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My Hour with Alfred by David Carren
Alfred Hitchcock on the set of 'Family Plot' (1976). photo: courtesy A. Hitchcock
After moving to Los Angeles in the summer of 1974, I became crazed by a passion for all things Hollywood, a desire that would eventually direct me into a prolific—if largely undistinguished—career writing television.
I started sneaking onto movie lots: Paramount, MGM, Warner Brothers, Universal, none were safe from my illicit invasions, which were fairly easy to effect three decades before 9/11 and today’s security-crazed world. Finding my way past a bored studio-gate guard was as simple as slipping into a shopping mall or a public park, which was exceedingly fortunate for me.
Most screenwriters avoid film sets like they were the local IRS office but I've always found them invigorating and exciting. A stage busy, cool, and dark, for me, is irresistible. I brushed past some impressive talent doing truly wonderful things.
As a twenty-three year-old wannabe screenwriter besotted with movies, no Disneyland could match a studio sound stage or its backlot for sheer joy and amazement. The wonders I witnessed were astonishing indeed: John Wayne in his dressing room between shots on his swan song, "The Shootist" (1976); Telly Savalas in an interrogation scene for an episode of "Kojak"(1973-78); Gene Wilder in a sheik’s outfit in "The World's Greatest Lover" (1977).
But my most memorable moments was witnessing great directors, one comic, the other generally associated with the opposite, in action. Although I strove to be invisible, a phantom with less of a footprint than a benign poltergeist, which was the sensible approach, on one unforgettable occasion, my presence drew notable attention from a notable figure.
Bruce Dern and Karen Black at work on the set of 'Family Plot' (1976). photo: courtesy A. Hitchcock
I was standing on the long-since dismantled Hello Dolly Street at Twentieth Century Fox watching Mel Brooks shoot a scene from his "Silent Movie" (1975), one eventually cut from the final release. It consisted of Brooks as an inebriated, failed director in a phone booth.
When he drunkenly drops a dime and kneels to search for it, an unsuspecting woman enters the booth. As Brooks stands, he somehow pushes the woman up onto his shoulders until her head pops through the roof of the booth. To this day, I don't know why the director didn't include this hilarious moment in his film.
They were about to roll the first take when Brooks pointed at his Director of Photography and said "Are you ready?" Then he pointed at his Assistant Director (AD) and repeated "Are you ready?" Then, to my astonishment, he pointed at me and said "Are you ready?" As I nervously nodded, he gestured impatiently and yelled, "Then get out of the way."
At the shocked look on my face, Brooks laughed, no doubt pleased that he had knocked this annoying, young intruder back on his heels.
My most striking experience, however, occurred not long after I arrived in Los Angeles, on a sound stage at Universal. I knew Sir Alfred Hitchcock was shooting his latest (and last, as it turned out) project, "Family Plot" (1976). The day's shoot was located on one of the studio's largest stages, which was devoid of actual sets save for a black backdrop and a helicopter. It was the scene where a fugitive kidnapper and diamond thief named Fran, played by Karen Black, forces a pilot to fly her to safety via a gun and blank look.
As I sneaked into the back of the cavernous stage, I registered it had the usual semi-industrial noise, energy and activity of a film production: lights, cameras, and sound equipment being manhandled into place, actors being made up, props being prepared, dozens of people bustling here or there, grips gripping, gaffers gaffing and so on—at least until Sir Alfred himself appeared.
The entire vast, shadowy space immediately fell silent, as if a member of English royalty had arrived, which, in a sense, was the case. In contrast to the crew largely garbed in work shirts, jeans, and sneakers, Hitchcock wore a black suit, shoes, and tie over a white shirt.
Hitchcock directing Dern in 'Family Plot' (1976). photo: courtesy A. Hitchcock
He appeared to have difficulty walking, probably due to the pain in his knees that would almost cripple him and help end his directing career. He made his way to his chair and started directing, which consisted of soft, whispered instructions to his chief assistant, or first AD, who would quickly pass the word on to the rest of the cast and crew before each take.
There weren't a lot of takes and there was very little discussion. It was the quietest set I had ever seen, as if someone was shooting during an exam or a funeral. More like a library than a film set, not an extra word, sound, or movement was encouraged or perhaps even allowed.
Karen Black, dressed in a black trench coat, wide-brimmed hat, dark sunglasses and blonde wig (which was eventually became the much-imitated signature image of "Family Plot"), sat in the helicopter with the actor playing the pilot. As they worked and shot, Hitchcock watched and whispered, the entire process as smooth and silent as a sheet of fine silk being drawn across a polished dining room table.
For a young man used to the usual chaos and energy of film productions, it was almost boring. But I did possess enough sense to realize that this is how a truly able and skilled director should work—focus, shoot, and print—get it down, get it done, and move on.
The great man probably finished the scene in half the usual time, he and his unit were working so efficiently, although I can't bear witness to this fact myself. A curly-haired, bespectacled second or third AD suddenly approached me with a frown and a question: "Are you part of this production?"
When I said no, he kicked me out, so ending my hour with Sir Alfred Hitchcock, sixty minutes I will never forget.