Their Finest Hour and a Half Read Online Free PDF Page B

screen.’
    â€˜You mean, you hope it doesn’t look cheap.’
    â€˜Your words, dear chap, not mine.’
    â€˜The designer used the word “simplicity” rather than “economy”. He said that it was actually an exciting challenge to produce something stylish on a tiny budget – it made him think very hard.’
    â€˜Did it, indeed?’ Made him think very hard, presumably, about painting a flat with taupe emulsion and then putting a table in front of it and calling it ‘The Browns’ Dining-Room’. Ambrose checked his watch; it seemed extraordinary that, despite the brevity of the scripts, the amount of aimless waiting around was, if anything, even greater than was usual in filming. It might, he thought, be worth using the extra time to go in search of some decent cigarettes, his tobacconist having last week fobbed him off with a Turkish brand called ‘Pasha’ which smelled of scorched wool and tasted of camel shit. ‘So if that’s all . . .’ he said, pushing his chair back.
    â€˜No, not quite. I’d rather like to ask you about the challenge of acting in a propaganda piece.’
    â€˜Oh.’ Ambrose lowered his buttocks on to the seat again. ‘What about it?’
    â€˜Well . . . is it a challenge? Are new techniques required when you’re attempting to convey a state-sponsored message rather than a simple story? Are you aware of a greater responsibility than usual in your interpretation of the text? Where does characterization end and didacticism begin?’
    Heswell gripped his pencil and looked expectant, as if this cascade of nonsense deserved a considered answer. Didacticism . Ambrose was unsure of what it even meant; it was one of those words that had suddenly appeared in the thirties, invented, presumably, in order to bulk out those long, dull political articles that nowadays dominated every magazine, even those supposedly devoted to entertainment. It was notable that Film Fun Weekly had never felt the need for questions like these. When Ambrose had been voted the third most popular British male star in their 1924 end-of-year poll, he’d been sent a list of ‘things our readers want to know’ and they’d included such queries as: ‘ What is your favourite flower? ’, ‘ Which do you consider more important: truth or beauty? ’ and ‘ What is your opinion of unmarried women who wear face “make-up”? ’ Trivial, possibly, but at least the reader would actually finish the article in possession of more information than when they had started.
    Heswell was still waiting. ‘An actor acts ,’ said Ambrose. ‘You may as well ask a river what it thinks of its name – Thames or Tiber, Rhine or Styx, it makes no damned difference – it simply goes on being a river.’
    Heswell frowned, as if trying to recollect something. ‘Wasn’t that . . . ?’ he began.
    â€˜I’m so sorry,’ said Ambrose, getting to his feet, ‘but I’m going to have to leave you, Mr Heswell. Business calls.’ He tapped his watch, smiled and turned to find his path blocked by a short, entirely bald man.
    â€˜Come to get yer,’ said the man, in a rusty monotone. It was like being addressed by an iron bollard.
    â€˜And you are . . . ?’
    The figure lifted his head fractionally. ‘Third assistant director,’ he said, fixing Ambrose with a dead, grey stare. ‘They’ve told me to tell yer that yer wanted on the floor straight away.’
    â€˜Very well, very well,’ said Ambrose, slightly rattled. ‘But please use my name in future. It’s Hilliard, Mr Hilliard.’
    â€˜And mine’s Chick,’ said the man, catching the final sound on the back of his throat. It sounded like the unlocking of a safety catch.
    â€˜Chick?’
    â€˜Chick.’ There was an unnecessarily long pause.