I protest to Richard Zanuck and David Brown, who are sitting in my trailer on a film set somewhere deep in the heart of Texas.“Oh yes you do!” they sing back in unison, perched on the edge of my couch. “Do you think we would offer you this part if we didn’t think you were perfect for it?”Zanuck and Brown are the beloved producers of my fifth movie, The Sugarland Express, directed by Steven Spielberg. They look like Mutt and Jeff: Dick Zanuck, with his jaw sticking out, and David Brown, with his round teddy-bear appearance, always sporting a cigar. I’m crazy about these guys; they are the most dedicated producers, devoted to their films, to their actors, to their directors and to the goal we’re all trying to achieve. They defend their films with their lives, and they are a dying breed.The rain beats down on the tin roof, drowning them out, as I continue to argue my case.“People just won’t buy me as a Russian. I mean, I’ll have to speak with a Russian accent, and who on earth will believe me?
