Guy Hamilton, who was Assistant Director on The Third Man, spent quite possibly as much time playing Harry Lime as Orson Welles did. When I was researching my book In Search of The Third Man, he invited me to visit him in Mallorca, where he shared his memories of working on the film. The following is his account of Orson Welles in Vienna ... but as much not in Vienna.
Carol wanted, I remember, Orson from day one. Selznick said, “No way. Over my dead body. I mean he’s box-office poison.” Selznick was absolutely right. Orson was unemployable, and Orson was holed up in Rome, in the Excelsior Hotel. Alex said, “I will deal with his contract.”
By this time we are in Vienna about to start shooting. You must remember that telephones were very difficult in those days. All controlled by the military. Civilians were only allowed two hours a day on the international line. So obviously everybody was queueing up seven deep to use the two hours... I mean not easy. It wasn’t a question of picking up a phone.
Orson didn’t particularly want to do The Third Man, I don’t think. It’s a very small part, a horrendously small part, but he sensed that there was a big determination on Carol’s part to get him and he could blackmail Korda: “Would you pay for my hotel bills because I can’t get out of the Excelsior because I owe them money there and I have two or three pictures and lots of rushes in various labs all over the place, where I would like to get the negative out.” So the deal was not so much money as paying off Orson’s debts, and certain other things. And this was very much Alex’s territory...
Orson kept not coming. And tonight we’re meant to be shooting Harry Lime running down the alley, or a figure running down the alley, and there’s no Orson. We’re trying to get through to Alex, who says, I’ve spoken to him or not spoken to him, and he’s coming or not coming, you know, all the usual things. Carol says, “Can you make a shadow on that wall?” So I walk in front of an arc, and Carol says, “That’s good. Now, can you run, Guy?” So I became rather good at very slowly running in front of an arc and making a shadow go down the wall.
So this was before Orson had even arrived in Vienna?
Oh yes. I mean he’s meant to be there but he’s not.
So you’re still trying to get him to turn up at the city and there are all these shots that have to be done.
Alex is saying, “I’m dealing with the contract.” But we are running out of work without Orson. We are in a location one night, which was scheduled for Harry Lime to scurry through the night. Carol, ever up to the challenge, has an idea. He says, “You’re a skinny little bugger. Give him a big hat. Somebody give him a big hat.” So I have a big hat. He says, “That’s better, but give him a coat and leave the coat hanger in.” So I have a big hat and a coat with a coat hanger in. He said, “Now make a shadow down the wall. Can you do it running on the spot in front of an arc?”
Now we’ve got the wardrobe fixed. Whether Orson likes it or not, the wardrobe is fixed. It’s a big black hat and a black coat. So the location manager, Bob Dunbar, was sent to Rome to get Orson’s measurements, so we can have the right-sized hat and the right-sized coat, and sort of gently lead him in that this is the wardrobe you’re going to wear.
He goes to the Excelsior and he says, “Mr Orson Welles. My name’s Bob Dunbar, The Third Man, Carol Reed.” And back from the Orson suite comes, “I’ll be right down. Please help yourself to a drink.” About two hours later Bob Dunbar’s still sitting there. So he goes and he rings Orson’s suite. The switchboard operator says he’s not in, he’s out. He trys again at ten o’clock, he trys at midnight. He doesn’t want to ring him after midnight, so he finds somewhere to spend the night, and starts again next morning. Not in. So he bribes the telephone girl to put him through. “Oh, Orson. I’m terribly sorry. I looked for you in the bar. I didn’t find you.” “I’m terribly sorry. I’ll be down in five minutes.” And another day goes by. He bribes the girl again, and the girl says, “You know, Mr Welles pays me twice as much as you pay me not to put you through.” So Bob’s visit to Rome was a total waste of time.
But eventually he turns up. And now I will tell you a total truth. His first scene was down in the sewers. A very special sewer because actually it was an overflow of the Danube going through. It was a huge thing, and on one side there was a drain. All Orson had to do was to run in to shot and do a bit of that. So Orson comes down there and he looks around. By this time we’ve been so many weeks in Vienna that it’s just another boring actor turning up. And Carol says, “You run into shot, press yourself up against the wall by this pipe, which is gushing water, you hear noises as more police whistles echo, and with this water pouring down it should be wonderful.”
Orson goes into a tirade. Donald Wolfit would have been jealous: “I am an American. You are European. You’re used to eating shit, you eat shit, all this stuff. I mean we in America, it comes in cellophane, and you expect me to stand with this poisoned water that’s coming all over me.” Orson goes on, and storms off. And Carol just says, “Well, we will have to build a sewer in Shepperton.” And sadly we had to build two lengths of sewers in Shepperton. It was only intended to build the little grille for the end thing where he looks up and Cotten finds the revolver. Orson never came down into the Viennese sewers again.
So in fact the scenes with Orson Welles and the sewers are all studio shots?
They’re all studio shots. He then had one day’s shot walking to the Prater wheel, and walking away from the Prater wheel, and I think I’m right in saying that was the sum total of Orson’s Viennese contribution in Vienna.
The film still of Orson Welles that was used for the cover of the US edition of my book offers a hint of his self-indulgent behaviour during the shooting of The Third Man. If you look closely, you’ll see that he’s holding a cigar in his left hand. I don’t think it was that no one had noticed. It was either a piece of mischief or bloody-mindedness – a refusal to cooperate when he was asked if he could put the cigar down for a moment.
It’s obvious why Carol Reed wanted him in the film: he is truly extraordinary in it, an essential presence – or non-presence. It certainly turned out to be worth putting up with all his nonsense for one of the most memorable, iconic performances in the history of the cinema. But one wonders to what extent Welles was, finally, his own worst enemy. How much more might the terrible infant have achieved if he had spent less time messing people around?
Although he did next to no acting in Vienna, Welles did manage to get arrested for disruptive behaviour in the Casanova Club. For an account of what happened from the military policeman who was a member of the international patrol that made the arrest see my recent piece in The Times.
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