sort of general release there originally. I think that one of the reasons for its lasting success is that it was one of the first British war films to treat a native enemy with dignity. Yes, the heroism of the British troops is celebrated, but so too is the heroism of the Zulu nation, whose forces are depicted as the disciplined, intelligent tacticians and soldiers that they undoubtedly were. The lack of jingoism means that it resonates for a modern audience in a way that other British war films just don’t any longer. It has never dated – and I remain very proud of it.
5
Hello, Alfie
There’s precious little to spend your money on in the Drakensberg mountains and I got back to London with my £4,000 earnings almost intact. Now was my chance to put things right. I went straight up to Sheffield to see Dominique. She was eight years old and mad about horses according to her grandmother, Claire, (that was obviously not something she’d inherited from me) and for the first time I felt I could do something for her. The pony I bought her from the proceeds of Zulu turned out to be the first step in what would prove to be a very satisfying career for Dominique, one I have been very proud to watch her succeed in.
Then there was Mum. She was still living in the prefab with Stanley but he was out all day at work and she was lonely without my father. My solution was to suggest she move to the flat in Brixton that Pat and I had had when we were first married. The house was owned by family and there were other people her own age all around her; it was safe and she had good company.
£4,000 seemed an enormous sum to me and I was so keen to see that everyone I cared for and who had supported me – friends and family – shared in my good fortune that I went through it very quickly. Dennis Selinger helped me to get an accountant and persuaded me to open a bank account, but the net result was that I ended up with an overdraft of £1,000.
Meanwhile, the final touches were being put to Zulu . I knew that there was no chance I would get another film until it came out, but I had been given a seven-year contract by Joe Levine, the President of Embassy Pictures and I was confident that he would hold to his side of the bargain. The problem with my contract was that it was entirely one-sided: they could renege on it whenever they wanted; I was stuck with it. Nonetheless when I was summoned to Joe’s office I bowled along, pretty certain that everything would be fine. Joe Levine was straight out of central casting, everybody’s idea of a movie producer: short, fat and with a big cigar. ‘Siddown, Michael,’ he said when I came in. ‘You know I love you, doncha?’ I nodded, stomach plummeting. I could tell where this might be going. ‘I said to you, Michael, I said: “Michael, you’ll be dripping with diamonds.” Didn’t I?’ I nodded again. He had said that – and I had seen Mrs Levine so I knew he knew all about diamonds. ‘Well, I still believe that’s gonna happen –’ he paused and I held my breath – ‘just not with Embassy Pictures.’ I breathed out. I had gone very dizzy. Time for another performance. I was getting very good at nonchalance. ‘Didn’t you like me in Zulu ?’ I asked. ‘ Loved you, Michael,’ Joe said warmly. ‘But there’s one thing I gotta tell you.’ He seemed to be bracing himself. ‘I know you’re not, but you gotta face the fact that you look like a queer on screen.’ I sat there dumbfounded. Me? Queer? ‘I know you’re not ,’ Joe said again hastily, ‘but there’s a lot of queer stars out there who look butch, and that’s fine – but you’re the other way round and it’s the wrong way round. You’ll never be a romantic lead.’ I got up. ‘Thanks, Joe,’ I said, and left. I found out later that he’d given my contract to James Booth.
To my surprise, Dennis was not fazed by this. As ever, he used the opportunity to get me some work that would enhance my reputation and
5
Hello, Alfie
There’s precious little to spend your money on in the Drakensberg mountains and I got back to London with my £4,000 earnings almost intact. Now was my chance to put things right. I went straight up to Sheffield to see Dominique. She was eight years old and mad about horses according to her grandmother, Claire, (that was obviously not something she’d inherited from me) and for the first time I felt I could do something for her. The pony I bought her from the proceeds of Zulu turned out to be the first step in what would prove to be a very satisfying career for Dominique, one I have been very proud to watch her succeed in.
Then there was Mum. She was still living in the prefab with Stanley but he was out all day at work and she was lonely without my father. My solution was to suggest she move to the flat in Brixton that Pat and I had had when we were first married. The house was owned by family and there were other people her own age all around her; it was safe and she had good company.
£4,000 seemed an enormous sum to me and I was so keen to see that everyone I cared for and who had supported me – friends and family – shared in my good fortune that I went through it very quickly. Dennis Selinger helped me to get an accountant and persuaded me to open a bank account, but the net result was that I ended up with an overdraft of £1,000.
Meanwhile, the final touches were being put to Zulu . I knew that there was no chance I would get another film until it came out, but I had been given a seven-year contract by Joe Levine, the President of Embassy Pictures and I was confident that he would hold to his side of the bargain. The problem with my contract was that it was entirely one-sided: they could renege on it whenever they wanted; I was stuck with it. Nonetheless when I was summoned to Joe’s office I bowled along, pretty certain that everything would be fine. Joe Levine was straight out of central casting, everybody’s idea of a movie producer: short, fat and with a big cigar. ‘Siddown, Michael,’ he said when I came in. ‘You know I love you, doncha?’ I nodded, stomach plummeting. I could tell where this might be going. ‘I said to you, Michael, I said: “Michael, you’ll be dripping with diamonds.” Didn’t I?’ I nodded again. He had said that – and I had seen Mrs Levine so I knew he knew all about diamonds. ‘Well, I still believe that’s gonna happen –’ he paused and I held my breath – ‘just not with Embassy Pictures.’ I breathed out. I had gone very dizzy. Time for another performance. I was getting very good at nonchalance. ‘Didn’t you like me in Zulu ?’ I asked. ‘ Loved you, Michael,’ Joe said warmly. ‘But there’s one thing I gotta tell you.’ He seemed to be bracing himself. ‘I know you’re not, but you gotta face the fact that you look like a queer on screen.’ I sat there dumbfounded. Me? Queer? ‘I know you’re not ,’ Joe said again hastily, ‘but there’s a lot of queer stars out there who look butch, and that’s fine – but you’re the other way round and it’s the wrong way round. You’ll never be a romantic lead.’ I got up. ‘Thanks, Joe,’ I said, and left. I found out later that he’d given my contract to James Booth.
To my surprise, Dennis was not fazed by this. As ever, he used the opportunity to get me some work that would enhance my reputation and
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