Earlier:
R: “Oh, God. I keep forgetting to be out on Monday.”
Me: “Don’t worry about it – I’ll just photograph something else.”
R (sighing heavily): “No, that’s OK – just tell me what you want me to do…”
Me: “We’re going to do this one.”
Just now:
R: “Well, you certainly look miserable. But weren’t you supposed to be frightened?”
Me: “Is she frightened? I thought she was upset about them not being able to be together…”
R: “Hmmm.”
Me: “Oh well… too late to change it now!”
If I’ve made a hash of it, I’m going to blame time, my appalling memory and Lana Turner’s acting, rather than my own. I’m sure I have seen the original film, but probably not for about forty years, and I’ve generally forgotten any film or television programme I watch within a couple of days (which tends to induce incredulous irritation in R anyone who saw whatever it was with me and wants to discuss it later, but has the advantage that I can watch repeats in a state of complete suspense, with no idea of how the plot is going to develop). I don’t believe (though of course, I may be wrong) that I ever saw the notorious remake, with Jack Nicholson and Jessica Lange, and even if I had, age, modesty and dodgy backs would have prevented us from attempting to recreate it on camera.
