Dublin, March 1978. Star Wars plays to packed houses at the Savoy, the legendary Micheál Mac Liammóir is laid to rest in Howth and RTE, in a controversial move, axes the early summer run of Trom agus Éadrom.
A phone rings one late afternoon in the northside suburb of Cabra. John Markey (my dad) picks up.
The voice on the other end gets right to the point: "Mr. O'Herlihey requests the pleasure of your company."
After hanging up, my dad immediately phones work to jiggle around days off because when Mr. Michael O'Herlihy calls, you answer - in person.
9am sharp the following morning, my dad appears in his office: "John. I’ve got a job for you. You’re a fireman so you won't mind getting a bit burnt. You’ll be working with Rod in there." Mr. O’Herlihy gestures to the next room. "You’d better say hello."
My dad opens the door and introduces himself: "John Markey, I’ll be doubling for you.." The big fella sat on the couch leans over his copy of the New York Times, speaking in a loud whisper: "Hey John, any idea what time the pub opens on the corner?" "Sorry, Rod, I’m a tea-totaler." Rod’s paper crumbles with disappointment. "Jesus. Three million Irish men and I get the one who doesn’t drink."
Tales of a Hollywood star and his wingman - a Shandy-drinking Dublin firefighter - on the lash in seventies Dublin deserves a screenplay of its own.
For Our Rod was indeed Rod Taylor - late of Hitchcock’s The Birds and George Pal’s The Time Machine (and, in his final performance, Quentin Tarantino’s Inglorious Basterds) - going by his filmography, Rod was never one to turn down work. By this time he was mostly appearing on TV, and so he came to Ireland to shoot Cry Of The Innocent, a fairly low-budget thriller based on a Frederick Forsyth short story.
My dad says Rod was a decent fellow, though not without his Hollywood moments. I mean, when you're acting against Cyril Cusack, you had better watch out. Rod became quite unsettled at Cusack’s ability to almost steal every scene he was in.
This picture was being made by one of the most highly sought after directors in American TV at the time. Michael O’Herlihy was personable, efficient and (almost) always prepared. But, most of all…he was quick. And I don’t mean one-take quick. We’re talking a Clint Eastwood shoot-the-rehearsal level of speed. As a result of this skill, O’Herlihy had worked on every US TV show from Star Trek to Miami Vice (not to mention twenty episodes of The A-Team). Originally from Wexford, Michael had ended up behind the camera, while his brother Dan shone in front of it in such pictures as Robinson Crusoe (receiving an Oscar nom for Best Actor), Robocop and John Huston’s The Dead.
Dan wasn’t in Cry Of The Innocent (at least not officially, but he was floating about on the location shoots), which was the first big move for independent Irish producer, Morgan O’Sullivan, whose future included the likes of TV sensation Vikings and The Banshees of Inisherin.
With a tight unit, often piled into no more than a couple of cars, Michael and the crew barreled around Dublin and Roscommon bringing this revenge thriller to life - besides Cyril and Rod, the cast included the likes of Jim Norton, Joe Cahill, Joanna Pettet, Alexander Knox and British character actor stalworth, Nigel Davenport (who depleted a huge chunk of future Oscar winner Josie McGavin’s already minimal wardrobe budget when he had to get quickly fitted off the rack, to look like an English gentryman fit enough to reside in Slane Castle).
During their few shooting days in Roscommon, my dad says, "A call went out for Dan. Michael was looking for him and nobody had seen him for ages. Michael called me over and said, "You see that house down there on the left. I bet he’s in there. John, can you go and fetch him?" Seemingly just a random house. My dad asked, "What would he be doing in there?" Michael said, "Ah, we grew up there a long time ago." I went, knocked at the door, and sure enough there was Dan having tea in the parlour laughing with the current owners."
Later, during the shooting of a car chase around Tralee, things got very real, but in an Irish kinda way. "I was revving this half-burned-out car, waiting for my cue to take off in pursuit of Jim Norton and Joe Cahill," says Dad. "There was a tap on the window. It was two local fellas on push bikes, "How are you doin’ there. Sure what are you drivin’, at all?" I just opened my mouth to tell them when a shout came from the walkie-talkie at my side: "GO, JOHN MARKEY! GO!" Immediately I hit the accelerator and took off. The fellas, leaning on the car, fell over on the road. About half way through the car chase, the vehicle I’m chasing runs out of fuel. With no petrol station for miles, me and a local Garda assigned to the crew knocked on the doors of some local farms. " Hello there, can you spare some diesel? We’re making a film." But on seeing the Guard, many of them slammed their doors thinking it was just an excuse by the law to check their supply for diesel scams. It was pretty funny. Eventually one of them actually believed us."
You couldn't call Cry Of The Innocent a 'great’ film, but it was a ratings hit on US television and ultimately got a release in Irish cinemas in May of 1979. It went on to be released multiple times on multimedia in the ensuing years, resulting in quite a gallery of box cover art.
Dublin, March 1983: The punt slumps, the cost of living rises, but all I can think about is the impending release of Return Of The Jedi at the Ambassador, still some months away.
Dad wasn’t home this time. I took the message: "Tell your father, Mr. O’Herlihy requests the pleasure of his company."
Another film was afoot.
Many decades later, just before Covid, my parents were visiting my brother, John, in New York. Both Michael and Dan were gone many years by then, and Rod Taylor passed in 2015. Rooting through a DVD bargain bin, my dad found a double feature disc - the second film of which was Cry Of The Innocent.
A buck? One dollar, really. Cheap, for sure. But the memories… of a Hollywood leading man in 70s Dublin, when budgets were tight, rehearsals were shot, scenes were stolen, prodigal sons returned and everybody pilled into the pub at six even if they didn’t drink… that’s the stuff they should make movies about.
