Free Shooting 007: And Other Celluloid Adventures by Sir Roger Moore Alec Mills

beneath the Vistavision camera. My personal moment from hell came on this picture, where I was responsible for an entire day’s filming being ruined.
    Harry Waxman, who always enjoyed the challenge of technical debate, disagreed with Guy regarding the size of close-ups in this new format. I tuned in to this interesting discussion as two respected cinematographers offered differing opinions. Sitting on the fence, I could see both points of view, though in the end silently favoured Guy’s visual explanation over Harry’s theoretical one; the camera operator would compose the framing to the director’s liking.
    Our filming started in Paris, where the first scene required the camera to hang over the edge of the first stage of the Eiffel Tower. The thought of this new and expensive piece of equipment falling from that height was really terrifying, particularly as the cost of the camera alone was rumoured to be in excess of seven hundred thousand pounds. With all the security ropes which the cautious grip used in tying it down, the camera operator could barely get near the camera, but this was understandable and we were all very paranoid when using this new, very expensive, equipment before returning it to ground level.
    I promised earlier that my story would remain as honest as memory allows. With this in mind I am now obliged to tell of a sickening incident where there is no disguising what really happened. In short, I was responsible for ruining an entire day’s filming. My feeble excuse was to put the blame on the new VistaVision camera – it was a different monster from a camera assistant’s point of view – but even that pathetic explanation could not be a defence when you consider how the problem could have been prevented. It is necessary that I mention this horrible incident, which still haunts me even in retirement; it requires as honest an explanation as possible.
    We were filming in the departure lounge of Le Bourget Airport; the same lens had remained on the camera throughout the entire day of filming. Behind the lens the 85 gelatine filter was sitting comfortably inside the camera; the filter was safe and well protected so there would be no reason to touch it again throughout the day.
    My excuse: at the time, gelatine filters were regarded as expensive items, with camera assistants at Pinewood encouraged to be economical with them, which is exactly what this diligent assistant was doing by cutting the filter to cover the gate’s aperture before sealing it down with Sellotape to prevent the filter from moving.
    The day’s filming went smoothly, with Harry grateful for a sensible schedule to meet, as was Guy – who successfully completed his call sheet that day with everything appearing to be well. However, in the process of breaking down the camera, I removed the lens to discover – to my horror– that the gelatine filter had moved and now covered only half of the camera gate aperture! One could not imagine a worse disaster for a camera assistant – truly shock-horror time. I froze in total disbelief at what faced me as we had been filming like this all day. Presumably the filter had become dislodged when first inserted into the camera, so one thing was certain: I had not checked the filter through the lens port when it had been inserted. It was a simple, basic elementary requirement and clearly an inexcusable mistake for Harry’s so-called diligent camera assistant to make, but also one I could not hide from!
    So came the moment of truth. A feeling of being alone, out in the cold, total anxiety, happy to die there and then, preferably while listening to Mozart’s Requiem to help me on my way. With no music, I needed to face up to the consequences. With no defence to offer, I straight away explained to Harry what had happened, admitting my mistake in forgetting the obvious routine check, knowing well that he would remind me of that responsibility. Now I expected the worst to happen, with Harry’s loud