Neil Simon and his wife were staying virtually across the street from the Sellerses on the Appian Way during the production of After the Fox After the Fox. They were awakened one night when Britt, after a particularly nasty fight with Peter-he threw a chair at her-climbed through a window in her nightgown and sought refuge at the neighbors'. The Simons were aghast, having had no idea Peter and Britt were anything less than fully content with each other.

"I tried so hard to understand Sellers," Ekland says in retrospect. "I related his dark moods to the pressures and ambiguities of his genius. Where was the warmth, humor, and humanity he generated on the screen? There were interludes when he was truly a loving, gentle, and generous human being, but these moments were like flashes of sunshine."

A few months earlier, Peter had penned a reflective piece for, believe it or not, or not, Seventeen Seventeen magazine. "Peter Sellers Talks to Teens" proved that on some skewed but fundamental level he knew himself better than anyone else did: "If I can't really find a way to live with myself, I can't expect anyone else to live with me," he wrote. magazine. "Peter Sellers Talks to Teens" proved that on some skewed but fundamental level he knew himself better than anyone else did: "If I can't really find a way to live with myself, I can't expect anyone else to live with me," he wrote.

A more Goonish (but no less honest) bit of self-knowledge came out on The Ed Sullivan Show The Ed Sullivan Show in the fall of 1966, when Peter appeared in the guise of his in the fall of 1966, when Peter appeared in the guise of his After the Fox After the Fox character Federico Fabrizi. (For the purposes of historical placement, Sullivan's other guests that night were Judy Garland, Sophie Tucker, Tom Jones, Topo Gigio, and the Marquis Chimps.) Asked by Sullivan to explain the symbolic meaning of his film character Federico Fabrizi. (For the purposes of historical placement, Sullivan's other guests that night were Judy Garland, Sophie Tucker, Tom Jones, Topo Gigio, and the Marquis Chimps.) Asked by Sullivan to explain the symbolic meaning of his film No More Pasta No More Pasta, in which a beautiful woman drowns in a vat of minestrone, Fabrizi waxed poetic: "We are all in a thick soup, swimming around in our own vegetables! With our arms outstretched, calling for human compassion! And-come formaggi?-a little cheese."

Habitually, many of the films Peter wanted to make were either made by other actors or not made at all. In April 1965, the Mirisch Brothers-who evidently bore no grudge over the Kiss Me, Stupid Kiss Me, Stupid debacle-bought the rights to Kingsley Amis's new novel debacle-bought the rights to Kingsley Amis's new novel The Egyptologists The Egyptologists; Bryan Forbes was to develop the film with Peter. Soon there was a deal for Peter as well: $600,000 for a ten-week shoot; living expenses of $1,000 per week; and 10 percent of the gross after the break-even point. Peter was no longer concerned about putting in long days; the contract specified studio days lasting nine hours and location days of ten hours. Peter would get top billing, script approval, and the right to make changes in the film after it was shot. Shooting was to start on or around October 1. But October passed, and by the end of the month Peter was still holding off on The Egyptologists The Egyptologists pending another rewrite. It never got made. pending another rewrite. It never got made.

In August, he mentioned to the Hollywood columnist Army Archerd another project in which he was most interested in participating. Charles Chaplin would direct the picture; Sophia Loren would costar. He hadn't seen a screenplay yet, he said, but he was confident that it would be there when the time came. One month later, Chaplin began filming A Countess from Hong Kong A Countess from Hong Kong (1967) with Sophia and Marlon Brando. (1967) with Sophia and Marlon Brando.

Then came Waterloo Waterloo. "Is there any truth in Mike Connelly's report that you want me to play Napoleon?" Peter cabled John Huston from the Hotel Maurice in Paris in late October. "If so, very interested."

The next day Peter returned to Brookfield, where he received Huston's unpunctuated reply a few days later: "Information is news to me but nevertheless a fine idea we have however already contacted Richard Burton regarding the role stop in case anything should go wrong may I please get in touch with you?"

Disappointed, Peter responded kindly but with a touch of self-protection: "Agree Burton would be marvelous casting and on second thoughts am not sure I would be right stop." He tagged on a marvelously absurd philosophical conclusion: "However what is to be will be even if it never happens."

To the handsome tune of $25,000 a day, Bryan Forbes convinced Peter to appear for three days' work on The Wrong Box The Wrong Box, Forbes's adaptation of a novel by Robert Louis Stevenson and Lloyd Osbourne. Sellers's role was, as the Financial Times Financial Times described it, that of the "befuddled, cat-ridden abortionist." described it, that of the "befuddled, cat-ridden abortionist."

Dr. Pratt (coughing): "Yes, I'm... I'm... I'm all right. It's just a fur ball, it's nothing. Strange, I haven't had fur for a fortnight."

Forbes had asked Spike Milligan to appear in a small role as well for only a token fee, but Spike would have none of it. "Suddenly last year I woke up to the fact that everybody else was driving a Rolls Royce while I was driving a Mini Minor," Spike told Forbes, "so I decided to put an end to it and go into this business strictly for money like everybody else. When I have got a Rolls Royce and money in the bank I will start doing it for kicks again, but not till then."

Peter was in Rome when he got the script on June 10, but he didn't go before the cameras until mid-November, when, as planned, he worked for three full days, sharing the doctor's cramped attic office set with twenty-five hired cats. He plays his two all-too-brief scenes with Peter Cook, whose character, Morris Finsbury, turns to the decrepit and disreputable Dr. Pratt for a blank death certificate, which Finsbury intends to fill in later with the pertinent details. "All I want is the death certificate death certificate, Doctor," Finsbury stresses impatiently. "Don't we all," Pratt replies while pouring himself another drink. Under a bulbous makeup nose and hideously pallid complexion stare two weary, vacant eyes. "I was not always as you see me now," Pratt explains.

When Finsbury returns later that night, he has to rouse the doctor once again from his habitual slumbers. "I tell you the woman was already dead when I came in!" Pratt frantically cries, flustered at the brutal exposure of his own consciousness. Immediately after signing the death certificate to Finsbury's great relief, Dr. Pratt uses a squeaking kitten as his inkblotter. "Particularly delirious are two passages with Peter Sellers," Dilys Powell raved in the again from his habitual slumbers. "I tell you the woman was already dead when I came in!" Pratt frantically cries, flustered at the brutal exposure of his own consciousness. Immediately after signing the death certificate to Finsbury's great relief, Dr. Pratt uses a squeaking kitten as his inkblotter. "Particularly delirious are two passages with Peter Sellers," Dilys Powell raved in the Sunday Times Sunday Times; "Peter Sellers is a positive gem, the finest thing in the film," wrote Michael Thornton in the Sunday Express Sunday Express.

Near the end of the year, Peter filmed a segment of a Granada television special, The Music of Lennon and McCartney The Music of Lennon and McCartney, for the producer George Martin. After Lulu sang "I Saw Him Standing There," Marianne Faithfull sang "Yesterday," and Henry Mancini played "If I Fell" on the piano-not to mention the Beatles themselves performing (actually lip-synching) "Day Tripper" and "We Can Work It Out"-another familiar British face appeared.

PAUL: What's all this, John? What's all this, John?

JOHN: It's Peter Sellers! It's Peter Sellers!

Cut to a stark Shakespearean set with incidental madrigal music on the sound track. Peter, dressed as Richard III, sits on an Elizabethan chair and, in the voice of Laurence Olivier, begins reciting the lyrics of "A Hard Day's Night." It is indescribably hilarious.

Peter had done the routine for release as a record earlier in the year, with Martin acting as producer, but it's the televised visuals that push the bit onto the level of Olympian comedy. The combination of Sellers's petulant, mad Olivier imitation with his near-instinctive talent for striking wildly funny facial expressions, made Peter's brief TV appearance in November not only the highlight of the program but also the best nugget of work he did that year.

During the taping, he had had some difficulty with his lines and called, rather saltily, for cue cards. No one seems to have minded, however, since Peter lightened the mood by abruptly launching into "A Hard Day's Night" as recited by Spike Milligan's goofy Eccles. Then he did it as Fred Kite.

The final, taped product, however, was pure, leering Olivier. With a declamatory and nasal delivery, Sellers barks certain words and bites others, glances out of the corners of his slitty eyes, and brings out in full force the song's underlying filth. The Beatles themselves couldn't get away with it; Peter could-and did: song's underlying filth. The Beatles themselves couldn't get away with it; Peter could-and did: A grumpy dog dog and and log log. A sly, insinuating do do. A most self-satisfied everything everything. And, with a final smirk, alright alright.

Then Richard stands and delivers his outraged plea: "Can I do all this, yet cannot get a hit?"

The wish was granted within a month. Peter Sellers's recording of "A Hard Day's Night" reached number fourteen on the British pop charts in December.

"He could write his own ticket with me if he'd write and direct Casino Royale Casino Royale."

This was Charles K. Feldman talking to Variety Variety in June 1965. Feldman had a dream-to produce a big, splashy James Bond spoof in Technicolor and Panavision, with lots of gaudy sets and costumes and mid-sixties psychedelic wackiness and gorgeous babes and multiple 007s and a roster of glamorous international movie stars. Peter would be perfect for it, he thought. in June 1965. Feldman had a dream-to produce a big, splashy James Bond spoof in Technicolor and Panavision, with lots of gaudy sets and costumes and mid-sixties psychedelic wackiness and gorgeous babes and multiple 007s and a roster of glamorous international movie stars. Peter would be perfect for it, he thought.

They had been talking since late April. First it was on, then it was off, then it was maybe-Peter kept changing his mind-and by June, Feldman had taken to wooing his star in the press as well as through cajoling telephone calls and flattering letters. Peter wasn't the only one to respond to Feldman's entreaties by hesitating. Bryan Forbes had been very close to agreeing to be the film's director, but he backed out before signing anything.

By late August, Casino Royale Casino Royale was on again. Columbia Pictures was putting up the money, and Peter, in Rome, was finally agreeing to terms: $750,000 plus $10,000 expenses. This time, Feldman got the insurance he needed to cover Peter-$5 million worth-and Peter seemed happy. He insisted that his friend Joe McGrath be the film's director, and Feldman approved. Peter had had an idea for a costar, too. was on again. Columbia Pictures was putting up the money, and Peter, in Rome, was finally agreeing to terms: $750,000 plus $10,000 expenses. This time, Feldman got the insurance he needed to cover Peter-$5 million worth-and Peter seemed happy. He insisted that his friend Joe McGrath be the film's director, and Feldman approved. Peter had had an idea for a costar, too.

Sophia.

Everybody liked Joe McGrath, Feldman told Peter in the fall, but McGrath wasn't much help to Feldman in terms of convincing top-of-the-line performers like Sophia to sign onto the project since McGrath had never directed a feature film before. (McGrath had considerable television experience, but no movies.) If Feldman had been able to present McGrath to Sophia as an important director, then some of her reluctance might have been assuaged. But he couldn't, he was sad to say, so Miss Loren had declined the chance to appear with Peter in experience, but no movies.) If Feldman had been able to present McGrath to Sophia as an important director, then some of her reluctance might have been assuaged. But he couldn't, he was sad to say, so Miss Loren had declined the chance to appear with Peter in Casino Royale Casino Royale.

There were still script problems, too, Feldman told him. The first three drafts had been written by the veteran screenwriter Ben Hecht (Scarface, 1932; Notorious Notorious, 1946; and many others), who had died the year before. Feldman had acceded to Peter's wishes when he'd hired Terry Southern to write new dialogue and bits of comedy business. (According to Southern's son, Nile, Sellers specified in his contract that "he would have the exclusive services of Terry Southern to write his dialogue. And a white Bentley.") Peter had asked Terry to meet with him in Rome, and at the time both men thought they understood each other's minds about the direction of the script. But, it seemed to Feldman, they hadn't really heard each other as much as they believed they had. Still, Feldman said, he was certain that they would have a great screenplay before shooting began.

In early September, Feldman flew to Rome to meet with Peter and discuss casting. McGrath joined him. So did Peter's Hollywood agent, Harvey Orkin. So did Casino Royale Casino Royale's latest screenwriter-Wolf Mankowitz.

One scarcely had to be as superstitious as Peter Sellers was to see that this was a distinctly bad omen, a human version of purple. Sellers and Mankowitz had tried and failed, furiously, to form a production company together in 1960, and Mankowitz distrusted Peter greatly. Still, their meetings appear to have gone smoothly enough-while they were actually happening, that is-and together the key members of the production team began to come up with a cast list. Casino Royale Casino Royale, they all agreed, should costar Shirley MacLaine and Trevor Howard.

A few days later, Feldman was back in Los Angeles meeting with MacLaine over dinner at Trader Vic's. They called Peter from their table and spoke for half an hour about the film's story and characters. The next day, Peter called Feldman. He didn't like the way Mankowitz was developing the script, he said; he suggested that they bring Terry Southern back. Peter was also complicating matters by talking to Columbia about doing another picture called A Severed Head A Severed Head, which was scheduled to shoot in mid-February. Charlie Feldman knew that Casino Royale Casino Royale would take more than a month's worth of Peter's time, and he was worried that his star was overcommitting himself. would take more than a month's worth of Peter's time, and he was worried that his star was overcommitting himself.

In November, with a late-January start date having been scheduled at Shepperton, Feldman arranged for Dr. Rex Kennamer to check up on Peter, just to make sure. Kennamer found Peter to be in good health, and Shepperton, Feldman arranged for Dr. Rex Kennamer to check up on Peter, just to make sure. Kennamer found Peter to be in good health, and Casino Royale Casino Royale was on its way. Sort of. was on its way. Sort of.

Casting was still in flux. MacLaine and Howard were out. Orson Welles, David Niven, and Ursula Andress were in. Eventually, of course, so were a few others, including William Holden, Charles Boyer, Woody Allen, Deborah Kerr, Joanna Pettet, Daliah Lavi, John Huston, Jacqueline Bissett, Jean-Paul Belmondo, and George Raft.

Casino Royale is categorically chaotic, but that was its nature all along. David Niven plays Agent 007, but so does Peter Sellers. In fact, so does Ursula Andress, and Joanna Pettet, and Terence Cooper. Niven's Bond reluctantly agrees to return to Her Majesty's service after the death of agent M (John Huston), whose fake widow (Deborah Kerr) fails to seduce him and becomes a nun. The evil SMERSH has gone bankrupt, and the baccarat mastermind Le Chiffre (Orson Welles) tries to win back funding in the casino but loses to a man named Evelyn Tremble (Sellers), who has been hired to play James Bond; Le Chiffre responds to the loss by torturing Tremble/Bond, who meanwhile has been seduced by the voluptuous Vesper (Ursula Andress), and on and on, until the purest evil on earth is found to exist in the form of Woody Allen. is categorically chaotic, but that was its nature all along. David Niven plays Agent 007, but so does Peter Sellers. In fact, so does Ursula Andress, and Joanna Pettet, and Terence Cooper. Niven's Bond reluctantly agrees to return to Her Majesty's service after the death of agent M (John Huston), whose fake widow (Deborah Kerr) fails to seduce him and becomes a nun. The evil SMERSH has gone bankrupt, and the baccarat mastermind Le Chiffre (Orson Welles) tries to win back funding in the casino but loses to a man named Evelyn Tremble (Sellers), who has been hired to play James Bond; Le Chiffre responds to the loss by torturing Tremble/Bond, who meanwhile has been seduced by the voluptuous Vesper (Ursula Andress), and on and on, until the purest evil on earth is found to exist in the form of Woody Allen.

Joe McGrath recalls his close friend Peter with a refreshing lack of malice: "There was a kindness there-a soft kindness, do you know what I mean? It was a side of him a lot of people never saw. So, I would forgive him most things. I mean, we had a bad time on Casino Royale Casino Royale because he went off and disappeared for three weeks. He was chasing Britt. They had trouble, and she went back to Sweden. But meanwhile Orson Welles and two thousand extras were waiting. Orson said, 'Where's your thin friend, Joe?'" because he went off and disappeared for three weeks. He was chasing Britt. They had trouble, and she went back to Sweden. But meanwhile Orson Welles and two thousand extras were waiting. Orson said, 'Where's your thin friend, Joe?'"

Wolf Mankowitz was not as forgiving of Peter. In fact, he was downright nasty: "He was a treacherous lunatic," the screenwriter later swore. "My advice to Charles Feldman was not in any circumstances to get involved with Sellers. But Sellers was at his peak at that time. I told Charlie that Sellers would fuck everything up-he wanted different directors, he wanted to piss around with the script. He knew nothing about anything except going on and doing funny faces and funny voices, and he wasn't really a great actor.

"He was terrified terrified of playing with Orson and converted this into an of playing with Orson and converted this into an aversion for Orson before he even met Orson," Mankowitz went on. There are a number of stories of bad behavior regarding Sellers and Welles: Peter overheard a young woman comment, about Welles, "Isn't he sexy?" and immediately became jealous. Peter, together in his suite with Orson, tried to get Welles to laugh, failed, and never got over his resentment. Peter met Orson in a Dorchester Hotel elevator. Sellers was coming down from his penthouse, and Orson and Mankowitz got on on a lower floor and Peter remarked that he hoped the elevator wouldn't collapse from the weight. aversion for Orson before he even met Orson," Mankowitz went on. There are a number of stories of bad behavior regarding Sellers and Welles: Peter overheard a young woman comment, about Welles, "Isn't he sexy?" and immediately became jealous. Peter, together in his suite with Orson, tried to get Welles to laugh, failed, and never got over his resentment. Peter met Orson in a Dorchester Hotel elevator. Sellers was coming down from his penthouse, and Orson and Mankowitz got on on a lower floor and Peter remarked that he hoped the elevator wouldn't collapse from the weight.

Princess Margaret was the last straw. Welles had developed a friendship with Margaret some years earlier when he was in London directing his stage production of Othello Othello. Sellers, having no idea that she and Welles even knew each other, invited her to stop by the already greatly troubled set on February 18 for lunch. He made the mistake of crowing about it to Welles. "Then Princess Margaret came came," Welles later gloated, "and passed him by and said, 'Hello, Orson, I haven't seen you for days! days!' That That was the real end. 'Orson, I haven't seen you for days!' absolutely killed him. He went white as a sheet because was the real end. 'Orson, I haven't seen you for days!' absolutely killed him. He went white as a sheet because he he was going to get to present was going to get to present me me."

"That's been blown up to ridiculous proportions," Joe McGrath retorts. "Peter never resented Orson at that lunch. I think the problem was really that Britt left and Sellers just got the scent and chased. When he came back, Orson was just sitting there sort of smiling. And Peter lost his courage. I talked to Milligan, and Milligan said, 'Well, yeah-he's obviously so ashamed that he just doesn't want to face up.'"

In fact, Peter had already decided the weekend before the fatal Margaret luncheon to issue a new demand to Feldman. He insisted that his scenes with Welles be shot in what Feldman's production log calls "single cuts-thereby avoiding having both of them working together."

Whatever the reason for his attitude and conduct, Peter proceeded to make the filming of Casino Royale Casino Royale substantially more difficult than such a heaving, overproduced extravaganza was already destined to be. At one point he departed the set and simply left a sign that said "Yankee Go Home." substantially more difficult than such a heaving, overproduced extravaganza was already destined to be. At one point he departed the set and simply left a sign that said "Yankee Go Home."

Describing the Welles imbroglio, McGrath says that Peter informed him that "'as long as I'm not in the same setup I'll go back.' I said, 'No! What are we doing, a home movie? This is Orson Welles Orson Welles you're talking about. And not only that, Peter, but you you're talking about. And not only that, Peter, but you wanted wanted Orson Welles. You said, "Wouldn't it be wonderful if we got Orson Welles?" And we get him and suddenly Orson Welles. You said, "Wouldn't it be wonderful if we got Orson Welles?" And we get him and suddenly this this happens.'" McGrath also pointed out to Peter that from a happens.'" McGrath also pointed out to Peter that from a technical perspective alone it would be ridiculous to shoot a Panavision film with two stars in different setups; the point of technical perspective alone it would be ridiculous to shoot a Panavision film with two stars in different setups; the point of any any widescreen process, after all, is to shoot widescreen process, after all, is to shoot wide wide. Keeping Sellers and Welles in separate spaces and cutting back and forth between them would look, in a word, dumb.

Peter's sharp aversion to Orson was not the only problem for McGrath. "At one point he said to me, 'Sorry, I was a bit late coming back when you called me. I had something important to do. I was trying to get a new stylus for my record player.' I said, 'Oh, that's very funny. Don't treat me like you treat everybody else. Come on. What's going on?' 'No,' he said.

"I said, 'Who do you think you are? Peter Sellers?'

"He said, 'Yes. I fucking am am Peter Sellers!' Peter Sellers!'

"I said, 'This is getting out of control. We call you and you don't come. I'm not talking for Charlie Feldman, but Feldman did give you the chance with What's New Pussycat? What's New Pussycat?, you know, and here you are, and Charlie is frightened to ask you, to tell you, to get here on time. He is the producer He is the producer. And he is frightened to actually say, "Get here on time." He is saying to me, "Would you tell him please to get there on time?" He is saying to me, "Would you tell him please to get there on time?" So what game are you playing? Either get here on time or don't get here at all.' So what game are you playing? Either get here on time or don't get here at all.'

"And then there was a break, and we went into the trailer to talk about another scene, and he said, 'I've had enough of this,' and he swung a punch at me.

"He hit me on the side of the jaw, and it sort of bounced off me, you know-it was halfhearted-but I thought, What the hell? If you want to hit me, come on. So I tried to hit him. Jerry Crampton, a stunt man, was outside, and he opened the door. Peter and I were, as Terry Southern later said, 'aiming blows at each other like school girls trying to hit wasps.' Crampton grabbed us and separated us and said, 'I love you both; I do not know which one of you to hit.' Sellers and I started laughing, and that was it.

"Then he disappeared again, and he was afraid to come back because of embarrassment. If he came back and I was still directing, and he walked onto the set and Orson was there, everybody was going to say, 'Oh what a shit you are.' So he said to me, 'I'll come back if I don't play any scenes with Orson,' and I said, 'Get lost,' and that was it." And with that, Joe McGrath left Casino Royale Casino Royale.

Actually, Feldman had been against McGrath from the beginning and later claimed only to have hired him because Peter had demanded it. Feldman claimed that he'd wanted multiple directors from the start. If that was really the case, then the producer got exactly what he wanted. Feldman claimed that he'd wanted multiple directors from the start. If that was really the case, then the producer got exactly what he wanted.

As early as February, Feldman tried to get Bryan Forbes to come on board again, but Forbes refused, particularly after he learned that Columbia executives, still stung by his refusal to accept the job originally, were reacting to his tough financial demands by calling him a blackmailing whore behind his back. Feldman turned to Blake Edwards, who said that all it took was a million dollars. Feldman didn't have a spare million dollars, so he turned to Clive Donner, whom Peter rejected. Feldman then hired Val Guest. And Ken Hughes. And Robert Parrish. And Richard Talmadge. And John Huston.

All in all, the filming of Casino Royale Casino Royale took place not only at Shepperton but at the Pinewood studios and at MGM's studios as well, with different directors directing different actors in different scenes with three directors of photography-Jack Hildyard, John Wilcox, and Nicolas Roeg. The whole thing took eight months to shoot. took place not only at Shepperton but at the Pinewood studios and at MGM's studios as well, with different directors directing different actors in different scenes with three directors of photography-Jack Hildyard, John Wilcox, and Nicolas Roeg. The whole thing took eight months to shoot.

None of this was easy on Charlie Feldman. There were midnight meetings with Peter and Britt, whom Peter was at one time pushing to be cast in the film. Phone calls and meetings with five new directors along with a growing list of writers. More meetings with Peter and his slew of agents and managers and lawyers-Harvey Orkin, Bill Wills, Freddie Fields, John Humphries.... Explanations by letter and wire to Columbia executives in Hollywood, who were becoming apoplectic at the rising costs. Then Orson decided he'd had enough and left for Barcelona.

Feldman brought Robert Parrish onto the project not only because Parrish was an experienced director (Fire Down Below, 1957, with Rita Hayworth and Robert Mitchum, among others), but because he was an experienced editor, too, having cut such films as John Ford's The Battle of Midway The Battle of Midway (1942) and Max Ophuls's (1942) and Max Ophuls's Caught Caught (1949). (Parrish had also been a child actor; he's one of the mean boys who pitch spitballs at the Tramp in Chaplin's (1949). (Parrish had also been a child actor; he's one of the mean boys who pitch spitballs at the Tramp in Chaplin's City Lights City Lights, 1931.) Feldman's hope was that Parrish would know what to do with the countless reels of disjointed footage into which his multimillion-dollar baby, the still far from complete Casino Royale Casino Royale, had degenerated. (The final cost was at least $12 million, at that time a very high price tag.) Parrish was also known for being a gentleman, someone who could handle a temperamental movie star-or two-so at Feldman's behest, Parrish flew to Barcelona to meet with Welles and convince him to return. Delicately and with characteristic charm, he told the director of Delicately and with characteristic charm, he told the director of Citizen Kane Citizen Kane (1941), (1941), The Magnificent Ambersons The Magnificent Ambersons (1942), and (1942), and Touch of Evil Touch of Evil (1958) that he and Charlie Feldman would be very grateful to him if he would please come back to London so that they could finish filming (1958) that he and Charlie Feldman would be very grateful to him if he would please come back to London so that they could finish filming Casino Royale Casino Royale. He'd be delighted to return, Orson replied. He'd just gotten bored waiting for Peter to show up on the set and thought he'd take a holiday in Spain.

There was just one thing, Parrish then mentioned. "Peter doesn't want to film any more scenes with you." And with that, Parrish later declared, "Orson got up from the table, came over, kissed me-square on the lips-and said, 'That's the best news I've ever heard!'"

The two men returned to London, but shooting still didn't proceed on schedule. According to Parrish's wife, Kathleen, Peter would drive around in his car and constantly call the studio on his car phone to see whether Welles was on the set. For his part, Welles would start drinking champagne at nine in the morning and continue all day long. The hours went by-Orson was quite the life of the party-and then Peter would stick his head in the door and Orson would immediately and loudly needle him and nothing would get done that day.

Charlie Feldman's contracts alone were creating a massive pile on his desk. John Huston, the director of such films as The Maltese Falcon The Maltese Falcon (1941) and (1941) and The Treasure of the Sierra Madre The Treasure of the Sierra Madre (1948) turned up in March as one of the (1948) turned up in March as one of the Casino Royale Casino Royale's directors as well as one of its actors. Huston had not only just finished directing The Bible The Bible (1966). He'd played Noah, the narrator, and the Voice of God, too. Maybe Feldman thought that only He could control Peter Sellers. (1966). He'd played Noah, the narrator, and the Voice of God, too. Maybe Feldman thought that only He could control Peter Sellers.

The screenwriter John Law began work in March, too. Peter insisted on it. Law was a television writer who worked, along with Graham Chapman, John Cleese, and Denis Norden, on David Frost's program, The Frost Report The Frost Report. Peter thought he'd be great for Casino Royale Casino Royale, and so Law was added to the lengthening list of rewriters.

John Law was just the latest in what was to be a very long line of scribes; at least eleven people wrote dialogue for, restructured the story of, tinkered with, and destroyed the work of others on the script of Casino Royale Casino Royale. Only Mankowitz, Law, and Michael Sayers got screen credit. Woody Allen, Val Guest, Terry Southern, and Peter himself contributed to it as well, uncredited. (On top of everything else, Peter and Feldman spent March and April going back and forth with each other over whether Sellers would get a writing credit. He didn't.) The novelist Joseph Heller ( spent March and April going back and forth with each other over whether Sellers would get a writing credit. He didn't.) The novelist Joseph Heller (Catch 22), the television writer Lorenzo Semple, Jr. (Batman), and none other than Peter's Hollywood nemesis Billy Wilder were also brought on board by Feldman at one point or another to try and salvage this great, wobbling behemoth, but nobody has ever really sorted out exactly what any of them wrote or whether any of it managed to find its way into the finished film.

John Huston was ensconced in style at Claridge's when the screenwriter Nunnally Johnson, also in London, tried to get into the act as well. He sent over to Huston some new script pages for Casino Royale Casino Royale with a little note that might have just as easily applied to the whole fiasco: "If you can use the enclosed, help yourself. If not, tear it up." with a little note that might have just as easily applied to the whole fiasco: "If you can use the enclosed, help yourself. If not, tear it up."

By springtime, rumors of the conspicuous catastrophe were raging through Hollywood and London like two clouds of loud mosquitoes. They continued to bite until well after the film's release. Peter "got hung up on safety," a Hollywood reporter divulged, "and his constant calls from his Rolls squad car to Scotland Yard to report traffic violations frequently made Page One. He insisted on immediate police action and often got so carried away [that] he would make the arrest himself. Several afternoons of production were lost when Sellers appeared in court with his civilian arrests." This was an exaggeration, though it is true that on one occasion Peter did bring a reckless driving charge against another driver, and he only seems to have had to appear in court once (on April 1). After some protracted discussions with Feldman's assistant, Jerry Bressler, he agreed to give the production a free day of shooting to make up for the day lost to the court appearance.

Ursula Andress was growing so weary of the interminable production that she started complaining to the press hounds. "I started the film on January 11," she sighed to Sheilah Graham in April. "It was to be just a few weeks. It is already three months, and we can't finish before June. Why? There are so many things. If Peter feels tired, we must slow down. We are never allowed to rush because of him.... [And] he writes a lot."

Andress, for example, was originally supposed to have performed a scene with Peter atop an elephant, but Peter nixed it and decided that the scene should really feature bagpipers. The deleted elephant had, however, provided Peter with an opening, which he seized, in one of his early battles with Orson Welles. Welles and Sellers were shooting the key scene in which LeChiffre and Tremble play the crucial rounds of baccarat. Welles decided it was time for LeChiffre and Tremble play the crucial rounds of baccarat. Welles decided it was time for him him to do a little improvising, so instead of going along with the script, which required his character to lose the game, he performed some off-the-cuff card tricks and won. Sellers is said to have blown a gasket. "No!" Peter shouted in front of the assembled crowd of technicians and extras. "I've had enough from to do a little improvising, so instead of going along with the script, which required his character to lose the game, he performed some off-the-cuff card tricks and won. Sellers is said to have blown a gasket. "No!" Peter shouted in front of the assembled crowd of technicians and extras. "I've had enough from one one elephant." elephant."

The stories keep coming. According to McGrath, there was to have been a scene with "a giant roulette wheel when Sellers had a dream. And he's the ball, spinning around on this giant roulette wheel, and the red and black divisions of the roulette wheel are girls' legs in dresses-they're in black and red. He's spinning around the rim, and then he rolls into someone's crotch." The sequence was shot but discarded; Peter didn't like it.

Then, in what Jacqueline Bisset recalls as a "sick joke," Peter shot her in the face with a blank. In the scene in question, Tremble creeps into a window with his gun drawn and is most surprised when the occupant, Miss Goodthighs (Bisset) recognizes him and calls out his name. Tremble was supposed to turn and fire the gun in her general direction, but Peter pointed it right at her and pulled the trigger. "First I thought I had actually been actually shot," Bisset later said. "Then, when I realized it had been a blank, I thought I had been blinded. My face looked like a shower spout of pinpricks leaking blood. To get shot in your first scene with a big star-that's a nightmare."

And day after day, everybody was kept waiting for everybody else to show up on the set. In the annals of Casino Royale Casino Royale, Peter has taken the brunt of the blame for the delays. But the production logs tell a more nuanced story: "Waiting for Mr. Sellers." "Waiting for Mr. Welles." "Waiting for Miss Andress." "Waiting for Mr. Welles." "Waiting for Mr. Sellers." "Waiting for Crowd..." By mid-March, with Casino Royale Casino Royale already running weeks over schedule, Peter was calling in sick. "Only able to shoot fifteen seconds." "Only able to shoot twenty seconds." "Only thirty seconds possible." By the beginning of April, Feldman had calculated the total of Peter's delays at fourteen-and-a-half days at a cost of $705,000. Peter simply left the production sometime in May or June, which is the reason Terence Cooper suddenly takes over as yet another 007. At that point, somebody had to replace Peter, and it didn't much matter who. already running weeks over schedule, Peter was calling in sick. "Only able to shoot fifteen seconds." "Only able to shoot twenty seconds." "Only thirty seconds possible." By the beginning of April, Feldman had calculated the total of Peter's delays at fourteen-and-a-half days at a cost of $705,000. Peter simply left the production sometime in May or June, which is the reason Terence Cooper suddenly takes over as yet another 007. At that point, somebody had to replace Peter, and it didn't much matter who.

Casino Royale was the biggest, most overproduced mess of Peter's career, but even was the biggest, most overproduced mess of Peter's career, but even it it has a few good moments, one of which features Peter in a ridiculous striped outfit of no discernable category-a one-piece affair with shorts and a revealing V-neck (in the back), a sort of Matelot pajama-spinning with Ursula Andress on a round and revolving fuschia-covered bed surrounded by mirrors. Andress's character, Vesper, is filming home movies at the time, after which, meaninglessly, she shoots still photos of Evelyn Tremble as Hitler, Napoleon, an anonymous flaming queen ("Hello, sailor!"), and Toulouse-Lautrec. has a few good moments, one of which features Peter in a ridiculous striped outfit of no discernable category-a one-piece affair with shorts and a revealing V-neck (in the back), a sort of Matelot pajama-spinning with Ursula Andress on a round and revolving fuschia-covered bed surrounded by mirrors. Andress's character, Vesper, is filming home movies at the time, after which, meaninglessly, she shoots still photos of Evelyn Tremble as Hitler, Napoleon, an anonymous flaming queen ("Hello, sailor!"), and Toulouse-Lautrec.

Peter's card game with Orson is pretty much the disaster it promised to be, given that the two actors appear together in only one setup, with the rest of the sequence being filmed in individual shots. The characters look like they're worlds apart; even with the flagrantly artificial mise-en-scene of Casino Royale Casino Royale the camera doesn't lie. And despite some marvelous special effects, the subsequent scene in which Le Chiffre tortures Tremble is obviously filmed not only in separate shots but in separate the camera doesn't lie. And despite some marvelous special effects, the subsequent scene in which Le Chiffre tortures Tremble is obviously filmed not only in separate shots but in separate sets sets. "The most exquisite torture is all in the mind," Le Chiffre tells Tremble before pulling the switches. He may be right, but by the time the spaceship lands in Trafalgar Square, one just doesn't care anymore.

Casino Royale opened in April 1967, with a royal command performance in London. Kathy Parrish remembers the queen sitting in one row laughing and enjoying herself and Feldman sitting in the row behind her, knowing the gargantuan thing just wasn't any good. Notices were mixed, but the film did find its audience and made at least some of its money back. It has but a few critical defenders today. One is the film scholar Robert Von Dassanowsky, who sees in its fragmented pastiche a grander philosophy: "The failure of modernity and a celebration of what Umberto Eco would call the postmodern 'crisis of reason' permeates nearly every scene of opened in April 1967, with a royal command performance in London. Kathy Parrish remembers the queen sitting in one row laughing and enjoying herself and Feldman sitting in the row behind her, knowing the gargantuan thing just wasn't any good. Notices were mixed, but the film did find its audience and made at least some of its money back. It has but a few critical defenders today. One is the film scholar Robert Von Dassanowsky, who sees in its fragmented pastiche a grander philosophy: "The failure of modernity and a celebration of what Umberto Eco would call the postmodern 'crisis of reason' permeates nearly every scene of Casino Royale Casino Royale." If Von Dassanowsky is right, then Peter Sellers himself really may turn out to be the quintessential postmodern man.

SIXTEEN.

Fragmentation reigned, as it must for every postmodernist. Peter's constant dieting continued, as did his marital discord and bad-tempered parenting, all broken up with pleasant evenings spent around a piano with friends, singing, laughing, and being the man he could have been if he hadn't been so many other less agreeable people in the meantime.

Joe McGrath and Peter Sellers made up after Peter himself walked away from Casino Royale Casino Royale. McGrath reports: "I got a letter from Peter later, apologizing, saying, 'I'm terribly sorry about what happened, I was wrong. We will work together again, I promise you.'" They were having drinks at the Dorchester bar soon thereafter when a Columbia executive came by the table. "Joe!" he cried. "God! I'm so sorry that you left the film! It was that bastard Sellers that fucked everything up. And it's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Allen."

To keep the weight off, Peter ate nothing but spaghetti for a time. There was also a Chinese vegetable diet, a macrobiotic diet, and a yoga diet. There was a wine-and-steak diet, too. For a while he consumed only bananas.

The children continued to find life with their father to be difficult. Spike once commented that "he used the children as pawns. He loved them, but on his own terms. They had to love him when he demanded it."

"He threw me out of home for the first time when I was eight or nine," Michael Sellers says. "He asked us who we loved more, our mother or him. Sarah, to keep the peace, said, 'I love you both equally.' I said, 'No, I love my mum.' He threw the two of us out and said he never wanted to see us again." But of course he did, and of course their encounters were just as troubled, if not quite so memorable. Michael was shuttled around a lot, and not only between his parents. "By the time I was twelve I'd been to about eight or nine different schools." He and Sarah liked their stepmother, though. "Britt was interested in us," says Sarah. "None of his other women was." though. "Britt was interested in us," says Sarah. "None of his other women was."

As for Peg, her hostility to Britt seemed to wane a bit over time, perhaps in response to Britt's obvious affection for Michael and Sarah. Baby Victoria didn't get much affection from Grandma, though. "Peg did not like the role of Grannie," says Ekland. "And she would always refer to Victoria as 'it.'"

Peg Sellers, the former vaudeville showgirl, cut an increasingly bizarre figure around mod, swinging London in the mid-1960s. "She liked to wear little-girl dresses and even flaunted mini-skirts although she was well past sixty," Britt reports. "She also painted thick lashings of rouge on her face and bright, glossy lipstick."

Peg's heavy consumption of liquor and cigarettes had done nothing but increase throughout her widowhood. Britt couldn't help but notice that she hid her smokes under the cushions of the couch and decanted her booze into empty medicine bottles, which she then stashed in the bathroom cabinet, all to keep Peter from confronting his mother's vices directly. Still, says Ekland, "I got along with Peg well and I knew that as long as I didn't betray the secret of her gin reservoirs, I always would."

Through it all, Peter's closest and most trusted friends provided him with the greatest comfort. "The thing about psychiatry, I found, is just talking to someone," he mentioned to a British newspaper in 1966, "and in England if you have some good friends, as I have, then you don't need to go to a psychiatrist." Maybe, maybe not.

But the fact is, Peter did find compassion and solace among his mates. Spike, Joe McGrath, Graham Stark, Kenneth Griffith, David Lodge-these men showed him the kind of mercy that most frail people deserve but rarely receive. Their companionship was genuine, particularly when, from Peter's perspective, the rest of the world appeared inexplicably to become more and more hostile to him. His friends saw Peter's oddities-how could they help but notice them, since he wore his eccentricities on his sleeve?-but they saw the tender core beneath. Also, he was hilarious.

"He could be very, very funny," says McGrath. "There used to be an Italian restaurant called the Tratou in London. Milligan, Peter, Eric Sykes, and myself-we would get our wives or girlfriends, whoever we were with at the time, and we'd go around at ten at night and have dinner. Then they would close the restaurant, but we were allowed to stay. There was a pianist called Alan Claire, who they used to use a lot in television shows-Frank Sinatra always used him when he came over-and he'd be there, and we would finish dinner and sit around till three or four o'clock in the morning, and Peter would sing. He'd sing standards, and Spike would play the trumpet. That's a side that other people never saw." and myself-we would get our wives or girlfriends, whoever we were with at the time, and we'd go around at ten at night and have dinner. Then they would close the restaurant, but we were allowed to stay. There was a pianist called Alan Claire, who they used to use a lot in television shows-Frank Sinatra always used him when he came over-and he'd be there, and we would finish dinner and sit around till three or four o'clock in the morning, and Peter would sing. He'd sing standards, and Spike would play the trumpet. That's a side that other people never saw."

For other people, the so-called normal, it takes great trust to expose their ugliest aspects to those closest to them. Typically, though, Peter Sellers got it backward. He trusted only his closest friends enough to reveal to them his essentially good heart.

In June of 1966, shortly after walking out on Casino Royale Casino Royale, Peter was named Commander of the British Empire by Elizabeth II in the Queen's Birthday Honors List. The queen named Harold Pinter as well.

Then destiny called: Peter spent four days shooting Alice in Wonderland Alice in Wonderland (1967). He was the befuddled King of Hearts. (1967). He was the befuddled King of Hearts.

"I didn't want a lot of famous featured performances with lots of animal heads," the director Jonathan Miller declares of his adaptation of Lewis Carroll's philosophically absurd children's book. The physician-turned-satirist and Goon Show Goon Show fan had something darker and more cerebral in mind: "It's rather melancholy. The film was designed to be a recreation of Victorian life and the melancholy of growing up-the Victorian thing about childhood being an innocent time and everything else being sad and decaying." Miller made fan had something darker and more cerebral in mind: "It's rather melancholy. The film was designed to be a recreation of Victorian life and the melancholy of growing up-the Victorian thing about childhood being an innocent time and everything else being sad and decaying." Miller made Alice in Wonderland Alice in Wonderland on a relatively low budget for BBC television, a fact that did not discourage some of Britain's best performers from appearing in it. "I asked John Geilgud, Michael Redgrave, Leo McKern, and Peter Cook, and then I went to Sellers [and] said, 'Would you do it for as little as 500, which is all you'll get paid by the BBC?'" on a relatively low budget for BBC television, a fact that did not discourage some of Britain's best performers from appearing in it. "I asked John Geilgud, Michael Redgrave, Leo McKern, and Peter Cook, and then I went to Sellers [and] said, 'Would you do it for as little as 500, which is all you'll get paid by the BBC?'"

Miller had worked with Peter in 1961. "I once appeared on what was then called a gramophone record with him-'The Bridge on the River Wye.' Peter Cook and I figured as minor characters in that, with Sellers rather brilliantly playing Alec Guinness, and it was quite funny. We spent a day doing it, and he was very jolly. There was lots of laughter then." (The record, a spoof of the 1957 film The Bridge on the River Kwai The Bridge on the River Kwai, costarred Spike and used an old Goon Show Goon Show episode, "The Africa Incident," as the episode, "The Africa Incident," as the core; George Martin produced it. After the record was cut, but before it was released, the producers of the film threatened to sue, so Martin was forced painstakingly to remove the sound core; George Martin produced it. After the record was cut, but before it was released, the producers of the film threatened to sue, so Martin was forced painstakingly to remove the sound k k from every utterance of "Kwai." Hence "Wye.") from every utterance of "Kwai." Hence "Wye.") Miller couldn't help but notice the change in Sellers, who was markedly troubled during the production of Alice in Wonderland Alice in Wonderland. "He was a moody bugger, you know? He was very superstitious. If things had gone badly on the way to the location, if his stars hadn't read right, he'd be sunk in a gloom and would be unwilling to film." Still, Miller knew, "you could amuse him, and a sort of strange, mischievous smile would spread across his face." The rest of the time, though, Peter "kept to himself and often sat apart in a deck chair in a starry gloom."

Peter Eyre, who played the Knave of Hearts, retains no fond memories of working with Sellers in Alice in Wonderland Alice in Wonderland. "I thought Peter Sellers was going to be like an actor. But he wasn't, really. He absolutely didn't relate to any of the other actors. He had to be slightly polite to the old actress who played the Queen of Hearts, Alison Leggatt, but otherwise he was completely closed off as a person. He only ever loosened up when Snowdon came to photograph. There were a lot of well-known actors in the production; I don't remember him actually speaking to anybody. And those other famous actors, like Michael Redgrave and John Gielgud-they weren't like that at all. Then again, they didn't have cars with chauffeurs. Sellers was a movie star."

As he had with Spike Milligan, Eyre attributes Peter's distance to the fact that he was, at his core, a comedian: "They can't bear the idea that somebody else is going to get a laugh. It's like an illness."

Without contradicting those who found Peter to be generous to them in front of a camera, Eyre is probably right about what might be called the comedian's curse. Apart from his closest friends, Peter's richest relationships were with his audiences, particularly the ones he never saw. It was with the disconnected listeners and spectators of radio, television, and film that he most securely bonded, and he did so instinctively and spontaneously in flashes of raw creation.

"He improvised very beautifully in the same tone as Carroll wrote," Jonathan Miller explains. "I didn't let anyone improvise unless they actually had the logic Carroll did." Miller suggested that Peter play the King of Hearts as a familiar Goon Show Goon Show routine: "I borrowed a character of his-that feeble old man, Henry Crun-very vague and unfocused. He routine: "I borrowed a character of his-that feeble old man, Henry Crun-very vague and unfocused. He improvised wonderfully at one moment-when the letter gets picked up, and the White Rabbit brandishes it and says, 'This letter's just been picked up,' and the foreman of the jury says, 'Who's it written to?' and he opens it up and says, 'It seems to be a letter written by the prisoner to somebody.' Sellers then said [in Henry Crun's voice-of-the-shakes], 'It must be improvised wonderfully at one moment-when the letter gets picked up, and the White Rabbit brandishes it and says, 'This letter's just been picked up,' and the foreman of the jury says, 'Who's it written to?' and he opens it up and says, 'It seems to be a letter written by the prisoner to somebody.' Sellers then said [in Henry Crun's voice-of-the-shakes], 'It must be that that. I mean, it can't just be written to nobody. You can't just write to nobody. I mean, if you did that all the time, well, the post office would come to a standstill! I mean, you've got to have somebody somebody, I mean, well-we-ee-ll-it's not allowed!' That was just the sort of thing that Carroll would have written."

When the camera wasn't rolling, Sellers's strangeness could be less appealing. Miller goes on: "He was fascinated by wealth and his Rolls Royce and his various attendants who looked after him and the peculiar sort of Barbie-doll wife he had. He gave a party for my wife and me and a number of other people at his house, and I remember there was an enormous champagne bucket filled with caviar. It did seem rather immoderate.

"He was a difficult man-sort of show biz, sort of genius, but completely empty when he wasn't playing anyone. He was a receptacle rather than a person. And whatever parts he played completely filled the receptacle, and then they were drained out. And the receptacle was left empty and featureless. Like a lot of people who can pretend to be other people very convincingly and change their characters, he could do so because he hadn't had any character himself-not unlike Olivier in that way." But, Miller quickly adds, "He was much more subversive and interesting and modern than Olivier."

As early as June 1966, with Casino Royale Casino Royale still stumbling forward in production, still stumbling forward in production, Variety Variety reported that two Hollywood producers, Jerry Gershwin and Elliott Kastner, had grown so skeptical of Peter's Hollywood agent Harvey Orkin's dismissive treatment of them-Orkin told the producers that Peter was booked solid for the measurable future-that they had taken it upon themselves to get on a plane, fly to London, and deliver a new screenplay to him personally, and that Peter had agreed to do the picture. One week later, everybody having been sufficiently embarrassed by the story, reported that two Hollywood producers, Jerry Gershwin and Elliott Kastner, had grown so skeptical of Peter's Hollywood agent Harvey Orkin's dismissive treatment of them-Orkin told the producers that Peter was booked solid for the measurable future-that they had taken it upon themselves to get on a plane, fly to London, and deliver a new screenplay to him personally, and that Peter had agreed to do the picture. One week later, everybody having been sufficiently embarrassed by the story, Variety Variety noted that Gershwin and Kastner vehemently denied the whole thing. No, the producers categorically stated in Hollywood's trade paper of record; they had made Peter's deal for noted that Gershwin and Kastner vehemently denied the whole thing. No, the producers categorically stated in Hollywood's trade paper of record; they had made Peter's deal for The Bobo The Bobo (1967) directly with Harvey Orkin. (1967) directly with Harvey Orkin.

Bobo means means fool fool in Barcelona. The script had much to recommend it, including a European location, an accent, a bizarre sight gag, and a role for Britt. The ridiculous yet somehow suave Juan Bautista arrives in Barcelona from a remote village and bills himself as the greatest singing matador in all of Spain. ("I sing before, after, and during, but not so much during, as it is difficult to sing when I am running.") A corpulent impresario agrees to book him in his theater on one condition: that he conquer and humiliate the greatest blond in all of Spain-Olimpia (Britt), a spoiled, capricious, voluptuous ball-breaker who has, of course, spurned the impresario. An elaborate masquerade ensues before Olimpia discovers Juan Bautista's true identity and exacts her strange revenge by dyeing him blue from head to toe. He ends up in a Barcelona bull ring as "the singing blue matador" and performs before a cheering crowd. She drives off with a genuinely rich suitor, a man more her speed. in Barcelona. The script had much to recommend it, including a European location, an accent, a bizarre sight gag, and a role for Britt. The ridiculous yet somehow suave Juan Bautista arrives in Barcelona from a remote village and bills himself as the greatest singing matador in all of Spain. ("I sing before, after, and during, but not so much during, as it is difficult to sing when I am running.") A corpulent impresario agrees to book him in his theater on one condition: that he conquer and humiliate the greatest blond in all of Spain-Olimpia (Britt), a spoiled, capricious, voluptuous ball-breaker who has, of course, spurned the impresario. An elaborate masquerade ensues before Olimpia discovers Juan Bautista's true identity and exacts her strange revenge by dyeing him blue from head to toe. He ends up in a Barcelona bull ring as "the singing blue matador" and performs before a cheering crowd. She drives off with a genuinely rich suitor, a man more her speed.