand is to speed up the day’s work. I always park myself right beside the camera so everyone can see that the director is ready to go. He’s not in meetings with the producer, looking at his script, or reading his email. He’s on his feet at the center of the set, at attention, engaged; he wants to get the damn shot. But none of these are the real reasons why I never sit on a movie set.

The reason I stand is because of something that happened on The Beastmaster.

Actors require a lot of attention. But that is the job description of the director. To attend to the actor, to explain the scene and character in a way they can understand, to guide and counsel them through the challenges, assist with selecting wardrobe and props, and generally to help them to create the magic of bringing a character to life. With many actors this can be the best part of making a movie. Most actors are truly creative souls that love nothing more than exploring a new character in detail and preparing themselves for shooting. Doing this kind of work with committed actors is a pure joy.

With The Beastmaster, I had cast actor Marc Singer in the lead role of Dar. (I named the character after my best friend from childhood, Dar Horn.) I looked at a lot of talent, and I selected Marc because I had seen him portray Petruchio in an American Conservatory Theater production of The Taming of the Shrew on public television. In that role he had an energetic and comedic interpretation of Shakespeare, along with a stunning physique. Marc had a body that would rival even my childhood bodybuilding actor favorite, Steve Reeves. He was perfect for The Beastmaster.

Marc had been doing some serious workouts in preparation for the role. That first day he appeared on set for his first scene—muscles glistening in his studded, leather-skirt wardrobe—everything just stopped. You could hear a pin drop. Men, women, children all stared in awe at this god of a man who had muscles where one didn’t even know there could be muscles. We had us a Beastmaster all right!

For some unknown reason Marc and I did not quite click. When he was first suggested for the role, I was Marc’s biggest booster. Once I met him and saw how talented he was, I championed him relentlessly for the role. Despite some reservations by our producers, I still managed to cast him in our film. As part of his deal, Marc was booked for a couple of weeks of rehearsal prior to the start of production, but for some reason he was reluctant to meet with me. His agent finally did get him in for some meetings but I was worried he was having second thoughts about the role.

Things started to get odd on the very first day of filming. We were filming a sequence in which the Beastmaster was trapped in quicksand. The special effects team had sunken a tub in the ground and filled it with water, with a layer of vermiculite floating on the surface to mimic the quicksand. They even had a heating system so the water would be temperate for the actor. Marc was in the quicksand, we got several great takes of his close-up, and it was time to move on. Marc stopped the crew and insisted on another take. For a moment it felt like my authority as director was being questioned. There was no need for another take. But I let it pass, gave him another take, and that was it.

Things escalated on the second or third day of shooting when Marc interrupted me while I was speaking with our moneyman. He approached us and began complaining to the Commercial Director about how I didn’t spend enough time discussing the character with him. I had a sense from early on that my status in keeping my directing job was tenuous at best and ridiculous statements like these from the lead actor were just the sort of thing that could get me canned.

A day or two later, still in the early days of shooting, we were filming the battle sequence involving the destruction of the Beastmaster’s home village. I set up a shot requiring Marc to dash through the devastation. I was watching the scene unfold from a tall director’s chair just beside the camera operator.

I called for action and on cue Marc ran toward camera. The horses and extras were in perfect position and his performance was right on. It was a great take, except for one thing. The Beastmaster cleared the camera lens, but never stopped running. He hurtled directly at me going full speed and WHAM! He smashed into me and knocked me clean out of my chair. I tumbled backward and hit the ground hard in a cloud of dust with, surprise, the grinning Marc right on top of me. Why would he do this? As I got to my feet, dusted myself off, and checked my skinned elbows, there stood the Beastmaster laughing as I became the butt of his “joke” in front of the crew. He gave an excuse that he was so focused on the scene and “in the moment” that he just didn’t see me. Was this guy fucking with me? Or was he trying to undercut my authority, literally? In any case, that’s where I developed my aversion to director’s chairs.