We Don't Need Roads: The Making of the Back to the Future Trilogy (21 page)

Once they were on set, they all found the mood to be
relatively lighthearted—not casual, but focused and fun. During their first take of the scene in Café 80s, the futuristic answer to Lou’s Café in the fifties, where Griff calls Marty a chicken, Michael J. Fox pulled a small prank that cracked up the actors portraying the gang members. It was right after lunch, and Fox had swiped a ketchup bottle from craft services. When Darlene Vogel reached down to grab his crotch—
What’s the matter, McFly? You got no scrote?
—she felt the hard glass bottle poking through his blue jeans. Vogel didn’t laugh, trying not to break character and ruin the first shot of that scene, but she had to fight to keep her composure.

“Cut!” Laughter erupted out of the actress, and Fox, and then rippled through the rest of the gang. “Yeah, Michael,” she said. “You wish.”

When it came time to tackle the stunts, the stunt performers watched from their trailer as the effects team tested the big finale of the chase scene: the clock tower crash. The concept was simple. The four members of the stunt team would all be attached to a large crane. It would move to the left, then the right, giving the stunt people enough momentum to swing toward the tower. Once they all made it through the window, a button would be pressed by a member of the effects team, cutting the wires and dropping the performers to the ground, where they would land on large air bags inside, out of the camera’s view. During the testing of this process, in lieu of the performers, large sandbags were used to simulate their bodies. There was a move left, right, a swing, push, cut, and drop. One sandbag hit the ground, missing the air bags entirely. “Shit. That one was supposed to be you,” one stuntperson said to another. The effects team set up the stunt again: left, right, swing, push, cut, drop. Two sandbags missed the air bags. The other two landed on the right spot, but failed to fall at the same time. When
an air bag was hit, it deflated, so if one stunt performer didn’t fall on it at the same time as his or her partner, he or she would end up free-falling toward the cement. The tests continued. Sometimes the process worked perfectly, most times it didn’t, but what was most alarming to McCullough was that it was never the same. Nevertheless, the performers were willing to give it a shot. The team suited up and gave it a good sporting try.

“It was a wreck,” Morgan says. “One time the guy that was on the button cut Lisa and Dave loose. Richie and I swung towards the other air bag. For some reason, he didn’t cut the cable right away. He waited until we swung back a little, then cut it, and we went headfirst into an empty air bag. The fact that we didn’t break our necks was amazing. I was right over Lisa when he cut me loose and almost landed right on top of her. I was at least twenty-five feet in the air and going headfirst.” Part of the problem might have been whose jurisdiction the stunt was left to. If
Back to the Future Part II
were shot today, it is unlikely the special effects team would be responsible for designing the sequence and building the rigging for it to be executed. That would be left to a stunt crew who, first and foremost, would be looking out for the safety of the performers. This isn’t to say that Michael Lantieri and his team didn’t factor in the well-being of the four performers doing stunts—of course they did—but it’s possible the visual impact of the shot might have taken precedent. McCullough voiced her concerns. She said she thought it was unsafe and someone could get seriously injured. Assurances were given that things would be okay, but she wasn’t willing to take that chance. That was her last day on set.

Like Gaona and Morgan, Cheryl Wheeler had also previously worked for Walter Scott, the stunt coordinator, and was an acquaintance of Max Kleven’s. She was asked to come in and was given a thorough explanation as to why the first stuntwoman had left.
Changes were being made, she was told, in light of McCullough’s concerns. If she wanted the job, it was hers, but she should know the situation she was walking into before making a decision.

“Well, I’m not afraid of the stunt,” she said. “I just want to make sure it’s set up properly.”

“We are going to make sure everything is set up properly,” Scott said. “You’re not going to have anything to worry about.”

She stayed silent for a few moments, but there wasn’t too much to think about. They were being up front and seemed to have learned from their mistakes. What did she have to lose? “Okay,” she said. “I’m on board.”

There were more rehearsals in the days before the clock tower stunt. Because tempered glass would have been too heavy, potentially posing a real danger to those underneath when it shattered and rained down from two stories above, sugarcoated candy glass was used. During the practice runs the glass hadn’t been installed, but the new method of performing the stunt was being implemented. Each stuntperson was suspended from a rectangular frame, one at each corner. The frame was attached to a large crane through a single wire, which would swing back and forth to cast the four into motion. Each performer held on to a small trapeze that was behind them and that would propel them forward toward the tower when they let go. On “Action,” they would let go, fly forward, and make their way through the glass window. A crew member would press a button, the cable would be cut, and they would fall onto the air bags. Unlike the first go-round, this set of tests went off without a hitch. The stunt performers felt good until—

“Wait, you guys have to take all of this down?” Installing the glass would take two full days, and because Zemeckis and his producers were trying to maximize their time, the stunt had to be broken down so shooting of other scenes could continue on
the town square. Wheeler was concerned. What was the point of testing it a dozen times if they were going to break everything down and put it back up before doing it for real? “How do you know you took down the marks exactly where they have to be?”

“We did, Cheryl,” Michael Lantieri said. “I promise it’s marked, and it will be exactly the same when we start it up on shooting day.” And that was it. She didn’t press any further and he didn’t continue the conversation. The two went their separate ways as the effects team continued dismantling. Perhaps foreshadowing the fragility of even the best-laid plans, there was a small earthquake tremor in Los Angeles while the glass was being installed. Everyone on set turned their focus to the clock tower, as the sugared sheets shook in their frame. The crew was panicked, afraid they would vibrate out and shatter on the ground below, but they didn’t. Crisis averted. Confidence in the plan was restored, except when shooting day came and there were some deviations from what had been practiced and agreed upon. Right before shooting, Gary Morgan spotted Lantieri making inroads toward Griff’s board with props in his hands.

“What’s that for?”

“We’re going to shoot a rocket as you’re going through the window.” The idea was that, with the magic of editing, it would look like the sparks were coming from Griff’s “Pit Bull” board.

“Really? I didn’t know about that.”

“Oh, no. We told you about that.”

“Hey, Richie, did you know about it?”

“Nope. I didn’t know.”

“All right. Just don’t hit us in the ass with it.”

Once again, the matter was settled. Walter Scott, Michael Lantieri, and their crews were doing some last-minute troubleshooting. “Okay, what’s the worst thing that could happen?” The
performers could hit the back wall when they went through the glass, but the stunt coordinator concluded that was a long shot. For extra precaution, blue pads were added to cover every inch inside of the tower. If someone missed their mark, they would still be covered. Everything was in place. It was time to take to the sky.

Before filming, Wheeler was placed in makeup. She had to wear a wig and a large prosthetic scar on her face, and a red contact lens was put in her right eye, like her counterpart Darlene Vogel. “They actually got the idea because one of my eyes is actually two different colors,” Vogel says. “They looked at my eye and they said, ‘That’s really cool. We’re going to do something with that.’ They put a full red contact in it, which I had to go get fitted for. It wasn’t comfortable to wear that thing. It didn’t have a hole in the middle, so you’d see red as you looked out.” The process of transforming the stuntwoman into Spike, along with hair and makeup, took over an hour and a half, significantly longer than it took to prepare her male counterparts. When she arrived for the stunt, she was taken aback to see Charlie Croughwell, Michael J. Fox’s stunt double, in her harness. He was about the same height, and maybe a little heavier. She could assume what was going on; Croughwell was being tested out in her harness “just in case.” Walter Scott approached her quickly, obviously ready to get on with the show.

“Okay, saddle up.”

“Are you sure all the marks are right from the other day? How are you sure everything is exactly the same?”

The stunt coordinator looked at her with an odd mixture of compassion and exasperation in his eyes. “Cheryl, you’re getting cold feet.” She could feel her back stiffening. “I’m going to put Charlie in your clothes and let him do the stunt.”

“Walter, I am not getting cold feet at all. I just want to understand. I was in hair and makeup and haven’t been out there to see
the stunt setup.” She wanted to say a lot more. She wanted to put her foot down and insist on seeing the marks. She wanted to say she trusted them, because she really did, but she trusted her eyes and gut more. But she didn’t do any of those things. Maybe she bit her tongue because she was relatively new to the business. She had just started doing stunt work in 1985 and didn’t want to ruffle any feathers, while Walter Scott had two decades of experience under his belt. Who was she to ask him to prove anything to her? Maybe she was afraid, also, of appearing weak in front of the other stunt performers, or, more accurately, stuntmen. Lisa McCullough had already left with “cold feet,” and now Wheeler was exhibiting similar symptoms. She was as tough as these guys, wasn’t she? Why weren’t they asking questions? She got in her harness, which Croughwell had already stepped out of.

But her mind still wasn’t at ease. She called over Greg Tippie, the special effects team member responsible for pressing the wire-cutting button. She asked him if everything was good to go and exactly the same as last time. “Yeah,” he said. “Listen, you do your job and I’ll do mine.” They were minutes away from starting. She was already dangling.

“Your job and my job are really intertwined here,” she said. “I have a right to ask these questions.” As it turned out, things weren’t exactly the same, not even with how he was planning on doing his job. During the test run, Tippie hid behind one of the pillars of the clock tower and stared up, counting the stunt crew as they made their way through the face of the building—one, two, three, four. Once he could see they were all in, he pressed the button and down they came. But today he decided to move inside the tower. He thought it would be easier to tell if everyone had made it through if he was on the same side. But candy glass isn’t transparent. It has a dark tint to it and, because it’s made of sugar, actually
sparkles in the light. You can see through it, sure, but only shapes and figures. With clear glass, Tippie would be able to see the stunt performers making their way toward the window. But now that would be more difficult, and after the stunt performers made it through the clock tower, the glass would rain down and it would be difficult to tell in a split second if everyone had made it through. He started to walk away, but she called after him.

“What if one of us doesn’t make it inside the clock tower?” It was actually the first time the possibility had come to her. It might have been the first time the possibility had come to anyone. “There’s going to be all this smoke from that rocket they’re using for Griff’s hoverboard. How will you know if someone doesn’t make it in?”

“Cheryl,” he said, “it’s the best place for me to be. You have to trust me.”

“But that’s not how we rehearsed it.” She looked at him, he looked back, and their mutual silence and stares terminated the conversation. The debate over the stunt was officially over. It was time to shoot. She was suspended from the far left side of the frame, then Gary Morgan and Richie Gaona. David Rowden was going to land much lower, just above the courthouse steps. The performers were lifted up and clicked in their quick-release hooks. The giant crane started backing up slowly, maybe fifty or sixty feet, while the stunt team was suspended from a long cable. Kleven asked if everybody was ready, and on “Action,” the hooks were released. The four started swinging. Wheeler felt the rush of air against her face. They were picking up speed and, to her horror, veering to the left.
I’m going to hit this pillar.
They raced forward. She was headed on a trajectory straight for the set piece.
I’m going to hit this pillar.
Everyone was off course, and she wasn’t sure if Gary Morgan was going to make it through the glass either, but she was certain about her fate.
I’m going to hit this—

She was spinning like a figure skater, parallel to the ground like Superman in midflight. She hit the pillar dead-on, but because she was covered in shin guards, knee guards, elbow pads, and other well-concealed braces hidden within her costume, she felt fine. A little disoriented, perhaps, but fine. As she was rotating, she noticed she was alone. The rest of her colleagues must have made it. This was supposed to be a one-take shot, but whatever went wrong meant they would have to do it again. Maybe they’d be pissed, but she was okay and, most important, Greg Tippie hadn’t cut the cable. He must have seen she hadn’t made it inside.

Which might have happened if he had stayed outside the pillar. Or if the special effects team hadn’t gone with opaque trick glass. Or if there wasn’t so much smoke from the rocket. Or if she had gone with her gut and gotten answers to her questions. But that wasn’t what happened. He pressed the button and the stunt performers were released. As two other stuntmen headed toward the blue pads, Wheeler fell flat, like she was lying in bed, from thirty feet in the air. She knew she was going to die. She was certain of it, as certain as she had been that she would hit that pillar. She was falling from too high an altitude. She was going to die on the Universal Studios backlot.