As You Wish: Inconceivable Tales from the Making of The Princess Bride (26 page)

“I’m fine. It’s all good . . .”

But I was merely trying to put on a brave front—kind of like the Black Knight in
Monty Python and the Holy Grail
proclaiming, “It’s only a flesh wound!” after having his legs hacked off.

In reality, the throbbing in my foot was starting to build in intensity. But the initial pain and shock quickly gave way to sheer panic. This was a major shooting day for me. One where I would have to do a lot of walking around. Even running. Not to mention the daily fencing practice. How the heck was I going to fake that? I was so scared and nervous, not only that I’d probably get a serious talking-to from Rob for being so stupid and irresponsible but maybe I’d even be replaced. After all, how could I swordfight if I could barely even walk? So out of utter fear, I did the dumbest thing I could have done. I pleaded with those present not to say anything.

“I’ll be fine,” I said. “Don’t worry.”

They could clearly see that I was not. A medic was summoned, and, fortunately for me, like most medics, she was also a trained nurse. She carefully removed my black suede boot and sock, an enormously painful process in itself, and then tenderly studied my swollen big toe, which was pointing at an odd angle.

“Does that hurt?” she said, touching it gently.

“Mmm-hmm.” I winced, clenching my teeth. “A little . . .”

Meanwhile my toe was sending my brain messages saying, Scratch that—a lot, dummy!

“Well, it’s definitely broken,” she said. “You should probably go to the hospital and get it X-rayed.”

“Oh, no. I can’t do that,” I said, sounding more fearful than courageous. “Not right now. We have a scene to shoot. It’ll be okay. We can do it after we wrap.”

She looked at me as if I were crazy.
Maybe this guy hit his head as well?

Fear had definitely clouded my judgment; I wasn’t thinking rationally. I knew exactly what the shooting schedule entailed. I knew the way Rob liked to work. By now I had hit my stride with him, on most occasions printing my first takes and moving on to the next setup. I knew that we would be in this location only for this one day, and that if I were unable to shoot what we needed to get, we’d have to come back at a later date to complete it. Meaning, they would have to postpone my scenes and basically change the whole schedule while I got checked out and treated. I also knew that the doctors would most likely suggest that I shouldn’t walk on it for a few days, perhaps even a few weeks, while my toe was put in a cast or a splint and allowed to heal properly. The whole thing would cost time and money, and that would all be on me. All these thoughts and more were running through my head at that moment.

I knew actors had been fired for less egregious lapses in wisdom. Even though he is not the freaking-out type, I envisioned Rob questioning whether I was worth the trouble I had caused. I’d be done. That would be it, I thought. They’d have to find another Westley. It would then hit the press and my career would be over. After all, who could blame them? It was all my fault. I was the cretin who didn’t have the sense to stay off an ATV in the middle of production. Why waste any more time on me?

You see, it’s one thing to get hurt while shooting a scene. If you get injured while filming, then everyone understands and feels bad for you. “Tough break, man. Don’t sweat it. Go home and rest, and then come back when you’re all better.” Bond companies have insurance policies that cover these kinds of things so the producers don’t have to worry.

But . . . if, on the other hand, you injure yourself fooling around
off
the set, that’s a whole other kettle of fish. Sure, accidents happen. But this was an accident that totally could have been avoided. I had brought it on myself by messing around with a toy that, in hindsight, I realize wasn’t really a toy. It is a dangerous machine. A machine I obviously did not know how to operate and had no business even trying to operate. There was a lot at stake here: jobs, money, insurance issues. It was a potential disaster.

Foolishly, rather than coming clean, I chose to hide it. In other words, I tried to get away with it.

“Please,” I said to the medic and the genuinely concerned crew members standing around. “Don’t tell Rob. I’m gonna be okay.”

I remember Terry saying, “I think he’s gonna find out, mate. I mean, your toe
is
broken!”

I turned to the medic. I was desperate at this point and starting to sweat profusely.

“Is there anything you can do?” I pleaded.

She gently cupped my foot in the palm of her hand.

“I suppose I could do a temporary splint.”

“Really? Will it work?” I asked hopefully.

She explained that there isn’t much else you can do for a busted toe. It was probably what the doctors would end up doing anyway, since toes are too small to put in a cast. She said they would most likely also recommend a lot of rest and ice. But, if movement is necessary, a small splint could possibly be utilized, even though not highly recommended.

“Do they have to do that at a hospital, or can you do it right here?” I asked, trying to mask the panic in my voice.

She nodded. “I think I can do it here. But it’s still going to hurt. I mean, in other words, it’s still going to feel like you have a broken toe,” she said, trying to reason with an unreasonable person.

“Great,” I said. “Can you please try?”

Naïve as I was at the time, I didn’t realize that by asking her to do this for me, I was probably putting this poor woman’s job on the line as well as all those present by asking them not to say anything. I didn’t even realize that she would have to make out a medical report that would have to go to production anyway.

But I wasn’t thinking properly. I was willing to try anything at this point. Like most Brits, I came from that stoic background of the whole “The show must go on!” thing. In other words, I was willing to do whatever was necessary to get the show back on the road. The medic opened her large first aid bag and began crafting a makeshift splint. Meanwhile, one of the ADs had shown up with a walkie-talkie to find out what all the fuss was about and, more important, to bring me to the set. I tried to enlist him not to say anything as well. As if that was going to work with a man with a walkie-talkie whose job I knew very well was to report any reason for delays to the first AD. I was so blinded by fear, I was involving all these poor people in my half-witted conspiracy to keep the very person who needed to know the truth from knowing it.

Now we had another issue. My foot wouldn’t fit back in the boot!
Great!

So we summoned a wardrobe assistant and asked for her help.

“I need a favor,” I said. “Can you cut a hole in the back of the boot in such a way that it won’t show on camera?”

By now an even larger crowd had begun to gather around. Had I been thinking properly, I would have known, obviously, that with this many people watching, word would eventually get back to Rob. But, like a soccer player trying to hide an injury, I was focused on only one thing: getting back onto the field.

I even began trying to fool myself that it was going to work. Here was my insane logic: With the splint anchoring my damaged toe and my sock covering the splint, it would be fine. The sock was also black; that way, if the camera were to pick up the hole in the boot, the glaring white bandage holding the splint in place wouldn’t show up.

It might just work!

What a buffoon!

My toe, however, wasn’t having any of it. It was still sending my brain more messages. Nagging things like, Really, dude? and Are you serious?

Eventually I was able to stuff my poor swollen mess of a foot into the modified boot. The maneuver itself was insanely painful. But, I had deluded myself that once it was on, and I was back on my feet, everything would be okay.

Clearly I figured wrong.

As soon as I tried to take a step, it was apparent that even through my toughest grit, I wasn’t fooling anyone, least of all myself. I wasn’t going to be able to walk without a limp, let alone run or fight a swordfight.

I’ll just have to fake my way through it, I thought. The AD helped me limp over to the transpo van and I was then driven up the long ravine to the set. It was perhaps the longest drive I have ever taken. Everyone in the van was silent. They were probably thinking, This deluded actor is out of his mind, poor sod!

As soon as we arrived, I put on the bravest face I could muster,
hopped as best I could out of the van, and walked right over to Rob like nothing was wrong. Just eating the pain the whole way.

“Heya, Cary! How are you doing, buddy?” he said with a big smile.

I froze for a nanosecond.

Had someone already told him? Could this possibly be my last day on the movie? Oh, please, don’t let it be so . . .

“Good. Thanks,” I replied, praying that my face, which I was unaware was already sweating, didn’t betray the strain.

“Everything okay? No problems? You’re feeling good?”

“Yeah. Absolutely.”

My brain received another “toe message”: Hello? Anybody home?

He smiled in that way that only Rob could smile. It was a big, close-mouthed one.

“So . . . when were you going to tell me?”

“Tell you what?” I stammered, giving possibly the single worst performance of my career.

He just kept on smiling. I could tell he wasn’t buying it. I think he even nodded a bit. The kind of nod that says,
Uh-huh
.

Finally, I couldn’t keep up the pretense any longer.

“I am so sorry, Rob. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

He looked deep into my eyes and then spoke.

“Don’t worry about it, Cary,” he replied. “But you gotta know you can tell me these things, all right? We’re all in this together.”

He seemed hurt that I would try to lie to him. And he was right to. I felt like such a numbnut. I tried to explain the reason behind my secrecy. That I was embarrassed, but also worried that he’d be forced to shut down production. Or, perhaps worse . . .

“I thought you might actually let me go.”

He seemed almost more hurt by that remark.

“Are you crazy? Why would I do that? You’re perfect for this role.”

“I dunno. I feel like a complete twit. Please forgive me.”

“Don’t sweat it.” He then looked down at my hopelessly and obviously makeshift boot.

“Can you walk?”

“Yeah.”

“Can you run?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t really tried yet. But I’ll certainly give it my best shot.”

“Okay, well, we’ll just have to film around it if need be. Just don’t be afraid to tell me anything. I’d be more upset if you didn’t, okay?”

I nodded sheepishly. “Okay.”

He hugged me, and I felt his genuine love and support. What a mensch. I couldn’t believe I had been so dumb as to try to hide it from him. But when you’re young, sometimes you do dumb things. Like trying to show off your lack of skill on an all-terrain vehicle to a slightly bemused crew.

I learned a couple of valuable lessons that day, ones I’ve carried with me throughout my life and career. First of all, never try out a new sport on a film set unless the part calls for it and you are properly supervised. (I will certainly never set foot on an ATV again, that’s for sure!) Second, always be open and honest, not only with your director but with everyone. The truth is always easier.

The fact is, not every director might have been as cool as Rob was about it. When we finished shooting for the day, we had another talk. One in which Rob made it clear that while he wasn’t angry with me, he wanted to make sure that I understood the ramifications of my actions.

It was a fatherly pep talk about responsibility and prudence. I was in practically every scene of the movie, he explained. We still had extensive and complicated sword-fighting sequences to shoot. There was a lot riding on my health and viability.

Looking back, I think that was justifiably his biggest concern: that my foot wouldn’t heal in time to film the duel. Don’t forget, we had committed to staging it without doubles. In many cases you can work around an injured actor. But when it came time for Westley to square off against Inigo, it had to be just Mandy and me. And we both were expected to be at our best.

“I appreciate it, Rob,” I said. “I’ll be ready by then. I promise.”

“Okay, good. Your health is always more important than a movie—always!” Rob said. “You should know that. But we need to know what’s going on at all times.”

The truth was somewhat murkier, however. I really had no idea whether my toe would heal in time or not. All I knew was that at that instant I was filled with enormous regret and embarrassment. And that my toe hurt really bad.

Immediately after wrap I was taken straight to the local hospital to get a proper X-ray done and a full examination, the results of which echoed the medic’s preliminary assessment. I had indeed broken my left big toe, which had been bent completely downward when it was sandwiched between the clutch pedal and the rock. The doctor at the hospital removed the makeshift splint and applied a newer, smaller one. It would smart for a while, he said, but there wasn’t much that could be done to accelerate the healing process. The best course of treatment was to stay off my feet. Here was a doctor telling a grown man dressed as Zorro to stay off his feet!