In 1985, film producer Robert Watts bestowed a great kindness on me.
Back then, I was a lowly second assistant film editor slaving in the basement of an animated film production. I’d just completed my first 16mm short film, a step up from my back-garden Super 8 filmmaking adventures. In a fit of hutzpah, I had sent letters to every filmmaker I admired in the film industry, inviting them to the grand premier of Board Game, at a tiny theatre I had rented for the occasion in London’s seedy Soho film community.
One day in July, I returned to work from an errand to find a message from home. I had a letter from Lucasfilm. I thought Mum was kidding until she opened it to read. ‘I am afraid that George Lucas is not in England at the moment…’ – whaaat?!
I had never dreamed that Lucasfilm would respond, but I had found their UK production office address at EMI Elstree Studios. I knew that's where they had filmed the Raiders of the Lost Ark sequel, Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom, which I’d seen nine times in the cinema since it opened the previous summer. So, I was a little excited.
The letter was real, and signed by Robert Watts, vice president of European production. I knew Robert’s name from his credits from 2001: A Space Odyssey, to Thunderball, Repulsion, Papillon, and many others, including Raiders and the first three Star Wars productions. The letter was gracious and professional and inquired about my film festival status. I got up the courage, called Robert’s office, and through the good graces of Robert’s assistant Barbara Margerrison I wrangled myself an invitation to hand carry my one, honking great big ¾-inch U-matic videotape of Board Game to Elstree. I visited Lucasfilm for the day.
Robert sat me in his office, where he had the skull-goblet of Kali Mar and an X-wing fighter model among the trophies on his desk. We talked about my film and my ambitions, and then Robert walked me across the lot to where he had a U-matic player. It was the office that producer Gary Kurtz had occupied during the U.K. production of Star Wars. I nervously put my tape in the giant machine and hit ‘play.’ Robert chuckled appreciatively and then he said, ‘Very promising.’ The most impressive thing about my day, on the way back to his office, people all over the lot, executives in suits, gaffers, grips, assistants, they all smiled and nodded at Robert. Everyone knew him. And Robert introduced me by name, matter of fact, as a ‘new filmmaker.’ I went home inspired and bursting with ambition.
I will never forget Robert’s kindness. And that afternoon stayed with me. Years later, when I was working in the creature effects trade, or as a grunt production assistant, I always tried to stop and listen, to keep an open mind, and to help new talent if I saw it in a younger filmmaker or one of my peers.
I was sad to hear that Robert has passed, and I felt the need to leave this tribute. Despite his many credits, I think Robert is perhaps one of the unsung heroes of his era of filmmaking. He was a gentleman with a kind heart, a keen eye, and a lively sense of humor. And above all, Robert was proof that, sometimes, even in this industry, decency prevails.
Robert's obituary, The Hollywood Reporter.
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