by Cary Elwes
A diminutive Jewish man from New York playing a tyrannical Sicilian crime boss?
Inconceivable, you say?
And yet, how perfectly it all worked. In hindsight one cannot envision anyone else in the role. But there were some interesting and tension-filled moments, when it seemed uncertain whether Wally would survive the production.
We began filming our only scene together, known affectionately as the Iocane Powder scene, or more appropriately as the Battle of Wits scene, in mid-September at a place called Lathkill Dale—a beautiful river valley in the Peak District.
Wally, bless him, was demonstrably nervous. Which actually helped me a bit since I was completely in awe of him at the time. Granted, I had seen only one of his movies, but that was enough for me. The minute he walked onto the set in his beautiful, ornate red and green velvet outfit, he looked like a wonderful prince from a Florentine fresco. Phyllis Dalton had even designed a matching hat for him—a flat medieval cap with a great big red feather sticking out of it. Wally tried it on once, quickly looked at all of our faces to gauge our reactions, and decided not to wear it. With apologies to Phyllis, it was probably a wise decision, as it might have been overkill.
As we began rehearsing the scene, I had no notion of Wally’s insecurity, but I did notice he was sweating quite a lot, which struck me as odd because it was a rather chilly and overcast morning. Perhaps it was the heavy velvet doublet he was wearing, I thought. But as we continued to run the lines, his anxiety and perspiration became more apparent. At first I couldn’t understand it. Here was this man, always the smartest in the room, experienced and lauded for his stage and screen work, concerned about a funny little scene in a fairy-tale movie. It didn’t make sense. It wasn’t until many years later that Wally would reveal what was in his head that day, that it all made sense. Even now I feel for Wally, because the schedule required him to film his most difficult scene (and without a doubt the most loquacious one in the entire movie) as his first moment in front of the camera.
If you’ve only seen The Princess Bride once or twice, or haven’t seen it in many years, the Battle of Wits scene is the one with the long, complicated passages of dialogue between the Man in Black and Vizzini as they try to outwit each other and trick their opponent into drinking a glass of wine dosed with iocane powder, which is “odorless, tasteless, dissolves instantly in liquid, and is among the deadlier poisons known to man.” (By the way, if you are wondering whether iocane really exists, it does not, except in the fertile imagination of Mr. William Goldman.) It might feel, in retrospect, as though Westley and Vizzini are burdened with equal amounts of tongue-twisting, mind-bending dialogue, but that actually is not the case. Not by a long shot.
ROBIN WRIGHT
Oh, he was nervous. He had all the lines to memorize. And Rob wanted him to recite it very fast. And Wally was not really an actor at the time. He was more of a writer.
ROB REINER
It’s true Wally had the most difficult sequence in the movie. The Battle of Wits was very difficult. But you know, I’ve heard from Wally, and from other people who’ve told me the same thing, that a day doesn’t go by when somebody doesn’t say to him, “Inconceivable!” Or ask him to say, “Inconceivable!”
WALLACE SHAWN
Here’s another piece of advice that I’m going to give to any filmmaker who reads this book. It’s not always kind to the actor to make his most difficult scene be the first scene that he does. That can be very, very hard. It takes a few days or a week to get into the mood of a picture and to get to feel comfortable with being in that film, and with the other actors, and to recognize their faces, etc. So to suddenly have to do your hardest scene on the very first day is not desirable. But obviously, scheduling a complex film sometimes means that’s the only day that it could be shot. That’s what happened to me. Actually, we shot it over two days and the ghost of Danny DeVito was devastatingly present the whole time.
Whereas Wally did all the heavy lifting in the scene, my job was fairly simple: to sit there and react to his character’s histrionics. A subtle nod here, a slight wave of the hand there. One line of dialogue to every five or six lines spoken by Wally. In the scene, the Man in Black figures that Vizzini is too clever by half, and that he will ultimately tie himself into knots trying to outwit his opponent. And that is precisely what happens.
Even though Wally was unconvinced of his talent in being able to pull off Vizzini, it’s a beautifully crafted performance, and it anchors the most hilariously convoluted scene in the movie. It is both perfect and timeless. Even though it was stressful for him.
WALLACE SHAWN
At my request, Rob acted out the part. Before I would do a section of it, I would ask him to do it for me. Then I would try to imitate what he had done. So you could say that what you see on-screen is a kind of collaboration. It’s 40 percent me, 40 percent Rob Reiner, and 20 percent Danny DeVito. Because I was obviously in some way imagining what Danny might have done. And a lot of it was totally Rob’s idea. For example, the way the scene ends where I sort of fall over sideways dead? I would never have done that. Totally Rob’s idea.
Equally stressful for Wally was his work on and around the infamous Cliffs of Insanity. The exterior shots of this sequence, where the Man in Black chases Buttercup’s kidnappers up a cliff, were actually filmed on the massive Cliffs of Moher in Ireland, using stunt doubles filmed from a great distance to obscure the fact that it wasn’t really me racing up the side of a sheer rock face and that André wasn’t really carrying Wally, Robin, and Mandy as he hoisted himself up. The effect was achieved by using a massive crane and pulleys to yank the stuntmen up the side of the cliffs. It’s kind of funny to look at the film now—the way it’s so obviously not André pulling himself up, but rather Peter Diamond wearing a bulky suit and a rubber Fezzik mask strapped to a harness. And the speed at which the Man in Black scales the cliff. It really doesn’t matter, though. In hindsight, it all somehow seems charming, much like the Rodents of Unusual Size.
Our actual climbing sequences were filmed in comparative safety on the same soundstage at Shepperton where the duel would take place, with man-made cliffs that stood only thirty feet high. I wore a safety harness and was either reeled in effortlessly by a pulley or actually fastened to the plaster cliff for the dialogue, so it wasn’t like I had to do any actual climbing. There were, however, obstacles to overcome for Wally’s team. For one thing, André’s bad back precluded him from actually “carrying” anyone or from being hoisted in a harness. So the crew devised a system in which André could stand on a platform attached to a forklift and hold on to Wally, while Robin and Mandy sat on modified bicycle seats next to them. All would appear perfectly safe and sound. Except for one thing:
Wally was terrified of heights.
While thirty feet of stucco and plaster might seem safe and surmountable when compared to the breathtaking 390-foot Cliffs of Moher, to Wally the prospect of scaling even a ten-foot wall seemed, well, inconceivable. I’m sure he didn’t want to tell Rob too early in the production, in case he might provide the director with another excuse to replace him.
Once again, though, he overcame his fears and turned in an epic performance. In reality, it was also André’s compassion and protective nature that helped calm Wally’s acrophobia. In many ways André really was like Fezzik: a gentle giant.
* * *
Wally may have had some of the movie’s most quotable lines, but if you were to stop people on the street and ask them to name a character in The Princess Bride besides Buttercup and Westley, I would be willing to bet that a great majority would respond first with “Miracle Max.” This is surprising, given that Billy Crystal, who played Max, was on the set for all of about three days and appeared in just a single scene that spanned less than five minutes on film. It is also perfectly understandable, given that this scene is one of the funniest in the movie. In fact, it is so funny and strange, and the tenor so unique, that it almost feels like it was dropped in from another
screenplay. But it wasn’t, of course. Miracle Max is Bill Goldman’s creation, albeit one supplemented by Billy’s comedic talent.
WALLACE SHAWN
I don’t like heights and I remember I asked Rob and Andy, “Are we really going to be on the world’s tallest cliffs, or what? We’re not really going to have to do all of those things, are we? All those stunts?” And they said, “No, no. That’ll all be done by stuntmen.” Which was only partly true, because although we did not go to the world’s tallest cliffs, we were obliged to act in a small forklift that in my memory couldn’t have been more than four or five feet square, thirty-five feet up in the air on a soundstage at Shepperton. And even that was mind-bogglingly frightening to me. I would never have taken the part if I’d known we were going to have to do that!
MANDY PATINKIN
Wally was terrified of heights, and he was worried that he was going to ruin the whole scene. There was even a double for him on the set, just in case. But he stepped up to the plate, got on that forklift, and hung on to André for dear life. And André just patted him like a little kid and said, “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you.” I’ll never forget it. The moment André said that to Wally, Wally calmed down and stopped feeling anxious. Then he just played the scene beautifully. And it was because of André’s gentle assurances that Wally was able to even breathe!
WALLACE SHAWN
André was very kind that day. I was physically tied to him during the part of the film that was the most terrifying to me. He had a flask of cognac in his costume that he offered me. I declined because it was sort of dizzying up there anyway. And Rob was very kind also. He realized how panicked I was, so he shot the film in a way that minimized the need for me to be up there. So he actually gave up some good shots out of kindness.
We were two months into production by the time Billy and his on-screen wife, Carol Kane, arrived on the set on October 15. I had just finished another training session with Peter Diamond when I ran into Rob, who informed me that Billy had arrived.
“Can I go say hi?” I asked.
“Yeah, sure,” Rob said. “He’s in makeup.”
BILLY CRYSTAL
I had this fantastic makeup, a character that was in my wheelhouse, and a director who totally trusted me and just let me go. I had the support of all of these people. It was just a little beauty. A perfectly constructed three-minute scene. You’re in, you’re out. It’s really the definition of a good cameo.
For a moment I wondered if I would experience the unease that comes with meeting someone whose work you’ve long admired. As an actor, if you hang around Hollywood long enough, and if you are lucky, you may get a chance to meet some of your idols. Sometimes it’s disappointing; sometimes it’s exactly what you hope it will be.
Billy was every bit as funny and charming as I had imagined. He is an extremely down-to-earth person, yet seemingly incapable of not cracking jokes and generally just trying to make people smile. Some stand-up comics and some comic actors (Billy is both) are totally different people off-stage than they are onstage. Billy is the same person regardless of his surroundings. He’s genuinely funny and genuinely nice all of the time.
As I entered the makeup department I found him sitting in a chair, patiently allowing his longtime makeup artist, Peter Montagna, to go about the painstaking task of transforming the thirty-nine-year-old actor into an ancient and cranky, troll-like wizard. We made small talk for a few minutes, with Billy grilling me about how the movie was going and saying how excited he was to be a part of it. Fascinated with his transformation, I asked him how he came up with the look for Max and I remember him telling me he wanted him to be a cross between Casey Stengel and his grandmother.
Then, as Peter began applying the last pieces of wrinkled latex to his face, Billy began reciting lines of dialogue from the script, searching for Max’s character as he stared in the mirror. He even began improvising all these crazy impersonations of everyone who would end up influencing the role. It was absolutely hilarious. I felt like I was being treated to a private screening of a one-man show.
I realized at that moment that The Princess Bride was not only going to be a good movie, it had a shot at being a commercially successful one as well. I had initially thought it was such an unusual movie that it was impossible to gauge whether we had hit the mark, let alone whether there was an audience eager to see it. Billy changed all of that—or, at least, changed the way I felt about it.
BILLY CRYSTAL
I brought these two pictures to Peter Montagna, who was my makeup artist at SNL, and always did some of the great things that we did there, and continues to work with me. And I had the two pictures of Stengel and my grandmother. And we sort of just blended them together into the right look. I even brought in an uncle of mine who had a similar bone structure. He had long white hair, down to his shoulders, and Peter studied his face while he was making my cast. And I actually did a cast of my uncle’s face at the same time. But there was all kinds of stuff that went into making Max look the way he did. Little things.
He knew exactly what he was going to do with his character. Clearly, Mel Brooks was an inspiration. In fact, in the screenplay, his character is introduced as follows:
From inside the hovel a little man’s voice is heard. If Mel Brooks’s 2000-Year-Old Man was really old, he’d resemble this guy.
CHRISTOPHER GUEST
You had these two people, Billy and Carol, made up to look like they were two thousand years old, and there was definitely some giggling going on. I mean, that scene almost is a separate part of the movie. It has its own style, which works within itself because it really is self-contained.
But Billy also wanted Max to be unique in his own right. I had heard there were issues with an earlier makeup test. That the prosthetics looked too comical, almost distracting. So he and Peter worked together for a while in LA before finally agreeing on the look. I watched as Peter applied each new set of prosthetics, occasionally taking a step back to let Billy assess the progress and practice some lines. He’d scrunch up his face, clear an imaginary wad of phlegm from his throat, and shout at his image in the mirror.
“What!? What!? What?!”
I’ll never know whether he was willing the character to life or perhaps just doing his grandmother. Maybe it was a little of both. Either way it was funny.
By the time Peter finally applied the last pieces of Billy’s makeup, the wig and contact lenses, Billy had actually become Miracle Max. He was this other guy, this crotchety old man. Completely transformed. Hilarious. And once he was on the set in full makeup, he stayed in character.
I was also introduced to Carol Kane on that day. I was a huge fan of her work. Besides her performance in Dog Day Afternoon, I had also been in awe of her portrayal of Andy Kaufman’s wife, Simka Dahblitz-Gravas, in Taxi and her roles in Carnal Knowledge, Annie Hall, and The Last Detail. Here was an actress whose incredible body of work spanned more than a decade coming in to do a cameo in our movie. And while Billy’s is the flashier role and the performance people seem to recall most vividly, Carol’s work was also outstanding, and her transformation even more intense.
BILLY CRYSTAL
I actually said to Rob, “Why don’t you just cast Mel?” And he said, “Because I want you!” It was that simple, and I think in retrospect it was, for me, the right choice. But for the movie it probably was also. Because if you cast Mel, then suddenly it’s, “Oops, there’s Mel Brooks!” That would be a little too obvious and on the nose. I was not on the nose. I really was Max.
Today you can look at Miracle Max and you can see and hear Billy’s voice. But Carol is virtually unrecognizable as Max’s shrieking wife, Valerie. She is described in the script as “an ancient fury.” And she was indeed ferocious in the role. But ancient? Hardly. People don’t realize that she was only thirty-four at the time.
With each introduction of a new cast member, I felt more and more like a kid at theater camp who has been suddenly plucked from the ranks o
f the ordinary and tossed onto a Broadway stage.
With Billy and Carol, the effect was intensified by two factors: the sheer amount of makeup and prosthetics, and the fact that they arrived so deep into the production and stayed for such a short amount of time. To be honest, I rarely saw either one of them when they weren’t disguised as Miracle Max and Valerie. And it could not have been comfortable, slogging around for twelve, fourteen hours in thick makeup, wearing heavy burlap costumes, and toiling under hot lights. Norman Garwood had designed a magnificent little cabin in a fake forest to serve as their home. It looked perfect, but, man, was it hot in there once all the lights were switched on.
CAROL KANE
What I remember first off about Cary is that certain kind of nobility that he has. And that mixed in with an extremely impish sense of humor. Which is a very rare sort of combo. Because sometimes when a young man or young woman is that extraordinarily beautiful, they don’t rely much on their sense of humor, but I think that when you crack the nut open, that’s the delicious part inside of Cary.
Not that Billy or Carol seemed even slightly distracted by any of that. Both of them brought their “A-game,” so to speak, and in so doing created not only one of the most recognizable scenes in the movie but some of the most memorable days of filming.
All I recall from those three days of shooting at Miracle Max’s cabin is that they were days filled with insane laughter. Rob said he wanted the scene to be outrageous, so he basically gave Billy free license to run with the character. Not that Billy needed much prodding. From the first shot in which cantankerous Max appears, poking his head through a wooden peephole in the door (very much like the doorman who greets Dorothy when she and her friends reach Oz), he began ad-libbing.
