You mean everything to me.
What the hell was that?
Love Lord 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? Stuart Howard. He and Sandra have bound
their careers together, the nation's sweethearts. Then there's the Honorable
Jesse Mckendendrick. You're the director
and the writer. What about Billy? Someone is trying to
kill me.
Strictly. Drop it. It's poison.
Can you think of anyone who might want to kill you?
Take your ready 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? The sigy 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 burn in 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 in just while Sandra D went off for a
gas per. So between takes 8 and 9, Nina 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 line yesterday.
I see him in the yard just now. Would you be so kind?
Yep.
Gosh, she hit that step with tremendous force.
Too hard for an accident, do you think? Did she fall
or was she pushed?
Heat. Heat.
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 try 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.
Do you think this is linked to the poison girl?
Special delivery. Your postman Bart 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. Who's 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 a column. I always do. She gave me a fiverr just to borrow
the uniform. Mine 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.
Love Lawn. 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 wantner tapped his pipe and looked all
obedient 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 can just hang
around in a lane, could she? So, I suppose she needed a disguise.
Title of that article. 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.
Taiwins. Taiwin.
Taiwins. Two 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 Stuart. It's not a profit trade, you know.
Yeah. Like being a part-time detective.
What's up with him?
H 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 you like for breakfast? You were just shooting here.
Yes. Dude, take off to 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 or know towards the end or later in life shall we say they get
bigger bigger stew. 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 in 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 M? Well, that's just the thing, Sunny Jim.
M wasn't the target. Then who was
her fianceé? 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 fixed skin in this business. Inspector, I've dealt with
bigger egos than Stuart Howard. Believe me, if I'd wanted to get my own back,
I'd have pissed in his tea, not poisonous chocolates.
And then there's the late Miss Narina Bean.
Yeah, well, she was a right old man. 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. The Mckendendrick'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, isn't 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 strict mean
basilisk. Hey, ring any bells.
Baselisk. 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 picture goer 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 Stuart Howard, I will never
know. A mumbling, sloppy eyed fop. Oh, and here's another. A year later, the
public's infatuation with Darren Howard is beyond me. Miss Dare should be
striking out alone, not saddling herself with this talent less whippers snapper.
Of course, there is always difficulty when one reaches for the stars, but the
difficulty as I see it is Stuart 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 Stew. 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 strictly?
Sometimes the discussions can get very heated at the meet ups.
Meetups? Oh yeah. We meet up and have chats and that. Sometimes the studio
will send a star down to open a fate 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 Zucko's paint.
Oh, what about mist? 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 warrant 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 runous in 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 hypocchlorite.
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 halite. 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.
The horrible 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 Lena Bean,
was she blackmailing you about prison?
I've been very careful. Incredibly, I don't think she ever got a
sniff of it. Mustache. TFN. 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? What else are they?
Come on, Sergeant. Let's go.
Cheers, cock a.
Clippings. We found your trail book.
Oh, excellent work. Oh, this is book. Didn't expect to see
you here. Mr. Howard said we should visit and I've
bought 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, Mr. De, 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 Narina 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, how would you think? It's a working hypothesis.
Wait a minute. Um, you don't think that I.
No, I love Stuart. 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 Stuart, wouldn't I? We 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, mister.
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 quote of Quaky 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.
Eden swallow again.
What are you doing, Tim? 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 strickening, but I'm
still waiting for the report on what was in Barbara Valham's chocolate. Could
have been anything. Mr. Beckendri, Twitch, though.
Strickling 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.
Oh, it's in the coffee. Everyone else has drunk it. They seem to be fine.
Not entirely awful. Oh, so it's a cup added afterwards.
You'd think so, wouldn't you? So indiscriminate.
I just heard Jesse 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.
Quiet. Let's call it a day. Shall we trot in?
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.
He is mudding your eyeh. I'm still a child. Your uncle had my
guts for his. 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 pen.
Nora, a favor. 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 at Astra Asper.
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? E, didn't stop the light getting in.
Continuity, Mr. Book. Oh,
sorry. How is the life of a stand in?
Static. Jack, a word in your show like,
Jack. Jack, back into light, please. Ah, Mr. Mckendendrick, glad to see you
looking hail 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, Meline and I. But then this telegram comes. Telegram of doom.
And what do you know? The husband's been found in a Japanese P 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 Vana.
I'm sure that's what Jesse had in mind. Ask him.
Am I 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, Stuart. You know
that it doubts me. I shall think of us.
Stuart together. You said Stuart.
What? Said Stuart.
Cut. Let's go again. Close positions, please.
Close positions. Billy. Yes. Mr. Mckendry. Run this one.
Would you call it N?
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 Shiknne. I've read those grave little paragraphs
in the Farsity Sporting Review. How you took it as a stimulant to get you
through those last agonizing 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,
stricken, of course. Bit of a light motif, 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. Dan you book. Ow. Hell was that bloody tast?
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. This is what happened to that girl.
No. Barbara Markham swallowed stricken. This time the poison was on a pin in the
cash register so we 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 chance 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.
Mister used to write letters to picture girl 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
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
stricken. You were familiar with the effects. They're pretty ugly, aren't
they, Troy? 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
at Astra Pear Asper 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.
Deair. So was him. He killed that poor girl.
Yes. And Narina Bean. No, not Narina Bean.
What? Not Narina 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 Kolkata sweep.
The hell is that? Is 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 The Pedock.
It was so long ago the film was lost and then Narina
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 recognized 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 them,
demon. 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 bread.
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 spa.
You drop that cigarette, Sandra, you'll go up like a torch.
And Troty 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. Keep the bloody door in.
That one. Come on.
Who?
It's a tragedy really. Will they
will they hang? Jesse Mckendendrick undoubtedly,
but I'm sure the jury will be kind to Miss Dare
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?
Narina Bean's death. Well, you shall never know, Inspector.
After all, Sandra Dear 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 Peral Banks, your first husband.
Is this him?
Heat.
Try.
Are you my mother?
Oh, my dear. Not at all.
I'm so sorry.
But what's all this about?
Jack, we have rather a lot to tell you.
Heat. Heat.
Yeah.