Unity (24 page)

D-day. Car 6 a.m. Set 6.15. Hurled into make-up chair and then to wardrobe. Emerge 7. F[elicity]: ‘All dressed up with nowhere to go.' Too true! Sit around until noon. Problems with lighting. Then, just as Gerhard, the D[irector of] P[hotography], finally satisfied, the heavens open. Troop indoors for weather cover.
109

But sky so grey, study also needs to be relit.

At least, as a child, given lessons to pass time.

Simple scene. Everyday life with the Mitfords: taking parents to tea with the Dictator. Hard enough with my father playing my father (if he pulls it off, truly deserves an Oscar) without Dora Manners playing my mother as well. Everything I despise in a woman. Professional siren on-stage and off. Gerald claims that in her day she was known as ‘ever-open Dora'. From tone, can tell that it was shut tight on him. He proposes taking bets on who'll be her first victim. My money on one of the grips (thighs like
tree-trunks
), if it weren't so appallingly sexist.

Resolved to play happy families. Little choice since there is
ONLY ONE TRAILER
. Couldn't care 2p for myself. Burj-el-Brajneh
110
knocked out any concern for creature comforts. But Gerald and Dora are older: they need privacy. Ring Elaine in London
111
(Fobbed off with Melody. Useless!). Appeal to Werner, who doesn't hold out much hope. Same selective language lapses as Wolfram. Chatting away 19 to 12 in London last June. Now requires an interpreter. Most odd.

Father does not help matters by invoking Dunkirk spirit.

Gerhard gives go-ahead around 2 p.m. W[olfram]'s methods unnerving. Talks a lot about rehearsing but doesn't do any. Blocks scene and then runs a bit of it, discusses next bit and then calls for it to be shot (as if his conscious intention were to create a mystery). One take. At end, shouts something (in German) which turns out to be ‘Print.' Horrified. Tell him I was just limbering up. He says it's fine. I ask for chance to run it again. He says it would lack freshness. Envelops me in musty hug and assures me it was perfect. I say that it's not what I am used to. He says that is also good.

1
^st
interview. Publicist (proud of her hair) cites interest from papers across Europe but promises to restrict access to a few select journalists. Urge her to relax restraint. No one with more reason to mistrust press than me (‘Geraldine's Goons' –
Sunday Express
. ‘From Disney to Trotsky' –
Sunday Times
) but prepared to submit for sake of film. Refused to give interviews in Eng unless politics declared off-limits. Result: no interviews. Lesson.

Interviewer arrives on dot of 11. Brings large bunch of roses. Tactic maybe, but it works! Steer conversation away from
Hollywood
(‘You might as well question someone abducted by aliens') to matter at hand. He asks if it's hard to play second violin.
Bemused until substitute second fiddle. Explain that what matters to me is film not part. Besides, Diana is integral. Unity the
headstrong
romantic but Diana the committed fascist. Rented flat in Munich for most of the 30s. Hobnobbed with leading Nazis. Film might almost be titled
Diana
.

Int: ‘Are you afraid audiences might not accept you in the role? After all, very few actresses are so well-known for their left-wing beliefs.'

G.M.: ‘That's an advantage. Wolfram hopes it will prevent easy identification. My job is not to justify Diana Mosley (a woman who allowed class interests to override basic humanity) nor even, according to Wolfram, to portray her in the conventional sense but to present her within the context of the film.'

(Trust it will sound as good in German).

Asks why it's so long since I made a film. Remind him that I was eighteen when
Downtown
released. Was I to graduate solely on screen? Was my entire life to take place in parallel universe? No. Defied Father and studios and went to Berkeley. Discovered the chasm between reality of America and sanitised image that it chose to present to world (and to itself).

Always intended to return to screen, but much harder in England where industry so small. Besides, banned by BBC. Nothing official but leaked memo. Not even honest enough to admit it to my face. All decided behind closed doors. Classic strategy of fascist
organisation
.

He shocked. Germans understandably sensitive about word, but they don't own a monopoly on it. Assure him that a British memo can be just as brutal as a German jackboot. Same determination to stamp out freedom and dissent.

Ten years of struggle have exhausted me. Will never abandon it but need to draw back. Time for new faces to come forward. Very grateful to W. for taking risk on me. Others have tried but yielded to powerful financial pressure (no names but implication clear).

Tape-recorder off; notebook shut: journalist asks for my thoughts on Schleyer kidnap. Look blank. He elaborates. Last night, group of urban guerrillas in Cologne intercepted car containing Head of West German Industries Federation. Exchange of fire left 4 dead. Kidnappers escaped with captive. Phone calls to media claiming that S. will be eliminated at 5.15 tomorrow (= today) if Andreas Baader and several imprisoned revolutionaries not released.

Strove to conceal elation. Made suitably anodyne comment about loss of life. On other hand, freedom of comrades would certainly offer cause for celebration. My sympathies, as always, lay with victims of state violence.

a.m.: Sir Hallam Bamforth arrived. Delayed by 3 days of tests at Middlesex Hospital. ‘I'm still feeling a mite fragile. They wanted to perform an exploratory op. They planned to rip me open from belly to chest and examine my entrails before inserting a tube up my private parts. “Awfully kind of you,” I said, “but pass.” Never trust the London teaching hospitals. At my age, they regard you as raw material for their students.'

In theory, everything I despise. Grandson of Lord Chancellor. Son of bishop. Plays same roles on stage as they did in life. Hands dirty only as Othello. English eccentricity at its most insidious – and marketable. Even his nose shows contempt for conventional proportions. Yet can't help admiring his spirit: totally – and
gloriously
– himself.

Paid courtesy call with Gerald. All he could do to remain civil. Reason clear on leaving: Sir H.'s suite bigger than his. Incredible! Grown men but still little boys in playground. Competitive instinct never dies. Proof = Byron's sex-change friends in Venice swapping boasts of who has biggest prick for who has biggest
tits.
112
Furious with feminists who refuse to accept them as women. But why? Hormones may transform their bodies, but their minds remain depressingly male.

Worst offender is my father.

p.m.: Führerbau. Hitler, Unity and I flip through old copies of
Tatler
, listing people who'd support him if he invaded.

1
^st
thought: Why should Hitler whose power-base lower-middle class have such an ‘anyone who's anyone' view of England?

2
^nd
thought: Was he merely humouring Mitfords?

3
^rd
thought: Would names be any different if similar trio plotting today?

Struck by technical cock-ups. 5 takes (record!). Take 4: alarm goes off on Werner's watch. W[olfram] volcanic.

Increasingly dismayed by Wolfram's silence. Finally roused to ask why he never says ‘Well done' at end of take. W.: ‘It is always well done.'

Gee thanks!

Especially odd given Wolfram also an actor who must know that there are dozens of ways of playing scene. Told him, ‘I can do it any way you want, but I have to know what you want. Right now I'm constantly trying to second guess.'

W.: ‘It is perfect.'

Feel doubly worthless. If everything I do is equally good, then nothing I do matters.

Long talk with Felicity (surprisingly mature). 100% trust in W. Regards him as genius and herself as mere colour on his palette. But then easy for her: not a professional.

Could resent her, plucked out of nowhere and thrust into leading role. But disarming: funny, unspoiled and not at all self-obsessed. What's more, not too proud to seek advice. Such a change from H[ollywood?] where questions seen as sign of weakness.

Talked about family. Minor aristocracy. One uncle owns large chunks of Leicestershire. Another, ambassador here in Bonn. But not at all wedded to class. Dismissive of royal link. Tells childhood story of Duke of Edinburgh opening fête in uncle's grounds. He taken aback by sign: Ride on Prince Philip, 6d. It was her pony.

Unexpectedly political. Fascinated by Schleyer case. Buys wide range of German papers which L[uke] translates. Reports that today's lead with trivial story about mass meeting of Schmidts – like Smith, the country's most common surname – postponed while Chancellor (guest of honour) deals with crisis. Meanwhile real news suppressed when government refuses to allow taped message from kidnappers to be broadcast on TV (so-called mechanical fault!).

Interrupted by L. As usual, flushes crimson the moment he sees me. Awe-struck? Attracted? Unnerving.

Feel sorry for him. In an invidious position. Devoted to F. (touching), while pursued by W. (embarrassing), who insists on placing him in many more scenes than scripted. W. much more hands-on with L. than with rest of us. Constantly complains that he is too stiff. To remedy it, strides on to set and tickles him. Result: L. more tense than ever. Strange thing is F. encourages it. At first, thought she was naive but increasingly reminded (try not to be reminded) of Father when Mission
113
was directing me.

Any hope that Father might have changed spots dashed by
treatment
of Sir Hallam.

a.m.: Shooting consulate tea party. Five retakes while Sir H. fumbles for words. Tells W[olfram] with excessive relish that he should spank him. Grip laughs. G[erald] rounds on him: ‘Mock all you like, but it's nothing short of heroic. At an age when he could – some might say, should – be sitting back dusting his scrapbooks, he's still out here, taking on every bit part that's offered. So if the rest of us are left kicking our heels while the old brain cranks into gear, it's a small price to pay.'

Result: Sir H. more flustered than before.

Sir H. rallies when we gather for Friday night dinner. Declaims panegyric to G.'s courage in making career in America (as if he'd gone over on Mayflower rather than Boeing). Purports to regard the country as wild and uncivilised where parents, desperate for distinction, christen sons Duke and Earl.

Expresses gratitude for US popularity. ‘I've outlived my
obsolescence
. Of course it helps to have won an Oscar. Such a to-do about nothing. But there's no need to tell you, Gerald. You know how little it's worth.' He smiles innocently, knowing that it's worth as much as G.'s entire career.

Can scarcely restrain cheer at seeing bully bettered. G. berated me for interview in
Die Welt
. Claims I promised to keep off politics. When? Might as well promise to keep off food.

Not prepared to fight him any more, but won't sit back and watch him rewrite history. Pretends my activism has killed his career: that Jews in H[ollywood] refuse to hire him. Fact: his career was dying twenty years ago. I revived it. Even now, only cast because W. thought it neat to have my real father play my fictional one. Real father: no! Just man who has acquired the patina of
parenthood
.

And what was this great career I'm supposed to have destroyed? Sure, it began well enough. Gerald Mortimer, clean-cut,
straight-batting
English actor hits Hollywood in the 30s. Never out of uniform: drumming civilisation into fuzzie-wuzzies or taking
pot-shots
at the Hun.

Then fight against Hitler. Civilisation under greater threat. At the end of it, everything changed. Interest in imperial themes declined as fast as Empire. Brits no longer given leading roles. G. slid below title: the token Englishman; the white Sidney Poitier. When Errol Flynn won the War, my father stood two steps behind for verisimilitude.

Stroke of luck when he heard about the casting for
The Wanderers.
His career relaunched on back of mine. Played my father and grandfather, my guardian (man & angel). S[heila]
114
took fright. Tried to take me back to England, but I stuck with G. Believed S. was one who was jealous! So she returned alone to her Surrey potting-shed life. NB: last week's phone call and her ‘exhausting afternoon spent freshening my pot pourris'.

Meanwhile, Father grew greedy. ‘Why should the producers and agents get a piece of you and not your own flesh and blood?' (Unlike Sir H., I can remember lines). Said no to the Studio and
Middleton High
. Directed me himself in remake of
The Secret Garden.
Difficult to know which was worse: his direction or my performance. At 17, even with boobs strapped and face scrubbed, made risible 12-year-old.

Audiences duly roared.

And he blames me for destroying his career!

Not called. Went with Ralf, Werner & Heike to watch the dailies. Huge relief. The visuals are stunning. Only a handful of scenes but already a clear aesthetic. Wolfram sets up an intricate filmic
commentary
. Diana and Unity in a series of mirror shots. Hitler framed by images of violence: greeting Redesdales in front of
The Flaying of Marsyas
; reading
Tatler
against
The Rape of the Sabine Women
.

Heightened acting and formal compositions preclude easy emotional response. Characters shown not as individuals but as part of a wider picture. Hats off to W. Amazing how, with so little theory, he creates such a clear perspective. Genuinely political film. Relief about F[elicity]. Inexperience on set becomes spontaneity on screen. Plays every moment. Not afraid of inconsistencies that might worry a more seasoned actress.