My run-in with Mel Gibson and why George Clooney nearly walloped me
One year, shortly before the Oscars, I was in my Beverly Hills hotel room, when Valerie, my sister, who was living in the San Fernando Valley, phoned me.
‘Do you know Mel Gibson?’ she said.
‘No, I’m sorry, I don’t,’ I said.
‘Oh, that’s all right,’ she said. ‘He’s coming to dinner at our house tomorrow. I’ll introduce you.’
Gibson was having dinner at my sister’s house because she was then still married to Bernie Williams, who had produced The Bounty, in which Gibson played Fletcher Christian, and they’d become good friends. The other guests that evening were Roger Donaldson, director of The Bounty, and his wife, also named Mel, and the cinematographer John Alcott and his wife, Sue. I’d never met any of them but they all greeted me warmly – all, that is, except Gibson, who had quite clearly taken against me.
After a brief handshake and a curt ‘How d’you do?’ he turned his back on me, so I chatted to the Donaldsons and the Alcotts, who were very nice. But then Gibson suddenly turned towards me. ‘How tall are you?’ he asked.
‘Just over 6ft.’
‘No, you’re not,’ he said.
‘Well, I am as a matter of fact.’
‘No, you’re not – you’re no taller than me.’
He was about 5ft 8in or 5ft 9in. So I said: ‘Well, I think I am taller than you.’
‘No, you’re not.’ Now this would have been quite amusing, except that he seemed deadly serious, almost angry. Fortunately, some tactful person said: ‘I know, why don’t you two stand back to back and then we can see?’
So we stood back to back and I could feel him going up on tiptoes behind me, so that the top of his head would reach the same level as mine and then the tactful person said: ‘There you are – you’re exactly the same height.’
And Gibson turned to me and said: ‘See, I told you so.’
I looked down at him and shrugged. ‘OK Mel, if you’re happy, I’m happy.’
But what the hell was that all about? Why should it matter that someone he’d never met before might be a few inches taller than he was? I dunno, movie stars. What can you do with them?
To be fair, some of them are likeable, but others are much less so. Many seem to have a firm policy that if you are to interview them you must be kept waiting, and I don’t just mean for a few minutes. I believe this stems from a lack of self-confidence, to prove to themselves as much as to you that they are more important than you are.
Because this deliberate lateness was so prevalent I knew exactly what to expect when I first met George Clooney, who was in this magazine only last week. The interview, at the Warner Brothers studio, was to take place just before Batman & Robin opened. Nobody had seen the movie, but everyone was very excited about it because it was bound to catapult Clooney from TV heart-throb in ER to A-list movie star.
As it turned out, the film was so bad it killed off the Batman franchise for several years and almost ended Clooney’s movie career. But we didn’t know that yet.
My crew and I turned up in plenty of time, but about 10 minutes before Clooney was due I said I had to go to the loo. My producer, Bruce Thompson, and the crew were horrified.
‘You can’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘Well, the lavatory’s right down the end of that corridor and he'll be here any minute.'
‘No, he won’t,’ I said. ‘He’ll be late. They’re always late. Besides, I have to pee.’
So off I went and when I re-emerged I looked up and saw Clooney chatting to my crew. Not only had he turned up early, which was almost unheard of, he had come alone, which was even more unheard of. Usually the stars arrived surrounded by managers, press agents and bodyguards. I hurried towards him, arm outstretched. ‘Good to see you,’ I said.
He looked at me suspiciously. ‘Have you washed your hands?’ he asked. Right away I knew that we’d get along fine.
I liked him even more at the end of the interview when Liz Ekberg, our director, who like many women was somewhat smitten with Clooney, asked if she could have her photograph taken with him.
‘You know, George,’ I said crassly, ‘what she would really have liked was to sit on your lap.’
Clooney looked at me, then at Liz. ‘Shall I hit him for you now?’ he asked her.
Extracted from See You In The Morning by Barry Norman (Doubleday, £18.99).
‘Do you know Mel Gibson?’ she said.
‘No, I’m sorry, I don’t,’ I said.
‘Oh, that’s all right,’ she said. ‘He’s coming to dinner at our house tomorrow. I’ll introduce you.’
Gibson was having dinner at my sister’s house because she was then still married to Bernie Williams, who had produced The Bounty, in which Gibson played Fletcher Christian, and they’d become good friends. The other guests that evening were Roger Donaldson, director of The Bounty, and his wife, also named Mel, and the cinematographer John Alcott and his wife, Sue. I’d never met any of them but they all greeted me warmly – all, that is, except Gibson, who had quite clearly taken against me.
After a brief handshake and a curt ‘How d’you do?’ he turned his back on me, so I chatted to the Donaldsons and the Alcotts, who were very nice. But then Gibson suddenly turned towards me. ‘How tall are you?’ he asked.
‘Just over 6ft.’
‘No, you’re not,’ he said.
‘Well, I am as a matter of fact.’
‘No, you’re not – you’re no taller than me.’
He was about 5ft 8in or 5ft 9in. So I said: ‘Well, I think I am taller than you.’
‘No, you’re not.’ Now this would have been quite amusing, except that he seemed deadly serious, almost angry. Fortunately, some tactful person said: ‘I know, why don’t you two stand back to back and then we can see?’
So we stood back to back and I could feel him going up on tiptoes behind me, so that the top of his head would reach the same level as mine and then the tactful person said: ‘There you are – you’re exactly the same height.’
And Gibson turned to me and said: ‘See, I told you so.’
I looked down at him and shrugged. ‘OK Mel, if you’re happy, I’m happy.’
But what the hell was that all about? Why should it matter that someone he’d never met before might be a few inches taller than he was? I dunno, movie stars. What can you do with them?
To be fair, some of them are likeable, but others are much less so. Many seem to have a firm policy that if you are to interview them you must be kept waiting, and I don’t just mean for a few minutes. I believe this stems from a lack of self-confidence, to prove to themselves as much as to you that they are more important than you are.
Because this deliberate lateness was so prevalent I knew exactly what to expect when I first met George Clooney, who was in this magazine only last week. The interview, at the Warner Brothers studio, was to take place just before Batman & Robin opened. Nobody had seen the movie, but everyone was very excited about it because it was bound to catapult Clooney from TV heart-throb in ER to A-list movie star.
As it turned out, the film was so bad it killed off the Batman franchise for several years and almost ended Clooney’s movie career. But we didn’t know that yet.
My crew and I turned up in plenty of time, but about 10 minutes before Clooney was due I said I had to go to the loo. My producer, Bruce Thompson, and the crew were horrified.
‘You can’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘Well, the lavatory’s right down the end of that corridor and he'll be here any minute.'
‘No, he won’t,’ I said. ‘He’ll be late. They’re always late. Besides, I have to pee.’
So off I went and when I re-emerged I looked up and saw Clooney chatting to my crew. Not only had he turned up early, which was almost unheard of, he had come alone, which was even more unheard of. Usually the stars arrived surrounded by managers, press agents and bodyguards. I hurried towards him, arm outstretched. ‘Good to see you,’ I said.
He looked at me suspiciously. ‘Have you washed your hands?’ he asked. Right away I knew that we’d get along fine.
I liked him even more at the end of the interview when Liz Ekberg, our director, who like many women was somewhat smitten with Clooney, asked if she could have her photograph taken with him.
‘You know, George,’ I said crassly, ‘what she would really have liked was to sit on your lap.’
Clooney looked at me, then at Liz. ‘Shall I hit him for you now?’ he asked her.
Extracted from See You In The Morning by Barry Norman (Doubleday, £18.99).