Bad behaviour on set most often erupts, not when things are going well, but at the worst moments when the director and production staff are least able to cope with it. Many times, when faced with imminent disaster, when the schedule is bearing down and just about everything that could go wrong has done just that, I would come across an actor beaming all over his face, who would ask me something like, “ Everything going to your liking?” Once or twice I thought that they were being sardonic, but then I realised that they were solely concerned with their own performance and were blinkered to everything else. Often they had prepared for weeks, if not months, for their moment before the camera and if they did’t think that they were going to get their due share of time and attention, that is when trouble would erupt. So, when the crew are pulling together in a desperate effort to get the show in the can that is just when actors start to get difficult and raise problems that had never occurred before. It is then that they start cracking jokes, fooling around, corpsing. If everyone-else is getting up tight, they, for sure, will be making sure to hang loose.

It is always the director who, come what may, musttake responsibility for completing the schedule, but it would be wrong to think that the actors’ spite is primarily aimed in his direction. In fact, quite the opposite: it is often deliberately hidden from the director and it is the production manager, the first assistant and the lesser members of the crew who get the brunt of ire. Of course, sooner or later reports work their way back, and are often hard to believe. However, on other occasions I have unintentionally witnessed more than enough to convince me.

For some stars it seems that no inflated salary, pampering, or roster of perks is sufficient to quell their disgruntlement. Michael Caine is one of the few actors to have spoken out about this:

“During the filming of The Magus, I had a confrontation not so much with Anthony Quinn as with Quinn's kowtowers. Every day we'd get a bulletin from one of his minions: "Tony's in a great mood today"; or "Watch out, Tony's in a terrible mood today." One day I said: "Has he ever asked what mood I'm in?" The minion said, "Why should he?”(5)

I once found myself, similarly, on a production held to ransom by the leading actor. Everyday messages would go out as to his mood. These were never given direct to me but I usually found out about them from my assistants. On one of his black days I was following our “star” at a distance across a narrow boardwalk which had been erected across a boggy field from base camp to the actual location. The previous day I had seen him giving court during lunch-break to a whole bunch of stagehands, extras and the like, all laughing uproariously at his jokes. Today, one of them coming from the opposite direction greeted him with a beaming smile, to which in reply he hissed, “Get out of my way,” and ploughed straight on forcing him off the boardwalk into the mud. I stopped to help him back on but our star did not so much as afford him a glance.

Often the actors who are the worse behaved are those who bear a grudge that they have been passed by or accorded less star status than they think they deserve. One such middle-aged actor with whom I was working on a TV series was called to the set for a short two-handed scene with a frail old man who had been one of those recurring faces in British films stretching way back. I positioned him opposite the only window, and our “star” to one side of it. The basic lighting had been set with, naturally, the key light streaming in through the window. Immediately, our principal looked round at the rig, pointed to where the guest actor was standing and announced that was where he wanted to be. The old man immediately gave way, saying that he would be more than happy to swap sides with him — which made it all the more embarrassing, not just for me, but for everyone on set who knew exactly what was going on. Why did this over-paid and pampered actor find it necessary to behave in such a rude and unprofessional manner? It was unnecessary and utterly inappropriate.

It has sometimes been suggested that acting is fundamentally an undignified way to earn a living and that is why actors become so obsessed with status, quibbling about minor perks and imagined sleights. But this is not just a case of being difficult with those in power. War can break out among the cast if one actor feels that another is getting more attention, or more time, than they deserve. Particularly if they feel that actor is not of their calibre, or not giving them the respect that is their due. Again, Michael Caine has spoken out about this:

“The sort of dirty tricks such actors employ are fairly transparent, really. As in theatre, there is the Upstager: he keeps moving backward a few steps so that the other actors have to turn their backs to the camera to relate to him. Then there's the Scene-Stealer: he's the chap who will put in a little move of the hands or turn of the head during your tense moment and steal focus. The Staller does a slightly more subtle manoeuvre: he slows down the tempo that was set at rehearsal, extends pauses, talks more hesitantly and generally prolongs the time that the camera is on him, thereby hogging the scene.”(5)

These ploys, however, are nothing compared to some of the ones that have been employed on my sets. Perhaps the worse was by an actress during a semi-nude love scene with an actor whom, for whatever reason, she loathed. At the end of every take she would turn away from the camera and mimic vomiting over the side of the bed. In another pairing it was the actor who was out to nobble the actress. During an intense emotional scene, when the camera was focused on her, he would stare at her mouth, her ear, her nose, and then, at the height of her impassioned outpouring, roll his eyes to heaven. After the “cut”, when confronted by the furious actress, he looked around to the crew with an astonished expression of hurt innocence, and then patted her shoulder and in a paternal voice reassured her that if she just relaxed and had confidence in her self he was sure her performance would turn out fine.

There have been occasions, when the ego-hyping and self-consolation of particular actors has gone from being a laugh, to what, in any other context, would be considered criminal behaviour. At the end of a shoot custom-made costume jewellery or period ornaments have gone missing, or whole boxes of expensive cosmetics disappeared from the makeup trailer. Sometimes these things are not even done surreptitiously. but carried off in a quite blatant manner. I walked onto one set in process of being dismantled to find the prop boys huddled in a state of some concern. When I questioned them they nervously told me that the star had just walked in with his driver, picked up all the parts of an audio system, piled them into the drivers arms, and then told him to go and put them in the boot of his car. They were worried that they would be held responsible for the loss and wondered if, perhaps, the producer had given the star permission to take it away. Of course, he had not; but he had no problem believing the prop boys’ story and so they were not held to blame. Why would such well-paid and privileged individuals indulge in this petty thievery? One can only assume that they have a monstrous sense of entitlement. Or else need to prove something to themselves.

Needless to say, not all actors behave in this way or anything remotely similar. They could not afford to risk their name even if they had the inclination. Nevertheless, it seems that there is a climate around the profession that fosters an amused admiration, rather than a shocked condemnation, for those who can and do get away with it. Charles Marowitz has made an eloquent apology for this devil-may-care attitude.

“The actor uses his ego as unavoidably as the boxer uses his fists, and the hazards in each profession are equally as great. To an actor, ego is not only the tool of his trade but the prop of his life. Outside the ring, the boxer can stuff his fists into his pockets to keep them out of harm's way, but an actor's ego is always exposed, the constant object of blissful inflations and remorseful deflations.“ (24)

I don’t buy this. Inflated egos are not a requirement of great acting any more than city traders require reckless bravura — though, perhaps, both come as the consequence of the intense stresses of the occupation. In all these errant cases it is fantasy and not reality that calls the shots.

There is an old actors’ joke, which, in one form or another, goes something like this:

“An actor walks into a pub just after closing time and orders a large scotch. The barman promptly tells him that they are closed. Hearing this the actor draws himself up to his full height and asks the barman, “Do you know who I am?” He stares back at the actor for a moment and then turns to call to his co-worker — “‘Ere, Joe. we got a bloke here who doesn’t know who he is!”

One night, in the company of actors, I was amused to hear that leading question used in all seriousness. We had been filming for some time in the middle of nowhere and everyone had grown bored with the country hotel in which we were holed up. One day one of the cast discovered that in less than an hour’s drive away there was a starred restaurant. He took it on himself to organise an expedition and asked me if I would like to join them. I decided to take an evening off and go along.

Naturally, as this was a group of actors without the usual staff to chivvy them along, we were late setting off — very late. Our convoy of cars finally drove off down a maze of country lanes and were soon lost in the darkness. In those days before the sat-nav it was a case of reading maps and road signs by torchlight: an ambitious project that filled me with gloom. However, after a number of minor disputes and retracing our route several times, we finally arrived. But, as we all trooped in the headwaiter tapped his wristwatch and shrugged: the kitchen had closed.

After a dumb-struck moment of disbelief, one of our number took the initiative and stepped forward. He was an actor who had played minor characters in a number of popular TV series, so was a bit of a face, but not someone I would describe as a star. Looking the waiter straight in the eye he pronounced the magic phrase — “Do you know who I am?” The waiter starred back at him a complete blank. So, the actor, scratching his cheek with a fingertip began to murmur a long list of show titles. Suddenly the waiter made a quite apology and darted away. A few moments later he returned with the proprietor in tow.

He earnestly scanned our faces and registered a blank; the restauranteur did not recognise any of us either. But then an extraordinary thing happened. He suddenly jumped out of his stupor, shooed the waiter away as if he had committed a profound error, and began a deferential stream of apologies, amidst shouted orders that our table be prepared immediately. It was not a case of being overawed by fame, because I’m sure he did not have a clue who any of us were; rather it was a case of being overawed by the very idea of fame, the very possibility that famous people had come to his restaurant and not been recognised.

As we walked through to the island of tables covered in white cloths that had been assembled for us, our spirits bubbled up. For sure, the whole group got a kick out of this scam. The old trope had actually done the trick. Here we were and all eyes were on us; the whole restaurant was now abuzz with who we might be. That night it became clear to me that everyone loves to indulge in the mythology of stardom but the ones who love it most of all are the stars and would-be stars themselves.