modestly.
‘I’ll tell you what to do with that…’ said Koolman. He leaned aside to Lightfoot.
‘Edgar,’ supplied Lightfoot, and Koolman leaned back to Nicolson again.
‘I’ll tell you what to do with that, Edgar,’ said Koolman.
‘Yes, Leo?’ said Nicolson as if he really wanted to know.
‘Lyrics: get some kid singing it. Look what that tune did for Dr Zhivago.’
‘Great idea,’ said Lightfoot.
‘We’ll give it a try,’ said Nicolson.
‘Don’t give it a try,’ sighed Koolman, ‘just do it.’
‘It could be great,’ said Nicolson doubtfully.
‘Da, da, di, da, da, daaa, daaa, daaaaaa I could be a lonely man.’ Koolman tried to improvise words to the theme which was now being repeated for the tenth time.
‘This is just the rough track,’ said Nicolson. ‘It will have a big orchestra when we do the real one.’
‘Get that lonely feeling in the words,’ said Koolman. ‘All these kids love to feel sorry for themselves.’
One of the Americans was head of the KI Music, Koolman’s sheet music and recording company. He said to Nicolson, ‘You give me your wild track, I’ll talk to my people in New York.’
‘Thanks a lot,’ said Nicolson. ‘A tape will be on your desk tomorrow, that’s a promise.’
The film cut to a studio interior. Four actors in fur clothing were seated around a table. The door opened and a fifth man came in along with a handful of effects snow from a wind machine. Through the door there was a glimpse of a polystyrene ice-face and a painted back-cloth that wasn’t sufficiently out of focus. The fifth man pushed his snow glasses off his face and pulled back his fur hood. It was Marshall Stone. He’d just returned from a vacation in Nice when they shot the sequence: one of the first they did. Stone looked tanned and lean and very fit. He’d had a small hairpiece fitted for the role and he looked as handsome as he’d ever been.
‘That’s Marshall Stone, isn’t it, Nic?’
‘He looks wonderful, Jacob,’ Koolman said to Weinberger.
Weinberger said nothing. Koolman said to Nicolson, ‘Do you want to make that music a little quieter? I can’t hear myself speak.’
Nicolson twisted the offending control viciously.
On the screen Marshall Stone said, ‘Why couldn’t they find oil in Maidenhead or Cowes or somewhere decent?’
‘Now I can hardly hear the track,’ said Koolman.
‘This is just a guide track,’ explained Nicolson.
‘Maidenhead,’ said Koolman, ‘was that in the script?’
‘It’s a place near London,’ explained Lightfoot.
‘I know it’s a place near London,’ said Koolman irritably. ‘I’ve got one of my boys at Eton, haven’t I? But what about the audiences in Omaha?’
Nicolson said, ‘When we loop it, we’ll change it. Stone can say London.’
The director spoke for the first time. He was seated at the back. They were all surprised to hear his voice emerge from the gloom under the projection light. He stuttered slightly, ‘It will show. You can’t loop London into a close-up like that and have it lip-synch.’
Koolman turned around slowly. The director was a white haired old man who had promised Nicolson that he wouldn’t say a word throughout the screening.
Koolman looked at him. Koolman didn’t know much about the technical side of movie-making but he knew sufficient of the basic principles to win arguments with directors. ‘You mean you haven’t got any cover?’
‘I don’t cover everything. It would be too expensive.’
‘We got cover, Tony,’ shouted Nicolson, leaning back to grab his director’s arm in a warning hug. ‘We got cover: a tracking shot, a two-shot, lots of stuff. We can loop it for London OK. We are still doing the loops.’ He bound his left hand tightly with a silk handkerchief.
‘Shoot it again if you have to,’ said Koolman slightly mollified by Nicolson’s anxiety. ‘Basic rule in movies: plenty of cover.’
‘This is a great sequence, Leo,’ promised Lightfoot believing the sequence was Marshall Stone punching an Eskimo stunt man in the head. They all watched attentively while Marshall Stone and two extras plodded over a hillock of special effects snow. Now it was Lightfoot who twisted his hands in silent prayer.
‘Yeah, great,’ said Koolman. ‘Really terrific: it builds.’ He’d hardly spoken when the film cut to a two-shot of the men, to a close-up of Stone, then the long-shot in which stunt men substituted for the actors. There was a brief exchange of blows after which a man wearing Marshall Stone’s distinctive red gloves somersaulted to the bottom of a snow drift. Lightfoot slowly released the breath that had almost exploded his lungs.
‘You’ll have to get rid of that,’ said Koolman. He flung the words over his shoulder. He sensed that the old director was his only vocal opposition in the theatre.
‘I thought it was pretty good,’ said the director.
‘Corny,’ said Koolman, ‘acrobatics.’
‘I think it should… stay in,’ said the director.
Koolman turned to Lightfoot. ‘Who have you got editing this picture?’ They both knew that it wasn’t the sort of information that Lightfoot was likely to have in his mind, so they waited until Nicolson said, ‘Sam Parnell, an old-timer, a really great editor.’
Koolman made a whirling movement of his finger as a signal to Phil Sanchez, his personal assistant. ‘I’ll talk to Parnell before we go back.’ He turned to Nicolson. ‘That be OK with you, Edgar?’
‘Sure thing, Leo,’ said Nicolson. ‘Anything you’ve got to say, we can always use advice.’ Phil Sanchez made a note in his little book. Nicolson unbound his bloodless hand.
‘I think we can do something with this movie. We can shape it into something,’ said Koolman. No one spoke.
On the screen Marshall Stone had lost his goggles and was feeling around in the snow between brief cuts of lens flare to show that the reflections were blinding him.
‘Great performance from Stone,’ said Koolman. ‘Now there’s a man who’s really learned his trade, eh, Edgar?’
‘Great performance, Leo,’ said Nicolson. ‘He gives gives gives all the time. This could be one for a nomination.’
‘Best actor,’ mused Koolman.
Weinberger said, ‘He’s had three nominations. This one could do it for him.’
‘What do you think, Arty?’ asked Koolman of one of his publicity men.
‘If we play it like that, then this movie is going to need some special nursing, Leo. We’ll need serious interviews, woo the egg-heads a bit. Even then I’d say this movie doesn’t stand a prayer for a “best picture” award – the whole membership…’ he wiggled his outstretched hand. ‘A “best actor” for Stone… maybe. But it will cost us, Leo.’
Nicolson said, ‘If we were going to go for an Oscar, that will control our release.’ He rubbed his hand to help the circulation. It began to tingle.
‘Sure,’ said Lightfoot. ‘Thirty days of exhibition in Los Angeles before the end of December. That would be quite a rush.’
‘We could do it,’ said Nicolson. ‘We’re close to dubbing.’
‘It wouldn’t stand a chance