Diaries 1969-1979_ The Python Years - Michael Palin [241]
John Terry gives a short, obviously well-prepared speech about Jabberwocky being a British film, part-financed by the British government. But there are long silences, probably because the whole electronic system of mikes and simultaneous translation may be OK for the United Nations, but is utterly dampening in a roomful of twenty people. The whole miserable charade lasts about three-quarters of an hour.
Monday, July 4th
In keeping with our way of meeting all the interesting film people on the last day of the festival, we find ourselves in a car with Barbara Stone, an American who now lives in London and with her husband runs a small film distribution network and a cinema – the Gate at Notting Hill. They are one of several new distributors who are doing very well in London, feeding quality (mainly foreign) films to the eager London sophisticates (or just, let’s face it, people who enjoy a good intelligent movie). They’re making money now, and are directly able to help directors (such as Derek Jarman, who made Sebastiane). A good sign – nice to meet someone who is optimistic about the cinema in Britain. A Londonophile too – she says they couldn’t start and run a similar cinema in the States.
In the evening, despite terminal drowsiness, I have to read the Python film script, which I haven’t touched for three months, and have intelligent comments on it ready for our meeting tomorrow.
Tuesday, July 3th
Eric is the first person I see. He was in hospital a week ago, being fed intravenously and with pipes through the nose to drain his stomach. Apparently there was a complication after his appendix removal, and he was back in the highly expensive Wellington Hospital for Arabs (as Graham said, when he visited him, Eric appeared to be ‘the only Caucasian in the place’). So Eric is thin as a stick, long-haired and bearded. He thanks me for the pile of books I sent him. I apologised for not having had time to visit him, but I sent him an Intellectuals Get-U-Well Reading Pack, which included a potted biography of Debbie Reynolds.
According to Terry’s report (he and TG went location-hunting in mid-June), Tunisia sounds the easiest of the Mediterranean countries to film in. They are well organised, there are good sites and comfortable hotels and the film entrepreneur is the nephew of the President – so no problems stopping the traffic!
But Terry J is not entirely happy with Tunisia – he is worried that we will merely be duplicating all the locations Zeffirelli used, and that it doesn’t really look like the Holy Land. John Cleese had had a letter from Israeli Films, trying to persuade us to film there. Terry J wants to look at Jordan. Gilliam says the best hilly city streets are not in Tunisia but in Fez in Morocco, so no solutions are obvious.
A lunch break. John, Terry G and I go and lie in Regent’s Park in the sunshine, whilst Terry J has to organise one of his many philanthropic projects (Vole, Kington Brewery, etc1) with Anne. John gets on to a well-worn theme – money. He makes no bones about it, says he, this film must make him a great deal of money. Apparently nothing else does apart from commercials. Coming from a man whom I saw having difficulty parking his Rolls-Royce this morning, that does sound a little un-sad, but it’s a jolly chat and indicative of a generally more relaxed, easy feeling amongst us.
This evening, a civilised and funny and enjoyable evening with Simon Albury and Derek Taylor2 and wife. We go to Langan’s Brasserie, passing on our way the Berkeley Square Jubilee Party – £25 entrance tickets, of course. Packed densely inside the railings, men with no chins mingled with ladies with large teeth. Protruding jaws spread wide into baying laughs and huge noses