A CLOCKWORK ORANGE  STANLEY KUBRICK



  Of all the directors, working with Stanley Kubrick was the most interesting experience. He had genius. Foresight. He was the camera. When the complicated camera he was using broke down he took it apart and put it back. He knew it intimately, every nook and cranny of it.
  What you see here is a Polaroid from a scene that was cut. It was a scene with a boa constrictor. We were working in a small apartment, the lights were hot and Malcolm and I took refuge in the bedroom, the only room available while filming went on in the living room. The boa had arrived fed, nice and cool and asleep, it was placed under the bed we were lying on, the bed nearest to the door - just in case. The longer it stayed under the bed in the warmth that oozed everywhere, the sooner it would wake up.
  Malcolm was not partial to a frisky boa and was quite distressed when it came to holding it, as for me, I had this ticklish laughter that kept on wanting to erupt and I would kick it down - I could see the ludicrous side of things, and the danger too, it was definitely large and fairly affectionate, we did the scene quickly. And it ended up on the cutting room floor.
  The fast scene with the girls jumping around in Malcolm’s bedroom is Kubrick’s favorite. We are like butterflies in a Perspex box.
  Kubrick liked my mouth. I was to suck a lollipop in profile. All eyes on me, I became very self-conscious, I tucked my chin in, and made sure I looked divorced from the lollipop. Cool and uncaring. It worked. If it hadn't I would have been told on the spot.
  As an addendum, the film test for Kubrick was the most surreal I have ever done. The appointment was simply to meet the casting director. Whoever came out of the casting director’s office did not leave, but sat down again, looking miserable.
  The casting director was very apologetic, but this was how Stanley wanted to test. I was asked to strip down to my underwear and read the part played by Marilyn Monroe in Bus Stop. I understood then that Kubrick had a sadistic bent and one had to keep one’s nerve, it was quite odd to suddenly stand in front of a stranger in one’s underwear, without prior warning, and speak to the camera as the vulnerable, torn creature from Bus Stop, with London's street sounds wafting through the thin window panes, and an embarrassed casting director hovering behind the lens.
  This is the little crazy streak that makes the actor’s life different to the other, Real Life out there, on the other side of the wall. I was curious about that real, ‘other’ Life. It would be a simpler, kinder life, I told myself, where one and one makes two, not three. Unlike the actor’s life hidden behind his fog-wall. Yet it is precisely this extra digit: this Three, this ‘little madness ‘ that is the flame behind the puppets; that creates all those wonderful shapes on the ceilings and walls; that brings us dreams, because dreams are good for us.