Marie Claire

May 1996

Duncan Fallowell goes on set during the making of the superstars latest video. (Whatever you want)

My driver says, `I was driving Sylvester Stallone last week. He doesn't talk. He doesn't talk at all.' Eventually the limousine slides up a country lane, through the half ­timbered porch of Pinewood Studios, past the ghosts of Laurence Olivier and Marilyn Monroe, Bette Davis and David Lean, between the cream-painted hulks of studio buildings and up to one called Stage F. This is where Tina Turner is making the video for her next single and I have been invited on to the set.

Bernard, an immensely tall public relations man, lollops over in a basketball cap, holding a wodge of production notes. `Hi. Have these. The director's this amazing, mad, avant-garde genius who doesn't plan anything. We don't know what will happen.'

'What has he done before?'

'Did you see his video for the Red Hot Chilli Peppers? Fay, brilliant. I'll introduce you to the crowd.' Stage F is in hyperactive gloom, at the centre of which is a round, enclosed, tent-like set lit aquamarine by huge lights from the gantry, and lit blue by hidden lights from below. It resembles an underwater cave. A yellow laser is casting nervous squiggles against one side of it. They've all just had lunch. 'Where's Tina?'

'She's inside her caravan,' says Bernard, `being transformed from a 56-year-old housewife into a 56-year-old superstar. They've got this amazing genius make-up guy from New York who works with Madonna. He's probably getting more money than anyone else on the video.' A group of technicians are putting pieces of broken mirror glass into a tray lined with black plastic. One of them says, 'You fill the tray with water then twiddle it, and it makes a good water-reflecting effect on camera.

We were doing AC/DC last week - cor, were they loud. Hey, guys, we need more broken glass in the tray, please. Where's Eddy?' 'He's gone to the toilet.' Someone walks by looking like Daniel Day-Lewis in The Last Of The Mohicans - it's the video's director, Stephane Sednaoui, a young Parisian living in New York , head shaven bald but for a pony-tail. He gives a huge kiss to a tiny, tiny, Peter Pannish girl with cropped hair. `Tina's coming in fifteen minutes,' says another Frenchman, with paint all over his Rolex - it's the art director. Workmen are standing everywhere. Some of them fiddle with machinery. Suddenly, here she comes,

shuffling towards the glow of the set over a chill cement floor, completely wrapped in a fawn shawl, and resembling an oriental empress attended by adoring boys and handmaidens. Tina has a few words with Stephane, then throws off the shawl to reveal a simple floor­ length shift, tiger-striped in black and acid yellow. It is slit upwards to the hips and downwards to mid-breast - gold high heels, gold fingernails, and a gold ring on each of her thumbs. Behind her the laser squiggles frantically. She crosses to stand beside the mirrored tray. Make-up and hair boys dash up, tweak and dab, withdraw, and Stephane starts doing tests. A red spotlight hits Tina's mouth, dry ice surges, and she goes into a practice mime, ready for the main mime. ‘Whatever you want…Cos time takes what love heals…’ Cut.

Tina is left quite alone under soft light while everyone else confers vigorously. Then the red spot hits her mouth again, music rolls, plinky raindrop intro followed by boom boom crash - `Whatever you want... 'Tina mimes in an agony of tension, screwed-up soul face - cut. This goes on for a couple of hours. She hardly says a word, just bares her teeth a few times or mutters something to a prompter at her feet. She is passive, the vehicle, making herself utterly available - and she knows how to do this, having been a Buddhist since 1976 (she chants in private). During these endless takes, the assistants gossip, giggle and gaze.

I approach the make-up man - tall, in black army gear, Kevin with a `y'.

'Why with a "y"?'

'Just something different.'

'Has Tina had a face-lift?

'No.'

`Why doesn't she have bags under her eyes?'

'She has an incredible face - and any bags I can take away with make-up.' `Her skin is so taut and young looking. Even the neck. Black skin ages better than white skin. It has a natural SPF in it - sun protection factor - and white skin doesn't.'

Bernard shuffles alongside and says,

`This is Orlando who does Tina's hair,' and then disappears somewhere. Like Kevyn, Orlando is dressed all in black.

'Does she wear wigs?'

'Yes.'

`What are they made of?'

`Human hair. Hers are European - Asian hair is more coarse.'

`Where are they made?'

' South Africa .'

' South America ?'

'No. Tina told me South Africa .

They arrive shoulder-length, already coloured, and I cut the shape. We're going for a more chic image now. I cut it a bit longer than you see here, but Tina said she wanted it a bit shorter, more off the face. She has a whole series of wigs, cut more or less identically.'

`What's underneath the wig?'

`Her own hair is tightly braided.'

`I don't think she's ever done anything in public without a wig – right from the beginning.’

‘No ive never seen her do anything without a wig’

The third member of the entourage is the stylist, Babeth, from France . She is much older than the boys but is also dressed entirely in black with a black Mireille Mathieu hair-do. `Who decided on Tina's dress? 'Stephane and me.' She gives a grimace with two rows of small, square teeth. 'What's it made from?' 'I don't know,' she says, shaking her short fringe.

`You don't know what the dress is made from?'

'No, I don't know, I don't know!' What a strange woman. She turns abruptly away from me and talks with assiduous giggles to a girl in black dungarees covered with strings of safety pins. There is a break for tea, sandwiches and cakes. Babeth swathes Tina in the fawn shawl and the superstar shuffles back to the caravan, followed by her entourage. A beautiful oriental boy cups her elbow in his hand as they go.

INTERVAL

The sandwiches are filled with sardine? Or is it tuna? Or tinned salmon? Bernard, near the tea urn, gives me an odd look. Paul, one of the special-effects team, is munching contentedly in orange jeans, on a box. 'Water and glitter and light will flood down through that big hole in the centre, and there may be some pyrotechnics tomorrow. We don't yet know if fire is required.' 'There's dry ice, of course. Will a pop video ever be made without dry ice?'

'It calms the lights, takes the glare away.'

'Will Tina get soaked?'

'I think she'll have an umbrella.' 'Like Gene Kelly. Have you met her?'

'Funnily enough, I saw her first thing this morning, She came out on the set in a denim shirt to have a look around, and I didn't think it was anyone at all. Somebody said afterwards, "That was Tina."' 'What are your qualifications?' 'I did a degree in three­ dimensional design at Brighton University , specialising in plastics.'

SECOND TAKE

Tina returns to the set in the same dress and stands in the same position. They're doing all the close-ups first. Everyone drifts towards the action, stands and talks. The tiny Peter Pan with cropped hair (dark brown with blonde tips) is standing nearby, and Paul says it's Kylie Minogue. Apparently the Australian singer is Stephane's girlfriend. She really is petite in the extreme; a doll, wearing a short sheepskin jacket, a cut-off jumper revealing her midriff, black jeans and clumpy white sneakers like Bambi hooves - at least she's not all in black. Orlando plucks at Tina's hair, Kevyn mops her horizontal arms with a sponge, and the stage manager orders all unnecessary people off the set. The horde of enthusiasts is making the camera tremble. `You can watch it on the monitors,' she says. As the red light hits Tina's mouth and the music rolls, I enter the surrounding gloom of studio workers and plop on to a chair beside a man with blond curls. He's dressed all in... black. It's Roger, Tina's manager. `The cuttings say you are from Australia and New Zealand ,' I say. 'It's Australia - Melbourne actually.' He comes across as good-humoured, relaxed and focused.

`What's the main problem with Tina on tour?'

'There are none. She's the only one there are no problems with - touring is in her blood.'

`And the main problem for you?' 'I can't sleep.'

`Do you take sleeping-pills?' 'Sometimes. I try not to.' 'Does Tina?'

'No. She's strictly homeopathic.' `What other problems do you have?'

'Videos. Because you can't control them. It's hit or miss. Excuse me, I must phone the USA .' Roger also manages Janet Jackson, Save, Tony Joe White and Joe Cocker.

On my other side, the beautiful oriental boy is sitting on a ledge swinging his feet in black lace­ ups and white socks. 'Where are you from?' ' Thailand ,' he smiles under a navy Kernel beret. The rest of his clothes are black. `Are you Tina's bodyguard?' 'No, I'm her assistant.' 'What does that mean?'

'She likes Thai food, so I cook for her. She likes massage, so I give her traditional Thai massage.' `But you could defend her if she were attacked?'

'I could try,' he laughs. `I am very good at traditional Thai kick boxing.' I've noticed a more traditional-looking bodyguard patrolling outside Tina's caravan. The music starts and stops, starts and stops. I take a peep through the entrance to the set. Seems to be going well. Orlando and Kevyn are hugging each other with joy. Tina inserts her hands into the tops of the dress's side slits, briefly revealing the most famous legs since Betty Grable's. The red light hits her mouth, the music rolls yet again, and she switches in an instant from blank Buddhist to the mimed contortions of overwhelming passion. She's now been standing dutifully for well over an hour. Kevyn sticks the back of a chair under her bottom and she smiles a terrific smile. We break for supper and I fork down some chilli con came with rice.

INTERVAL

Fucking slow shoot,' says a studio hand. Stephanie (who has now stripped down to a white singles) and Kyle spoon briefly in adjacent director's chairs. A few minutes later, Kyle is pouring tomato soup into a plastic cup. 'What are you doing?' asks another of the hands.

`Working ten minutes from here,' she replies, 'making demos for the next album.' 'Any more films?' 'I've made a couple of dodgy Hollywood films - isn't that enough?'

The set is being altered and I approach Stephanie.’ Why do you live in New York ?'

`Because it's more fun.'

'What does this set represent?'

`It's like - nowhere. It's like - modern 2,000 years before, and now all is decayed.'

`Prehistoric futurism? But what is the connection with Tina?'

`No connection but - oh, excuse me please.'

He goes off to confer with the art director. Kevyn walks by and he's also stripped to a singlet. I think I'll talk some more with him, but here's Bernard coming up to me with a funny expression - perhaps his chilli was off. We sit down. `One or two things,' he says. 'Now look, is it true you asked what was under Tina's wig?'

'Yes. But you introduced me to the genius hairdresser. He's a very nice boy. From Cuba .'

'And you asked Kevin about a face-lift.'

'But he does her face.'

`Well, she hasn't had one. I don't like this sort of stuff. If you want to know anything, ask me.'

`Where does she get her energy from?'

`I don't know. But she does sleep a lot. A lot.'

'Can I speak to Tina?'

`Not today. Probably tomorrow. She doesn't know you're here.'

`She doesn't?'

My eye catches Kylie chattering and chuckling into her mobile phone, spinning

slowly on her Bambi hooves.

'Tina's getting into fitness training for her world tour,' continues Bernard. `That's why she's eating Thai food and having massage. Thai food is her latest thing. In fact, she's getting into training for the medical for the insurance of her world tour.'

Roger joins us and I say, 'Bernard's telling me off.' 'What for?'

Bernard takes off his baseball cap and dithers a hand over his bald head.

'For asking about Tina's face-lift . `She hasn't had a fucking face­ lift,' says Roger amiably.

OK, OK, but she obviously has lots of beauty help and inevitably we want to know why Tina, at 56, looks timeless and the rest of us look like dogs.

A group of hands are watching football on one of the monitors. It's getting late. Inside a studio you lose all sense of natural time. All sense of nature, indeed. The high, soundproofed walls of Stage F are covered with chicken-wire and are, of course, windowless.

A short, muscly chap bounces along, asking, 'Is there some juice for Tina?' I look at Bernard and ask, `Can I speak to him?'

'Speak to who you like,' he replies huffily, arms folded, staring straight ahead.

`And what's your name?'

'Andrew,' says Muscles.

'You're obviously Australian. What do you do?'

'Yeah , Sydney . I'm Tina's choreographer for the world tour.'

`But didn't I see you prompting at her feet?'

'Yeah, that was just helping out, to help her with the mime synchronization. Do you like the single?'

'It's OK. I prefer up-tempo things like "Steamy Windows".'

'Oh no, I love the ballads.'

'Will the show unveil a new Tina?'

'Oh yes.'

`In what way?'

'Um... I don't know what to say.' We wait. He frowns. Then the eyes light up. `More mysterious. Will that do?'

THIRD TAKE

This time when Tina returns she's changed. Clingy silver-scaled dress with plain, black shoes. She is facing a large mirror, and you can now see where the new image is tending - away from hard rock and towards Shirley Bassey. In fact, Tina and Shirley are friends, born within 18 months of each other. Shirley lives in Monaco , Tina has a house at Villefranche (and Roger, a house on Cap-Ferrat). But Tina also has a house in Zurich . The London house she sold. Tina mimes to the mirror. 'Cos time takes what love heals... ' I've been thinking about that. What on earth does it mean? Off-set I approach the producer, a young Swedish woman in striped hose.

'How much does it cost to rent Stage F?'

`I'm not sure I can tell you that. I must ask Roger.' She slips away and returns. `Roger says we can talk money. OK, so for ten days it costs £14,000 from 8am to 10pm. Everything beyond that we must pay extra for.' 'What's the budget then for the whole video?'

'OK, so for the whole video the budget is a quarter of a million pounds.' (Roger later tells me that half of this is being put up by Tina herself.)

'And why did you choose this director?'

'He is very good. He is a fashion photographer really - for Marie Claire. He did Madonna's Fever video and one for The Smashing Pumpkins.'

`Who?'

'The Smashing Pumpkins are very big in America right now.'

If Tina is tired with all this hanging about she doesn't show it, and is at present sitting alone on a chair at the back of the set while the video team is occupied with other tasks. She is abandoned but composed. Suddenly Bernard looms above me and says, 'Come and meet Tina.'

'What, now?'

'Yes, come and meet her.'

Taken terribly unawares, I stumble through cables, chairs, contraptions, and into the presence.

We shake hands. Her legs are crossed and the left foot taps the air nervously. Well, she looks a knock-out, much more beautiful in the flesh than on film or in photographs - to defeat time is one of our dreams and Tina has defeated it for a while. The touch of Cherokee blood gives an added refinement to the features. Full of character, though. Her career in the last fifteen years has so concentrated on projecting the big, ballsy image that her smallness, and the delicacy of the face, here, now, on the set, is a real shock. This is not The Hardest Working Woman in Show Business. This is not The Mad Max Amazon. This is not the Queen of Rock. Nothing about today is quite as I expected it. And Bernie has made me so uncertain of my position that I'm anxious about saying anything to her in case I blow it.

'It's warmer here than out there,' I venture.

Tina flashes me an uneasy glance. 'It's not that warm here.'

`Um - you hate interviews.'

`I'm afraid I do.'

`This isn't an interview. I hear water's going to come down from the roof later.'

'I don't like working with water,' she says.

'But they said to me water's going to come down from that big hole up there.'

`Is it? I hope not near me.'

Am I putting my foot in it? Bernie helps it along with some Goldeneye talk. I think about mentioning Shirley Bassey and Goldfinger but decide against it and go straight for the world tour.

'Oh, the world tour. How much longer can I do it?'

`You could just put out the product.'

`No, I couldn't. That wouldn't be enough. Not for me. I could never do that.

''Product with selected dates - like Frank Sinatra.'

'That's probably what will happen eventually. But I can't see myself stopping. I have to perform. I need that .' The foot starts to tap the air again.

`You've almost lost your Tennessee accent.'

`Really? I spend a lot of time in Europe now. I'm still doing up my house in France .' She has a light, elegant speaking voice which, like her shyness, is at odds with the rasping 'soul mama' image.

'I can still hear a few Tennessee curves in there, but Tennessee 's almost gone from it. In fact there's hardly any American in your voice now.'

Her eyes give a coquettish flicker of pleasure. 'Oh really?' And that smile. Tina's love affair with Europe and with her German boyfriend, Erwin Bach, head of EMI Records Germany, sixteen years her junior, has been a rebirth for her, a way of leaving behind all that battered wife of Ike, black rights, women's rights, the overdose, the rhythm and blues, the Memphis trek. Nose job, perhaps? I slap my own wrist. She's great. Whatever it is, it all works wonderfully.

Roger comes up with a tear-out from yesterday's Times: a picture and report of Tina in Paris being made a Chevalier des Arts et Lettres by the French Minister of Culture. 'Oh,' she exclaims softly. `Send it to my mother right away.' The mother walked out on Tina as a baby, but it has since been resolved and they are close. I want to ask Tina about her own four children - she's said they feel bad that she didn't spend enough time with them when they were growing up - but I can't now, Stephane's going to do another take. Bernie gives me the nod. On the way off set I ask him about Tina's boyfriend. 'Nice guy. Mad about cars.' It's time for my car home. I ask Kylie, 'Are you staying to the bitter end?'

She yawns in her seat, stretches­ her Bambi hooves out in front of her, and says, `No, I'm going to take my little body home soon. The next day, I play Tina's new, single in a thoughtful sulky mood : I've examined its sleeve and the CD itself and discovered something weird. There are credits for producer, executive producer, publisher, manager photographer and designer, but nowhere does it say who wrote the song. Could it be that I entered a world where all is arrangement and design and the creator does not exist? Fascinating.