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Pebbles
”—Wise’s last picture for Fox, a $12 million story about the U. S. Navy in China during the 1920’s—“we had to build our own junks and our own rickshas. The ones they had in Hong Kong and Taiwan weren’t period.” He shifted the coins from his left to his right hand. “I want to do something where I don’t have to take down television antennas in order to shoot. A nice simple picture where the people wear their own clothes and I can shoot the TV aerials.” He pushed his hand through his graying hair. “But who knows. There was a picture of mine on TV the other night—
The Haunting
—a nice small picture that didn’t make a dime. Then I made one with Harry Belafonte,
Odds Against Tomorrow
, again a nice small picture, and it dropped out of sight.” The coins went back into his pocket. “So I guess I’m stuck with the big ones.”
    The light was finally fixed and Wise climbed back up onto the crane. The script called for Julie Andrews tosay, “Open your presents, everyone,” but because she was not included in the shot, she was not on the set. “Okay,” Wise said through his bullhorn. “I’ll say Julie’s line and everyone look toward the back of the bus. This is a take, not a rehearsal, so everyone open the presents. Don’t throw the paper out of the bus, please,” he explained patiently, as if talking to a child. “Just put it on the floor.”
    Callow called for quiet and the red shooting light began to flash on the stage door. As the bus rocked on its jack, the actors bustled about on the upper deck, opening the presents. Each box contained a bathing suit for the swimming party they were on their way to attend.
    “Cut,” Wise said, when the shot was completed. “That was nice, very nice. Let’s print it.”
    On the bus, an actress stood up and waved at Wise. “Are we supposed to get the same suits we wear at the party?” she said.
    “Yes, dear,” Wise said.
    “But I was fitted for a green one and this is a blue one.”
    “Son of a bitch,” Callow said.
    A resigned look flickered across Wise’s face. The swim suits were rewrapped and sorted out so that each actor got the bathing suit for which he had been fitted. It was nearly an hour before the scene was ready to be reshot. The actors milled around the stage. Some read
The Hollywood Reporter
and
Daily Variety
and others talked and drank coffee.
    “Don’t spill any goddamn coffee on those costumes,” Callow bawled.
    After a half dozen takes, the shot was finally printed. The lights came on and the camera was shifted for thenext bus setup. The scene called for the women to go to the bottom of the bus and the men to stay on the upper deck and change into their bathing suits. Wise did not move from the crane. He told Callow to have the electrician check the lights behind the blue screen once again. The shot was finally set up. The buzzer sounded and the actors on the top of the bus began to undress. Suddenly Wise called, “Cut.”
    “Gentlemen,” he said quietly, “this is a period picture. If men wore GI T-shirts during the 1920’s, nobody has bothered to inform me about it. And so I can only assume that no one wore GI T-shirts during the 1920’s. Now is anyone wearing an old-style undershirt, the kind with shoulder straps?”
    Several actors on the top of the bus raised their hands.
    “All right, then you people can take off your shirts,” Wise said. His patience was beginning to wear thin. “The rest of you fake it. Just fool with your buttons until I get the shot.”
    “I’m not wearing anything underneath,” Michael Craig said.
    “Then you can take off your shirt, too,” Wise said. He lingered deliberately over each word. “But
only
 … the actors not wearing anything or who’ve got those old-style undershirts I want to take off their shirts.” He paused. “Are we ready, gentlemen? I’d like to get this shot in before lunch.”
    The following afternoon, Richard Zanuck had an appointment to see Phil