You mean everything to me.
What the hell was that?
Lovelorn in London. Scene 28, take three.
I hope we did the right thing letting those people into the lane.
Film struck girl. Inspector dead. I've shut down filming for the time being.
What do we know about this film? Stewart Howard. He and Sandra have bound
their careers together, the nation's sweethearts. Then there's the Honourable
Jesse Mckendrick. You're the director
and the writer. What about Billy? Someone is trying to
kill me.
Strychnine. Drop it. It's poison.
Can you think of anyone who might want to kill you?
Take your ruddy pick. When are we going to tell him?
Not yet.
It's one of the extras.
It's Narina Bean.
You still rolling, Sandra? Yeah.
And action.
Oh no. God, I'm so sorry, Jesse. Um, can I beg 10 minutes? A ciggie will sort me
out. Cut there.
Scene 49. Take nine.
Action. It was then I knew we had fallen in love.
Kill the sound, please. Can we stop the film and take a proper
look? No, we’d burn the projector. I think
the difference is pretty obvious. You'll see in just a moment.
Here comes the post.
Oh gosh, I see what you mean. He's lost 6 inches just while Sandra Dare went off for a
gasper. So between takes 8 and 9, Nerina Bean gets
her screen break. An hour later, is that right?
Well, certainly no more than two. She's on the cutting room floor. Well,
the bottom of the basement steps. I know who he is, the postman.
You do? He was down the lane yesterday.
I seen him in the yard just now. Would you be so kind?
Yep.
Of course, she hit that step with tremendous force.
Too hard for an accident, do you think? Did she fall
or was she pushed?
...
I think John Mills has lovely hair and his nails always looks so neat.
Riveting stuff this, Mrs. B. Well, Book thinks there's something here.
A clue. We like those. Many names coming up a lot. Regular
correspondents. Name and address supplied is a very
reliable contributor.
I tried to give myself a mole like Margaret Lockwood. And now mom says I
look like a tart.
Hang on. I've seen a letter from this one before.
Signed Basilisk.
If only we could step through the screen.
Romance of the pictures is really getting to, isn't it?
It's not that. Beyond a door, behind that set, there's a flight of stairs
where I think Narina Bean is already dead.
So you think this is linked to the poison girl?
Special delivery. Your postman Bert Masterson.
Kurt Masterson. Normally I, I do landlords.
I seen a glass pushed in a bloke's face and I've laughed. See?
Very good. Robert Newton should watch his back. But you're not auditioning
now, Mr. Masterson. We're investigating the unfortunate death that took place
here last night. The second one in this production, in fact, after Miss Barbara.
Markham and two looks like carelessness. Whose though? Are you the police?
Inspector Bliss is the police. Hello.
I'm just helping them. With their inquiries? With the fiddly bits. Now,
Kurt Masterson, not your real name. How did you know?
You went home early last night, Mr. Masterson. Why?
Well, I was made an offer I couldn't refuse, wasn't I? I knew the lady,
Narina Bean. I read her column. I always do. She gave me a fiver just to borrow
the uniform, mind. Said she would go on for me and no one would clock it.
Now, why would she want to pose as you? She said she was writing a story.
The poisonous secret at the heart of Loveless in London.
Lovelorn. Something like that. She wasn't
specific, but she said she needed one last bit of proof. I didn't think
nothing of it. I was barely in the shot. You sell a lot of stories to the press,
do you, Mr. Masterson, about actors here?
No. Well, nothing nasty. Just whether they
like mink or or feathers or where they drink
or how much. All right. Thank you. We'll come and get
a statement from you. That's it. That's it.
I was a red herring before. Once Arthur Wartner tapped his pipe and looked all
Beady at me, but I never done it. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong
time. Right. Thank you.
Why was she here though, Narina? Why go to the trouble of bribing him and
putting on his costume? The extra security. She couldn’t just hang
around in the lane, could she? So, I suppose she needed a disguise.
Title of that article, though, eh? Maybe she was on to the poisoner,
so she had to go. What's that?
Something I noticed. Backwards impression on Narina Bean's hand in ink
was something she was holding. Evidently, she was sweating, whether
from the exertion of going up the stairs or the heavy costume.
And reversed it reads.
Tywins. Tywin.
Taiwins. Twins. Hardly. More likely the fragment of two
words, wouldn't you say? I uh better get back to work. Work.
I'm standing in for Stewart. It's not a profit trade, you know.
Yeah. Like being a part-time detective.
What's up with him?
Me.
She's dead. You saw her? She was at the bottom of the stairs like
a broken doll. Oh god, how awful. I mean, she was
awful, but still. How awful.
If it was murder, there'll be a lot of suspects.
Half the British film business. All of it.
It's true. Everybody hated her. You hated her.
What did you do last night? Had a drink with that boy. Nice kid. Went to bed
early. Did some film star duties. No.
Yes. You know, signing photos, answering questions from fans. What's your ideal
night out? What d’you like for breakfast? You were just shooting here.
Yes. Dude, take after take simple stuff, really.
How many stars have sat here like me watching the creases grow? The hair
thin, the flesh droop, the chins.
I met a man once. He was an astronomer. Now, he knew about the stars, the real
ones. I mean, did you know that the stars that we see in the sky aren't
really there? Most of them anyway. It takes so long for the light to reach us
that they're just echoes, ghosts,
just a memory of what was once there. Christ, darling. But some of those stars
don't go quietly, oh no, towards the end or later in life, shall we say, they get
bigger bigger Stu. They give out more and more light and heat till nothing can
eclipse them. Nothing. I don't want to go quietly. I want to
burn light up the town like I used to explode.
Boom!
The chocolates were injected with one of these. So why have you got one?
Well, it's hardly a secret, is it? Diabetic, aren't I? Everyone knows that.
Interesting. So, anyone could have gained access to this, for instance.
Well, you might have done it yourself. Why the hell would I have wanted to
poison Miss Dare? Well, that's just the thing, Sunny Jim.
Miss Dare wasn't the target. Then who was…
her fiancé? Yes. Puts a rather different complexion
on things, doesn't it? Mr. Howard fired you, didn't he?
Yeah. Yeah, but not till after the chocolate.
Yeah, but he treated you badly. You were his whipping boy.
You need to develop a thick skin in this business. Inspector, I've dealt with
bigger egos than Stewart Howard. Believe me, if I'd wanted to get my own back,
I'd have pissed in his tea, not poisoned his chocolates.
And then there's the late Miss Narina Bean.
Yeah, well, she was a right old... Mustn't speak ill of the dead.
She have anything on you? Like what?
You can account for your movements last night, can you?
Shot right through. Right.
No coffee breaks. Yes, of course. Coffee breaks.
So, theoretically, you could have pushed Narina Bean down the stairwell, couldn't you?
Yeah. Well, theoretically, I could have won the pools and rung up Veronica Lake for a date,
but I didn't. What's this?
Tomorrow's pink page. Rewrite. Mr. Mckendrick's rewrite of scene 34.
Just a little one, but in this business, the details matter,
inspector. You don't want actors bumping into the furniture.
I'm a details man myself.
Yeah, I'm terrible at the pictures, me? Yeah. I I I always know who
done it straight off. Every takes the marrow out of Mrs. Bliss, but as I
always say to her, the why is the thing. So why not take her to a western?
Watch all those cowboys getting shot in the chest and falling forwards.
Don't think so. You ever get home, Billy? If I try hard,
Mr. Book, I can remember the daylight. Can I go now? Well, we'll need to get
this tested… for incident? for strychnine.
Basilisk. Hey, ring any bells..?
Basilisk. Norah and I have spent most of the
morning dredging through your back issues.
My head swimming and we'd finally found what we were
looking for. A Sandra Dare fan who wrote to picturegoer a lot. This one is from
2 years ago. For looks, talent, and sheer screen charisma, no one can
compete with the divine Miss Dare. There's loads like that. In her latest
picture, the 43-year-old star elevates the art of acting to great heights. But
why she's wasting her time sharing the screen with Stewart Howard, I will never
know. A mumbling, soppy-eyed fop. Oh, and here's another. A year later, the
public's infatuation with Dare and Howard is beyond me. Miss Dare should be
striking out alone, not saddling herself with this talent less whippersnapper.
Of course, there is always difficulty when one reaches for the stars, but the
difficulty as I see it is Stewart Howard, and there's a lot more like that in the
same vein. An all signed basilisk. I see.
Well, they obviously didn't like Stu. You think they might be the one who sent
the chocolates? I don't know. Is it too much of a
stretch to go from disliking a film star to sending them strychnine?
Sometimes the discussions can get very heated at the meetups.
Meetups? Oh yeah. We meet up and have chats and that. Sometimes the studio
will send a star down to open a fete or something. That's how I first met
Barbara. And you've never come across this basilisk?
Now, how would I know if they never used
their real name?
Anything? Mr. Howard's room's as bare as George Zuckor's pate.
Oh, what about Mis Dare’s? Same
probably.
Who's next?
Soundproofed? naturally. Now, we know your movements last night,
Mr. McKenzie. I should think so. Director never has a
moment to themselves. In the tea break, I went to my office. Just a minor change
for tomorrow. A pink page. Yes,
you can check with my secretary. These stairs, where do they lead? Uh,
prop store, offices. It's a warren in this place. Film vault down there. Nice
place. If you like asbestos, the treasures of British cinema.
Not really. No. What then?
Well, a film opens in Leicester Square, then it goes out across the country,
then to the second-run houses and the flea pits, and when it's so scratched that
every scene looks like it's happening in Antarctica, it comes here.
Back home. It's taken to the tank. The tank? What happens there?
It's put out of its misery. It's dissolved in sodium hypochlorite.
Why back here are the fumes, Mr. Book? The fumes.
In goes some old tat starring a terrible provincial comic. And out comes
something useful. Waterproof paint and silver halide. What an odd little
cottage industry. It's valuable. More valuable than what's
on the films themselves. Seems a lot of effort to go to.
No, it's a simple process. The chemical solution does the work.
No, I mean making a motion picture, you know, stars and the lights, you know,
and shooting all those scenes and then just to melt it all down for scrap.
British cinema is mainly stupid. Inspector, it's never been about
anything. That needs to change. When it does, I'll make movies that won't end up here.
Standby.
Bye, darling.
Mr. Howard. Mr. Book.
A moment. Of course.
A hoary old query. Who is.
What were you doing last night? Well, after drinks with your Jack, I
went to bed early, but I couldn't get off. I spent a lot of time staring at
the ceiling, contemplating mortality, as you can imagine.
Any witnesses? Sorry to sound so official.
Of course not. Sandra and I are engaged, don't you know? I had heard something of
the kind. And Nerina Bean,
was she blackmailing you about prison?
I've been very careful. Incredibly, I don't think she ever got a
sniff of it. Must dash. TTFN. Right. There's been a smash and grab in.
Crystal Palace, tray of missing wedding rings, and a cracked skull.
Very much a be movie crime. Might you uh stick around here?
Keep an eye on the beautiful people. They are beautiful.
What can I get for you? But what else are they?
Come on, Sergeant. Let's go.
Cheers, cock.
Clippings. We found your trail book.
Oh, excellent work. Oh, Mrs Book. Didn't expect to see
you here. Mr. Howard said we should visit and I've
brought something for my husband. Lunch.
Clues. Huh? Very interesting trail here. And I thought I saw something earlier
too in the note. Repeated phrase. And these are all signed Basilisk.
What? It's a mythological creature. Could kill you just by looking at you.
Rather the way Miss Dare is looking at me now. Would you excuse me? Well done.
Would you like a little look around, Mrs. Book? Oh, I'd be delighted.
So, uh, wallpaper didn't suit your story then.
Well, no, because the hero Tony, he desires pleasure, but he's afraid of it.
He's repressed. That's Freud, you know. So, I understand.
Wallpaper, it simply doesn't give us that. Wallpaper is about covering things
up. I thought cakes. Cakes are the opposite of books. Really?
I must have missed that bit in Freud. Huh?
Yes. Break, please.
Skirts gathered, ready for the pursuit of art. Uh, yes, I suppose so,
well, before you rush off, perhaps I could check some details.
How do you help the police exactly, Mr. Book?
I check details. You must be relieved to know the chocolates
weren't intended for you. Naturally, but also terribly
worried for Stu, of course. Now, I know where you were
last night, Miss Dare, because I've seen the rushes. You were doing that scene
where you look through the window and think about the resilience of your love.
Yes, with Nerina Bean amongst the background
artists. Narina, was she on the set in in the
shot? Yes. Moments later, she was on the
stairs. Yes. Yes.
And then at the bottom of the stairs. Yes. Well, I know about that.
Perhaps she was killed because she knew who'd sent the poison chocolates.
So, is that what you think? It's a working hypothesis.
Wait a minute. Um, you don't think that I.
No, I love Stewart. We're everything to each other.
Everything to the box office at any rate.
Oh, and someone's been telling tales. Well, if that were the case, I'd have
even less motive for killing Stewart, wouldn't I? We’re joined at the hip.
When you finished filming, he went back to your dressing room, I imagine.
Yes. Oh, Billy. Darling, you wouldn't get me
a, a coffee, would you, please? Of course, Miss Dare.
Dash of milk. Me, too, Billy. Good, strong one. Sure
thing, sir. You all work such long hours. We like to
turn the sign at 5:30. Oh, my dear. Well, in the quota-quickie days, there
was one picture shooting here during the day and one at night. When that door
opened with a 10:00 turnaround, no idea. Stale beer, orange field gas. Thank you,
darling. Oh, the 1930s. Those were the days.
Sugar, sir. What? Tastes horrible. So bitter.
Would you like some milk, sir? No. Billy, get me some water.
Oh my lord, Jesse. Same sentence.
.
What are you doing to him? Trying to save his life, I think. But perhaps someone
should call an ambulance in case I've got it wrong.
Ambulance quickly. What's up, Mr.
Look at me. Look at me.
We didn't even get to the top of the hill.
Is he hurt? It's largely cosmetic. Also that stuff
around his mouth. It's largely cosmetic.
Mascara. Oh, charcoal.
I believe that's what mascara is. Oh, and petroleum jelly.
A bit of a risk there, Mrs. Book. Charcoal's good for strychnine, but I'm
still waiting for the report on what was in Barbara Markham’s chocolate. Could
have been anything. Mr. McKendrick twitched, though.
Strychnine gives you the twitches. That's right. Great presence of mind is
my wife. All my thoughts, dear Jessie.
Oh, wait. My my bag. I need my things. Oh, allow me.
Oh, silly me.
Thank you, Mr Book.
Oh, it's in the coffee. Everyone else has drunk it. They seem to be fine.
Not entirely awful. Oh, so it's in the cup, added afterwards.
You'd think so, wouldn't you? So indiscriminate.
I just heard Jesse was poisoned. God, is it meant for me?
I don't know. The new schedule, Mr. Howard.
Mr. You can go, Jack. That'll be the end of
shooting for the day. Okay.
Quite. Let's call it a day. Shall we, Trottie?
What's the matter with him? I don't know.
He's been rather off with me all day.
Nora, are we diversifying? Just catching up on my reading.
Here’s mud in your eye. You’re still a child. Your uncle’ll have my
guts for garters. I'll go to bed. Oh,
you all right? Long day.
What's wrong with your usual diet of blood and guts?
Got a bit bored. They're starving a woman to death in Penge.
Nora, a favour. Where are those film
almanacs? You mean the magazines that girl bought?
No, no, we have a stack of almanacs. Early films from when they still called
them flickers, if memory serves, between William Freeze Green and How Green Was.
My Valley. Right. Oh,
there she is. Cristiana Edmunds ad Astra ad Aspera.
What? Nothing.
And the staircase doesn't go anywhere. Oh,
it's all right. These people never go upstairs.
Sounds like home. No ceiling, though. The rooms in films
never have ceilings. Why is that, eh? It’s to stop the light getting in.
Continuity, Mr. Book. Oh,
sorry. How is the life of a stand in?
Static. Jack, a word in your shell-like,
Jack. Jack, back into light, please. Ah, Mr. Mckendrick, glad to see you
looking hale and hearty. Fully recovered, I hope.
Yes. Thanks to Mrs. Book. When I went into
the picture business, I never thought it would be so bad for my nerves. It's
exhausting. More exhausting than running.
So much more. Near the end, though, now, aren't we?
Yes. I'm so sorry, Mr. Book. Would you excuse me? I'm rather busy.
Of course. Oh, what is the, uh, story so far, Mr.
Howard? We've been having a passionate affair of
the intellect, Madame and I. But then this telegram comes. Telegram of doom.
And what do you know? The husband's been found in a Japanese PoW camp.
Oh, bad luck. Yes. And he's on his way back to Blighty
with his ribs sticking out, but still very much a going concern love wise. And
so she tells me she has to leave me. What do you say?
Nothing. Of course. Writers never want to write those bits. They like a nice
clean reaction shot. Something's swelling on the soundtrack.
Positions, please. But credit due, Jesse listened. So instead of
standing there catching flies, I gird my loins
and go stoically back to work. Like Uncle Vanya.
I'm sure that's what Jesse had in mind. Ask him.
I might at that. What to do today? What to do today?
What it really minute? What to do? What did you do today?
Today. What to do today? Scene 34. Take one.
Action. Now the telegram is here. One I think we knew would always come.
Is this the end of the affair? Don't say that word, Stewart. You know
that it hurts me. I shall think of us.
Stewart together. You said Stewart.
What? You Said Stewart.
Cut. Let's go again. Close positions, please.
Close positions. Billy. Yes. Mr. Mckendrick. Run this one.
Would you call it in?
Ready. What? Please.
And action.
Don't say that, Tony. You know that it hurts me.
There's still time, you know. Time for what?
To do the right thing. Stop the filming. I've been aware for a while about a
certain secret relationship in your life.
Oh, we are not. She isn't. Not with Sandra,
with Strychnine. I've read those grave little paragraphs
in the Varsity Sporting Review. How you took it as a stimulant to get you
through those last agonising yards of the race. Rather reckless, really. My
father wasn't very pleased, was he? No.
So, I got into trouble. So what? And then there's Cristiana Edmunds,
the heroine of your new film script, household name, once. Fell in love with a
doctor, and believed that he was in love with her pure fantasy. And she thought
she could help him escape from his wife by bringing her a box of poison
chocolate creams which the wife spat out just in time. And her poison of choice,
Strychnine, of course. Bit of a leitmotif, isn't it?
I've had a lot of time to think. Too much, I dare say. And I think we've been
living in a kind of a dream. It's time for that dream to end. You You
must stay here with your folks. I
I must go back to my husband. I simply must.
You didn't mean to kill poor Barbara Markham.
And that might save you from the gallows,
but you couldn't make the same argument about what's happening here, could you?
This is your very last chance, Jesse.
Oh, damn, damn, damn you, Book.
Oh well. Too late now.
You're all right, Stu. It was on the cash register. It went
right into me when I when I pressed the button.
Oh my god. Oh my god. You
I have a name, Mr. Howard. Is this what happened to that girl?
No. Barbara Markham swallowed strychnine. This time the poison was on a pin in the
cash register so it would go straight into the bloodstream.
If Jack and Billy hadn't followed my instructions perfectly and swapped it
with a clean one. The pink page told me where to look. It was Billy who found
it. You should be grateful he's so diligent, Mr. Howard, considering how
bloody rude you are to him. You should thank him too, Jesse.
One less name on the charge sheet next to little Barbara Markham.
It was for you, my love. All for you. What?
So we could be together and I could make you a bigger star than ever. Not in
cheap trash like this, but in a real film, a masterpiece.
What the hell are you talking about? He's been obsessed with you for years.
Miss Dare. used to write letters to picturegoer, under a pseudonym, of course,
Basilisk, his family crest all those books he read in the shop last year
that's how he came up with his magnum opus
unfortunately he left a little trace behind
He saw that we were getting a little too close to the truth and that's why he
suddenly tasted something strange in his coffee, faked the poisoning.
You could have said bitter almonds like people do in the films,
but you chose to twitch because you knew that Barbara Markham had been killed by
strychnine. You were familiar with the effects. They're pretty ugly, aren't
they, Trottie? Yes, spasms, a sort of breathless
agitation. I'll never forget it. You put in a good performance, Jesse.
But let me give you a note, Mr. Director.
It takes a few minutes for the spasms to start. Your timing was out
ad Astra Per Aspera through hardship to the stars. Your family motto. You got to
the stars, didn't you, Jesse? Not to the only star that mattered to you.
Sandra Dare. My family has money. So much money. That's how I bought my way
into this filthy industry. I could have financed our picture,
Sandra. But he was spoiling it.
Him. And what better publicity, a tragic
widow overcoming her grief, tackling the part of a lifetime alongside the
brilliant young writer. Writer-director.
Writer, director, who consoled her. It's obscene.
Deranged. Oh, you poor fool. It would be a whole new Sandra Dare, my
darling. Of playing your own age. No makeup. A true character part to show
your real range. No makeup. Are you mad? I'm Sandra.
Dare. So was him. He killed that poor girl.
Yes. And Nerina Bean. No, not Nerina Bean.
What? Not Nerina Bean. The girl with the
poison pen. Jesse has a cast iron alibi. He was in his office. The secretary by
his side, passing him the carbon paper, typing out a way to murder you, Mr.
Howard. Then who did do it?
Where did we find her? Bottom of the stairs.
Which lead where? The prop store, offices, the vault.
The vault? Yes. Wherein lie some of the forgotten
remnants of British cinema and one film in particular. I found the reference in
an old movie almanac back in Archangel Lane.
What film? Kitty wins the Calcutta sweep.
What the hell is that? It’s the film I found in your room,
Sandra?
Billy, call Bow Street. Get Bliss here. Yes, Mr. B.
You never loved her, Stewart. Not like I did. It's a long time since I've done
this for real.
Sandra.
Sandra, it's all over. Why don't you come out and explain?
I wasn't Sandra Dare back then.
I was Deirdre Piddock.
It was so long ago the film was lost and then Nerina
discovered it
and then I discovered her.
It was pure chance.
I was going back to my dressing room and I saw this person, an extra,
and then I recognised her and I saw what she had in her sweaty
hands. I had never been so angry, not in all my
life. No, you give it to me,
No. Damn it. No.
She hit that step like a fairground coconut. She died instantly.
But it was an accident. I swear
it was an accident.
But there it was. The master print.
This business will forgive you a lot of things, but
not getting old. Are you smoking, Sandra?
When nitrate film burns, Sandra, it makes its own oxygen.
You think I don't know that, Mr. Book? I'm a veteran of the silver screen.
That's why they keep it in an asbestos vault.
You drop that cigarette, Sandra, you'll go up like a torch.
And Trottie and I won't escape unscathed.
And neither will Stewart. Stewart?
Darling, it doesn't have to be like this.
But she would have told them all my secret
that I was making films when Lenin was in office.
That would have made me box office poison.
And I've told you I want to go on and on and light up the
town. Explode.
Sandra, that script that Jesse wrote, I read it.
It's about a woman who makes a terrible moral mistake,
but she faces her fate with dignity.
Inspector Bliss will be here soon, and you'll be under arrest.
But before he arrives, I could save you a little bit of
humiliation. What do you say?
Let's go out to the tank. Bring that film. The one with you as a
17-year-old with your whole life ahead of you.
Before this business made you what you've become.
Oh no, Mr. Book. Ah,
I've always had it in me. I've always been a star.
I think that's what the camera saw and why they've always loved me.
Just give me a moment, will you?
Not bad.
That's long enough. Kick the bloody door in.
That one. Come on.
Boom.
It's a tragedy really. Will they
will they hang? Jesse Mckendrick undoubtedly,
but I'm sure the jury will be kind to Miss Dare
It was an accident after all.
Now you're a free man, Mr. Howard. Just what I wanted.
What a cost, mind you.
Tragic ex-fiancé, brokenhearted leading man,
suddenly single.
What is it? It was an accident, wasn't it?
Nerina Bean's death. Well, you shall never know, Inspector.
After all, Sandra Dare is a terribly good actress.
Hello, Jack. What's up?
Jack? We need to tell you something. I'm sorry we didn't say it before, but we
wanted to let you settle in and it's a delicate matter.
It's about our relationship.
Oh, I think I've guessed it.
Is it that obvious? Well, it wasn't at first, but
yeah,
I found a photograph. Photograph?
my dad.
You have a photo of my dad. It's just like the one that I have.
And this… I know I shouldn't have taken it. I'm
sorry. But with the picture, Eric Percival Banks, your first husband.
Is this him?
...
Trottie…
Are you my mother?
No, dear. Not at all.
I'm so sorry.
But what's all this about?
Jack, we have rather a lot to tell you.
...