Tetragrammaton. You have to remember that it's all based on Red Riding Hood, you see.Nothing has changed since Red Riding Hood.So what they're frightened of today are exactly the same things they were frightened of yesterday.
Because this, shall we call it, this fright complex is rooted in every individual.
Do you think women and men are frightened by different things in movies?Oh, I would say so, yes.
I would definitely say that, after all, women are frightened by a mouse.You don't see men jumping on chairs and screaming. So there are definitely different things.Do you aim to frighten men or women?Women.
Because 80% of the audience in the cinema are women.Because, you see, even if the house is 50-50, half men, half women, a good percentage of the men has said to his girl, being on the make, of course, what do you want to see, dear?
So that's where her influence comes as well.So men have very little to do with the choice of the film.
Are American and European audiences frightened by different things?I would say no.
You've got to remember the American audience is the global audience. As I once reminded an Englishman, I said, you don't understand America because you think they are Americans, but they're not.America is full of foreigners.
They're all foreigners since 1776.So, therefore, whatever frightens the Americans frightens the Italians, the Romanians, the Danes and everyone else, you know, from Europe.
You have to remember that this process of frightening is done by means of a given medium.The medium of pure cinema is what I believe in.
The assembly of pieces of film to create fright is the essential part of my job, just as much as a painter would by putting certain colours together.
create evil on canvas.Is creating thrills an essential part of your job?Only in terms of the audience expected from me.We think of you as a master of the unexpected.
That's only because one's challenged by the audience.They're saying to me, show us. And I know what's coming next.And I say, do you?And therefore, that's the avoidance of the cliché.Automatically.They're expecting the cliché.
And I have to say, um, we cannot have a cliché here.
I've heard you refer to pure cinema as the films made prior to sound.
Well, the only thing wrong with the silent picture was that mouths opened and no sound came out.Unfortunately, when talk came in, the Bulgarians, the money changers of the industry, immediately commenced to cash in by photographing stage plays.
So that took the whole thing away from cinema completely.It's like a lot of films one sees today.Not that I see very many, but to me, they're what I call photographs of people talking.And bears no relation to the art of the cinema.
And the point is that the power of cinema in its purest form is so vast because it can go over the whole world.
On a given night, a film can play in Tokyo, West Berlin, London, New York, and the same audience is responding emotionally to the same things. And no other medium can do this.The theatre doesn't do it because you've got different sets of people.
But remember, in a film, they're the same actors.A book is translated.How well do we know?I don't know. The risk is in translating even a film, what they call dubbing, you know.
There's liable to be a loss, and therefore, when one's thinking of a film globally, the talk is reduced to a minimum, and if possible, tell the story visually, and let the talk be part of the atmosphere.
Originally, your films were considered genre pieces.Now, they're considered classics.Are you happy with the acceptance?Oh, I think so.
I think one should be flattered for that.Of course, you know, there are constant divisions of opinion among the devotees.
Have you ever considered making a horror film versus a thriller?
No, because it's too easy.They're props.I believe in putting the horror in the mind of the audience and not necessarily on the screen.I once made a movie, rather tongue-in-cheek, called Psycho.
And, of course, a lot of people looked at this thing and said, what a dreadful thing to do, how awful, and so forth.But, of course, to me, it had great elements of the cinema in it.The content as such. was, I felt, rather amusing.
And it was a big joke, you know?And I was horrified to find that some people took it seriously.It was intended to cause people to scream and yell and so forth, but no more than the screaming and yelling on the switchback railway.
Now, this film had a horrible scene at the beginning of a girl being murdered in the shower.Well, I deliberately made that pretty rough. As the film developed, I put less and less physical
uh, horror into it, because I was leaving that in the mind of the audience.And as the film went on, there was less and less violence, but the tension in the mind of the viewer was increased considerably.
I was transferring it from film into their minds.So towards the end, I had no violence at all.But the audience, by this time, was screaming in agony.Thank goodness.Do you think of your films as rollercoaster rides?
Well, I'm possibly, in some respects, the man who says, in constructing it, how steep can we make the first dip?And this will make them scream.
If you make the dip too deep, the screams will continue as the whole car goes over the edge and destroys everyone.Therefore, you mustn't go too far, because you do want them to get off the switchback railway giggling with pleasure.
like the woman who comes out of the movie, the very sentimental movie, and says, oh, I had a good cry.Now, what is a good cry as opposed to a bad cry?I don't know, but she says that.
She says, and with tears rolling down her cheeks, she said, oh, it was lovely.I cried my eyes out.
How would you describe a good cry versus a bad cry?
Well, I think it's the satisfaction of temporary pain.And that's the same thing when people endure the agonies of a suspense film.When it's all over, they're relieved.
That's why I once committed a grave error in having a bomb from which I extracted a great deal of suspense. And I had the thing go off, which I should never have done, because they needed the relief from their suspense.
Clock going, the time for the bomb to go off is such a time, and I drew this thing out and attenuated the whole business.Then somebody should say, oh my goodness, look, there's a bomb.Pick it up, throw it out of the window, bang.
But everybody's relieved. I made the mistake.I let the bomb go off and kill someone.Bad technique.Never repeated it.But sometimes bombs do go off.That's probably true.Probably true.After all, you know, what is reality?
I don't think many people want reality.I think whether it's in the theater or in films, I think it must look real, but it never must be. because reality is something none of us can really stand at any time.
Do you think of your films in the tradition of the adventure story?
I think more than that, I think that the attack on the whole of this subject matter is strictly English. And where sometimes one gets into little difficulties with the American people is that they want everything spelled out, you know, exactly.
And they worry about content.I don't care about content at all.The film can be about anything you like.So long as I'm making that audience react in a certain way to whatever I put on the screen.
And if you begin to worry about the details of what are the papers about that the spies are trying to steal, well, that's a lot of knowledge.I can't be bothered with what the papers are or the spies.The content, per se.
And I often run afoul of critics who criticize content instead of the technique.And the technique is the same as other storytellers?It comes into that area.But you see, the English have always had a fascination
crime as such.Do you think of yourself as an expert on crime?
No, no.I'm interested in, and I suppose one has at one fingertip all the details on the famous cases of the past.And I've often used examples.In films, for example, in the film Rear Window, there are two
passages in it, which come from famous English crime.Crippin case, I used a bit of that.
And the Patrick Mahon case, you know Mahon, who was a man who killed a girl and then cut her up into pieces and threw the flesh out of the train between Eastbourne and London.But his great problem was what to do with the head.
And that's what I put in the rear window with a dog sniffing the flowerbed. I remember I was making a movie years ago, and I employed as a technical advisor a man who was one of the big four at Scotland Yard, and he was on this case.
And this man, Marne, didn't know what to do with the head, so he put it into the fire grate and put a fire under it.And there was a big storm going on outside.It was the crumbles of Eastbourne on the beach.
And the heat, while this thundering lighting was going on, there was almost a terrible amount of melodramatic, the heat under their head caused the eyes to open.
And this particular superintendent, ex-superintendent Ralph Scott, told me that he went to the butchers and got a sheep's head and put it in the grate to test the time it would take to burn.
The man who knew too much.You first made that in Britain, and then you made it later in the States.
There's much more spontaneity, I suppose, and more instinctive work in the English period, but more calculation in the American period.
That's the main difference.Have you ever made a film without considering the audience?Yes, I made one called The Trouble with Harry.
Yes, the film has lost, I suppose, about a half a million dollars.So that's an expensive self-indulgence. Here we come to the question of ethics with other people's money.Did the film lose money?Well, I think it was outside the usual run of pictures.
It was a little comedy.It was an English book, strangely enough, although I laid it in for a month.It was a comedy of the macabre, typically English.The approach to it was English.Harry was a corpse, wasn't he?
The little man, played by Edmund Gwynne, thought while shooting rabbits, he was responsible for the man's death.
And if he found out that he wasn't responsible, so he dug it up again, and then someone else came along, and they had a reason why the man should have been buried, so he was buried again.
So the whole film was the burying and pulling out of this poor body.It was rather amusing, but...
I'm afraid that the exhibitors and people who run cinemas and those people who distribute films, my natural enemies, couldn't see it as a contraption for the public.
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What are you most afraid of?
I'm scared of policemen.I never drive a car.On the theory that if you don't drive a car, you can't get a ticket.I'm scared stiff of anything that is to do with the law.Although I'm fascinated by it, but I would hate to be involved myself.
Why do you think that is? Coward, I suppose.What frightens you about policemen?
Well, that's the thing, you see.Most people think that I am, because of the material in which I indulge professionally, that I must be a monster.Well, I'm just the opposite to that.I'm a very placid, calm individual.And I am scared.
or getting into any difficulty.Somebody once said to me, what is your idea of happiness?I said, a clear horizon.Not even that horizon with a tiny cloud, no bigger than a man's fist.It has to be absolutely clear.
Ingrid Bergman once said of me, she said, the trouble with Hitch is that he won't have a fight. because I walked out on her when she was bickering about something on the set.And, uh, I just walked away.
And when her head was turned, she looked back and I wasn't there.
What could a policeman do that would frighten you?
Well, he could, um, charge me with some offense, like parking, and then I would get a ticket. And that would scare me.I'm like the man in that old legend.It was an old musical sketch.Well, apparently he quarreled with the policeman.
The fine would have been $2.And then in doing so, he hit the policeman.Now it was assault.And then from that, he was moved.
to the jail, and there he got into trouble with another prisoner, and he attacked him, and there was a fight, and eventually this prisoner was killed.Now he was arrested for murder, tried, and was on his way to the electric chair.
And a policeman could say, come with me, and he wouldn't have much choice.
Well, my stomach would turn over.A joke was played upon me, and I'm not kidding, it did scare me.
I did an interview many years ago in New York, and I sat in the little studio, and there was an empty chair opposite me, and suddenly a policeman came in and sat in the chair and scared the hell out of me.He said, may I see your license?
I said, I don't have one. I did it as a gag, but it worked.
Do you think religion has played any role in your work?I wouldn't say so, no.
But I would say that the Jesuit training, I believe, gives you a sort of clarity of mind, a reasoning power.You don't realize it while you're being taught as a young boy, but that's what they're doing to you.Did you learn Latin? Oh, yes.
Oh, you had to know all that in the ablative absolute.Remember that.You know, I saw a terrible thing once.I'm not kidding.
In a French magazine, and it was one of those satirical French magazines, and there was a picture of God sitting on a cloud, a bearded old gentleman.
And just slowly coming up through the clouds was the figure of Christ, with hands held out and a well-begun expression, with holes in each hand.He's looking up to his Father, and God is poking his tongue out at him.
He said, there, you see, I told you not to go down there.
religion seems to come under a lot of fire these days.Com-rack, com-rope.That's what they used to say in the days of the Inquisition.How would you describe your demeanor on set compared to other directors?
Well, first of all, I'll tell you an interesting thing.I've only been on another set once in my whole career. And that was when I first came to Hollywood to sign up with Selznick.
And I was given a lunch at Paramount Studios and shown around the studios.But I've never been on another set.I've never seen another director at work.Just saw this one director.
I was astonished to find he was addressing everyone through a public address system.Now, I've heard about directors and how they behave.
And the only thing I could say about it was, or it seems to me, all the drama is on the set and none on the screen.Now, it's been said of me that they don't know when I'm directing.
Well, I don't direct, you see, because I discuss it with the actor or actress in their dressing room.What are the kind of things that get to you, that bug you?I hate to see a scene where they're pouring wine out of the wrong bottle.
All those details, it's the details that bother me.
How's your experience of media today?
Years and years ago, there wasn't any television, there wasn't any radio.And there were just newspapers, and they were very dull-looking newspapers.They weren't... I had a friend, an editor of the London Daily Express,
who invented the new front page layouts with headlines all over it, you know, pictures and... But the main thing was to give a big headline to every piece.
And in those days, years ago, if you look at a paper, say, like the Kansas City Star, it has a little headline at the top and a long column of print. There wasn't the communication, you see, but today people have it thrown at them from all sides.
Well, it seems like communication is a good thing, no?
Well, because you've got the situation of people copying what they see.You know, we hear of the influence of crime being copied, you know.Now I, although I deal in the same thing myself,
I only regret one thing that I ever did in a film that was copied, and that was Foreign Correspondent, a picture I made at the Goldwyn Studios here.Very elaborate film, very big film.
And in it I had a big scene laid in Amsterdam with a politician, an important politician on the top step. And the whole thing was massive umbrellas, trolley cars, the center of the city.
And a cameraman came along and said to the politician, your picture, please.You know, there had been cameras in those days.He had a gun in the right hand, and he took the picture and shot the gun and assassinated this politician.
And I heard it was done in terror hands.
Two years later.So you feel like your movie had an unintended consequence?Yes, I think that was, you know... One of those things.
One of those things.After all, bad news is news.Good news is not interesting.You'll find that in all newspapers.
Only bad news. Almost all stories are pitting good versus bad.People find those stories appealing.
Well, appealing because it's like audiences, uh, say watching one of my pictures and they get scared and so forth, but they feel comfortable because it's there for the grace of God, go I. Because they look at the man in the bad situation and they say, my God,
Do you think that audiences have ideas about who you are based on the kind of stories you tell?That's the whole thing I was saying to you earlier, that people think that one is a monster and they relate me to my material.
Well, you do carry yourself with a certain gravitas.Yeah, I wouldn't look at it that way.
I mean, and strangely enough, I don't know whether people have become more unsophisticated, but I used to indulge very much in practical jokes of a very high order.I used to have great pleasure from them.
I remember once at Jason's, when Dave Jason, his restaurant had a garden at the back, I gave a birthday party for my wife.And just to liven it up, I engaged. from Central Costing, an aristocratic old lady.
Had her dressed by the studio, hair beautifully done, and sat at the end of the table, and then disowned her.Guests arrived out, and they said, who's the old lady?I said, I don't know, I'm trying to find out.
The only person in the secret was my wife and Dave Jason.And every person arrived, and suddenly looked around, and said, is that you?I said, yes, it is.Who's the old lady? I went to try it out with Dave Chaston.When he comes, I'll send him over.
So Chaston came back and came out eventually, and I said, Dave, there's this old lady sitting at the back, at the end of the table there, back of the garden.I'll go and see.So he went and he bent over, said a few words and came back.
He said, she says she's with Mr. Hitchcock's party. I said, it's nonsense, I've never seen a woman before in my life.So she sat there the whole evening and got stiff and bewildered everyone.That's sort of a joke that amuses me.
I once gave a dinner in London and I had two or three important guests.I had Gertie Lawrence, Gertrude Lawrence, Sir Gerald Du Maurier, that's the father of Daphne Du Maurier, who was the leading actor on the London stage at the time.
Two or three other people.And all the dinner was blue.Everything you ate was blue.The food was blue?Everything.The soup was blue. The trout was blue, and we told Gerard Amore that it was going to be a fancy dress.
So he came as a Scotsman, and nobody else was, you know.So we got him in some different clothes later.Well, those are some jokes I used to enjoy.
You know, talking about bringing someone in and telling them it's going to be a fancy dress, and then it's just the opposite.It reminded me of the man invited to a news party.
He arrived, and the woman, he was shown into a room, all piled up with the people's clothes and said, well, sit down, dress, and was completely nude, and entered the living room, and everybody was dressed.I wouldn't perpetrate that one on anyone.
That sounds rather brutal.No, no, not that way.Tell me about Cockney rhyming slang.Rhyming slang?Like how the raspberry got its name.
Well, rhyming slang really goes back to almost nearly to Elizabethan days.It goes back very, very early.It's a jargon used by traders so they can communicate with each other without the customer understanding.
Now, for example, to give you some example of rhyming slang, stairs.One of the most famous is stairs.You don't say stairs.You say apples and pears. Yes, apples and pears.And then with the usage, the rhyme gets lost.Going up to bed.
Uncle Ned, the wife, is called the trouble and the strife.
Sister is skin and blister.Was this originally used as a code or a secret language?
Yeah, that was the origin of it, way back. And, uh, oh, there are many examples, you know.I suppose that's the nose.Mince pies are the eyes.North and south, the mouth.And, uh, German bands.
I had an actress once say to me in London, she said, um, half a cop while I lemon my Germans, would you?What does that mean?She said half a cop while I lemon my Germans.She wanted to go to the toilet.
which in polite English is, I'm going to wash my hands.Half a cockle in it, that's minute, while I lemon squash, which is wash, my hands, which are German band.
In those days, in Victorian times, they had these little German bands on the street corners, you know, with a man with a hat.
Do people still use that language?
Oh, all the time, yes.Really?Yes.I remember walking on the set one day and the chief electrician said to me, Hi, Governor, nice pair of almonds you've got on.Almonds?Well, there's a sweet meat in England called almond rock.
It's just a lot of almonds in... in candy, you know, all stuck together.But almond rock is for socks, you know?And one day another actor said to me, after our first child was born, he said, how's the Godfa?Godfa?Godfa.So I didn't know what he said.
So later on I said to someone, what does he mean, how's the Godfa?Well, he's saying, how is your child?How is the Godfabid?Which is rhyming slang for kid.But he only said Godfa.
He didn't even say, God forbid.By taking the rhyme away, it makes it harder to decode.Oh, it would be kind of amateurish.
It's corny just to use all rhyme.So you don't want to tell us raspberry?No, raspberry is raspberry tart, that's all.
Where's the line not to cross?Where's going too far in a movie?
Well, what turns me off are what I call all-in wrestling matches in bed.You see that all the time, you know, it's a cliché.You know, they shoot past the man's shoulder, leaning over the girl in bed and, you know, it's just unnecessary.
I think it's cheap and vulgar. I used it in the last picture, but in very sparingly, in a picture I made frenzy.I had to show nudity a couple of times, but it was very important to the scene to show these couple of cuts anyway.
But normally, just showing it, just for the sake of showing it, I mean, is bad taste and unnecessary.
So nudity's not a problem?No.Are there any crimes that you'd prefer not to show in movies?
I've never made movies about professional criminals or cops.If you'll notice, if you look back over the films that I've made, generally speaking, they're about ordinary people in bizarre situations.That's our essence.The movie I made last
North by Northwest, Carey Grant.He's an ordinary businessman.Gets mistaken for a spy.And of course, he goes through the most bizarre experiences.Well, it enables the audience to identify themselves much more closely with the individual.
They can't identify themselves with the cops. They look at it objectively.They can't identify necessarily with a criminal unless there's an intense interest, such as there was in the Mafia, in, you know, the Godfather.That's a different thing.
That's, you know, a thing they look at objectively.But I've always gone for average man, the ordinary individual.
Do you keep your choices to the stories of the everyman going through the unusual experiences?
Whether I want to or not, I seem to gravitate toward that.As a matter of fact, I'm preparing the script now with Mr. Ernie Lehman, and we're working on the story which shows an innocent couple getting involved in very important Abductions of people.
Kidnapping.I know nothing about it.
What's it called?I don't know the title.The shower scene in Psycho transcends time.Can you feel how the audience is going to react when you're putting something like that together?I hope so.
Except a scene like that took me seven days to shoot. Because although it was only on the screen for 45 seconds, there were 78 separate pieces of film joined together to get that stabbing and that effect.One hopes they will.
You know, you can't predict.But I've been, you know, around long enough to know what audiences... May I say something vulgar? to make the audience feel, you know, there's not a dry seat in the house.I mean, that's the aim.
You're the master of those moments.Well, it takes a lot of design.
It's knowing audiences, knowing what they feel.And it's like suspense.Suspense comes out of giving an audience information. You see, so many films, they call them mystery films.
I never make mystery films, because if the audience don't know, how can they emote?It's like a whodunit.I never make whodunits, because you've got to turn the last page before you find out anything.
So a whodunit, from an audience point of view, is an intellectual exercise, like a crossword puzzle or an anagram.You're wondering which of the five people So there's no emotion.It's just calculation.But suspense is very different.
You tell the audience that there's a bomb under that chair and we'll go off in five minutes.And they can wait.
You've made so many great films.What keeps you excited about continuing to do your work?I have no reason to stop. Many more pictures to make.What are some of the films you're considering?
One of the stories I wanted to do for our television show was a famous story by Lord Dunsany, an English poet.It's a classic story.
A man and his wife moved into a village, I think it was late in England, moved into the village and they rented a house and a garden.And the man asked the landlord if he could cut down 12 large trees which were surrounding the house.
And he got permission to do that.Well, they lived there for, oh, I think about a year or two, or maybe not quite as long as that.And the wife was missing.And people were asking where was his wife, and he said, well, she'd gone away or something.
But gossip, as it does in all villages, increased to a point where he wasn't really believed.He wasn't even satisfactory answers to whereabouts of his wife.So the police moved in, and they began to ask him questions.
And eventually, the search for the wife got so intense, that the police practically accused him of murdering her.But they had no evidence, no body.
They were digging up his garden in search of this woman and finally gave it all up and the case was closed.But it so happened that a university professor took an interest in the case and he visited this religion and made some inquiries around.
And finally, in the local inn, he found a traveling salesman who traveled selling a ketchup relish, which you have with meat, whatever the names of these things are.And the traveling salesman said, you know, a peculiar thing happened the other day.
I was visiting the general store, and the lady who runs it told me that something struck her as being rather peculiar. So the professor said, what was that?
Well, she said that this man, who was accused of disposing of his wife, came and bought two bottles of this within the space of a week.And she said, that's totally unusual, because one bottle usually lasts a person two or three weeks.
So the professor said, ah, now I know the end of the story. That's all the story is.Somebody said, why did he want to cut down the 12 large trees?Ah, that was to give himself an appetite.Wow.That's all.It was a horror.
Anything else you want to talk about?Let me tell you one more interesting story.I think we have time.I'll tell it quickly.A man was riding across the Australian desert in his car, South Australia, loaded up.And the back axle goes.
He sees in the distance an oasis, and there he trudges and finds it beautifully kept.Rings the bell, man answers the door, explains his predicament, says, will you come in, sir?And the owner of the house comes in, and he explains his problem.
He says, well, The owner had a very dapper, well-dressed man, sort of like Clifton Webb used to be years ago.And he said, well, the only thing is, the nearest place is a hundred miles back from where you've come.
He said, if you care to stay here for a night or two, I'll have my man take your car back there and get it repaired.He said, well, that's a wonderful idea.Thank you very much.So everything was arranged.
He goes up to the room, changes, comes down for a cocktail, and he's introduced to the man's wife and daughter. He's struck by these two attractive women.
In fact, the wife attracts him very much, because they could almost be sisters, mother and daughter.And after dinner, and everything very polite, he goes to bed.At midnight, there's a tap on the door.
He switches the bedside lamp, and the door half opens, and the voice of a woman says, please, no lights.No lights. He says, all right, turns the light off, door clicks, and she comes over to the bed.
He said, you know, we live a very lonely life here, as you can see.And gradually, a conversation, and she begins to caress him, his hand first, and finally, of course, the inevitable.About 4 a.m., he says, I've got to go, it's getting light.
He said, but tell me, which are you, mother or daughter? I've got to know.He says, I don't want you to know.Let it be that way.Well, she goes up.Well, that morning, coffee and breakfast by the pool.
He looks from mother to daughter, gets no sign at all.And he's absolutely baffled.He said, I didn't sleep well last night.Oh, and probably a strange bed and so forth.Second night, same thing happens again.
He said, I tried all day to get some sign from you.Nothing. He said, I'm not gonna leave you inside, no.Same thing in bed, 4 a.m., she goes.They had a wonderful night together.The following day, same thing again.
Third night, he said, you know, my cars are a pain, I'm leaving tomorrow.Why don't you come to Melbourne?Meet me there.So she, no, no, no.Then this be our last night.She's now, he feels the tears, embrace, and so forth. And she goes.
Well, in the morning, car's ready and so forth.He looks at mother and looks at daughter, shakes each one by the hand and presses it hard.No response.And the owner of the house escorts him to his car.
He said, you know, I dare say you wonder why we live in such a remote place just as this. He said, well, the man said, if you wouldn't think me impersonal, I did wonder.He said, well, you see, we have another daughter that you've never met.
And she's the reason why we live here, because, you see, she's a leper.
I understand you lost 14 pounds in the last two weeks.I would say, yes, oh, yes, 14 in the last 10 days.
I would say that in my lifetime, I must have lost altogether 500 pounds.Wow.I lost a hundred pounds when I was making a movie with Tallulah Bankhead, Lifeboat, 1943.
I lost a hundred pounds.What inspired you to start the new diet?
I'd reached a plateau and it was a decision one has to make.They're not too heavy. I was having great difficulty in getting up and down the apples and pears.Tell me about the diet.You'd keep to 750 calories a day.No bread, no butter.
Nothing in the way of desserts.Just the meat, string beans.
That's it. Do you drink a lot of water?
No, no, I don't believe in water because that's the very thing they're trying to get rid of.I think in the dieting, you should keep yourself dry.
Back when you started, could you imagine all of the success that you would end up having over the course of your career?No.Not at all.
I think the most gratifying thing that I enjoy about one's job is being able to appeal to world audiences.The Japanese, in Japan, they know me.And that's the most gratifying thing.And it comes through one's work.
Not through one's publicity agent or what have you.Same in Germany.I never forget, we crossed the frontier once. at the Mets, entering France.And the... He hung down, put his head in the window and said, Ha!Eat!Cool.
And then we had to wait, and he went inside and brought out all the other officers.And came all the way across.
Do you think of yourself as a performer?I'd never sing so low.Well, you do say, good evening, and you come out before the show.That's just a dignified introduction.
You know, to be an, oh, to be an actor, it's, you know, I've called them cattle for years.You call the actors cattle?I call all actors cattle.I remember Tyrone Powell's wife, when he was alive, she said, why do you call my husband cattle?
I said, well, he's nice cattle.Any final words before we say goodbye?Um, leprosy.
I want to assure you is not contagious, although I think leprosy would be a nice name for a girl.
