As You Wish: Inconceivable Tales from the Making of The Princess Bride

by Cary Elwes

  It was to be shot against a black backdrop (there were no green screens in those days) and I was provided with a special Lipizzaner stallion in order to do a specific stunt. Lipizzaners are famous for doing special tricks and maneuvers, and I was supposed to get the horse to rear up on its hind legs in a heroic fashion by giving it a certain cue using the heels of my boots. I had practiced for weeks with this horse between sword-training until I got it right, and thankfully the beautiful creature did not let us down when the cameras began rolling. The horse wrangler had also provided this huge Clydesdale horse, the kind you see on Budweiser ads, for André, as that was the biggest they could find. And they had to build some steps for him to use to climb onto the animal. But this Clydesdale, as big as it was, took one look at André and refused to let him sit on his back. So the stunt team, who had prepared for this eventuality, had a standby harness built to André’s specifications brought out, realizing that the only way to get him on this horse was to lower him gently in place while wired to a huge pulley, allowing him to appear to be on the horse without any weight actually touching it.

  In the end Rob felt that the idea was too confusing for audiences. That the two worlds should not meet. And it turned out to be the better choice.

  ROB REINER

  So we’ve got to do this scene where we had to have them on the four horses, and they were going to be suspended, so we shot it against black. It was going to be a visual effect. Well, André weighed like 500 pounds, so he couldn’t just sit on any horse. We had to rig a system where we would lower him down with pulleys and we’d paint the cables out so he would just be resting on the horse. So we get to the end of the day and it’s about eight o’clock at night, and I’m walking to the soundstage where we’re going to shoot this. And they open the doors, and I see a 500-pound giant being lowered from the ceiling and he’s going, “Hello, boss!” And I’m thinking, What do I do for a living here? What is this job that I have? It was pretty crazy.

  After we finished that shot, it was time for Robin and I to shoot my last scene. Since Mandy and André had to go shoot other scenes with the second unit involving the tavern, I said my good-byes to them after we finished, hugging them both. I believe I became a little misty-eyed when I tried to wrap my arms around André. I couldn’t believe that our journey was coming to an end.

  Robin and I were then led over to another part of the soundstage where we were to sit on our horses against a beautiful sunset backdrop and perform the magical kiss. This would be my actual last scene in the film and it couldn’t have been a more appropriate way to end the movie for me. Once again a crowd had gathered to witness the moment. Watching and smiling, maybe dabbing away a tear or two. This last embrace shared by Buttercup and Westley is described thusly by the Grandfather in his narration:

  Since the invention of the kiss . . . there have been five kisses that have been rated the most passionate, the most pure. This one left them all behind.

  We certainly did our best, Robin and I, to live up to that lofty standard. And, even though Rob would often shoot multiple takes on any given scene until he felt comfortable that he got exactly what he wanted, when it came to this particular kissing scene, Robin and I kept asking for more takes. I think we were actually so giddy we were giggling like a couple of schoolkids.

  After the first take, Rob called out, “Cut and print!”

  “Ummm, I’m sorry, I didn’t quite feel right about that one, Rob. Can we try again?” I asked sheepishly, stifling a laugh.

  Rob just smiled and said, “Sure, Cary. Why not?”

  After the second take, again Rob said, “Print that!”

  Then Robin asked for another.

  “Yeah! We need to go again, Rob, please.”

  Then I asked for another.

  So it went, three more takes, all of which concluded with the same directive from Rob: “Cut and print!”

  We ended up shooting six takes of that kiss. After printing them all, Rob finally turned to Ceri, our script supervisor, and said after the last one, “That’s a beauty! Print that, too.” He then walked up to us on our horses and said:

  “Uh, guys? I think we got it!”

  Giggles aside, and I can’t speak for Robin, but I could have gone on shooting that scene all day, as I don’t think I wanted the movie to end. It was also a very tender way to end the movie. Sealing it with a kiss, so to speak.

  There was a brief silence followed by an overwhelming applause as Rob announced, “Ladies and gentlemen . . . That’s a wrap on Cary Elwes!”

  I remember being very moved by this moment and trying hard to control my emotions as I gave a small speech thanking everyone on the crew and my fellow cast members. I turned to Robin and told her that no one could have personified the inner and outer beauty of Buttercup more wonderfully than she had. And finally, with a frog of unusual size in my throat, I turned to Rob and thanked him for being so incredibly amazing to work with and for making the experience such a joyful one not just for me but for everyone involved, which was followed by the longest bear hug I ever received from him. I ended by saying what was on my mind and perhaps the minds of many, that I wish we could go on shooting the film forever but that, sadly, all good things eventually have to come to an end.

  ROBIN WRIGHT

  It was so beautiful, the true love for Westley . . . Cary was so perfect in that role. He was so dashing and funny and good-looking. And we will always have a special relationship because of this film.

  After I was done there were lots of hugs and tears as I said my good-byes to everyone present. Robin came over and hugged me one last time. Of all the people on the film, I think I had bonded with her the most, as nearly all of our scenes in the movie had been just the two of us. I will always love her, and we will always remain close, because what we shared was a unique bond: for that brief, shining moment in time, we were Westley and Buttercup. A fairy-tale love that will forever be immortalized on the screen.

  After the movie ended, everyone went their separate ways. I don’t even recall if there was a wrap party. I’m sure there was, but I was spending a lot of time with my family, given the loss of my grandfather, and so might have missed it. Or I might simply have been too distracted by grief to go.

  I didn’t know how the movie would turn out. I didn’t even know when or where I’d ever see any of these wonderful people again. I felt good about the film and the work we had done. There is no doubt that we all had boundless faith in Rob’s ability to create something special. But we didn’t really know how it would be received. As an actor, you never know. You finish one job and, if you are as fortunate as I have been in my career, you are on to the next. Maybe The Princess Bride would come and go. Maybe it would be just another line on the résumé. Of course, we were all praying it wouldn’t be.

  MANDY PATINKIN

  The whole experience was so intense—the ten hours a day of filming, and working with gifted people. And Rob’s gentility and his generosity as a director. And his love of actors. And all of us kids, like Cary and Robin and me, being in this joyous, gifted piece by Bill Goldman. Now we were moving on, and who knew what it would be? Whether anyone would see it or not?

  CHRIS GUEST

  The thing about movies is no one ever knows if they’ve done something special. I think what you do know is you’ve had a fantastic time. From Rob’s standpoint, there was no way he was going to know before cutting it together what the film really was. You know you have great stuff but you don’t really know. People have asked me about Spinal Tap: “Did you know?” It would be preposterous and arrogant to say we knew this was going to be something. It was just having fun with your friends. You’re laughing, you’re doing a thing, and that’s basically it. And then you go on to some other thing.

  ROBIN WRIGHT

  While making a movie, I never imagine or project, assume or presume, whether the movie is going to work, or whether the demographic will respond to it. I just know that I loved going in and making what we were making
together on The Princess Bride. In your mind’s eye, you see the pieces fit together into a story of cohesion, and you’re like, this is great. But you never know. I just know that we couldn’t have laughed any harder on that film. Every day.

  Only time would tell.

  13

  A FAIRY-TALE ENDING

  The Princess Bride had been originally scheduled for a big summer release. The film’s distributor, 20th Century Fox, was enthusiastic about the movie’s chances and slated it to open on July 31, 1987. But since Rob was still editing at that time, the date was postponed. I do recall a few months later being invited to view a rough cut of the film on the Fox lot with my then agent, Ed Limato (who has, sadly, since passed away). I remember being particularly nervous at the time, as some of the giants in the comedy world—Mel Brooks, Gene Wilder, Gilda Radner, and Carl Reiner—were going to be in attendance along with the rest of Rob’s family and close friends.

  It’s a strange thing, seeing a film again after such a length of time has passed, in part because you’ve moved on to other projects, but also it seems like eons ago when you made it. It’s almost like a dream that has begun to fade slowly from one’s memory. However, watching the film even in its rough form, with all the temp music and cue lines running through the picture, I thought it was a joyous, heartwarming, funny, sweet, and sincerely memorable movie. But perhaps I was just biased. I do know that the audience appeared to love it, too. But maybe, being Rob’s friends and family, they were biased as well. After the screening, I remember feeling overwhelmed as I received perhaps some of the greatest and most treasured compliments of my career when Mel, Gene, Gilda, and Carl each took turns congratulating me on my performance.

  When The Hollywood Reporter suggested in an article on September 15 that the movie would be “a challenge for the marketing department,” the studio decided to push the release date even further back, opening with a limited run (meaning fewer theaters) in New York and Los Angeles on September 25, to see how it fared before going wide (meaning more theaters) a few weeks later.

  The first time I saw the final version was at what was then known as Toronto’s Festival of Festivals (now the Toronto International Film Festival) on September 18, a week before the official release date in the States.

  Even after all this time we still didn’t know what to expect. As Bill Goldman says about our industry in his fascinating book Adventures in the Screen Trade, “Nobody knows anything!” For if they did, he correctly reasons, everybody would be making hit movies all the time. Nobody sets out to make a bad movie. You work hard, put your faith in the material and the director, and then . . . well, you hope for the best. Truthfully, there is so much that can go wrong that it’s advisable not to dwell on it, which is also Goldman’s advice. If it had been up to the audience at the festival, we would’ve been a smash hit. They loved it. They laughed in all the right places and appeared to be moved in all the right places as well.

  After the credits rolled and the lights came up, the audience stood and cheered. It was truly overwhelming. I remember looking over at Rob. He was beaming. The audience really took the film to heart and voted it as the winner of the People’s Choice Award at the festival. It seemed like the movie had a real shot.

  Then came the heartache.

  As we were flying back to LA, Rob unfurled a copy of what the studio had chosen for the movie poster to show us, and we were all pretty shocked.

  Apparently The Hollywood Reporter had been correct in their assumption. The studio’s marketing department had been at a complete loss as to how they should sell the film. The poster had no image of the title character, Buttercup. No Westley. No Miracle Max. No Inigo. No Fezzik. No swordfight. Not even an R.O.U.S. in sight! Instead they opted for a one-sheet depicting a silhouette of Fred Savage and Peter Falk sitting together against a Maxfield Parrish–type background. Very sweet, but it seemed to be an odd, static choice for a movie that promised so much more. Clearly they were scrambling at the time, trying to figure out what type of movie to promote. And for some reason they decided to push the story of the Grandfather and the Grandson—in essence, a kid’s movie. Granted, that relationship was an integral part of the story, but we all felt, including Rob, that perhaps it wasn’t the best angle to promote the movie. And we were right, as it obviously left audiences confused and some potential filmgoers deterred.

  CHRIS SARANDON

  The movie poster didn’t really tell you anything about the movie. The subsequent posters did feature characters from the movie, and gave you a real sense of what the movie was about. But originally it was like, What do we got here, folks? We don’t know, so let’s just throw it out there and see what happens. I was very disappointed when the movie was first released because I just thought, This is really a very special piece of work, and it’s not going to be the sort of thing that everybody gets; it may take some time. And that has proven to be the case.

  To give you a sense of how clueless even the foreign marketing folks were, I remember someone showing me an Italian one-sheet that, granted, had an R.O.U.S. and Buttercup, but it also bizarrely featured a hawk and had Inigo as an Arnold Schwarzenegger lookalike from Conan the Barbarian holding his giant Barbarian sword up to his face in that iconic pose. I guess the theory was that if Arnold could sell tickets, why not give it a shot. Compounding this was the fact that, domestically, Fox had opted out of publicizing the movie at all in the media. We had no paid ads on TV or even a trailer in the theater. Indeed, the first and only trailer was considered so confusing, it was subsequently pulled from the cinemas by the studio. It all seemed like a recipe for disaster. And yet . . . despite all this the reviews, upon opening, were generally positive. A sampling:

  The Philadelphia Inquirer: “Given that Reiner’s first feature was the riotously parodic This Is Spinal Tap, there is a built-in expectation here that he satirize swashbuckler derring-do. But what’s captivating about Bride is the sincerity with which Reiner tells his story, which is sweet like cider and (fortunately) not like honey.”

  The New York Times: “The Princess Bride has sweetness and sincerity on its side, and when it comes to fairy tales, those are major assets. It also has a delightful cast and a cheery, earnest style that turns out to be even more disarming as the film moves along. Even the little boy, who’s a tough customer, is eventually won over.”

  Chicago Sun-Times (Roger Ebert): “The Princess Bride reveals itself as a sly parody of sword and sorcery movies, a film that somehow manages to exist on two levels at once. While younger viewers will sit spellbound at the thrilling events on the screen, adults, I think, will be laughing a lot.”

  Some critics, though, were reluctant to give the film anything more than a backhanded compliment, with the attitude, “Hey, it’s a cute movie, and if you need something to do in the afternoon, go ahead and take your kids.”

  Others were simply put off by the apparent meshing of genres.

  One critic, for example, had this to say: “This is a post-modern fairy tale that challenges and affirms the conventions of a genre that may not be flexible enough to support such horseplay.”

  Hmm. Really? I think Mr. Goldman put it best when he wrote, “Cynics are simply thwarted romantics.”

  Two weeks after the Toronto festival, and after the initial wave of mostly positive reviews, we all gathered once again for a screening at the New York Film Festival at the Ziegfeld Theater on 54th Street. Rob went onstage and introduced the film, then invited us all afterward to join him up there so he could introduce us. Later that night, we all gathered for dinner, where Rob got up and gave a speech:

  “I just want you all to know that whatever happens with this movie, I am very proud of the work we did. But more importantly of all the hard work you did to help make this one of the most memorable experiences of my career. It’s a very special film. And one, I think, we can all be proud of.”

  Everyone applauded. There was a general feeling in the room of camaraderie where we felt that we had made something
special.

  Sadly, Rob’s comments about the success of the film turned out to be somewhat prophetic. The numbers were not what we had hoped for. Nor what the studio had hoped for, for that matter. After the opening weekend, we could already tell that the movie wasn’t going to be a huge box office draw, something that confounded us all. Looking back I only wish the Internet had existed in 1987. I suspect that social media would have raised awareness of the film’s unique quality and helped propel it to blockbuster status. Alas, movies in those days relied on traditional platforms for publicity and we didn’t even have that going for us.

  MANDY PATINKIN

  I saw a rough cut of the film very early on, before it was released. And I remember I was weeping when it was over. My wife was sitting next to me and she said, “What’s the matter?” And I looked at her and I said, “I never dreamed that I’d be in anything like this. I can’t believe this happened before I even had time to dream it.” And I couldn’t get over it. That was such a high. Then I remember feeling sad when it wasn’t received well. I heard that the studio didn’t know how to market it—as an adventure story or a children’s story . . . who knew? And so it just sort of came and went.

  FRED SAVAGE

  They didn’t know how to market it. Didn’t know what it was. Is it an adventure? Is it romantic? Is it funny? Is it moving? Is it thrilling? Is it a children’s story? Is it an adult’s story? And the answer is . . . yes! I think any audience can find something in the film that speaks to them, because it does have its toes in so many styles, genres, and tones. It means something to everyone, no matter what you want from the movie.

  ROB REINER

  Looking back, I was really stupid. I remember talking to Barry Diller, the head of Fox at the time, and I remembered that when The Wizard of Oz came out, it wasn’t well received. People didn’t understand it. They didn’t like it, even though it has since become this great, enduring classic over the years. And I said to Barry, “This is terrible. We’ve got a movie that everybody loves but we can’t get anybody to come. I don’t want this to become The Wizard of Oz!” And he said, “Rob, don’t let anybody ever hear you say that.” And he was right, you know? We should be so lucky to get The Wizard of Oz.