"People were sent out to comb Hampstead for vegetables at that hour of night, and from that moment on, the kitchen was piled high with chopped vegetables. There were pyramids of vegetables all the way up and down the work tops. Nobody could get anything done because my mother was always making homemade soup for Peter Sellers. He said, 'This is the best soup I have ever tasted in my life.' I said, 'Well done, Mummy, you know, but what is it?' She said, 'Well, I put bones in it, of course. And marrow.'

"He was there for over a month, using both phones constantly, night and day. Nobody could make a phone call. He had all these charts of Eastern-I don't know what they were, pictures of Buddhists..."He would just stay in his study communing with himself or with Bert on the phone. He was just terribly, terribly sad. I have to say that as a house guest he was the most depressing person I've ever had in the house. I used to creep in at night and try to sneak past the study door so I could get to bed without Peter intercepting me, because he would sit down and cry. He would talk about his life, and, oh, it was so.... I was sorry for him, but it was so depressing having him around. Not one joke from beginning to end. Not a laugh."

And so he married Miranda.

"I was the best man at that wedding, and the bridesmaids were the dogs," Bert later said. "Then they went off to their honeymoon. I accompanied them. We were in the south of France on the yacht, and it's honeymoon time, and then one morning we couldn't find him. The ship-to-shore phone rang, and it was him. He'd booked himself into a hotel, and he'd left his bride of weeks on the yacht with me, and we couldn't work out why."

Neither could he. As any actor knows, most entrances require an exit. Even with with Miranda he kept moving. For tax reasons, the newlyweds moved to Ireland; they bought the coach house of a 1,000-acre manor near the village of Maynooth in County Kildare, about an hour's drive from Dublin. Periodic privileges at the immense manor came with the deal. Miranda he kept moving. For tax reasons, the newlyweds moved to Ireland; they bought the coach house of a 1,000-acre manor near the village of Maynooth in County Kildare, about an hour's drive from Dublin. Periodic privileges at the immense manor came with the deal.

He and Peg remained in touch. As he told the British entertainment reporter Roderick Mann, "When I was living in Ireland with Miranda, we kept chickens. And one day the hen got lost. I thought the fox had got it, but as Miranda was distressed we held a seance. When Peg came through I asked her, 'Do you know where the hen has gone?' 'Of course I do,' she said. 'It's up in the rafters of the stable.' 'Hang on,' I said. 'I'll take a look.'

"Well, I couldn't find the damn thing and I told her so. 'It's not there,' I said. 'Of course it's there,' she said. 'Go and have another look. But don't be long. I'm not sodding about all night looking for a perishing hen.'" They found the hen the next day. It was trapped in the rafters, just as Mother promised.

But the tale is suspect because, on other occasions, Peter claimed that, no, he did not actually speak to Peg directly but rather to an intermediary; another departed soul relayed her messages. According to Peter, the medium was the spirit of an American Indian named Red Cloud. no, he did not actually speak to Peg directly but rather to an intermediary; another departed soul relayed her messages. According to Peter, the medium was the spirit of an American Indian named Red Cloud.

"I've been in pictures since Jesus was a lance corporal," declares Rod Amateau, the director of Peter's next picture, Where Does It Hurt? Where Does It Hurt? (1972). "I never treated him with any reverence. Only respect." (1972). "I never treated him with any reverence. Only respect."

Where Does It Hurt? is a gleefully sour comedy about a guy named Hammond (Rick Lenz) who comes into Valley Vue Hospital for a chest X-ray but has no health insurance. It looks bad for him until he mentions that he owns his own house. "You have a house!" the receptionist cries, her eyes lighting up as she pushes the secret toe buzzer that alerts Albert Hopfnagel (Peter), the fast-talking hospital administrator, to the presence of an easy mark. Hammond is whisked away and given a variety of procedures, a good deal of which pertain to his anus-blood work, a high colonic, an electrocardiogram, a rectal probe, urinalysis, and a barium enema, all leading up to a pointless appendectomy. is a gleefully sour comedy about a guy named Hammond (Rick Lenz) who comes into Valley Vue Hospital for a chest X-ray but has no health insurance. It looks bad for him until he mentions that he owns his own house. "You have a house!" the receptionist cries, her eyes lighting up as she pushes the secret toe buzzer that alerts Albert Hopfnagel (Peter), the fast-talking hospital administrator, to the presence of an easy mark. Hammond is whisked away and given a variety of procedures, a good deal of which pertain to his anus-blood work, a high colonic, an electrocardiogram, a rectal probe, urinalysis, and a barium enema, all leading up to a pointless appendectomy.

The comedy is raw, bitter, and misanthropic. "Let me add this up," Hopfnagel snaps at one of the doctors in Peter's most pinched American accent to date. "A) Your sister-in-law, Mrs. Manzini, needs a hysterectomy; b) she wants you to operate; and c) she wants to pay for the hysterectomy with S&H Green Stamps. Does she have any idea of how many S&H Green Stamps this operation would take?" "She has," the doctor replies. "She was president of the Blessed Sacrament Ladies' Auxiliary. They collected Green Stamps. They broke up over birth control, and she kept the stamps." Hopfnagel works with this information: "As you know, our customary charge for a hysterectomy is $500. We shall have to charge her $2,000 because we are taking Green Stamps. Yes or no?! Yes or no?!"

Where Does It Hurt? is an equal opportunity offender. "So much for faggot power," Hopfnagel mutters discontentedly after a gay informant fails to provide precise information on the potential visit of the city's hospital commissioner. He then calls the hospital's Japanese-American lab technician (Pat Morita) a "greedy little Buddha-head." "If it hadn't been for my creative white cell count," Mr. Nishimoto retorts, "that sore-ass Hebe wouldn't even is an equal opportunity offender. "So much for faggot power," Hopfnagel mutters discontentedly after a gay informant fails to provide precise information on the potential visit of the city's hospital commissioner. He then calls the hospital's Japanese-American lab technician (Pat Morita) a "greedy little Buddha-head." "If it hadn't been for my creative white cell count," Mr. Nishimoto retorts, "that sore-ass Hebe wouldn't even be be a patient." (Patient Hammond has been confused with patient Epstein and has been treated accordingly.) "So much for the Yellow Peril," says Hopfnagel after throwing Mr. Nishimoto out of his office. It's a patient." (Patient Hammond has been confused with patient Epstein and has been treated accordingly.) "So much for the Yellow Peril," says Hopfnagel after throwing Mr. Nishimoto out of his office. It's a nasty comedy, but that's its aesthetic. In its bitterness, if not its political incorrectness, a nasty comedy, but that's its aesthetic. In its bitterness, if not its political incorrectness, Where Does It Hurt? Where Does It Hurt? was ahead of its time. was ahead of its time.

According to Rod Amateau, money was the key to understanding Peter Sellers. In the director's words, Peter was "economically determined." ("The word is penurious penurious," Amateau adds by way of clarification.) In a meeting in Ireland at what Amateau calls Peter's "drafty manor-it was terribly cold," they agreed to finance the film fifty-fifty and take equal shares of the profits. (Where Does It Hurt? was coproduced by Josef Shaftel.) "This was an independent production done on the cheap," Amateau bluntly states. "About $600,000. I mean, was coproduced by Josef Shaftel.) "This was an independent production done on the cheap," Amateau bluntly states. "About $600,000. I mean, really low really low." "We can make this picture for short money," Amateau remembers telling Peter, which provoked the following reply. Peter (in Hopfnagel's reedy American twang): "Rod, yer my kinda guy."

There was a brief rehearsal period before shooting began in Los Angeles on July 7, at which point Peter called and asked for his limousine. Rod replied that he could certainly provide a limo for Peter if that was what Peter wished, but since their deal was to split the costs evenly as well as the profits, the car would cost Peter $50 a day. The following morning, Peter left his rented Benedict Canyon house and arrived at the studio in the passenger seat of the key grip's pickup truck. "He lives near me," was the way Peter explained his transportation to Amateau, who adds that "from then on there wasn't one moment of delay on the whole picture. He couldn't have been nicer. He was watching the clock the whole time."

Peter was very well liked by the cast and crew. He was efficient, helpful, and methodical in getting the film completed on schedule. Asked if he was doing any drugs at the time, Amateau replies, "Who didn't didn't do drugs?" do drugs?"

"It wasn't a very good picture," Amateau acknowledges, but it did end up in the black. "It made money not because it was a great picture but because it was cheap. Peter was very happy to go home with a full wallet."

For a birthday present, Peter gave Amateau a copy of the Encyclopedia Britannica Encyclopedia Britannica in two condensed, microprinted volumes, along with an accompanying magnifying glass. "You want to know everything," Peter told his director, "here's your chance to know everything else." Soon thereafter, Peter and Amateau happened to be in Rome at the same time, and the three of them-Rod, Peter, and Bert-went out to dinner in Trastevere, where Peter and Rod launched into an argument about Fellini. "He's great," said Rod. "You're crazy," said Peter. "You like everybody." No, Rod in two condensed, microprinted volumes, along with an accompanying magnifying glass. "You want to know everything," Peter told his director, "here's your chance to know everything else." Soon thereafter, Peter and Amateau happened to be in Rome at the same time, and the three of them-Rod, Peter, and Bert-went out to dinner in Trastevere, where Peter and Rod launched into an argument about Fellini. "He's great," said Rod. "You're crazy," said Peter. "You like everybody." No, Rod protested, Fellini is a very nice man.... No, said Peter. Amateau doesn't remember precisely what they argued about-there was wine involved-but he does recall that Fellini's tendency (as Amateau describes it) "to direct by the numbers" made no sense to Peter, who found it offensive to actors. (Fellini, with whom Amateau had worked, often directed his actors to move around the set in a series of numbered positions, and he rarely gave them dialogue when they shot but instead filmed them without sound and dubbed in the dialogue later. Sellers, who never worked with Fellini, found the director's habits to be obnoxious.) protested, Fellini is a very nice man.... No, said Peter. Amateau doesn't remember precisely what they argued about-there was wine involved-but he does recall that Fellini's tendency (as Amateau describes it) "to direct by the numbers" made no sense to Peter, who found it offensive to actors. (Fellini, with whom Amateau had worked, often directed his actors to move around the set in a series of numbered positions, and he rarely gave them dialogue when they shot but instead filmed them without sound and dubbed in the dialogue later. Sellers, who never worked with Fellini, found the director's habits to be obnoxious.) "Fuck him," said Peter.

As the Fellini argument escalated, Bert began to make silent no-no gestures on the sly. Rod changed the subject. The men parted when dinner was over. Peter was a little chilly. Rod returned to his hotel, took a shower, and the doorbell rang. "It's not me," said Bert. "You've got to understand Peter. You won't like it, but he wants the encyclopedia back. He's mad at you. Don't say he's childish! I've told him that. And don't say no or you'll get me in trouble." Amateau gave Bert the encyclopedia. Bert left.

A little while later, the phone rang. "In other words," said Peter's voice through the receiver, "you thought so little of my gift that you gave it back without protest. If you'd have really liked it you'd have fought for it."

Rod: "I don't fight for anything except women and money."

Peter: "You're off my list." Then he hung up.

For the next few months, Peter kept calling from wherever he happened to be-Switzerland, England, Italy, Ireland-and begging Amateau to please let him send it back. "Don't send it, Peter," said the amiable Amateau. "Bring it with you the next time we get together."

Eventually they found themselves in London at the same time, whereupon Bert arrived at Rod's door bearing the encyclopedia. "He's downstairs," said Bert. Amateau went to the window and saw Peter sitting in his car, waving up to him in the queenly manner.

"I had the best of him because I appealed to his worst nature," Amateau fondly concludes. "And lemme tell you, it takes one to know one. He was a lot more talented, but what the hell?"

Where Does It Hurt? was lucky. Many projects didn't pan out at all. "Spike Milligan and I are working on an idea now," Peter had declared in 1970. "I can't tell you what it is, but it's similar to spiritualism and that sort of was lucky. Many projects didn't pan out at all. "Spike Milligan and I are working on an idea now," Peter had declared in 1970. "I can't tell you what it is, but it's similar to spiritualism and that sort of thing. Not spiritualism, but in a similar area." Spike was less circumspect. It was to be, in Spike's words, "a comic version of the Bible." Lo, it did not come to pass. thing. Not spiritualism, but in a similar area." Spike was less circumspect. It was to be, in Spike's words, "a comic version of the Bible." Lo, it did not come to pass.

The Last Goon Show of All was sufficiently antediluvian to make up for any missing biblical tale. Recorded on April 30, 1972, at the Camden Theatre (to be broadcast on radio May 10 on Radio 4 and televised on BBC1 at Christmastime), it marked a reunion between Peter, Spike (who wrote the script), Harry, Ray Ellington, Max Geldray, and the announcer Andrew Timothy, who had been onboard for the first was sufficiently antediluvian to make up for any missing biblical tale. Recorded on April 30, 1972, at the Camden Theatre (to be broadcast on radio May 10 on Radio 4 and televised on BBC1 at Christmastime), it marked a reunion between Peter, Spike (who wrote the script), Harry, Ray Ellington, Max Geldray, and the announcer Andrew Timothy, who had been onboard for the first Crazy People Crazy People in 1951. "When I announced the first in 1951. "When I announced the first Goon Show Goon Show I was thirty," Timothy declares in the opening moments. "I am now ninety-three." I was thirty," Timothy declares in the opening moments. "I am now ninety-three."

"I will now whistle the soliloquy from Hamlet Hamlet," Peter announces in stentorian tones to the assembled studio audience, which included Prince Philip and Princess Anne. (Prince Charles was in the navy at the time and telegrammed that he was "enraged" that he couldn't attend.) And the soliloquy Peter did whistle, trailing off after the first few recognizable bars and moving slightly away from his microphone, at which point Andrew Timothy dryly breaks in: "That was Mr. Sellers practicing his comeback."

TWENTY.

Down, down, down. Would the fall never never come to an end? come to an end?

He hoped to solve his career problems by making a movie about a cretin. Shortly after Jerzy Kosinski's newest book hit the stands in 1971, the emigre novelist received a brief and cryptic telegram: "Available my garden or outside it. C. Gardiner," followed by a telephone number. Curious, Kosinski dialed it. Peter picked up. Kosinski had created Being There Being There's Chauncey Gardiner to express the life and soul of Peter Sellers, Peter Sellers said. As Kosinski later described it, "He sees his life as dictated by chance." They met at an Italian restaurant in London. "He was responsible for the worst diarrhea of my life," Kosinski later declared.

Gene Gutowski took an option for the film rights. "I had a deal with MGM-a very quick one I made when the book was a bestseller. Kosinski gave me the rights because he thought I had done such a good job with the Polanski pictures, and he trusted me. Through a social friendship with Kirk Kerkorian, I was able to get it right through the management of MGM, and very quickly I had an okay to go ahead with the picture. It was then on the basis of Gore Vidal writing the screenplay. Gore was happy to do so. It all happened in forty-eight hours. Then Kosinski changed his mind under the influence of a friend of his, a Polish cameraman who wanted to direct the picture and said to Kosinski, 'Look, with Gore Vidal writing the screenplay, you'll never have full control.' It was very self-serving, because he wanted to direct the picture. The project disintegrated, and of course MGM stepped out."

What Peter made instead was another filmed production of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland Alice's Adventures in Wonderland (1972), which consisted entirely of famous featured (1972), which consisted entirely of famous featured performances with lots of animal heads. Peter plays the March Hare. He filmed his rather short sequence at Shepperton in June 1972. performances with lots of animal heads. Peter plays the March Hare. He filmed his rather short sequence at Shepperton in June 1972.

Despite its all-star cast-including Michael Crawford, Spike Milligan, Dudley Moore, and Ralph Richardson-Alice's Adventures in Wonderland turned out to be, in Peter's words, "a lousy film." He was publicly enthusiastic about the movie's prospects while it was still being shot, but as he announced to the press after seeing the thing, "We all feel-I'm speaking on behalf of all the actors because we all spoke about it-that it's a poorly constructed piece of movie." Fortunately for Peter, or at least for Peter's art, he left London soon after completing his work on turned out to be, in Peter's words, "a lousy film." He was publicly enthusiastic about the movie's prospects while it was still being shot, but as he announced to the press after seeing the thing, "We all feel-I'm speaking on behalf of all the actors because we all spoke about it-that it's a poorly constructed piece of movie." Fortunately for Peter, or at least for Peter's art, he left London soon after completing his work on Alice Alice and went off to the Channel Islands to film one of the best but least-known movies of his career. and went off to the Channel Islands to film one of the best but least-known movies of his career.

The Blockhouse (1973) is about a group of Allied prisoners of war who happen to be building fortifications on the northern coast of France when D-day hits. With bombs falling all around them, their Nazi guards flee, leaving the prisoners unsupervised. They dive into a well-stocked bunker, where a perfectly targeted Allied bomb seals them in, and they die, one by one, over time. (1973) is about a group of Allied prisoners of war who happen to be building fortifications on the northern coast of France when D-day hits. With bombs falling all around them, their Nazi guards flee, leaving the prisoners unsupervised. They dive into a well-stocked bunker, where a perfectly targeted Allied bomb seals them in, and they die, one by one, over time.

"It's based upon a true story," the director Clive Rees explains. "Actually, they were German soldiers who were looting a warehouse when the Red Army was coming. The entrance was blown up by the Germans, who trapped their own people inside. Years later the place was opened up. Two people were found alive, four or five dead and bathed in flour, and of the two people who came out alive, one died ten minutes after rescue, the other thirty-six hours later, blind and insane."

Sellers plays the Frenchman, Rouquet, a quiet former teacher. There was little difficulty in piquing his interest in the role. "Oddly enough, we just rang him up," says Rees. "Anthony Rufus Isaacs, who was the producer, knew him greatly. He was in Ireland and married to Miranda, who was a bit ill-she was recovering from meningitis-and we went over to see him. She She liked it a lot and told him to read it, and he should do it, and we talked briefly, and he said yes. liked it a lot and told him to read it, and he should do it, and we talked briefly, and he said yes.

"Dennis Selinger then got on to us, and said that Peter had changed his mind and wouldn't do it at all, because obviously the kind of money we had would only be enough for a bit part. So we rang Peter up and said, 'You don't want to do it?' He said, 'That's rubbish. I do do want to do it. I want to do it. I will will do it.' So he did it." Always a Goon at heart, Peter evidently appreciated the ultimate absurdity of being buried alive by the greatest liberation army in human history. do it.' So he did it." Always a Goon at heart, Peter evidently appreciated the ultimate absurdity of being buried alive by the greatest liberation army in human history.

"William Morris told us that Charles Aznavour (who plays Visconti) didn't want to do it either," Rees adds, "and yet he did did want to do it. We flew over to Paris, where his agent met us early in the morning and took us out to lunch. When she asked what was the budget of the film, we said, 'About 75,000.' She presumed that that was Charles's fee." Then Rees and Rufus Isaacs met with Aznavour himself. "The agent made it quite apparent that she thought that Anthony and I were from Warner Brothers-serious film-type people, which we weren't. Then she said, 'What is the budget for this film?' We said '75,000,' and she said, 'I think you should leave.'" They were at the front door of Aznavour's house, Rees says, when Aznavour assured them, "'Don't worry. I'll do your film.' In fact, he did it for seven grand. When we ran out of money during the film he never asked for it. He never pushed us at all. Peter, on the other hand, did. want to do it. We flew over to Paris, where his agent met us early in the morning and took us out to lunch. When she asked what was the budget of the film, we said, 'About 75,000.' She presumed that that was Charles's fee." Then Rees and Rufus Isaacs met with Aznavour himself. "The agent made it quite apparent that she thought that Anthony and I were from Warner Brothers-serious film-type people, which we weren't. Then she said, 'What is the budget for this film?' We said '75,000,' and she said, 'I think you should leave.'" They were at the front door of Aznavour's house, Rees says, when Aznavour assured them, "'Don't worry. I'll do your film.' In fact, he did it for seven grand. When we ran out of money during the film he never asked for it. He never pushed us at all. Peter, on the other hand, did.

"I got a call from Peter saying, 'I'm not coming to your fucking rehearsal until I get my fucking money.' Well, we didn't have very much, so Anthony got on to my bank manager and said, 'We've got Peter Sellers, we owe him ten grand, he wants it now, or he's not going to continue.' So he lent us twenty twenty grand. When we got it, we asked Peter who we should pay it to, and he said, 'Pay it to Hare Krishna in Geneva, Switzerland.' That's what happened, and I haven't the faintest idea." grand. When we got it, we asked Peter who we should pay it to, and he said, 'Pay it to Hare Krishna in Geneva, Switzerland.' That's what happened, and I haven't the faintest idea."

The Blockhouse is about being buried alive and yet remaining alive. Stocked plentifully by the Gestapo, the bunker is a cavernous warehouse full of water, canned food, sacks of flour, wine, and candles, so the men can survive for quite some time, knowing all the while that they must die there. It's a social drama, cerebral but raw-part Samuel Beckett, part Samuel Fuller. "I've been studying these candles," Rouquet gently announces early in the film. "They last about five hours each. Since we have been in this room we have burned exactly twelve. My pulse rate is normally seventy-two beats per minute. If you multiply that by sixty it will give you four thousand three hundred twenty beats per hour. We had been down here about twenty-four hours before we came to this room. That makes three days in all, exactly. It seems a pretty reliable way of keeping time-provided we have candles and my heart doesn't stop." is about being buried alive and yet remaining alive. Stocked plentifully by the Gestapo, the bunker is a cavernous warehouse full of water, canned food, sacks of flour, wine, and candles, so the men can survive for quite some time, knowing all the while that they must die there. It's a social drama, cerebral but raw-part Samuel Beckett, part Samuel Fuller. "I've been studying these candles," Rouquet gently announces early in the film. "They last about five hours each. Since we have been in this room we have burned exactly twelve. My pulse rate is normally seventy-two beats per minute. If you multiply that by sixty it will give you four thousand three hundred twenty beats per hour. We had been down here about twenty-four hours before we came to this room. That makes three days in all, exactly. It seems a pretty reliable way of keeping time-provided we have candles and my heart doesn't stop."

Clive Rees describes another moment: "There's a kind of ridiculous party scene. Rouquet thinks he'd like a drink, so he asks Visconti at the bar to give him some brandy, and being a typical kind of Nepalese rat, Visconti says, 'Get it yourself.' So Lund (Per Oscarsson) offers to get him something. Rouquet is so childishly grateful that he looks over, food falling out of his mouth, and tears are running down his face. That's genuine-Peter just cried. He was an extraordinary man to work with.

"To me there's a humanity in it. I don't expect anybody else to see it, but I think there's a kind of poetry. As I say, I'm very pretentious, but it starts off very conventionally, and gradually it gets more and more interior; there's more and more silence, and people's thoughts and feelings are expressed not by what they say but by what is registered in their faces. To me it was like a series of icons, and therefore there was a sort of beauty. Harry Crafton, the makeup person, contributed a great deal to that film because although they're getting more and more wrecked, they're actually getting rather beautiful. At least that was the idea.

"The whole film was shot underground. We were seventy feet down, and it was so incredibly quiet and depressive. And what with the nature of the story, it kind of got to people. Sellers could really feed on that. It enabled him, I think.

"It was filmed in Guernsey, a small island just off the French coast," says Rees. "Peter would be standing on his head in the morning, eating his special macrobiotic food and all that," and causing no difficulties. "The fact was," Rees notes, "we were virtually trapped on an island. No one had anywhere to go, so we sort of lived lived it, in a way. There weren't any night clubs to go off to; there weren't any distractions." it, in a way. There weren't any night clubs to go off to; there weren't any distractions."

Still, there was the obligatory Sellers-as-bad-boy incident. One morning, Rees relates, "He told the makeup and hair people what they should put him in. He turned up in this incredible wig. Peter had designed a punk show, and he looked ridiculous. He was also stoned out of his head. He'd been smoking dope like nobody's business, and he was writing stuff like 'Bruce Sucks' all over the walls. I really didn't know what to do.

"It was a scene in which each of the actors had, by that time, established his own little section of the room. So I decided, Sellers was here here, so I'd start there there and work my way around the room and get to him last. When I finally got around to him, he'd fallen asleep. I woke him up and said I wasn't feeling too well and we'd continue it tomorrow. and work my way around the room and get to him last. When I finally got around to him, he'd fallen asleep. I woke him up and said I wasn't feeling too well and we'd continue it tomorrow.

"At 3:00 o'clock that morning, I got a phone call from Peter saying, 'You didn't like my wig, did you?'

"I said that, no, I thought it was wrong in the circumstance, and I explained the thing about the aging and the changing and the icons and that kind of stuff, and he agreed, and that was the end of it. He was amazingly helpful and sympathetic, once we got his money off to Hare Krishna."

In the film, Rouquet eventually commits suicide. Rees describes the long take in which he filmed the scene: "He does it in such a careful, methodical, considerate, kind sort of way. He's a schoolteacher-a compassionate and careful man. The candles are running. He looks at his photograph. (That's his old school, you see. I mean, you don't know that, but he he knows it.) He's very tidy. He puts everything back in the little box, thinks a bit, carefully rolls his sleeve back, opens his box, and gets from it a knife. He puts his hand into a sack of flour; he's neat-he doesn't want to bleed anywhere. He puts the knife in, pauses, and winces as he's cutting himself. His hand comes out, and you can just see a little blood and flour, and he just puts his hand on the candle, and it fizzles out." knows it.) He's very tidy. He puts everything back in the little box, thinks a bit, carefully rolls his sleeve back, opens his box, and gets from it a knife. He puts his hand into a sack of flour; he's neat-he doesn't want to bleed anywhere. He puts the knife in, pauses, and winces as he's cutting himself. His hand comes out, and you can just see a little blood and flour, and he just puts his hand on the candle, and it fizzles out."

Bert Mortimer, who witnessed the filming, later said that "he was so wrapped up in the part I believed he actually might do it. And Peter was so nervous himself that it might actually have come about."

Clive Rees sums up his association with Peter: "I knew him very well as the man who played Rouquet-as an actor who was fantastic to work with, who was very sympathetic, polite, and physically quite touchy. I mean, he would hold you. I don't mean hug hug you, like we do today. But he would touch you. We had a close relationship, but it was about what we were doing, and that's where it began and ended. I was aware that I was working with a genius-not just a great actor. A genius. He was you, like we do today. But he would touch you. We had a close relationship, but it was about what we were doing, and that's where it began and ended. I was aware that I was working with a genius-not just a great actor. A genius. He was different different. Aznavour is, I think, a really good actor. He's an entertainer, a really wonderful bloke. But I wouldn't use the word genius genius. Peter had that."

By the time The Blockhouse The Blockhouse was being filmed in the summer of 1972, Peter's marriage to Miranda was essentially over, though it took a long time for the legal formalities to be arranged. Hans Moellinger recalls Peter's emotional state, the ambivalence of a paranoiac: "We were in Munich. He was was being filmed in the summer of 1972, Peter's marriage to Miranda was essentially over, though it took a long time for the legal formalities to be arranged. Hans Moellinger recalls Peter's emotional state, the ambivalence of a paranoiac: "We were in Munich. He was still with Miranda then and was always speaking in cheerless terms that he was afraid that she was cheating on him. All of a sudden, in the middle of the night, he said, 'Hans, I must go back to Dublin!' I said it was impossible-night flights are forbidden in Munich. But he said, 'You still with Miranda then and was always speaking in cheerless terms that he was afraid that she was cheating on him. All of a sudden, in the middle of the night, he said, 'Hans, I must go back to Dublin!' I said it was impossible-night flights are forbidden in Munich. But he said, 'You must must get me a plane, I have to go back immediately, Miranda is cheating on me!' I said, 'Wait until morning, you'll fly back and you'll see that....' 'No no no no!' he said. 'Get the plane!' get me a plane, I have to go back immediately, Miranda is cheating on me!' I said, 'Wait until morning, you'll fly back and you'll see that....' 'No no no no!' he said. 'Get the plane!'

"We tried to get a plane in Munich, in Berlin-it was impossible. Finally we got one in Geneva. The plane came to Munich at 2:00 A A.M.-for about 37,000 Swiss francs. I called the director of the airport and told him that Peter Sellers, who had had a heart attack-everybody knew he had a weak heart-had to get to his doctor in Dublin. He said, 'I'll try to organize something.' At about 4:00 or 4:30 in the morning, I went with my girlfriend and Peter to the airport. We were sort of dragging him into the hall, left and right, holding him, schlepping him through to the plane. But now the problem came: 'Hans, I can't fly alone.'"

Moellinger's girlfriend at the time was nineteen years old and still in school, and she didn't happen to have her passport with her at the airport. Moellinger hadn't thought to bring his along either. "Peter said, 'It doesn't matter. We'll fly to Dublin and the plane will fly you back.'

"'I can't, Peter.'

"'You must must.'

"So finally I arranged it so that the girlfriend stayed there and I flew with him to Dublin, and I arrived back at about 9:30 in the morning, and the whole trip cost about 170,000 [Swiss] francs. When I get back the telephone rings, and Peter says, 'Hans, I knew it. She was cheating on me. She was in the arms of another man, I promise you.' I said, 'How did you know?' He said, 'I felt felt it.'" it.'"

While living in Ireland, Peter and Miranda had renovated a house in the county of Wiltshire, about sixty miles west of London. Stonehenge is in Wiltshire, for example. But Miranda was now living there by herself.

With Miranda, or even without her, there seems never to have been the ardor of his obsessive love for both Anne and Britt. Miranda was pretty and amusing in a kicky, cusp-of-the-sixties sort of way, but her breeding got in the way. It's insensitive, not to mention inaccurate, to label Peter's interest in Lord Mancroft's stepdaughter as nothing more than crass social-climbing, as others have done; after all, a queen, a princess, and a prince each trump the stepdaughter of a lord. But he does appear to have been delighted, at first at least, to expand his social circle to include the established gentry. Still, as with all things Peter, it didn't last long. (As Lady Mancroft noted at the time, "I'm not surprised at anything to do with Peter.") He hated the Miranda-engineered parties at which half of social-climbing, as others have done; after all, a queen, a princess, and a prince each trump the stepdaughter of a lord. But he does appear to have been delighted, at first at least, to expand his social circle to include the established gentry. Still, as with all things Peter, it didn't last long. (As Lady Mancroft noted at the time, "I'm not surprised at anything to do with Peter.") He hated the Miranda-engineered parties at which half of Burke's Peerage Burke's Peerage would demand instantaneous comedy routines. Also, he later said of his third wife, "She was my intellectual superior." would demand instantaneous comedy routines. Also, he later said of his third wife, "She was my intellectual superior."

On December 9, 1972, at the Rainbow Theater in London, The Who-Roger Daltrey, Keith Moon, Peter Townsend, and John Entwistle-backed by the London Symphony Orchestra and Chamber Choir and joined by an almost all-star cast, performed their rock opera Tommy Tommy onstage-twice-before live audiences as a charity event. An orchestra-backed studio album, released two months earlier, had been a smash hit, but The Who wanted to take it live. onstage-twice-before live audiences as a charity event. An orchestra-backed studio album, released two months earlier, had been a smash hit, but The Who wanted to take it live.

Onstage at the Rainbow, Daltrey was Tommy, Moon the depraved Uncle Ernie, Entwistle was Cousin Kevin, and Townsend served as the narrator. Steve Winwood (of the groups Blind Faith and Traffic) played Tommy's father, Maggie Bell (of the Scottish group Stone the Crows) appeared as his mother, and Merry Clayton was the Acid Queen; Clayton is the belting singer best known for her feverish backup vocals on the Rolling Stones' "Gimme Shelter." Peter Sellers played the doctor who attempts to cure the legendary deaf, dumb, and blind boy in the song "Go to the Mirror." (Richard Harris performs the role on the album.) The show was taped and broadcast in the United Kingdom later that month and raised 10,000, for a group supposedly called the Stars' Organisation for Spastics.

It was from the Who's drummer, Keith Moon, that Peter felt the strongest and most reciprocal pull of friendship. Moon was also, as the critic Ira Robbins describes him, "an irrepressible adolescent, reckless, fearless and merciless in his need to entertain and be amused. His destructive exploits-hotel rooms, cars, stages, drums-made The Who more dangerous than other groups," though somehow, as Robbins points out, it all seemed to be in harmless fun. In person, "Moon the Loon" lived big. He was relentlessly inventive, openly friendly, and completely off his rocker. In private, Keith Moon was, in Robbins's words, "a sad, needy guy incapable of basic human experience."

As a drummer, says Robbins, "Keith was less a timekeeper than an explosive charge that detonated on time, every time." Peter was much the same as an actor, and the two became friends. Moon's improvisations weren't those of a jazz drummer; he was too undisciplined for that. Who concerts were more like open adventures than structured series of impromptu riffs. Robbins points out that as performers neither Moon nor Sellers tended to do the same thing twice or follow a previously agreed upon plan. "And that may be the key to Moon's similarity to Sellers," says Robbins. "In a sense, those anarchic characters improvised because that was the only way they could function. They lacked the ability not not to." to."

Peter was full of plans in the spring of 1973. For the Boulting brothers, there was to be a six-role comedy set in France during the Occupation. He mentioned to the press that he hoped to adapt Richard Condon's latest thriller, Arigato Arigato. (Condon wrote The Manchurian Candidate The Manchurian Candidate.) He was still hoping to make Being There Being There, too, as well as a film called Absolute Zero Absolute Zero, to be scripted by Ernest Tidyman (who had cowritten Shaft Shaft, 1971). Stanley Kubrick also had something in mind for him, he said, but Peter had to be secretive: "Stanley doesn't want to mention what it's going to be about."

At the time, he was shooting yet another small and depressing film-The Optimists (1973)-in which he plays a decrepit busker. His character, Sam, at one time a successful and popular music hall star, now lives in a ratty flat with Bella, an elderly dog. Two children (Donna Mullane and John Chaffey), regularly vacating their unhappy home, enter his life, and Bella dies. (1973)-in which he plays a decrepit busker. His character, Sam, at one time a successful and popular music hall star, now lives in a ratty flat with Bella, an elderly dog. Two children (Donna Mullane and John Chaffey), regularly vacating their unhappy home, enter his life, and Bella dies.

Directed by Anthony Simmons, The Optimists The Optimists' title is ironic, though a new dog shows up at the end. Peter, of course, fully immersed himself in his North Country character's voice and mannerisms-so much so that when he filmed his scenes as a street performer in the West End, he seemed so authentic that passersby were oblivious to his identity and reportedly donated money into his hat. (The camera was hidden across the street.) There is even the tale of a real-life busker who became incensed that another performing vagrant was horning in on his turf and angrily shooed the movie star away. When filming was completed for the day, Peter simply rounded the corner in costume, got into his red Mercedes, and drove away.

Peter modeled Sam on several old North Country comics he recalled from his youth as well as the nineteenth-century variety clown Dan Leno, whom Peter had met during a seance. "We went back to his writings for some of the dialogue," Peter said at the time. "Phrases like 'this morning I was in such a state that I washed my breakfast and swallowed myself' are lines Leno used in his act." Peter had already revealed in the whom Peter had met during a seance. "We went back to his writings for some of the dialogue," Peter said at the time. "Phrases like 'this morning I was in such a state that I washed my breakfast and swallowed myself' are lines Leno used in his act." Peter had already revealed in the Esquire Esquire profile that he'd been receiving career guidance through the years from the dead Leno. To complete his characterization, Peter's longtime makeup artist, Stuart Freeborn, applied a prosthetic nose and strange, subtly disfiguring teeth. profile that he'd been receiving career guidance through the years from the dead Leno. To complete his characterization, Peter's longtime makeup artist, Stuart Freeborn, applied a prosthetic nose and strange, subtly disfiguring teeth.

"Peter and I became friendly on that film," recalls the cinematographer Larry Pizer. "He was a guy who played games with people for inexplicable reasons. He was a brilliant comedian, but not a happy one. Some people enjoy being funny. He didn't."

At what point does peculiar behavior become so consistent that it ceases to be erratic? For example, the cast and crew of The Optimists The Optimists arrived on location one day to find Peter standing on his head in the snow. Pizer found it showy-private yogic devotion turned into a piece of public performance art. Another day the prosthetic teeth went missing, but as Pizer says, "It could have been a game." Peter's spur-of-the-moment inventions usually achieved their artistic aim-dialogue changes, new bits of actorly dexterity-but they did tend to disrupt the shooting schedule. For instance, there is a scene in which Sam returns to his flea-bitten home very drunk-so much so that he can barely make it up the stairs. According to Pizer, it was Peter who decided to add some small but important business: The staggering Sam methodically empties his coat pockets of drained liquor bottles every few steps. "It took forever to shoot," Pizer reports. "Hours were ticking by." Then again, this was Peter's craft, and it worked on film, where it mattered. arrived on location one day to find Peter standing on his head in the snow. Pizer found it showy-private yogic devotion turned into a piece of public performance art. Another day the prosthetic teeth went missing, but as Pizer says, "It could have been a game." Peter's spur-of-the-moment inventions usually achieved their artistic aim-dialogue changes, new bits of actorly dexterity-but they did tend to disrupt the shooting schedule. For instance, there is a scene in which Sam returns to his flea-bitten home very drunk-so much so that he can barely make it up the stairs. According to Pizer, it was Peter who decided to add some small but important business: The staggering Sam methodically empties his coat pockets of drained liquor bottles every few steps. "It took forever to shoot," Pizer reports. "Hours were ticking by." Then again, this was Peter's craft, and it worked on film, where it mattered.

After completing The Optimists The Optimists, Sellers found himself in a nostalgic mood and contacted his girlfriend from the 1940s, Hilda Parkin. "Peter phoned me out of the blue," Hilda reports, "and he told me about his film about the busker. He said, 'I think you would love it-I'd love you to see it.' We had a long chat. I said, 'Hey, how about you you? Haven't you done well!'"

Hilda Parkin and her husband, Ted, were in show business, too, and Ted was active in the benevolent British theatrical club the Water Rats; Hilda was in the women's auxiliary, the Lady Ratlings. "I told Peter I was a Lady Ratling and that Ted was a Water Rat, and he said, 'You know, Peg always wanted me to be a Water Rat.' Within no time at all he approached the Water Rats to become one." always wanted me to be a Water Rat.' Within no time at all he approached the Water Rats to become one."

He was accepted. "Ted went to his 'making.' When they introduced him, he just looked up at the sky and cried. It's what his mother wanted him to do. Ted said it was a bit embarrassing, really, because he couldn't speak-he was just looking up and crying."

Nine years earlier, in late 1964, Peter and Britt had spent some time in the company of Judy Garland, her companion Mark Herron, and her eighteen-year-old daughter, Liza Minnelli. In May of 1973, Liza, twenty-seven, was back in London and starring at the Palladium. Peter was in the audience, entranced, at Liza's Friday evening performance, and three days later they were engaged to be married.

Billie Whitelaw reintroduced them after Friday's show. She remembers that Peter was in one of his peculiar moods that night: "Liza kept looking at me, as if to ask, 'Hey, is this guy putting me on?' I told her I wasn't sure, but if I were her, I'd watch it. Anyway, they went home together." On Saturday night the giddy couple dined at Tratou and adjourned to the piano after dinner, where Liza soloed on "Can't Help Lovin' That Man." It was true; she couldn't help it. On Sunday, Liza held a press conference at the Savoy to announce their love. "I'm going to marry Liza," Peter said on Monday.

This news came as a surprise to Liza's other fiance, the one in Hollywood. "My engagement to Desi Arnaz [Jr.]-well, the relationship has been deteriorating for some time. There is no engagement," Liza told the press. Desi's mother, Lucille Ball, responded by exclaiming, "Peter Sellers? Who's kidding who? Liza must be Who's kidding who? Liza must be crazy! crazy!"

Liza showed up one day at Shepperton, where Peter was shooting his new comedy, Soft Beds, Hard Battles Soft Beds, Hard Battles (1973). During a break, they talked again to the press. "I'm in love with a genius," Liza stated. Peter mentioned that his and Miranda's divorce "would go through the courts in its own time." Liza was asked if she was worried about becoming Peter's fourth wife. She replied in the voice of Sally Bowles: "Oh, no! Four is my lucky number, my dear." (1973). During a break, they talked again to the press. "I'm in love with a genius," Liza stated. Peter mentioned that his and Miranda's divorce "would go through the courts in its own time." Liza was asked if she was worried about becoming Peter's fourth wife. She replied in the voice of Sally Bowles: "Oh, no! Four is my lucky number, my dear."

Peter and Liza-and Charles Chaplin, Laurence Olivier, Lord Snowdon, David Niven, Ralph Richardson, and David Frost-were among the mourners at Noel Coward's funeral May 24, 1973, at St. Martin in the Fields. Niven recalled Peter's mood at the end of the service-an inexplicable one, given the extraordinary interest his new romance was generating at the time. "As we walked out into the sunshine, Peter said, 'I do hope no one will ever arrange that sort of thing for me.' Niven asked why. 'Because I don't think anyone will show up.'" Fields. Niven recalled Peter's mood at the end of the service-an inexplicable one, given the extraordinary interest his new romance was generating at the time. "As we walked out into the sunshine, Peter said, 'I do hope no one will ever arrange that sort of thing for me.' Niven asked why. 'Because I don't think anyone will show up.'"

Liza had to return to the States briefly at the end of May for a scheduled concert, but in less than a week she was back in London and moving into Peter's Eaton Muse house, where she competed for space with Peter's multimedia equipment and toys as well as pictures of his children and Sri Swami Venkatesananda. Liza's godmother, the irrepressible actress and author Kay Thompson, moved in, too. (Kay Thompson appeared with Audrey Hepburn and Fred Astaire in Stanley Donen's Funny Face Funny Face, 1957, and wrote the children's book Eloise Eloise and its several sequels.) and its several sequels.) Eccentricity reigned. One night, at three o'clock, Liza declared that she simply had to see the gravesite of the fictional dog Bella from The Optimists The Optimists, so Peter picked up a bottle of chilled champagne and off they went to a cemetery. Peter led Liza to the tiny burial ground in Hyde Park, where they climbed over the fence and prowled. "Where is it?" Liza kept crying out in the darkness.

Like a vast Venus flytrap snapping shut on two desirable and helpless flies, the British media fed. Peter grew annoyed by the frenzy and called his friend Joan Collins (whose husband, Ron Kass, had been The Optimists The Optimists' executive producer) to arrange an escape to her house. He traveled incognito. Collins describes the disguise: "an SS officer's uniform, complete with leather jacket liberally festooned with swastikas and an SS armband, [and] a steel helmet covering his whole head." At the end of the visit, Collins says, he sped away in his Mercedes holding his arm stiffly out the window and shouting "'Heil Hitler! Heil Hitler! Sieg Heil' in his most guttural German."

One day, BBC radio featured one of Maurice Woodruff's competitors, the psychic Frederick Davies, who divined that Peter Sellers and Liza Minnelli would in fact never marry. Liza's response to this intrusion on her intimate life was to call and make a personal appointment with Davies. "I read the Tarot cards for her [and] told her that the romance was ill-fated," Davies reveals. "She became slightly emotional."

Magical cards were not the only issue in the relationship. According to Theadora Van Runkle, a friend to both Peter and Liza, "Peter was mad about Liza. He told me she was really sexy. But he got really angry with her one night at dinner because she crept up behind him and pulled off his toupee. He was livid with her, and that was the end of the relationship." her one night at dinner because she crept up behind him and pulled off his toupee. He was livid with her, and that was the end of the relationship."

Michael Caine thought the couple was very much in love at the luncheon party he threw at his house. Peter brought along his Polaroid camera and took many pictures; at one point, he handed the camera to Caine, who took a snapshot of Peter and Liza.

There was another party the following Tuesday; Peter and Liza had split the day before. Either Kay Thompson or Marlene Dietrich-Caine says Dietrich, logic says Thompson-advised Caine that he should tell his good friend Peter that she thought "he is a rotten bastard for the way he has treated my beautiful Liza." Liza herself showed Caine the Polaroid, which Peter had given her as a memento. "Thanks for the memory, Pete," he wrote on the back. She flew back to New York on June 20.

Peter told the Daily Mail Daily Mail, "I don't think marriage is my bag." A few days later he jetted to Paris to photograph Marisa Berenson.

"I'm going back to the Boultings after this film," Peter told the press during the production of The Blockhouse The Blockhouse. "We always brought each other good luck." The film in question was Soft Beds, Hard Battles Soft Beds, Hard Battles.

Roy Boulting seems not to have seen his association in quite in the same way. For one thing, Boulting had found their most recent collaboration, There's a Girl in My Soup There's a Girl in My Soup, to be especially trying because of Peter's moody whims. For another, that movie flopped.

Based on a verbal commitment from Peter, Soft Beds, Hard Battles Soft Beds, Hard Battles was scheduled to go before the cameras in the late summer of 1972, but whatever luck the Boultings may have had with Sellers ran out when he suffered one of his inexplicable changes of mind and the production had to be called off. A few weeks later, Peter was considering doing the movie after all. This time, his agent Denis O'Brien put it in writing. Filming began in mid-April, 1973, at Shepperton. was scheduled to go before the cameras in the late summer of 1972, but whatever luck the Boultings may have had with Sellers ran out when he suffered one of his inexplicable changes of mind and the production had to be called off. A few weeks later, Peter was considering doing the movie after all. This time, his agent Denis O'Brien put it in writing. Filming began in mid-April, 1973, at Shepperton.

The first scene: 1940, a Parisian bordello. As a narrator (Peter doing his broadly American "Balham-Gateway to the South" voice) provides background, an old man dresses after an encounter with a pretty prostitute. General Latour (Peter with the voice of a hoarse French geezer) looks like Marshal Petain and General de Gaulle's superannuated love child. Cut to another room in the whorehouse, where a British officer (Peter doing David Niven) puts on his clothes after a similar romp. Peter proceeds through the course of the film to play four more roles-another French officer, the head of the Paris Gestapo, the Crown Prince of Japan, and Hitler. course of the film to play four more roles-another French officer, the head of the Paris Gestapo, the Crown Prince of Japan, and Hitler.

A military sex farce set in an ornate bordello, Soft Beds, Hard Battles Soft Beds, Hard Battles is an awful movie-"an almost creepily witless endeavor," as Vincent Canby wrote in the is an awful movie-"an almost creepily witless endeavor," as Vincent Canby wrote in the New York Times New York Times-that may have looked even worse on paper. It makes There's a Girl in My Soup There's a Girl in My Soup seem like Moliere. Men insistently jerk their batons, poke their swords, and tilt champagne bottles up at the crotch. Hitler appears at the bordello to pay his respects to the madam, Madame Grenier (Lila Kedrova), but when an African prostitute comes into view, the Fuehrer is disgusted. "Eine schwartze!" he cries. When the first of Peter's Frenchmen, General Latour, goes before a firing squad, he slumps forward and his toupee falls off. "The truth cannot be camouflaged," the narrator intones. Comedy bits include beds that spring up suddenly and hurl hapless Nazis down an air shaft as well as flatulence-inducing elephant pills slipped into glasses of champagne. The Nazis fart themselves to death. seem like Moliere. Men insistently jerk their batons, poke their swords, and tilt champagne bottles up at the crotch. Hitler appears at the bordello to pay his respects to the madam, Madame Grenier (Lila Kedrova), but when an African prostitute comes into view, the Fuehrer is disgusted. "Eine schwartze!" he cries. When the first of Peter's Frenchmen, General Latour, goes before a firing squad, he slumps forward and his toupee falls off. "The truth cannot be camouflaged," the narrator intones. Comedy bits include beds that spring up suddenly and hurl hapless Nazis down an air shaft as well as flatulence-inducing elephant pills slipped into glasses of champagne. The Nazis fart themselves to death.

Toward the end, the whores flee to a convent where they masquerade as nuns. That's where Prince Kyoto comes in-Peter in waxen yellowface, foldless eyes, and an overbite. "Fetch watah an' towah!" Prince Kyoto barks after a bumbling "novice" spills a tray of food on his pants. It ought to go without saying that she rubs the stains off his groin. It is very sad.

The pirate comedy Ghost in the Noonday Sun Ghost in the Noonday Sun (1973) is even worse. Spike Milligan cowrote the script, based on Sid Fleischman's successful children's novel. Spike costarred in the film as well. Peter Medak, who made the successful satire (1973) is even worse. Spike Milligan cowrote the script, based on Sid Fleischman's successful children's novel. Spike costarred in the film as well. Peter Medak, who made the successful satire The Ruling Class The Ruling Class two years earlier, directed. It was shot in sunny Cyprus, and it's two years earlier, directed. It was shot in sunny Cyprus, and it's still still ghastly. Peter fought with Tony Franciosa (who plays the Fairbanks-like Pierre) and walked off the set twice. The production team built a tall ship to specifications, but the specs were off; it was ghastly. Peter fought with Tony Franciosa (who plays the Fairbanks-like Pierre) and walked off the set twice. The production team built a tall ship to specifications, but the specs were off; it was too too tall and rocked violently and couldn't be steered. tall and rocked violently and couldn't be steered.

Peter personally asked Larry Pizer to shoot the film. One day well into the production, Peter invited Pizer to a small, intimate party. Victoria Sellers sat on Larry's knee. They all sang songs and had a good time. The following day Peter had Larry fired.

Says Pizer, "I had to leave the island that day, like I had the fucking plague or something." A few weeks later, Pizer got a letter. "Chaos is supreme here," Peter wrote. "Don't be unhappy. It has nothing to do with you."

Even at the time of the firing Pizer knew it wasn't personal. "He wanted to get at Peter Medak," is Pizer's simple explanation; like Peter's harassing the After the Fox After the Fox publicist as a way of venting his rage toward Vittorio De Sica, Peter still needed to communicate his desire to get rid of his director by proxy. A year or so later, Pizer ran into Peter at a party. Peter wanted to talk about it and explain, but Pizer turned away and they never spoke again. And yet, Pizer concludes, as so many did, "He was a pleasure to work with in many ways." publicist as a way of venting his rage toward Vittorio De Sica, Peter still needed to communicate his desire to get rid of his director by proxy. A year or so later, Pizer ran into Peter at a party. Peter wanted to talk about it and explain, but Pizer turned away and they never spoke again. And yet, Pizer concludes, as so many did, "He was a pleasure to work with in many ways."

Peter plays a pirate named Dick Scratcher. Spike plays his rival, Billy Bombay. The unpleasant film itself ends in bickering: The last shot is of Dick Scratcher buried up to his chin in the dry ground, with Billy Bombay tied to a tree with rope so thick and plentiful that it verges on mummification, and they're bickering interminably. On the day it was shot, the production crew of Ghost in the Noonday Sun Ghost in the Noonday Sun saw the chance to exact their revenge. They recorded a parody calypso number detailing every rotten thing that occurred during the shoot and forced the helpless Peter and Spike, physically restrained, to listen to it. saw the chance to exact their revenge. They recorded a parody calypso number detailing every rotten thing that occurred during the shoot and forced the helpless Peter and Spike, physically restrained, to listen to it.

The Blockhouse was brilliant, but it wasn't released. Neither was was brilliant, but it wasn't released. Neither was Ghost in the Noonday Sun Ghost in the Noonday Sun. Nor Hoffman Hoffman. (The Blockhouse was finally shown in New York in 1981; was finally shown in New York in 1981; Hoffman Hoffman in 1982; in 1982; Ghost in the Noonday Sun Ghost in the Noonday Sun was released later on video.) was released later on video.) Where Does It Hurt? Where Does It Hurt? made money because it was intensely cheap. made money because it was intensely cheap. The Optimists The Optimists was dreary, was dreary, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and and Soft Beds, Hard Battles Soft Beds, Hard Battles were dreadful disasters. With six duds in a row, Peter's most personal project, were dreadful disasters. With six duds in a row, Peter's most personal project, Being There Being There, hadn't a chance of getting made.