Silver Wattle (36 page)

We agreed to meet at a teahouse in Neutral Bay. I recognised Mr Longford as soon as I stepped into the room with its lace curtains and velveteen chairs. He was sitting by the fireplace, a copy of the morning newspaper in his hands. He was exactly like the picture I had seen of him in
Everyone’s
: smooth ivory skin and a mouth that looked on the brink of a smile. When he stood up to greet me he towered above everything and had to bend to avoid hitting his head on the light-shade that dangled above the table. The soft eyes framed by peaked eyebrows conveyed a great sadness. I did not have to ask why.

‘Lottie would have liked to be here to meet you,’ Mr Longford said, pulling out my chair for me. ‘She enjoys the company of intelligent women with talent. But she’s busy reviewing some of the scenes for our next film.’

Mr Longford was in denial. I had heard from Hugh, who was friends with his cameraman, that Mr Longford’s partner, Lottie Lyell, was too sick to do anything any more and that
Fisher’s Ghost
, which had been released the previous year, was probably the last great Longford–Lyell collaboration. She was in the final throes of consumption.

‘If I had half Miss Lyell’s talent, I should be blessed indeed,’ I told Mr Longford.

Tears welled in his eyes and he turned his head to signal to the waiter, who alleviated further awkwardness by bringing a tray of tea and sponge cakes to the table.

‘Now, what is it that I can do for you?’ Mr Longford asked me.

I told him that I was making my first feature picture and I was experiencing trouble with the actors. What I wanted them to be on screen was not happening in the rushes. I had chosen Mr Longford over other directors because I hoped he would have more respect for a female director due to his partnership with Lottie Lyell.

Mr Longford listened to me thoughtfully. ‘The technique the actors need for the stage and what is required for film are quite different things,’ he said. ‘It sounds as if your actors are projecting themselves too much. You mustn’t make them run over and over their parts, as a theatre director might do. They mustn’t be conscious of acting. Rather they must live their parts and
be
the characters rather than
act
them. If you want your actor to convey that he loves a woman, let his gaze follow her out of the room rather than have him make dramatic gestures. That’s why
The Sentimental Bloke
was praised so highly. Everyone appreciated the naturalness of the actors.’

I considered his advice and realised that he had pinpointed the problem. He also told me that I should treat the whole cast as if they were stars. ‘Every performance counts towards the whole.’

When the waiter offered us more tea we both gladly accepted. I was happy to see that Mr Longford was enjoying talking to me as much as I was him.

‘But you know, Miss Rose,’ he said, rearranging the napkin on his lap, ‘the greatest problem you will face with your film is not the acting nor your age nor your sex. No, the biggest challenge facing you is that you are making a film about Australia. Have you heard of the Combine?’

I shook my head and Mr Longford explained that the Combine referred to the merger of two companies: Australasian Films, which dominated production and distribution, and Union Theatres, which controlled eighty per cent of Sydney’s cinemas. ‘If it were not for the efforts of the Combine to crush the Australian film industry, we would be well ahead of the Americans.’

Mr Longford must have noticed my surprise for he was quick to continue. ‘Make no mistake: the Combine acts in the American industry’s interest,’ he said. ‘It is much cheaper to import films than to make them. Before the war Australian productions were quite crude, but when Lottie and I started making pictures like
The Fatal Wedding
and
Margaret Catchpole
for small sums and earning profits here and in England, we were perceived as a threat.’

I listened with interest while Mr Longford went on to explain that the Combine had sabotaged
The Silence of Dean Maitland
by refusing it a release at premiere theatres.

‘I had to go to an independent exhibitor,’ he said. ‘The Combine then threatened to cut off their supply of films if they screened any more Australian productions.’

I was even more appalled at the financial problems faced by local producers. ‘Because Union Theatres wouldn’t exhibit
The Sentimental Bloke
, I was offered the lowest price possible by Hoyts’ city theatre,’ Mr Longford said. ‘After one week of screening the film three times a day to full houses, they made a fortune and I got thirty pounds.’

I glanced at the palm trees outside the window. The sky was growing dark. A waiter lit the fire and stoked up the flames. It was unbelievable to me that the finest director in Australia was having so much trouble getting his films exhibited and was living a borderline existence when his films themselves were making profits. I reviewed my position. When I had asked Freddy about distribution, he had told me to concentrate on making the best film possible and that he would take care of the rest.

‘And
Fisher’s Ghost
?’ I asked. ‘How did that do?’

Mr Longford’s thin lips broke into a smile. ‘Same story,’ he said. ‘Lottie and I made it for one thousand pounds. It played to full houses and made everyone else a fortune. Our production company went broke.’

‘But you managed to get it distributed?’

‘Not through the Combine,’ answered Mr Longford. ‘Stuart Doyle of Union Theatres said it was “gruesome”.’

‘I thought it was atmospheric,’ I told him. ‘Compared to a lot of American films, I would hardly have called it gruesome.’

Mr Longford put down his cup. ‘It probably wasn’t Mr Doyle anyway but his friend, Frederick Rockcliffe, who had that opinion. It’s well known that Rockcliffe has a low opinion of Australian directors.’

The mention of Freddy’s name fell like an iron on my head. If what Mr Longford said was true, why was Freddy supporting me? I almost admitted to Mr Longford who was producing my picture, but I hesitated. I liked Mr Longford and thought he was a great artist. But there were other Australian directors producing good work too, and Beaumont Smith could get his films exhibited. Yet when Mr Longford spoke, one would have thought he and Lottie Lyell were the only Australian directors of any note. In all my conversations with Freddy, he had seemed supportive of the idea of local production. He had only expressed a dislike of character studies and stories of down-and-outs, which was the genre Mr Longford specialised in. Was it possible that this was not about a large firm trying to crush an artist, but rather a clash of personalities? Mr Longford had presence but he also had an ego. And so did Freddy.

After another round of tea, the subject of our conversation changed from films to my homeland.

‘One would hardly detect an accent although there is something exotic about you, Miss Rose,’ said Mr Longford. ‘And yet, most encouragingly, I find you more passionately Australian than most Australians.’

I thanked him for what I considered a great compliment. Yes, I did feel passionately about my new homeland and its natural beauty. My mind drifted to Ranjana. She spoke with a perfect British accent but until she adopted her sari again she had not been accepted.

It was dark outside when Mr Longford and I agreed that we should head to our homes. Mr Longford helped me with my coat and walked me to the wharf. Before I boarded the ferry, he tipped his hat to me and said, ‘You are very young, Miss Rose. You have so much to learn and so much ahead of you. I envy you…and in some ways I pity you too.’

I waved to him as the ferry chugged off, leaving a wake of white foam in the black water. The next time I would see him, Lottie Lyell would be dead and his career in pictures would be over. Mr Longford’s words were an omen, even though I did not know it then.

W
hen I told Klara and Robert that Raymond Longford had made Lottie Lyell and Arthur Tauchert mingle with the poor of Woolloomooloo to prepare them for
The Sentimental Bloke
, Robert suggested that the actors of
In the Dark
live in his house while we were filming. ‘They should look as though they belong here,’ he said.

Freddy agreed when I repeated Robert’s suggestion to him. ‘The picture will be more convincing if the actors look natural in their surroundings. It should be the most normal thing in the world to them that someone else will clear a table after them or pick up their clothes.’

He bought Dolly a tailored dress to rehearse in, rather than the blouse and skirt she had been wearing.

‘It’s not very comfortable,’ she complained.

‘Society women are never comfortable,’ Freddy told her. ‘But they always look smart.’

Andy and Don spent their breaks playing tennis with Robert, and finished their day by investigating the labels on the bottles above the bar.

During one lunch break I noticed that Esther, who was organising the catering, had set her hair in waves. She looked beautiful. Robert and Freddy complimented her but Hugh said nothing. Esther stared at Hugh longer than necessary each time she passed a plate or piece of cutlery in his direction, but Hugh looked straight through her.

She is besotted with him, I sighed. In the years we had lived with Esther, she had ceased to be our landlady. We were more like a family, and Esther, who had been an only child, often said she felt she was living with her sisters and brothers. I had been unlucky in love, but that did not mean I couldn’t hope for the best for those I cared about. So what about Hugh? Was he oblivious to Esther’s interest or was he only shy?

One afternoon, while Hugh and I were having a production meeting, Esther snuck into the room with a tray of tea and biscuits. She placed it on the table beside us without a word and crept out the door again. Hugh did not even look up. I could not stand it any longer.

‘Hugh, I want to talk to you about Esther,’ I said.

‘Who?’ he asked, continuing to make notes on his script.

‘Esther!’ I repeated.

Giallo jumped from Hugh’s shoulder onto the table. ‘Esther!’ he squawked.

Hugh glanced up. ‘Oh, Esther,’ he said. ‘Yes?’

‘She likes you…she likes you a lot. As a man.’

Hugh stared at me with such incomprehension that at first it was comical. Then his eyes darkened. ‘I don’t want any woman’s sympathy. I know she lost her fiance in the war and he was a hero and all that. Well, I’m not him.’

‘I don’t think she thinks you are,’ I said. ‘You remind her of him, but of course she knows you are someone different.’

Hugh turned back to his script and did not answer.

‘Don’t you even think she’s nice, Hugh?’

‘I don’t think anything at all,’ he said, slamming the script on the table. Hugh had a gruff manner at the best of times but I had never seen him lose his temper. It took me a few seconds to recover.

‘What are you angry about?’ I asked him. ‘I’m only trying to help. Do you want to be alone all your life?’

Hugh turned his back to me and muttered, ‘Yes, well, I don’t say anything about you and Freddy.’

‘What did you say?’ I asked, not sure if I had heard correctly. Was Hugh jealous that Freddy had become so involved in the picture?

‘I’m here to make a picture with you,’ Hugh replied. ‘Not to have my life interfered with. Can we get back to work?’

I felt my face redden. Hugh had never spoken to me like that. We had always been equals. ‘Four eyes are better than two’ was our motto. He had reprimanded me as if I were a schoolgirl because I had pointed out Esther’s interest. She was a lovely person and he would be lucky to have her.

‘I’m the director of this film,’ I reminded him. ‘Be careful how you speak to me.’

Hugh did not respond to the rebuke. A chilly silence hung between us while he returned to writing on his script. He glanced up and noticed the tea tray. ‘Here,’ he said, pulling it towards us and pouring me a cup. ‘Let’s say no more on the subject and concentrate on the picture. Agreed?’

My anger softened when I heard his conciliatory tone. ‘Agreed,’ I answered. I was glad that the goodwill was restored between us, but when I looked at the freshly baked biscuits on the tray I could not help feeling sorry for Esther.

A few days after we finished filming, Uncle Ota wrote to say that he would be returning to Sydney with Ranjana and Thomas. Uncle Ota had found a manager for the Balgownie cinema and Freddy had invited my uncle to become his partner. The two men intended to make an offer on Mr Tilly’s cinema, which Uncle Ota would manage himself in order to be with us. I was thrilled by the news. I had missed Uncle Ota and Ranjana and especially Thomas. The house was not the same without his cheerful chatter.

The same night, another friend returned.

I was in the kitchen thinking about ideas for a new script, when I heard a bump on the roof. The house had been silent until then except for the occasional creak of its walls. I listened. Footsteps scurried along the roof then came to a halt. A cat, I told myself. The steps were too heavy for a rat or a mouse.

Something jumped into the tree outside the window. The leaves rustled and two eyes glistened in the dark. A possum with one flat ear peered through the foliage.

‘Angel!’

I grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl and rushed outside. The possum was twice as big as the Angel I remembered but she did not run away when I approached her.

‘Angel,’ I murmured. ‘Where have you been?’

I bit off a piece of apple and passed it to her. She clasped it in her paws and chewed it noisily. Something moved in her belly. A crimson nose and whiskers appeared and sniffed the air. Then a tiny head with pointed ears and bright eyes emerged from the pouch.

‘You’ve got a joey!’ I cried.

I sat on the back steps and watched Angel and her baby. The joey crawled out of Angel’s pouch and onto her back. It nibbled the soft tips of leaves while Angel crunched on the mature ones. I filled Angel in on everything that had happened since her disappearance.

‘And you inspired my first picture…although I had to change your character to a native bear.’