The uncommon decency of James Gandolfini
When I heard the news of James Gandolfini’s death on June 19 2013, sany sadness was offset by warm memories of when I worked on a movie he was in — Surviving Christmas — back in 2003 (released in 2004).
As the name of the movie suggests, Surviving Christmas, was a Christmas comedy. It starred Ben Affleck, who at the time was in the eye of the celebrity storm as a result of his high profile relationship (first time round) with Jennifer Lopez. Gandolfini was the main co-star and I was there as Ben Affleck’s double, which in terms of status on a Hollywood movie production places you somewhere between the ground and a blade of grass (okay slight exaggeration perhaps, but you know what I mean).
I had been in Hollywood a few years by then, been on countless movie and TV sets, and seen most of the major stars of the day up close. The days of being excited by Hollywood, of experiencing butterflies in my stomach as I drove over to Warner Bros or Paramount or Disney Studios to work on a movie or TV show, were by this point well behind me. Now it was mostly drudgery.
This said, one of the few stars still capable of inducing that buzz of excitement I had lost when it came to the movie industry was James Gandolfini. Along with probably the entire western world by this point, I was a huge fan of The Sopranos and especially the character of Tony Soprano, whom he had turned into a cultural icon. James Gandolfini’s ability to combine vulnerability and physical presence and toughness in one character was a rare talent that few actors in the history of the screen have ever accomplished.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BCa0mHmxvQ0
In this respect, Gandolfini was up there with the likes of Anthony Quinn and Gene Hackman. He was one of those actors who improved every movie or TV series he was in, an actor who may have been in his share of bad movies but was never bad in them himself.
Surviving Christmas was one of those bad movies, evidenced bythe fact it was only in theatres a few weeks before being relegated to DVD. Even so, it was an absolute privilege to be able to watch Gandolfini work every day over a period of eight weeks. His instincts and timing as an actor were impeccable, as was his command of inflection and the ability to know where the drama was in any given scene. More importantly, when it comes to the character of the man was the fact he took the time to get to know the name of everyone on the crew — the so-called little guys that most Hollywood actors blithely ignore or hardly take any notice of as they go about their business over the period of a typical production.
I remember how he would smoke these huge cigars outside the soundstage, or when we were shooting an exterior scene on location somewhere. I also recall how between scenes or set ups, he would sit outside his trailer playing and fiddling around with these big electric model cars and trucks for hours, always with a big smile on his face.
I retain the memory of him just before a large crowd scene early one morning in the small northern California town of Orange, which had been specially turned into the Chicago suburb at Christmas-time where the story was set — pacing up and down puffing on one of his cigars. He seemed completely oblivious to all the activity and people around him as he focused on the scene. Suddenly he let loose with a giant roar, as if declaring that he was ready to shoot, in the process sending a shiver of energy right through the set that succeeded in waking everybody up, precisely as required.
There was also the time when, just as the movie entered its final couple of weeks shooting, he arranged to have every crew member fitted out with a commemorative bomber jacket, which he himself paid for.
However my most vivid memory of the man was the morning he approached me just before heading into the set to start shooting his first scene of the day. This took place on the movie’s soundstage in Culver City when, first looking around to make sure no one else could hear, he came up close and said, “Hey, can I speak to you for a minute?”
As I followed him over to the side, I don’t mind admitting to having felt a little nervous. Even though 6'2" and fairly big myself, Gandolfini dwarved me in size and had hands the size of snow shovels to boot. What’s this about? I remember thinking to myself. What have I done?
He found a quiet spot on the soundstage, stopped, turned around, and with a furrowed brow that was pure Tony Soprano he said in his broad New Jersey accent, “Did I see you in Ralph’s on Beverly and Fairfax last night around eight o’clock?”
Ralph’s is a supermarket chain in LA. He was asking if he’d seen me in the supermarket.
I looked at him, shook my head and told him, no, it wasn’t me.
“Okay,” he said. “I wasn’t sure. I just didn’t want you to think I was being ignorant cause I didn’t say hi.” And, with that, he headed back over to the set to start his scene.
James Gandolfini was a Hollywood star and I a mere stand-in/double — in other words, a nobody in the scheme of things. Yet there he was, just prior to shooting a scene in a movie, concerned that he may have slighted me by failing to say hi in the supermarket the night before and going out of his way to make sure he hadn’t. He didn’t know me and did nothave to do that.
He was a genuinely decent human being, a class act both on and off screen, which in Hollywood is a rare thing indeed.
May he continue to rest in peace.
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