When my company produced two pilots last season, many people assumed it was my introduction to television following my feature films, "Bullitt" and "The French Connection." While both shows dealt with crime, one ("Mr. Inside/Mr. Outside") focused directly on the police, while the other ("The French Connection") was only peripherally concerned. However, this quartet convinced some that I was an expert and a connoisseur on detectives, hoodlums, rape, narcotics and car chases.

 

Wrong about the TV bow; wrong about the cop culture.

 

In fact, my beginnings as a producer were about as diametrically opposed to my more recent endeavors as any two subjects could be. It might be difficult to imagine this Bronx boy setting his professional sights on Elizabeth Taylor, but set I did, and to my profound surprise she agreed. Thus was born "Elizabeth Taylor in London," followed by "Sophia Loren in Rome" and "Melina Mercouri in Greece." So, back in those not-so-long-ago-days, some people thought my forte was glamour.

 

That's about as valid as my love affair with the police force. Outside of my wife, the only love affair I'm engaged in is with New York. I joined "the rackets" because I wanted to make movies, and I acquired a property which seemed like a good start—"Bullitt." It was originally intended for Spencer Tracy but when he became too ill, it was rewritten for Steve McQueen who wouldn't film in New York but compromised on San Francisco. His fondness for cars and those incredible San Francisco streets formed a natural alliance for a chase—thus another minor myth emerged.

 

But the residents of Dubuque today are as "in" as their allegedly more sophisticated counterparts in New York and Los Angeles. The country has become homogenized and films have been forced to become more realistic. That's why I use many people who haven't acted before. These amateurs bring a tremendous vitality a more seasoned performer sometimes can't approximate.

 

Incidentally, I discovered my new "profession" contained several surprises. There were areas infinitely easier than I had suspected, others that were much more difficult than I had imagined. For example, the working relationships with the technical people were marvelously smooth and warm and relaxed. There was a great feeling of camaraderie and a genuine give-and-take, with no one taking more than giving.

 

On the other hand, I found that directing created a physical strain on the body, probably because it was such an all-out physical film. As the entire picture was shot on location in winter, there were none of the facilities a studio provides. It's a motion picture with a maximum of motion and I was forever crawling, creeping, running and sprawling.

 

Outside of my personal reasons for preferring New York as a workroom, its other advantages far outweigh the so-called comforts a studio provides.

 

For one, the actors. I feel that most New York actors are more "real" as people than those found elsewhere. It's the New York lifestyle and pace, which allows one to be generally more easily adaptable, more flexible, more resilient.

 

For another, the city itself. It's even "realer" than the actors. What might seem a liability or a detriment to some is an asset, virtually a necessity to me. The petty, incessant squabbles indulged in by the cabbies, the truckers, the bus drivers, the car drivers, the pedestrians, et al, are marvelous, and can't be duplicated anywhere either in volume or intensity. Crossing a street or waiting for an elevator can be an experience in itself in New York. One never knows what to expect and that's exciting—to me.

 

But being a born, bred, educated, married and residing New Yorker, I cheerfully headed here for "The French Connection." And stayed here for the TV shows and my newest film, "The Seven-Ups." In fact, all three were shooting simultaneously in the city last winter which led John Lindsay, then Mayor, to make a remark which I treasure. He called me "king of the Easterns," a title I would have no qualms about keeping.

 

Incidentally, I donned the director's cap as well for "The Seven-Ups" which probably made the 20th Century-Fox executives shaky as they insisted I include a car chase for what was, presumably, audience insurance.

 

Why would I take the additional responsibility for directing? The additional heartaches? The additional headaches? For maybe, just maybe, there might be additional kudos, but also the possibility of jeers. (There have been both.)

 

Because "The Seven-Ups" is in the same mold (a cops-and-robbers thriller) as my previous films, the familiarity of the genre gave me the confidence to pick up the director's megaphone. And, as the producer, I was on top of every aspect of the previous ventures, including the selection of much of the cast and technicians, a function generally designated to the director.

 

In fact, I am convinced that at least 50 percent of directing is in direct proportion to the casting. When an actor is on screen for one minute, his look has to be telling; his mannerisms, his voice, his inflections, even his grammar can reveal in those 60 seconds exactly who, what and why he is. It's true that the larger the role, the more the actor's talents have to be multi-faceted. But that look is important because of the mass media, TV in particular. Nowadays everyone know how real cops and judges and ball players and gangsters look and behave. Even a politician's true demeanor is exposed, as we all know too well.

 

An audience doesn't have to take everybody else's word for reality any longer. For example, years ago Hollywood decided a night sky is a blue sky for the simple reason it looked pretty and it was so accepted on screen.

 

There is absolutely no way of being insulated from the reality of the streets. An that's a turn-on.

 

We hope to do a feature film and two NBC-TV pilots a year with as much filming in New York as possible. Some projects, of course, do not require the use of the city—"The Exorcist," for instance, which was shot almost totally here. But it's my ideal, neuroses and all.

 

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