I was having lunch with an old friend when he asked a question that caught me off guard. Peter, after all these years, who are the five people you love the most? I didn’t answer right away. Not because it was difficult.
If he’d asked me about the greatest actors, we’d have been there all afternoon. But the people you love, that’s personal. You don’t need time to think about people like that. The names simply find you.
I’ve been lucky enough to spend my life around extraordinary actors. Some were famous before I met them. Some became legends while I was standing beside them. A few became friends I honestly believed would always be there.
That’s the funny thing about getting older. You spend less time remembering the films. You spend more time remembering the people. Audiences see what happens on the screen.
They don’t see the hours between scenes. The long dinners after work. The jokes that somehow became funnier every time they were told. That’s where friendships are made.
You find out who’s kind. Who’s generous. Who’s impossible. Who’s the first to make everybody laugh after a difficult day.
Those are the things that stay with you. I don’t remember every line I ever spoke. I certainly don’t remember every review. But I remember the people.
When I thought about that question, five names came into my mind almost immediately. Not the biggest stars. Just five people I genuinely loved spending my life with. The first name was Richard Harris.
People love telling stories about him. To be fair, he gave them plenty to work with. He could walk into a room and change the mood before he’d even said hello. If everyone was tired, Richard would wake the place up.
If everyone was too serious, he’d make sure that didn’t last very long. I always looked forward to seeing him. Not because I knew what was going to happen, because I had absolutely no idea. That’s what made being around him so much fun.
We spent a lot of evenings talking after work. Sometimes about acting. Most of the time we didn’t. Books.
Sport. Music. People we’d met. Places we’d been.
Every now and then we’d argue over something completely unimportant. Neither of us minded. A good argument between friends usually ends with both of you laughing anyway. One thing I admired about Richard was that he never pretended to be anyone else.
The man you met in private was the same man the public saw. He had his faults. He’d be the first to admit it. So did I.
Maybe that’s why we got along so well. There was never any need to impress each other. When I heard he’d passed away, I didn’t think about the films or the awards. I thought about another evening that would never happen.
Another conversation we’d never finish. The next person was Omar Sharif. Whenever people mention Lawrence of Arabia, they usually ask about the desert. Was it really that hot?
Was it as difficult as it looked? The answer is yes. But that’s not what I remember first. I remember Omar.
We spent months together making that picture. Long mornings waiting for the light to be just right. Long evenings sitting around after filming was over. Those were the moments that mattered.
Omar was one of the easiest people in the world to be around. He never tried to dominate a conversation. He listened. And when he did speak, you paid attention.
He had a wonderful sense of humor, but he never needed to be the loudest person at the table. He cared about the work. He cared about the people he was working with. The nice thing about real friendships is that you don’t have to work at them.
You simply pick up where you left off. That’s exactly how it was whenever Omar and I met again over the years. No awkwardness. No pretending.
Just another conversation between old friends. When he passed away, people remembered a remarkable actor. They remembered his unforgettable entrance in Lawrence of Arabia. I remember the man sitting across the dinner table after a long day’s work, smiling as another story began.
The next person was Alec Guinness. Alec was never the loudest man in the room. In fact, if there were ten people talking, there’s a good chance Alec would be the one listening. He had a quiet confidence that seemed completely natural.
One thing I learned very quickly was that Alec never rushed anything. Not a conversation. Not a rehearsal. Not a performance.
He trusted the process. Somehow, that made everyone around him feel calmer. People often imagine actors spend all day performing. We don’t.
There’s a great deal of waiting. Waiting for cameras. Waiting for lights. Those hours tell you a lot about people.
Some become impatient. Some complain. Alec would usually find a chair, pick up a book, and enjoy the quiet. Every now and then we’d have a chat.
Nothing particularly important. Sometimes theater. Sometimes history. Sometimes things that had nothing to do with acting at all.
Those were my favorite conversations. Just two actors passing the time until somebody called us back to work. Looking back, I think that’s why I respected Alec so much. He knew exactly who he was.
He didn’t need applause to remind him. He didn’t need headlines to make him feel successful. When Alec passed away, the world quite rightly remembered one of Britain’s finest actors. I remembered a thoughtful friend who made every set feel a little calmer just by being there.
The next person was David Niven. Now there was a man who knew how to make people feel comfortable. The first thing you noticed about David wasn’t that he was a famous actor. It was his manners.
He treated everyone with the same respect. Whether you were the leading star, a young assistant, or someone serving dinner at the end of the day, David was exactly the same with everybody. People often think kindness has to be something extraordinary. It doesn’t.
Sometimes it’s as simple as remembering someone’s name or asking how they’re doing. David understood that better than most. Of course, he was wonderfully funny. Not in a loud way.
He never tried to become the center of attention. He’d sit quietly, listen to everyone else, and then say one sentence that had the entire table laughing. Perfect timing. I suppose that’s something great actors never really lose.
We spent time together at more dinners than I could possibly count. Those evenings were never about films. We talked about travel, old friends, funny memories, the sort of stories that somehow became better every time they were told. David always had one ready.
Looking back now, what impressed me most was how genuine he was. Success never seemed to change him. He simply enjoyed being around people. Whenever I hear his name, I don’t think about a particular film.
I think about hearing everyone around the table burst into laughter while David sat there with that familiar smile on his face. The last person was Richard Burton. Richard was one of those men you never forgot after meeting him once. Most people remember that incredible voice.
I understand why. It could fill a theater without sounding like it was trying to. But that wasn’t what I admired most. I admired how much he loved words.
You could hear it every time he spoke. Whether he was reading Shakespeare or simply telling a story over dinner, every sentence seemed to matter to him. That’s what made him such a remarkable actor. He never just said the lines.
He believed them. Richard and I had plenty of conversations over the years. Sometimes we agreed. Sometimes we couldn’t have disagreed more.
Neither of us seemed to mind. In fact, I think we enjoyed those conversations even more. The best friends aren’t the ones who always agree with you. They’re the ones who make you think.
Richard certainly did that. With Richard, the conversation could wander anywhere. Books, history, travel, politics. One topic somehow led to another, and before you knew it, half the evening had disappeared.
Time never felt wasted. As the years went by, we both watched the world change. Old friends became fewer. The faces we used to see everywhere slowly disappeared.
That happens to everyone if they live long enough. You suddenly realize you’ve spent more years remembering than planning. It’s a strange feeling. When Richard passed away, the newspapers rightly celebrated one of the greatest actors of his generation.
I thought about something much simpler. All the conversations we would never have. Looking back now, I realized this list was never really about famous actors. It was about good people.
Richard Harris gave me laughter. Omar Sharif gave me friendship. Alec Guinness taught me quiet confidence. David Niven reminded me that kindness never goes unnoticed.
Richard Burton showed me the beauty of language and the joy of a great conversation. People spend far too much time talking about success. Awards. Famous performances.
Reviews. They’re all nice. I’m grateful for every bit of it. But none of those things are the first memories that come back to me.
It’s always the people. That’s what stays. I don’t remember every line I ever delivered. I couldn’t tell you what every critic wrote.
Some of those films were made so many years ago they almost feel like someone else’s life. But I remember the people who shared that life with me. I remember Richard Harris making everybody laugh before dinner had even started. I remember Omar Sharif somehow staying calm no matter what was happening around him.
I remember Alec reminding all of us that you never have to be the loudest person in the room. I remember David Niven making complete strangers feel like old friends. And I remember Richard Burton talking about words as though they’d just been invented that morning. Those memories haven’t faded at all.
If anything, they’ve become clearer. Maybe that’s what happens when you get older. You stop counting achievements. You start counting people.
I consider myself incredibly fortunate. Not because I became an actor, but because being an actor allowed me to meet people like them. They made me laugh. They challenged me.
They reminded me not to take myself too seriously. Most importantly, they made the journey far more enjoyable than it would have been alone. So if someone asks me what I treasure most after all these years, my answer is simple. It isn’t a particular film.
It isn’t a standing ovation. It isn’t anything sitting on a shelf. It’s the friendships. Those are the memories I hope stay with me for the rest of my life.
If you’re lucky enough to still have old friends you haven’t spoken to in a while, don’t wait for a special occasion. Give them a call. Meet them for lunch. Listen to one more story you’ve already heard a dozen times.
One day, you’ll be glad you did. I know I would.
