Gratefully. She was shivering. There was quite a sharp wind, the beginning of the mistral, I would imagine. She sat drinking the tea while I explained the scene to her. We were alone in the stern, everyone else was up forward, bustling about, getting ready for the shot.
Did she mention anything about the night before?
Not a word. Nor did I expect her to. She only complained that the tea was too bitter. I saw to it that she drank every drop.
Why?
Why? I’ve already told you. It was uncommonly cold that day. I didn’t want to risk her coming down with anything.
Sir... was there any other reason for offering her the tea? For making certain that she drank every drop?
What do you mean?
I’m only reiterating now what some of the people on the barge have already said.
Yes, and what’s that?
That the girl was drunk when she reported for work, that you tried to sober her up, and that she was still drunk when she went into the water.
Nonsense. No one drinks on my sets. Even if I’d worked with W. C. Fields, I would not have permitted him to drink. And I respected him highly. For an actor, he was a sensitive and decent man.
Yet rumours persist that the girl was drunk when she climbed from the camera barge into the speedboat.
She was cold sober. I would just love to know how such rumours start. The girl finished her tea and was sitting alone with me for more than three hours. We were having some colour difficulty with the speedboat, I didn’t like the way the green bow was registering, and I asked that it be repainted. As a result, preparation for the shot took longer than we’d expected. I was afraid it might cloud up and we’d have to move indoors to the cover set. The point is, however, that in all that time not a single soul came anywhere near us. So how in God’s name would anyone know whether the girl was drunk or not? Which she wasn’t, I can definitely assure you.
They say, sir...
They, they, who the hell are they?
The others on the barge. They say that when she went forward to climb down into the speedboat, she seemed unsure of her footing. They say she appeared glassy-eyed...
Rubbish.
... that when she asked if the shooting might be postponed...
All rubbish.
... her voice was weak, somehow without force.
I can tell you definitely and without reservation, and I can tell you as the single human being who was with that girl from the moment she stepped onto the barge until the moment she climbed into the speedboat some three and a half-hours later, that she was at all times alert, responsive, and in complete control of her faculties. She did not want to go into the water because it was cold. But that was a simple fact, and I could hot control the temperature of the ocean or the air. Nor could I reasonably postpone shooting when we were in danger of losing our light, and when we finally had everything including the damn speedboat ready to roll.
So she went into the water. As instructed.
Yes. She was supposed to swim a short distance underwater, and then surface. That was the way I’d planned the scene. She went into the water, the cameras were rolling, we... none of us quite realized at first that she was taking an uncommonly long time to surface. By the time it dawned upon us, it was too late. He, of course, immediately jumped into the water after her...
He?
Her leading man, his heroic move, his hairy-chested star gesture. She was dead when he reached her.
What caused her to drown? A cramp? Undertow? What?
I haven’t the foggiest idea. Accidents happen. What more can I say? This was a particularly unfortunate one, and I regret it. But the past is the past, and if one continues to dwell upon it, one can easily lose sight of the present. I tend not to ruminate. Rumination is only stagnation. I plan ahead, and in that way the future never comes as a shock. It’s comforting to know, for example, that by the time this appears in print, I will be editing and scoring a film I have not yet begun to shoot. There is verity and substance to routine that varies only slightly. It provides a reality that is all too often lacking in the motion picture industry.
This new film, sir...
I thought you’d never ask.
What is it about?
I never discuss the plot or theme of a movie. If I were able to do justice to a story by capsulizing it into three or four paragraphs, why would I then have to spend long months filming it? The synopsis, as such, was invented by Hollywood executives who need so-called “Story analysts’ to provide simple translations because they themselves are incapable of reading anything more difficult than “Run, Spot, Run.”
What can you tell us about your new film, sir?
I can tell you that it is set in Yugoslavia, and that I will take full cinematic advantage of the rugged coastal terrain there. I can tell you that it is a love story of unsurpassing beauty, and that I have found an unusually talented girl to play the lead. She has never made a film before, she was working with a little theatre group on La Cienega when I discovered her, quite by chance. A friend of mine asked me to look in on an original the group was doing, thought there might be film possibilities in it, and so forth. The play was a hopeless botch, but the girl was a revelation. I had her tested immediately, and the results were staggering. What happens before the cameras is all that matters, you know, which is why some of our important stage personalities have never been able to make a successful transition to films. This girl has a vibrancy that causes one to forget completely that there are mechanical appliances such as projectors or screens involved. It is incredible, it is almost uncanny. It is as though her life force transcends the medium itself, sidesteps it so to speak; she achieves direct uninvolved communication at a response level I would never have thought existed. I’ve been working with her for, oh, easily six months now, and she’s remarkably receptive, a rare combination of intelligence and incandescent beauty. I would be foolish to make any sort of prediction about the future, considering the present climate of Hollywood, and the uncertain footing of the entire industry. But if this girl continues to listen and to learn, if she is willing to work as hard in the months ahead as she has already worked, then given the proper vehicle and the proper guidance — both of which I fully intend to supply — I cannot but foresee a brilliant career for her.
Is there anything you would care to say, sir, about the future of the industry in general?
I never deal in generalities, only specifics. I feel that so long as there are men dedicated to the art of making good motion pictures — and I’m not talking now about pornography posing as art, or pathological disorders posing as humour — as long as there are men willing to make the sacrifices necessary to bring quality films to the public, the industry will survive. I intend to survive along with it. In fact, to be more specific, I intend to endure.
Thank you, sir.
The Fallen Angel
He first came in one morning while I was making out the payroll for my small circus. We were pulling up stakes, ready to roll on to the next town, and I was bent over the books, writing down what I was paying everybody, and maybe that is why I did not hear the door open. When I looked up, this long, lanky fellow was standing there, and the door was shut tight behind him.