‘BRUCE FORSYTH, MOVIE star!’
Unfortunately that is not an accurate description of my career on the silver screen, even though I had once hoped it might be. There were a couple of occasions, which I will come to in a moment, when big, meaty roles seemed to be within my grasp, only for Fate to take a hand and the opportunities pass me by. Looking back, it is a regret – not a big one as I’ve enjoyed the most marvellous career, I really have – nevertheless there is a mild sense of ‘What if …?’
Not that I’m giving up hope, not a bit of it. I still harbour ambitions for a really good cameo part in a great film. I hope you’re reading this, Mr Spielberg.
I VERY MUCH ENJOYED my first excursion into the world of movies, in a 1968 film that never quite lived up to expectations even though it had impeccable credentials. The film was Star!, a biopic of music-hall legend Gertrude Lawrence, directed by Robert Wise (Oscar-winning director of West Side Story and The Sound of Music) and featuring Julie Andrews at the height of her popularity in the lead role. I played Gertrude Lawrence’s father, Arthur.
In the routine opposite with Beryl and Julie, Beryl plays a woman I eventually run off with. We performed in an old-fashioned West End theatre, reproduced in Hollywood. The authenticity of the set was astonishing: you really were transported back to the London of the 1920s. The same applied to our ‘audience’. Everyone was in full make-up and costume, and in between takes members of the production team rushed up and down the aisles to make sure every single person looked impeccable, in case the camera moved in for a close-up.
The attention to detail impressed me hugely, although always in the back of my mind was the thought, How much is this all costing? I was used to very different television budgets!
I started rehearsing our big number a few days before Beryl arrived. It was one of those routines that required a lot of jumping about, meaning we were constantly on the balls of our feet. Even for experienced hoofers, that style of dancing can result in a few days of aching calf muscles. By the time Beryl arrived I had been suffering the agonies of a gruelling workout, eased somewhat by icing my muscles after each rehearsal, and had come through the other side.
I warned Beryl that the number was very much ‘on your toes’, and would give her calves a bit of a going-over.
‘Oh,’ says she, ‘don’t worry about that, dear. I was a dancer when I was eleven years old. You can’t teach me anything about that sort of thing.’
‘Okay. I was just meaning that it’s a good idea to work yourself into the routine gradually. I wish I had.’
‘Don’t worry about me, Bruce. I’ll be fine.’
You can guess what happened.
After the first rehearsal I telephoned her at the hotel to see how she was.
‘Oh, Bruce! Oh dear! Oh dear, oh dear!’
‘OH, BRUCE! OH DEAR! OH DEAR, OH DEAR!’
‘What’s wrong?’ As if I didn’t know.
‘I got out of bed and I fell over! My legs are killing me!’
I couldn’t help laughing. ‘You wouldn’t listen, would you, my love? If you’d taken a nice hot bath when you got back last night, with Epsom salts, you’d be right as rain today.’
Beryl was laughing now. ‘I’m sure that’s true. I don’t know what I was thinking, not packing my Epsoms! But it doesn’t change the fact that I still can’t come in today. I can barely walk, let alone dance!’
When I relayed this conversation to Julie later that morning, she thought it was hilarious. Poor Beryl missed the rehearsal, bless her heart, but she made it in the following day and everything worked out fine.
As I mentioned, the film proved less successful than anticipated, mainly, I think, because the songs weren’t strong enough – they couldn’t carry a film that found itself out of sync with the times. The late sixties was such a vibrant period, with everyone looking forward – the Age of Aquarius and all that – that nostalgia for the old-fashioned world of music hall just didn’t resonate. Perhaps it would have been better if they had focused more on Gertrude Lawrence’s private, rather than stage, life; easy to say in hindsight.
It is a great shame that Star! struggled to make an impact because it put paid to the next big musical movie Robert Wise had in mind. It had been Robert himself who had suggested me for the role of Arthur Lawrence, and although I can’t say for sure that I would have been involved in the production that never was, I certainly believe I would have been considered.
CAN HEIRONYMUS MERKIN EVER Forget Mercy Humppe and Find True Happiness? How about that as a film title? Released in 1969, it was directed by and starred Anthony Newley, with his then wife Joan Collins.
DURING EDITING TONY, WHO you can see rehearsing with me here, had to cut some of my character’s song, ‘On The Boards’. Tony had the courtesy to call me himself to explain. I thought that was very decent of him. Many directors wouldn’t have bothered but that wasn’t Tony’s style. He was a good man who went on to become a dear friend, right through to his death in 1999.
How did it do at the box-office? Well, I think the publicity tag-line offers a pretty good indication: ‘A motion picture that is definitely not for everyone.’ How right they were.
THIS IS MY FIRST straight movie role, playing the sinister spiv Swinburne in Disney’s 1971 Bedknobs and Broomsticks, alongside the truly fabulous Angela Lansbury and David Tomlinson.
I had no idea at the time what an impression this character would leave on young minds. But I found out in a most curious way.
IN 2009 AMY WINEHOUSE joined us on Strictly to sing with her goddaughter Dionne Bromfield. I thought it was a gorgeous, generous thing for Amy to do, to support Dionne like that, given that Amy was by then an absolute superstar with constant demands on her time. I find it almost impossible to believe that she is now gone. It is so sad. She was such a talented singer.
Back in the Strictly studio in 2009, my wife Winnie knew how keen I was to meet Amy, and went to find her in the audience after they had completed Dionne’s number.
‘Bruce would love to say hello, Amy. Would you like to come back to his dressing room after they’ve finished recording?’
‘I’d love to, thank you,’ Amy replied.
I was delighted to find the two of them waiting for me after the show. However, I was in for a shock when Amy spoke.
‘Oh, Bruce Forsyth, you frightened me. You really did.’
I was quite taken aback. And confused. ‘Oh dear. I’m so sorry. What – what did I do?’
‘In Bedknobs and Broomsticks! You were that awful man with the knife. You really, really terrified me. Whenever we watched the film at home I had to jump on to my father’s lap when your bit came on! It was the look in your eyes. You are a very scary man!’
I thought initially she was saying it as a joke, but I quickly sensed that she was being absolutely genuine. That was the moment I discovered the power of my acting. If only it had been recognized earlier! What a leading man I could have been! What roles I could have played! Heathcliff! Mr Darcy! They were made for me!
LOOKING AT THIS AGAIN, Amy did have a point.
NOW FOR THE TWO that got away.
I first met Lionel Bart, the creator of Oliver!, at one of Alma Cogan’s parties. Now before I go any further with this sorry tale I’m going to take a brief moment to tell you a little about Alma.
THIS IS ALMA IN Blackpool, August 1960, with Harry Secombe and myself, judging the Miss UK competition. Being invited to participate in such events was certainly one of the perks I most enjoyed after making my breakthrough on Sunday Night at the London Palladium! As I look at this photograph now, that cheque we’re about to present to the winner must have been for a large amount – shockingly large by the look of my hair!
Similar to Harry, Alma, bless her heart, was one of the nicest people you could hope to meet, the only one of us in those days who tried to keep all the show-business people together as mates. She threw fantastic parties at her flat in Kensington High Street. The likes of Roger Moore, Tommy Steele and Stanley Baker would be in the card room, while the rest of us partied the night away.
The police were also regular visitors to that flat. Alma would invite the big-name pop groups of the day who, at the height of their powers, would think nothing of blasting out their songs at maximum volume. It was hardly a surprise the neighbours complained.
Alma had a very inventive streak, when it came to her parties. Back to Lionel Bart, I remember one particular do that she organized for Lionel’s birthday, in which she had us all sitting down to watch a Punch and Judy show. Within seconds all these well-known show-business men and women were shouting at the puppets like a bunch of kids. So much fun.
ALMA HAD A VERY INVENTIVE STREAK, WHEN IT CAME TO HER PARTIES
Anyway, I’d got to know Lionel fairly well through Alma, so receiving a phone call from him was not that unusual, but what he had to say on this particular occasion most certainly was.
‘Bruce, you’ve heard we’re about to start filming Oliver!, haven’t you?’
I had. It was all over the press. I loved the musical and I was certain the film was going to be a smash.
‘Well, we have a problem. Ron Moody played Fagin in the stage version, as you know, and he’s meant to be taking on the role in the movie. Only he’s got himself into some contractual dispute with the backers. I don’t know the full details, but we’re due to start filming in just over a week, and, well, I was wondering. Would you like to play Fagin, Bruce?’
Unbeknown to me, Lionel had come along to the Cambridge Theatre while I was in Little Me and had enjoyed what he saw.
‘I think you’d be perfect. Would you consider it?’
‘Would I! Oh, Lionel, I’d love to play Fagin.’
‘Well, this is just a sounding-out call for now, to see if you were interested.’
‘Well, I can assure you I am.’
He phoned me every night that week to keep me informed of progress. Then on the Friday he hit me with the news: ‘I’m sorry, Bruce, they’ve settled whatever the problem was with Ron. He’s decided to do it, so I’m afraid you’re out.’
What I wish I’d said next was something clever, like, ‘I totally understand that the film no longer needs me, now that Ron has completed reviewing the situation.’
What I actually said was, ‘Thank you for thinking of me, Lionel.’
Ron went on to receive an Oscar nomination. I wished him well, but you can imagine how I felt.
Almost ten years later, a similar situation unfolds. It’s 1977, and I’m on a golfing trip in Spain when my agent calls.
‘Bruce, you’re not going to believe this. I’m just off the phone with the casting director of a Disney film called Candleshoe. Jodie Foster is playing the child star and they want you as the adult lead! It seems David Niven was pencilled in but he’s pulled out for family reasons. You’re top of their list to take over. It’s virtually a done deal. You just need to get back here as soon as you can.’
A couple of days later I’m on a flight home. Jodie Foster is one of the hottest names around, having recently received an Oscar nomination for Taxi Driver, and the rest of the cast is equally strong – the fabulous multiple-award-winning stage actress Helen Hayes (who also appeared in Disney’s Herbie Rides Again) and Rumpole himself, Leo McKern. I’m incredibly excited as I settle into my seat.
I’ve looked into the part and I know it will be perfect. I’ll be playing the butler to a lady of the manor who has very bad eyesight and whose estate is in financial difficulties. The butler adopts various roles – chauffeur, gardener, estate manager – in an attempt to hide the fact that the real staff have all been let go. In among all this, a baddie is seeking buried treasure.
I hope they finalize everything quickly so we can get started. I can’t wait. I am so excited. I pick up my paper to distract myself.
Everything is indeed finalized quickly – before we’ve even touched down in London. I read an article that reports David Niven has changed his mind and signed up for the role. On arrival home the casting director calls. She is very upset and apologetic.
‘I’m so sorry to tell you this, Bruce, having dragged you back from Spain, but David Niven’s had a change of heart.’
I tell her I already know and she’s even more upset. ‘I feel awful. I wanted to tell you myself.’ I don’t blame her, of course, these things happen. But I am disappointed. Very disappointed indeed.
NOW TO A MOVIE I did actually appear in, an Anglo-Russian 1983 film called Anna Pavlova, which told the life story of the famous ballerina.
I played Alfred Butt, the manager of the Palace Theatre in Shaftesbury Avenue, where Pavlova performed – on a variety bill! I know that sounds strange, but short ballet segments or actors reading serious prose and poetry did sometimes constitute variety acts in the twenties.
On the day I received my script, four or five pages, I was hosting the TV gameshow Play Your Cards Right and only returned home from the studio at around eleven o’clock at night. It probably took me until two a.m. to learn the part and, as I had to be on set by six the following morning, I didn’t manage much sleep that night. That didn’t worry me in the least. Far more important was to nail my lines, especially as the co-director of the film was the acclaimed Michael Powell. I wanted to impress him with my professionalism and readiness.
My sequence took place in the office of the Palace Theatre, although it was actually filmed in a beautiful room overlooking Parliament Square. I duly arrived at the appointed hour to be met by Michael, who quietly ushered me into a corner. ‘Bruce, I’d better explain that for this film we have a Russian crew and a Russian director, who, by the way, doesn’t speak a word of English, not a word.’
‘Not a word?’
‘But don’t worry, he has a French secretary who speaks some English and she can help.’
‘Well, I’m sure it will be fine. I’ve learned the script.’
‘Excellent. Good luck.’
Soon after the secretary approached me. ‘Ah, Monsieur Forsyth, I am here to tell you that the director does not like this scene.’
‘Oh, yes …?’
‘He feels that the dialogue, it is too much. Too … staged. He wants you to make it up. Ad-lib. Can you do that?’
‘I can give it a try.’
‘HE WANTS YOU TO MAKE IT UP. AD-LIB. CAN YOU DO THAT?’
‘This is how he sees the moment. You are sitting reading your newspaper when there is a knock on the door. That will be Mademoiselle Pavlova. She will come in. You will get up, rush over to her and tell her how marvellous she is. How the audiences love her. How she cannot leave England now. How the press reviews are all so good. How she must stay at the Palace Theatre. He wants to see passion. Can you do passion?’
‘I can give it a try.’
I DID THE SCENE as requested, producing something like a three-minute impassioned monologue in front of a beautiful young Russian actress … who just stood there, impassive. Right at the end I got down on my knees to beg.
‘My dear Pavlova, please promise me you will stay at the Palace Theatre for ever!’
She looked down at me and said, ‘Nyet’.
Nothing more. It was only then I realized she hadn’t understood a single word I had said. We repeated the scene a couple more times. She said, ‘Nyet,’ a couple more times. And I was on my way home.
Just before I left, I asked her, ‘Did you enjoy working on the scene?’
‘Nyet’.
Now I realize that my Alfred Butt may not go down in cinematic history as a classic performance, but it clearly made an impression on some people in the industry…
TAKE A LOOK AT this. For the US market the film was adapted into a TV series, in which I’m billed above Martin Scorsese!
My film career may not have delivered everything I had once hoped, but for one production at least I will always know that I was seen as a bigger draw than the award-winning director of Taxi Driver and Raging Bull, Martin Scorsese. That’s not too bad at all.