what? oh yes. why not?
isn't hanna a peach?
it's the ridiculous pills they prescribe. if i take them, i spend the next day stupid as a stone. if i don't, my mind seems to go off in a hundred directions at once --
i wanted to be alert for your visit today. especially since i saw so little of you in the hospital.
"the fault, dear david, is not in ourselves but in our stars."
oh, david. there's no pleasure in making you feel guilty. you better go, my boy. you'll be late for that aeroplane.
thank you.
hanna? who's the new yardman?
the bells of hell go ting-a-ling for you but not for me. oh death where is thy sting-a-ling? grave where thy victory?
good morning.
my name is whale. this is my house.
and your name is --?
i couldn't help but notice your tattoo. that phrase? death before dishonor. what does it mean?
the marines. good for you. you must have served in korea.
getting to be a warm day. a scorcher, as you yanks call it.
when you're through, mr. boone, feel free to make use of the pool. we're quite informal here. you don't have to worry about a suit.
some other time, perhaps? keep up the fine work.
i have my class tonight.
quite so, mum. to the privy.
there is iced tea, hanna? cucumber sandwiches?
don't be daft. it's just a student from the university.
yes?
ah, mr. kay. i'd almost forgotten. my guest for tea.
no. i expect you can't.
one likes to live simply.
is it now? hanna? i think we'll take our tea down by the swimming pool.
will that be good for you, mr. kay?
after you then.
this is the studio where i paint.
so, mr. kay? what do you want to know?
i was born outside london, the only son of a minister who was a master at harrow. grandfather was a bishop. church of. church of eng.
yes?
of course. i attended eton -- it wouldn't do for a master's son to attend where his father taught. i was to go up to oxford but the war broke out and i never made it. the great war, you know. you had a good war, but we had a great one.
you can't imagine what life was like after the armistice. the twenties in london were one long bank holiday, a break from everything dour and respectable. i had a knack with pencil and paper, so i was hired to design sets for stage productions.
thank you, hanna. very nice.
you can go now.
there was one play in particular, a beautiful, grim study of war called "journey's end". every experienced director turned it down, so i offered myself, bullying and begging for the job. "journey's end" made the careers of everyone associated with it. it was only a matter of time until hollywood beckoned.
am i correct in assuming, mr. kay, that it's not me you're interested in, only my horror pictures?
twenty-one. the romantic comedies and dramas were much more to my liking. the horror pictures were trifles. grand guignol for the masses.
i am not dead yet, mr. kay.
i have a proposal, mr. kay. this mode of questioning is getting old, don't you think?
let's make it more interesting. i will answer any question you ask. but, for each answer, you must remove one article of clothing.
it is, isn't it? my life as a game of strip poker. shall we play?
quite.
what rumors might those be?
a homosexual scandal, you mean? for me to answer a question of that magnitude, you'll have to remove both your shoes and your socks.
you are kind to indulge your elders in their vices. as i indulge the young in theirs.
no. there was no scandal.
my only other vice. i suppose you'd like a fuller answer to your question.
it will cost you your sweater.
you must understand how hollywood was twenty years ago. nobody cared a tinker's cuss who slept with whom, so long as you kept it out of the papers. outside of hollywood, who knows who george cukor is, much less what he does with those boys from the malt shops along santa monica?
take off your vest and i'll tell you a story.
don't be shy. there's time to stop before you go too far.
george is famous for his saturday dinner parties. great artists, writers, society folk, all rubbing elbows with hollywood royalty. but how many of those oh-so-proper people know about the sunday brunches that follow? gatherings of trade eating leftovers, followed by some strenuous fun and frolic in the pool. if a goat like that can continue about his business, my more domestic arrangements could've raised very few eyebrows.
certainly, mr. kay. is there anything in particular you want to know?
of course.
maybe you'd like a swim when we're through. i never swim myself, so the pool tends to go to waste.
righto. let me see.
universal wanted me for another story, and wanted me so baldly -- i mean badly, not baldly. i was given the pick of stories being developed, and i picked that one.
my idea. muchly. my sketches. big heavy brow. head flat on top so they could take out the old brain and put in the new, like tinned beef.
you think so? that's very kind --
please. excuse me. i must go lie --
i just need to -- lie down. studio. daybed in studio.
head. not heart.
forgive me.
luminal.
mr. kay. you're not dressed.
i'm sorry i spoiled it for you. you should probably go home.
you must think i'm terrible, hanna.
oh shut up. all we did was talk. my attack had nothing to do with him.
no. let me lie here. thank you.
the bells of hell go ting-a-ling.
everything alright, mr. boone?
i was just about to ask hanna to bring down iced tea. i'd like it very much if you'd join me.
the honest sweat of one's brow. i assure you i won't be offended. let me tell hanna to bring tea for two.
or would you prefer a beer?
splendid.
come in, mr. boone.
my workshop, my studio. hardly somewhere in which a sweaty workman should feel out of place.
what? oh yes.
you know what they say. if you have to ask --
they were familiar when i painted them. that one's copied from a dutch still life done almost three hundred years ago. and that's a rembrandt.
but before i retired, you might say i had a brief time in the sun. fame, as it were. tell me, do you like motion pictures?
in my youth, yes, but never in hollywood. no, i was merely a director here.
this and that. the only ones you maybe have heard of are the "frankenstein" pictures.
i made only the first two. the others were done by hacks.
merely comfortable. here's hanna with our refreshments. can you get the door?
my mind's lovely. and yours?
yes, yes, yes. i merely invited mr. boone in for a glass of tea. we'll have a brief chat and he'll finish the yard.
just go. we can manage without you.
go.
when they stay in your employ too long, servants begin to think they're married to you. please, mr. boone. help yourself.
i returned recently from a stay in hospital.
nothing serious. a touch of stroke.
you must excuse me for staring, mr. boone. but you have a marvelous head.
to an artistic eye, you understand. have you ever modeled?
sat for an artist. been sketched.
you have the most architectural skull. and your nose. very expressive.
but expressively broken. how did it happen?
you went to university?
yes. you were a marine.
i apologize for going on like this. it's the sunday painter in me. of course i can understand your refusal. it's a great deal to ask of someone.
indeed. i'd pay for the privilege of drawing your head.
even an amateur artist needs a subject to inspire him.
what are you suggesting? you'll charge extra if i include a hand or a bit of shoulder.
i have no interest in your body, mr. boone. i can assure you of that.
excellent. we'll have a most interesting time.
yes, yes, dr. payne. but from the neck up? what's my story there?
you're saying there's an electrical storm in my head?
but the rest of it? the killing headaches. the phantom smells. my inability to close my eyes without thinking a hundred things at once. it's all nothing more than bad electricity?
so what do i do?
you seem to be saying that this isn't just a case of resting until i'm better. that my condition will continue to deteriorate until the end of my life.
very good, hanna. now goodbye.
i'm sure you'd like something to wet your whistle while i work.
we'll go slowly today. since this is your first time as a model.
you don't say? which picture?
hmmm. i much prefer "show boat" or "the invisible man." shall we begin?
that shirt, mr. boone.
i'm sorry. it's too white, too distracting. would it be asking too much for you to take it off?
pish posh, mr. boone. i'm not your aunt tilly.
oh if it's going to make you uncomfortable.  perhaps we can find something else for you to wear.
we could wrap this like a toga around your shoulders. would that help you overcome your schoolgirl shyness?
yes. much better. here.
i think we'll have you sit slightly sideways, so you can rest one arm on the back of the chair. yes. just so.
that's exactly what i intend to do.
you seem to have no idea how handsome you are, mr. boone. it has to do with how snugly your face fits your skull.
would you be more comfortable barefoot? feel free to remove your boots and socks.
it's a bit like being at the doctor, isn't it? you have to remain perfectly still while i examine and scrutinize you.
dripping? do you ever eat dripping in this country? the fat from roasts and such, congealed in jars. used like butter on bread.
it is. only the poorest families ever ate it. we kept ours in a crockery jar.
of course not. as i said, only poor people --
i'm sorry. i've just realized how terribly ironic it all is.
i've spent most of my life outrunning my past. now it's flooding all over me.
there's something about the openness of your face that makes me want to speak the truth. yes, my family ate dripping. beef dripping and four to a bed, and a privy out back in the alley. are you also from the slums, mr. boone?
no, you were middle class, like all americans.
in dudley there were more sides of the tracks than any american can imagine. every englishman knows his place. and if you forget, there's always someone to remind you. my family had no doubts about who they were. but i was an aberration in that household a freak of nature. i had imagination, cleverness, joy. where did i get that? certainly not from them.
they took me out of school when i was fourteen and put me in a factory. they meant no harm. they were like a family of farmers who've been given a giraffe, and don't know what to do with the creature except harness him to the plow.
hatred was the only thing that kept my soul alive in that soul-killing place. and among those men i hated was my own poor, dumb father. who put me in that hell to begin with.
you have to excuse me, mr. boone. since my stroke, i am often overcome with nostalgia.
why don't we break for five minutes? you probably want to stretch your legs.
wonderful old una. gobbling like an old turkey hen.
don't be silly, hanna. he's a very proper actor. and the dullest fellow imaginable.
no, hanna. my heart isn't that black.
the cigars were my own brand. so that i could have the leftovers.
she is beautiful.
i'll be fine, hanna. thank you.
good morning. and a very good morning to you.
bring a mirror. let the bride feast upon her visage.
nonsense, my dear. you look extraordinary. today's script. quick. and a pencil.
jack, i want to get on this right away. sorry, boris, we won't get to you until this afternoon.
colin? please. it's time. how is he today?
relax, my boy. you could do this scene in your sleep.
yes, a couple of flaming queens. and pretorius is a little in love with dr. frankenstein, you know.
yes. i think it's coming together. shall we have a go?
action.
luminal. illumine all.
thank you. thank you so much.
it isn't working. the experiment is a failure.
i'm up, hanna.
what in god's name --
does the yardman come today?
how are you, mr. boone? so glad you are free for lunch.
i assume you worked up an appetite with your labor.
forgive my rudeness. at my age, the post is the cream of the day.
do you mind?
hmmm? princess margaret?
her majesty's loyal subjects in the motion picture industry.  cordially invited. reception at the home of. mr. george cukor!
that pushy little -- horning in on the queen's sister, then offering to share her with the whole damn raj? i live in this country to get away from this rubbish!
is this david's doing?
yes. an old, useless friend. you must excuse me, mr. boone. this is a world i finished with long ago. i pay them no mind and expect them to return the compliment. lunch should be ready. shall we?
cheers.
smells lovely, hanna.
did you now?
did anyone laugh?
pity. people are so earnest nowadays.
of course. i had to make it interesting for myself, you see. a comedy about death. the trick is not to ruin it for anyone who isn't in on the joke. but the monster never receives any of my gibes. he is noble. noble and misunderstood.
in korea, mr. boone?
did you kill anyone?
it's nothing to be ashamed of, in the service of one's country. that's something to be proud of.
quite true. hand-to-hand combat is the true test. did you ever slay anyone hand-to-hand?
yes, i believe you could. how free is your schedule this afternoon?
what is we say phooey to the hedges? could you spare an hour after lunch? to sit for me?
i'll pay our going rate. plus what you'd get if you did the hedges.
all righty. i understand.
use this.
just a trim. and mine while you're at it. fingers are a bit stiff today.
no. at least not in the legal sense.
or a husband. depending on which of us you asked. my friend david. he lived here for many years.
does that surprise you?
oh dear. if one must have a clinical name.
i never thought you were.
what way might that be?
don't be ridiculous. i know a real man like you would break my neck if i so much as laid a hand on him. besides, you're not my type.
so we understand each other?
i hope this has nothing to do with your refusing to sit for me today?
what are you afraid of, mr. boone? certainly not a frail old man like me.
it will only make you self-conscious. you'll have to remove your shirt.
but we have to match the other sketch.
perhaps if we open the shirt and pull --
oh dear. i have made you nervous.
suppose we unbutton the top and pull it down around your shoulders? two buttons. is that so much to ask? just two little buttons.
of course. i don't want to scare you off. not before i'm finished with you.
tell me more about yourself, mr. boone. you have a steady companion?
why not?
very well put.
ah. a philosopher.
i like that. but take care, mr. boone. freedom is a drug, much like any other. too much can be a very bad thing.
in a way, yes. i suppose so. i know it's why i stopped making pictures.
you might not think it to look at me now, but there was a time when i was at the very pinnacle of my profession. the horror movies were behind me. i'd done "show boat." major success. great box office. now i was to do something important. "the road back." an indictment of the great war and what it did to germany. it was to be my masterpiece.
the fucking studio butchered it. it was 1937, hitler's armies were already massing -- and still the new york bankers stood in line to curry his favor. anything to avoid losing the german market. they cut away the guts and brought in another director to add slapstick. the picture laid an egg, a great expensive bomb. for which i was blamed.
after that, i went out of fashion. i was no longer able to command the best projects, so i walked away. why should i spend my time working in such a dreadful business?
it's so far in the past now. over fifteen years --
making movies was the most wonderful thing in the world. working with friends. entertaining people. yes, i suppose i miss it. more so now that --
i think we all want to feel we've left our mark on the world. yes. i wish i had done more work.
better work.
but i chose freedom. david was still in the thick of it, his life full of anxiety and studio intrigue. i didn't fancy spending my golden years as merely "the friend." the dirty little secret of a nervous producer.
twenty years. too long. we were like a play whose run outlasted the cast's ability to keep it fresh. so i finally decided to close down the show.
when all fetters are loosened, a certain hedonism creeps in, don't you think? there was a period when this house was overrun with young men. some even posed for me. right where you're sitting now.
of course, they weren't nearly as bashful. no, this room was once filled with bare buttocks. and pricks. hard, arrogant pricks --
i assure you, mr. boone, i meant no --
i think i'll just rest for a moment.
i think we're ready to go.
you're up, mr. boone.
the extras are in their places. now we need the star. wouldn't you like to get in the pool?
oh no. i never swim.
you'll have to remove that shirt.
who was that at the door?
thank you, hanna. that will be all.
mr. boone. you're not due to cut the lawn until wednesday.
scout's honor.
i'm curious, mr. boone. what convinced you to come back?
everybody has stories to tell.
what about your stint in korea? i'm sure it was full of dramatic episodes.
and the fear you showed at our last session? how did you overcome that?
same difference, mr. boone. disgust, fear of the unknown -- all part of the great gulf that stands between us. am i right in assuming that you've had little experience with men of my persuasion?
no teammates in football? no comrades in korea?
oh, there may not be atheists in the foxholes, but there are occasionally lovers.
not at all. i was in the foxholes myself.
i was an officer.
no, my dear. the crimean war. what do you think? the great war. you had a good war, while we had --
-- a war without end. there were trenches when i arrived, and trenches when i left, two years later. just like in the movies. only the movies never get the stench of them. the world reduced to mud and sandbags and a narrow strip of rainy sky. but we were discussing something else. oh yes. love in the trenches.
barnett. was that his name? leonard barnett. he came to the front straight from harrow. and he looked up to me. unlike the others, he didn't care that i was a workingman impersonating his betters. how strange, to be admired so blindly. i suppose he loved me. but chastely, like a schoolboy.
i remember one morning in particular. a morning when the sun came out.
odd, how even there one could have days when the weather was enough to make one happy. he and i were standing on the fire step and i showed him the sights of no-man's land, through the periscope. it was beautiful. the barbed wire was reddish gold, the water in the shell holes green with algae, the sky a clear quattrocento blue. and i stood shoulder to shoulder with a tall apple-cheeked boy who loved and trusted me.
don't do this to me again, mr. boone. i absolutely refuse.
you will not set me on another walk down memory lane. not this lane. not today.
why do i tell you this? i never told david. i never even remembered it until you got me going.
you're very clever, mr. boone. you just sit there and let me talk. what a sorry old man, you're thinking. what a crazy old poof. why are you here? what do you want from me?
of course i remember. do you think i'm so senile --
stupid. very stupid. what have i been thinking?
just go. please. why don't you go?
i want -- i want.
i want a glass of water.
a touch of headache.
thank you.
my apologies. i had no business snapping at you.
it was foolishness to attempt this portrait. you cannot force what will not flow.
how would you like to come to a party with me? a reception for princess margaret.
if you don't mind driving, i'd like to take you as my guest. there should be lots of pretty starlets to keep you amused.
very good, clayton. may i call you clayton? or do you prefer boone?
i'd hardly call our yardman a friend.
do you miss having someone to talk to, hanna?
of course. how is the old boy these days?
it needs a hat. there was a wide-brimmed cream fedora.
gas masks on. gas masks on.
i'll be out this afternoon, remember? your family can visit as long as they like.
you can toss this one in the trash.
good afternoon, clayton.
you look splendid, my boy. quite splendid.
i suppose you'd like the top down.
nothing would please me more.
stars, you know. the suns of other galaxies.
good old george. he loves to put on the dog. only his dogs tend to have a bit of mutt.
what did i tell you? listen.
exactly. cukor was too cheap to hire music. there's nothing but chin-wag. the cold dreary custard of english chin-wag.
slim pickings. well, it's early yet. perhaps this is a good time to pay our respects.
let's get this over with quickly.
fine. quite fine. and your royal highness?
sit?
ma'am, the pleasure is all mine. james whale.
hello, george. james whale. david lewis's friend. i once made pictures myself, ma'am.
ma'am, may i present mr. clayton boone?
my gardener, who insisted i bring him today. he so wanted to meet royalty.
he's never met a princess. only queens.
george, ma'am, this has been an honor. an occasion to remember for the rest of my days.
nothing of importance. just two old men slapping each other with lilies. shall we have a drink?
david. the friend i thought was in new york.
girl? oh. elizabeth taylor.
david produced her last picture.
just what i was about to ask you. i thought you were in new york.
our yardman. who was kind enough to serve as my escort to george's little do.
oh, david, stop being a nanny.
you should have seen georgie's face when he met clayton.
i did. but princess margaret was a doll. we're all equals in her eyes. as commoners, i presume.
oh dear. i'll never work in this town again?
but i have no reputation. i'm as free as the air.
no. i never could. you must regret having had the invitation sent.
then who did?
yes. perfectly.
mr. kay?
you didn't?
you, mr. kay? how do you know george cukor?
i commend you. if you're going to pursue poofs, go after those who can do favors for you. you waste everybody's time when you court dinosaurs.
my monsters?
elsa?
oh, nothing out of the ordinary. growing old.
but you appear quite fresh, my dear.
perfectly all right. but if you'd like to sit --
of course.
oh dear.
good-bye. so nice to see you.
tired. a bit tired.
are you enjoying yourself?
neither of us really belongs here.
monsters? the only monsters.  . are here.
run for what?
let's get out of this funk hole
we're not sugar. we won't melt.
catch my death.
jimmy. please. call me jimmy.
hanna! bring us some towels. we're drenched to the bone!
blast her. if we soil her holy floor, it's her own damn fault.
i don't believe this.
it's not like her.
certainly you have better things to do than babysit an old man?
what do you think?
he trusts me, you know.
oh, of course. clayton. you finished your shower already?
i'm afraid not. terribly sorry. i believe i promised you some clothes.
you're much wider than i am. you won't want to attempt to get into my pants.
very good, clayton.
i know.
absolutely swims on me, but should take care of your upper half.
that only leaves the rest.
sorry. my pajamas are tailored. would it be too distressing to continue with the towel? no more immodest than a kilt, you know.
very sporting of you, clayton.
the only memento i ever kept. my original sketch for the monster.
shall we?
after dinner, if hanna isn't back? can we try a few more sketches?
i'd like to try again. if you're game.
tell me something, clayton. do you believe in mercy killing?
come now. i'm sure you came across such situations in korea. a wounded comrade, or perhaps one of the enemy? someone for whom death would be a blessing.
but you said --
i see.
the great war?
a very lucky thing indeed.
is that why you joined the marines? for your father's sake?
what happened?
i'm very sorry.
that's where you're wrong, clayton. you've just told one. a very good story indeed.
not at all.
"a perfect night for mystery and horror. the air itself is filled with monsters."
i don't remember that one.
i don't recall. memories of the war, perhaps.
oh, but it does. especially in light of the journey i'm about to make.
barnett. barnett on the wire.
he caught his one night coming back from the reconnoiter. i wouldn't take him out, but mcgill did. just to give the lad a taste. they were nearly home when a maxim gun opened fire.
come on. come on.
barnett's body fell in wire as thick as briers. it was hanging there the next morning, a hundred yards from the line, too far out for anyone to fetch it.
we saw him at morning stand-to and evening stand-to. "good morning, barnett," we'd say each day. "how's ole barnett looking this morning?" "seems a little peaky. looks a little plumper." his wounds faced the other way and his hat shielded his eyes, so one could imagine he was napping on bedsprings. he hung there until we were relieved. we introduced him to the new unit before we marched out, speaking highly of his companionship.
oh, but we were a witty lot. laughing at our dead. telling ourselves it was our death too. but with each man who died, i thought, "better you than me, poor sod." a whole generation was wiped out by that war. millions and millions of young men.
oh death where is thy sting-a-ling? grave where thy victory?
oh no, my friend. it's digging itself up. there is nothing in the here and now to take my mind off it. all my diversions have abandoned me. parties. reading. painting. work. love. all gone to me now.
so it is going to happen after all.
no. it won't do.
you are much too human.
don't move.
i would like you to wear this?
for the artistic effect. the combination of your human body and that inhuman mask. it's quite striking.
please, clayton. just for a minute. long enough for me to see the effect.
there are straps in back.
let me help you.
what was that?
allow me.
we don't want to tear the straps.
oh yes. i am still here.
what steely muscles, clayton.
relax, clayton. i can't hear you. i can't hear a word.
what a solid brute you are.
no? maybe this, then?
oh yes. i have you now.
what will you do to get yourself back?
oh, but you feel good, clayton.
that didn't even sting. you're not such a real man after all. are you?
wait until i tell my friends i had you naked in my arms. won't they be surprised?
oh, but you have. you undressed for me. i kissed you. i even touched your prick. how will you be able to live with yourself?
i want you to kill me.
break my neck. or strangle me. it would be oh so easy to wrap your hands around my neck and choke the life out of me. please, clayton. we've come this far.
exactly, i'm losing my mind. every day, another piece goes. soon there will be nothing left. look at the sketch i made of you.
no, i don't want to die alone. but to be killed by you -- that would make death bearable. they say you never see the one with your name on it. but i want to see death coming at me. i want it to be sharp and hard, with a human face. your face. think, clayton. you'd be my second monster. almost as famous as the first. it would be the great adventure you've yearned for. a war story for both of us to share.
you'd be fully exonerated, i've taken care of that. i wrote a note, i'll even leave you the house, the car.
do it now, clayton. make me invisible.
what have i done? oh, selfish, selfish fool. i have lost my mind.
what was i thinking?
you're a softhearted bloke. a bloody pussycat.
my deepest apologies. can you ever forgive me?
i suppose not. good god, i am tired. i really must go to bed.
oh clayton.
nothing i didn't deserve.
pray you, undo this button.
i can never manage it when i'm tired.
do you believe people come into our lives for a reason?
i can undress myself, thank you.
when you die. be sure your brain is the last organ to fizzle --
tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow.
goodnight, clayton.