mean?â
âHmm.â
âIâll tell you what it means, Charles. It means what it always means in television â more bloody rewrites!â
âOh, but surely they wonât need to change the scripts?â
âThey
always
need to change the scripts â first rule of television. At least they donât always need to change the scripts, but they always insist on changing the scripts. Producers and script editors would feel they were failing in their God-given mission if they accepted a script in its original form. I tell you, if I delivered
Hamlet
to this lot, theyâd come back to me with a great pile of notes. âWouldnât it be better if he was a bit more decisive? And there arenât really many laughs, are there? And couldnât you combine the parts of Rosencrantz and Guildernstern? Seems rather a waste to have two of them, doesnât it, because they both serve the same function? And could we cut the scene in the graveyard? Well, you know how expensive film is, and it doesnât really seem to
add
much. And as for that ending â well, talk about downbeat. Canât you liven it up a bit?â
Charles chuckled. âI take your point. Was that the sort of meeting you had this morning?â Will looked at him, uncomprehending. âThis morning, when Ben and Dilly dragged you out of the canteen?â
âOh, then. No, actually that one didnât materialise. Soon as we got outside the canteen, Ben, with typical resolution, remembered there was something else he should be doing. But donât worry, the meeting is only postponed. More rewrites will still be wanted.â
âI still donât see why youâll have to rewrite just because someone newâs taking over the part of Christina.â
âIâm sure I will have to, though. The new person they get will be totally different from Sippy, that I can guarantee.â
âWhy?â
âWell, this time I should think theyâd get an actress.â
âGod, I set that up for you perfectly, didnât I?â
âYes, Charles. Thank you very much â feed lines always appreciated.â
Charles grinned. But he felt uncomfortable. He had some atavistic inhibition about speaking ill of the dead. Though his opinion of Sippy Stokesâs acting abilities hadnât changed from that morning, it seemed somehow wrong to be making such comments now.
âAnyway,â Will went on moodily, âeven if they donât want the later scripts totally rewritten â which they almost definitely will â Iâve still got a lot to do on the first one, particularly now.â
âWhat, the one weâve been doing today?â
âYes. âThe Brass Candlestick Murderâ.â The writer put a world of contempt into his enunciation of W. T. Wintergreenâs title.
âBut surely weâll just scrap everything that Sippy recorded and redo those scenes with a new actress?â
âDonât you believe it. Oh, no, if Ben Docherty can see a way of saving a few bob, then who cares how much extra work the mere writer has to do?â
âYou mean heâs intending to use the scenes with Sippy in them?â
âYes. Not a business famous for its sentimentality, television. No, dear warm-hearted Ben will salvage every last inch of tape he can. Anything rather than retaking the lot. So my latest directive this afternoon is to assemble a new jigsaw from the scenes weâve already recorded and find some âreally plausible explanationâ â I quote Dilly Muirfieldâs words â for the fact that Stanislas Braidâs adored and irreproachable daughter, Christina, suddenly vanishes out of the second half of the story.â
âBut thatâll cock up the continuity into the next episode, surely? I mean, you canât have a completely different actress suddenly appearing as the same character.â
âDonât worry,
Carol Wallace, Bill Wallance