August 1976. John Wayne is filming his final movie. He’s dying of cancer. [music] Nobody on set knows how bad it is. The director is pushing him. Take after take, day after day. Then one afternoon, [music] Wayne sees something that makes him stop midscene. What happens next will define how the world remembers John Wayne forever. Here is the story.

 The barn is hot. August in Carson City, Nevada. 100 degree heat. No air conditioning on a period set. [music] John Wayne stands in the middle wearing a dark suit and vest. Sweat runs down his face. [music] He’s 69 years old. Stomach cancer. Stage 4. Most people would be in a hospital. Wayne is making a movie. The Shootest.

 [music] One of his final films. His last. As it turns out, he’s playing JB Books, a gunfighter dying of cancer. Life imitating art. Or maybe art imitating life. Either way, it hurts. Director Don Seagull calls cut for the eighth time. Eighth take of the same scene. Wayne’s [music] been standing for 40 minutes.

 The pain in his stomach is constant now, sharp, [music] like broken glass grinding with every breath. But he doesn’t show it. doesn’t complain, [music] just waits for the next take. James Stewart stands across from him. [music] Stuart is 68, old friend. They’ve known each other since the [music] 30s. Stuart is playing the doctor who tells books he’s dying.

Ironic, [music] because Wayne is actually dying, and nobody on this set, except his doctor knows. Seagull is 63, made his name directing Dirty Harry 5 years ago, came [music] from television. Fast, efficient, multiple angles, 8 to 10 takes minimum for safety. That’s how TV works. Get coverage, fix it in editing.

 But John Wayne didn’t learn film making from television. He learned from John Ford. [music] One take, trust the actor, capture the emotion raw and real. Ford directed Wayne 14 times over 40 years. Taught him everything. Made him a star. Two different schools, two different men, [music] and they’re starting to clash.

 Before we continue, quick question for you. Have you ever worked with someone who did everything completely different from how you learned? [music] Drop your thoughts in the comments. This is day 12 of a 23-day shoot. The shootist is a small production by Wayne Standards. $2 million budget Paramount Pictures is producing.

 The script is good. Based on a novel by Glendon Sworth [music] out, the story is simple. An aging gunfighter finds out he’s dying, [music] decides to go out on his own terms. Wayne read the script and knew this was it, his last film. Might as well play a man facing death. [music] At least he knows how that feels.

 The cast is strong. Stuart, Lauren Beall, Ron Howard playing a young man who idolizes [music] books. Good actors, professional, no drama. Except with the director. Seagull is intense, detailoriented, demanding. [music] He wants perfection, wants options, wants to shoot every scene from five different angles so he has choices in the editing room.

 Wayne doesn’t work that way. [music] Never has one take, maybe two if something goes wrong. [music] But eight, nine, that’s not film making. That’s television. And it’s [music] killing him literally. The first problem happens on day four. [music] They’re shooting a scene in Book’s boarding house room. Simple dialogue scene.

 Books is talking to his landlady. Five pages of script. [music] Should take one morning. Seagull wants 10 takes from three different angles. Closeup, medium, wide. By the sixth take, Wayne is leaning against the bed post. [music] Not because the character needs support. Because Wayne does. His legs are shaking. The pain in his stomach feels like someone’s twisting a knife, but he doesn’t say anything.

 Just [music] keeps going. Take after take. Ron Howard is watching from the corner. [music] He’s 22 years old. Started on the Andy Griffith Show when he was six. [music] Smart kid, observant. He can see something’s wrong. [music] Wayne’s face is gray, breathing shallow. Between takes, Wayne’s hands grip the bed post so hard his knuckles turn white.

 After the 10th take, Seagull finally says, “Print it.” Wayne walks to his trailer, doesn’t talk to anyone, [music] locks the door. Inside, there’s an oxygen tank. His doctor made him bring it. Wayne sits down, puts the mask on, [music] breathes, waits for the pain to ease. It doesn’t. The second problem happens on day eight.

 They’re filming outside. Books is walking down the main street. Background action. horses, wagons, [music] extras. The shot requires Wayne to walk 50 yards while the camera tracks alongside him. Seagull [music] wants four takes, different speeds, different expressions. Wayne does the first take, makes it halfway, [music] stops, bends over, hand on his knee, trying to catch his breath.

 The crew freezes, nobody moves, nobody speaks. Seagull calls out from behind the camera. Duke, you okay? Wayne straightens [music] up, waves him off. Fine, let’s go again. They do the take again. Wayne makes it to the end barely. His face is pale, sweat soaking through his shirt despite the dry Nevada heat. [music] Ron Howard is standing near the camera.

 He leans over to the script supervisor and whispers, “Is he sick?” Script supervisor doesn’t answer, but her face says everything. After the third take, Wayne walks to his trailer without a word. Stays there for an hour. Seagull wants to keep shooting. The assistant director talks him out of it. We can’t push him like this. Seagull isn’t happy, but he moves on to other shots.

 The third problem happens on day 11. They’re shooting the scene where Books visits [music] the doctor. The scene where Stuart’s character tells him he’s dying. 6 weeks to live, maybe less. It’s a heavy scene, emotional. Wayne needs to show fear, anger, acceptance, all in three pages of dialogue. Stuart is struggling.

 His hearing isn’t good anymore. Hasn’t been for years. He’s missing his cues. Starting his lines too early or too late, throwing off the rhythm. Seagull is getting frustrated. After the fifth take, [music] he stops Stewart mid-cene. Jimmy, you’re coming in too early. Wait for Duke’s line to finish. Stuart looks embarrassed. I’m sorry, I didn’t hear.

Then listen closer. Wayne’s jaw tightens. [music] He doesn’t like the tone. Stuart is his friend. Has been for 40 years. You don’t talk to him like that. Wayne steps forward. Don, he’s doing his best. Let’s just take it again. Seagull turns to Wayne. Duke, we’re burning daylight. I need Jimmy to hit his marks. He will.

 Give him a minute. The set goes quiet. 50 crew members pretending to work while watching the tension between director and star. Seagull [music] takes a breath, nods. Okay, let’s reset. They do the take again. [music] Stuart nails it. Wayne nails it. One take. Perfect. Seagull says, “Print it.” [music] but doesn’t look happy about being told to slow down. Wayne knows this isn’t over.

 Knows they’re building to something, but he’s too tired to care. Day 12, the barn scene. Wayne and [music] Stuart are sitting across from each other at a table. Books is asking the doctor to keep his illness quiet. Doesn’t want the whole town knowing he’s dying. It’s a simple scene. Two actors, good dialogue, [music] should be easy.

 But they’ve been doing it for 90 minutes, eight takes. Seagull wants more coverage, different angles, tighter close-ups. [music] Wayne is exhausted. The pain is worse today, sharper, more constant. [music] He’s trying to breathe through it, trying to focus, but every take drains him more. Then he [music] notices the camera.

 It’s positioned low, very low, ground level, pointing up at his face from below. The angle captures his jowls, his neck, the loose skin under his chin, every wrinkle, [music] every imperfection. Wayne has been in Hollywood for 50 years. [music] He knows camera angles, knows what works, what doesn’t. This angle is either incompetence or disrespect.

He stops mid-cene, doesn’t [music] finish his line, just stands up. The barn goes silent. Wayne walks over to the camera [music] operator, points at the camera, then points up, signals to move it higher. The operator looks at Seagull. Seagull shakes [music] his head. Keep it there. Wayne signals again, more forceful. Nothing.

 Then his voice, loud, cold, every syllable hard as stone. Move the camera. Seagull walks over. He’s trying [music] to stay calm, professional. Duke, this angle is Wayne cuts him off. I don’t care what you learned in television. You don’t shoot John Wayne from the ground looking up. That’s not film [music] making.

 That’s embarrassment. Seagull’s face hardens. It’s an artistic choice. It’s a bad choice. Move it or I walk. The words hang in the air. 50 crew members frozen. Cameras still rolling. Nobody breathes. Wayne has never walked off a set in 50 years. Never. Everyone knows that. But they also know he means it. Seagull stares at him, calculating.

 This is John Wayne, the biggest star in Hollywood. Walk away and the movie dies. The studio loses everything. [music] Seagull’s career takes a hit. But it’s more than that. Wayne isn’t [music] just protecting his vanity. He’s protecting 50 years of carefully crafted presence. That face on screen means something to millions of people.

 [music] Represents something. Strength, integrity, honor. Shooting him from the dirt looking up destroys all of that. Seagull finally speaks quietly. Move the camera. The operator adjusts the angle. Higher eye level. Respectful. Wayne walks back to his mark, sits [music] down across from Stuart, waits for action.

 Seagull calls action. Wayne delivers the scene. Perfect. [music] One take, no mistakes. Then he stands up and walks off the set without a word. [music] Straight to his trailer, locks the door. That evening, Ron Howard knocks on Wayne’s trailer door. Mr. Wayne. Silence. Mr. Wayne, can I ask [music] you something? The door opens.

 Wayne is sitting inside, still in costume, [music] oxygen mask hanging around his neck. He looks exhausted, older than 69. What? Ron steps [music] inside, nervous. Why did you get so angry about the camera? Wayne looks at him for a long time, then speaks slowly. Because that angle tells the audience I’m weak, old, pathetic. He pauses. [music] I’m not playing a pathetic man.

 I’m playing a strong man who’s dying. There’s a [music] difference. Ron hesitates. But you are dying. Everyone knows. Wayne’s eyes go hard. Not angry, just honest. Kid, I’ve spent 50 years showing America what a man looks like. Strong, capable, honorable. If my last image is me shot from the dirt looking up, he shakes [music] his head.

 That’s not how I go out. You understand? Ron nods. Yes, sir. Good. [music] Now, get some sleep. Tomorrow, we finish this picture. The next day, something shifts. Seagull and Wayne don’t speak directly, [music] but Seagull adjusts. Fewer takes, better angles, more [music] trust. He’s still efficient, still professional, but he’s not pushing anymore.

 [music] Wayne notices, doesn’t say anything, just does his work. They find a rhythm. Not [music] friendship, but mutual respect. Two weeks later, they wrap production. Last day, last shot. Wayne delivers his final line on camera. The crew applauds long and loud. Wayne takes off his hat, nods, walks to his trailer.

 Seagull approaches him at the rap party that night, stands there holding a beer. Awkward. Duke, I’m sorry about the camera angle. I didn’t understand. [music] Wayne looks at him, face unreadable. Then he speaks. You’re a good director, Don. You just don’t know cowboys yet. Pause. We don’t look up from the dirt. We die standing.

Seagull nods slowly. I’ll remember that. They shake hands, [music] firm, professional. Not friends, but not enemies either. Two men who clashed, who pushed each other, who made something great because they both refused to compromise on what mattered. John Wayne died 3 years later, June 11th, 1979. UCLA Medical Center.

 Stomach cancer finally won. He was 72 [music] years old. The Shudist became a masterpiece. Critics called it Wayne’s greatest performance. [music] the role that showed the world he could actually act. Not just be John Wayne, but become someone else, someone real, someone dying. Ron Howard went on to become one of Hollywood’s greatest directors, Apollo 13, A Beautiful Mind, Frost, Nixon, [music] dozens of films.

In 2004, he gave an interview to Vanity Fair about his early [music] career, about learning from legends, and he told the story of that day in the barn. The shootist taught me that how you’re scene matters. [music] Duke fought for his image until his last breath. That wasn’t vanity. That was self-respect.

 He knew what he represented to millions of people, and he wasn’t going to let anyone take that [music] away, not even at the end. Don Seagull directed five more films before retiring in 1982. He rarely talked about Wayne publicly. But in 1990, in an interview for a film school documentary, he [music] admitted something.

 Wayne was right about that camera angle. I see it now. But he was too sick to explain why gently, so he had to be hard. Had to draw a line. Pause. I learned more from that one fight than I did in four years of film school. Sometimes protecting what matters means being willing to walk away from everything. What do you think about Wayne’s reaction? [music] Did the Duke overreact or was he defending something bigger than himself? Let me know in the comments.

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