MY LIFE AT THE SHARPE END THE SHARPE END
A riotous new book reveals how the Sean Bean drama was beset by bad luck, dysentery and even a knife ambush… and the day Liz’s charms failed to impress
SHARPE remains one of television’s most enduring success stories, and elevated its rugged hero Sean Bean from jobbing actor to mainstream heartthrob. But behind the scenes, it was a long-running tale of disaster averted, victory snatched from the jaws of defeat and the proverbial phoenix emerging triumphant, if a little scorched, from the flames of the battlefield.
And that was just filming, which mainly took place in Crimea to save money and saw the cast and crew coping with everything from severe amoebic dysentery to drunken falls from high windows.
It was also a fertile breeding ground for talent. Many stars of the future appeared in the campaigns of Richard Sharpe. I was cast as Rifleman, later Sergeant, Harris in 12 film-length episodes of the Napoleonic Wars drama over four fabulous years, starting with Sharpe’s Rifles in 1993 and ending at Sharpe’s Waterloo in 1997, when I was killed off in action.
Among the unknowns who passed through this theatre of war was a young actress called Elizabeth Hurley.
Long before she wore THAT dress at boyfriend Hugh Grant’s Four Weddings and a Funeral premiere, Liz was a flirt of Olympic proportions and the male cast reciprocated like welltrained puppies, lining up to be permitted a light peck on the cheek as she bid us all farewell at the end of an evening.
But one co-star seemed totally immune to her charms… the leading man she was expected to seduce on screen. She was so disconcerted by Sean’s total lack of interest I had to reassure her.
The truth was that Sean just wasn’t very outgoing – unless he’d had a few bevvies – in fact, he was almost shy. He never sought female company, preferring a bar full of the lads. I never once saw him take advantage of his heart-throb status, and anyway he was married.
To her great relief, Liz did eventually become the object of his passion… but only in character as Lady Farthingdale.
I’ve worked a lot in the almost three decades since, but Sharpe was a once-in-a-lifetime experience for an actor and the friendships forged on set amid the adversity of filming were unbeatable.
IT’S fair to say the series went down in British television folklore for its unique tales of hardship. From intense deprivation to constant catastrophe, we became every bit the jaded, battle-hardened soldiers fans saw on screen.
Some of us didn’t even begin to go the distance – including the original star. In 1992, before we’d barely shot two weeks’ worth of footage, Paul McGann ripped his cruciate ligament during an off-duty cast versus crew football match in the Crimean peninsula.
The producers ploughed on regardless, resulting in repeated re-injuries before Paul demanded to be treated back in the UK, and the production was called off amid competing legal claims. Fortunately, before the dust had settled, Sean was recast as the leading man in the role for which he had previously auditioned and been rejected.
His arrival as Richard
Sharpe necessitated a change in backstory. The Sharpe of Bernard Cornwell’s novels was a tall, dark, east Londoner. Sean was from Sheffield, slightly shorter and blond, so the character was revised. But we were up and running again, or should that be limping? Along the way, as Sharpe became an ITV staple and turned Sean into a superstar, we were lucky enough to work with some other great emerging names.
At the time, Daniel Craig’s gripping performance as a depraved lieutenant in the second episode went largely unnoticed under a dodgy brown wig. He was charmingly sardonic, utterly sure of himself and dripping with charisma; in hindsight, the perfect James Bond – though it would take the world another 13 years to catch up. And before Brian Cox became famous for roles in Succession and the Bourne films, he bestrode the first two episodes like a colossus. Alas, an amoebic dysentery-type ailment called Giardia lamblia, that ripped through the film unit on every Sharpe campaign, dissuaded him from reprising the role of Major Hogan the following year. “I shall never work for those producers out in the Crimea ever again,” he boomed.
It was probably memories of the sanatorium staff brandishing tired, red rubber tubes as they went room to room administering enemas that did it. He wasn’t alone. The great David Troughton played the Duke of Wellington in the first episode, then swore off ever shooting again in the Crimea, his role taken in later series by Hugh Fraser.
With the first Crimean stint complete, the unit flew to Portugal to wrap the shoot and meet Bernard. Dinner was arranged in the Alfama district of Lisbon where much drink was taken, which the restaurant’s staff took as their cue to over egg-our bill.
However, there were sober heads among us, as well as Portuguese speakers who realised a fast one was being pulled on the English gringos.
Escudos were dumped down on a table, more than sufficient, and we headed to the door, which was being locked by a scared-looking waiter. This was like a red rag to a bull. Well-oiled, and emboldened by conquering the Russian bear, I wrenched the waiter aside, unbolted the door and yanked it open to find a more fearsome-looking character standing in the street armed with a small knife.
Before I could raise an eyebrow, I was on the pavement staring at the Moon over Lisbon. In a couple of seconds, it was all over.
It turns out our star had shoved me out of the way in order to have a clear run at the enemy.At the sight of Sean charging at him with intent, the knifeman turned tail and fled.
I dusted myself off and noticed Bernard was standing there, grinning from ear to ear at witnessing life imitating his art; Sharpe and his men displaying the “take charge nature” that was expected of the 95th Riflemen.
FOR our second Crimea campaign, we saw a pre-Oscar nominated Pete Postlethwaite cast in one of the most memorable of Sharpe’s characters: the fearsome Sergeant Obadiah Hakeswill.
With a modest budget increase, we saw a sprinkling of established stars dotted through the cast: Hugh, a household face after years as Poirot’s sidekick Captain Hastings, became the Duke of Wellington; Chariots of Fire star Alice Krige joined as La Marquesa Dorada; and legendary British actor Michael Byrne as Major Nairn.
In year three, despite or perhaps because of budget cutbacks, new stars emerged. We were joined by such stalwart actors as the incomparable, charming and witty Ian McNeice, Jason Durr, Oliver Cotton, acting-royalty progeny Ian Shaw, son of Robert, and the unruffled, understated James Purefoy who I always remember from one particular night at the bar.
The unit were marking “Drivers’ Day” – which
takes place every September to celebrate professional motorists – with our Moldovan friends. On a normal evening these guys partied like madmen, but this celebration was like several Oliver Reeds with a legitimate excuse to get paralytic. Unfortunately, in an attempt to escape the amorous advances of our Ukrainian make-up assistant, one of the drivers perched himself on the wrong side of the hotel balcony rail, slipped and fell almost two floors onto the hard concrete below. The Sharpe medic was summoned from the bar at 3.30am, interrupting his drinking session with James Purefoy. Nevertheless, helped by James, he stemmed the bleeding, applied a splint and they went back to their drinking session. They were still in the bar when the sun came up, James told me, and only then did they realise their clothes were spattered with the Moldovan’s blood. Sharpe’s Sword, released in 1995, unearthed an absolute diamond in the shape of a young Emily Mortimer, possessor of a beautiful spirit and a sharp intellect, playing Lass.
RIDING to work with her one day, I discovered she lived around the corner from me in London and had a Russian boyfriend. She was also fluent in Russian, having attended the prestigious Moscow Art Theatre.
In fact, I had almost embarrassed myself at the bar the previous night, seeing Emily surrounded by stuntmen, firing questions at her in Russian. Ignorant about her command of the language, I began to edge towards her table to heroically “rescue” her with my minimal translating skills and was stopped in my tracks upon hearing her speaking perfect Russian.What a gal.
Our fourth campaign began with Sharpe’s Regiment. That year, the cast included the legendary Norman Rossington and Lovejoy’s Caroline Langrishe. Several fine French actors and future Oscar winner Julian Fellowes were also in the cast, as was Mark Strong, fresh from a stint at the National Theatre and Our Friends from the North.
My final year on Sharpe: my own Waterloo, was bittersweet. I witnessed an actor at the ground floor of his career, who now resides in the penthouse of thespian fame, Paul Bettany, a stupendously amusing man who kept the whole unit entertained in between takes.
That year, I also had the absolute pleasure of hanging out with The Stud, Oliver Tobias, another charming, modest man with whom I’ve remained in contact to this day.
My swan song campaign was marred by my character being dropped from two of that year’s three episodes, despite appearing in every previous episode. My absence was blamed on budget cuts, but I suspected signing up as a witness in Paul McGann’s lawsuit against the producers was the real reason.
During my five-year Sharpe tenure I was lucky enough to have witnessed the continual formation of new stars in the Sharpe constellation while bringing to life Cornwell’s incredible creation.
And although my career didn’t quite receive the same up-tick of some of the other cast, I’m glad I was along for the ride.
‘Well-oiled, and emboldened by conquering the Russian bear, I wrenched the waiter aside’
●●From CrimeaWith Love: Misadventures in the Making of Sharpe’s Rifles by Jason Salkey (Unbound, £25) is out now