by Margaret Hinxman
ON the first day of location work for “Ill Met By Moonlight,” the continuity girl, Gladys Goldsmtth, sat in a cafe listening in frozen horror to a stream of colourful language that would have shaken a well-trained seagoing parrot.
The language was bad enough, but the fact that it was coming from the star of the film, Dirk Bogarde, was even worse. Bogarde turned, caught a glimpse of the girl’s expression and grinned.
“Well, you’d better get used to it,” he said, “because you’ll hear a lot of language like this before the location is finished.”
She gulped, turned on a watery smile and secretly wondered why everyone in Pinewood was always going around saying how much they enjoyed working on a picture with Bogarde.
By the last day of shooting, Gladys counted herself a devoted member of the “Love Bogarde” league. That, in a nutshell, is Bogarde, the man.
He can on occasion be unexpectedly earthy, yet he commands respect. He is a fundamentally friendly person, yet no one would take advantage of it. He is tolerant and understanding, yet there are certain strict principles he has created for himself and unostentatiously abides by.
EVERYWHERE in British film business you’ll hear that a Bogarde film is usually a happy film. Now why is this?
It isn’t just a casual kind of do-goodism that makes Bogarde a favourite. It’s a certain knowledge that what is good for his colleagues is usually good for himself, too.
Says his long-time friend in the Rank Organization, Olive Dodds: “I think he works at creating a happy atmosphere on-set. It’s all wrapped up with his feeling about his work. He knows that an unhappy set doesn’t make for a good film.”
TOWARD young artists on set, if he thinks they’re worth taking trouble with, because they have the same almost passionate devotion to the business of acting as himself, he’ll be extraordinarily helpful.
But the unprofessionals of the business, the small stars with the big-star complex, the starlets who hold up shooting half a day because they think their make-up is unbecoming – these he bitterly condemns.
David Oxley, who plays his first leading film role in Ill Met By Moonlight, remembers his own first day of shooting. He was paralysed with worry. Before the camera started to turn, Dirk noticed his taut, nervous expression.
“You should feel my heart,” said Dirk. It was pounding away like an electric drill.
“I immediately felt more relaxed after that,” said Oxley. “He was just as scared as I was.”
“I learnt so much about film acting from him in that one picture,” admits Oxley.
ACCORDING to the staff at Pinewood. Bogarde has changed little in his ten years at the studio.
“He’s more assured, more confident, of course,” says Biddy Chrystal, the chief hairdresser at Pinewood. “But he’s still tactful, kind, generous.
He’s never flamboyant about his generosity. He’s always doing things for people, but not many ever get to hear about it. And he’s a real artist.” Few people are in a better position to spot the pseudo artist.
Yet the extraordinary thing about Bogarde is that, despite his genuine friendliness with his colleagues, “you know he’s the star, but no one resents it,” says Biddy.
ON location, the Bogarde Bentley is always on hand. While he’s studying his script, Dirk tucks himself away in the back seat. No one would think of interrupting him, uninvited.
Once he’s got his script problems sorted out, Bogarde mucks in with the unit, becomes one of the crowd.
This mixture of quiet aloofness and amiability is all part of the Bogarde paradox. In a country where stars are expected to be relentlessly democratic until they get a title, Dirk lives almost aristocratically – and gets away with it.
A friend explains: “There is an elegance of taste in everything he does.” About any other star that would seem a curiously florid remark to make. About Bogarde, it sounds oddly right.
His hatred of London night life, for instance, is well known. “Why should I go to the Caprice (London’s favourite eating place for top show business personalities)? The Caprice comes to me,” he has said.
And he’s speaking no more than the truth. At his home in Amersham he entertains extensively, makes a point of inviting homesick American stars down.
A CONTINENTAL couple housekeeps for him. The food is perfect. The drinks lavish. “Help yourself,” he’ll urge his guests, “but don’t get drunk.”
He dislikes seeing people getting high. If he sees a friend taking too much to drink, he’s apt to materialize at his elbow and tactfully suggest that he has had enough.
His manager looks after all the petty business cares. Dirk dislikes discussing money, counts himself a novice at financial matters.
While he’s working on a film he sticks to a rigid formula of living. For lunch, he’ll sit at a side table – he dislikes sitting in the middle – and choose something grilled. Maybe he’ll drink a couple of beers. There’s nothing prudish about his moderation. Too much eating and drinking puts on weight – an actor has to watch his weight.
Above all, Bogarde’s career as an actor is the important thing in his life.
Everything leads back to the career. And, if anyone can keep his balance on that tightrope, Bogarde is the actor to do it. In the process he’ll have the biggest cheering claque on the sidelines that any star in British films ever had.
Perhaps the best recommendation of all comes from the the continuity girls at Pinewood. If ever they get to make a film – admittedly a rather remote prospect – they’ll pick Bogarde for the star role. After all , as a friend says: “Dirk is Dirk.” And Dirk is unique!