From the S&S archives: The stars fall on Ischia

TIME WAS when the fishing village of Sant' Angelo on Ischia in the Bay of Naples was a sleepy little resort town of 334 casual but happy Italians.

That was before Peter Sellers, his wife Britt Eklund, Victor Mature, director Vittorio de Sica, Akim Tamiroff and a tightly packed bundle of 40-23-36 beauty named Maria Grazia Buccella descended along with a mob of other movie folk to make a wild comedy called "After the Fox."

For six weeks the Montoro Films company cavorted about the village, shattering the peace of tourists from Britain, Germany and Italy and for the first time in history driving Fiats and a Cadillac around the town piazza — no mean feat when you realize the highway stops at a towering set of steps some hundred feet above the town.

In "After the Fox" Sellers portrays an Italian "con" man, his first attempt at an Italian characterization. He teams up with Tamiroff, who plays an Egyptian swindler in a scheme to smuggle contraband gold into Italy via a fake avant garde film. Sellers, as "director" of the film within a film, casts his sister (wifemate Eklund) and aging matinee idol Tony Powers (aging matinee idol Victor Mature) as stars of his phony film.

The climax of the film is a Mack Sennett-like ballet chase sequence in which most of the leading actors crowd into four tiny Fiats and chase each other about the island. How good is it all?

"I don't know," dead-panned Sellers as he paused on the set. "I haven't seen it yet." (Pause for laughter) "Main thing for me is a chance to work with De Sica. I couldn't do this part in the usual quick study sort of way — you know, rush in and watch some local characters, then take off.

"To be truly funny you have to have someone like De Sica fill you in on just what is right and just what is totally wrong," said Sellers as he lounged on a set of stone steps.

A German tourist came up and asked if he could take Sellers' picture along with his apprehensive little girl.

"Sure, com' on over here, honey. OK, 'smile — you're going to be a star!" Sellers nodded as the German muttered "Danke," then beamed broadly as his wife Britt zeroed in on him with her 8mm movie camera. As she walked toward him, Sellers' face flowed swiftly through a range of characters, breaking her up.

"Got film in that thing, baby?" he asked as she stopped shooting. "Don't tell my agent; he'll ask for a cut." The lean Englishman, fully recovered from his heart attack, bounded to his feet to greet another admirer, mugged for another camera bug, then collapsed again on the stairs.

His favorite film roles?

"Oh, I don't know, I guess 'Lolita,' `Dr. Strangelove,' `Waltz of the Toreadors,' `The Pink Panther' — had a ball on that one, real terrible time but a success despite it all. `What's New, Pussycat' was lots of fun, too, and I'm glad it's going all right even up against James Bond & Co."

"It's really very enjoyable here — lovely location, nice scenery and all," he said gazing out at the placid Bay of Naples. "The tourists are a bit of a problem on the sets, but they paid to come here and they were here first so we'll just have to put up with it."

"Stopped off at Monza and ordered a Ferrari Superfast — I'm a bug on cars and must have bought and sold 100 of them," he said. "1 won't get the Ferrari until next year, however; takes him a while to put one out."

Meanwhile, over on the piazza De Sica was beaming happily as he ran through a crowd scene with Tamiroff, Eklund and Buccella and extras specially imported from the next village — Sant' Angelo folk are too busy with tourists to do extra work.

He paused to discuss the film.

"Ah, Peeter, molto simpatico — fantastic variety of expression. Peeter's a charming man, and to work with heem is a real joy. And here on lschia — to do a gay comedy where it is so hot and marvelous and free and open ... it's the happiest film of my career."

Actor Mature, sitting close by in Britt Eklund's chair — almost no star sits in his own special chair on location for some reason — stretched his brown, muscular legs in front of him and shaded his eyes from the sun. This was his first film since 1961, when he retired to manage his business enterprises.

"Why did I come back to this business? Oh, it's a good script, a good director, a good cast," he said in his deep rumble of a voice. "Took me a few days to get used to the idea, but mainly I came back because of this crazy part that made it seem the thing to do."

Has movie-making changed much since his busier film days?

"Nope, everybody's just as crazy as ever and De Sica is a delight to work for," he said. "May do some more light things now that I'm in the right frame of mind again."

Meanwhile, De Sica was doing his best to prove that the movie business may be crazy, but it is also an art. He was busily trying to film a scene in which some of the actors ride up to the piazza in a carriage.

Time after time he patiently went through the action, coaxing and molding the extras into the pattern he wanted. Jumping amid the actors, he would demonstrate: This is the way to pick up the suitcase; here is how you run when the police tell you to stand back.

Then, shifting to a scene in which Sellers, Eklund, Mature and Tamiroff wait in artificial fog for the gold ship to arrive, De Sica happily and quickly guided his professionals through their paces. Maria Grazia, also in the scene, stood off to one side, out of the action as much as her natural attributes would permit — which wasn't much from the male point of view.

"Ah, Maria," cooed De Sica after a few takes, "you somehow distract from the action in this scene; dear one, perhaps you should go have an apertivo and relax."

Shortly after Miss Buccella walked off, director De Sica called a halt to shooting for the day. But on this day nobody rushed off for hotels or beaches. Instead, the crew and cast gathered in the harbor as a motor boat putt-putted up with a group of Neapolitan singers aboard.

De Sica's craggy face split into a grin as they began singing to the tune of "Happy Birthday" the Italian version — "Tanti auguri a te." It was De Sica's 63rd birthday and a memorable one for him; he had just received a telegram from French Culture Minister Andre Malraux naming him Chevalier of the Order of Arts and Letters.

"Pretty good for a Neapolitan kid," he joked as he hoisted a glass of spumanti to the onlooking crowd. The singers swung off with some traditional Neapolitan songs, and De Sica joined in. Then a grip presented De Sica with an engraved silver whistle from the crew and cast, and De Sica blew it loudly.

"Hey, what an outfit!" he chortled between blasts.

And even the disgruntled tourists who were happily sipping the birthday spumanti were forced to agree.