Originally, Peter hoped to direct as well as star in The Bobo The Bobo, which was scheduled for production at Cinecitta in the fall. But by the middle of the summer he'd decided to limit himself to performing, and Robert Parrish took over as the film's director. "The trouble is," Peter explained, "my role starts early in the movie and goes right through to the end. So does Britt's. In order to make the most of my role and the scenes with Britt, I've had to concentrate on acting, not directing, this time."

The Bobo became, as Parrish's widow, Kathleen, describes it, "a disaster that we considered a death in the family and never mentioned." Parrish himself told one comparatively benign tale in his memoirs: "After three weeks' shooting in Rome, Peter called me aside and whispered, 'I'm not coming back after lunch if that bitch is on the set.' 'Tell me which one and I'll take care of it,' I cringed. He had already had the script girl fired. I figured it was the makeup girl's turn. 'The one over my left shoulder, in the white dress. Don't look now,' he said, and slinked away to charm the cast and crew. The girl in the white dress was his wife and costar, Britt." became, as Parrish's widow, Kathleen, describes it, "a disaster that we considered a death in the family and never mentioned." Parrish himself told one comparatively benign tale in his memoirs: "After three weeks' shooting in Rome, Peter called me aside and whispered, 'I'm not coming back after lunch if that bitch is on the set.' 'Tell me which one and I'll take care of it,' I cringed. He had already had the script girl fired. I figured it was the makeup girl's turn. 'The one over my left shoulder, in the white dress. Don't look now,' he said, and slinked away to charm the cast and crew. The girl in the white dress was his wife and costar, Britt."

To Parrish's surprise, he ran into the couple an hour or two later. They were lunching together at the Cinecitta commissary. "As I passed their table they raised their glasses to me."

One piece of information unavailable to Parrish is supplied by Michael Sellers, who reports that a few days before shooting began on The Bobo The Bobo, Peter "got his solicitors to write to Britt and tell her that he intended to file for divorce." Peter "got his solicitors to write to Britt and tell her that he intended to file for divorce."

Peter took a few days away from The Bobo The Bobo and flew to Paris to film a scene with Shirley MacLaine in MacLaine's multicharacter comedy and flew to Paris to film a scene with Shirley MacLaine in MacLaine's multicharacter comedy Woman Times Seven Woman Times Seven (1967). Directed by Vittorio De Sica, (1967). Directed by Vittorio De Sica, Woman Times Seven Woman Times Seven features MacLaine as the eponymous number of characters opposite an array of costars including Alan Arkin and Michael Caine. Peter's scene was simple; there was little room for arguments with De Sica, and besides, his wife wasn't his costar. features MacLaine as the eponymous number of characters opposite an array of costars including Alan Arkin and Michael Caine. Peter's scene was simple; there was little room for arguments with De Sica, and besides, his wife wasn't his costar.

As a funeral cortege makes its incongruous way through the park beneath the Eiffel Tower, a physician (Peter, looking very much like Auguste Topaze) comforts the widow, Paulette (MacLaine). The doctor's comfort slides into a passionate declaration of love, prompting Paulette to cry all the harder-briefly. Soon they're discussing where they're going to live together, and before the casket has even reached the cemetery they diverge from the funeral route and walk off in each other's arms.

On Monday, October 17, Peter arrived on The Bobo The Bobo's Cinecitta set at 4:10 P P.M., having just watched all the rushes to date. "I've just seen the most wonderful film!" he exclaimed enthusiastically. "It's marvelous!" He shot a scene or two with Parrish and finished at 7 P P.M. At 8:30 P P.M. Parrish picked up his ringing telephone. "I'm low on the film," Peter told him. It was Britt's fault. "Her reading of lines is amateurish," her husband opined.

It got worse.

"Peter called Britt 'a cunt' in front of the entire cast and crew," Kathleen Parrish states. Everyone froze, but the Italian crew members were especially mortified at Peter's vulgar treatment of a woman-his own wife, a Scandinavian bombshell to top it all off, a lady whose toes they would gladly have kissed.

A gregarious group, The Bobo The Bobo's crew enjoyed fixing a fairly elaborate lunch for themselves and a few select guests. They liked Robert Parrish-everyone did-and they invited him to join them once or twice. But they never wanted to have much to do with Peter at all, let alone share a meal they cooked themselves. And Peter, as always, wanted very much to be invited. According to Kathy Parrish, the "cunt" incident only served to cement the crew's enmity, and afterward they became even more open in giving Peter the cold shoulder. cement the crew's enmity, and afterward they became even more open in giving Peter the cold shoulder.

So, in a grossly misguided effort to get the crew to like him and invite him to lunch, Peter bought a dozen knockoff Rolex watches and began doling them out as gifts.

He approached the camera operator and handed him one of the cheap watches. The camera operator literally spat on it and threw it on the ground at Peter's feet.

At one point, Kathy Parrish invited Peter to lunch, and he was completely at ease and low-key. "Peter could be charming," she notes. They did a jaunty strutting dance together, the Lambeth Walk, and had a fine time in each other's company. But as far as the production of The Bobo The Bobo was concerned, she says, "it was ugly from beginning to end. Everything around Peter was awkward." was concerned, she says, "it was ugly from beginning to end. Everything around Peter was awkward."

Peter and Britt had returned to the Appian Way-to a somewhat smaller villa than the one they'd rented during the production of After the Fox After the Fox-but by this point the marriage was in even more drastic trouble. More (and bigger) furniture was hurled. During one rage Peter actually flipped the bed over. One of the castors hit Britt in the mouth and chipped a tooth. She proceeded to leave the production for several days-the mirror opposite of her behavior during Guns at Batasi Guns at Batasi, for this time she was fleeing from from her husband. her husband.

In the middle of it all, Peter got a phone call from London. Peg had suffered a heart attack.

Robert Parrish asked Peter if he wanted to fly back to be with her. Peter replied that it wasn't necessary, he spoke to her all the time. She died a few days later, without him.

"He used to be quite terrible to her at times," Dennis Selinger once said of Peter and his mother, "and yet, probably she was the only woman in his life who really meant anything to him."

Peter and Britt flew to London for the funeral, after which Peter sent his mother's ashes to North London to be interred with Bill's at the Golders Green cemetery and columbarium. There is a plaque there, placed by Peter, who nonetheless did not visit the cemetery until 1980. As for Peg's clothes, Peter gathered them from her apartment, took them to Brookfield, and burned them in the garden.

Peg had moved on, but the mother-and-son heart-to-hearts are said by some to have continued from beyond the grave. "After she'd gone," Selinger claimed, "he used to have conversations with her. He'd get into a room and talk to her for quite some time." Evidently she succored him.

Later, Peter periodically told people he carried some of Peg's ashes around with him on his travels. Joe McGrath finds it hard to believe. "He would make up a lot of it, you know. I mean, if he thought that somebody would believe he was carrying his mother's ashes around, it would be very funny. I know he told people stories about his death experiences-when he had his heart attacks and stuff like that-but he never told me me any of that, and I know he never told Spike Milligan. Spike said, 'No-he'd never tell us any of that because we're gonna say, "You're putting me on-don't give any of that, and I know he never told Spike Milligan. Spike said, 'No-he'd never tell us any of that because we're gonna say, "You're putting me on-don't give me me any of that shit."'" any of that shit."'"

Peter Sellers was in such terrible emotional shape during the production of The Bobo The Bobo that even his close friend Kenneth Griffith felt the sting. At Peter's insistence, Griffith played the role of Pepe, one of Olimpia's discarded lovers. "I came on the set one day and Robert Parrish was sitting like Little Jack Horner in the corner of the studio. that even his close friend Kenneth Griffith felt the sting. At Peter's insistence, Griffith played the role of Pepe, one of Olimpia's discarded lovers. "I came on the set one day and Robert Parrish was sitting like Little Jack Horner in the corner of the studio. Peter Peter was directing. was directing.

"The scene I had was with Britt Ekland. I thought, 'Geez, somebody could have warned me. Well, perhaps they forgot.' So I did the scene, which was quite difficult, with Miss Ekland. She always showed goodwill and tried very hard, but she was having problems. I think we were into forty-odd takes-which was quite difficult for me because if she she got it right it would be printed and that's it. But we went on. At the end of the day I got my makeup off and got changed and sought Robert Parrish-nice man, lovely man. He was sitting alone. I said, 'Robert, you didn't tell me what was going to happen this afternoon.' He said, 'I'm sorry, Kenneth.' I said, 'Is it all with your agreement?' I thought maybe Peter had said, 'Look, I can handle it.' But Robert very quietly said, 'No. He just announced that he was taking over, and I felt that I had a duty to sit quietly and be a servant to the film. You know, the number-one job is to get this film finished.' got it right it would be printed and that's it. But we went on. At the end of the day I got my makeup off and got changed and sought Robert Parrish-nice man, lovely man. He was sitting alone. I said, 'Robert, you didn't tell me what was going to happen this afternoon.' He said, 'I'm sorry, Kenneth.' I said, 'Is it all with your agreement?' I thought maybe Peter had said, 'Look, I can handle it.' But Robert very quietly said, 'No. He just announced that he was taking over, and I felt that I had a duty to sit quietly and be a servant to the film. You know, the number-one job is to get this film finished.'

"When the film was finished, the big man in film publicity here [in London] asked if he could come and see me. He said, 'You know Peter wants everyone on the film in a significant capacity to write a piece about what they think of him as a director' [for use as publicity]. I said, 'I can't do that, because it would imply that I supported what happened. And I don't.' And he got up-because he'd had orders from Peter-and said, 'Well, Kenneth, you know everybody on the film has done it. You are the only one who has said no.' I said, 'Look, I love Peter dearly, but I can't be a party to this.' After that Peter cut me dead for six months." don't.' And he got up-because he'd had orders from Peter-and said, 'Well, Kenneth, you know everybody on the film has done it. You are the only one who has said no.' I said, 'Look, I love Peter dearly, but I can't be a party to this.' After that Peter cut me dead for six months."

Actually, Robert Parrish never left the picture entirely in Peter's hands. In late November, with the production still grinding on-Peter was by that point insisting on reshooting scenes without even seeing the rushes-Parrish told his London-based agent that he was getting along "as good as ever" with Peter and with Elliott Kastner as well. "Peter leans on me when he needs to and flails out on his own when he doesn't. Elliott holds his stomach and says, 'Bob, what am I going to do?'"

Then Harvey Orkin showed up in Rome and helpfully told Peter that he, Orkin, didn't like Peter's interpretation of his role.

Orkin's asinine remark-had he never met met his client?-sent Peter into a tailspin so predictable that one wonders if there was malicious intent on Orkin's part. Like most artists, Peter needed a constant, smooth flow of reassurances, not a sudden stab of criticism, which human beings generally take badly and actors and writers take even worse. Unfortunately, Peter's response to Orkin's insensitivity was not to question his relationship with Orkin but rather to insist on reshooting even more scenes in a desperate attempt to develop an entirely new character. his client?-sent Peter into a tailspin so predictable that one wonders if there was malicious intent on Orkin's part. Like most artists, Peter needed a constant, smooth flow of reassurances, not a sudden stab of criticism, which human beings generally take badly and actors and writers take even worse. Unfortunately, Peter's response to Orkin's insensitivity was not to question his relationship with Orkin but rather to insist on reshooting even more scenes in a desperate attempt to develop an entirely new character.

They were all still at it in late January when Peter demanded a codirecting credit. First he fought with Kastner about it-Kastner told Peter he was "full of shit"-and then he approached Parrish, who patiently reminded him that he had told Parrish earlier that he'd only wanted credit as the film's star. According to Parrish at the time, "Peter accepted this and said he would never bring it up again."

"Dear Bob," Peter cabled on January 31. "Since I have directed The Bobo The Bobo I also want to cut it, but alone with [the editor] Johnny Jympson. Just Johnny Jympson and I, in other words. I hope you will agree to this as I must tell you I intend to go all the way." I also want to cut it, but alone with [the editor] Johnny Jympson. Just Johnny Jympson and I, in other words. I hope you will agree to this as I must tell you I intend to go all the way."

"Dear Bob," Peter wrote on February 14. "Thank you for your letter in which you state that you do not agree that I directed The Bobo The Bobo. I wonder if you would now be good enough to let me know upon what facts you base this statement." There were other less-than-pleasant exchanges with Parrish and others over the musical score, which Peter insisted on reworking as well. In the end, though, Robert Parrish received sole credit for directing The Bobo The Bobo.

When The Bobo The Bobo was released, it was not widely slammed. On the contrary. The critic Richard Schickel wrote only one of a number of glowing reviews. Schickel captures the spirit not of that performance, particularly, but of Sellers's best work nonetheless: "There is in his character a wonderful scramble of guile and innocence, humility and dignity, not to mention a certain wise, romantic rue.... What is so good about Sellers' performance is that he never insists upon these emotional generalizations at the expense of specific characterization, is never excessively sweet or sour and never, never tries obviously to turn the Bobo into an Everyman, as so many lesser actors have when they have tried to work a vein that is so trickily laced with fool's gold.... Peter Sellers may be the finest comic actor of his time, and it is a boon to be able to study him at length and at leisure instead of merely glimpsing his face in the crowd of those all-star productions where he has lately been lurking so much of the time." was released, it was not widely slammed. On the contrary. The critic Richard Schickel wrote only one of a number of glowing reviews. Schickel captures the spirit not of that performance, particularly, but of Sellers's best work nonetheless: "There is in his character a wonderful scramble of guile and innocence, humility and dignity, not to mention a certain wise, romantic rue.... What is so good about Sellers' performance is that he never insists upon these emotional generalizations at the expense of specific characterization, is never excessively sweet or sour and never, never tries obviously to turn the Bobo into an Everyman, as so many lesser actors have when they have tried to work a vein that is so trickily laced with fool's gold.... Peter Sellers may be the finest comic actor of his time, and it is a boon to be able to study him at length and at leisure instead of merely glimpsing his face in the crowd of those all-star productions where he has lately been lurking so much of the time."

"A certain wise, romantic rue" was indeed what Peter Sellers radiated onscreen. But offscreen, there was little wisdom, and his romances inevitably turned sour-all that was left was rue. An "atrocious sham" is the way Britt Ekland describes her marriage to Peter at this point. Like Anne, she was the object of his increasingly incendiary rages and follow-up periods of deep remorse. One day, for instance, she returned home at the end of her day to find Peter in a white-hot jealous fury. Convinced that she was with another man, Peter grabbed her gold Cartier watch, stomped on it, threw the pieces in the toilet, and flushed. Soon awash in guilt, he bestowed more gifts.

One of his favorite domestic games was the treasure hunt-"Treasure Trove," he called it-in which he would hide valuables around the house or apartment and watch delightedly as Britt searched for them. On one of these hunts, which took place in their suite at the Dorchester, Britt found a scarf, a cigarette lighter and case, perfume, luxury soaps, and another gold watch. Yet they spent less and less time together.

Despite the fact that the Sellerses' time in England now had to be strictly limited for tax reasons-the jet set was largely a group of celebrity tax refugees-Peter bought another new apartment, a four-bedroom affair on Clarges Street in Mayfair. When the couple was together and not at Brookfield, or Mayfair, or Los Angeles, or sailing in the Mediterranean, they paused at Saint Moritz, where, in April, Britt and Peter threw a birthday party for Michael. Spike Milligan came with his wife and children, and everyone had a great time, except for Peter, who went to bed. birthday party for Michael. Spike Milligan came with his wife and children, and everyone had a great time, except for Peter, who went to bed.

His behavior was finally becoming too much for Britt, so one day she swallowed a fistful of sleeping pills. "It wasn't a deliberate attempt to commit suicide, but I wanted to find oblivion."

As with any big star, there were many blanks for every bullet. One of the projects Peter was involved in that year was The Russian Interpreter The Russian Interpreter, to be directed by Michael Powell. They met at the Dorchester on March 4, 1967, at which time Peter told Powell, the director of such classics as The Red Shoes The Red Shoes (1948) and (1948) and Peeping Tom Peeping Tom (1960), that he wasn't the right director for his own project. Powell asked him who he would suggest. Peter replied, "I don't know, but not you." When Powell recorded the incident in his diary, the entry was a single word: "Peterloo." (1960), that he wasn't the right director for his own project. Powell asked him who he would suggest. Peter replied, "I don't know, but not you." When Powell recorded the incident in his diary, the entry was a single word: "Peterloo."

The screenwriters Paul Mazursky and Larry Tucker also proposed The Russian Interpreter The Russian Interpreter as a Peter Sellers project later in 1967. In fact, the three men considered forming a production company called Peter, Paul, and Larry. But neither the film nor the company ever came into being. as a Peter Sellers project later in 1967. In fact, the three men considered forming a production company called Peter, Paul, and Larry. But neither the film nor the company ever came into being.

Peter wanted Graham Chapman and John Cleese to write a script called The Future Began Yesterday The Future Began Yesterday: a man uses a copying machine to duplicate his wife. Peter wanted one particular actress to play the wife.

Sophia.

Peter also wanted to do Eugene Ionesco's absurdist Rhinoceros Rhinoceros set in modern Hamburg; it was to be directed by set in modern Hamburg; it was to be directed by The Ladykillers The Ladykillers' Alexander Mackendrick, but his agent, David Begelman, talked him out of it.

There was Pardon Me, Sir, But Is My Eye Hurting Your Elbow? Pardon Me, Sir, But Is My Eye Hurting Your Elbow?, a collection of skits that boasted an impressive lineup of talent: scripts by Allen Ginsberg, Peter Cook, Gregory Corso, Terry Southern, Philip Roth, and others; a score by Leonard Bernstein; direction by Arthur Hiller. At one point Peter was said to be ready to play nine different roles in the omnibus film, but the picture never came together. Several of the skits, later published in book form, would have been excellent vehicles for Peter. Southern's entry, "Plums and Prunes," is about a Westchester ad executive named Brad, his wife Donna, and their nubile sixteen-year-old daughter, Debbie, whose sexual attractiveness dawns all too disturbingly on Brad, who proceeds to punch, choke, and beat Debbie's boyfriend to death. Ginsberg's "Don't Go Away Mad" is a surreal farce about a bearded middle-aged man who gets picked up by the cops in Central Park for not having an identity. To cure him, he's given electroshock therapy, drugs, a lobotomy, and an exploding hydrogen bomb. who gets picked up by the cops in Central Park for not having an identity. To cure him, he's given electroshock therapy, drugs, a lobotomy, and an exploding hydrogen bomb.

Peter got as far as offering Kenneth Griffith a role in yet another picture. "Typical of Sellers," Griffith declares, referring to their estrangement, "six months later the phone rang. 'How are you, Kenny? Look I'm doing this film, and I'm playing two parts-brothers! Any other part in the film you want, you can play. My dad!' (I wasn't all that old.) 'Anything! Whatever you want to play. Please be in it Please be in it.' So I went round and we read the whole script and then I chose my role-because it went right through the film and I would get more money. Suddenly I was told that Peter Sellers wouldn't do it." (Griffith no longer recalls the name of the film, but it could well be The Bed Sitting Room The Bed Sitting Room, 1969, directed by Richard Lester from a script by Spike Milligan and John Antrobus and starring Ralph Richardson, Rita Tushingham, Peter Cook, and Dudley Moore.) In addition, there was an adaptation of Graham Greene's story "When Greek Meets Greek," which Kenneth Geist optioned with an eye toward producing the film. Geist wanted to cast Peter, Alec Guinness, John Lennon, and Lynn Redgrave. "I want to do it," Peter told Geist, who asked John Mortimer to write the script. "I'll do it," Mortimer told Geist. Then Peter referred Geist to his accountant, Bill Wills. "It was a Waiting for Godot Waiting for Godot situation," says Geist, who calls Wills "a great dullard." The film never got made. situation," says Geist, who calls Wills "a great dullard." The film never got made.

Mel Brooks approached Peter about starring in Brooks's first film, a comedy about a failed theatrical producer and a nebbish accountant who put on a Broadway show, but Peter was too distracted to listen. Brooks describes his experience of trying to interest him in The Producers The Producers (1967): "I sent the script to Peter Sellers, and I told him about the project, and he had to go to Bloomingdale's. So we walked around Bloomingdale's-he was shopping, I was talking. I'd be in the middle of a very important moment-where Bialystock says to Bloom, 'Do you want to live in a gray little world, do you want to be confined, don't you want to fly?'-and he'd say 'You like this buckle? What do you think of this buckle?'" (1967): "I sent the script to Peter Sellers, and I told him about the project, and he had to go to Bloomingdale's. So we walked around Bloomingdale's-he was shopping, I was talking. I'd be in the middle of a very important moment-where Bialystock says to Bloom, 'Do you want to live in a gray little world, do you want to be confined, don't you want to fly?'-and he'd say 'You like this buckle? What do you think of this buckle?'"

As Brooks experienced the odd interaction, Peter didn't mean to be rude, or dismissive, or regal: "It was just a series of different focuses. Foci. He'd focus on something and get lost in it." It was Dennis Selinger who ultimately responded to Brooks on his client's behalf, saying that he really didn't know whether Peter had read The Producers The Producers or not, but the fact was or not, but the fact was (as Brooks tells it, quoting Selinger), "He's so meshuggeneh-so crazy-he's locked into so many things now.... This is not the right time to approach him with new material." (as Brooks tells it, quoting Selinger), "He's so meshuggeneh-so crazy-he's locked into so many things now.... This is not the right time to approach him with new material."

And there was God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater: or, Pearls Before Swine God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater: or, Pearls Before Swine, an adaptation of Kurt Vonnegut's 1965 novel. The movie was to have been directed by Blake Edwards, but Edwards and Sellers made a different film in the meantime and had a few difficulties with each other. God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater, too, went by the boards.

In the spring of 1967, the Hollywood trade papers excitedly scattered details of Peter Sellers's imminent return to Tinseltown. "I've wanted to come back here and make a film on happy circumstances," Peter told Army Archerd. The circumstance was Blake Edwards's The Party The Party (1968). (1968).

Sheilah Graham reported that Peter and Britt were scheduled to sail to New York on the Queen Elizabeth Queen Elizabeth, then fly to Los Angeles. And once they arrived in Hollywood, Graham remarked, the couple wouldn't "be living in separate houses as they have done recently in England." (In addition to Brookfield and what appears to have been a standing reservation at the Dorchester, they'd taken yet another apartment-this one on Curzon Street in Mayfair. Who knows who stayed where?) Britt was supposedly packing twenty trunks of clothes along with one of the couple's Yorkshire terriers.

In late April, Peter arrived in L.A. He alone had taken the Queen Elizabeth Queen Elizabeth after all. Britt had gone to Sweden to be with her mother, who had just been diagnosed with cancer. He was accompanied by two-year-old Victoria, with whom he made the traditional trip to Disneyland in her mother's absence. after all. Britt had gone to Sweden to be with her mother, who had just been diagnosed with cancer. He was accompanied by two-year-old Victoria, with whom he made the traditional trip to Disneyland in her mother's absence.

An interviewer showed up one day at the Goldwyn Studios, where The Party The Party was being filmed. "Why do you have all that dark stuff on your face?" he inquired of Peter. This was quite the wrong thing to say. "If you don't know why I have this stuff on my face you have no right to interview me!' Peter roared before ordering the unprepared hack off the set. "Go ahead-print all the dirty things you want to!" he shouted after him. was being filmed. "Why do you have all that dark stuff on your face?" he inquired of Peter. This was quite the wrong thing to say. "If you don't know why I have this stuff on my face you have no right to interview me!' Peter roared before ordering the unprepared hack off the set. "Go ahead-print all the dirty things you want to!" he shouted after him.

Originally titled R.S.V.P., The Party R.S.V.P., The Party is about a polite, inept Indian actor, Hrundi V. Bakshi, whose name is mistakenly added to the guest list of an exclusive Hollywood bash, which he inadvertently destroys. Peter is about a polite, inept Indian actor, Hrundi V. Bakshi, whose name is mistakenly added to the guest list of an exclusive Hollywood bash, which he inadvertently destroys. Peter plays the role in blackface, and it's very funny as long as one isn't terribly concerned about issues of race and representation. Clad in a pale lavender suit, bright red socks, and white shoes, Hrundi Bakshi is essentially a one-man subcontinental minstrel show, though a sympathetic one. It's the smug white Hollywood types who are contemptible in plays the role in blackface, and it's very funny as long as one isn't terribly concerned about issues of race and representation. Clad in a pale lavender suit, bright red socks, and white shoes, Hrundi Bakshi is essentially a one-man subcontinental minstrel show, though a sympathetic one. It's the smug white Hollywood types who are contemptible in The Party The Party. Producers and bimbos, studio executives and their shallow wives-they bear the brunt of Edwards's scorn, with Hrundi V. Bakshi being the object of both the director's and the audience's sympathetic identification. It's more the pity that The Party The Party's Deluxe color registers Peter's dark-brown makeup so poorly.

Peter's Indian accent features prominently, as it should, but The Party The Party is largely about physical, cinematic sight-gag humor. Hrundi's shoe floats away on a preposterous stream that runs through the ultramodern house. A drunken waiter (Steve Franken) wreaks havoc with the salad. Hrundi's Rock Cornish hen flies off his plate in one shot and impales itself on a woman's pronged tiara in the next, all in less than two seconds. The drunken waiter proceeds to retrieve it, along with the woman's blond beehive wig, which he places on the dismayed Hrundi's plate. The wracking tensions of dinner party etiquette are the scene's main focus, and even under the blackface Peter expresses them charmingly, naturally. One would never guess that he and Blake Edwards were once again said to have stopped speaking to each other at some point during the production. Assistants relayed messages: "Ask Mr. Sellers if he's comfortable crossing to the phone while he's doing the dialogue." "Tell Mr. Edwards I'm very comfortable..." is largely about physical, cinematic sight-gag humor. Hrundi's shoe floats away on a preposterous stream that runs through the ultramodern house. A drunken waiter (Steve Franken) wreaks havoc with the salad. Hrundi's Rock Cornish hen flies off his plate in one shot and impales itself on a woman's pronged tiara in the next, all in less than two seconds. The drunken waiter proceeds to retrieve it, along with the woman's blond beehive wig, which he places on the dismayed Hrundi's plate. The wracking tensions of dinner party etiquette are the scene's main focus, and even under the blackface Peter expresses them charmingly, naturally. One would never guess that he and Blake Edwards were once again said to have stopped speaking to each other at some point during the production. Assistants relayed messages: "Ask Mr. Sellers if he's comfortable crossing to the phone while he's doing the dialogue." "Tell Mr. Edwards I'm very comfortable..."

In The Party The Party, Edwards gives Leo McCarey's comedic "pain barrier" theory a literal twist in a meticulously constructed ten-minute sequence in which Hrundi cannot find a proper place to urinate. The most accessible bathroom is occupied by several women. His hands clasped in front of him, he finds another; it's taken up by a group of men smoking pot. Still another is used by a waiter in red bikini briefs enthusiastically flexing in front of the mirror. All the while, Sellers is tensing his body, his gait becoming more and more warped and constricted. Hrundi wanders out to the lawn and sets off the sprinklers. Then a waif-like aspiring starlet (Claudine Longet) decides to sing a Henry Mancini song just as Hrundi rushes, dripping, through the living room.

Politely, he waits for her to finish. With a wretched grin plastered on his face, he leans against the wall, crosses his legs, clenches his fists, torques from the waist, and looks to heaven for salvation. As the song concludes, he creeps away in baby steps. from the waist, and looks to heaven for salvation. As the song concludes, he creeps away in baby steps.

The sequence goes on for two more excruciating minutes. Hrundi tears frantically from room to room to no avail before he finally gets to pee, and, at the moment of relief, the look on Peter's sweaty face is inimitable. In close-up, his head lolls around in coarse ecstasy while his facial expression suggests the more beatific joy of a martyred saint at the moment of ascension, and it's still not the end of the sequence. An entire roll of toilet paper unspools by itself, Hrundi stuffs it all in the toilet, breaks the toilet's lid, flushes, stops up the plumbing, and floods the bathroom before Sellers and Edwards's tour-de-force of bladder agony concludes.

As fundamentally visual as this film is, it's nevertheless in The Party The Party that Peter Sellers, in his exquisite front-of-the-mouth Indian accent, utters one of the choicest lines of his career, the immortal "Birdie num-num." The birdie is a parrot in a vast bamboo cage. The num-num is its seed. that Peter Sellers, in his exquisite front-of-the-mouth Indian accent, utters one of the choicest lines of his career, the immortal "Birdie num-num." The birdie is a parrot in a vast bamboo cage. The num-num is its seed.

"Birdie num-num," Hrundi V. Bakshi announces, gazing at the feathered thing. "Birdie num-num. Birdie num-num!"

Seed by seed, he feeds the parrot for a few moments and then pitches in a fistful. "I give you a lot," he explains before wandering away. He spies an elaborate electronic contraption built into the wall and flips a switch. "Num-num. Num-num! Birdie num-num!" Hrundi V. Bakshi proclaims to all the guests through the whole-house intercom. Then he makes an impromptu series of chicken noises.

This is quintessential Peter Sellers-silly, insane, brilliant. "Birdie num-num" is funny for reasons that remain entirely obscure: a phrase verging on meaninglessness, an accent both accurate and farcical, a bland and indefinable comportment that manages somehow to register as purely hilarious. For no apparent reason, the bit coalesces into something precise and emblematic. It is impossible to imagine anyone other than Peter Sellers achieving glory with "birdie num-num." He remains to this day the master of playing men who have no idea how ridiculous they are.

When The Party The Party opened in April 1968, opened in April 1968, Time Time was snide: "This party, in short, is strictly for those who don't get around much." The was snide: "This party, in short, is strictly for those who don't get around much." The New York Times New York Times was offended: "When, eventually, Sellers is reduced to mugging the was offended: "When, eventually, Sellers is reduced to mugging the poor Indian's pain at not being able to empty his bladder, the picture hits a low point from which it never recovers." When the British royal family watched poor Indian's pain at not being able to empty his bladder, the picture hits a low point from which it never recovers." When the British royal family watched The Party The Party together at Balmoral Castle, however, Elizabeth II laughed so hard that tears rolled down her face. The queen got it right. together at Balmoral Castle, however, Elizabeth II laughed so hard that tears rolled down her face. The queen got it right.

SEVENTEEN.

Let me see-how is is it to be managed? it to be managed?

I suppose I ought to eat or drink something or other; but the great question is, what?

It was 1967. The Beatles had their maharishi, Peter had his yoga, and the counterculture, regardless of its income level, turned to the jangling rhythms of southern Asia for druggy inspiration.

Peter became friendly with Ravi Shankar, the world's most famous sitar master. When Peter was in Los Angeles that year, he invited Shankar to his rented house to perform a private concert. Paul Mazursky, one of the guests, reports that Peter imitated Ravi's accented voice directly to Ravi's face-much to Ravi's amusement. And in fact it was Shankar who demonstrated the elements of sitar technique for Peter on the set of The Party The Party, when Hrundi, early in the film, sits alone and plays.

Sellers's friendship with Shankar led to an even closer friendship with George Harrison. "I got to re-know him through Ravi Shankar," Harrison says. "He liked Ravi a lot and became close friends with him, and at that time, you know, I was with Ravi all the time learning the sitar. We hung out together, the three of us, which was quite an unusual combination."

Harrison also reports that Peter was quite immersed in his spiritual quest: "He was doing a lot of yoga and trying to hone in on 'Who am I?' 'What is it all about?'" He hadn't discovered any lasting answers.

Peter could be social and outgoing if the mood suited him. He, Britt, Edwards, Edwards's new and as-yet unannounced girlfriend, Julie Andrews, and other key Party Party people did, in fact, party in a grandiose, Hollywood sort of way-when Edwards and Peter were speaking, at least. As filming people did, in fact, party in a grandiose, Hollywood sort of way-when Edwards and Peter were speaking, at least. As filming neared completion, Peter threw a fifty-guest cocktail do, after which everyone climbed onto the busses he had chartered and headed to the Greek Theater in Los Feliz, where Henry Mancini was opening that night. There was also a three-hundred-person wrap party thrown by the producers on the neared completion, Peter threw a fifty-guest cocktail do, after which everyone climbed onto the busses he had chartered and headed to the Greek Theater in Los Feliz, where Henry Mancini was opening that night. There was also a three-hundred-person wrap party thrown by the producers on the Party Party set, with music provided by the onscreen band (The Party Four). On a more sober note, Peter returned to Cedars of Lebanon Hospital to address a group of cardiologists about his experiences as a heart-attack survivor. set, with music provided by the onscreen band (The Party Four). On a more sober note, Peter returned to Cedars of Lebanon Hospital to address a group of cardiologists about his experiences as a heart-attack survivor.

Peter made new friends, too. The closest by far was Roman Polanski. They met in an Italian restaurant near the Paramount lot, where Polanski was filming Rosemary's Baby Rosemary's Baby (1968) with Mia Farrow. "My first impression of him was of a sad, shy man who hid his essential melancholy behind a fixed smile that revealed his rather prominent teeth," Polanski writes in his autobiography. "His manner conveyed profound depression." (1968) with Mia Farrow. "My first impression of him was of a sad, shy man who hid his essential melancholy behind a fixed smile that revealed his rather prominent teeth," Polanski writes in his autobiography. "His manner conveyed profound depression."

Asked to elaborate on this observation in person, however, Polanski is quick to clarify: "He was at that time in such a mood, but it doesn't mean that it prevailed throughout the years that we knew each other. He had a lot of reasons to be depressed, like everybody else. I don't think that he was particularly stricken by depression throughout his life." Obviously bored by all the one-dimensional "Mad Peter" lore, Roman Polanski defends him. Still, Polanski acknowledges, "Peter's idiosyncrasies could be a drag." For example, Sellers tended to walk out of restaurants mid-meal. "This often happened at The Luau," Polanski writes. "I grew to dread the moment when, after ordering, Peter would whisper, 'Ro, I can't stand it-bad vibes in here-let's go somewhere else.'"

Going somewhere else was Peter's way of life. At the end of July, Peter and Britt flew to Paris, then to Marseilles, where they began a two-week cruise of the Mediterranean. "When the Sellerses discovered that they couldn't get all their belongings they'd picked up during their Hollywood stay on their plane," the columnist Dorothy Manners gasped, "they ordered a second freight plane just to transport the haul. The only thing they were forced to leave was Peter's new car."

It was a Corvette Stingray. There hadn't been one available in Los Angeles, so Peter-who once described himself as being "auto erotic"-got his press agent to call Detroit and have General Motors ship one to him immediately so he could drive it around Beverly Hills during the filming of immediately so he could drive it around Beverly Hills during the filming of The Party The Party. He had to have it.

"You tell them you want a car as soon as possible," Peter said at the time, "and you'll bloody well get it two weeks from now. You tell them you want it today today and they know you mean business." He got away with this sort of thing precisely because he could. and they know you mean business." He got away with this sort of thing precisely because he could.

If it weren't for the tremendous talent, the domestic horrors, and the periodic fits of public charm, Peter Sellers's life could be described in the form of a warehouse inventory and an accompanying list of the stamps on his passport. He had commissioned a new yacht while on a side trip to Genoa during the production of The Bobo The Bobo-a fifty-foot number, which he christened The Bobo The Bobo-and in August 1967, he and Britt sailed to Sardinia to spend a little time with the Aga Khan. The couple, divorce postponed, were accompanied by Margaret and Tony Snowdon; the Aga was tossing the princess a birthday bash. Kirk and Anne Douglas were there, too; Peter had met them in Monte Carlo on the way. Margaret's cousin, Princess Alexandra, and her husband, Angus Ogilvy, came along as well. So did Michael, Sarah, and Victoria Sellers, the youngest being cared for by her Swedish nanny, Inger.

"It was the real jet set period," Roman Polanski declares. "It was, like, one day in Rome, one day in L.A., then we'd suddenly be in London. Our jobs would take us to various places, and we would meet like that, you know." Paris, Rome, London, Los Angeles, Monte Carlo; Peter, Margaret, Roman, Kirk, the Aga; films, income, houses, taxes, luggage.... It was rather like a progressive dinner, where guests go from house to house for each new course, only in 1967 they were jetting, not driving, and the food was better, and there was unlimited champagne and lots of drugs, and everybody was famous. Through Roman, Peter met Warren (Beatty). Warren introduced him to Julie (Christie). "You have to look back at what London was like in the '60s," says Peter's friend Gene Gutowski, who had been Polanski's producer on Repulsion Repulsion (1965), (1965), Cul de Sac Cul de Sac (1966), and (1966), and The Fearless Vampire Killers, or: Pardon Me But Your Teeth Are In My Neck The Fearless Vampire Killers, or: Pardon Me But Your Teeth Are In My Neck (1967). "We were young, we were successful, and everybody's star was on the rise. It was limited to much more of a select group than today. Let's put it this way: there were not as many celebrities around in those days." (1967). "We were young, we were successful, and everybody's star was on the rise. It was limited to much more of a select group than today. Let's put it this way: there were not as many celebrities around in those days."

With Roman, Peter enjoyed playing an odd game of their own invention: Sellers, assuming the personality of a cretin, would climb into the driver's seat of his latest Rolls Corniche, and Roman would give a driving lesson as though to the mentally handicapped. "Press the right-hand pedal, gently-no, too hard!..." And so on, through the busy streets of London. According to Polanski, it was especially amusing to play the game stoned on hashish. invention: Sellers, assuming the personality of a cretin, would climb into the driver's seat of his latest Rolls Corniche, and Roman would give a driving lesson as though to the mentally handicapped. "Press the right-hand pedal, gently-no, too hard!..." And so on, through the busy streets of London. According to Polanski, it was especially amusing to play the game stoned on hashish.

In the late fall of 1967, the Polanski circle got together to plan a communal Christmas holiday in Cortina. Roman and his magnificent girlfriend, Sharon Tate, took Peter out to dinner at a Chinese restaurant to talk about the trip and introduce him to some of the other guests. A physician named Tony Greenburgh-described by Gene Gutowski as "a society doctor"-was seated across the table from Peter. The talk turned to the question of whether doctors bore any moral responsibility to patients who seemed driven to self-destruction. Not knowing Peter at all, Greenburgh all-too-calmly stated his opinion: that doctors were unable to stop hell-bent patients from killing themselves, whether it was through drinking, drugging, smoking, or overwork, and therefore he bore absolutely no responsibility for his patients outside of the particulars of his practice.

Peter became wildly enraged, his reaction so abrupt and extreme that the other guests naturally assumed it was one of his impromptu comedy routines. Their amused disbelief continued even after Peter got up from the table, marched around to Greenburgh's side, shrieked "You're wrong, Doctor-you're wrong, you're fucking wrong! fucking wrong!" and grabbed the physician by the throat and began to choke him. Someone at the table giggled and casually told Peter to stop acting silly. Greenburgh, for his part, was turning blue.

Polanski sprang to the doctor's defense and pried Peter's fingers loose from his throat. He then asked Peter to sit down, whereupon Peter, according to Polanski, "buried his face in his hands and began to sob."

These were trying times for certain people with whom Peter Sellers came into contact; some had it easier than others. Many years after inspiring mutual unpleasantness during the production of I Love You, Alice B. Toklas! I Love You, Alice B. Toklas! (1968) Peter and one of the film's writers, Paul Mazursky, ran into each other at the Beverly Hills Hotel. They greeted each other warmly after their long estrangement. "I was wrong, Paul," Sellers is said to have confessed. "Will you ever forgive me?" "There's nothing to forgive," Mazursky (1968) Peter and one of the film's writers, Paul Mazursky, ran into each other at the Beverly Hills Hotel. They greeted each other warmly after their long estrangement. "I was wrong, Paul," Sellers is said to have confessed. "Will you ever forgive me?" "There's nothing to forgive," Mazursky benevolently replied, only to chronicle the whole ugly thing later, lavishly and at Peter's expense, in his autobiography. benevolently replied, only to chronicle the whole ugly thing later, lavishly and at Peter's expense, in his autobiography.

They met while Peter was filming The Party The Party. Freddie Fields, Peter's Hollywood agent, had read the script, which Mazursky wrote with his collaborator, Larry Tucker, and forwarded a copy to Peter, who agreed overnight to do the film. They were all taken aback by Peter's first suggestion for director. "Hello, Freddie," Peter said into the phone during one of his early meetings with Mazursky and Tucker. "I'm here with the boys, and we all agree that our first choice is Fellini." If Fellini was too busy, Peter added, then they'd "move on to Bergman." Fields is said to have told Tucker and Mazursky privately that he had no intention of approaching either the director of Juliet of the Spirits Juliet of the Spirits (1965) or the director of (1965) or the director of Persona Persona (1966) with a film that centered on pot brownies. (1966) with a film that centered on pot brownies.

Somebody suggested George Roy Hill. Peter responded by saying that he refused to work with Hill again after The World of Henry Orient The World of Henry Orient. Mike Nichols's name came up and was shot down. Jonathan Miller was proposed. Miller actually flew to Los Angeles for a meeting, but when he brought up the subject of the film's musical score, Peter went pale and terminated the conversation. In Mazursky's account, Peter is said to have then suggested Mazursky.

But Peter rejected him, too, supposedly after the writer gave Britt a kiss on the cheek and Peter accused him of having sex with her. Mazursky to Freddie Fields: "The only thing I did was tell Peter The Bobo The Bobo stank!" Fields to Mazursky: "That's almost as bad as telling Sellers you fucked his wife." stank!" Fields to Mazursky: "That's almost as bad as telling Sellers you fucked his wife."

Peter eventually chose Hy Averback to direct I Love You, Alice B. Toklas! I Love You, Alice B. Toklas! and barred Mazursky from the set until the day he asked him back. and barred Mazursky from the set until the day he asked him back.

At one point during the production, which occurred in December 1967 and January 1968, Mazursky was summoned to Peter's rented house in Beverly Hills, where he was greeted warmly by a smiling Peter, who then burst into tears. "The ship is sinking, Paul. Sinking, I tell you." And on and on.

Peter's strange sociability-ebullient one moment, despondent the next-led him to launch an informal cinema club to keep him focused on the art he loved, with other pleasures on the side. The first film he chose to screen was Satyajit Ray's Pather Panchali Pather Panchali (1955), to be screened with an accompanying dinner of lamb curry. And hash brownies. With Britt having left for New York to shoot William Friedkin's (1955), to be screened with an accompanying dinner of lamb curry. And hash brownies. With Britt having left for New York to shoot William Friedkin's The Night They Raided Minsky's The Night They Raided Minsky's (1968)-in which she plays an Amish burlesque dancer-Peter eagerly (1968)-in which she plays an Amish burlesque dancer-Peter eagerly invited his pretty young costar, Leigh Taylor-Young, on whom he had developed the predictable crush. invited his pretty young costar, Leigh Taylor-Young, on whom he had developed the predictable crush.

During the screening, "Peter sat in the back of the small screening room holding hands with the exquisite Leigh-Taylor," Mazursky writes, referring to Taylor-Young.

The club's next film was to be Fellini's I Vitelloni I Vitelloni (1953), to be accompanied by Betsy Mazursky's spaghetti Bolognese and more brownies, but when the guests showed up, there was no film. According to Mazursky, nobody remembered to order it. As Mazursky tells it, Peter's response was something on the order of "I don't want spaghetti, and I don't want (1953), to be accompanied by Betsy Mazursky's spaghetti Bolognese and more brownies, but when the guests showed up, there was no film. According to Mazursky, nobody remembered to order it. As Mazursky tells it, Peter's response was something on the order of "I don't want spaghetti, and I don't want Vitelloni! Vitelloni! I don't I don't ever ever want want Vitelloni! Vitelloni! Never, ever, never!" "Fuck you, Peter," Mazursky said. "Fuck Never, ever, never!" "Fuck you, Peter," Mazursky said. "Fuck you you," said Peter. The projectionist saved the day by screening The Producers The Producers.

As an afterthought, Mazursky mentions that Peter's "work on the film was impeccable. He was prompt, fully prepared, and very generous to his fellow actors."

Peter's own account is much less acrimonious than Mazursky's: "One night we all wanted to see a Fellini film, see? We were all just nicely high, and all the girls had baked hash cookies. But the owner comes in and says, 'I'm sorry to tell you guys, but they didn't wanna give us the Fellini film.' I said, 'Oh shit, fuck it.' But this guy says, 'No, listen, I got a film by Mel Brooks. It's called Springtime for Hitler Springtime for Hitler (the original title). So we gave out a few more cookies, things were very heavily hashed up, and we got ripped out of our minds. We started watching this film and were hysterical. I actually had to crawl out of the room on my hands and knees and go to the lavatory because I was almost sick with laughing. When I went back in, I just saw white on the screen. We were all just looking at the white until someone knew enough to say, 'Change the reel!'" (the original title). So we gave out a few more cookies, things were very heavily hashed up, and we got ripped out of our minds. We started watching this film and were hysterical. I actually had to crawl out of the room on my hands and knees and go to the lavatory because I was almost sick with laughing. When I went back in, I just saw white on the screen. We were all just looking at the white until someone knew enough to say, 'Change the reel!'"

Studio executives didn't quite know what to make of Brooks's stomach-hurting laughmaker, and The Producers The Producers was still looking for distribution support. Sellers thought he could help: "The following day I got hold of as many producers as I could, urging them to come and see this film. I got a good turnout. I took out full-page ads in the was still looking for distribution support. Sellers thought he could help: "The following day I got hold of as many producers as I could, urging them to come and see this film. I got a good turnout. I took out full-page ads in the Hollywood Reporter Hollywood Reporter and and Variety Variety. The movie is one of the greatest comedies that's been made recently." He had been unable to listen to Brooks's lines because of the distractions of Bloomingdale's, but once it was finished, he could see see and and hear hear it; even through his spiked-brownie haze, Peter saw what Hollywood executives it; even through his spiked-brownie haze, Peter saw what Hollywood executives were dismissing. His championing of were dismissing. His championing of The Producers The Producers gave it the industry attention that turned it into a smash hit. gave it the industry attention that turned it into a smash hit.

I Love You, Alice B. Toklas! is a flower-power comedy, a classic of its genre thanks almost entirely to Peter's performance. Harold Fine (Peter), a middle-aged, asthmatic, Lincoln-driving lawyer, undergoes a profound life transition after his hippie brother's breathy girlfriend, Nancy (Leigh Taylor-Young), bakes him some "groovy" Pillsbury brownies-"groovy" owing to the pot she adds with a liberal hand. Harold himself becomes groovy. He leaves his fiancee, Joyce (Joyce Van Patten) at the altar, outfits himself in glorious hippie duds, grows his hair into a shaggy, John Lennon-ish cut (a moderately less ludicrous version of Dr. Fassbender's Prince Valiant in is a flower-power comedy, a classic of its genre thanks almost entirely to Peter's performance. Harold Fine (Peter), a middle-aged, asthmatic, Lincoln-driving lawyer, undergoes a profound life transition after his hippie brother's breathy girlfriend, Nancy (Leigh Taylor-Young), bakes him some "groovy" Pillsbury brownies-"groovy" owing to the pot she adds with a liberal hand. Harold himself becomes groovy. He leaves his fiancee, Joyce (Joyce Van Patten) at the altar, outfits himself in glorious hippie duds, grows his hair into a shaggy, John Lennon-ish cut (a moderately less ludicrous version of Dr. Fassbender's Prince Valiant in What's New, Pussycat? What's New, Pussycat?), and takes to reading The Psychedelic Experience The Psychedelic Experience naked with the free-spirited Nancy. naked with the free-spirited Nancy.

While his histrionic mother (Jo Van Fleet)-her voice full of whining, her hair full of bluing-consoles Joyce with such splendidly grating comments as "women are built for hurt," Harold seeks the advice of a white-robed guru. It doesn't quite work. They walk together on the beach. "But how can you know what a flower is, Harold, if you don't know who you you are?" the guru asks. "I'm trying, guru, I'm really trying!" are?" the guru asks. "I'm trying, guru, I'm really trying!"

"When you stop trying, then you'll know who you are."

Harold, meanwhile, is gingerly stepping over seaweed and bits of shell. "Well, I'm trying to stop trying." This is not coming easily to Harold.

Harold cringes at the touch of cold ocean water on his Jewish feet as the guru goes on about flowers, energy, and life. Harold shivers and is pained. The words are amusing; Peter's gestures and expressions are extraordinary.

Harold's transformation ends when a gang of freeloading hippies overrun his hippified apartment. He reunites with Joyce but walks out on their marriage ceremony a second time. His life as a hippie has taught him nothing if not how to be even more selfish than he was at the beginning, but in 1968 this appears to have been considered a happy ending, because as he escapes down the sidewalk, a hippie calls out, "Hey! Where ya goin', man?" "I dunno," Harold Fine replies, breaking into a run. "I don't know. And I don't care! I don't care! I don't care! There's got to be something beautiful out there! There's got to be! I know it!" Peter was still organizing his life through his films' dialogue. He still believed he could find solace somewhere. There's got to be something beautiful out there! There's got to be! I know it!" Peter was still organizing his life through his films' dialogue. He still believed he could find solace somewhere.

Paranoia about his wife, paranoia about his performance.... At one point in late December 1967, Peter demanded that the Alice B. Toklas Alice B. Toklas set be closed. Apparently it was for a love scene with Leigh Taylor-Young; Peter may have worried about becoming overenthusiastic. But whatever the cause, two police officers stood guard at the outer door of the sound stage as nonrequired technicians were ushered away and screens were arranged tightly around the set. set be closed. Apparently it was for a love scene with Leigh Taylor-Young; Peter may have worried about becoming overenthusiastic. But whatever the cause, two police officers stood guard at the outer door of the sound stage as nonrequired technicians were ushered away and screens were arranged tightly around the set.