But Guillermin did not have the right of final cut. "I was thrown off the editing of the film," he says, still bitter. "They brought in a yes man, and they intercut it with a light comedy scene of Dany Robin and John Fraser larking about in the fields. There were doves fluttering about! They intercut Peter and Maggie's scene three or four or five times, and it totally took the heart out of the film."

Because Peter had such high expectations of his own talent, gripped by idealized goals that were thus impossible to achieve, he was increasingly struck by deep depression after seeing his films. "The whole thing looks terrible, amateurish, bad," he told a British reporter after seeing Waltz of the Toreadors Waltz of the Toreadors. "And you want to pack it all in and look round quickly for a means of employment. Suicide? No, not that. But who can you talk to? Who'd understand your problem?"

But of course there were multiple Peters. He was elated when he won the Best Actor award at the San Sebastian Film Festival for Waltz of the Toreadors Waltz of the Toreadors. His press agent, Theo Cowan, found him to be "like a ten-year-old, going about with four cameras slung around his neck, taking thousands of snaps.... His great joy was to mingle with the crowds outside the hotel where the stars were staying and do what he called 'seeing myself go in.'"

During the filming of Waltz of the Toreadors Waltz of the Toreadors, the distance between Paris and London hardly mattered as far as Peter's marriage was concerned, since fighting and begging could continue by long-distance telephone. David Lodge tells of Peter sitting in his trailer one day stewing over his most recent argument with Anne. "Everyone cooled their heels outside, including the cavalry horses needed for the scene." With his marriage in tatters, the mercurial star was being even more so; the film's producer, Julian Wintle, "went out of his mind as the costs climbed hourly." Eventually Peter handed Lodge a vast pile of pennies and told him to call Anne on his behalf and apologize. Lodge tells of Peter sitting in his trailer one day stewing over his most recent argument with Anne. "Everyone cooled their heels outside, including the cavalry horses needed for the scene." With his marriage in tatters, the mercurial star was being even more so; the film's producer, Julian Wintle, "went out of his mind as the costs climbed hourly." Eventually Peter handed Lodge a vast pile of pennies and told him to call Anne on his behalf and apologize.

Lodge did so. Anne refused to accept remorse by proxy.

As Lodge reports, "I couldn't tell Peter that in his state of mind. So I reported back, 'She says she'll talk to you tonight, so get on with your work now.'"

Graham and Audrey Stark joined him for a weekend at the Raphael hotel, where Peter was staying during the production, and the three of them spent some time with Dany Robin. By that point, Peter's heart had taken the predictable turn: "I'm in love with her, and she's in love with me," he confided to Graham. The fact of Dany Robin's marriage was no deterrence. After dinner one evening, they all adjourned to one of the suites for coffee and conversation. Peter had to take a phone call, at which point Robin whispered to the Starks (in Graham's rendition of her charmingly broken English), "Please, I beg you, do not leave me alone wiz Petair. 'E is so sweet, but such a leetle boy. 'E think 'e love me. 'E think I love im. Merde! Merde!"

It was only after Peter returned from Paris that Anne told him that she planned to move out. This was Peter's cue to announce that he'd slept with Anne's best friend.

He acted out.

"Peter used Mike as a punching bag," says Anne Sellers Levy in retrospect, adding that she "drank more than I've ever done in my life," alcohol in her case being a material form of denial, a way for a mother to cope with the regularized abuse of her children.

When she told him that she was leaving him, Peter "wrecked the entire living room. I was sitting in a big chair trying to protect my head with my hands. Have you ever seen a child lose its temper and go berserk and pick up things and throw them? Imagine that on a grown-up scale in a very beautiful living room."

Threats were employed. One night he proposed to jump off the terrace. Dangerous acts occurred. At one point he tried to strangle her. But Anne had had enough of the melodrama and knew precisely what to do to stop it. With his fingers clenched around her neck, she calmly told him just to go ahead and do it, so of course he stopped. it. With his fingers clenched around her neck, she calmly told him just to go ahead and do it, so of course he stopped.

Peter was in New York when Anne moved out. "It was a very cowardly way of doing it," she confesses, "but I'd never have got out otherwise." With the two kids being cared for by Frieda Heinlein, she paused long enough in the garden to tell Michael that she was going to stay with her mother for a while, and "please look after Sarah for me, won't you?" and with that she departed.

There were threats to assassinate Ted.

"Ted Levy has destroyed my life!" Peter yelled to the children. "He has taken your mother away from me! I'll kill him! I'll kill him!"

When Peter showed up at Ted's place at two in the morning and began banging on the door, Ted considered the possibility that he might actually follow through. According to Levy, "He wore an expression of hate, anger, and frustration, the like of which I'd never seen on the face of any human being before.... Suddenly he looked up and offered me a cigarette."

One day while Anne was staying at her parents' house, Peter appeared, behaving, as Anne describes him, "very peculiarly." He acted as though he'd never met her mother; he seemed not to know who she was. Believing him to be either drunk or deranged, she decided she'd better drive him home, but when they got back to the penthouse, Peter announced, "You're not leaving" and locked her in. When it became clear to her that pleading wasn't going to help, she telephoned the family doctor and asked to be saved. The physician showed up, sedatives in hand, and put Peter to bed. Anne left again.

For a while she returned on weekends to spend time with Michael and Sarah, who remained briefly under what passed for Peter's care. Later she took the kids during the week and Peter had them on Saturdays and Sundays. Eventually she got full custody. "In a way I was lucky," Anne says, "because he did spend a lot of time in America, so as the children got older they were hardly with him at all. He wasn't really interested in their schooling or how they thought or their welfare." His moving Michael from school to school was a form of abusive whimsy rather than a concerned attempt to rectify an ongoing problem with the boy's education or behavior.

After a period of fully justifiable bitterness, Sarah Sellers tries to see the best in her father: "I think he had an idea of how he'd like family life to be, but he couldn't really live up to it. So we'd come along and be with him-but once we were there he didn't really know what to do with us."

Alone and miserable, Peter brooded. The dependable Bert Mortimer grew fearful. "He was so isolated and lonely that I got scared for his safety. He would sit in the penthouse-'my bloody palace,' he'd call it-and threaten to tear 'Ted Levy's Teutonic look' apart. 'Overmasculine-it's just not me,' he'd say."

The director Robert Parrish and his wife, Kathleen, stopped in to visit Peter shortly after Anne left him. He had, says Kathleen Parrish, "lots of toys," one of which was a new electric organ, which he began to play. Taking their cue, the Parrishes began to make a big fuss over it, at which point Peter abruptly stopped playing. "Isn't this bullshit?" he said.

Michael Sellers saw a more intimate despair. He remembers his father muttering. "Who would want me? Who would want me?"

Well, Laurence Olivier, for one.

"Larry asked me to play Lear at the Chichester Festival," said Peter to the journalist Roderick Mann. "It's one of the great parts," he explained. "And Larry said, 'You'd be good, Peter. You must do it. The best Lears have nearly always been new to Shakespeare.'

"But I turned it down. It was too big a risk. In my heart I hadn't the confidence, and that's the place you've got to have it. I'm always seeking perfection, and that makes me difficult to live with. I'm sure it's a nagging thing."

A less risky choice, and so a less exciting one, The Dock Brief The Dock Brief (1962) is a sad comedy, a courtroom drama that is played out almost entirely in the minds of a pathetic defendant (Richard Attenborough) and his inept lawyer (Peter). Based on John Mortimer's play, the film takes place in a prison holding cell, with several flashbacks and flash-forwards breaking up the deliberate claustrophobia. Wilfrid Morgenhall, the barrister assigned to the hopeless case of Herbert Fowle, uses his creative intellect to imagine ways of getting his client off the hook; the client, meanwhile, is a pitiful sap who (1962) is a sad comedy, a courtroom drama that is played out almost entirely in the minds of a pathetic defendant (Richard Attenborough) and his inept lawyer (Peter). Based on John Mortimer's play, the film takes place in a prison holding cell, with several flashbacks and flash-forwards breaking up the deliberate claustrophobia. Wilfrid Morgenhall, the barrister assigned to the hopeless case of Herbert Fowle, uses his creative intellect to imagine ways of getting his client off the hook; the client, meanwhile, is a pitiful sap who did, indeed, kill his indefatigably laughing wife (Beryl Reid, in flashback). David Lodge plays, of all things, a lodger; the twist is that Fowle kills his wife not because she launched an affair with the lodger but because she didn't. did, indeed, kill his indefatigably laughing wife (Beryl Reid, in flashback). David Lodge plays, of all things, a lodger; the twist is that Fowle kills his wife not because she launched an affair with the lodger but because she didn't.

As always, Peter required a vocal hook into his character. Mortimer dined with him just before shooting began and found Peter to be "desperately uncertain" about his performance of Morgenhall. Then a plate of cockles arrived at their table. Memories flowed; the little mollusks cast Peter into a disastrous lost-time reverie of a youthful visit to Morecambe on the Lancashire coast. The cockles, Mortimer was horrified to witness, "brought a faded north-country accent and the suggestion of a scrappy mustache. He felt he had been thrown the lifeline of a voice and work could begin."

Mortimer was appalled because the character he'd written was not from the North, did not speak with a Lancashire twang, and bore no scrappy mustache. "It took a great deal of patience and tact by the director, James Hill, to undo the effect of the cockles." (There is is a mustache on Morgenhall's lip, but it's a trim, linear number tinged with gray.) a mustache on Morgenhall's lip, but it's a trim, linear number tinged with gray.) Mortimer also claims that Peter told him that he feared for his safety. The Mafia was after him. Sophia.

Work might have provided some steadiness, but it did not. It was merely constant.

In The Wrong Arm of the Law The Wrong Arm of the Law (1962), Peter played opposite Nanette Newman, the glamorous, almond-eyed wife of Peter's war buddy, Bryan Forbes. "I want to marry Nanette," Peter confided to Forbes one day. Taking Forbes aside, he admitted to his old friend that he hadn't broached the subject with Nanette herself, but his attitude on this point was one of forthright honesty. He wanted to clear it with Bryan first; it was a matter of fair play. (1962), Peter played opposite Nanette Newman, the glamorous, almond-eyed wife of Peter's war buddy, Bryan Forbes. "I want to marry Nanette," Peter confided to Forbes one day. Taking Forbes aside, he admitted to his old friend that he hadn't broached the subject with Nanette herself, but his attitude on this point was one of forthright honesty. He wanted to clear it with Bryan first; it was a matter of fair play.

"The scene had taken on the characteristics of a Pinter play," Forbes later wrote. "But I knew it would be a mistake to appear outraged or to mock him: that was not the way to handle Peter." So Forbes simply proceeded with the conversation, adopting the same patient, solicitous tone that Peter was employing. Bryan Forbes was one of those who sympathized with Peter's nature: "He was so patently sincere and desperate to do the right thing according to his unique code of ethics."

FORBES: Of course there's the children to take into account. Of course there's the children to take into account.

SELLERS: You'd always be able to see them.... You're not angry, are you? You'd always be able to see them.... You're not angry, are you?

When Nanette Newman learned of her imminent divorce and remarriage, she gently convinced Peter that any any intimate relationship with him was impossible, let alone marriage. According to Forbes, "On two occasions he bought a gun and threatened suicide, and both times Nanette somehow calmed him and talked him out of it." intimate relationship with him was impossible, let alone marriage. According to Forbes, "On two occasions he bought a gun and threatened suicide, and both times Nanette somehow calmed him and talked him out of it."

And remarkably, work continued. In The Wrong Arm of the Law The Wrong Arm of the Law, Peter greets us as a couturier wearing a smoking jacket collared in silver quilt; he's also adorned with a precise, thin mustache and a pronounced French accent. "Exquiseet! Byeautiful!" Monsieur Jules cries as he flounces a bride-to-be's poofy net veil. "I weesh you every 'appiness," he purrs as he kisses the bride's hand in a manner tres Continental tres Continental, "and my felicitations to the, uh [his eyebrows arch], greum greum." Monsieur Jules swiftly devolves into lower-class London when the buyers leave. The fashion house is a front; he's actually the criminal "Pearly" Gates.

The cops are onto him. An officer played by Lionel Jeffries conveys the news in a scene of dueling accents: JEFFRIES: Well gor bilmey, it's "Pearly" Gates! Well gor bilmey, it's "Pearly" Gates!

SELLERS: I'm delighted to meet you, but there mus' be some meestek! My nem is Sharls Jewlz. I'm delighted to meet you, but there mus' be some meestek! My nem is Sharls Jewlz.

JEFFRIES: Oh don't gimme that. When I took you in in 1948 you was "Pearly" Gates, an' "Pearly" Gates you'll always be. Oh don't gimme that. When I took you in in 1948 you was "Pearly" Gates, an' "Pearly" Gates you'll always be.

SELLERS: Inspecteur, 1948 was a long time ageu. Theengs shenge. Inspecteur, 1948 was a long time ageu. Theengs shenge.

JEFFRIES: Look, mite, jus' 'cause you sell a few women's frocks in the West End it does not mean to say that things change. Look, mite, jus' 'cause you sell a few women's frocks in the West End it does not mean to say that things change.

SELLERS: [Enraged, and thus reverting to Pearly-speak]: I do not sell "women's frocks" in the West End. I sell [Enraged, and thus reverting to Pearly-speak]: I do not sell "women's frocks" in the West End. I sell gowns gowns, mite mite."

The Wrong Arm of the Law opened in the United Kingdom in March 1963, and in New York the following month. What's most curious about the film is not its gimmick (because a rival gang of Australian crooks dresses up as cops and steals from "Pearly," "Pearly" teams up with the real cops), nor the fact that the film was cowritten by several of the writers of opened in the United Kingdom in March 1963, and in New York the following month. What's most curious about the film is not its gimmick (because a rival gang of Australian crooks dresses up as cops and steals from "Pearly," "Pearly" teams up with the real cops), nor the fact that the film was cowritten by several of the writers of Idiot Weekly, Price 2d Idiot Weekly, Price 2d (Ray Galton, Alan Simpson, and John Antrobus), but this: (Ray Galton, Alan Simpson, and John Antrobus), but this: At this point in his career, Peter was attracting directors of the stature of Stanley Kubrick, not to mention the Boultings and Anthony Asquith, and still he ended up taking on another role in another small-scale movie made by a competent but undistinguished director (Cliff Owen). At this point in his career, Peter was attracting directors of the stature of Stanley Kubrick, not to mention the Boultings and Anthony Asquith, and still he ended up taking on another role in another small-scale movie made by a competent but undistinguished director (Cliff Owen).

Why wasn't an actor of Peter's caliber more discerning? For one thing, he liked money. He certainly wasn't born to it, and he enjoyed his wealth. But financial desire (to the unsympathetic, the word would be greed greed) seems secondary to the emotional gratification he seized from the roles into which he threw himself. Work was essential, it was sport; work was a necessary distraction, it was simply what he did it was simply what he did. Performing filled him in a way the rest of the world could not. Without constant filming and recording, Peter Sellers was simply unable to stand it.

Naturally, he found his way to Hollywood. After Waltz of the Toreadors Waltz of the Toreadors opened in London in mid-April, Peter embarked on his first trip to Los Angeles, with a weeklong stopover in New York on the way. There was also a brief side trip to Washington. opened in London in mid-April, Peter embarked on his first trip to Los Angeles, with a weeklong stopover in New York on the way. There was also a brief side trip to Washington.

In New York, he received his many supplicant flacks and hacks in a Hampshire House suite. He had much to report. Larry had offered him the Shakespeare role, after all; his car collection made its prolix appearance; he had no personality of his own; he was quite boring, really; and so on. He was a heavy smoker, readers learned. His cigarettes were described as "oversized," the normal length apparently not able to provide the necessary jolt. And he told the New York Times New York Times of his experiences in Burma during World War II: "As a corporal I had the completely unglamorous job of arming up fighter planes with shells and bombs." of his experiences in Burma during World War II: "As a corporal I had the completely unglamorous job of arming up fighter planes with shells and bombs." A corporal? A corporal? When Peter Sellers was in Burma-briefly-he was drumming and telling jokes. When Peter Sellers was in Burma-briefly-he was drumming and telling jokes.

With Lolita Lolita about to open, Peter announced to the public that he wasn't happy with it. And he was particularly nervous about how his American accent would come off to Americans. about to open, Peter announced to the public that he wasn't happy with it. And he was particularly nervous about how his American accent would come off to Americans.

But he seemed giddy with the imminent prospect of Tinseltown: "I can't wait to see Hollywood! It may sound a bit silly, but I almost feel I'd like to have an autograph book along." He actually did take one.

On Friday, April 27, at the annual black-tie White House Press Dinner at Washington's Sheraton-Park Hotel, Peter Sellers of North London and Ilfracombe met John F. Kennedy of the White House and Hyannisport as well as Harold Macmillan of 10 Downing Street. Kennedy and Sellers impressed each other; Macmillan's response remains less clear. Ilfracombe met John F. Kennedy of the White House and Hyannisport as well as Harold Macmillan of 10 Downing Street. Kennedy and Sellers impressed each other; Macmillan's response remains less clear.

Benny Goodman, Elliott Reid, Bob Fosse and Gwen Verdon (who performed bits from Damn Yankees Damn Yankees), and Peter provided the evening's entertainment. Among the fifteen hundred guests were Vice President Lyndon Johnson, Chief Justice Earl Warren, seven Cabinet members, the entire White House press corps, and enough British reporters to cover any little scandal that might helpfully occur. Elliott Reid did his impersonation of Kennedy. Peter began by announcing that he never consciously tried to be funny, after which he did a hilarious impression of Macmillan.

Responding with characteristic warmth and laughter, Kennedy, who had recently ripped into the American steel industry for raising prices, said of Sellers and Reid (whose impersonation consisted of Kennedy ripping into the steel industry), "I've arranged for them to appear next week on the U.S. Steel Hour." Kennedy then clarified the issue for the crowd: "Actually, I didn't do it. Bobby did it."

But with Peter's Macmillan imitation, the British press got its scandal. It was not newsworthy for an American comedian to mimic his president's distinctive Bostonian accent; everyone in America was doing it. And Kennedy, as his friend and aide Ted Sorensen recalls, "loved to laugh." But a British half-Jew mocking his conservative prime minister's patrician voice-to the prime minister's face-was apparently unconscionable. Hungrily, British newspaper reporters forced Peter to justify himself.

In the first place, he said, they they had asked had asked him him. "The Office of the prime minister called me in London," Peter explained under pressure, "and I told them they wanted Mort Sahl. I'm no stand-up comic. They insisted, and I finally agreed to do five minutes of mild political joking, on the condition I could have my picture taken with the leaders.

"He was on home ground," Peter said, referring to Elliott Reid. "And he knew already how much the President enjoyed his take-off." Sellers went on to explain that he'd met Macmillan at the reception before the dinner and that Macmillan told him to go ahead and do it. "Don't forget," the prime minister told the comedian-"No holds barred." "So I barred no holds," said Peter. "And Mr. Macmillan took it as sportingly as President Kennedy took the Elliott Reid skit." If only the British press had been as sporting. was on home ground," Peter said, referring to Elliott Reid. "And he knew already how much the President enjoyed his take-off." Sellers went on to explain that he'd met Macmillan at the reception before the dinner and that Macmillan told him to go ahead and do it. "Don't forget," the prime minister told the comedian-"No holds barred." "So I barred no holds," said Peter. "And Mr. Macmillan took it as sportingly as President Kennedy took the Elliott Reid skit." If only the British press had been as sporting.

For his part, JFK told Sellers that he'd loved several of his films, though Sellers didn't want to bring up the subject of Sellers didn't want to bring up the subject of Lolita Lolita's looming release, apparently for fear of offending Kennedy by mentioning a sex story.

Three days later Peter Sellers was in Hollywood, lunching with an MGM executive on the Culver City lot in the afternoon and dining with the director Billy Wilder in Beverly Hills at Chasens that night.

Offers were already pouring in. For example, they wanted him for Peter Pan Peter Pan. George Cukor would direct.

If it hadn't been for his body, about which he could only do so much, Peter Sellers would not have made a bad Peter Pan. But in this proposed production the role of Peter was to go to Audrey Hepburn, with Peter as Captain Hook. Hayley Mills would be Wendy.

As with most business in Hollywood, there was a lot of buzz and very little action, and Peter found it frustrating. "I know it's exciting to have an idea," he told a reporter some months later, "but it's more exciting to have a screenplay. Take Peter Pan Peter Pan. All I've ever done is to say I like the idea of playing Captain Hook, but I've never even seen a script, and everybody seems to think it's all set up. And it isn't."

It turned out to be the fault of the Great Ormond Street Hospital for Sick Children in disharmonious concert with the Walt Disney Company. Peter Pan's creator, the playwright James Barrie, had left the rights to the play to the hospital. Disney wished to make the film on its own terms. Thus did Sick Children wage war against the mouse, and by the fall of 1962 the project was in full collapse.

Billy Wilder had more luck than George Cukor. At first.

Producers were practically dumping scripts on Peter's doorstep during his stay in Hollywood, but very few of them caught his attention. Wilder's idea did, however, as did Wilder himself. It was to be an adultery comedy, and it would be directed by the acerbic and blazingly funny writer-director of such films as Double Indemnity Double Indemnity (1944), (1944), The Lost Weekend The Lost Weekend (1945), (1945), Sunset Boulevard Sunset Boulevard (1950), and (1950), and Some Like It Hot Some Like It Hot (1959). The costars Wilder managed to mention were also enticing. If he accepted the role, Peter was told, he might be playing opposite Marilyn Monroe, Frank Sinatra, and Shirley MacLaine. (1959). The costars Wilder managed to mention were also enticing. If he accepted the role, Peter was told, he might be playing opposite Marilyn Monroe, Frank Sinatra, and Shirley MacLaine.

Wilder's films generally bore a bitter edge with raunchy undertones, but by the early 1960s, with the Production Code seemingly in full retreat, Wilder was itching to push things a little further. In the new film he was thinking about making, Peter would play an insanely jealous husband. Sinatra would be a Sinatra-like star who gets headaches if he doesn't get laid once a day. MacLaine would be Peter's long-suffering wife. Marilyn would be the local hooker. Irresistible. but by the early 1960s, with the Production Code seemingly in full retreat, Wilder was itching to push things a little further. In the new film he was thinking about making, Peter would play an insanely jealous husband. Sinatra would be a Sinatra-like star who gets headaches if he doesn't get laid once a day. MacLaine would be Peter's long-suffering wife. Marilyn would be the local hooker. Irresistible.

The movie wouldn't be filmed right away, however; the as yet untitled comedy wouldn't go before the cameras for at least another year.

Other directors, writers, and producers could scarcely compete with the package of Wilder, Monroe, Sinatra, and MacLaine. Peter turned down twenty-seven other film roles in the first week he spent in Hollywood.

But there was one other idea that interested him: Ulysses Ulysses.

This was neither a joke nor a fabrication: Peter Sellers wanted to play Leopold Bloom. Jerry Wald would produce the picture, Jack Cardiff would direct it. "Bloom could be the ultimate in characterization," Peter told Hedda Hopper. "I have great faith in Jack Cardiff's intuition and good taste, and he can do it if anyone can." Unfortunately, Jerry Wald died of a heart attack two months later.

Peter was upbeat about his trip, but there was a dark foreshadowing. "I shall enjoy working in Hollywood," he told the British scribes upon his return to London, "but I could never live live there." there."

Even in the context of Peter Sellers's previously frenetic work schedule and tension-filled private life, 1962 was ridiculous. The year his marriage collapsed and he was jettisoned out on his own for virtually the first time in his life (David Lodge and others shepherded him through the war), six six of his films played in the United States: of his films played in the United States: Only Two Can Play Only Two Can Play (which opened in March), (which opened in March), Mr. Topaze Mr. Topaze (May), (May), Lolita Lolita (June), (June), Road to Hong Kong Road to Hong Kong (June), (June), Waltz of the Toreadors Waltz of the Toreadors (August), and (August), and Trial and Error Trial and Error (November). These were accompanied by the personal interlude of Peter and Anne officially announcing their separation in July. (November). These were accompanied by the personal interlude of Peter and Anne officially announcing their separation in July.

He had an overly spacious den-like penthouse in Hampstead and an office on Panton Street in Soho. He had Bert, Hattie, and two children he saw less and less. He had his cars, the charlatan psychic Maurice Woodruff, a lot of publicity, and an enormous amount of money. He became so depressed that Bert Mortimer, fearing for his boss's life, moved into the penthouse to be at his side all the time. As Bert recalls it, Bryan Forbes and Nanette Newman used to come over and "hold his hands as he went to sleep." Nanette Newman used to come over and "hold his hands as he went to sleep."

Forbes is succinct: "In many cases, Peter was, uh, slightly mad, shall we say?"

Peter was back in New York at the end of September and continued to be starstruck. "Peter Sellers, who claimed to have always 'dreamed' of knowing me, finally arranged a meeting," Myrna Loy wrote in her autobiography. "He took me to Peter Duchin's opening at the Maisonette [at the St. Regis hotel], where he was rather shy and as full of wonder about my career as any fan. He even asked for an autographed picture."

But Peter was himself a star trying to navigate a course toward international superstardom, and the split between shyness and celebrity was becoming nearly impossible for him to sustain. The fault lines scraped more noticeably.

He was getting tired of being hammered by British journalists, who, then as now, enjoyed the moist sensation of blood on their fangs. "The more success you have," he complained, "the more people want to have a go at you in the press. And I just haven't got the confidence to shrug off what is said about me." He was making 150,000 a year, but money itself didn't seem to help.

To be more precise, Peter's wealth didn't help his emotional state. It did, however, aid Harold Pinter. In December, Elizabeth Taylor, Richard Burton, Noel Coward, Leslie Caron, and Peter Sellers announced that they were among the unlikely financiers of Pinter's The Caretaker The Caretaker (1962). (1962).

Peter spent money on less flashy causes as well. According to Bert Mortimer, he liked to prowl London's parks at night looking for homeless people. When he found an appropriate one, he'd stuff a 5 note in his pocket. Bert witnessed these transactions: "You'd see the man flinch back, thinking he was going to be hit, then fish out the note and stare in utter disbelief at it."

Nothing was simple. For Peter, this type of generosity came at a price. As Kenneth Tynan reported, "Sellers is a self-accusing man who incessantly ponders ethical questions. Once, driving home from the studio, he saw a ragged old woman standing on a street corner, and ordered his car to stop. 'I got out and gave her some money, without telling her who I was. And then, just as I was getting back into the car, I heard myself thinking, "This'll do me good later. This'll make God like me." then, just as I was getting back into the car, I heard myself thinking, "This'll do me good later. This'll make God like me."

"'"That's wrecked it," I said to myself. "That's absolutely wrecked it."'"

There was some degree of paranoia involved in Peter's erratic behavior. Peter himself labeled it "intuition."

Roy Boulting remembers that Peter "would keep you up half the night on the telephone, then when you yawned out of sheer fatigue, it would be interpreted as an unfriendly attitude. It got to be a killer, his 'intuition.'"

Maurice Woodruff played right into it, and so, surprisingly, did Dennis Selinger-in secret collaboration with the quack Woodruff. As Selinger later told it, "Maurice used to phone me and say, 'Peter's coming. Is there anything you want me to tell him? Should I say 'yes' or 'no'?" Selinger was only too happy to oblige. This way, everyone everyone was happy: Woodruff's bogus predictions turned out to be sound, Peter made responsible career choices, and Selinger got his cut. was happy: Woodruff's bogus predictions turned out to be sound, Peter made responsible career choices, and Selinger got his cut.

Bill Sellers died in October. He was sixty-two.

"My father died following three coronary attacks," Peter later said, "but it was trouble with his prostate that killed him."

Echoing just about everyone else who knew him, two of Bill's nephews describe their uncle as a shadow man who "wouldn't say boo to a goose." What gives Dick Ray and Ray Marks's observations about their uncle their bite is their follow-up contention: that this was Peter's essential nature as well-half of it, anyway.

According to Dick Ray, Peter took after both of his parents-the aggressive, performing mother and the quiet and aloof father. But then, says Ray, "the minute the camera stopped he'd go back to himself again-"

Ray Marks finishes the sentence: "... to Bill Sellers."

Peter Sellers was asked that year what he saw when he looked into a mirror. His answer: "Someone who has never grown up, a wild sentimentalist, capable of great heights and black, black depths-a person who has no real voice of his own. I'm like a mike-I have no set sound of my own. I pick it up from my surroundings."

And this: "I don't know who Peter Sellers is, except that he's the one who gets paid."

By the end of 1962, Peter had successfully created for himself a public persona based on blank peculiarity. The automobile fixation had become a journalistic cliche, but once in a while Peter would touch on something authentic when discussing his lists of cars. There were two factors behind his obsessive buying and selling of automobiles, he announced: "One is a search for perfection in a machine; the other stems from a great sense of depression at being unable to supply what I know I should be able to deliver." He was himself the best sports car, the finest Rolls, the silkiest limousine, endlessly nicked by a siege of pebbles. Beyond, or behind, or in some way circling around the escalating nuttiness, Peter Sellers did know himself. Sometimes.

But, he immediately declared, everything had just changed.

"Now I've finally got what I want," he swore. It was a Bristol 407. I've finally got what I want," he swore. It was a Bristol 407.

"It's perfect! I didn't know such a car existed! The Bentley Continental wasn't bad for room, for speed. But the 407 combines everything everything."

TWELVE.

Meanwhile, in Hollywood, the screenwriter Maurice Richlin was shopping for a collaborator. He approached Blake Edwards. "I have an idea about a detective who is trying to catch a jewel thief who is having an affair with his wife," Richlin announced to the director of Breakfast at Tiffany's Breakfast at Tiffany's (1961) and (1961) and Days of Wine and Roses Days of Wine and Roses (1962). Together they carved out a script that featured a variety of gimmicks: two glamorous women, an urbane leading man, a piece of early sixties vealcake, fashionable European locales, and a wondrous gem with a tiny flaw. If one looked at it closely, the jewel would seem to have embedded deep within it the distinct image of an animal. The director knew one thing for certain: (1962). Together they carved out a script that featured a variety of gimmicks: two glamorous women, an urbane leading man, a piece of early sixties vealcake, fashionable European locales, and a wondrous gem with a tiny flaw. If one looked at it closely, the jewel would seem to have embedded deep within it the distinct image of an animal. The director knew one thing for certain: The Pink Panther The Pink Panther (1964) would be a perfect vehicle for David Niven. (1964) would be a perfect vehicle for David Niven.

By late October 1962, casting was completed, financing had been secured from the Mirisch Company, the independent production company that made such critical and commercial hits as Some Like It Hot Some Like It Hot (1959) and (1959) and The Apartment The Apartment (1960)-both by Billy Wilder-and shooting was ready to commence at the Cinecitta soundstages in Rome. Niven would be the sophisticated thief, Robert Wagner his handsome playboy nephew. Claudia Cardinale would be Princess Darla, the owner of the jewel, a curvaceous but nevertheless deposed ruler of a necessarily vague Eastern sovereignty. The detective's wife, who would be having the affair with the thief, would be the striking, one-named Capucine. The detective would be Peter Ustinov. (Brigitte Bardot once claimed to have been offered one of the two babe roles but turned it down. Ava Gardner may also have been sought, hired, and swiftly replaced because of her excessive demands.) (1960)-both by Billy Wilder-and shooting was ready to commence at the Cinecitta soundstages in Rome. Niven would be the sophisticated thief, Robert Wagner his handsome playboy nephew. Claudia Cardinale would be Princess Darla, the owner of the jewel, a curvaceous but nevertheless deposed ruler of a necessarily vague Eastern sovereignty. The detective's wife, who would be having the affair with the thief, would be the striking, one-named Capucine. The detective would be Peter Ustinov. (Brigitte Bardot once claimed to have been offered one of the two babe roles but turned it down. Ava Gardner may also have been sought, hired, and swiftly replaced because of her excessive demands.) Edwards and his team flew to Rome, and Ustinov changed his mind. He didn't want to be Inspector Clouseau after all. That he waited until three days before principal photography began wasn't very nice. Blake Edwards was "ready to kill."

"At the very last minute-we were in Rome, we were set to shoot the following Monday, it was Friday-Ustinov said, 'I can't do the movie.' We all said, 'Is there somebody we can recast?' I couldn't think of anybody at that time who could do that sort of thing. [The agent] Freddie Fields said, 'I've got an actor who has a window. You've got to do him in four weeks.'" (Dennis Selinger was not Peter's only agent; he had several working in tandem.) "All I could think of was I'm All Right, Jack I'm All Right, Jack. In desperation, I said, 'Let's go. We've got to do something something.' He got off the plane in Rome, we got in the car, drove back from the airport, [and] by the time we got to the hotel Clouseau was born."

Peter himself later claimed to have turned down The Pink Panther The Pink Panther originally because he hadn't liked the part-"I didn't want anything to do with it"-after which Edwards offered the role to Ustinov. But this account is doubtful. Graham Stark recounts Peter's glee upon landing the part of Clouseau at the eleventh hour: "When he got the first originally because he hadn't liked the part-"I didn't want anything to do with it"-after which Edwards offered the role to Ustinov. But this account is doubtful. Graham Stark recounts Peter's glee upon landing the part of Clouseau at the eleventh hour: "When he got the first Panther Panther, he rang me up like a child-'I've got five weeks in Rome ... and I'm getting 90,000!'"