In 1960, More was voted the most popular box-office draw in the country – bigger than Peter Sellars, Elizabeth Taylor, or Audrey Hepburn. In 1962, he was still ranked number four and was in a hit movie… which he’d said was the only offer going. And his last starring role in a feature happened in 1963. It wasn’t due to scandal, not really; it wasn’t due to retirement – he kept acting for another eighteen years or so; it wasn’t even due to a string of dud movies. More remained in star roles on television and in theatre for much of that time, but not cinema – but he really wanted to remain a film star, he preferred that medium.
What happened? Why did the wheels fall off so quickly for someone who was so talented, so popular? Or did they fall off? What’s the story of the Kenneth More cold streak?
Kenneth More was born in 1914 in Buckinghamshire to a well-off family (i.e. one of those families who sent you to boarding school when you’re six, which happened to More). He was meant to be a civil engineer but didn’t like it and drifted from job to job, before winding up as a stagehand at the legendary Windmill Theatre, a variety and revue theatre best remembered for the fact that you could, well, see naked women on stage sometimes. While there, More caught the acting bug and started doing small bits on stage before going into rep (this was a time when you could literally walk into an agent’s office, as More did, say “I want to be an actor” and you’d get work – if you were willing to go off to some town that wasn’t – gasp – London and be paid a barely-subsistence wage to appear in a few plays per week). He worked steadily, if not sensationally, then came the war. More was in the Royal Navy from September 1939 until January 1946 – which is a big whack of time out of a career, especially when he didn’t spend any of it performing for the troops, like so many of his contemporaries. At age 31 he had to start afresh.
Still, karma rewarded Kenneth More once he demobilised – he was in constant employment almost immediately, popping between television and stage. His early post-war credits included Badger in a TV adaptation of Toad of Toad Hall (1946) (a part he loved and would reprise regularly on stage at Christmas), a Michael Hutton play, Power Without Glory (1946) alongside a young Dirk Bogarde, a little-known-but-very-good Noel Coward play, Peace In Our Time (1948), and, most successfully in terms of audience reaction, The Way Things Go (1950) (where More replaced Edmund Purdom, who was fired).
The British film industry was thriving after the war and More’s movie career got started when his Peace in Our Time co-star Elspeth March recommended More to her then-husband Stewart Granger, who arranged an audition at Ealing – which led to More being cast as Teddy Evans in the film Scott of the Antarctic (1948). More hoped the movie would launch him more than it did and said that at one stage he almost starved himself while waiting for better parts that never came. He lowered his sights and was rewarded by increasingly big parts: For them that Trespass (1949), Man on the Run (1949), Chance of a Lifetime (1950), Morning Departure (1950), and The Clouded Yellow (1950) [below], the latter for the team of producer Betty Box and director Ralph Thomas.
He was a pilot in No Highway in the Sky (1951) starring James Stewart, for 20th Century Fox who liked More so much they had him audition for a part in I’ll Never Forget You (1951) as a rake (he didn’t get it and a local-based Fox executive, actor Ben Lyon, told More he’d never become a film star). Box and Thomas offered him an excellent part as an artist in Appointment with Venus (1952), which meant he had to pass on a role offered in Angels One Five (1952) (I think it was the one Humphrey Lestocq played, a pilot). He auditioned for, but lost out on, the part of the test pilot in David Lean’s The Sound Barrier (1952), which was given to Nigel Patrick (not well remembered now but a name at the time).
More’s first film lead role (one of the three leads) was in a low-budget Group Three effort, Brandy for the Parson (1952), which I think is meant to be a comedy – it isn’t very funny, but More is a more charismatic and affable screen presence than co-star James Donald. He had excellent comic timing, but also looked comfortable doing physical action, which many British actors of his generation didn’t (those years in the Navy paid off after all), and he could do drama as well as comedy. He was jobless for a while – no one liked Group Three movies much – then came a call to play a worried parent in J. Lee Thompson’s The Yellow Balloon (1953) and Clark Gable’s reporter friend in a Cold War romance adventure, Never Let Me Go (1953). (More wrote in his memoirs that he deliberately got on the booze the night before the audition so that he didn’t look too young next to Gable – and it worked.)
More’s big breakthrough came when cast in Terence Rattigan’s stage play The Deep Blue Sea (1952) as the cheerful, thoughtless, ex-RAF pilot Freddie, charming, full of life and good in the sack but an unreliable partner. More said when he read the script, “I could tell at once that Freddie, the gentle, tactless Freddie, was the most certain, cast-iron part I had ever been offered in my life. It was a part I could feel to my fingertips. I could slip it on like an old favourite suit of clothes.” He got the role over original front runner Jimmy Hanley. The play was a sensation – it’s probably the best thing Rattigan ever wrote – and at age 38, Kenneth More was the hottest thing in town. Kenneth Tynan, leading theatre critic of the day (as well as kinky sex expert, a piece of trivia I throw in for pure spice), called him England’s riposte to Marlon Brando!
Ealing alumni Henry Cornelius, who had done More’s screen test for Scott of the Antarctic, offered More £3,500 to play one of the four leads in a comedy about a vintage car race, Genevieve (1953), which was filmed during the run of The Deep Blue Sea. He was also cast in two more co-leads – Our Girl Friday (1953), stuck on a desert island with Joan Collins and George Cole, and Doctor in the House (1954), as a perennial medical student, alongside Dirk Bogarde for Box and Thomas.
No one really cared about Our Girl Friday (I’ve seen it, it’s whatever) but Genevieve and Doctor in the House were huge successes, and made stars of their leads: John Gregson, Dinah Sheridan, Kay Kendall (in both), Donald Sinden, Dirk Bogarde and More. More’s characters in both were similar (ish) to the one in The Deep Blue Sea – an ageing man child, up for a good time, interested in sex, fun and sport, great company, maybe not entirely reliable and ethical but a decent chap when pushed. Both performances are highly skilled comic work, beautiful to watch, especially when More was partnered with a serious, less energetic co-star (eg with Bogarde in Doctor in the House and John Gregson in Genevieve). I saw Genevieve again recently and marvelled how well the film clicks (the music, the colour, the footage of the cars) when so many British movies from that period don’t.
Few actors have ever been as lucky as Kenneth More to have the triple punch of Deep Blue Sea, Genevieve and Doctor in the House (he did Deep Blue Sea for television as well around this time, incidentally).
In 1954, he was voted the fifth biggest British star in the country (above him were Jack Hawkins, Dirk Bogarde, Norman Wisdom and Glynis Johns; below him were Alec Guinness, Anthony Steel, Ronald Shiner, Richard Todd and John Mills).
Dirk Bogarde was under contract to the Rank Organisation, which meant he had to serve in countless Doctor sequels, but More was signed to a five-year contract by Alex Korda, then close to death, but still the most prestigious producer in the country.
Korda, who offered the actor a part in Storm Over the Nile (1955), a remake of The Four Feathers (the Laurence Harvey role apparently – the bloke who goes blind fighting in the Sudan), which More turned down. He did accept the part of Alcock in The Alcock and Brown Story (aka The Long Hop, or The First Across), about the British aviators who made the first non-stop transatlantic flight in 1919; Denholm Elliot was going to co-star as Brown, with Ken Annakin to direct, but after months of pre-production, Korda went bankrupt and the film was cancelled, which is a shame as it was/is a cracker story (I’m surprised that no one has filmed it – maybe they were scared off by the box office failure of The Spirit of St Louis).
More was reassigned to a much cheaper-to-make film, the comedy Raising a Riot (1955), directed by a woman (Wendy Toye), based on a novel about a man forced to raise his kids alone while mum goes away. That’s the sort of low-fi concept which always works if people like the stars and they did here, in Britain, at least – Raising a Riot was one of the biggest hits of the year, which, considering the film wasn’t that good, is a testament to More’s great appeal.
His next film was, oddly, a commercial disappointment. I say “oddly” because it should have been surefire – Korda’s version of The Deep Blue Sea, directed by Anatole Litvak. But More, the only cast member from the original stage production, turned out to be the only bit of the film that works – all the changes to the piece do not, whether it’s casting Vivien Leigh in the lead (if they wanted a film star they should’ve gone for Olivia de Havilland), the use of colour and CinemaScope, “opening up” the action or the changes to the text. (I wish I could see the television version More made with Googie Withers, reviews make it sound like that captured the magic of the stage piece.)
Still, More remained a red hot film property and received an offer from David Lean to play the lead in an adaptation of Richard Mason’s interracial romance novel, The Wind Cannot Read. He says he turned it down, unsure if the public would accept him in a “Rupert Brooke-style” part; More later called this decision his biggest professional mistake, and it was silly of him (when directors like Lean ask you to do films, you just do them) although not his biggest mistake, as we shall see. The book was eventually filmed in 1958 by Thomas and Box starring Dirk Bogarde.
More’s good luck held when Richard Burton turned down the role of legless fighter pilot Douglas Bader in Reach for the Sky (1956), directed by Lewis Gilbert and produced by Danny Angel. More was far better cast as Bader than the brooding Burton and helped turn the movie into the biggest hit at the British box office that year (even if it did poorly in the US). It became acknowledged as a classic, unfairly mocked by Gen-X critics who were forced to watch it on television too many times, and who forget that the film was made by people and for audiences who had been through that conflict, many of whom had seen people die, and could view it in proper context.
Gilbert used More again in The Admirable Crichton (1957), a terrifically entertaining adaptation of the JM Barrie play (the rights to which were long owned by Korda, who died in 1955). The star plays the butler of an upper-class household who becomes top dog when said household gets shipwrecked on a tropical island. And while More was not known as a romantic star, he’s lusted after in this film by both Diane Cilento and Sally Ann Howes (who’s terrific and should’ve been a bigger star) and it’s believable – he could play romantic lead and action man as well as comic star.
Rank gave More the one close-to-a-starring-part in their epic version of the Titanic story, A Night to Remember (1958), possibly the best film More ever appeared in. Hollywood studios were sniffing around – I’m not sure what specific films, if any were offered – but More was reluctant to go, unsure his persona would work there (for every star who succeeded, like Stewart Granger and Deborah Kerr, there were ones who didn’t, like Phyllis Calvert and Diana Dors). However, he started to gently “internationalise” by having American co-stars in his films, such as his next one, Next to No Time (1958) which featured Betsy Drake. This film was a misstep, although it reunited him with Henry Cornelius (who died not long after); More was miscast in an Alec Guinness/Norman Wisdom type part, as a nerdy engineer who gets brave at certain times of the day – More is always so cheery and confident that the device of the “worm turning” doesn’t work. (And why not have him romance Betsy Drake?)
However, More’s luck held and his next four films were all big hits at the British box office. The Sheriff of Fractured Jaw (1958), produced by Angel, was an entertaining fish out-of-water comedy Western (shot in Spain, directed by Raoul Walsh), with the star superbly cast as a British gun salesman and effectively teamed (if only via sheer contrast) with Jayne Mansfield as a saloon singer. The Thirty Nine Steps (1959), from Box-Thomas, was a breezy if pointless remake of Hitchcock’s classic that would’ve been better off had it differed more from the original; imported co-star Tania Elg wasn’t much more useful than Betsy Drake. North West Frontier (1959), directed by J Lee Thompson was a rousing adventure set in India with excellent action/spectacle mixed in with sooky Imperial propaganda, and Lauren Bacall ranks with Sally Ann Howes and Kay Kendall as More’s most effective love interest.
Sink the Bismarck! (1960), directed by Gilbert, was a solid World War Two war film (Diana Wynyard was the import here) that surprised everyone by being a big hit in the US as well as Britain – I think that was the first (and only) time it happened in More’s career. It unfortunately meant that he turned down the lead role in the union drama The Angry Silence (1960), which he’d agreed to do (Richard Attenborough, who produced, stepped in – everyone was making that movie for scale and Attenborough wrote in his memoirs More needed the bigger fee from Bismarck as the actor was always short of cash).
This was a very good run. I’m not sure that any British star of More’s vintage had a similar hot streak, not even Dirk Bogarde. In December 1958, More said that he had a three-picture deal with Angel and Fox, of which Sheriff was the first, and a seven-film contract with Rank, which started with Night to Remember. In 1960, he was voted the biggest star at the local box-office.
Then things turned. Very quickly.
In his 1978 memoirs, More or Less, More attributed this to one particular event – or, rather, two. He’d been signed to appear in Carl Foreman’s adaptation of Alistair MacLean’s Guns of Navarone – the part eventually played by David Niven, which would’ve fitted More like a glove (tough, brave, humorous, albeit with that weird attachment to Anthony Quayle’s character). More says he stuffed this by getting drunk at a BAFTA dinner, and heckling Rank’s chairman, John Davis, who subsequently refused to let More out of his Rank contract to make Navarone. This sounds petty but apparently Davis was like that. More claims that Davis was motivated in his actions by the fact that More had a contract with Danny Angel and the industry was then blacklisting Angel for selling his films to television (they did this by refusing to show his films in cinemas, which meant it was impossible for him to raise finance). More says that this led to him receiving barely any offers in England – despite being, as I’ve said, the most popular star in the country.
That’s a big claim.
How true is it?
Let’s interrogate a little…
Daniel Angel later sued More for defamation over the above claims in his memoirs (because More basically said that Rank blacklisted him due to his association with Angel more than anything More himself did), and won. So maybe More was hyping things a little.
But maybe not.
Because there is no doubt Angel (along with another producer, John Woolf) was blacklisted by the British industry for a period for selling movies to television – this was reported in all the trade papers.
The fact that More was unable to work for Angel would have hurt the momentum of his career. In 1959, it was announced that they would make a film called Have Monocle Will Travel based on the adventures of an ex-British colonel, but this was never made; neither was another project Angel was pushing, an adaptation of Alistair MacLean’s South of Java Head (which is a fantastic book and would’ve been superb for More, even though I’m not sure he was set to star). But this shouldn’t have been fatal. Angel wasn’t the only producer in Britain.
Far more damaging was the falling out with Rank, which appears to have been serious. After Man on the Moon (1960), which I think was made pre-insult but released afterwards (I’m not sure of the date of the actual dinner), More made no films for Rank. None. No more collaborations with Box-Thomas, who used him marvellously, no more comedies or war films or biopics. Nothing.
If it’s true that John Davis refused to employ Kenneth More because More was rude at a dinner, and because of More’s association with Danny Angel – then that’s one of the most shocking examples of corporate mismanagement in film studio history (and possibly illegal). Because More was one of the strongest assets the Rank Company had. And to be honest, they needed him in the early 1960s. Yes, Man in the Moon flopped, but it was a lousy film – smug, annoying – and More was still one of the biggest stars in the country.’
Like I say, I don’t know all the facts, but look at the scoreboard – More didn’t make the last two films under his seven-picture contract with Rank. Clearly something happened.
In hindsight, with Angel blacklisted and Rank annoyed, More would’ve been better off going to the US, where Sink the Bismarck had been a surprise hit. I know that he felt that his image wouldn’t work across the pond, but it was worth a shot. There was plenty of work in Hollywood for British male actors, especially in war films and historical epics, and you didn’t have to live there forever – look at the careers of Jack Hawkins, Alec Guinness, Deborah Kerr, Rex Harrison, Trevor Howard, etc. It was the failure to go to Hollywood, not turning down The Wind Cannot Read, that was the biggest professional mistake Kenneth More made.
Still, as the biggest star in Britain, More probably figured he was safe. And Lewis Gilbert used him in The Greengage Summer (1961), as a mystery man on whom Susannah York gets a crush. The film really needed Dirk Bogarde, or Michael Craig, or basically anyone more suave and enigmatic, but it’s a strong movie that was well-reviewed and while not a big hit (at least not to my knowledge). More is very good, it did okay and has had a long tail (i.e. it still gets shown). More then had a shiny role in an all-star blockbuster on D Day, The Longest Day (1962) playing Beachmaster Captain Colin Maud, walking his dogs on the beach – and that was a massive hit.
A project that might have kept things rosy was The White Rabbit, based on the true story of a British soldier who fought with the French resistance in World War Two. The Boulting Brothers were attached to direct and More spent time helping the film get up in 1961 but it ultimately collapsed, apparently over confusion about who owned the rights. One wonders if this would have happened had More enjoyed the backing of John Davis. It’s a shame because The White Rabbit was a cracking yarn, and a perfect vehicle for More, as proved when he starred in it for television in 1967 (in his memoirs, More doesn’t mention his early ‘60s attempt to make the film, making it sound like something that only originated off the back of The Forsyte Saga. I wonder why.). The ending of Angel’s blacklist saw that producer reunited with More and Wendy Toye for a services comedy, We Joined the Navy (1962), sort of a Doctor in The House for naval ensigns, with Joan O’Brien and Lloyd Nolan as imported co-stars… but the film did poorly… not through poor work on More’s part, but rather because it was lopsided: the action should focus on the new recruits but they have to share time with Kenneth More, who plays their officer.
More claims in his memoirs that by this stage, there were no film offers coming his way. None. Considering he was still number four at the box office in 1962 and Sink the Bismarck and The Greengage Summer were in circulation – not to mention the fact Rank was turning out sequels to Doctor in the House and rip offs of Genevieve – that feels very weird. Director Ken Annakin says in his memoirs that he wrote the lead role in his 1961 comedy Crooks Anonymous for More but it went to Leslie Phillips, who was cheaper – so maybe when More says he didn’t get any offers it means he cost too much for people to ask him. Maybe. Or maybe there was a blacklist from Rank.
Some writers blame More’s drop in popularity to changing fashion, saying his “type” had become out of date. Admittedly, the world of British cinema had altered by the early sixties. The kitchen sink dramas had come in, and what’s more, proved very popular: Saturday Night and Sunday Morning (1961) and A Kind of Loving (1962) weren’t just critical darlings, they were box-office successes too. There were hot new British stars like Alan Bates, Alan Finney, Cliff Richard (not joking, he was number one for a few years), Peter Sellers, Hayley Mills and Sean Connery, not to mention the horror lads, Christopher Lee and Peter Cushing.
But that didn’t mean the everything old was out again. Norman Wisdom, for example, remained steadily popular at the box-office until the end of the decade. Dirk Bogarde managed to reinvent himself through films such as Victim (1961) and his collaborations with Joseph Losey. Peter Finch stopped being a matinee idol but became a high-quality actor of art house-y movies and Hollywood leading man. Richard Burton turned into a global superstar via his private life. Jack Hawkins and Trevor Howard were no longer the gruff stars of British war films but super popular support to Hollywood stars in their war films. Michael Craig never stopped playing leads even though he never seemed to make any sort of popularity poll. Stanley Baker revived his career by turning producer as well as making films with Losey. John Mills became a character actor star. Alec Guinness was a second lead in a raft of epics.
However, More never found a way to reinvent himself as a movie star. He wasn’t the only one – other fifties names like Anthony Steel, John Gregson and Diana Dors also struggled in the sixties – but none of those were as huge a name as More, so it’s still surprising, especially as More was so versatile, and could do action.
Looking back, it must have been the fear of America and clash with Rank. Which was frustrating because Rank kept making films that really could’ve used Kenneth More – mostly the comedies where they kept using Michael Craig, but also dramas. For instance, I love Peter Finch and he’s great in No Love for Johnnie – but surely More’s casting would’ve worked as well and helped sell that film to the public?
It’s a particular shame that even after Genevieve and Doctor in the House, no one put More in a “buddy” movie. Dirk Bogarde had a cameo in We’re in the Navy and seeing him and More together, you get this wonderful jolt of charisma – why didn’t they team these two together properly again? Why didn’t they try him and John Gregson once more? What exactly was on offer for him in the early sixties?
More accepted the lead in a low budget youth picture, Some People (1962), taking no fee because the film was for the Duke of Edinburgh Award. More is top-billed but doesn’t feature in the story that much, which focuses on teddy boys in Bristol. The movie was actually quite popular in Britain and More was still voted the fourth biggest box office star in the country. He was starting to look his age a little by now (the cardigans he wore in the film didn’t help, nor did the fact that he played a dad) but he still had presence and could act. While making Some People, he had an affair with Angela Douglas who plays his daughter; he wound up leaving his (second) wife for her, and More sometimes wondered if this affected his popularity (see this interview here), but I don’t think the general public really cared.
Anxious to do something, More returned to television, something only a few years earlier he swore that he’d never do. The project was a prestigious one: Heart to Heart (1962), playing another role originally offered and turned down by Richard Burton, from a script by Terence Rattigan, that was screened throughout Europe.
More then jumped into the kitchen sink playing the lead in The Comedy Man (1963), in which he was superb as an ageing unsuccessful actor (I should stress, when I talk about More’s decline as a star, I can’t emphasise enough that his ability as an actor never left him). It’s a gritty film, well-crafted and written by Australia’s own Peter Yeldham, but not many people went to see it. More said he took the part “against the advice of my agent, my friends, everybody. I even had to put money into the film. But it was worth it.” It’s one of the best things he ever did. I think if it had come out a few years earlier, it would have been better received, but by 1963 audiences were getting sick of realism and more into spies, lads and smashing birds.
In 1963, More announced that he was going to star in a film for British Lion about the Cyprus Emergency called The Cyprus Story, playing an intelligence officer who falls in love with the daughter of an EOKA agent; Elsa Martinelli would be the daughter and Herbert Lom co-starring. This was going to be directed by Robert Day, then Roy Baker… then the film fell over about a month before shooting was about to begin. It was a harsh blow, especially as More said he had turned down a Hollywood film to do it, although he didn’t say which one. (I think The Cyprus Story later went to Rank, and was turned into a Box-Thomas effort, The High Bright Sun starring Dirk Bogarde. While I really like Bogarde, I think More was better in action man roles – he would’ve been far more comfortable in, say, Ill Met by Moonlight and definitely The High Bright Sun.)
More went back to the stage in 1963 with a comedy, Out of the Crocodile. He told a reporter “I am rebelling against the old Kenneth More image. I have spent years under contract and my big films alone have more than paid what it cost to keep me. I think I am entitled now to get to on my own and look for parts that really interest me.” Response was underwhelming. More was offered another stage role, a musical version of The Admirable Crichton called Our Man Crichton. This was a disappointment as well and More was probably getting nervous, especially when a proposed American film (Breath In, One, Two, Three, in which More was to play a conman) fell over.
But there was always work. That’s the thing about being a British film star: while the movie industry is small, there is (or, rather, was) always a thriving theatre and television sector to fall back on. He did some plays for television – Collect Your Luggage (1963) by John Mortimer, The Scapegoat (1964), Old Soldiers (1964) – then received a phone call from Hollywood to play a key support role in The Collector (1965) from director William Wyler. At last! Alas, the part was cut out from the final film, which was devastating.
The British film industry wobbled in the mid 1960s as Rank pulled out of production, then boomed in the second half of the decade via infusions of American cash, then went back to wobbling in 1971 when the Americans pulled out again (and it’s never stopped wobbling since). More missed most of that, having now officially ceased to be a film star – only a few years after being the biggest one in the country.
Yep, it can happen that quick.
But, the thing is, he continued to be a star on television and theatre. He kept playing leading roles in television plays, almost always getting critical love letters (The Sweet War Man, The Final Demand) and developed a strong relationship with BB2, who featured him in a trilogy of mini-series: Lord Raingo (1966) about a Lord Beaverbrook style tycoon; The Forsyte Saga (1967) from John Galsworthy’s novels; then White Rabbit (1967) (they could not get the film rights but could make it as a miniseries as long as they destroyed it afterwards). More’s reviews were consistently superb and The Forsyte Saga was a global blockbuster. He had a huge stage hit, too. in William Douglas Home’s The Secretary Bird (1968) which was filmed for TV.
More never regained his status as a movie star but continued to appear in films in support parts – Dark of the Sun (1968), Scrooge (1970), The Slipper and the Rose (1976) – plus a lead in a Spanish version of Journey to the Centre of the Earth called Where Time Began (1978). He maintained leading man status on television (Father Brown) and stage (Getting On). His last few years were unfortunately rough from a health point of view – Angela Douglas’ memoir is harrowing and touching about this, particularly her husband’s bravery towards the end. He died in 1982.
So.
What to make of the career of Kenneth More?
It was full of achievement. He’s still underrated, I feel, in many ways – especially to those who only know him from his films, and never got to see The Deep Blue Sea done properly, or his sixties television work. His time as a movie star would have eventually come to an end – it did for Bogarde, it does for everyone – but I do think that he could’ve had a few more years at the top and in leading parts. The main stumbling block for this appears to have been the fight with Rank, which I actually think harmed that company as much as him, so serves John Davis right (I doubt Davis ever felt that, though). There was also the collapse of two projects that would’ve fitted More like a glove, The White Rabbit and The Cyprus Story. And he never had the luck working with really top directors (eg The Collector) which might’ve given him more of a critical halo enjoyed by actors like, say, Peter Finch, which could’ve helped with work offers. Most of all, I think More should’ve tried a stint in Hollywood in the early sixties when he was still in demand.
So, what lessons, if any, can be learned from the career of Kenneth More?
1) If you pick a fight with the biggest film producer in your home country, don’t be afraid of moving to another pond.
2) If a great director asks you to star in a film, just do it, don’t be scared.
3) Beware critical analysis that focuses on films (such as this) – because More’s greatest performances appear to have been in other mediums.
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