TOM OGG on the genius – and madness – of Peter Sellers
UNARGUABLY the finest character actor the UK has ever produced (name a better one), Peter Sellers inhabited his roles with a chameleon-like authenticity that bordered on the eerie.
But, as author Roger Lewis writes in his excellent biography The Life and Death of Peter Sellers (recently reissued with a rather self-aggrandising intro by Steve Coogan): “Sellers’ fluidity as an actor made for a terrifying madness that grew like a slow metastasising cancer throughout his adult life”.
Originally released in 1995 (and adapted into a pretty lacklustre film in 2004), The Life and Death of Peter Sellers outlines both what made the Southsea-born star such a powerful screen presence – “genius” is a much-overused word but no one who has read Lewis’s book could deny Sellers’ brilliance as an actor – and also what made him such a volatile individual for those who came into his orbit, be they co-stars, film directors or his long-suffering family and friends.
Always an insecure and troubled individual, the former Goon Show star grew increasingly more unhinged as his fame and fortune grew, and tales of his out-of-control antics are detailed throughout Lewis’s book, provoking both hilarity and horror in equal measure. Whether refusing to appear on set with Orson Welles because he thought Welles possessed satanic powers (the scenes they share in Casino Royale had to be shot on separate days and then edited together) or trying to speak to his deceased mum at a séance and inadvertently contacting her dead dog or demanding that an antique steam train be repainted on the set of 1979’s The Prisoner of Zenda because he was convinced the colours green and purple gave him bad luck, Sellers was – in the words of Pink Panther director Blake Edwards – “completely out of his mind”. (Edwards: “If you went to an insane asylum and described the first inmate you saw, that was Peter”.)
By 1980, Sellers – having already narrowly survived a series of major heart attacks in his 30s – had completely worn himself out and he duly dropped dead, aged just 54, although he looked closer to 84. In the 12 months prior to his death, Sellers both a) delivered one of his finest ever big-screen performances as Chance the Gardener in Hal Ashby’s Being There (1979), and b) wrote his own children out of his will in a fit of spite.
Despite such reprehensible behaviour, he remains by far my all-time favourite film actor, besting even Cary Grant, Clint Eastwood, James Woods and Jack Nicholson in the hallowed Tom Ogg Hall of Favouritism. Everyone is familiar with Sellers’ turn as Inspector Clouseau in the hit-and-miss Pink Panther films (the cartoon-like pratfalls are funny but he was capable of so much more), as well as his stellar performances in Stanley Kubrick’s Lolita (1962) and Dr Strangelove (1964), but here are a few lesser-known performances that are worth seeking out if you want to see an acting powerhouse at the top of his game.
All films are available on Amazon Prime, and those marked * are currently available – in full and for free – on YouTube and/or Dailymotion.
1) Carlton-Browne of the F.O. (1959)*
As was to become something of a running theme throughout his career, Sellers here gives a wonderfully nuanced performance in what is otherwise a fairly forgettable film.
A satirical comedy that is light on both satire and laughs, Carlton-Browne of the F.O. follows the inept British diplomat of the title (played by Terry-Thomas) as he visits the (fictional) island of Gaillardia – a former British colony – in order to schmooze with Prime Minister Amphibulos (Sellers – his foreign accent, as always, flawless).
Shot in the UK, the film is supposed to be set on a Mediterranean island, but only Sellers seems to have got the memo; whereas Terry-Thomas and co make no attempt to pretend they are anywhere other than in an air-conditioned British studio, the portly Amphibulos, his sweat-sodden clothes slightly dishevelled, is forever dabbing his oily brow with a handkerchief, emphasising both the warm climate and the shiftiness of the character. A great performance in an average film.
2) I’m All Right, Jack (1959)
Don’t be dissuaded by the bland opening half-hour – once Sellers appears on screen this quasi-classic Boulting Brothers satire springs to life.
As working-class trade union official Fred Kite, Sellers is almost unrecognisable, despite doing little more than growing a Hitler moustache (“a stroke of genius” in the words of Spike Milligan) and shaving his hair. Such was his preternatural talent for transformation.
Terry-Thomas co-stars (again), as does Richard Attenborough, but the film belongs to Sellers, who deservedly won a BAFTA for his performance.
3) The Battle of the Sexes (1959, pictured below)*
Possibly my very favourite Sellers performance, the actor here plays Mr Martin, an elderly Scottish accountant who finds himself unexpectedly contemplating murder after a brass American, Angela Barrows (Constance Cummings), infiltrates the twee tweed-weaving company in which he works.
It may sound an outlandishly farcical premise, yet such is the brilliance of Sellers’ performance that Mr Martin’s homicidal behaviour never once feels far-fetched or contrived, even as he tries – and fails – to off the ghastly Ms Barrows with an egg whisk. Sellers masterfully underplays, somehow managing to convey Mr Martin’s innermost thoughts with little more than a wrinkled glance.
Watching the film, it is almost impossible to believe he was only 33.
4) Never Let Go (1960)*
Although he took his every film role desperately seriously, Sellers rarely appeared in films in which there wasn’t at least some element of comedy. Never Let Go is an early exception to the rule.
Directed by John Guillermin (The Towering Inferno), the film stars Sellers as Lionel Meadows, a dodgy car dealer who slaps his girlfriend, stamps on live terrapins, drives pensioners to suicide and beats the living daylights out of Adam Faith.
The film itself may be C-list quality, but Sellers’ dynamite performance elevates it to a must-see for anyone with an interest in big-screen villainry. As was his wont, the actor stayed in character throughout the shoot, both on and off camera, leading to much real-life domestic ugliness for his wife and children back home.
5) I Love You, Alice B Tobkas (1968)
A counterculture film as of its time as CND badges and flared trousers, I Love You, Alice B Tobkas is a pretty dated romantic-comedy, yet Sellers’ portrayal of Harold Fine – an uptight LA lawyer who discovers the highs and lows of marijuana – is more than fine, it’s faultless.
In reality, of course, the angry, anxiety-ridden Sellers was about as far removed from the hippy ideal as it is possible for a human to be.
6) A Day at the Beach (1970)*
Written by Roman Polanski, this tale of a self-destructive alcoholic, Bernie (Mark Burns), who befriends a young pre-teen girl is among the saddest films I’ve ever seen, perfectly capturing the feel of rain-sodden holidays in lonely coastal towns.
A cameo appearance from Sellers briefly lightens the mood, with the actor playing a gay stallholder who flirts with Bernie in outrageously OTT fashion (the actor is listed only as “A Queen” in the closing credits).
7) Hoffman (1970)
A film that is almost unknown outside of Sellers diehards, Hoffman is a dark character study in which the actor plays a deeply troubled bachelor – the Hoffman of the title – who kidnaps a young bride-to be with whom he is besotted (played by Sinead Cusack).
The film is as morally dubious as its title character, but Sellers’ unsettling performance makes for fascinating viewing, even if he himself hated the film. (Producer Ben Arbeid: “Sellers was so good, so convincing, he tried to buy the prints and burn them.”)
8) The Blockhouse (1973)*
A despairingly downbeat drama, The Blockhouse tells the true story of a group of labourers who find themselves entombed inside an underground storehouse during the Second World War – and there they remain for the entire duration of the film, slowly losing their minds and their will to live.
The film is relentlessly dark, both visually and thematically, but Sellers’ performance as former French teacher Rouquet is quietly superb (no comedy Clouseau accent here), with the final scene – in which Rouquet resigns himself to his inevitable fate – proving particularly effective.
Shot entirely in Guernsey, The Blockhouse was co-produced by future best-selling author – and Jersey resident – Peter James, who seemed surprised that I had even heard of the film, let alone enjoyed it, and who said: “Oh, we knew it was a disaster before it was even finished. It needed a lot of re-shooting. We made a bad decision by bringing in a first-time director, Clive Rees, who was one of the top TV commercial directors in the 1970s, but who wanted the whole film lit as if by candle-light. The result was just unremittingly bleak.”
