As You Wish: Inconceivable Tales from the Making of The Princess Bride (11 page)

Confusing? It gets better.

The Man in Black pursues the kidnappers as they scale the Cliffs of Insanity. He bests Inigo Montoya in a duel (aka “The Greatest
Swordfight in Modern Times”), but chooses only to knock him out, rather than to kill him. Even more improbably, he emerges victorious in an epic display of hand-to-hand combat with Fezzik, and then outwits Vizzini in a deadly battle of “dizzying” intellect, tricking the arrogant Sicilian into poisoning himself. All of this happens in the first half of the movie and sets the stage for the reunion of Westley and Buttercup. You see, the Man in Black is actually Westley, who was in fact taken prisoner by the Dread Pirate Roberts. When Roberts reached retirement age, Westley, figuring that Buttercup had moved on with her life, took his place. This epic plot twist is revealed as Westley tumbles down the world’s longest, steepest hillside, having been shoved by an angry Buttercup.

From that point on,
The Princess Bride
becomes more or less a chase film. A very funny, unusual chase film. Westley and Buttercup endure the Fire Swamp, battling its mini fire volcanoes, quicksand, and a battle with R.O.U.S. They are, however, eventually captured by Humperdinck and the evil six-fingered Count Rugen (who, as it happens, was also responsible for the death of Inigo’s father many years earlier; a death Inigo has vowed to avenge). Buttercup barters for Westley’s life by agreeing to marry Humperdinck, but the prince breaks his promise and instead of freeing Westley, turns him over to Rugen, who imprisons him in the Pit of Despair and apparently tortures him to death. (By the way, this was the moment in the writing of the book when Bill Goldman told me later he actually broke down and cried, he was so sad about Westley’s death. He said he loved the character so much and knew it worked but he was also concerned that he couldn’t figure out a way to bring him back. So he shelved the book for a while until he could come up with a solution.)

I say “apparently tortures him to death” because, of course, as any
Princess Bride
fan will tell you, Westley is not really dead. (Note: This was
Bill’s brilliant solution and what he calls one of “the high points” of his creative life.) His supposedly lifeless body is taken to Miracle Max and his wife, Valerie, by his new allies, Fezzik and Inigo (who believe the Man in Black is just the man they need in order to successfully storm Humperdinck’s castle and confront Count Rugen). Max explains to them that Westley is only “mostly dead.” Westley is revived, the castle wall is breached, and Inigo duels and slays Count Rugen, but not before uttering, once again, his character’s most famous line—“Hello! My name is Inigo Montoya! You killed my father! Prepare to die!” As Rugen pleads for his life and says he will give Inigo whatever he wants if only he will let the Count live, Inigo kills him with the line “I want my father back, you son of a bitch!”

Meanwhile, Westley, still suffering temporary partial paralysis—a side effect of the giant chocolate-covered miracle pill prescribed by Miracle Max—avoids a duel with Humperdinck and succeeds in tying him to a chair. While Humperdinck wallows in cowardice, Westley and Buttercup leave the castle and ride off triumphantly with Fezzik and Inigo. There is a passing of the torch (or the black mask, as it were, as Inigo weighs an offer to become the new Dread Pirate Roberts), a glorious kiss between Buttercup and Westley, and the presumption of a Happily Ever After ending.

So that, in an egregiously truncated form (again, please forgive me, Bill), is the story of
The Princess Bride.
A story we would spend the better part of four months trying to put on film.

Finally we came to the end of the reading of the script, and the whole room burst into applause. I wasn’t sure that applause was a common response following a reading but it seemed appropriate under the circumstances. By any reasonable standard, the event felt like a success. It had been peppered with genuine laughter. Even Buck Henry had chuckled in all the right places (Buck didn’t strike me as a real laugh-out-loud
kinda guy). Reiner was beaming. Bill was clapping, too, and there was a faint smile on his face. For the rest of us in that room, I think we all knew that we were part of something special. Did we think the movie would become an enduring pop-culture phenomenon? Of course not. But did we feel involved in something truly unique? Definitely. For myself I just felt enormously grateful to be there. To be involved in a project with so many gifted people, not to mention getting to be in a film written by the legendary William Goldman and directed by the remarkable Rob Reiner. Life is good, I thought.

Afterward we made our way to a nearby restaurant where they had set up lunch outside on a back patio. I remember finding myself sitting next to Robin again. What quickly became apparent about her, besides her sense of humor, was how cool she was. She could hang with the guys. She told me about growing up in San Diego. How she had always
wanted to be a dancer, then done some modeling and kind of fell into acting. She’d been a leading player on
Santa Barbara
for a couple of years, and she had only one previous movie role, playing a homeless drug addict in
Hollywood Vice Squad
.

I had not yet done any television and remember being fascinated by what it was like for her working on a soap. She explained that she had to learn anywhere from ten to twenty pages of dialogue a day, working with up to three cameras simultaneously, with a different director each episode. That it moved very fast, which forced her to think on her feet as an actor. I also remember her telling me how lucky she felt that the show let her out of her contract to do the movie, as normally they didn’t do that. I asked her how she knew how to do a British accent so well. She then proceeded to tell me about her British stepfather who had introduced her to Monty Python at an early age.

An intelligent and beautiful young woman who loves Monty Python playing opposite me as Buttercup? Does it get much better than that? And looking around the table at the talent I was about to work with, I felt blessed to have been given this incredible opportunity.

For most of us the day ended relatively early. Most of us except for André, that is, who, we discovered later, ended up spending the night at the hotel even though he wasn’t staying there. André, as I stated earlier, was not at his physical peak. He was in fact suffering. All those years of toting around so much weight had left him with this very painful condition, which had only been exacerbated in the ring. I remember him telling me his opponents rarely held back when jumping up and down on his back or smashing metal chairs on his head, thinking that since he was a giant he could take it. I found out from his friends much later on that his classic one-piece black wrestling outfit was specifically designed to hide a back brace.

André was due to have an operation after he wrapped the movie.
But until then the only medication he could take to deal with the pain was alcohol. Now, if you think André could eat, you should have seen him drink. It was legendary. Word had it that even before he developed the injury he could drink a hundred beers in one sitting. According to some estimates his average daily consumption of alcohol was a case of beer, three bottles of wine, and a couple of bottles of brandy. But what I witnessed was something quite different. At meal times, besides the incredible amount of food he ate, I noticed that rather than using a regular glass, André drank from a beer pitcher, which looked a lot like a regular glass in his hands anyway. In reality it was forty ounces of alcohol, which he nicknamed “The American”—usually some combination
of hard and soft liquor and whatever else he felt like mixing it with that day. I should point out that not once did I notice any sign of the alcohol affecting him, which made sense given his size. So, kids, don’t try this at home or you’ll most likely end up in the hospital!

André with our producer, Andy Scheinman

It turns out that same night after the read-through André decided he would sample some of the finest vintage aperitifs and liqueurs from the cellars of the prestigious hotel and ended up closing the bar. When it came to last call he got up to leave but never made it to the front door, instead passing out cold in the lobby. The night porter was called, who in turn summoned security, who in turn rang engineering. Manpower was apparently needed. Yet, despite their valiant efforts, there was simply no waking or even slightly budging what could only be described as an unconscious 500-pound Gulliver spread out on their very ornate carpet. A meeting was held and the wise decision was made to leave him
there. It was either that or call the police, but somehow I don’t think management wanted the publicity.

For safety purposes, both to protect him and any passersby, they decided to place a small velvet rope barrier around André, who was by now snoring loudly enough to shake the lobby walls. The hope was that he would wake up on his own soon enough. But it was not to be as soon as they had hoped.

The housekeepers who arrived the next morning to vacuum had no idea what to do with the massive, sleeping giant blocking their path and were literally terrified to touch him. Then, sometime around 10:00 a.m., André began to stir and eventually awoke to the sounds of vacuum cleaners and the horrified looks of staff and guests alike. He was unfazed by all this. He got to his feet, straightened his clothes and hair a little, and headed straight for the front door—his original objective. A cab was called by the startled doorman but the driver took one look at André and refused to take him. Finally a minivan was sent for and André made it home safely. Needless to say, he is now part of the establishment’s lore.

4