rose, fresh and demure but with prickles – a Dorothy Perkins crossed with Dorothy Parker. Her mother would have been proud. The journalists went wild for her family tree. You’d think she were a member of the Royal Family rather than a remote connection. Some of their reports even elevated her to Lady Felicity (strangely enough, the German press did the same to Unity). Still, it seems to have worked. When it comes to column inches: Breeding Five, Breasts One.
When not meeting the press, we’ve been meeting actors. Since we start shooting in less than three months, you may think that it’s cutting it a little fine (and you wouldn’t be far wrong), but it’s Wolfram’s way. He likes to bring me along, ostensibly to help with the English but, as he already has an interpreter, I just sit theresending out positive vibes. Sometimes he even forgets to introduce me, which is fine except when I’m taken for his boyfriend, as happened with Sir Hallam Bamforth or, worse, when I’m left to entertain a boyfriend as happened with Kris Bryant (all I can tell you is that the legendary muscles of steel stop short of his wrists!). Said boyfriend’s entire conversation consisted of gym routines and health food (‘I’ve checked out every grocery store in town. And you know what? No wheat germ!’). I felt like Mrs Carter, forced to watch a display of folk-dancing while her husband and President Brezhnev determined the fate of the world.
Sir Hallam, by the way, is ninety percent committed. ‘My memory’s too poor for the stage and my hooter’s too big for the box, so it’s the flicks or the workhouse,’ he said, with a disarming smile. Wolfram has asked him to play the British Consul, which may surprise you, but the part has been beefed up for the film. He has one great scene (though I say so myself), where he makes an impassioned plea to Goebbels to abandon the whole Nazi programme. Signing him would be such a coup. There can be no finer representative of civilised values, nor one who inspires more affection across the globe. It makes no sense: fifty years of triumphs in the classics and he’s best-known for playing a purser in a disaster movie opposite an actor (and I quote) ‘whose phenomenal gross – though discerning viewers might prefer to transpose the epithet – has made him the toast of Hollywood.’
Knowing that he was once your idol, I took pains to remember everything he said in order to report back. I expect that you’ve long since reordered your pantheon in favour of Thomas Arnold or A. S. Neill 28 but, on the assumption that you still have a niche for old heroes, I offer this account. As with Bücher, I was terrified about meeting him – although for different reasons. Again, I wasinstantly put at my ease. As soon as we’d cleared up the confusion over my status (he was mortified), we had an excellent talk. He has the modesty that accompanies true greatness (I’ve always thought that a cliché until now), expressing his profound gratitude that young people should take an interest in him, since they – we – are what keep him fresh. Fliss gave his words a sinister slant, alleging that he’s rapaciously queer, but then she says that about everyone she admires yet doesn’t fancy. He strikes me as utterly asexual – as though he’d spent so many years reciting Shakespeare that his veins flow with blank verse rather than blood.
We met in the hotel Bar, where Fliss seems to have taken up permanent residence. She claims to be studying how the rich spend their money (she’s so acquisitive 29 ). When I suggested that she look a little closer to home, she did her usual trick of describing the dower house as a tied cottage. Meanwhile, I pass the time by playing celebrity-I-spy. That evening, the first that I spotted was Sir Hallam. Unlike an American star with his phalanx of publicists, he was sitting alone. Charged by Fliss, I invited him to join us. To my surprise, he accepted. He was embarrassingly
When not meeting the press, we’ve been meeting actors. Since we start shooting in less than three months, you may think that it’s cutting it a little fine (and you wouldn’t be far wrong), but it’s Wolfram’s way. He likes to bring me along, ostensibly to help with the English but, as he already has an interpreter, I just sit theresending out positive vibes. Sometimes he even forgets to introduce me, which is fine except when I’m taken for his boyfriend, as happened with Sir Hallam Bamforth or, worse, when I’m left to entertain a boyfriend as happened with Kris Bryant (all I can tell you is that the legendary muscles of steel stop short of his wrists!). Said boyfriend’s entire conversation consisted of gym routines and health food (‘I’ve checked out every grocery store in town. And you know what? No wheat germ!’). I felt like Mrs Carter, forced to watch a display of folk-dancing while her husband and President Brezhnev determined the fate of the world.
Sir Hallam, by the way, is ninety percent committed. ‘My memory’s too poor for the stage and my hooter’s too big for the box, so it’s the flicks or the workhouse,’ he said, with a disarming smile. Wolfram has asked him to play the British Consul, which may surprise you, but the part has been beefed up for the film. He has one great scene (though I say so myself), where he makes an impassioned plea to Goebbels to abandon the whole Nazi programme. Signing him would be such a coup. There can be no finer representative of civilised values, nor one who inspires more affection across the globe. It makes no sense: fifty years of triumphs in the classics and he’s best-known for playing a purser in a disaster movie opposite an actor (and I quote) ‘whose phenomenal gross – though discerning viewers might prefer to transpose the epithet – has made him the toast of Hollywood.’
Knowing that he was once your idol, I took pains to remember everything he said in order to report back. I expect that you’ve long since reordered your pantheon in favour of Thomas Arnold or A. S. Neill 28 but, on the assumption that you still have a niche for old heroes, I offer this account. As with Bücher, I was terrified about meeting him – although for different reasons. Again, I wasinstantly put at my ease. As soon as we’d cleared up the confusion over my status (he was mortified), we had an excellent talk. He has the modesty that accompanies true greatness (I’ve always thought that a cliché until now), expressing his profound gratitude that young people should take an interest in him, since they – we – are what keep him fresh. Fliss gave his words a sinister slant, alleging that he’s rapaciously queer, but then she says that about everyone she admires yet doesn’t fancy. He strikes me as utterly asexual – as though he’d spent so many years reciting Shakespeare that his veins flow with blank verse rather than blood.
We met in the hotel Bar, where Fliss seems to have taken up permanent residence. She claims to be studying how the rich spend their money (she’s so acquisitive 29 ). When I suggested that she look a little closer to home, she did her usual trick of describing the dower house as a tied cottage. Meanwhile, I pass the time by playing celebrity-I-spy. That evening, the first that I spotted was Sir Hallam. Unlike an American star with his phalanx of publicists, he was sitting alone. Charged by Fliss, I invited him to join us. To my surprise, he accepted. He was embarrassingly
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