| Letter |
[14 Sep 2003|08:23pm] |
Dearest M and P,
Shooting is nearly over and the days are cooling faster. Autumn seems to be coming earlier this year, which is just as well considering I keep being talked into buying more and more clothes as fashion changes. Those wily designers can see me coming a mile away. I assume you've both had a few around to the house, but as you're further into the country, the fashions may not be as fast paced as they are here. Pater, please refrain from the striped waistcoats. They'll only slim you further and Beau Brummel had his day. Mater, the lipsticks are lightening this year. Wait until you see the stills from our new picture. Even the Germans are insisting on pure reds. There you are, fashion from Vodeville. I know you've been waiting with baited breath, haha. We always begin at the shallow end, don't we?
Wading further, my next picture is still in negotiations, so I may be able to accept a role on the stage in a Chekov play. Father really, your face will stick like that if you're not careful. It's not Three Sisters or The Cherry Orchard, you'll be relieved to know. Someone has taken the plunge and decided to produce Ivanov. I've been offered the role of Nikolai Ivanov, which I got on the strength of my monologue (also Chekov, I'm no fool. On The Harmful Effects of Tobacco) and I mean to take it if the timing is right. As it is, the director of the film in negotiations thinks that positive notes for a stage play will create more noise around my next film, so he may be willing to postpone shooting even if the studio negotiations are resolved quickly. They never are. Still, this could quell any lingering doubts about my range for those who have only seen my lighter fare so far. It's early days in my career, but I've been at it for so long that I have to reassess my perspective constantly. Long for me, short for the public.
And here's the deep end. I've met someone. I can hear your tongues clucking from here. I'm aware that Vivian has only just gone, but as I stated last week, it was over well before she left. We'd practically been sleeping in shifts and the staff all noticed it. Mr. Whitely was the one that actually asked if there was anything they could do. Don't say anything about his leaving protocol behind. They've been with me all of my life and I've rather relaxed the rules about how my staff can talk to me when I'm on my own. They're still utterly efficient and perfectly polite in mixed company.
I've digressed. Her name is Sabrina Quinn and she's a singer on the rise. When I first met her, I was utterly taken by her, but I thought for sure she'd be spoken for, or at least have her eye on someone. Still, I extended an invitation to sing at the wrap party and she accepted. In the time between the invite and today, we've become quite close. If you're still coming to visit next weekend, you'll meet her. I promise you'll be enchanted. She's wonderful; humble put poised, graceful and naturally elegant. Very intelligent, but not overbearing with her knowledge. Every inch a lady, but nobody's fool.
Good Lord, I'm nearly getting lyrical. Sadly, not the kind of lyrical that appeals to me. I haven't yet been able to express exactly what she makes me feel, but I'm sure it'll settle as I do.
Don't think me impetuous, parents mine. My eyes are wide open; I can't bear to miss a minute.
Your devoted son,
Hugo
PS - I have enclosed some clippings about the upcoming picture. It's got quite a buzz, probably because of the use of known actors in an experimental film. Here's hoping it flies!
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| Diary entry |
[09 Sep 2003|03:17pm] |
I was on my way to the tea room when I was waylaid by Flynn from the Black Orchid. He stopped me and asked me if I was "that guy from the pictures" and said he'd seen me around at the club. I think he might have been as impressed by me as I am by him. I think he's one of the best pianists in the country, certainly. His personality is so different than one would expect. He's loud, outrageous, sarcastic and really rather rude but so charming that it doesn't seem to make anyone blink twice. It must be amazing to be a friend of his. Daunting I daresay.
We joined the incredible Cael "Eddie" Edgar and the breathtaking Sabrina Quinn for lunch. Eddie was feeling somewhat the worse for wear, something about drinks measures doubled without his knowledge, but he was in good enough humour. Eddie strikes me as the kind of person you'd want on your side. He seems solid. To think that Flynn is the jovial one on stage and Eddie seems like he's seething with some sort of devilish posession when in fact the opposite is true of each of them when they're off stage.
I'm sure there were more things of interest about the gents but I rather lost track given Sabrina's company. She's quite a woman. I've invited her to perform at Einheit's cast party since he never organises anything except "a party". I want her to be seen by these big wigs, and I think she's the tops with that voice of hers and her image. Maybe she can start in pictures. Not Einheit's of course, he's far too dry. But Vodeville's film industry will be there because they all want to be seen to be intelligent enough to understand Einheit's work. Truth be told, I don't even think Einheit understands it all himself. It doesn't lessen his impact and importance.
Speaking of impact, Luciana Flick wandered in to our luncheon toward the end. She deigned to consider my poetry for some sort of public exposure, though in hindsight, it was probably unwise of me to enquire. If it's as bad as it probably is, she'll never speak to me again and I'll be deprived of those eyes forever more. It could also ruin my career. No one would ever take me seriously again.
I'm assuming someone takes me seriously, of course.
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[08 Sep 2003|02:19pm] |
They had to pour water on us from these giant machines. Rain machines to make it rain because the sun always shines in Vodeville, or something like that. This is the bane of our director. He's German expressionist director that I adore because of his tendency to drive us to drink both literally and figuratively. He pelted us with manufactured elements and we were convicing as the bad element in town. Those prop guns are heavier than I thought. I figure if times are tough, I could knock over the Federal Reserve. After a heavy make up job from Carole, maybe. I'll ask her to make me look like Gaston Vivere since he's beaten me to two roles in the last three years.
So Vivian left, finally. The call of Morocco was too much for her to ignore and I'm beginning to suspect that she had her eye on a Count that summers there, the treacherous twist. It's all right. We were living in sin and that was probably because neither one of us wanted to introduce the other to our dear old moms. The next time I go around with an anarchist, I have to make sure she's not more into money than her own professed ideology.
Cigarettes aren't hitting the mark. Wonder if there's a tea room nearby.
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