The Books: Spielberg, Truffaut & Me: An Actor’s Diary, by Bob Balaban

Next book on the Hollywood shelf:

Spielberg, Truffaut & Me: An Actor’s Diary, by Bob Balaban

This slim volume by actor Bob Balaban about his experience filming Close Encounters of the Third Kind (in which he spent most of his time with French director and film critic and all-around amazing dude Francois Truffaut) is a classic of its kind, and one of my favorite “making-of” books in existence because it’s from the actor’s point of view. Also, Bob Balaban is a great observer. He looks around at times and has multiple levels of awareness, so typical of the actor’s experience: he is concerned about getting his lines right and doing a good job, he has to speak French in the movie, so he has to keep that going, meanwhile he has to react to invisible UFOs and all kinds of special effects, and making a movie for an actor is, of course, blessed work – but it’s also mostly boring, with a lot of waiting around. People get slap-happy, punchy. This book really captures that. There were times reading it when tears of laughter streamed down my face.

Making movies is both a very serious business but also a very absurd business. You take everything desperately seriously – the way any person takes their job, however regular it may be. You don’t want to mess up. But sometimes you do. And how absurd it is to be so serious about something with little girls running around in alien-leotard-suits, and grown men and women acting awe-struck about things that are not there. It’s a glorious pursuit and I love this book because it really captures it.

Not only does Bob Balaban keep a diary of the events and the shooting of the film, but he keeps a running list of all of the funny things that happen, and funny things people say. The random events that occur during any creative pursuit that either lighten the mood, or make people realize: “Wow, I certainly am taking this seriously, but isn’t this all just RIDICULOUS?”

Balaban’s book is also a wonderful touching portrait of Truffaut, hired as an actor in the film. He is worried about his acting. He is worried about being understood in English. (One of the running jokes is that when Truffaut speaks in English, it still sounds like it’s French, so people respond to it like, “What did you just say?” “Uhm, I was speaking in English.”) For example, Truffaut has to say the line, “They belong here more than we.” Staring at the aliens (which are really a group of 10 year old girls in leotards.) He says the line, and someone remarks that it sounds like Truffaut said, “Zay bee-long ere Mozambique.” They even had T-shirts made up with that phrase on it. Hilarious.

Balaban observes Spielberg as a director (whispering in the ears of an actor before a big moment), and also experiences it first-hand. There are a couple of weeks on the Big Set (with the Mother Ship) where Balaban has no lines, just reaction shots. Balaban describes how those days blend together, and how at times he doesn’t even know what moment he is supposed to be playing. What am I looking at now? Am I afraid? Awe-struck? What the hell am I doing? Before they began the Big Set sequence, Spielberg took each actor aside and gave them their arc that they would be playing over the next couple of weeks. He spoke in blunt emotional language, the kind of language actors usually respond to: “First you are paranoid, then you start to soften up, then you become awe-struck, by the end you are shattered emotionally.” That’s an arc. Now playing that arc during a theatre production as opposed to a movie – where you have to stretch that arc over a 2 week period of shooting – is a very different thing. Plays happen in real time. You can FEEL the arc. It’s not as easy during a film, where you do things in tiny chunks, and spread it out over a vast amount of time. But Balaban said that often during those Big Set weeks he would remember Spielberg’s words to him about his arc, and it would keep him on track. “Okay, now I’m being paranoid. Okay, a day of Paranoia. Go.”

That’s smart direction. Balaban had a small part in the movie, but the cliche of there being “no small parts” is certainly true. Spielberg needed everyone on that Big Set to be on the same page, and creating the same thing, even though they were doing it in a vacuum where the special effects would be added later. So he took the time – briefly, he didn’t belabor it – to talk to each actor who would be involved in any shot where their face would be visible – and give them an arc to play – because he wouldn’t have time during the actual filming to coach them, or remind them. That’s smart and also generous. The reaction shots in that Big Set scene, then, are really what MAKE that scene. Yes, the special effects are amazing. But without the closeups of Truffuat, Balaban, all the others – looking at something that is not there, and having an emotional intense experience to it – the movie wouldn’t be what it was.

I love how Balaban includes things that maybe make him look a wee bit pathetic. Like getting jealous of anyone else who gets close to Truffaut. His inner monologue: “He’s MY special friend. Does Truffaut like him better than me??” So human. So understandable. Making a movie places you in a vacuum and the rest of the world falls away. The community of the Movie is your whole world. Balaban was devoted to Truffaut (in the film, and in real-life). Truffaut asked Balaban for some acting tips. He asked Balaban to read a script and give feedback. I love getting to know Truffaut a bit through Balaban’s eyes.

Lovely book.

Here’s an excerpt.

Excerpt from Spielberg, Truffaut & Me: An Actor’s Diary, by Bob Balaban

July 16

The days on the Big Set are becoming almost indistinguishable. We all refer to this sequence as the —- Sequence. (During the —- Sequence we look up at the sky and follow an imaginary UFO from right to left).

Today is different. As we are filming a shot in which Truffaut and I and the three hundred extras are running away from a small UFO, a semi-hurricane north wind comes up. A small pin-hole of light appears at the back of the tarp. As the wind gets stronger, the hole gets bigger and bigger. Then with a great tearing sound the tarp splits, and the wind flaps it around wildly, like a giant flag, until finally, the tarpaulin just rips off the hangar. The rear portion of the set is totally exposed. The sky looks like it’s cut in two – one side giant black thunderheads, and the other brilliant white clouds. Then the sky turns yellow and sheets of rain come pouring into the Big Set. People freeze for a moment, regarding the awesome spectacle, then spring into action, trying to salvage the tarp. Truffaut holds his fingers to his face to frame the scene, and watches motionless for several minutes as the crew tries to fasten down what’s left of the tarpaulin. Later he says he hopes Spielberg has kept the cameras rolling; visually, this is the most exciting thing he’s seen since we’ve started filming.

July 17

We have to stop filming on the Big Set for a few days until the tarp is repaired, so Richard and Teri film the scene in front of their house where Neary grabs the wire fencing from the duck pen and starts throwing things through his window to build the mock-up of Devil’s Tower.

It’s very hot and they’ve been working long hours and Richard has taken a giant load of dirt and mistakenly hurled it at Vilmos Zsigmond, the cinematographer, and the camera. No one can stop laughing for five minutes, and everybody’s talking about it tonight. “Did you hear? Richard threw the dirt at Vilmos! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!” The heat is finally getting to us.

Teri says she was walking in the woods around the house, between takes, and was chased out by the wildlife. She says the whole area is covered with frogs and armadillos.

There was trouble with the ducks today. When Richard removed their fence they were supposed to escape, but every time he pulled it up, they just sat there quietly. They wouldn’t scatter. Finally Spielberg did a take without sound, and got the ducks to move by yelling at them.

Miscellany

… It took Joe and his crew almost a week to build the mountain that Neary builds in his living room. It’s made of styrofoam, and covered with plaster, and there was a big controversy over how professional-looking to make it. Spielberg wanted to make sure that when you saw the Tower on TV, there was no question Richard’s model was the same thing. The model is an exact replica of the Tower, complete with little trees, and a notch at the top. It’s perfect, except for one thing – they built it too big to get it through the front door of the house. They have to cut the Tower in half, bring it into the house, and stick it back together again.

July 19

I almost overslept this morning. The driver had to ring my room and wake me up. I rushed like crazy, and we managed to get to the hangar at the usual 7 a.m. It was a madhouse. Spielberg has announced the Mothership is finally ready to land, and hundreds of extras, ETs, and mimes are milling around waiting to work.

When the giant ship lands, the ETs will make their long-awaited arrival. After the ETs arrive, we will film the “returnees” leaving the ship. World War II fighter pilots missing in action will return unharmed. A Judge Crater lookalike will return, as well as the entire crew of Flight 19 that disappeared in the Bermuda Triangle.

There’s a feeling of excitement in the air. Relatives of Steven’s and Richard’s have come to Mobile for the occasion, and they mill around watching the frenzied preparation. ETs have skid-proof pads attached to the bottoms of their leotards. The Amelia Earhart lookalike is sick, and a new lookalike is frantically getting pinned into her costume.

The ship took longer than expected to be completed and the picture is several million dollars over budget. Rumors of angry Columbia executives are mounting. The other day I saw a group of Iranian businessmen in the lobby of the hotel and somebody said they were here to be wooed as potential backers of the film.

Spielberg has been making changes in the ET heads up to the very last minute. Yesterday, some new heads arrived for use in closeups. They have eyes that move by radio control, and children strong enough to support these heavier heads are being recruited. An old batch of overly threatening-looking heads is piled outside the makeup room waiting to be returned to Los Angeles. I finish in makeup and hurry into the Big Set.

The Mothership is perched in the middle of the landing strip looking unbelievably huge and extremely eerie. Steven keeps explaining that what we see is only the tiniest part of the bottom of the ship, and tries to give us an idea of how big it will actually look. It’s hard for me to grasp the ultimate size of this thing. A giant crane is raising and lowering the Mothership in preparation for the scene, and the whole area is bathed in the glow of a terrifically bright light. Dozens of technicians are running around making final adjustments. The lighting crew is inside the ship focusing the arcs that will reflect off the ship’s silver mylar interior. Stunt coordinators help the children into their heads and hands, and assistant directors arrange the extras in large clumps along the runway. Some of the ETs will fly, and technicians are raising and lowering sandbags, and realigning pulley systems that stretch across the set. They anticipate problems with the flying.

Steven wants the entire scene heavily backlit, and this may make the wires show up too much. No one will know how the scene has gone until it’s viewed in dailies tomorrow. Some of the ETs are practicing entering and exiting the ship. The rumor that they were to originally glide out on concealed rollerskates was true, but the exit ramp from the ship is too steep, and now they are rehearsing sitting down and sliding out of the ship. Once they make it up the ramp they slide down easily, but many of them can only make it halfway up before they slip back to the bottom, and stunt people are stationed along the ship pulling the kids up, and helping them as they glide down. Susan is giving them some last minute instructions and reminds them to use “loving” hand gestures.

Francois and I go over to talk to one of the little girls. As we talk to her, she slowly rises a few feet off the ground. We hadn’t noticed the wire attached to her waist; Francois is enchanted. We look around and see seven or eight more little ETs bouncing around five, ten, even twenty feet up in the air. It’s magical. One little girl hangs motionless, high above us, while a technician adjusts her pulley. She notices us watching and starts to flap her arms. The unruly kids of three weeks ago are now acting calmer and more professionally than the rest of us.

After much rehearsal and positioning, the ETs are loaded into the Mothership which slowly rises about fifteen feet. The heat building up inside the ship is tremendous, and Spielberg says we must hurry and film or the kids will get baked. He yells “action” and four cameras begin to roll simultaneously. The spaceship slowly sinks to the ground. The bottom slides open. A blinding light streams out of the ship, enveloping us as we stand transfixed. A large ramp appears in the sulphurous fog and spindly ETs start tentatively crawling out of the ship, gliding or rolling down the ramp which bridges the concrete Wyoming landing strip with another universe. Suddenly, nine or ten ETs fly out of the ship, twirl around, wave their arms and swoop over our heads. One or two hover near the ship, turning endless somersaults. Mimes dressed as technicians move about the ETs in slow motion. A creature comes forward, haltingly. Then it breaks into a disco hustle. “Cut,” yells Spielberg, to the rubber-suited children. “ETs, stop fooling around!”

The Mothership has landed.

Everyone goes back to their original marks and we do the scene over and over. We’re all getting a little punchy, especially the kids, who have been flying and crawling for several hours, almost non-stop. After twenty minutes of re-lighting and preparing the fog effect we’re about to begin a take, when three of the ETs have to go to the bathroom. No one ever thought to put a trap door in their costumes, and it takes them each a full ten minutes to get into and out of their skin tight leotards. So we wait for the kids, and pray that by the time they get back three more don’t have to go.

In the middle of a take, one of the ETs pulls off another one’s rubber hand and starts batting her over the head with it. A fight breaks out. Steven decides we’ve finished for the day and we all go over to the kids to congratulate them. They’ve been generally terrific, and have been able to follow direction much better than anyone thought they would. They take off their heads and hands, pick up their coloring books and trudge off to their dressing room to get into their street clothes. They look like they’ve been doing this for twenty years.

July 20

At the pool today Truffaut asks me if I wouldn’t mind reading a script for him. He reads English very well, but someone has sent him a sci-fi script, and he is having trouble understanding some of the technical terms. I am tremendously flattered and run up to my room to read it immediately.

It’s not a very good script, but I read it thoroughly and take copious notes; I want to give Truffaut an accurate report. Later he asks me what I thought. I fill him in on the story. I launch into an incredibly boring scene-by-scene synopsis. Truffaut listens very politely as I ramble on for fifteen minutes, retelling every trivial incident in the complicated script. I give possible meanings and interpretations for every twist and turn of its convoluted plot. I am trying much too hard. Finally he stops me. He smiles: “Could you please just tell me if you think it’s good or bad?”