TV Guide 12 Aprile 2010

Hugh Laurie Goes Behind the Camera
by Hugh Laurie April 08, 2010 10:19 AM EST


Physician, direct thyself. That was the offer/challenge/piece of lead pipe they swung at my head, and I knew straightaway I was in trouble.

For six seasons of House, I’ve sat in the passenger seat and complained while long-suffering adults took the wheel. I’ve fiddled with the radio, spilled soda on the gear lever, misread the map, whined about feeling sick, been sick, screamed useless warnings whenever a distant dog looks like he’s thinking of approaching the curb—in short, I have been a complete pain in the neck. As a way of shutting me up, they tossed me the keys and said, “OK, then, you drive.”

What was I to do? If I said no, I’d lose my hard-won complaining rights. If I said yes, who would I complain to?

The script of “Lockdown”—Episode 17 of this season’s House—was written by David Shore, Garrett Lerner, Russel Friend, Eli Attie and Peter Blake. If you’re wondering why there were five writers involved, you will wonder less when you see it. I’m not going to tell you what happens, except to say that there is a Precipitating Event at the beginning that justifies the episode’s title. (Rest assured, it’s not a bomb or a stuck elevator, both proscribed by the House Manual of Plotting.) The event effectively traps four pairs of characters in four separate places, and House himself features in only one of them—which meant that, for six out of the eight shooting days, I could just wear my directing hat. And yes, I actually did have a hat. I also wore my own clothes and carried my own phone, keys, wallet and wristwatch, which was a welcome respite. Actors in costume spend so much of their time unable to communicate, unlock a door, buy a sandwich or know what time they should be doing any of these things that they end up feeling like infant convicts. If that’s a category.

Besides the hat, there was also the question of which accent to wear. I would be directing not as Gregory House but as Hugh Laurie, proud subject of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II—and yet I had spent the preceding six years as an ersatz American. How would my coworkers respond? Would the sound of a British accent rouse some ancient colonial resentment and start them emptying my PG Tips tea bags into the lavatory? It was a chance I’d have to take. When I converse as an American, I am often constrained by the accent to say only what I can say—if I don’t feel sure how to sound the phrase “cream and sugar,” I will just say “black”—and this obviously wouldn’t do for a director. A decision is a decision. Or choice, whichever is easier to say.

Then there was the issue of preparation. In the normal course of events, an incoming director is hired two weeks before shooting begins. The good ones fill this time with careful meditations on design, casting, special effects, narrative arcs and the rest; the less good ones watch Internet porn and steal stationery. Since I was neck-deep acting in Episode 16 right up until my first directing day, neither of these options was available to me, which meant I was hideously, savagely unprepared for the ordeal to come. I also didn’t have enough envelopes.

And all the while, there was the nagging question of how I was going to direct myself. Would I be able to give guidance, instruction, encouragement to myself and then reject those things with my usual sullen bad temper? How would I talk myself out of my own trailer? Could I throw a tantrum with one hand and catch it with the other?

To help me in this task, I asked for, and got, the rare luxury of video playback: a tiny prism in the camera that siphons off just enough light to generate a rough video image of whatever the film lens is capturing, which can be instantly reviewed. It’s a time-consuming device, but it allows an actor/director to see and adjust his own performance, assuming he has the necessary mental equipment to look at himself and make an accurate assessment. I don’t think I used it once.

What saved me—and you will judge for yourselves whether it was really a save, or just compassionate euthanasia—was the skill of the House producers, writers, technicians, designers and, most of all, my fellow actors. For a time I worried that joining the ranks of Management might create some odd tensions among the cast, perhaps put a strain on the comradeship we had built up over the years; in fact, it went completely the other way. I finished my stint as director with an even greater appreciation and affection for the cast of House than I had when I started—which is saying an awful lot.

These actors did things, created moments, found nuggets of tragedy and comedy that I couldn’t possibly have foreseen; they brought energy and good humor and put up with my grating British accent. This is the best cast on television, make no mistake. I’ve watched other casts receive trophies and acclaim but have never doubted that Lisa, Robert, Omar, Jesse, Jennifer, Olivia and Peter could take them all with one hand tied behind their back. (Not that acting with one hand behind your back is especially difficult. Come to think of it, it’s often easier.) The fact they don’t make it look difficult doesn’t mean it isn’t. Ars est celare artem, as some Roman geezer once put it—the art is to conceal the art.

Lastly, I must make special mention of the actor playing the character of Nash, a terminally ill patient who spends his final hours in House’s reluctant company. Many names were bandied about for this role, but when our executive producer, Katie Jacobs, uttered the name David Strathairn, a peaceful certainty descended on the production team. I have watched some of David’s scenes a hundred times in the editing room, and been moved every single time by his astounding skill and honesty. (He is also, by the way, a gentleman.)

So there you have it. I invite you to try your luck with the work of an inexperienced, underprepared foreigner who complained his way into the driver’s seat. Was he saved by his passengers, or did they all hurtle over a cliff in a grisly fireball of destruction? Fasten your safety belts and tune in to Fox, Monday, April 12, at 8.