‘They’re here somewhere,’ he said. ‘Never mind. We had the woman who runs the local watch-committee. Good value. She came down heavily on drug-pushers, how they infest the West Country during the summer. Said how she formed a local vigilante squad to keep them out of the town. That tied in nicely with some library footage we’ve got, of hippies on the beach at Torquay. A few years back, mind, but no one will ever know. Then we asked her about her views on unmarried couples who take holidays together. Might have to cut some of her answer, but we’ve got enough. Good strong stuff about pre-marital sex causing VD. Tell you what, Chris ... how do you feel about foreigners invading our native shores?’
‘Foreign tourists?’ I said.
‘That’s it. They come swarming over here in the summer. The locals don’t like them ... all the French kids getting drunk on wine and smoking those strong cigarettes. Not British... you with me?’
‘I rather like the French,’ I said.
‘OK ... say what you like. We can always add emphasis with a few cut-aways while you’re talking.’
Abruptly, he seemed to lose interest, and turned back to the man sitting beside him.
‘Another drink?’ Frank said to me.
‘No thanks. I haven’t finished this one yet.’
Frank said in a confidential voice: ‘If I were you, Chris, I’d stick to what I know best. You’re good on racialism, talk about that.’
‘I think I’d rather not.’ I finished my scotch, and put the glass down on the counter. ‘Let’s face it, Frank, I can’t offer you much. I’m not sure I’d say what you want to hear. Thanks for the drink.’
I edged towards the door, but Frank followed quickly.
‘Hey, you can’t run out on us. You’re the very man we want for this.’
‘It’s not my thing,’ I said. ‘I don’t want to be seen on television talking about pre-marital sex with French drug-peddlers. I thought the film was about tourism.’
Behind us I heard Patrick banging his glass again for attention.
Frank looked at me thoughtfully. ‘It’s a bit strong for you, is it? OK, I understand. Sometimes we find people who aren’t too happy with the way we work. But listen ... I’ve got one more idea. Have you heard that there’s a scheme here to build an entertainments complex? Bingo, ten-pin bowling, cabaret, discotheque... all that kind of thing under one vast roof.’
‘The programme’s going to be about that?’ I said.
‘Only in part. Can’t dwell on it too much. Quite a few local people are against it.’
‘So the film is going to debate the issue?”
‘Debate’s the wrong word ... that implies two points of view. No, we’re all for it... we want to portray this resort as a clean, family place. No drugs, no hippies, no foreign tourists... just good old Anglo-Saxon John Bull and his wife and kids.’
‘I thought television was supposed to be impartial,’ I said.
‘You’re living in the past, Chris.’
Just then the barmaid called Frank to the bar, and told him he was wanted on the telephone. Patrick and the other man were still talking, laughing and nudging each other. The only other person in the bar was Tina, so I went over to her.
‘Are you really famous?’ she said.
‘Only for not paying my bills. What about you... are you with this lot?’
‘I suppose so. It’s unofficial because I’m not in the union, but Patrick got me the job of continuity. It’s hell getting jobs in television these days.’
I sat down next to her.
‘What’s going on here?’ I said. “Frank told me this was a film about tourism, but all Pat wants me to talk about is fascism.’
She grinned at me. ‘He’s good at that. It’s how he made his reputation. When Pat’s drunk enough he can make a right-wing film about any subject under the sun.’
I said: ‘Are you a... friend of Patrick’s?’
She looked away from me. “Not really. He thinks he’s a friend of mine. I just wanted a job. I keep him at arm’s length.’
‘Glad to hear it. Like another drink?’
‘No thanks. We’ll be shooting soon. Are you going to do an interview?’
‘I’m not sure. I was just about to leave. Frank was trying to make me stay.’
‘Why don’t you?’ she said. “You wouldn’t have to do much. If it goes against the grain don’t answer the questions the way they want you to. Just say whatever you believe in, and if it’s no good they won’t use it. If they do decide to use the interview, anything you say will be distorted by the film-editor anyway to fit the message.’
‘How’s that?’
‘Have you read Pudovkin?’
‘No, but I’ve heard of him. The film-maker.’
‘Right. He’s one of Pat’s heroes. I had to read one of his books before Pat got me the job. Pudovkin was the first man to discover that a film can have its meaning changed by showing the same shots in a different order. If it’s done subtly enough, film can be used as a medium to support any political viewpoint.’
I said: ‘So whatever I say on the film, with a bit of careful editing Patrick can make me sound fascist.’
‘Right.’
‘So in effect I can say whatever I like?’
‘Yes. Will you do it?’
‘Is it worth it?’ I said.
‘You won’t get a fee.’
‘I didn’t mean that,’ I said.
She nodded then, and it was worth it.
I was wandering around the square, looking at a clipboard of notes Tina had lent me, when Patrick came out of the bar. He stood at the door for a few moments, swaying slightly and blinking in the comparative brightness of daylight. The glare was indeed comparative, for in the last few minutes a heavy bank of cloud had swept in from the sea and a downpour of rain seemed unavoidable.
One of the crew had been sitting in the driver’s cab of the van, keeping warm by running the engine with the heater on. As he saw Patrick, though, he climbed out and went round to him.
‘The generator’s gone on the blink, Pat,’ he said.
‘Completely?’ Pat turned unsteadily towards him.
‘Yes... and we can’t use the mains either.’
‘We’ll use available light. Only a shot or two to do. Tina!’
Tina appeared from inside the pub, pulling the hood of her duffel-coat over her head. The wind had stiffened, and was gusting around the square.
‘Are there any available-light shots we can do from here?’
She took the clipboard from me. ‘Only a few establishing shots of the river.’
‘Too dark for that,’ Patrick said immediately.
‘What about me?” I said, moving forward. Patrick stared at me for a moment, and I gained the distinct impression that he had forgotten who I was.
‘Not today,’ he said, eventually. ‘We need Ted for that.’ He turned away and walked slowly over to where the camera-operator was pulling a large polythene cover over his camera.
‘Who’s Ted?’ I said to Tina.
‘Ted Lumley. He’s the reporter, the man the viewers see on the film actually asking the questions. He’s had to go back to the Plymouth studios today because they’re re-dubbing the last film.’
‘And changing the order of the shots?’ I said.
She winked at me. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Frank Mattinson gave me the impression he wanted me to be interviewed now.’
‘That’s typical of him,’ Tina said.
‘Then there’s no point me hanging around.’
‘I wouldn’t say that,’ she said.
This seemed to be a further promising development, but just at that moment Patrick came back and placed his arm expansively around Tina’s shoulders.
‘Too dark for shooting today. We’ll start first thing in the morning.’ He glanced at me. ‘Sorry, can’t fit you in. Frank says you want to talk about the entertainments complex. Great stuff. You know what to say ... we don’t want the viewers to think there’s any dissenting voice.’