Chapter 1
The Story Conference
Hal Mason sloshed water into a gold-veined glass from the carafe at his elbow. He glared at the three hapless employees watching him from chairs on the other side of the gleaming, oval desk.
Dourly he drummed nervous fingers against the desk top, then leaned forward, shifting the Cuban stogy along his meaty, wet lips with undisguised oral satisfaction. His eyes came to rest on the frail, bent shoulders of the colorless woman who sat between the two tight-lipped men.
"Shit!" Mason said. "All you ever get from amateurs is goddamned amateurism!"
He exhaled a serge-blue plume of smoke across the desk top towards them, watching them avert their heads. Then he pointed the ash-laden stub of the cigar at one of them impatiently.
Hal Mason, was sole owner of the three who watched him intently. Each was tied hopelessly to a contract that no one, including Houdini, could have escaped. And if Mason's company, Mason Motion Pictures, was headed for the rocks, then these were among the three rats that would go along with the sinking ship.
"God Dammit, you'll never work again!" he threatened them for the hundredth time that morning. "It the studio goes bankrupt, I'll fix you so that you won't even get work sweeping the streets!"
"Please, please, A.M., you have no need to lose your temper. Just let me explain...."
"Explain, hell" thundered Mason as he removed the cigar from his lips and glared at the man who had tried to placate him. "There's nothing to explain, you jerk! The figures speak for themselves!"
He practically hurled a sheaf of papers across the desk. "Those are the latest figures from the accountants! Our last five pictures have shown a loss of $500,000.00! We couldn't even pay people to sit through them, they were so godammed boring! Even I fell asleep watching your last flop, Murrey!"
Karl Murrey, thin and bespectacled producer-director, flushed. He seemed as if he were about to protest, then, resignedly, Karl shut his mouth and cracked his knuckles under cover of the table.
But of course Mason's information was precise. The studio was on its last legs. With luck, they could just about scrounge enough money together to make one final movie; a last-chance gamble that would either break them completely or give them breathing space.
And, of course, it surely didn't help Karl's battered ego to reflect that it was largely Mason's own fault that there had been such a devastating decline in the box-office takings. Their boss came from the old school of movie moguls. He wasn't content merely to hire producers, directors, stars and technicians; sitting back and letting them get on with their job while he counted the profits.
Mason, it happened, was a frustrated artist himself. And he interfered drastically with every project that came from his studio, giving generously of his "guiding spirit" from conception to world premiere. And when the finished product was badly received...well, he naturally blamed his minions-who had obviously failed to carry out his old fashioned, banal ideas to perfection!
There was nothing that would convince A.M. that his interference at the studio had ruined hundreds of otherwise promising screenplays. The self-important film mogul scoffed at critics who called his pictures "out of date, three years behind the latest trend." And since he had surrounded himself with an army of yes-men, none of his employees dared to tell Mason that if he would only leave the creativity to the people with talent, the film company might be a roaring success instead of a long-standing joke in Ward-our Street....
And in any case, at the age of 40, Karl Murrey, Mason's star producer-director, responsible for most of the studio's early box-office smashes, had grown too dispirited and cynical to make a stand against his employer. He had resigned himself to the now dwindling hope that, against all the odds, he might somehow turn out a movie that was a box-office and artistic success.
Mason had him signed to an exclusive contract-like the rest of his employees--and it would take him years to buy his way out. But if, through Karl's own efforts, the studio had a smash hit, then he might be able to dictate his own terms to the megalomaniacal Mason!
Now for the first time in his career, Karl had worked an ace into his sleeve. Perhaps he couldn't achieve artistic control of one of Mason's pictures, but he had a young man who might be able to succeed where he had failed....
"Certainly you'll agree with me, A.M., " Karl said carefully. "That this studio needs an infusion of fresh new blood. We want a young director-someone who has already proved his talent elsewhere, but hasn't yet made a full-length, big budget movie. And I think I've found just the right person for the job--. "
"Just hold on a godammed minute!" Mason snarled. "I'm running this show! I make the decisions, Murrey-and I'm the person who...."
He ran a hand through his sparse hair. He scowled. The thin black strands looked as if they had been stuck onto the pink dome of his scalp-and Mason would have been slightly less repulsive if he had opted for a Yul Brynner style rather than try vainly to retain what little hair he had left.
"Better take this down, Miss Evans!" he snapped. "I expect you'll be wasting paper, but we may as well have a record of what Mister
Murrey has to say!"
Miss Evans was thin, angular, and bird-like. Now she adjusted her spectacles and poised a pencil over her notebook.
"Let me be frank, Mr. Mason," Karl began hesitantly. "Steve here--. " He nodded towards the long-term screenwriter, author of a dozen scenarios which had been ruined by Mason's front-office blue pencil. "Steve has come up with a damn fine story, but I'm not the man to direct it!"
"Shit, you can say that again!" Mason jeered. "You couldn't direct yourself out of a pay toilet!"
as he had swallowed all the others: they went down more and more easily, Karl found, as Karl swallowed the , he went on:
he thing is, I would like to produce the script, A.M., and the man-the only
jibehe grew older -- , he went on: -- he thing is, I would like to produce the script, A.M., and the man-the only man, I would add-who can truly bring out the qualities of Steve's work, is Demis Fleur!"
"For Christ sakes, I've never even heard of him! Have you heard of him, Miss Evans?"
She glanced up nervously from her pad.
"I'm afraid not, Mr. Mason. I don't think . . , . Oh, wait a minute! Of course! Isn't he the young man who made those award-winning experimental films? An American, isn't he?" Miss Evans was getting excited as she recalled more vividly the work of Demis Fleur. "I saw a couple of them at a preview a month ago. My goodness, they were--! "
"Well, you can knock off the gushing, Miss
Evans!" Mason got up from his desk and began to pace the room-a sure sign that he was thinking profound thoughts. He finally went to the window and stood with his back to them: staring out into the narrow, busy street two stories below, his shoulders hunched and his mouth working noisily on the cigar.
From the position he was sitting in, Mason could see the display windows of three other film companies. Their big glass frames showed stills and advertising posters from current successes, but in his premises in Wardour Street, Mason was reduced to displaying scenes from long-forgotten movies...films which had once made his studio rich and successful. He didn't dare to put his more recent efforts on show: they would merely add fuel to the film-trade wits who thought he was the biggest joke in the industry.
Demis Fleur...Now that Miss Evans had jogged his memory, the name did ring a kind of bell. Mentally, Mason snapped his fingers. He spun around, jabbing his cigar accusingly at Karl Murrey.
"Wait a minute! Isn't he the guy who makes those funky pictures?" Mason's flabby face reddened in anger. "Are you suggesting that I should hire a godammed pornographer to direct one of my movies?"
A placating hand swept the air. It belonged to Steve Dane. Like Murrey, he was a veteran employee of Mason Motion Pictures-and his gentle, 35-year-old face bore deeply etched worry-lines to prove it.
"I wouldn't quite call him a blue merchant, Mr. Mason," Steve offered timidly. "Perhaps you got the wrong impression from the crusading Sunday newspapers. He's made a fortune over in the 'States, but his films are strictly art-they never got into trouble with...."
"Well, you should read the papers more. The great British press would never get a thing like that wrong!" Mason stormed. "If they say he's a pornographer, then....
"Wait a minute! You were saying he made a fortune out of his movies?"
Steve nodded. "And they were shoe-string budgets, Mr. Mason, and they've done fantastic business in the small New York art houses."
"Well, now that makes it a different matter." Mason rubbed his chin, making the big cigar wobble thoughtfully between his chubby lips. "A fortune, eh? And people don't think of them as being filthy? They're not blue movies disguised as art?"
"In my opinion," Steve assured him, "Fleur's work is regarded very highly indeed by all the respectable film critics."
Mason paced around behind them, coming to a stop between Steve and Karl, placing one pudgy hand on each of their shoulders. "In this business you have to make quick decisions," he told them. "And I've just made one! Steve here has produced a damned fine screenplay-under my guidance. Well, this is what we do: We get hold of this Fleur and give him a chance to break into the big time. We offer him the direction of our latest-and possibly our last motion picture!
"The truth is, if this young man doesn't come up with a success for us...we're finished! All of us," he emphasized. "All of us start collecting dole money!"
"I would say you've made a wise choice, Mr. Mason," Karl said enthusiastically. "If you give Fleur a free hand, I'm sure he'll produce a really tremendous film for you. Why--. "
"Who the hell mentioned anything about a free hand?" Mason demanded. His hand left Karl's shoulder and he banged his fist on the desk. "I'll be watching every move he makes! I'll be down on that studio floor every morning...."
"Just a minute, Mr. Mason!" Karl stood up emphatically and walked a few paces away from the bristling magnate. He folded his arms across his chest. "Demis Fleur is a very different type of director from the ones you've employed in the past. He simply won't tolerate interference from the front office! He will only work for you if you stay away from the studio and let him get on with his job. That's the only condition he makes: he's not worried about the size of his salary, about the material you give him to shoot. But he will not direct a film with somebody breathing down his neck!"
"Yeah, now tell me how the hell you know?" Mason asked suspiciously. "Have you met him?
Have you approached him about making a movie for us?"
"Off hand, I'd say I did better than that, Mr. Mason! He's checking-in at a London hotel at this very minute! Before our meeting, I went to the airport and welcomed him to England-on behalf of Mason Motion Pictures!"
"You better be kidding me!" Mason gargled the words, snatching the cigar out of his mouth and waving it impotently. "You went over my head? You actually brought him over from the 'States without consulting me?"
Karl braced himself. He had nothing to lose. Mason couldn't do anything to him...not any more.
"Well, I suppose I took a gamble that you'd approve of the steps I've taken, A.M., " he said quietly. "You're a farsighted, intelligent businessman. But unless you had Fleur right on your doorstep, you might have overlooked him. I invited him to England so that you could see for yourself what a talented, inspired young man he is. Once you've listened to his ideas, I'm sure you'll be convinced that he's the only director who can save the studio from complete disaster!"
Mason peered at him from close range, his face undergoing a series of lightening changes as conflicting emotions altered his expression.
"It is possible you've got a point there," he admitted grudgingly. "We certainly can't sign a well-known, successful director-none of them would work for us! But there are two things I don't like about this guy Fleur...."
Mason ticked them off on his fat fingers as he barked the objections out in his staccato voice.
"First: Steve's script is about London. How can you expect an American to capture the genuine flavor of a city he knows nothing about? Second: I've always insisted on a personal touch in my movies-that's why they're called Mason Motion Pictures. They have my stamp on them, like Hitchcock and Cecil B. De Mille have their stamp on their films!
"But, I'll listen some more. Go ahead-try to persuade me, Murrey. For the first time in ten years you may have come up with an interesting idea!"
Karl squelched his desire to tell Mason that his "personal touch," his "stamp," was what had caused his recent movies to flop so disastrously. He chose his words with care, however, knowing that Mason was already half-hooked on signing Fleur: the main bait being that the American wasn't going to insist on a huge salary....
"In the first place, A.M., I think you'll agree that we want a fresh slant on the image of London. With all due respect to yourself and to Steve, this screenplay doesn't shed any fresh light on the background of "swinging Britain." But if the script were to be interpreted by a foreigner, by a man who viewed London through unjaded eyes, I think we'd have a new slant on the background to our story.
"Do you recall Jerravasi?" Karl pressed, knowing that Mason's inspiration for the projected film had come from "Blow-Up."
"Remember how he took a story about London and made a smash hit out of it? Fleur can do the same thing for you, A.M.! I tell you, the boy's got vision, genius-and a talent for making money at the same time! What more do you want?"
"That's true," Mason muttered reflectively. "Who could have guessed that a wop would make a great movie set in London." He was deep in thought for a moment, his eyes seeing again the vast box-office returns which "Blow-Up" had earned.
"You could be right," he conceded. "But what about my other point? If I'm not allowed to watch the shooting, how do I know the film is going to have the Mason stamp on it? Tell me that, Karl!"
Karl sighed with relief, and noticed that he was being addressed by his Christian name. That could only mean one thing: Mason was feeling well-disposed towards him again.
"That can easily be taken care of, A.M., " he replied confidently. "I'll produce the movie, of course, and that means that I'll keep a very close eye on Fleur's interpretation of the script. If I feel he's not making the movie in exactly the way you'd like it...well, I'll be on hand to correct him, won't I?"
The silence was pregnant while Mason digested Karl's persuasive arguments. Then:
"Now here's the way I see it then. We want to make a sexy picture, not too sexy-just enough titivation to sell it at the box-office. That's the latest trend. Put in some realistic love-scenes, semi-nude girls and loads of erotic suspense. You know what I mean? Make the audience think they're going to see everything, but fade out discreetly at the critical moment!
"Steve has written a script that tears the lid off Swinging London once and for all! In my opinion, this movie is going to be a 1969 version of the "Pilgrim's Progress"-a young girl's journey through the sin and excitement of modern life...until she finds salvation in the last reel!
"The girl is tempted on all sides by vice and sex: with a few perversions thrown in along the way. (We'll have to skirt around these, of course-hint at 'em, keep the audience constantly titivated). But all the time we come down hard on the emptiness of the lives around her. It's a morality play, right? And we get the best out of the situation, because we're going to appeal to the sensation-hungry public and to the Moral Re-Armament people!
"So we capitalize on the fact that we've got an American director. We emphasize in the publicity-are you getting all this, Miss Evans? Good-that we're using a Yank to tear aside the veil of secrecy because no British director would dare to expose what really goes on in London today!"
Pausing for breath, Mason scratched his crotch. He invariably got carried away at moments of crisis like this. And, curiously enough, he genuinely believed that he was having original and dynamic ideas when he launched into a description of his latest projects....
Deep inside, Karl was groaning at the sheer banality of Mason's vision. As usual, he was turning a good screenplay into a travesty of its original conception. By super-imposing a wildly out-of-date expose of "swinging London" on Steve's script, Mason had reduced the whole thing to a collection of clichés and platitudes. Their only hope was to take the production out of his hands; make the picture the way it should be made-and demonstrate to Mason that his studio could only survive if he stopped interfering with the creation of its films and confine himself to administration.
This happened to be a case where there was nothing more to be said about the "London Scene": every other British studio had long ago exhausted the subject.
Mason spent the rest of the morning elaborating what was now tacitly referred to as "his" idea. Karl let him get away with stealing the inspiration. After all, it didn't really matter at this stage if Mason got the credit for discovering Demis Fleur. When the picture had its premiere, when it turned out to be a completely different (and far more superior film) than Mason had envisioned, then Karl Murrey would reap his just reward....
After the main business of the conference had been concluded, Mason told Miss Evans to make an appointment for Fleur to dine with him that evening. "Meanwhile," he instructed the girl, "Go down to see my lawyers and get a draft contract drawn up. I'll approve it this afternoon and with luck, we can sign Fleur tonight and get things moving."
He smiled like a benevolent uncle at his producer and screen-writer.
"So there you are, see?" Mason grinned. "I've saved us from ruin once again! Let this be a lesson to both of you: Never give up hope-there's always a ray of sunshine around the corner, if you know where to look for it!"
Karl really knew his boss was feeling optimistic when Mason produced a bottle of 12-year-old Scotch from his locked bottom drawer and poured a generous measure into four tumblers. They toasted the successful outcome of Mason's interview with Fleur, and after gulping down his second glass of whisky, Al Mason began-predictably to grow nostalgic for "the good old days"....
"Wanna know something, my friends?" he began, his voice maudlin and gratingly sincere. "I've been in this business for thirty years now. And I've seen some pretty drastic changes come over the industry in that time, believe me. But I never thought the day would come when we'd see the entertainment business taken over by the sex sellers!
"Just pause a moment and take a good look at what's happening in Scandinavia-or in the 'States, too, for that matter. They're making movies that show everything! And I mean everything! Sex, sex, sex! Pandering to the lowest public taste." He shook his head sorrowfully. "Even I'm reduced to putting titivation in my pictures to try and sell 'em!"
Karl sighed deeply, his mind anticipating every word Mason uttered. This wasn't the first time they'd heard this particular lecture, and it wouldn't be the last. Mason trotted out his sermon against the decline in cinema standards at the drop of a hat. Nothing could stop him once he got wound up....
"They certainly don't make pictures the way they used to," Mason mourned. "Good, escapist entertainment; movies that were healthy and fit for all the family to see. You remember them, don't you, Karl? And you're only thirty-five, aren't you, Steve? What happened to all the talent that was around when we were kids? Remember those warm, sentimental films that made you sort of glow inside? People like Greer Garson, Walter Pidgeon? And over here in England: Margaret Lockwood, Robert Donat....?
"As far as I'm concerned, someone has got to get hold of that godamned pendulum and give it a swing back towards decency! And we're the studio that's going to do it!"
Now Mason was warming to his subject, and actually crying into his whisky: big, fat tears trickling down his cheeks as he felt the spirit of revivalism stirring within his fat frame.
"Sonofabitch! We really will, Karl! We're going to create a film that will start a whole new trend in the motion picture industry! Wholesome, decent entertainment for everybody! No nudity, no sex, no lust...."
"Pardon me A. M., but aren't you forgetting something?" Karl asked tentatively. "There is a certain amount of, well, titivation in Steve's script. You asked him to put in those scenes yourself!"
Mason checked his flow of evangelical gush.
"Hmm, that much is true," he mused. "I was forgetting. We shall need several beautiful young girls for this film! Really beautiful, Karl, no tramps, no hard-faced bitches! I want only the most voluptuous, well-rounded, sweet-faced actresses to play in this picture!" He licked his lips. "Who have we got under contract at this moment?"
Karl suppressed his amusement at the abrupt change in Mason's priorities. His boss was sincere enough in his yearning for the "good old days," but the nostalgia was easily outweighed by the profit factor.
"Off hand I'd say there are one or two girls we can use," Karl told him. "But Fleur has a couple of actresses in his "Crew" that he thinks will be ideal for parts in the film."
"Crew! What the hell is a 'Crew'? What do you mean?"
"That's merely a name for his entourage," Karl said carelessly. "You know: like Sinatra's Clan and Bogart's Wolf Pack. They're a bunch of people who go everywhere with him-act in his movies, boost his ego, work for him as cameramen...things like that. Mostly, I suppose they're flies buzzing round the honey-pot-but from all I've heard, they're a pretty talented set."
"Crew, huh!" Mason sounded dubious. "Well, I'm relying on you, Karl, to see that they don't try to take over the studio. You know what I mean? If the only way we can get Fleur to work for us is to put up with his "Crew," O.K. And I'm also willing, just this one time, to go against my better judgment and let him make the film completely on his own-without my help! But you keep a close watch on them, Karl. I'm trusting you to see that these characters don't try to pull a fast one!"
"Just rely on me, A. M. There won't be any problems I can't handle."
"That's for goddamned sure!" Mason told him darkly. "When I see the first preview of this film, I expect to be watching a masterpiece! We'll go into details later, but I want to make one thing clear right now, Karl:
"We will make certain the spiritual quality of Steve's script must be emphasized! Like I said before, this is a very moral picture-and although we depict some of the things we're criticizing about modern life, the audience must feel that we're one-hundred-percent against them! In other words, keep the dirty bits to a minimum!"
Karl nodded and stood up.
"I'll go and arrange the other details, if you'll excuse me, A. M. I expect we'll be doing a lot of the shooting on location, but the interiors can be done at Elstree.
"Well, alright then," Mason growled. "You go and take care of the minor matters, Karl. That's what I pay you for! Oh, one more thing: after you introduce me to Fleur tonight...vanish! I want to have a heart-to-heart talk with the boy-wonder-in private!"
It appeared that the crisis was under control, Mason was reverting to his old, aggressive personality. Which meant that he treated Karl, his executive producer, as if he was a mere lackey, a glorified office boy. Karl retired with Steve Dane and consoled himself by muttering under his breath:
"Each dog has his day, Mason! And I'm going to have mine! You won't be able to stop me from getting full credit for this brain-child!"
Karl Murrey was too flushed with his double success to consider the possibility that Fleur had an ulterior motive in accepting this assignment from a down-at-heel, practically bankrupt British film company. He had persuaded a rising American director to visit England on the mere chance that he would be offered a movie to direct. And, against all the odds, he had talked Al Mason into an unprecedented support of his brain-wave!
Murrey didn't stop to think that Demis Fleur might have reasons of his own for making the trip to England. Why should he? With everything tied up so smoothly and neatly, Karl simply basked in his success; content to bide his time until Fleur finished the film and he could collect the accolades.
The only hard thing was the waiting....