Jack Lemmon? ‘He’s Not Here’

It’s not yet 8 a.m. and Jack Lemmon is sitting in a trailer on the Paramount lot looking older by the minute. Each weekday morning he undergoes two hours of makeup to age two decades for his role of an elderly man in “Dad,” the comedy-drama he calls “one of the best scripts I’ve read in 10 years.”

Armed with cosmetic brushes and a blow dryer, make up artists Ken Diaz and Greg Nelson carefully apply layers of a latex-gelatin mixture, then blow dry it to form wrinkles on Lemmon’s face and neck. His full head of gray hair has been shaved on top, leaving only a monk’s fringe encircling his bald dome. He has grown a thick, bushy mustache, which is purposely left scraggly because “the old guy’s not capable of trimming it.”

The makeover was designed by Dick Smith who won an Oscar for aging F. Murray Abraham in “Amadeus.”

“If I weren’t so high on this picture, going through this every morning would be purgatory,” the 64-year-old Lemmon admits, as he leans back to a reclining position in the barber’s chair. “But when it’s all over I look in the mirror and these guys have handed me the character on a silver platter.”

The “high” that Lemmon is experiencing while filming “Dad” (an Amblin Entertainment production for Universal Pictures in association with Morgan Creek) is generated by more than this “dream role” of an elderly man temporarily revitalized under the loving care of his long-absent son.

“Everything about this project is exciting,” he enthuses, listing the director, Gary David Goldberg (creator and executive producer of the Emmy-winning television series “Family Ties”); the screenplay (also written by Goldberg) and his co-stars Ted Danson and Olympia Dukakis as added intoxicants.

“Gary is without question one of the best directors I’ve ever worked with. And this is only his first feature! The script is that rare and wonderful combination of comedy and drama that works. The other one for me was ‘Apartment.’ A lot of this dialogue is based on Gary’s experience with his own father rather than on William Wharton’s novel, ‘Dad.’ Gary lived this, which makes him perfect to direct it. This is not a story about old age and death, but about the interaction of the family with this crazy old coot, and parts of it are hilarious.”

Two men hovering over his face with brushes does not deter Lemmon, a first-class raconteur. “I’ve done a lot of comedy,” he continues, over the whir of the blow dryer, “but Gary is constantly coming up with stuff for my character that I would never have thought of . . . and I thought I’d thought of everything!” He chuckles, obviously pleased that after all these years there are still new tricks to learn.

“And working with Ted and Olympia is terrific! The chemistry was there from the first day of rehearsal. That’s something that either happens or it doesn’t. You can’t fake it.”

When Danson enters the trailer a few moments later and sits down for his makeup, Lemmon points at him accusingly. “That son-of-a-gun is one of the main reasons I’m so excited about this film. He’s a good kid; he does what I tell him.”

Danson smiles. “Yeah, I get out of the way for his closeups.”

Lemmon grins appreciatively, then returns to an earlier comment about acting.

“In my opinion, acting is basically a mental process of uncovering why a character says or does something. Once you know what motivates him, the next step is showing the audience something you’ve already found out. And the greatest thing for any actor is to reach the point where you’re not afraid to expose yourself, no matter how risky it seems.

“I remember Rosalind Russell used to say that for an actress to be really great she had to be fearless enough to be willing--theoretically--to stand in front of an audience stark naked and then . . . slo-o-o-owly turn around. It was the ‘slowly’ part that got me. Can you imagine how mortifying that would be for a girl?”

Danson looks askance at Lemmon, crosses his legs and throws a towel over his lap. “What about the rest of us girls?” he asks nervously.

Lemmon cracks up.

Every 20 minutes or so the makeup men allow him a break to sit up and stretch. He reaches for a cigarette and asks for a cup of coffee “with some of that fake sugar stuff.” As Danson leaves for the set Lemmon glances after him, stating matter-of-factly, “I adore that guy.”

He draws on the cigarette then looks at it disdainfully. “I gave this up for 20 years. Then I took one little puff and the habit was right back. I’ll quit again, but not until I finish this role. I can’t take a chance on gaining weight. As it is, I have to lose a few more pounds as the old man grows weaker toward the end. That’s another great thing about this film. We’re shooting in sequence so you get to build your character like you do in a play.”

Lemmon stubs out the cigarette and leans back for the application of the second layer of wrinkles. He has to be quiet while they work around his mouth. He puts his finger in his cheek, stretching his skin out as smoothly as possible while the liquid is brushed on. That done, he resumes talking.

“This is the most time I’ve ever spent in makeup on any film. It only took about an hour each day to look like a woman for ‘Some Like It Hot.’ The way Tony (Curtis) and I tested that makeup was to go into the ladies room on the Goldwyn lot and stand there in front of the mirrors pretending we were fixing our lipstick. Girls trouped in and out all around us and not one noticed we were ‘different.’ We went back to the set and told (director) Billy (Wilder) and he said, ‘Great, don’t touch it.’

“I’ve already tested this makeup. Last week I called the commissary for a reservation, then when I got to the door the woman said, ‘Sorry, we’re booked up.’ I said, ‘Jack Lemmon.’ She said, ‘He’s not here.’ I loved it!

“When it’s good, makeup helps you enormously to find your character. But that’s only one step. For example, age starts in the mind, with attitude. And there’s also the voice, the walk and the gestures. I have to be very careful to keep the energy out of my voice. I try to get a raspy sound when I speak. And I’d hate to tell you how I got the walk,” he pauses with a devilish glint, waiting to be asked, “How?”

“It’s infallible. All you do is imagine you’ve had an accident in your pants. You place your legs far apart, walk very carefully and not too fast.”

Lemmon acknowledges that this role “was a little scary,” which made it all the more attractive. “I learned the importance of conquering fear with the ‘The Days of Wine and Roses,’ ” he says. “After trying for a couple of years to get that film made it looked as though it wasn’t going to happen, so Blake (Edwards) and I shelved it. Then I realized I was relieved that we weren’t going to do it. I thought, ‘What’s going on here; this is a great role,’ and suddenly I knew I was afraid of it. So I called Blake and said, ‘We gotta get this thing made, no matter what!’ I knew that if I let that one go it might become a pattern. And ever since, when I think I don’t want to do something I examine it very carefully to make certain it’s not because I’m afraid.”

For the final makeup touches, Diaz and Nelson paint liver spots on Lemmon’S face and the top of his shaved head. Then the veins in his hands are emphasized with a bluish body paint. By midmorning, the transformation is complete.

One could say he’s done it all, yet his enthusiasm is as fresh as a beginner’s. Does he worry whether there are any challenges left?

“For an actor, there’s one challenge that never changes--get better. And the parts can get richer as you get older. There just aren’t as many of them. So you learn to wait. And the older I get, the less I mind waiting.”