DAlessandro Emilio - Stanley Kubrick and me: thirty years at his side

Copyright 2012 by il Saggiatore S.p.A.

English-language translation copyright 2016 by il Saggiatore S.p.A.

Appreciations copyright 2016 respectively by Ryan ONeal, Andros Epaminondas, Julian Senior, Candia McWilliam, and Ian Watson

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First English-language Edition

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: DAlessandro, Emilio. | Ulivieri, Filippo, 1977- author. | Marsh, Simon, 1960- translator.

Title: Stanley Kubrick and me: thirty years at his side / Emilio DAlessandro with Filippo Ulivieri; translated by Simon Marsh.

Other titles: Stanley Kubrick e me. English

Description: New York: Arcade Publishing, 2016.

Identifiers: LCCN 2015050645 (print) | LCCN 2016002578 (ebook) | ISBN 9781628726695 (hardback) | ISBN 9781628726718 (Ebook)

Subjects: LCSH: Kubrick, Stanley. | Motion picture producers and directorsUnited StatesBiography. | DAlessandro, Emilio. | BISAC: PERFORMING ARTS / Individual Director (see also BIOGRAPHY & AUTOBIOGRAPHY / Entertainment & Performing Arts). | BIOGRAPHY & AUTOBIOGRAPHY / Entertainment & Performing Arts.

Classification: LCC PN1998.3.K83 D3513 2016 (print) | LCC PN1998.3.K83 (ebook) | DDC 791.4302/33092dc23

LC record available at http://lccn.loc.gov/2015050645

Cover design by Laura Klynstra

Cover photo courtesy il Saggiatore S.p.A.

Printed in the United States of America

To Christiane,

and to all of those who,

like us,

truly loved Stanley

CONTENTS

G OOD M ORNING , I M S TANLEY K UBRICK

I N THE HAWK FILMS office, an enormous white phallus reflected the light from the ceiling. To one side stood two young men, staring at it motionlessly.

It was half-past nine in the evening. Outside it was raining. I was cold and wanted to go home. Id been driving around London for more than eighteen hours, only to find that the last urgent delivery I had to make was a big porcelain phallus.

Hey! I said, startling them. Give me a hand with this thing, will you? We took it out to the Minx, but as we feared it wouldnt fit in the trunk. We put it on the front seat. The end protruded from the front window. I dont suppose you have a blanket, do you?

From the Associated British Pictures Studios at Borehamwood, I drove towards Thamesmead, a modern area on the right bank of the Thames. The black ice slowed me down, and it took me more than an hour and a half to reach my destination. Nobody else in the company had accepted the delivery. They all said it was too risky in such bad weather. But my training as a race-car driver had prepared me to deal with any road conditions. Steady, not greedy, as my mentor used to say.

The bundle beside me bounced up and down as if it were alive. What damn film could it be for?

When I arrived, another two young men were waiting for me. They opened the car door, removed the contraption, and told me to wait: I was going to have to return it. Off they went, carrying it like a baby in arms, and then they brought it back to me without saying a word. I was bewildered. Not only by the peculiar load, but also by the excessive suspiciousness surrounding the entire episode. I got in the car and drove back to Janettes house. When I met my boss, Tony, at midnight, I confirmed the two weeks holiday Id asked for and wished him Merry Christmas: 1970 was drawing to a close, and I hadnt had a day off for nearly two years.

My holiday at my parents home in SantAngelo passed quickly. When I returned to England, there was a note waiting for me on the desk at Macs Minicabs. It said that Hawk Films had phoned every day since I left, asking specifically for Emilio DAlessandro to make new deliveries. At the end of the note it said: ASK FOR MR . HARLAN .

Macs Minicabs had practically rescued me. After losing my job because of the strikes in the sixties, Id spent weeks on end in the unemployment office waiting for something to happen. I had faith that all those jobs Id done during my ten years in England would count for something. That writing gardener, orderly in a clinic, assistant cook in a hospital, mechanic, factory worker, petrol pump attendant , and racing driver on a piece of paper would make a good impression on a potential employer. Instead, every evening I trudged home demoralized. My wife and I had tried just about everything. We had even rented out the house and moved down to my brothers place in Wales, but it hadnt made any difference. After six months, there was just five pounds left in our savings account, not even enough to do the shopping. If I didnt find a job within a week, I wouldnt be able to feed my children or pay the mortgage: the house would be repossessed.

M AC S M INICABS , D RIVE WHEN YOU WANT , E ARN AS MUCH AS YOU WANT , W ORKING THE HOURS YOU WANT! Thats what the ad said. Id spent the last small change in my pocket at the newsagents on a cheap job magazine for the hopeless. The other ads werent any better, and at least this one had something to do with my greatest passion: cars. I had nothing to lose, so I phoned and made an appointment the same day at their offices in Borehamwood.

The Minicabs manager, Tony McDonagh, showed me in and explained that the job was for a private taxi driver without fixed working hours. Borehamwood and nearby Elstree were home to the British National Studios, the film studios of Metro Goldwyn Mayer and EMI Films, nicknamed the British Hollywood. Macs Minicabs had an exclusive contract with some of the companies there and provided transport for managers, executives, and actors. The minicab company got the customers, and at the end of the week the drivers handed over a percentage of the takings. The more I worked, the more I would earn. Twenty-four hours a day, if you like, said Tony. I didnt need to have any special licenses or documents, just a normal drivers license. My references as a Formula Ford driver had caught Tonys eye. He immediately handed me a contract and offered me the job.

At a higher weekly commission rate we rent limousines if you want to deal with important customers, he said as he took me to their parking lot.

No, I said immediately, knowing that I couldnt afford to give them a higher percentage, Ill use my own car, and I winked at the run-down Ford Capri Id bought in Cardiff.

It was a Friday, the weekend was just around the corner, and people were getting ready to spend the evening in restaurants, pubs, or cinemas. Tony gave me the address of my first customer; I invited them to get into the Capri and took them to their destination. In addition to the fare, I got a ten-shilling tip. By the end of the evening, I realized Id earned what for me was an unbelievable amount of money.