Around the Bend From ‘Howards End’ : Ismail Merchant and James Ivory are at it again, but this time out Disney has a piece of their high-class, low-budget approach

“Jim! JIM! JIIIIM!!” Ismail Merchant’s voice rises with increasing alarm as James Ivory walks away from him, dumps a paper plate from which he has eaten lunch into a garbage can, and strides toward an impressive-looking castle surrounded by lush green parkland where deer are grazing.

Ivory turns on his heel at Merchant’s imploring tone and raises an eyebrow sardonically: “Ye-es?” he inquires.

Now Merchant has a concerned tone in his voice. “Don’t walk. Take a car back to the set.”

Ivory gestures vaguely toward the castle. “The set’s 200 yards away, Ismail,” he says, disbelievingly.

“But why walk?” Merchant persists. With a heavenward roll of his eyes, Ivory decides not to press the matter and walks resignedly toward a waiting chauffeured car. “That’s right,” says Merchant solicitously. “Save your strength.” A gleeful look briefly darts across his face, and he shares it with a couple of people watching the incident. One can guess at the reason for his pleasure: Not only has producer Merchant persuaded director Ivory to conserve his energy, but this way he has also managed to get him back on the set more swiftly after lunch.

And so it was that shooting resumed promptly on “The Remains of the Day,” a film Merchant and Ivory are making for Columbia Pictures. Based on the award-winning 1990 novel by Kazuo Ishiguro, “The Remains of the Day” is the story of a repressed, formal butler who has long served a reactionary aristocrat and gradually realizes his life has been wasted. It reunites the team that won accolades for “Howards End” earlier this year: Merchant and Ivory, of course, their longtime screenwriter colleague Ruth Prawer Jhabvala and actors Anthony Hopkins and Emma Thompson.

This is the 17th feature film crafted by the two men and Jhabvala. A more contrasting trio could not be imagined: the gregarious, multilingual Merchant, 55, son of an Indian textiles dealer; the laconic, dry-humored Ivory, 64, with his fine arts background, born in Berkeley into a wealthy family that owned an Oregon lumber mill, and novelist Jhabvala, 65, German-born from a Polish-Jewish family who moved to Delhi with her Indian husband for 25 years before settling in New York City. It’s a combination that should not work, but it does; the collaboration now stretches back 30 years. This, as the Guinness Book of World Records points out, is the film industry’s longest-running creative partnership.

During those years, Merchant Ivory has come to stand for a variety of cinematic values. Theirs are art films, as Ivory insists. They are also literate; Jhabvala has adapted two Henry James novels--”The Bostonians” and “The Europeans”--and three of E.M. Forster’s--”A Room With a View,” “Maurice” and “Howards End.” In the past, Merchant Ivory films have dealt with widespread cultures (“Savages” and “Heat and Dust”) and quests for self-discovery (“Maurice,” “Mr. and Mrs. Bridge”).

Still, the main image conjured by Merchant Ivory films is visual; Ivory is a director with an artist’s eye and a taste for the sensual, and he lets his camera wander languidly--inside grand, stately houses where period details are lovingly evoked, or outside, in green meadows by streams, where he can summon a sense of longing for times long since past. His films look ravishing, and therefore they look expensive.

But they’re not. Which is where the Walt Disney Studios come in.

Earlier this year the studio entered into an arrangement with Merchant Ivory that gives them the chance to release all the team’s upcoming films not already pledged to other studios.

If Merchant, Ivory and Jhabvala constitute an odd assortment of characters, their arranged marriage to Disney seems even stranger. Merchant Ivory has long prided itself on being a hugely individual company that makes the films it wants to make, with no interference from outsiders. Disney, by way of contrast, is perceived as the most “hands-on” studio in Hollywood, with executives who tend to be involved at all stages of production, from casting and scripts through to editing.

Then there is the taste question: Merchant Ivory, whether one admires their movies or not, unquestionably take the high road, a thoughtful, adult approach to filmmaking. Their themes are serious and complex--yet they have now climbed into bed with the studio that this year has given us “The Hand That Rocked the Cradle” and “Encino Man.” It’s no surprise that people in the film industry have voiced doubts that the arrangement can last.

It’s only three months since the agreement was signed, but, as yet, Merchant and Ivory both sound confident. Ivory stresses an important part of the Disney deal: “As long as the budget on a film stays under $12 million, then I have complete artistic control.” He does not find this a major constraint: No Merchant Ivory film has yet cost that amount, although “The Remains of the Day,” budgeted at $11.5 million, comes close.

But will Disney be able to maintain a hands-off stance?

“If they made something with us, I’m sure they would,” Ivory says. “Otherwise, what’s the point?”

Merchant is equally confident: “If they interfered, it would be like killing the goose that laid the golden egg. What’s the point in changing the goose? Or the egg?

“It’s a good partnership. We will spend equal amounts of money developing projects, so it’s a very healthy marriage.” He adds that 80% of Merchant Ivory films have been profitable, and, because they operate on low budgets, any losses are minimal. The profits from Merchant Ivory’s biggest commercial success, “A Room With a View,” wiped out any losses from other films: It cost about $3 million to make and grossed $60 million.

Here is the common ground between Merchant Ivory and Disney--both sides feel far too much money is wasted in making movies. After all, it was Jeffrey Katzenberg, the Disney Studios chairman, who last year alerted Hollywood to the problems of rising costs in a now-notorious memo that circulated around the industry.

The initial approach, reports Ivory, came from Katzenberg. “We wouldn’t have gotten into the Disney deal had Jeffrey not been receptive to us and the way we work. His support was so friendly and, I felt, so sincere, that I’m not at all frightened. He knows what we do and what we want to do. It just so happens that what we want to do is at this point something that Disney also wants to do.”

Katzenberg was reportedly moved to contact Merchant Ivory after he saw “Howards End.” He told Merchant: “You have humiliated all of us--we seem to have lost the art of making these kinds of films.” He also noted that “Howards End,” which cost $8 million to make, would have ended up costing more than $20 million if made by a studio.

Now, says Merchant, “our films will be distributed properly. In every department--TV, video, films--Disney are aggressive distributors who make the most out of your film.”

He sinks into a chesterfield in the castle’s First Library and explains his philosophy of budgeting films, while Ivory continues directing his actors in the adjacent room. Basically, he prefers as much money as possible to be visible up on the screen.

“Money spent on so many different drafts of a screenplay is meaningless,” he said. “If you start getting story doctors and script doctors in, they’re going to cost a lot of money, and you can spend $3 million or $4 million developing a project even before you start shooting.

“With us, Ruth writes a script in collaboration with Jim. They both know what they want. And we spend only between $150,000 and $250,000 on developing that script. That’s a big difference.”

He rises and walks toward the room’s high windows. “Look at these curtains,” he says, carefully fingering the huge voluminous drapes that frame them. Behind the drapes, he points out the originals, decrepit and worn by time. “Luciana Arrighi, our production designer, went out and found some material that was as close a match to the pattern as she could find. And she covered the old material with it. Now the drapes look wonderful. I say that is not a waste of money. Because it adds so much to the look of the film. We have saved money in areas that don’t.”

If it’s all such obvious common sense, why don’t more filmmakers do it?

“Because most people don’t think with common sense,” Merchant says, eyes flashing. “They are driven by a madness which leads them to spend all that money on development, throw money at stars, make commitments to pay-or-play contracts. Jeffrey Katzenberg has seen the pitfalls of big-budget films with runaway costs. But if you can make a film for $8 million or $10 million, there’s every reason to make a profit.”

Merchant is also unlike some producers in that he is very much in evidence on sets, personally running interference and monitoring expenditures. “Well, we don’t want to be like some others,” he says. “Why do you think it is that those producers who stay on the studio lot are not looked upon with much enthusiasm? Because they sit there, their overheads add up--and they don’t produce very much.”

Ivory sees himself as a major beneficiary in this process. “I’ve been lucky,” he notes. “I have a producer who will always produce what I want to do. And a writer who’ll always turns out something first class.

“This gives me a tremendous advantage over most other directors, who have to find a producer and a writer. It’s also good for Ismail to have a director who’s happy with a script and just wants to get on with it.”

The impulse by Merchant Ivory to make handsome films on modest budgets has some intriguing consequences. While they do not pack their movies with star names, some of the actors they have employed--Anthony Hopkins, Maggie Smith, Vanessa Redgrave and Christopher Reeve--can command sizable salaries. But such actors have often taken a pay cut just to be involved in a Merchant Ivory project.

Similarly there are no personnel on a Merchant Ivory set without a crucial job to do. Another reporter approached Merchant on “The Remains of the Day,” and asked idly: “Where’s the unit publicist?” “I am the unit publicist,” Merchant told him.

They run their own company in a comparably lean manner, employing just three people in their London office, two in New York and half a dozen in Bombay, where they own a lighting equipment facility. Everyone’s duties are wide-ranging and overlap; Paul Bradley, who runs the London office, says: “You get people carrying film cans as well as negotiating deals at the highest level. The economies of scale work in reverse order. If the people you employ know every aspect of the business, they can see how one aspect relates to another.”

Expectations of cast and crew on a set are extremely high--”Howards End” was a grueling film, completed in 11 six-day weeks. This can lead to grumbling on the set, not all of it good-natured. “Basically, they’re impossible,” says one associate. “Every time I work for them, I tell myself, ‘Never again.’ ”

But they come back. Most of the crew on “Howards End” returned to work on “The Remains of the Day.” And a large group of key people behind the cameras--including cinematographer Tony Pierce-Roberts, costume designer Jenny Beavan, production designer Arrighi and composer Richard Robbins--are Merchant Ivory regulars.

“We work with the same people again and again,” Ivory says. “Some of the people on this set have been with us since ‘Heat and Dust’ (which was made in 1983). It saves so much time this way. They know what I like, I know what they can do, want to do or can’t do.”

In art, one must attribute this loyalty not only to the quality of the films Merchant Ivory produces but to the sheer force of personality of the two men. Certainly, they are an odd couple. On the one hand is Merchant--handsome, sleek, voluble, personable, a born deal-maker who constantly seems to be talking on a mobile phone. Then there is Ivory--waspish, intellectual, a little forbidding.

The chemistry between them is intriguing. Sure, Merchant will use his persuasive powers to get Ivory into a car and back to the set a few minutes early, but he is also an enlightened producer who gives his director more artistic freedom than he could enjoy almost anywhere else.

“He never throws his weight around,” Ivory says of Merchant. “Sometimes on a production I might want an extra two or three days to shoot, and yet I know I can’t push or pressure him further. There are times I know I can’t push him, and other times I know I have to push him. In the same way, he’ll say: ‘I can’t stop Jim,’ or at other times: ‘I must stop Jim, or it’ll bring about our ruin.’

“I’ll give you an example. On this film, there was a scene where there was a big auction, with the contents of the hall being sold. They built a big tent outside the house, and the auction took place inside the tent. I said to Ismail--I can’t have less than 50 cars standing there. We’d already exceeded our budget for old cars. I had to fight to get that. He would never have said I couldn’t have it, but on the day I made a deal and said OK, I’ll have 10 fewer cars here--but I want those 10 cars (in another scene).”

Merchant and Ivory met in New York in 1961 at a screening of “The Sword and the Flute,” a documentary Ivory had made about Indian miniature painting. Merchant says now: “I was very taken that an American could be so well versed about India. I thought, here’s someone who is extremely sensitive and has great understanding.” He talked to Ivory outside after the screening and invited him for coffee, thus beginning a 30-year partnership.

The two men are even close when they are not actually shooting. Both live in New York and for the last 18 years have owned an Upstate country house on 40 acres in the Hudson River Valley; Jhabvala and Robbins are among frequent visitors. When surrounded by a large circle of friends, the flamboyant Merchant likes to cook; he has even had a cookbook of his Indian recipes published.

But this closeness can lead to tempers becoming easily frayed. Shouting matches on Merchant Ivory sets are legendary. “Because it’s like a family situation,” observes Emma Thompson, “it can be as close and fraught as families get.”

Asked about this, Paul Bradley says: “My response is going to have to be measured. It’s not always an easy road. It’s sometimes volatile, it’s always interesting. It’s not the English way to shout and express your feelings, but it’s the best way. When confrontations arise, they’re always for a purpose. They’re a means of moving on and not getting hung up on ego problems.”

Merchant makes no secret of the fact that arguments occur. “We argue about what works (in the films) and what doesn’t. We’re very candid. There’s no mincing of words. We do it with a great freedom, and I think it’s very important that you express yourself in clear, forceful terms if something doesn’t appeal to you.”

For all the nagging and bickering, they are clearly doing something right. Merchant Ivory films not only make their money back, but they are also highly acclaimed: “A Room With a View” alone won eight Oscar nominations in 1986, winning for screenplay adaptation, art direction and costume design; Vanessa Redgrave was nominated for best actress for the film “The Bostonians,” and “Howards End” seems likely to figure heavily in next year’s Oscar ceremonies.

Not everyone is a fan. Other directors have tried to ape the Merchant Ivory style with far less success, which has led to an upsurge in what British director Alan Parker has called “the Laura Ashley school of filmmaking.”

But, says Thompson, “Jim and Ismail just want to make good films. They won’t suddenly turn around and start doing garbage. The one thing that runs through their films is this integrity with regard to the work. There’s a genuine fascination and interest for the projects they take on, because they’re both extremely cultured.

“I think Jim is a great director. He’s got terrific taste about acting. He knows what works and what doesn’t. I like Ismail because he has a very healthy and creative disrespect for authority. It’s taken him many miles, that.”

After “The Remains of the Day,” their next film is expected to be “Jefferson in Paris,” about Thomas Jefferson’s five years as U.S. ambassador in the French capital from 1784-89, when he met Maria Cosway, the unhappy wife of an adulterous English painter. They have also promised Warner Bros. to produce with David Wolper a film dealing with Picasso’s life between the mid-1940s and ‘50s.

Both are high-minded subjects that indicate Merchant Ivory will continue to tread a similar path. Of course they will; after all, they have similar tastes, right?

“I guess we must,” Ivory says. “After all, Ismail has never forced me to make huge-budget movies which wouldn’t be congenial.”

“We are committed to similar ideas,” Merchant says. “A good story, a specific milieu, people who are identifiable and who you have a feeling for.”

“Right,” says Ivory. “We want the same things--to make art films the way we like making them. And neither of us has ever diverged from that ambition.”