Unity (25 page)

G.M. not half bad either!

Post-screening drink with Ralf. Perfect rapport. Have completely misread his attitude. Far from scorn, reveals deep admiration for my political stand. Pays ultimate compliment: ‘You are so
un-English
.'

R.'s aloofness = preoccupation. Very worried about current kidnapping. Explains that the Right are out for blood. Police
Federation
demanding more resources for war against terrorism. Helmut Kohl, Leader of Opposition, insisting on tougher penalties and clampdown on universities. R.: These are troubled times for Germany. Doubly important to make uncompromising film.

Must find out from Beate whether married, single or queer.

No need of Beate!

Works outing to Mad King Ludwig's castle at Neuschwanstein.

F[elicity], the prime mover. Supposed to be at memorial service for
Israeli athletes assassinated at Munich Olympics 5 years ago last week (Classic liberal tactic: Honour ‘innocent' victims and demonise revolutionaries.) Guest-list = politicians and diplomats from around the globe incl F.'s ambassadorial uncle and aunt. She due to accompany them, but Germans, in thrall to history and desperate to appease Zionists, are determined that everything should go 100% according to plan. So service postponed until Schleyer crisis resolved.

F. grateful. Spends long enough in wardrobe without putting on Sunday clothes. Planned celebratory excursion: invited W[olfram], but he refused to waste time on ‘that Bavarian shit', preferring Disney version.
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Added that he was far too busy to take day off, whatever the attractions. Cue pointed look at L[uke]. F. seemingly oblivious. She displays clear symptoms of First Director syndrome: willing to do anything for him (cf G.M. with Mission).

Motley crew of Ralf, Luke (failing to conceal attraction to me beneath cloak of indifference), Dora (more concerned with seeking out restaurant than castle) and Carole Medhurst (No comment).

4 hour journey. R. drives: L. offers: F. vetoes. Long queue at entrance. Have quiet word with F. about mentioning names. Medhurst, overhearing, makes predictably snide remark – though quick enough to take advantage when supervisor ushers us in.

A truly bizarre building: all corridors and stairs and angles and spikes. A paranoid fantasy dressed up as a fairy-tale. In
throne-room
, party of schoolgirls recognise me – or rather Heidi.
Medhurst
says that it's just the result of supervisor repeating my name (as sour as she was five years ago). Sign several guide-books, 2 paper bags and 1 hand.

R. in long talk with F. about Schleyer. Later confides impressions (Impressed!). Surprised by level of political sophistication. F. responds by praising German social conscience – though I'm not convinced W. best example to pick. Potential recruit? Will speak to D[ermot] and ask him to send selection of books.

Stimulating day. Even more stimulating night. Sleeping with Hitler!

Ashamed of yesterday's cheap climax. You can take the girl out of Hollywood but can't take Hollywood out of the girl.

Did I think I'd read entry in years to come and applaud?

Definitely applaud R[alf]. A true comrade. Tells of extraordinary childhood: product of project dreamed up by Himmler to create master-race. Farms where blond, blue-eyed mädchens stabled like prize mares and SS men put to stud.
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(R. traumatised. But is it that different from London Season where upper-class matrons farm out daughters to carefully selected young men?)

R.: ‘I know nothing about my father except for his two favourite initials and nothing about my mother except that she cared more for the Führer than for morality or me.'

No memory of his parents. As a baby, handed to childless Gestapo officer and wife. Father = fun. Favourite game: horses. R. sat on his shoulders whipping him. Now agonises over the men and women (and children) father whipped when not at play.

Mother = Nazi poster girl. All bosom and plaits. R. learnt later that, when visiting husband at Buchenwald, she stood at wire
beside Commandant's wife watching naked prisoners on parade ground. Trouble was weather too cold to enjoy it.

After War, both parents imprisoned. R. placed in custody of nuns, who were as hard as his mother was soft. All love reserved for tortured man in chapel, for whose death they (mankind in general; convent children in particular) were responsible. R. grew up confused: were they responsible because children of murderers or children of Eve?

Rest of youth equally wretched. At 12, nuns sold him to Lutheran minister and wife. ‘Sold' no hyperbole, even if cash took the form of a donation towards new convent kitchen. R. treated as servant: cleaning; gardening; chopping wood. Kept in ignorance. Allowed no book but the Bible. Words were dangerous – it was then that he learnt to treasure them. He escaped at 17. Even the Bible was subversive, with its stories of heroes and prophets who broke free of Pharaohs and prisons and lions. He made his way to Berlin, where he found menial work in restaurants. A fellow dishwasher belonged to commune that squatted house abandoned by
bourgeois
on building of Wall. He invited R. to move in. There, he mixed with writers and artists and found answers to question posed in convent.

Fast forward to mid 60s. Several members of commune plan the first Happening. R. persuaded to take part. Shows real talent and is encouraged to play larger role. ‘I began to act and to agitate at the same time, although I can't pretend that both have the same impact. Acting is something I have to do for me. It gives me the strength to do everything else.'

(Wish I'd said that).

Fast forward again to 1967. Shah of Iran's visit to Germany provokes non-violent protests against regime. NON-VIOLENT. State responds with Nazi tactics. Police take up arms on streets of Berlin, protecting the Shah and killing one of R.'s friends.

The death changed him irrevocably. He realised that the capitalist state would never voluntarily cede power & became a
revolutionary
, in life, work and art.

Keen to return the confidence and tell him about my childhood, on paper so privileged, in practice so abused. Wanted to describe how I too had risen from rubble but preferred to make the
connection
non-verbally.

Blissful fuck.

R[alf] vetoed my proposal to watch him on set. Determined that W[olfram] shouldn't have wind of our relationship. Convinced he'd use it against us (malicious, manipulative & worse).

I feigned disappointment but secretly relieved. Spent day in state of guiltless idleness as if working nights.

11 a.m. Massage. Dialogue courtesy of Carry On Stroking. ‘Now I shall cream you … I feel a stiffness along your thighs.'

Tea with F[elicity] who finished filming early. Reveals growing obsession with Schleyer. Complains that W. refuses to discuss case with her. Why? Does he think her too English and stupid to understand? Blatant nonsense! Look at Unity and Nazis. Precisely because she talked politics that so many of Hitler's entourage distrusted her. Or is W. scared for himself? Renate reports previous support for R[ed] A[rmy] F[action]. And papers full of allusions to well-placed ‘terrorist' sympathisers. She wants him to know – even if she can only hint at it – that she is in total sympathy with him.

Ticklish moment alone in lift with Medhurst. Absurd for G.M. to feel intimidated by a woman whose finest hour was playing a Cadbury's
creme egg
.

Never forget her agonising over motivation. From fuss she made, might as well have been Hedda Gabler. Then, after weeks of tortuous experiment, breakthrough came when she remembered friend, chief's daughter from Sierra Leone (completely
Westernised
– went to school in Cheltenham), who used to complain of feeling a misfit: white inside, black on surface. At that moment, knew that she had found key to role.

Medhurst and lift-boy startled by G.M.'s barely suppressed guffaw.

Evening with Ralf. Bad day on set. Threw minor Crawford
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when W. told him to take putrid sexual imagery in
Mein Kampf
as key to Hitler's character.

Discuss F.: R. that we shouldn't underestimate her because of class background (makes crude comparison with me!). R. also concerned about Schleyer. Fears that positions are becoming entrenched. Increasing pressure on government not to do a deal. Opinion poll in
Welt am Sontag
(poisonous), found 60% of
population
opposed release of RAF while even more (70%?) wanted death penalty reintroduced for their crimes.

Meanwhile another deadline set by kidnappers for Schleyer/prisoners exchange has passed.

R. revelatory about Schleyer: A FASCIST! Joined Hitler Youth long before it was necessary. Leader of Nazi student organisation at university. Member of SS working in Industry Association in Occupied Prague. Not an ‘eyes closed, no choice' man but a ‘head first, no qualms' one. Imprisoned for three years at end of War.

So why hasn't a single paper mentioned his past instead of placing him in forefront of fight for democracy?

R. replies (obliquely): ‘After the War, your country … your
countries
' (granting me dual culpability) ‘wanted to de-Nazify ours. But they soon found that if they de-Nazified the judiciary, there would be no judges; if they de-Nazified industry, there would be no bosses; if they de-Nazified the universities, there would be no professors. So who would there be to administer the law, to rebuild the economy, to teach the young? And, more important, who would there be to protect Europe from the Red Menace gathering on its borders? That same Red Menace that led you to appease Hitler before the War led you to legitimise his followers after it.'

That is the background to the martyrdom of Saint Schleyer.

And they call us extremists!

Big day. My first screen wedding – though fact that it was to Sir Oswald Mosley took gilt off the g-bread. Had to stop myself giving chief witness
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smiles reserved for groom. Liam Finch (
square-built
, inside and out), a prick. Thinks he's God's Gift (or God Himself?) because he's played a couple of princelings at Stratford. Looks down on those of us who cut our teeth in Hollywood – which, for all the hat-doffing to Sir H., is where he longs to be. See how quickly ‘selling out' becomes ‘risk-taking' as he convinces himself and millions of viewers of the
Johnny Carson Show
that a car chase is as great a challenge as a Shakespearean soliloquy.

Spend an eternity at the register. W[olfram] intent on a cloud plunging the room into darkness the moment we sign our names. Hours passed synchronising effects: time which might be used more profitably rehearsing actors. Blondi's
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trainer gives him closer direction than W. ever gives us.

At dinner, Gerald hands me
Daily Mirror
cutting sent by his agent (Elaine's silence shows uncharacteristic sensitivity. Is she
planning
to ditch me?). Piece confirms all my worst fears. Interviewer links Diana's ‘extremism' to mine. Far Left & Far Right two sides of same coin.

Predictable jibe from someone who's taken the Fleet Street shilling.

Feel genuine pity for her. Can't be easy being so cynical. Worming her way into peoples' confidence. My own fault for lowering guard. NEVER AGAIN.

Concerted campaign of misinformation. Should take it as tribute. Bourgeoisie running scared. More urgent than ever that we mobilise. And no, Lynda Tressel,
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we claim no special privileges for ourselves. We believe in equality for all, not a self-styled elite. On the other hand, activists are crucial to provide a lead when materialism lulls workers out of their revolutionary role. How can ordinary people hold out against the weight of government propaganda?

In America, when Johnson turned whole Vietnamese villages into concentration camps, millions of people swallowed the State Department line (‘purification zones'). Anything else like
admitting
favourite uncle – Sam, of course – a fraud.

In Britain, where colonial troops occupy Northern Ireland, there's a consensus that they provide an essential buffer between rival groups of religious fanatics.

Is it extreme to point this out?

Not called.

G[erald] urging me to bond with Haroko. Suggested shopping!
Male cliché of sisterhood (Has he ever been to a sale?).

Trudge around store. H.'s smile reflected in every surface. Tries to endear herself by repeating G.'s stories of my childhood. Like a fence dealing in stolen goods.

Lunch. H. opens up (a little). Speaks with hand over mouth as if afraid words will wound. Admits to feeling intimidated by my closeness to Father. G. has told her full story of how he brought me up single-handedly after mother's departure.

Excuse me?

Enlighten her that ‘brought up' when used by Father a very loose term. Can be roughly translated as handing me over to chaperones and governesses, ignoring me except for my value at Box Office and in bedroom (to lure prospective girlfriends with evidence of paternal solicitude).

Remember only one shared excursion in entire childhood. Visit to aquarium where he took pleasure in pointing out resemblance between every ugly fish and my mother. Returned home in tears.