Diaries 1969-1979_ The Python Years - Michael Palin [253]
The JCR at Brasenose is absolutely packed, which is rather flattering. They say they’ve never seen as many people. Try to think back to the very few occasions in my own time when I went to hear a visiting celebrity. I remember the Union bursting at the seams for James Baldwin, but that’s about all. They are literally all around me – and it makes for a good atmosphere.
In fact the whole talk works like good cabaret. They’re warm and generous with laughter (especially when I read ‘Fegg’ extracts and mention the Goodies) and I must confess that all my latent theatricality was released and I milked them rotten. Talked and answered questions for nearly two hours – until it got too hot – then signed autographs and was treated to drinks down in the Buttery.
Sunday, November 13th
Today, helped no doubt by the hard, bright freshness of a cool, sunny November morning, I have a feeling of completeness. The world makes sense this Sunday morning. Even the weather seems to be resting, peaceful and mellowed after the angry squalls of the last two days.
There’s a smell of beef and Yorkshire pudding and from where I write I can see the chimney letting out wisps of smoke from the fire in the sitting room.
Yesterday I read through the novel so far and was greatly heartened. I saw much that worked and I also saw clearly what didn’t work. I can see the way ahead and I can’t wait to get going again tomorrow.
I just feel very happy and very content at this moment. Nothing is expected of me today except to be here at home. I am perfectly well aware that around the borders of my life are problems, difficulties, painful decisions, even human tragedies demanding my involvement. I know I cannot live in a continual vacuum of happiness – but a day like today restores energies, tops up batteries, rebuilds whatever faith one has.
Today there is nothing more I want than what I have.
Monday, November 14th
T Gilliam rang with the offer of a ticket to Bertolucci’s igoo. It’s an all-day job, lasting over four hours with lunch in between.
In the foyer of the NFT I see a sprinkling of critics, including Dilys Powell and John Coleman of the New Statesman, who gives me a cheery greeting. In the gents someone of familiar face introduces himself – it’s Jonathan Pryce, whom I last met in a playground in North Kensington, where he was filming for Stephen Frears. A nice, rather gentle man, about our age. All three of us (he and I and TG) walk over to the Old Vic for lunch.
Down in the basement they have a thriving little serve-yourself restaurant with lovingly home-made pies, treacle tarts, salads and a fine selection of white wines. A mixture of folk, too – at one table a clutch of Britain’s top actors – Dorothy Tutin, Derek Jacobi, Alec McCowen, all presumably rehearsing at the National – at the end of our table a couple of businessmen.
Back to the NFT for Part II of igoo, which lasts from 2.30 until just after 4.30. As always with Bertolucci, the images in the film are clear, cool, sharp and confident – the pictures absolutely breathtakingly beautiful. But that aside, and taking into account some perfectly shot, written and acted moments, I found the whole one big soap opera – complete with unremittingly villainous villains and unremittingly decent good guys (the peasants).
I felt it was a commercial film – despite its four-hour length. Why else import Burt Lancaster, Sterling Hayden and Robert De Niro into an otherwise convincing north Italian village, filled with real Italian peasants, and dub on a soundtrack that turns it into Peyton Place?
Tuesday, November 15th
Up at eight. Work on Shepperton papers in preparation for a meeting with Clive at lunch. Long chat with Graham Ford on the phone – all well, except when I mention my idea of asking Barry Norman’s Film ‘77 bunch if they want to do