Forbes finished his script in April 1960, after which casting began. The beautiful Mai Zetterling was chosen for the bombshell role, Virginia Maskell for the plainer, warmer wife. Peter's friend Kenneth Griffith took the role of the other librarian, the one with whom Peter vies for a promotion. (The bombshell, whose husband chairs the library board, uses this potential promotion as leverage to get Peter's character into the sack.) Graham Stark came along, too; his was the small role of a dirty-minded library patron clad in an even filthier raincoat.

Griffith had experienced Peter's preparatory method before: "On a film job-always, I think-he'd agree to do it, he would sign the contract, and then inevitably he would say, 'Kenny, I can't do it, I can't.' On this occasion, he said to me about three weeks before we started filming, 'Kenny, I can't be a Welshman. I can't do it. I'm sorry, because I would like to have done it with you.' He was serious. So I said to him, 'Look, Pete, why don't we go down to Wales right away and I'll introduce you to a number of Welshmen who, I think, could be like the character you're playing.'

"'That's a good idea.'"

Bert whisked them to Wales in a Rolls. First Griffith introduced Peter to his friend the poet (and crony of Dylan Thomas) John Ormond, but Peter wasn't especially inspired. "The next one on my list was John Pike, a close friend of mine who was a newsreel cameraman. The moment Sellers saw Pike all his problems were over. A brilliant impersonation of John Pike is what you're seeing." (Griffith digresses: "John was sent by the BBC to the war in Vietnam. The effect over there.... He had a nervous breakdown. Killed him. Drink.") Peter wasn't especially inspired. "The next one on my list was John Pike, a close friend of mine who was a newsreel cameraman. The moment Sellers saw Pike all his problems were over. A brilliant impersonation of John Pike is what you're seeing." (Griffith digresses: "John was sent by the BBC to the war in Vietnam. The effect over there.... He had a nervous breakdown. Killed him. Drink.") A few weeks later, with shooting about to commence, Sellers and Griffith returned to Wales, this time along with the rest of the company. There was an immediate flap over the hotel.

"He expected me to stay wherever he stayed, which I didn't mind," says Griffith. "Swansea was the town they got. They've got pretty substantial hotels there now-it's changed. [Then] it was just tidied up from the wreckage after the war and that was about it. The best hotel was the hotel at the railway station. That's where we were both going to stay. Suddenly I could hear some disagreement between Sellers and the manageress. He said, 'Mr. Griffith and I can't stay here.' She said, 'Why not?' He said, 'It's claustrophobic.' So he drags me me in and he says, 'Kenny we can't stay here-I'm not going to in and he says, 'Kenny we can't stay here-I'm not going to let let you stay here. We'll go down and see Launder and Gilliat and tell them.' you stay here. We'll go down and see Launder and Gilliat and tell them.'

"I didn't want to. He had money in the film-he was helping to finance it-so it was easy for him. But I, you know, I'm not fussy, and I remember trying to hide behind him. He said [to Launder and Gilliat], 'Kenny and I-we can't stay there,' and I said, 'Oh, shit.' And indeed, we moved out to a seaside hotel at Porthcawl [about fifteen miles down the coast to the east]. It was a real old boardinghouse, but he liked it."

Kingsley Amis put it more curtly in his Memoirs Memoirs: Peter "buggered off down the coast to Porthcawl and what proved to be a measurably worse hotel."

Then came the costar crisis. It occurred quite early in the shoot. Virginia Maskell had filmed but a single scene, when: Roy Boulting: "[Peter] was on vacation making Only Two Can Play Only Two Can Play, and he had as his wife in the film a young actress called Virginia Maskell. Her talent had already been noted by the critics, and I think she had a very promising future. Well, for whatever reason-and I have my own suspicion as to what the reason was-Peter Sellers took agin' her."

Sidney Gilliat: "Peter rang me up at the hotel and said, 'That girl is no good. She must go. She must go good. She must go. She must go at once at once. And you must cast somebody else.' Just like that. I said, 'I won't do anything of the kind.' 'Why not?' 'Well, you've got to be fair to the girl to begin with. She's only played one scene, and that consisted of taking a milk bottle out.'"

Peter took the matter to the heads of the studio.

Roy Boulting: "He phoned John and myself and said, 'Look, this girl is worse than useless. She will ruin the film. Will you get on to Sidney Gilliat and tell him that he must recast another actress immediately!'" Boulting, who had worked with Maskell on another film (Happy Is the Bride, 1958), refused to do it. "We had to very gently tell Peter that he should get on with his acting and leave the judgment of performance to his director," he later explained.

Sidney Gilliat finishes the story: "Rather ironically, she was nominated by the British film academy as Best Actress, and Peter wasn't nominated for anything."

During the filming, Peter took his harmless revenge not against Maskell but against the Boultings-not in person, of course, but behind their backs. Kenneth Griffith was in on the private joke: "Now, in the morning to get to work I would sit with Peter in the back of the Rolls, which was driven by Bert. It was at least a thirty-minute journey into Swansea. Peter wouldn't know how to talk about this, that, or the other, or he could be stumbling, or he could be depressed... but suddenly it's John Boulting talking! but suddenly it's John Boulting talking! If you didn't look you wouldn't know it wasn't John Boulting. Now [the Boultings were] very, very broad, general, not very intelligent but very well educated, and Peter would speak to me as John, using John's vocabulary and John's point of view, none of which had anything to do with Sellers. It was hoped that I would reply as Roy. Which I did." If you didn't look you wouldn't know it wasn't John Boulting. Now [the Boultings were] very, very broad, general, not very intelligent but very well educated, and Peter would speak to me as John, using John's vocabulary and John's point of view, none of which had anything to do with Sellers. It was hoped that I would reply as Roy. Which I did."

The impersonations hardly stopped with the Boulting brothers. Peter enjoyed playing with people.

Griffith: "He said at the end of one day, 'Kenny-you being Welsh, you know the best restaurants here in Swansea.' I said, 'I don't really, Pete-I don't spend much time here.' And then I remembered a very simple little lino'd-floor Chinese restaurant and I thought the food was good there. 'Oh,' he said, 'That's a good idea. I like Chinese food.'

"So we got Bert and the Rolls and we went there. It was little, very clean, very nice, but not even any Chinese nonsense hanging about-just a little place with Chinese food. We got seated there, Bert, Peter and I, and in came two big steelworkers, youngsters, big thugs-oh, they might have been miners-but they were big tough Welsh guys with their girlfriends, and you could hear everything that anyone said, and one of the girls said, 'Hey-those two are on telly. been miners-but they were big tough Welsh guys with their girlfriends, and you could hear everything that anyone said, and one of the girls said, 'Hey-those two are on telly. Peter Sellers! On telly! Peter Sellers! On telly!' One of the fellows said, 'Don't be bloody daft, what do you mean "on telly"?' She said, 'Who in the hell do you you think they are?' think they are?'

"Anyway, he got up and trundled over to us and says, 'Yeah, my girlfriend is bloody daft, she says you two are on telly. Peter Sellers!' Sellers answered him with a Welsh accent: 'Oh no, no, no, no,' he said, 'no, Mr. Jones here and myself are on the staff of the steelworks, no, no, no. Come to think of it,' he said-I was thinking, 'Shit, let's run away!,' and there he was, was thinking, 'Shit, let's run away!,' and there he was, playing! playing!-'no, no, come to think of it, when the Queen opened the big wing at the steelworks, well, Mr. Jones here and myself were present, and though I didn't have the privilege of seeing it myself we have been told that when the camera tracked along we were distinctly seen.'

"He bought it. He trundled back to his table: 'Yeah, yeah, I told you-bloody nonsense. They're both with the steelworks.'"

Peter and Kingsley Amis, who was there for at least some of the production, successfully embarrassed themselves in the eyes of the cast and crew with an ongoing contest of dirty wit; it was a battle of obscene jokes between two able warriors, but their spectators were merely disgusted at the competition. Moreover, Amis himself was under the impression that it was Griffith's own coaching that helped Sellers find his Welsh voice, and the novelist had a strangely ambivalent response to what he heard: "Partly to my chagrin, the result of this, or what Sellers made of it, was unimprovable, the precisely accurate local-university Welsh-English!" Amis was rather pleased with Only Two Can Play Only Two Can Play and credited Sellers with much of the success. and credited Sellers with much of the success.

Necessarily, Peter came on to Mai Zetterling during the shoot, but she gently but firmly fended him off in favor of her husband. Still, she offers a sympathetic assessment of her costar in retrospect: "He was a very insecure man, and a very frightened man who felt very small, and unloved, and ugly, and all that kind of thing. With all the success he had it's very difficult for the public to understand."

In March 1962, Launder and Gilliat announced their new film production-an adaptation of Aubrey Menen's The Fig Tree The Fig Tree starring Peter Sellers. The plan was soon scuttled and they never worked with each other again. starring Peter Sellers. The plan was soon scuttled and they never worked with each other again.

The break may have occurred because there was a financial issue after Only Two Can Play Only Two Can Play was completed but before it was released. As Graham Stark puts it, "Peter took such a dislike to it that he sold out his share of the profits." According to Roy Boulting, after Peter saw the final cut, "He was despondent, he had no faith in it, in fact he really hated it." The Boultings are said to have paid him 17,500 for his share; the film turned out to be such a hit that Peter's share alone eventually earned over 120,000. was completed but before it was released. As Graham Stark puts it, "Peter took such a dislike to it that he sold out his share of the profits." According to Roy Boulting, after Peter saw the final cut, "He was despondent, he had no faith in it, in fact he really hated it." The Boultings are said to have paid him 17,500 for his share; the film turned out to be such a hit that Peter's share alone eventually earned over 120,000.

Even before Vladimir Nabokov published his novel, Lolita Lolita, in 1955, the casting of Peter Sellers as Quilty in Stanley Kubrick's 1962 film adaptation had suggested itself fantastically in the novelist's own handwritten manuscript. Humbert Humbert describes the preteen object of his passion, the fire of his loins, his sin, his soul: "the Lolita of the strident voice and the rich brown hair-of the bangs and the swirls at the sides and the curls at the back, and the sticky hot neck, and the vulgar vocabulary-'revolting,' 'super,' 'luscious,' 'goon,' 'drip'-that Lolita, Lolita, my my Lolita." Humbert proceeds to lose Lolita to Quilty; Nabokov always appreciated a cosmic joke. Lolita." Humbert proceeds to lose Lolita to Quilty; Nabokov always appreciated a cosmic joke.

In 1958, Kubrick and his associate, James B. Harris, placed a telephone call to the Production Code office in Hollywood. They were thinking about buying the rights to Lolita Lolita, they said, and they were wondering how the boys at the Code would react to the idea. Geoffrey Shurlock, the longtime head of the office, responded: "I suggested that the subject matter, an elderly man having an affair with a twelve-year-old girl, would probably fall into the area of sex perversion." But by 1960, the dark and dynamic Kubrick-who in the meantime had tossed off Spartacus Spartacus (1960)-had actually succeeded in convincing Shurlock that the film would not in fact violate the Code. Kubrick's argument was specious but effective: Young girls could legally marry in certain Appalachian states, and what was legal could not be immoral. Kubrick also had history on his side; enforcement of the Code was becoming increasingly lax and dismissable. (1960)-had actually succeeded in convincing Shurlock that the film would not in fact violate the Code. Kubrick's argument was specious but effective: Young girls could legally marry in certain Appalachian states, and what was legal could not be immoral. Kubrick also had history on his side; enforcement of the Code was becoming increasingly lax and dismissable.

With Shurlock's provisional green light, Kubrick struck a deal with Nabokov to write the screenplay, the erudite author being represented by Swifty Lazar. Nabokov turned in a draft in June. It was four hundred pages long. Kubrick responded by telling the novelist that such a picture would run for seven hours. "You couldn't make it," James Harris once said; "you couldn't long. Kubrick responded by telling the novelist that such a picture would run for seven hours. "You couldn't make it," James Harris once said; "you couldn't lift lift it." Nabokov turned in a shorter version in September, but Harris, uncredited, ended up revising it, leaving Nabokov to comment later that, for him, watching it." Nabokov turned in a shorter version in September, but Harris, uncredited, ended up revising it, leaving Nabokov to comment later that, for him, watching Lolita Lolita was like "a scenic drive as perceived by the horizontal passenger of an ambulance." was like "a scenic drive as perceived by the horizontal passenger of an ambulance."

For the role of the pervert Humbert, a series of stellar men were approached: James Mason (couldn't schedule it); Laurence Olivier (sorry, no); David Niven (yes, but then no); Cary Grant ("I have too much respect for the movie industry to do a picture like that"). But then, suddenly, James Mason became available after all. His wife and friends had helped to change his mind, and luckily so. Humbert Humbert is one of Mason's most delicately wrought performances.

Despite its Hollywood-based director and producer and New York financiers, Lolita Lolita's production took place in England. Harris explains: "We wanted to keep a very low profile during the shooting of that film. Everybody seemed to be interested in how how we were going to do we were going to do Lolita Lolita, and what what was going to be in terms of censorship, and was going to be in terms of censorship, and what did the girl look like what did the girl look like... We felt that if we just got away from Hollywood and got to England, a place where we spoke the language, we could keep a much lower profile." But it was financial considerations that actually drove the decision. To attract foreign film productions, the United Kingdom was offering filmmakers the ability to write off substantial expenses if four out of five of the cast and crew were subjects of the queen.

Peter counted. "The word was that this guy was just terrific," Harris later said. "It caused us to feel lucky if we could get him. It turned out that Peter had an availability-but not much, because he was so busy going from one picture to another. If we could shoot his part in the picture on fourteen consecutive days, he could work us in." Shooting began in late November 1960, at Elstree.

For the role of Lolita's mother, Kubrick cast Shelley Winters, the undisputed queen of poignant tawdriness. In 1951, for instance, she invited audiences to cheer Montgomery Clift on in his goal of killing her in A Place in the Sun A Place in the Sun. (It requires extraordinary skill to achieve that degree of contempt.) For Lolita herself, Kubrick signed an unknown, Sue Lyon, after Nabokov nixed Tuesday Weld. Peter was necessarily captivated by the girl, but even he he knew she was off limits. Still, at a party at James Mason's house during the production, Mason's wife was fascinated to see Peter spending knew she was off limits. Still, at a party at James Mason's house during the production, Mason's wife was fascinated to see Peter spending most of the evening lying on his back, Michelangelo-like but on the floor, snapping photos of the sexy fifteen-year-old. most of the evening lying on his back, Michelangelo-like but on the floor, snapping photos of the sexy fifteen-year-old.

Like the making of so many great films, the construction of Lolita Lolita was a matter of methodically creating nuanced art among gargantuan egos. Mason, the star of the picture (not to mention the star of Max Ophuls's was a matter of methodically creating nuanced art among gargantuan egos. Mason, the star of the picture (not to mention the star of Max Ophuls's Caught Caught, 1949; George Cukor's A Star Is Born A Star Is Born, 1954; Nicholas Ray's Bigger than Life Bigger than Life, 1956; and many other films) was not at all happy at the way Kubrick fawned over him-meaning Peter. According to Mason, Kubrick "was so besotted with the genius of Peter Sellers that he seemed never to have enough of him." Mason was right. Sellers and Kubrick harmonized in a way that rarely occurred between Peter and his directors. They shared the same macabre sensibility. They bonded.

At the time, as James B. Harris recalls, Peter was particularly social as far as Kubrick and Harris were concerned: "Every Sunday we used to go out to Chipperfield and visit with Peter and Annie and all his friends. The Boulting brothers were there, and Graham Stark, and David Lodge. It became sort of a ritual." It also seems to have helped drive a wedge between Peter and the rest of the cast.

During rehearsals, Kubrick suggested that his actors pretend to have forgotten the lines they had just meticulously memorized-except for Peter, who'd been told not to worry about his scripted dialogue at all. Instead, Kubrick announced, Peter should do what Peter did best: Make things up on the spur of the moment. Cues be damned-let it fly! Mason was annoyed, but he didn't blame his costar: "You could not fault Peter Sellers. He was the only one allowed, or rather encouraged, to improvise his entire performance. The rest of us improvised only during rehearsals, then incorporated any departures from the original script that had seemed particularly effective." Kubrick's artistic instinct was right on target. With Sellers given free rein, Quilty became even more unpredictable and terrifying.

But ironically, and comically, they were all all speaking dialogue that was written by Harris but continued to be credited to Nabokov, an extraordinarily pedantic author who, when he turned in his essays to speaking dialogue that was written by Harris but continued to be credited to Nabokov, an extraordinarily pedantic author who, when he turned in his essays to The Saturday Review The Saturday Review, forbade the magazine's copy editors from altering a single comma.

Mason also offered a strange and unexpected detail in his autobiography: "Sellers told us that he did not enjoy improvising." Mason tried to explain the remark: "I think that he was referring to the occasional necessity to think on his feet when giving a live performance. He was painstaking and meticulous in preparation." This is a generous but unconvincing clarification. One has no doubt that Peter told his colleagues that he didn't like to improvise. This was, after all, a man who told people he'd descended from Disraeli, and no doubt he believed what he said at the time. But what Peter expected to achieve from the remark nevertheless remains obscure. The only sense one can make of it is that Peter seems to have been developing an even greater need to confound-to prove to people who didn't know him very well that, in fact, they didn't know him at all. and meticulous in preparation." This is a generous but unconvincing clarification. One has no doubt that Peter told his colleagues that he didn't like to improvise. This was, after all, a man who told people he'd descended from Disraeli, and no doubt he believed what he said at the time. But what Peter expected to achieve from the remark nevertheless remains obscure. The only sense one can make of it is that Peter seems to have been developing an even greater need to confound-to prove to people who didn't know him very well that, in fact, they didn't know him at all.

With Shelley Winters, Peter found himself back in the baffling, excruciating land of Terry-Thomas and Jean Seberg. To his total horror, he discovered that Miss Winters tended to use a director's calls for "camera!" and "action!" as the most convenient time in which to memorize her lines. Anthony Harvey faced the problem later in the editing room. "When we were shooting Lolita Lolita, Peter had a scene with Shelley Winters," Harvey says. (Their only scene together, it's set at Lolita's high school dance, where the blowsy Charlotte reminds Quilty that she and the vague roue had screwed the year before.) "Stanley Kubrick made about sixty-five takes. Shelley didn't know any of her lines at all. The first few takes, Peter was absolutely brilliant. And as it progressed, Shelley began to learn her lines, and Peter totally blew them, so that by take thirty-eight, or forty-eight, or whatever it was, when I got back to the cutting room, I had to cut take two of Peter and take forty of Shelley together." (It's a sequence of over-the-shoulder shot/reverse shots. When Peter delivers his lines and listens to Shelley's responses, Shelley's lips can't be seen forming her exact words and vice versa.) Harvey concurs with James Mason on the subject of Peter's relationship with Kubrick, though without Mason's tinge of jealousy: "They had great respect for one another and had a marvelous rapport." As for Peter himself, says Harvey, "I liked him a lot, but he was a totally haunted fellow."

Kubrick was even more abrupt in one of his descriptions of Peter Sellers: "There is no such person."

"He was the only actor I knew who could really improvise," Kubrick once wrote. "Improvisation is something useful in rehearsal, to explore a role. But most actors, when they improvise, stray into a sort of repetitive hodgepodge which leads them down a dead end, while Sellers, by contrast-even when he wasn't on form-after a time fell into the spirit of the character and just took off. It was miraculous." The critic Janet Maslin once put it equally well: "Sellers could bring a musician's improvisatory sense to a role, teasing and stretching a character until it took off in the free-flowing slip of a jazz riff." when he wasn't on form-after a time fell into the spirit of the character and just took off. It was miraculous." The critic Janet Maslin once put it equally well: "Sellers could bring a musician's improvisatory sense to a role, teasing and stretching a character until it took off in the free-flowing slip of a jazz riff."

But it took work, not only for Sellers but for Kubrick, who painstakingly had to lift his star out of his typical morning funk. "He would usually arrive walking very slowly and staring morosely," Kubrick told Alexander Walker. "As the work progressed, he would begin to respond to something or other in the scene, his mood would visibly brighten, and we would begin to have fun.... On many of these occasions, I think, Peter reached what can only be described as a state of comic ecstasy."

Lolita builds the tortured skill Kubrick saw in Peter Sellers into its essential nature. The film begins with Humbert wandering through a decimated, Xanadu-like mansion-the Kane, not the Khan-full of empty bottles and glasses, cigarette stubs, torn paper, breakage, furniture covered with rumpled sheets. One of the sheets rustles. Peter's head slumps out: builds the tortured skill Kubrick saw in Peter Sellers into its essential nature. The film begins with Humbert wandering through a decimated, Xanadu-like mansion-the Kane, not the Khan-full of empty bottles and glasses, cigarette stubs, torn paper, breakage, furniture covered with rumpled sheets. One of the sheets rustles. Peter's head slumps out: HUMBERT: Are you Quilty? Are you Quilty?

QUILTY: (in broad Long Island tones): No, I'm Spartacus. Ya come ta free the slaves er somethin'? (in broad Long Island tones): No, I'm Spartacus. Ya come ta free the slaves er somethin'?

He drapes the sheet over his shoulder like a toga. He's hungover. And still drunk. Slurred words spill out: "Lissen lissen le's have a game a li'l lovely game of Roman Ping-Pong like two civilized senators." (He picks up a paddle and ball and hits one across the table at the mystified, appalled, murderous Humbert.) "Roman ping?" (Silence from Humbert, who fails to hit it back.) "You're s'posed to say 'Roman pong!'"

Quilty adjourns to a chair and a leftover drink into which an anonymous partygoer has stubbed out an old smoke. "Quilty!" "Quilty!" barks Humbert in exasperation. "I want you to concentrate. barks Humbert in exasperation. "I want you to concentrate. You're going to die You're going to die. Try and understand what is happening to you.... Think of what you did, Quilty, and think of what is happening to you now now."

At which Quilty turns into a frontier spinster: "Heh heh! Say, tha's a, tha's a durlin durlin' little gun you got there! Tha's a durlin' durlin' li'l thing! How much a guy like you want for a li'l thing! How much a guy like you want for a durlin' durlin' li'l gun like that?" As written, Quilty is what a later generation would call Humbert Humbert's worst nightmare, li'l gun like that?" As written, Quilty is what a later generation would call Humbert Humbert's worst nightmare, but that phrase fails to capture the fact that even Humbert's unconscious could never conjure up the black anarchy of a Goon. but that phrase fails to capture the fact that even Humbert's unconscious could never conjure up the black anarchy of a Goon.

At the close of the scene Quilty stumbles up the stairs and hides behind a massive portrait of an elegant woman. Humbert shoots it up. "Oh, that hurt," says Quilty.

An extended flashback follows, extending all the way to the film's penultimate scene: Humbert arrives in mild Ramsdale, sees his nymphet sunbathing in the backyard of a possible lodging, and immediately moves in. Humbert marries the little sexpot's mother, Charlotte, in order to remain close to the girl. Charlotte gets run over by a car. Humbert begins sleeping with Lolita and travels with her around the country, all the while being pursued by Lolita's wraithlike suitor, Quilty, with whom she ultimately vanishes.

In the novel, Quilty appears as in a haze. Nabokov inscribes him mainly in shadow form-wordplay, oblique references, appearances in absentia. In the film, he's more present, but in nebulous, desultory ways. Peter Sellers is his perfect embodiment.

He turns up at the high school dance wearing a pair of black-rimmed glasses-the kind that became a standard feature of Peter's own early-sixties look-and performs a finger-snapping, eyebrow-arched Latin-lover dance with an evil-looking mystery woman (Vivian Darkbloom-an anagram of her creator). Only after Charlotte prompts him by whispering the details of their afternoon tryst in his ear does Quilty remember, whereupon a chipmunky beam dawns: "Did I do that? Did I?... Yes, really great fun, lissen, lissen, didn't you, didn't you have a daughter? Didn't you have a daughter with a lovely name? Yeah, a lovely-what was it now?-a lovely lyrical lilting name like, uh-"

"Lolita!" Charlotte cries.

"Lolita, that's right! Diminutive of Dolores, the tears and the roses...."

Charlotte is thrilled. Overcome with excitement, she proclaims: "Wednesday she's going to have a cavity filled by your Uncle Ivor!"

Later, after Charlotte's messy demise, Quilty accosts Humbert on the porch of an old hotel. At once insinuating, nervous, bold, tic-y, sly, and fast-talking, Peter's Quilty threatens the paranoid Humbert by his ever-shifting and inexplicable demeanor, not to mention by his very presence, which is more or less an absence, since Humbert has no idea who this man is or what he wants.

In another scene, Humbert arrives at home and turns on the light. There sits Peter: "Good eev'neeng, Doktor Humbardtz!"

Peter/Quilty has now turned into Dr. Zemf, "ze Beardsley High school zychiatrist." With hair greased back and yet another of Peter's cherished paste-on mustaches gracing his upper lip, the horrifying doctor describes the troubled schoolgirl and her various neurotic symptoms: Lolita, he notes, "chews gum, vehemently! All ze time she is chewing zis gum!" And she "has private jokes of her own, vich no one understands so they can't enjoy them mit her!"

Backstage at Lolita's play, The Hunted Enchanters The Hunted Enchanters (by Claire Quilty), Quilty is seen fingering his camera and asking for film. But the anonymous midnight caller in a still later scene is the one who really lets loose Humbert's paranoia: "Uh, Professor, uh, tell me something-uh, with all this traveling around you do, uh, you don't get much time to, uh, see a psychiatrist, uh, regularly, is that right?" It's Quilty's (ab)normal voice, but now it's disembodied, and all the creepier for it. (by Claire Quilty), Quilty is seen fingering his camera and asking for film. But the anonymous midnight caller in a still later scene is the one who really lets loose Humbert's paranoia: "Uh, Professor, uh, tell me something-uh, with all this traveling around you do, uh, you don't get much time to, uh, see a psychiatrist, uh, regularly, is that right?" It's Quilty's (ab)normal voice, but now it's disembodied, and all the creepier for it.

Near the end, Lolita, poor, worn, Quilty-free, and pregnant by the happy nobody to whom she is now married, writes to Humbert asking for money to bail her out of debt. Humbert, not having seen or heard from her since she took off with Quilty, tracks her down in her slummy house. After fending off his pathetic advances, Lolita explains her original attraction to Quilty. There's an eerie ring to her words, and not only because she has screwed her own stepfather and he's the stepfather in question: "He wasn't like you and me," she explains to Humbert. "He wasn't a normal person. He was a genius. He had a kind of, um, beautiful Japanese-Oriental philosophy of life." In her description of Quilty, one catches another fleeting glimpse of the comic cosmic.

With great fanfare and an excellent tagline-"How did they ever make a movie of Lolita Lolita?"-the film was released in the United States on June 13, 1962, a year and a half after Peter shot his scenes. Notices were mixed. "Whenever Sellers leaves, the life of the picture leaves with him," Time Time opined. This was a most unfair assessment-Mason, Winters, and Lyon are all superb-but it gives some indication of the impression Peter was making at the time, not only on film screens, but in the buzzing press. opined. This was a most unfair assessment-Mason, Winters, and Lyon are all superb-but it gives some indication of the impression Peter was making at the time, not only on film screens, but in the buzzing press. Lolita Lolita's reputation has grown considerably since then.

In January 1963, the important pre-Oscar jockeying season began with the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences announcing Peter's eligibility in the Best Actor category. For two reasons, James B. Harris tried to convince the Academy to shift Sellers into the Best Supporting Actor list. For one thing, Harris obviously wanted to avoid a head-to-head competition between Sellers and Mason. For another, Sellers had appeared in only thirty-four minutes of the 154-minute the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences announcing Peter's eligibility in the Best Actor category. For two reasons, James B. Harris tried to convince the Academy to shift Sellers into the Best Supporting Actor list. For one thing, Harris obviously wanted to avoid a head-to-head competition between Sellers and Mason. For another, Sellers had appeared in only thirty-four minutes of the 154-minute Lolita Lolita. But the Academy refused to budge. If Peter Sellers was to be nominated at all, it would be in the category of Best Actor. Harris was, in his own word, "flabbergasted." Sellers was originally signed simply to do a cameo appearance, Harris told the press, but "then we decided to take advantage of his name." This, he explained, was the reason Sellers received star billing.

The nominations themselves rendered the matter moot, for neither Sellers nor Mason was tapped for Best Actor. Gregory Peck won for To Kill a Mockingbird To Kill a Mockingbird (1962). (1962). Lolita Lolita's sole nomination was for its adapted screenplay-Vladimir Nabokov was honored for writing words he hadn't written, but it didn't matter, because he lost to Horton Foote for To Kill a Mockingbird To Kill a Mockingbird.

On June 11, 1962, with Lolita Lolita on the brink of release, Peter Sellers addressed the University Indian Society at Cambridge. "I hope you did not all think I was going to be funny," he announced, "because I am a uniquely unfunny person. I usually climb into a corner." Bob Hope took a different point of view during the production of Peter's next picture-Hope and Crosby's on the brink of release, Peter Sellers addressed the University Indian Society at Cambridge. "I hope you did not all think I was going to be funny," he announced, "because I am a uniquely unfunny person. I usually climb into a corner." Bob Hope took a different point of view during the production of Peter's next picture-Hope and Crosby's The Road to Hong Kong The Road to Hong Kong (1962), in which Peter, uncredited, appeared in a five-minute cameo as a crank Indian neurologist. "Get rid of this man," Hope had declared during the production. "He's too funny." (1962), in which Peter, uncredited, appeared in a five-minute cameo as a crank Indian neurologist. "Get rid of this man," Hope had declared during the production. "He's too funny."

However amusing Hope found Sellers, the scene itself is singly unpleasant. In this, the seventh and final Road to Road to... comedy (Bob and Bing had already trekked to Singapore, Zanzibar, Morocco, Utopia, Rio, and Bali), Bob loses his memory in a freak flying contraption accident, so Bing hustles him to "the most highly respected neurologist in India." It's Peter replaying Dr. Kabir as ghastly parody.

The dark-faced doctor examines Hope and groans repeatedly. "What is it, doctor?" Bing asks with alarm. "Terrible heartburn," Peter replies. "Put too much curry in my cornflakes."

He then shines a light in Bob's ear and tosses off his only good line in the now-trademarked Indian accent: "I'm looking in here-goodness gracious me!" the now-trademarked Indian accent: "I'm looking in here-goodness gracious me!"

It was inevitable. He wanted to direct.

And so, Mr. Topaze Mr. Topaze (1961). Of course he also had to star. (1961). Of course he also had to star.

Mr. Topaze came and went and never returned. The film currently exists in one print stored deep in the archives of the British Film Institute, its once-bright colors having faded to a nearly uniform shade of sick pink. came and went and never returned. The film currently exists in one print stored deep in the archives of the British Film Institute, its once-bright colors having faded to a nearly uniform shade of sick pink.

Based on Marcel Pagnol's play Topaze Topaze, the film, a satirical comedy, traces the rise of Auguste Topaze (Sellers) from shy schoolteacher to corrupt business magnate. At first, Auguste is a saintly figure, teaching his young charges by day and, after school, taking on the task of private tutor to a familiar-looking young boy (Michael Sellers). "Money does not buy happiness," he tells his students; "money is the trial of friendship." He is rewarded for his moralism by getting fired. A wealthy couple (Herbert Lom and Nadia Gray) hires him to run a dummy corporation for them, but he proves to be so proficient at corrupt business practices that he takes over the company, becomes a millionaire, and seizes the couple's chateau. At the end, one of his old schoolteacher colleagues leads a group of boys past the magnificent residence. The self-satisfied Topaze tells his old friend that he's come to accept the criminal nature of the business world; he's had to accept it, he says, since everything he has done since he left teaching is punishable by law.

"Has your money bought you happiness?" the friend asks.

And Topaze replies: "Has it bought me happiness?" He smiles and gestures to the grand chateau behind him. "It's buying it now."

The friend leaves Topaze standing alone on the terrace. Directing himself, Peter films this sardonic conclusion in extreme long shot, dwarfing himself on the vast CinemaScope screen.

He seemed upbeat during the production. His fee was substantial, 75,000 for directing and starring. "What I am really hoping for is that I will be able to achieve sufficient success as a director to give up acting entirely," he told a reporter. "I writhe when I see myself on the screen. I'm such a dreadful clumsy hulking image. I say to myself, 'Why doesn't he get off? Why doesn't he get off?' I mean I look like such an idiot. Some fat awkward thing dredged up from some third-rate drama company. I must stop thinking about it, otherwise I shan't be able to go on working."

His friend Kenneth Tynan was writing a profile of him at the time, so Peter invited him to watch some dailies. Sellers's response to himself was quite different then: Peter invited him to watch some dailies. Sellers's response to himself was quite different then: "Observing himself in the rushes, Sellers seemed to be watching a total stranger. 'Look at that idiot!' he would cry when Topaze bumped into something; or 'Poor bastard!' during a scene of edgy flirtation. And he would laugh, merrily and musically, shaking his head like a man at once baffled and amused by the behavior of someone he had never met."

Billie Whitelaw, who played Topaze's love interest early in the film, found Sellers very easy to work with, and in fact she stresses the point in her memoirs in a self-evident effort to correct Sellers's postmortem reputation as nothing more than a buffoonish crank. Herbert Lom agrees: "We worked easily together. It was all charming and easy and natural."

Still, looking back on his single experience of being directed by Peter, Herbert Lom declares simply that "he was not a director. He wasn't particularly interested in directing. Why he directed I wouldn't know."

Lom goes on to explain that Sellers wasn't inattentive to his fellow actors, he just didn't perform any of the many other responsibilities of a film director: "He certainly tried to help us in acting the parts. He was one of the actors-he never really figured as the director. He was a colleague who helped us plan the scenes. I have no particular memories of him as an inspiring or irritating director. He was just Peter Sellers."

Lom makes a point of the fact that there wasn't anybody else taking on the tasks Peter wasn't carrying out. Peter was the director in name only, but according to Lom there was no de facto supervisor to back him up: "Probably nobody nobody directed us. That's why the picture, if I remember, didn't really turn out to be anything worth talking about-because we probably had no director." directed us. That's why the picture, if I remember, didn't really turn out to be anything worth talking about-because we probably had no director."

Mr. Topaze isn't bad; it just isn't good. Despite its bitter tone, it's dull. "Judgment on his directing powers must be reserved until he can handle a subject without the extra headache of acting," was isn't bad; it just isn't good. Despite its bitter tone, it's dull. "Judgment on his directing powers must be reserved until he can handle a subject without the extra headache of acting," was Variety Variety's critique, and because Peter was directing himself, "His personal performance has suffered some." The critic was also troubled by the cruelty of the subject matter; the "quiet comedy" of a shy schoolteacher erupted into "an uncomfortably brittle, snide drama." That Mr. Topaze Mr. Topaze is not a feel-good comedy is inherent to the material. What's notable is that Sellers didn't play up this intrinsic acerbity more; the problem with is not a feel-good comedy is inherent to the material. What's notable is that Sellers didn't play up this intrinsic acerbity more; the problem with Mr. Topaze Mr. Topaze is its blandness. is its blandness.

The film's tepid reception was a very personal disappointment to Peter-so much so that he barely talked again about Mr. Topaze Mr. Topaze. Soon thereafter he called Spike Milligan and suggested they bring back thereafter he called Spike Milligan and suggested they bring back The Goon Show The Goon Show. In his later years he actually insisted that he'd never directed a movie in his life.

He was growing bitter. "Criticism should be done by critics," Peter declared in September 1961, "and a critic should have some training and some love for the medium he is discussing. But these days, gossip-columnist training seems to be enough qualification. I suppose an ability to stand on your feet through interminable cocktail parties and swig interminable gins in between devouring masses of fried prawns may just possibly help you to understand and appreciate what a director is getting at, but for the life of me I can't see how."

ELEVEN.

Peter didn't bother to ask his wife when he put Chipperfield up for sale near the end of 1961. He didn't even tell his mother. A Daily Mail Daily Mail reporter called Peg for confirmation after hearing the rumor. "I'm sure it can't be right," Mother stated with authority. "Peter rings me up nearly every night for a mother-and-son heart-to-heart. And he hasn't mentioned anything about moving." reporter called Peg for confirmation after hearing the rumor. "I'm sure it can't be right," Mother stated with authority. "Peter rings me up nearly every night for a mother-and-son heart-to-heart. And he hasn't mentioned anything about moving."

According to Sigmund Freud, the key to a healthy personality is the tolerance of contradiction, but Peter's ability to sustain drastic paradox offers a twist to the theory. At times, at least, he he seemed to tolerate his radical contradictions rather well; it was those around him who couldn't handle the strain. More and more, Peter's mind functioned like two geological fault lines grinding inexorably against each other, all part of nature. It was nearby residents who felt the rumblings and lived in fear. seemed to tolerate his radical contradictions rather well; it was those around him who couldn't handle the strain. More and more, Peter's mind functioned like two geological fault lines grinding inexorably against each other, all part of nature. It was nearby residents who felt the rumblings and lived in fear.

A case in point: With the sale of Chipperfield, Peter believed, or wanted to believe, that by leading his wife and two children out of one more house and into still another, he was acting in their their interests. For him, changing addresses again would engender a sense of stability. "One tries to create roots," he explained. "It's vital for the children." It's incidents like this that lead the great Sellers fan Dimitris Verionis to offer an astonishingly acute observation: "Peter was never a double-dealer. He was straight in his reactions-instinctive and sometimes brutally innocent." interests. For him, changing addresses again would engender a sense of stability. "One tries to create roots," he explained. "It's vital for the children." It's incidents like this that lead the great Sellers fan Dimitris Verionis to offer an astonishingly acute observation: "Peter was never a double-dealer. He was straight in his reactions-instinctive and sometimes brutally innocent."

So with the cruel guilelessness of the spoiled child he always was, Peter Sellers impulsively bought a seven-year, 31,000 lease on a vast penthouse apartment overlooking Hampstead Heath. As Graham Stark puts it, "He couldn't have done anything worse."

While the apartment was being renovated, the Sellerses moved into a fourteenth-floor suite at the Carlton Tower hotel in Belgravia. Stark recalls the bitter litter of Christmas 1961. Covering the floor of the suite were scads of unopened holiday presents that had been given, nominally, to Michael and Sarah. Many of them had been trod into a trampled mess. It was not the result of a lightning-like Peter tantrum. These children's gifts were British film producers' way of currying the movie star's favor. And the kids, being kids, simply stopped unwrapping them out of sheer boredom with all the obsequious plenitude. After that they stomped the rest to death. scads of unopened holiday presents that had been given, nominally, to Michael and Sarah. Many of them had been trod into a trampled mess. It was not the result of a lightning-like Peter tantrum. These children's gifts were British film producers' way of currying the movie star's favor. And the kids, being kids, simply stopped unwrapping them out of sheer boredom with all the obsequious plenitude. After that they stomped the rest to death.

"At the moment I've got a South African architect working on my new flat in Hampstead," Peter told Playboy Playboy. It was affecting his personality: "I tend to speak in a South African accent all the time."

The designer, Ted Levy, was hauling his clients out of the Tudor era by way of a preciously masculine, Euro-Beverly Hills style-High Sixties early in the decade. The Hampstead apartment was large, polished, and very rich-five bedrooms, three bathrooms, and a fully equipped recording studio. Many of the rooms were fully paneled in opulent, garnet-dark rosewood. No hoi-polloi drapes here; Levy designed the windows to be covered by moveable leather panels.

Anne worked closely with the architect. "They kind of overruled me, always around, the two of them buying wallpaper and wood and stuff," Peter later complained. Michael Sellers reports that it was Peter who convinced Anne to take Ted along on the shopping trips, it was Peter who "encouraged Ted to take Mum out for lunch," and it was Peter who suddenly turned on his interior designer one day and "ordered Ted to take my mother away." "I don't want her!" Peter shouted.

What with Peter and Anne's affectionate hand-holding and public solicitousness, all of Peter's pecking of Anne's cheek when the couple and Levy were together (two captivating performances by actors, after all), it was only when Peter broke down and shrieked at him that Ted Levy finally comprehended that his clients' marriage was a sour charade.

Peter went off to Paris to film John Guillermin's adaptation of Jean Anouilh's play The Waltz of the Toreadors The Waltz of the Toreadors (1962). A period-piece costume comedy scripted by Wolf Mankowitz, it's (1962). A period-piece costume comedy scripted by Wolf Mankowitz, it's Millionairess Millionairess-like in its grand oversizing of a small satirical idea. The beautiful French actress Dany Robin takes the Sophia role, with the requisite breathtaking costumes and hats. Peter, instead of playing a low-key Indian doctor, reverts to Bloodnok for his characterization of the aging general who pursues his old flame (Dany) in the face of his equally aging and shrewish wife (Margaret Leighton). Owing to the requirements of the script, however his characterization of the aging general who pursues his old flame (Dany) in the face of his equally aging and shrewish wife (Margaret Leighton). Owing to the requirements of the script, however this this Bloodnok is a satyr in a fat suit, and the effect is a little jarring. Bloodnok is a satyr in a fat suit, and the effect is a little jarring.

"Wolf Mankowitz was a friend of mine, and Wolf wrote the script in about two weeks, and we made the picture," says John Guillermin. It wasn't easy, and it didn't turn out well, especially from Guillermin's perspective. The director maintains his respect for Peter Sellers, however, as many directors continue to do despite the troubles they faced with him. "Based on the scores of people I've worked with over the years, I think Peter was an outstanding artist who worked in a very eccentric and curious way. It's rare that you find people who come out of radio and adapt to the screen successfully. To me, he was unique in that sense.

"Whether or not he was taking lessons from Stanislavsky, he had an instinct that was totally Method. The very fact that he started with an actorly tangible, the voice, and then built from it-that's a very sound way of going about it."

Kenneth Griffith provides another colorful description of Peter's approach to performing. "Once we discussed acting," Griffith says, "and we came to the agreement that what we were both trying to achieve was a mushroom in its prime-beautiful rounded top, stem, febrile roots. I I always started from the febrile roots, built up, and finished, I hoped, with a polished clear top. always started from the febrile roots, built up, and finished, I hoped, with a polished clear top. He He started with the top-because he started with the top-because he saw saw it. But it would be very wrong to say that's where he stopped. He wasn't just a brilliant impersonator. He worked from the top down-to what made that top tick." it. But it would be very wrong to say that's where he stopped. He wasn't just a brilliant impersonator. He worked from the top down-to what made that top tick."

Guillermin continues: "In Toreadors Toreadors he started with the voice-it was a neighbor of his, an old boy in his sixties, a retired Army man. Once he got the voice, his whole body followed. But when I said, 'Okay, it's terrific, Peter, but now we've got to talk about the makeup,' he said, 'I don't want any makeup.' he started with the voice-it was a neighbor of his, an old boy in his sixties, a retired Army man. Once he got the voice, his whole body followed. But when I said, 'Okay, it's terrific, Peter, but now we've got to talk about the makeup,' he said, 'I don't want any makeup.'

"'Don't worry about it, John,' he said. He didn't want to have to come to the studio two hours early and have a lot of stuff put on his face. He played the whole part with very, very little makeup-extraordinary, actually, because his skin is quite smooth, and yet he does convey very well the feeling of a man in his late sixties."

The strain of his disintegrating marriage took its toll during filming, but it's difficult to pin down whether Peter's shattered emotional state was due to his collapsing marriage or whether the marriage collapsed owing to Peter's mental deterioration. "Peter was breaking down into tears now and again," Guillermin recalls. "In fact, the scene when he's about to commit suicide-he gets a revolver and he's going to blow his brains out-was a very bad day for Peter. He said, 'I can't work.' I finally persuaded him to just sit down at the desk. He was in tears, but it worked for the scene, which we shot. That was one of the tragic moments. He was tortured. A very complicated man." Peter's mental deterioration. "Peter was breaking down into tears now and again," Guillermin recalls. "In fact, the scene when he's about to commit suicide-he gets a revolver and he's going to blow his brains out-was a very bad day for Peter. He said, 'I can't work.' I finally persuaded him to just sit down at the desk. He was in tears, but it worked for the scene, which we shot. That was one of the tragic moments. He was tortured. A very complicated man."

Waltz of the Toreadors was widely critiqued for being a kind of pratfall-ridden bowdlerization of Anouilh's play. Guillermin himself agrees. "The film was fucked up by the producers," he declares. "They wanted to make a slapstick comedy. And they ruined a wonderful scene that Anouilh wrote for his play and I shot. It was a long take-a whole reel, ten minutes-of Peter and Maggie Leighton in their quarters, and they tear each other apart." was widely critiqued for being a kind of pratfall-ridden bowdlerization of Anouilh's play. Guillermin himself agrees. "The film was fucked up by the producers," he declares. "They wanted to make a slapstick comedy. And they ruined a wonderful scene that Anouilh wrote for his play and I shot. It was a long take-a whole reel, ten minutes-of Peter and Maggie Leighton in their quarters, and they tear each other apart."