The House of Sleep (25 page)

The subject was still uppermost in Terry’s mind at lunchtime.

‘No, I never saw that picture,’ said the producer, who turned out to be a lean, energetic, apparently genial man in his mid-thirties. His name was Bruce Logan. He had kept Terry and Kingsley waiting for fifteen minutes in the lounge bar of the Athenaeum, and had then taken them to an Italian restaurant round the corner in Mayfair. ‘I heard about it, of course. I know the stories. But I saw the uncut version of
Salò
once in Paris, and that was enough for me.’ He helped himself to ciabatta and offered it round. ‘Ortese was a big influence on that movie, of course. I’m told they even used some of his footage.’ He turned to Kingsley. ‘Are you fond of Pasolini?’

‘Actually I was just going to have a burger.’ He was studying the menu intently.

‘He’s such a ladder,’ said Terry, laughing without enthusiasm and kicking his companion under the table.

Logan waved his hand in an airy, dismissive gesture. ‘So the boy’s never heard of some faggot Italian director who made a few arty movies. Who cares? The European art movie’s had its day, in any case. Ten more years and it’ll have died off altogether. Another ten and you won’t be able to find a single member of the paying public who can tell you who Renoir was. Besides, I’m not here to test you boys. This isn’t some sort of exam.’

‘He doesn’t know shit about American movies, anyway,’ said Kingsley, in his most sullen whine. ‘He didn’t even see
Ghostbusters
all the way through. Walked out in the middle of it.’

Terry snorted. ‘That heap of juvenile, meretricious-’

‘You liked it, then?’ Logan said to Kingsley.

‘Saw it seven times. One of the greats. One of the all-time greats. Fabulous effects.’

‘Yes, I think Compsy really came into its own on that one.’

‘Compsy?’ said Terry.

‘The Computerized Multiplane System,’ Kingsley explained. ‘You use it as a matte camera on a pan-tilt-roll system. They say it’s actually better for rear projection than Automatte.’ He turned to Logan. ‘The
look
of that film was so clean, that’s what was so incredible. How did they do that?’

‘I think they were shooting in sixty-five mill and then compositing in thirty-five mill anamorphic. That at least was my understanding.’

‘Wow. Well that explains a lot.’

‘This gentleman seems to be waiting to take your order,’ said Terry, indicating an expectant waiter.

‘Oh.’ Kingsley picked up his menu. ‘I haven’t quite decided yet.’

Terry could see that he didn’t have a clue what to choose.

‘Do you like tortellini?’ he asked.

Kingsley stared at him defiantly. ‘Sure I do,’ he said. ‘Especially the early, black and white ones.’

While they were waiting for the main course to arrive, Logan outlined his proposal. He worked for one of the major Hollywood studios, and was currently trying to get at least ten or twelve projects into development, all aimed squarely at the mainstream American market. Having seen Kingsley’s two short films and been very impressed, particularly by his handling of action sequences, and having heard Terry’s creative abilities being lavishly praised by his fellow student, he was hoping they would agree to work for him on one of two properties he had recently optioned: the first being a popular cartoon strip called
Spy and Son
, which he wanted to adapt for the screen.

Kingsley’s eyes lit up when he heard this title, although Terry had never heard of it, or even the supposedly famous comic book in which it appeared.

‘You’ve never heard of
Spy and Son
?’ Kingsley said. ‘But it’s just so great: I can’t believe it’s not popular over here. This guy, right, he’s like an American James Bond. But get the twist – he’s a widower, and he’s got this thirteen-year-old son, really cute and wisecracking, who has to go with him on all his assignments.’

‘That’s right,’ said Logan. ‘His wife dies in a car crash, before the film opens: obviously we don’t show any of that, because we’re not going to start on a downer. So basically what we’re talking about here is a sort of American James Bond for the eighties, only with more reality.’

‘More reality,’ repeated Terry, almost tonelessly.

‘Exactly. Because this is a guy who doesn’t neglect his family responsibilities. O K, so most of the time he’s out there, risking his life for his country and defeating Communism and what have you, but at the end of the day he’s got time to come home to his boy and share some pizza and maybe watch a ball game. Real family stuff.’

‘And the cool thing is,’ said Kingsley, ‘that when they’re
out on a job, right, it’s always the kid that defeats the bad guys. Like that time when the two Russian spies want to come running after them, but they’ve trod on his bubblegum and their shoes are stuck to the floor?’ He and Logan laughed uproariously. ‘Or when he’s firing his gun at all those Arab guys, but it only fires ping-pong balls and they all get them stuck in their mouths?’

‘Do you get the picture?’ Logan asked. ‘It’s a very visual sort of idea. Very filmic.’

Terry drew in his breath. ‘Tell me the other one,’ he said.

Logan regarded him curiously, but if he was offended, he didn’t let it show.

‘OK,’ he said. ‘Maybe this is more in your ball-park. I’ve taken an option on this novel, which is about two New York cops working on the same case. Now, you can do whatever the hell you like with the book, because all I want to keep is the title:
Chalk and Cheese.
Great title, isn’t it? You see, those are actually their names: Officer Chalk and Officer Cheese. And the hook is this: not only are they working on the same case, but independently they answer the same ad in the newspaper, and so they end up living together in the same apartment.’

‘This is great,’ said Kingsley. ‘I love this.’

‘One of them’s a little older, and, you know, a bit eccentric, a bit maverick, a bit of a slob…’

‘So we could be talking… Jim Belushi here?’

‘Exactly. Right. And the other guy’s young, he’s naive, he’s idealistic, he plays by the rules…’

‘So we’re looking for, say… Tom Cruise?’

‘Could be. Could easily be. And what I’m thinking of here is a sort of cross between…’

‘… between
The Odd Couple
and, say,
Dirty Harry.
’

‘Brilliant. You’ve got it. And of course there’s the boss, who’s, er… crusty, but lovable. Firm but fair.’

‘And black, obviously.’

‘Goes without saying.’

‘A sort of… James Earl Jones figure.’

‘Got it in one. And then of course we need a sort of romantic, sexual entanglement thing…’

‘OK, so Tom Cruise has this girlfriend, right? A little bit older, a little bit more experienced. I see a role here for, maybe, Jamie Lee Curtis.’

‘Yes. In a tight black dress.’

‘A tight,
tight
black dress. Tits out to here.’

‘You’re talking my language, Joe. Only how’s this: what Tom Cruise doesn’t know is she’s really a hooker, and Jim Belushi’s been balling her.’

‘Is Tom Cruise balling her?’

‘Of course Tom Cruise is balling her.’

‘Or perhaps she’s a stripper.’

‘Could be. She could be a stripper.’

‘And is he still balling her?’

‘Of course he’s still balling her.
And
Jim Belushi’s balling her. Everybody’s balling her.’

‘What about the boss – is he balling her?’

‘Hey – didn’t we say the guy was black? Keep it clean, Joe, for Christ’s sake.’ Logan turned to Terry, who had so far taken no part in this impromptu script conference. ‘I’m not getting a lot of input from you here, if you don’t mind me saying. Joe and I seem to be making all the running.’

Terry was sitting back in his chair, his arms folded.

‘I think it’s a terrible idea,’ he said. ‘I already feel like I’ve seen this film about twenty times before.’

There was a long silence, broken only by the slurping of Kingsley as he attempted to transfer a gigantic forkful of pasta into his mouth.

‘You think it’s terrible, huh?’ Consciously or not, Logan himself now sat back and folded his arms, imitating Terry’s posture. ‘Well, of course, if you’ve got any better ideas of your own, then I’d love to hear them. Joe here was telling me that you’re working on an original screenplay, in fact.’

‘Yes. Yes, that’s right,’ said Terry, rather hesitantly.

‘Can you tell me what it’s about?’

‘Sure. It’s about… well, it’s about this man, and – and his life, basically.’

‘His life?’ Logan raised his eyebrows. ‘Sounds good. So, does anything – does anything happen in this life, that we should know about?’

‘Well, yes.’ Terry sat up and dabbed at the corners of his mouth with a napkin. ‘He passes – you know, he…
matures
, if you like, from a young man, to a – well, initially, to a middle-aged man.’

‘Uh-huh. And then what?’

‘Well, then he grows old, and eventually, I suppose – he dies.’ Somehow, in the telling, this scenario did not sound quite as impressive as Terry had always imagined. ‘The thing is, you see, the really original thing, is that this character would be played by the same actor all the way through.’

‘Really? And who did you have in mind? Because you know, with a pitch like that, Hoffman and Nicholson and Redford are going to be fighting for this role. It’s going to be a real bloodbath.’

‘Well, obviously it needs a little fleshing out, at the moment…’

‘Shall I tell you the problem I have with that idea, Terry? One of the problems, anyway. To me, somehow, it all sounds a little bit small. A little bit British.’

‘But that –’

‘Don’t get me wrong. I’ve got nothing against the British. I’m half-British myself, as it happens. Did you ever hear of a man called Henry Logan?’

‘Sure, he was a… he was a producer too, wasn’t he?’

‘That’s right. He’s my father. He wrote, directed, produced – a real journeyman. Came to the States for a while in the late ’forties, early ’fifties, married his first wife – my mother, that is – but worked most of his life in Britain. Did a lot of comedies, a lot of low-budget thrillers. Didn’t aspire to any great… aesthetic status, you know, but he got films made,
and every so often a good one slipped through. Finished up in the ’seventies making soft porn – it was the only work he could get.’

‘That’s a shame,’ said Terry, not sure where this was leading.

‘Well, there’s a reason why that was the only work he could get. Do you know what it is?’

Terry shook his head.

‘It’s people like you.’

Suddenly he struck the table with his fist and sent the cutlery flying. Terry and Kingsley almost leaped out of their seats.

‘
God
, people like you get up my nose, Terry. You would still have a proper fucking film industry if it wasn’t for people like you. When you boys started moving in – when was it, late ‘fifties? – that was the beginning of the end. Intellectuals: angry young men: John Osborne, Woodfall Films, middle-class lefties. Suddenly we were all meant to go around proclaiming that film was an art form – as if nobody had believed that before – and every other movie was made by some public school-educated romantic giving us his view of working-class life. And it’s been the same ever since. Christ, I’ve never known a country like England for bowing down to people just because they claim to be artists! And writers! God, how you worship writers! Why else would someone like you have such an amazing opinion of yourself – even though, from what I can make out, the only thing you’ve managed to write so far could be written on the back of an envelope and still leave room for the Gettysburg Address!’

Terry stood up. ‘Have you finished?’ he said. ‘Because I thought I’d do some shopping while I was in London.’

‘No, Terry, J haven’t finished,’ said Logan. ‘Nor has Joe, actually. But I think you’ll find that
you’ve
finished. You’ve finished your business here, so any time you want to leave…’

‘If these films of yours ever get made,’ said Terry, struggling for a parting shot, ‘it will be a sad day for cinema.’

‘And if this film of
yours
ever gets made, it’ll be a fucking miracle!’

‘If every producer in the world was like him –’ Terry turned to Kingsley now, while pointing an accusing finger in Logan’s direction ‘– then just imagine it! There would have been no Eisenstein, no Mizoguchi, no Wenders…’

Kingsley’s face, carbonara-spattered as it was, betrayed little emotion at this prospect.

‘I mean, think about that for a minute. Can you even
imagine
the history of the cinema without Wenders?’

‘No, I can’t,’ said Kingsley, truthfully. ‘I mean, someone’s got to sell you the Coke and the popcorn.’

Logan burst into delighted laughter.

‘You deserve each other,’ said Terry, and walked out of the restaurant in a glow of righteousness which intensified as he walked through the streets of Mayfair towards the nearest tube station, and continued to keep him warm throughout the many hours he sat, alone, on the train back to the coast.

∗

ANALYST
: And why do you think you felt entitled to read your lover’s letter?

ANALYSAND
: Because I knew that she had betrayed me.

ANALYST
: It wasn’t simply because Robert had given his blessing?

ANALYSAND
: No, not at all. That had nothing to do with it.

ANALYST
: And what were your feelings when you read the letter?

ANALYSAND
: […] I don’t know how to describe them. It was like the world being turned upside down, or suddenly not making any kind of sense, finding that there was someone you thought you knew and then finding that you didn’t know them at all. I suppose it’s how a woman must feel if she goes through a cupboard and finds that her husband’s been hiding an inflatable doll or a pile of bondage magazines. Or a mother who finds out that her son’s a rapist, or something.