Квентин Тарантино - Once Upon a Time in Hollywood - The First Novel By Quentin Tarantino

But that was then, this is now.

Now, on location in Denmark, standing in the lobby of a Danish hotel, waiting for the director to call action, then make her character’s entrance by running into the shot and performing her first comedic pratfall, Sharon was terrified. Not of hurting herself, though she was a little concerned at first of smacking the back of her head against the hard floor of the hotel lobby. The stunt gaffer, Jeff, had told her to tuck her chin into her chest when she fell and she’d be all right. They slipped a pad under her outfit to protect her keister and the small of her back. And Jeff gave her a few different things to hold in her head: tuck her chin into her chest as she fell, keep the champagne bottle in her hand held high during the fall so it didn’t shatter against the floor and shower her with glass. Also, the camera would be pointed right up her dress, so if once she hit the floor her legs go wild, she should close them. But the most terrifying part of all was performing a giant comedic pratfall in front of Jerry Lewis’s old partner.

As Sharon stood in the wings waiting for her cue to enter, arms loaded down with junk, her head full of things to remember to do, she’d never felt more at one with a character. Like Freya, she felt out of her depth (Freya as a secret agent, Sharon as a comedian) and intimidated by her more experienced partner (Matt Helm, after James Bond the world’s greatest secret agent, and Dean Martin, one half of one of the screen’s greatest comedy teams). Also, like Freya, she was eager to do a good job but also a little afraid of screwing it up. Somebody told her at one point they considered Carol Burnett for the role of Freya. It was obvious why they decided to go a different way. But whether or not they’d regret the way they went would all depend on how Sharon performed this gag.

The sweet gentleman Phil Karlson, who was the director of this picture, told her this was the moment that defined her character for the audience. At one point there was talk that maybe her character should be introduced as another slinky sexpot, like the other female leads in the film. Then, after the audience judged her by her sixties-starlet cover, that’s when it would be revealed that she’s a comic klutz. But, much to Sharon’s delight, Phil rejected that approach. “You’re the best character in this whole silly movie,” he told her. In fact, Karlson revised the whole idea. Not until mid-movie would her character wear anything even remotely sexy. Her long blond hair was dyed red and tied up on the back of her head. As opposed to Sommer, Kwan, and Louise, who were all introduced in outlandish stylish fashions, Sharon made her entrance in the uniform of a Danish tourist-board representative. They stuck big comic glasses on her face and she spent the first half of the movie wearing a collection of silly hats on her head. “As far as I’m concerned,” her director told her, “the real movie doesn’t start till you enter. So when you enter, you have to enter with a bang.”

Naturally, at the time, she was thrilled at her director’s confidence in her, but bang time was now, and she hoped she’d make a big bang and not a pitiful pop.

On the Bruin screen, Sharon as Freya Carlson comes running into the scene, carrying a bottle of champagne and screeching her co-star’s character name: “ Mr. Helm, Mr. Helm, Mr. Helm! ” When Dean turns to look at her, she falls backward over his camera case, landing flat on her ass.

The whole matinee audience at the Bruin does a belly laugh at Sharon’s pratfall. Wow! That felt nice , she thinks. She even turns around in her seat to look at the smiles on their faces. If she could have, she would have shaken all their hands and thanked them all individually. As she turns back to the screen, she wears an ear-to-ear grin on her lovely face. This was a good idea , she thinks. She unzips her white go-go boots, slips her bare feet out of them, throws her long legs over the back of the chair in front of her, and settles back to enjoy the show.

Chapter Fifteen

“You’re a Natural-Born Edmund”

Actor Rick Dalton, dressed in his Caleb DeCoteau costume, and his director, Sam Wanamaker, sit in their director’s chairs on the Lancer set, discussing Dalton’s character.

“I want you to think about a rattlesnake,” Sam says. “I think a rattlesnake is your spirit animal.”

Normally, directors on TV shows are so busy trying to make their day, they don’t have time to talk about spirit animals. But Sam is one of those serious British-theater-type directors. And since he seems to be so enthusiastic about Rick, Rick thinks he should probably talk that way too.

“Well, it’s funny you say that,” Rick lies. “I was looking for a spirit animal for Caleb.”

“Well, go with the snake,” Sam says, then points at Lancer series lead Jim Stacy sitting across the set with the little actress playing Mirabella Lancer, Trudi Frazer, in his lap. “Think of him as the mongoose. It’s a duel. We’re going to shoot that scene later today with the two of you. And I want it all in the eyes.”

I want it all in the eyes? What the fuck does that mean? Rick thinks.

So Rick thoughtfully repeats aloud, “All in the eyes.”

Sam reminds him, “You remember when I said ‘Hells Angels’ before?”

Rick nods his head.

“Think about you’re on a great big chopper”—Sam points again at Stacy across the set in his red ruffled shirt—“and that guy over there wants to join your gang. And you would put him through the exact same test that a Hells Angels boss would put one of their people through.”

“I see that,” Rick asks. “So the horses are almost like motorbikes?”

“They are,” Sam agrees. “They’re the motorbikes of their day.”

Nodding his head, Rick says, “Right.”

“And your gang is a bike gang,” Sam directs.

Nodding his head, “Right.”

“And they’ve taken over this town just like a motorcycle gang takes over a town and scares the living shit out of everybody,” Sam says.

Even though Jim Stacy’s sitting across the set and can’t overhear them, Rick leans closer to Sam and asks in a confidential manner, “So Stacy really wanted the mustache?”

Laughing, Sam says, “Believe you me, I can’t tell you the fights I had about that damn mustache. He wanted Johnny Madrid to have a mustache so badly. To him, that was the character. You see, Stacy, like Madrid, has got an edge. But not some broody Actors Studio edge. Like one day maybe he’ll go to jail kinda edge,” Sam says provocatively. “And, yes, of course he wants to do this series. But he doesn’t want to be like Doug McClure or Michael Landon. So the mustache made him different. And then CBS shit-canned the whole mustache idea.”

Rick hates wearing this furry fucking caterpillar stuck to his face. But, admittedly, the fact that Stacy wants it so bad is making Rick warm up to it more and more.

Sam continues, “Speaking of fake mustaches, the last time I had a fake mustache was when I was doing Lear onstage—with Olivier. And he used to come off every night after the storm scene dripping wet from the rain and drenched in perspiration. Then he’d take one look at me—I was playing the Duke of Cornwall—” As if suddenly seized by inspiration: “Rick, dear boy, have you ever done Shakespeare?”

Rick laughs, then realizes, Oh shit, he ain’t kidding. “Me?” Rick asks.

“Yes,” says Sam.

Do I fucking look like I’ve done Shakespeare?

“No,” Rick says, “I ain’t done much theater.”

“Well, I think you’re a born Edmund,” Sam says.

Rick asks, “Ed-Edmund?”