by Brian Sibley
Philippa Boyens responds: ‘Well, he’s a funny mix, because if he’s nine going on 40, then he’s by far the wisest, toughest 9-year-old you’ve ever met; but then maybe – underneath it all – he was when he was 9 as well. So yes, there is a lot of the child in him and he has a direct line through to that and can tap right into it, but he is also an extraordinarily sophisticated film-maker who completely understands how to use that knowledge.’
‘He is a bit of kid,’ agrees New Line’s Bob Shaye, ‘and he certainly has the fantastic imagination of a kid; but, in the same heartbeat, he has unbelievable endurance and incredible resolve, two very important things. You need creativity, vision and a bunch of other stuff, all of which he has. But he’s also an amazingly dedicated, hardworking and “I’m-never-going-to-give-up kind of guy” and without any of the calculated and diabolical traits so often found in Hollywood.’
Long-time associate, Marty Walsh, puts it very simply: ‘Wonderful boyish qualities, but a man of steel. Try and bully Peter and you cannot win. You cannot menace him. That is not a childlike response…’
From the beginning Peter had to fight in order to achieve what he not only wanted to do but what he knew that he could do. He had to fight to convince the New Zealand Film Commission that backing an amateur movie, made by a local photoengraver and a bunch of mates on weekends, was worth backing; he had to fight to convince international financiers and distributors that he could do films of increasing technical sophistication and, once he had become successful – and was safely categorised by genre – he had to fight to do something different.
He had to fight to convince Hollywood that he could make one of the biggest film ventures ever, based on a quintessentially English book that, for the most part, Hollywood didn’t understand, and to embark on that venture in a country most people in Hollywood knew little about and to which they had never been. And even when he had found the partners who were willing to invest belief in that venture, trust him and give it their backing, he still had to fight to prove that he and his associates could achieve all, and more, than could have been achieved in the capital city of moviedom.
Ken Kamins says: ‘I don’t believe that Peter would be the artist that he is in Beverly Hills: his artistry is defined by his ability to function with a freedom of being outside of the system. If you’re in the system, then you’re living in the rhythms and the mores of how the town does business and here he is much more able to define his creative life, in part, by being physically 7,500 miles away!’
The film industry, when it suits it, is charmed and delighted in acknowledging the achievements of a man who is ‘outside’ the system – he has, after all, done more for the industry than many people who are resolutely in the system. But it still often demonstrates a quizzical, doubtful view about what can be achieved in New Zealand and, when Peter has fought their corner, the Hollywoodites have cried, ‘Xenophobia!’ with the arrogance of what is arguably one of the most xenophobic countries on the planet!
I’ve got myself involved with creating companies over the years, in order to do precisely the kind of work that we knew we needed for the kind of movies we wanted to make. We created a digital effects company and it’s obvious that we’d want that company to do the effects on our films, because there are so many advantages. We bought the Film Unit in order to develop into a world-class sound mixing facility and it’s obvious that I’d want them to work on my pictures.
There have been times when I’ve felt the suspicions of studios, as if the desire to use my own companies is designed to collect incredible profits (which never actually happens); and, at the same time, there has been a paranoia that what we would produce would probably be substandard, as if to say, ‘How could a company in New Zealand be any good compared to a company somewhere else?’
The visitor to New Zealand can buy in any good souvenir shop ‘The Kiwi Upside Down World Map’, with New Zealand in the middle at the top instead of its conventional location in the bottom righthand corner. It gives a different, enlightening perspective on the world by literarily turning perceptions – and preconceptions – upside down; showing that there is no true ‘down under’ because when you are down under, it is then the rest of the world that is down under you…Peter Jackson has done something similar within the movie industry. He has turned the map upside down, shown that Europe doesn’t have the prerogative on films of high artistic endeavour and that the blockbuster does not have to emanate only from the studios of North America.
‘Peter is becoming a code for a certain level of quality in film-making,’ says Ken Kamins. ‘He has true pride of authorship over everything from idea to realisation. An expression which he often uses in interviews is, “We have movies down here hand-made – we don’t buy things off the rack.” I think that’s what appeals to audiences and business associates; it’s what people are buying into with him and with Fran and with everything they’ve created and built.’
‘In the past’, says Fran, ‘we’ve always felt we’ve had to prove ourselves in terms of our ability to deliver; that attitude is disappearing now partly, as Pete says, because we’ve won a few Oscars and things!’
Those Oscars and many other awards join what is an extraordinary collection of things – books, toys, games, puppets, movie memorabilia and military collectibles with which Peter surrounds himself. Like all collectors, these things are precious not necessarily because of their financial value but because they represent memories, moments from childhood, inspirations, enthusiasms and excitements. To others, however, they are just Stuff!
‘He’s the messiest person I’ve every met!’ declares Philippa Boyens. ‘Have you seen his workspace? I do not know how he can work. It’s hysterical! He’s got everything from model soldiers to budgets for multi-million dollar films, lying side by side. Nothing can ever be thrown away and all this stuff is strewn about everywhere, but what is so infuriating is that he always knows precisely where everything is! Why does he need all that stuff? He doesn’t throw stuff away, partly because he’s a mad collector, but he also has this sort of canny sense that this or that is going to mean something, have some value in the future. More than that, I think he needs those things because they are part of who and what he is…’
‘Peter is like a magpie,’ adds Costa Botes; ‘he hoards things, but, as much as anything else, he hoards memories.’
Philippa agrees: ‘He certainly values the past. I think he values every little bit of it and he takes the past with him, wherever he goes. It’s always with him: all those memories of what was obviously a wonderful, charmed childhood, and all his hobbies and passions and the way in which they inspired and shaped his life.’
Talking to me once about his early years, Peter spoke of the workshop, which he constructed with his father at the family home in Pukerua Bay: a basement room dug out under the house. This was where he made his models and built most of the props and effects for Bad Taste. ‘When I left home,’ he said, ‘I literally shut the door and it’s just sitting there, exactly as it was when I was a kid. My childhood is locked away in that basement…’
Like a lot of creative artists, treasuring the past is about respecting the foundations on which the present stands and the future is built.
I often think it’s been a very curious journey. When I think back, look back at photos, occasionally see the old films I’ve made on TV, I have flashbacks from the past. But it is strange because when it is you, you don’t really feel different.
On one level, I think I’m exactly the same person who made those little Super 8 movies as a youngster but at the same time I’ve learnt a huge amount and gained a vast amount of experience in all manner of things: cameras, lenses, actors, studios, budgets, Hollywood politics, every conceivable part of film-making.
I’m still the same guy, but I’m in a different world with all this stuff I’ve picked up along the way. Some people might say that all the experiences of life change you but I don’t feel that. I’m more worldly wise and u
nderstand more, but my heart hasn’t changed – I’m the same person, but I’ve learnt a lot.
‘I’m constantly amazed at how little his process has changed,’ says Costa Botes. ‘Knowing him for a period of time and having seen him work on various films, I don’t see a lot that’s different other than that now he has the means at his disposal to do what he wished he could have always done: he can now do numerous takes and employ expensive technologies. Of course, he’s always been aware of those technologies; it was just that, in the past, he wasn’t able to use them, he simply used what came to hand – he improvised and adapted, made things work for him.’
Richard Taylor reflects: ‘When we met him, he was actively making things for himself; making the world around him. He’d chosen that he was going to be successful and so he was generating that opportunity for himself. He wasn’t waiting for others to give it to him.’ And, observes Ray Battersby, one of Peter’s former colleagues on the Dominion Post, ‘Peter forged his own luck. Things came to him or he made them come to him. And then, equally importantly, he secured them; grabbing what was passing by and locking it down.’
‘Pete’s blessing,’ says Costa, ‘is that he has the kind of talent that has this straight line to an idea, which he can bring out as cleanly as possible and develop it with as determined and dogged a vision as possible. Then, because the ideas are good, they generate their own luck and create their own kind of good circumstances.’
The strength of those ideas is that they represent the quintessence of story. Philippa Boyens says, ‘Peter doesn’t have any pretensions to doing anything other than telling a story really well. Although he could mix it with the best if you wanted to start deconstructing theories on film-making, that’s not his approach: he just wants to tell a story.’
And, in the process of telling those stories, he relies on using the collaborative nature of the film-maker’s craft to its fullest potential, as Costa explains: ‘He may have had an idea in his head for years; he’s imagined it as best he can and then somebody else comes along who is really good at what they do – it might be an actor or a lead animator – and that person takes what he’s got and makes it better. That’s what turns him on! Pete never imposes the selfish limits a lot of directors enforce: “I’ve imagined it, I’ve drawn it up on my storyboard and there’s no room for you to come in and change it, because I want it exactly how I want it!” He’s not like that. He does what truly great directors do: no matter how well he has it worked out he always leaves room for other people to bring their imagination into the process.’
Nevertheless, throughout Peter’s career there have been those who have underestimated Peter Jackson. Peter’s response has always been to vindicate himself, to make the doubters reevaluate his talents and abilities. Even now, after all his achievements and successes, there is still a danger of underestimating him, of supposing that it is possible to second-guess what he will do next or how he will do it.
Talk to him tomorrow and who know what will be exciting him; but talk to him today and he’s already thinking not just in terms of new projects but of new directions.
There are films, of course, but I also want to be able to explore new directions. I’ve all sorts of ideas: I’ve ideas for a TV mini-series and I’ve ideas for video games.
I am getting increasingly interested in games, and the potential of what games could be…Part of this interest comes from having a son with whom I play video games in a way that I never used to a few years ago. Also, with a new generation of powerful gaming platforms – PlayStation 3 and Xbox 2 – the technology employed in video games is expanding and I am intrigued by the way in which films are almost merging with games. I’m interested in exploring the development of a new entertainment form that is a fusion of films and games in a way that neither of them are at the moment.
I’m talking about something that is not a traditional computer game such as you can buy now, and is not a conventional film either, but is a move towards a truly interactive film, one which has all the emotional impact that a good film should have and all the characterisations and the plot twists, turns and surprises, and yet is one in which you are a participant and a character within the body of the film; an experience in which, in some way, you can control that character’s destiny.
I really believe that such a form of entertainment is on the horizon and it could be something that will be a fun and interesting extension of what we currently think of as films.
Just as Spielberg, Lucas, Zemeckis and others have done, Peter – by virtue of his success and reputation – may well want to find opportunities to take on the enabling, guiding role of a producer. ‘I can see Pete moving more and more into a position where he can be nurturing and shepherding along aspiring film-makers,’ says Costa Botes, ‘because he will be excited about and will want to see the kinds of movies that the next generation of film-makers are going to make.’
If he does, he will have plenty of advice – inspiring and sanguinary – to pass on.
Carl Denham, the maverick whose wild vision for bringing the marvellous and mysterious to the movie screen sends him to Skull Island, has a telling line in the script of the Jackson version of King Kong. ‘Here’s the thing you need to decide,’ he says, ‘are you afraid or are you a film-maker…’
Certainly, you can’t allow yourself to be crippled by fear. You’ve just got to go for it. I mean, you’ve got to be afraid, because I think that fear is ultimately not a bad motivator. I think making decisions and being driven by fear is actually a healthy thing: the fear of failure, the fear of disappointment, the fear that you’re going to make a film that no one wants to see.
I wouldn’t necessarily put it quite like Denham, but what you must never do is to allow yourself to be paralysed by fear. You have to harness it and use it in order to get the best results that you can. Fear – or a little fear! – is ultimately a good thing; there’s nothing wrong with it at all.
I still have fears. Absolutely. I’m completely terrified of making a bad film. That doesn’t change at all. We all know, from seeing other people’s films, that feeling of having looked forward to a movie and coming away disappointed because the picture didn’t deliver, or wasn’t as good as you thought it would be. I don’t want people to have expectations when they go the cinema that, somehow, I don’t manage to fulfil or, at least, come close to fulfilling.
I never want that to happen, and thinking that it might happen is the fear that keeps me striving for the best.
Assessing the man who gave New Line Cinema a trilogy of movie hits, Bob Shaye says of Peter: ‘He has a very specific vision for his life and career that isn’t typical in this industry. He’s looked into the future and wondered what would happen “If…” He’s now living that “If…” and it works really well for him.’
To some degree, I feel that everything I ever dreamed of achieving when I was young, I have now achieved.
And so, rather than that being a disappointment or a negative thing, it is actually a huge relief. I’ve got to where I am now, and I’ve won an Oscar and had films that have done really good box-office business and I’ve achieved a personal ambition, which was to remake King Kong, something I’ve wanted to do ever since I was 9 years old.
It feels like a great weight off my shoulders. I have absolutely no interest in trying to beat myself, in the sense of having to try to make every film bigger and better than The Lord of the Rings, because it probably never will be in terms of its accolades and financial rewards. I’ve done that. And I don’t have to strive to win an Oscar any more. I’ve done that, too.
I don’t have any interest in doing that or in striving to do anything other than make entertaining films about things that interest me and appeal to me; good movies that don’t disappoint moviegoers. That will always be hard, because with any film you make, it is going to be a challenge, but it’s what I will go on trying to do.
I have no wish or interest in being in competition with Peter Jackson for the second
half of my life.
A final memory from the day that was the last ‘official’ wrap on The Lord of the Rings:
‘Okay, let’s go…’
For maybe the sixth or seventh time, the hideous Gothmog towers over the prone Madril. John Bach, waiting for the coup de grace, looks up at Lawrence Makoare – or what little of Lawrence is visible beneath the mountainous prosthetics.
‘It’s tough work,’ says Peter. ‘Some actors would drown under all that make-up. You really have to pump it out – and yet not overdo it! It’s all in the eyes.’
Peter gives a note to Robert Pollock, the hook-nosed Orc. ‘You look up to Gothmog; he’s your leader; you admire and respect him…When he says, “the time of the Orc has come,” try looking around at the scene: remember – this is a proud day for Orcland! Okay, then…Last one for luck…’
And it’s a wrap.
It’s another Jackson milestone marked by a few emotional ad hoc speeches. Sound recordist, Hammond Peek, thanks Peter on behalf of the crew for his generosity, his ability to draw out the best from people and, ‘For bringing Hollywood to New Zealand – but strictly on your own terms!’
Peter responds: ‘Unlike the actors who I will very possibly never see again, this is not really goodbye: because I hope we’ll be working together again and we’ve still got some shots to get done next week! Meanwhile, a huge “Thank you.” I needed people who’d never worked on a film as vast as this…You’ve all risen to the challenge. You can all feel incredibly proud of yourselves! Well done! I couldn’t have done this alone…’
There’s a pause, and then he adds, ‘I just want to do it again!’
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