We sent Terence the script for Song for Marion, and he just turned up at the office. He buzzed the door and said: “Is Paul there?” There was a new person working in our office at the time, and she said: “No, no one’s in at the minute. Who’s calling?” He said: “It’s Terence Stamp.” And then she was like: “Well, he’s not here, shall I leave a message?” She didn’t invite him up or anything. She left him standing there. And he didn’t give a shit about that, to be honest.
Me, Terence and Gemma Arterton, who played the music teacher in Song for Marion, went to lunch at a vegan cafe in Shoreditch. His character, Arthur, was someone who loved his wife (played by Vanessa Redgrave), and would do anything for her, but always moaned, was always cantankerous, and found it very difficult to show any form of love to his son.
He was someone who I based on my grandad, and bits of my dad. When his wife dies, it’s Gemma’s character who brings him out of his shell a bit, and encourages him to sing.
We were talking about this character and he looked at me like I was talking in French. I stopped and said: “Well, you can always just wing it.” He went, “Yeah, let’s wing it.”
Working with him, I learned that veteran actors do like to be talked to, in terms of being directed. I also learned, without him telling me, that he had insecurities as well. When I met him, the first thing he said was: “I’m only going to do one take. That’s it.” But then when you got to know him, he was like, “Oh, don’t be silly.” He had his bravado.
But he was a very underrated, very understated actor. When he sang Lullabye by Billy Joel in the film, he broke everyone. It was obviously very good, but it was so sad.
As a kid, I loved him as the baddie in the amazing Superman and Superman II. He’s good at frustration. He punches his hands in rage at one point. When we were shooting Song for Marion, I remember him coming over to give me a massage, because I’d said my back was sore. I’ve never been in more pain in my life. He was not the most tender of men.
Terence was super, super fit. During filming, I went to the apartment where he was staying. He had this set of rotating press-up handles. They’re on the ground, and you put your hands on them, and as you go, you can turn them. He said: “Go on, do one.” I was like, “Fucking hell, I don’t know if I can.” He did loads, and I did one. I was in the peak of health, about 39 years old. He was 74 when he did Song for Marion.
He was so healthy. He didn’t drink. He didn’t do any bad stuff at all. He was supposed to eat a chocolate bar in the film, and we had to swap it for a carob date bar, otherwise he wouldn’t touch it.
We always used to go to a place on Berwick Street for tea – a herbal tea, because I thought he’d really like that. He had this blue carrier bag with him. In it, he had his script and a load of raw beetroot and carrots. He said: “I’m going to make a wicked salad: beetroot, carrot, that’s it. A bit of vinegar – gorgeous.” That’s what I remember.
When we made Song for Marion, he was obviously still known. He had just done The Adjustment Bureau, and he had done Steven Soderbergh’s The Limey, which wasn’t a massive hit, but it was a really respected film. I didn’t expect him to like this kind of script, because it was more commercial in terms of the story itself. But we talked about the fact that it reminded him very much of the relationship he had with his father. The troubles he had with his dad were not dissimilar to his relationship with Christopher Eccleston in the film. There was a jealousy of the mum’s attention.
We were the closing night film at the Toronto film festival. Terence was there, and behind him was his younger brother, Chris, who had managed the Who. Chris was crying his eyes out, and Terence was very comforting towards him, because they recognised their old man.
He did like to talk about himself. I’ll give him that. He would always go on about how big guys in gyms would beg him to say: “Kneel before Zod.” He told me, obviously, about going off to India, about how he was absolutely broke and he had to borrow coins to call his agent to find out about Superman. He’d tell stories about him and Jim Morrison. The thing is, he did have an amazingly interesting life.
He was low-key, but when he put a suit on, he looked good. He is possibly the best looking man I’ve worked with. My old drama teacher came to our screening at the London film festival, and the first thing he said to her was that she had wonderful shoes. She’s still dining out on that.
He was the most charming grump I’ve ever met. He was great to work with, but he was such a moaner. Then he would smile, and you’d think, he knew what he was doing.