Airside, p.22
Airside, page 22
Teddy Smythe was introduced by the festival organizers at the introductory session as a special, surprise guest. One of the men on the festival committee propelled her on to the raised dais in a wheelchair. He paused her beneath an overhead light. She was wearing a beautiful gown, sat erect in the seat, still looking much as she had done the day Justin interviewed her. The crowd standing around applauded her, but politely.
Justin whispered to Matty, ‘Did you know Teddy was going to be here at the festival?’
‘No. Did you?’
‘Spencer Horvath is here. That must be why she was invited. Obviously someone in the festival made the connection with Horvath.’
‘It’s common knowledge now, I suppose,’ Matty said. ‘We should try to spend some time with her.’
But the brief round of applause suggested that not everyone present realized who she was.
Teddy remained on the low platform for the few remaining minutes of the opening remarks. She was positioned behind the people from the committee, the light shining down on her. She looked at ease, smiling around as the speeches went on. Her silver hair was longer than Justin remembered, but she had that familiar half-smile. He realized he was staring, and experienced a surge of affection for her.
Immediately after the opening ceremony, which was in reality a long straggle of semi-audible introductory remarks by members of the committee speaking through a poor PA system, the first of the competition films was to be shown. Matty and Justin headed down to the superbly well equipped theatre in the building’s sub-ground level, where the celebrity interviews and some of the press conferences would be mounted, and where most of the films were to be screened.
This opening film was a misjudged gang-warfare film from the Netherlands, with a fantasy element: a sort of Merlin figure appeared to be controlling the outcome in some unexplained way. The violence was unremitting, but the many action scenes were unconvincing.
As usual, Justin scribbled notes in the dark. He wrote them on the printed handout on which the names of the cast and the most important members of the crew were listed. Matty also took notes, after the film was over, on her phone.
They had dinner later, sharing a table with two others from the competition jury, a young director from Poland who had enjoyed a success the previous year with an unusual vampire film, and an Australian actor called Brigitte McWillson. Brigitte was new to the cinema of gross-out horror: two years earlier she had acted in a film in which a group of socialites wander into a forest where a homicidal maniac is lurking. She made everyone at the table laugh with her accounts of what the film’s inexperienced writer-director tried to make them do. The film had never achieved cinema release.
Down in the sub-floor theatre another film followed – this was an animation from Ireland about a leprechaun. Justin, still recovering from after-effects of the long flight, fell asleep less than halfway through. He made no notes of his own, but he kept the info handout. He and Matty went straight to bed immediately after the film finished.
The following morning Justin and Matty were walking along the hotel corridor, heading for the elevators, when they saw Teddy Smythe approaching them in her wheelchair. She was being pushed by one of the committee members, Bernie or the other one who had collected Justin from the airport. She was looking down, not ahead.
As they came near, Justin said, ‘Good morning, Teddy!’
She did not look up, but raised a hand in a weak gesture. As the wheelchair went past, they stepped aside to make room for her, and they heard her say in a trembling voice, ‘Hello, dear.’
They walked into the elevator, heading down to the breakfast restaurant. Matty and Justin looked enquiringly at each other. Justin shrugged.
‘Maybe she didn’t see it was us,’ he said.
‘Maybe she did.’
‘Remind me of the name of the guy who was pushing her? Have you met him yet?’
‘That’s Harvey Hanting. He’s on the festival committee, responsible for the jury, making sure we view every film and discuss it properly. He’s a grad student at the University of Canberra. Film grammar and structure.’
‘An expert in film theory.’
‘Not yet, but probably soon will be. He’s a nice guy, good to know.’
After breakfast there was a press conference with the director and producer of the Dutch gang-warfare film, and two of the actors. Then they went to the next film in competition: an American indie about an AI robot gaining a sense of identity, learning the satisfactions of revenge and running rampage. The day went by: two more films, one after the lunch break, one after dinner.
The next day, two of the movies Matty had to view for the competition Justin had already seen in preview in London. He took the opportunity to watch two of the out-of-competition films, one of them on a DVD in the hotel bedroom. He caught up with Matty again during another press conference.
That afternoon they went out to the terrace, which enjoyed a view across to Melbourne Bay. They sipped margaritas beneath the shade of a festival parasol. The conference centre was built on the coast. They revelled in the warm sunshine: many of the festival delegates were splashing around in the centre’s swimming pool.
Teddy Smythe was already outside on the terrace when they arrived, her back towards them, her wheelchair pressed up against the table. There was a microphone on the table, several books and papers. Two journalists were asking her questions. Justin and Matty were too far away to hear anything, but Teddy repeatedly shook her head, looked away, looked down. One of the men leaned back in his chair and made a loud hoot of sarcastic laughter. Teddy pushed back her chair and stood up, holding on to the handle at the back for support. She turned away from the men, as if about to walk. She kept hold of the back of the chair for support, looking unsteady on her feet. Justin glanced across at Matty, who was watching as closely as him, and stood up, thinking he should go across to her and offer to help. Then one of the journalists said something calming to her and she sat down again. The situation resumed after some quiet words.
Justin and Matty waited for the conversation to finish, intending to walk across to her and say hello properly, but things had been smoothed over. Soon, Matty had to depart for the sub-level cinema once again.
This new film was an Argentinian fantasy which Justin had heard much about, and also wanted to see. It was cool indoors, air-conditioned with a chilled draught blowing across them. They missed the pleasures of the sunshine.
The following morning Justin was taken aside by Bernie Williamson as he was heading down to the theatre to try to find Matty. She was viewing the programme of short films, also in competition. Bernie asked if he would he be able to conduct an interview with Spencer Horvath that afternoon?
Justin was surprised to be asked – this was the first he had heard of it. He had been waiting to find out which interviews he was supposed to conduct, but nothing so far had been said. Bernie told him that the Horvath interview had originally been planned for the final evening of the festival, when his new film The Sator Meaning was to be given its first public screening as a finale to the festival. But Mr Horvath needed urgently to return to Los Angeles. His private jet would be leaving after the interview.
‘I haven’t seen his new film.’ Justin said. ‘I know nothing about it.’
‘No one does,’ Bernie said. ‘It’s under embargo. But one of his assistants says they have prepared a list of questions that Mr Horvath will answer.’
‘I don’t like someone I’m interviewing knowing in advance what I’m going to ask.’
‘I’m told they’re only suggestions. You’re presumably aware of his other work?’
‘Of course – I’ve reviewed all his films as they were released, and I wrote a long chapter about him in one of my books.’
‘Yes – I’ve seen that. We thought that was probably the case. You can pick the questions you want to use. Or none of them. It would be entirely up to you.’
‘OK,’ said Justin.
‘Mr Horvath’s temporary headquarters are in the executive suite, on the fifth floor. His people are waiting for you now. The interview will start after lunch, at 2.00 pm. Mr Horvath will join you on the platform. We have been asked to tell you that you must be ready to start at exactly 2.00 pm. Punctuality is important to Mr Horvath.’
It was already nearly 1.00 pm.
‘Couldn’t he and I have an informal meeting beforehand, in the green room?’
But Bernie’s mobile rang. He clamped it to his ear and turned away.
Justin went to the elevators. None of them travelled as high as the fifth floor. He found someone from the staff of the conference centre, and they directed him to the private executive elevator, placed inconspicuously in a corner of the entrance hall. The access code was whispered to him.
As he travelled swiftly upwards Justin had only enough time to think nervously of being unexpectedly in the company of the single most powerful producer and director in Hollywood, when the doors opened with a silky sound and he stepped out into the suite.
Not having any idea what he expected to find, Justin felt at once that he had entered the newsroom of a busy metropolitan newspaper. The area was filled with noise. Bright lights shone down from the ceiling. There were many desks laid out in rows, all at an apparently measured ergonomic distance from each other. Every desk had one or more laptops. Some of them had huge monitors connected to desktop machines. Every desk had someone sitting there working the keyboards. Most of the people were wearing headsets, and communicating with someone else, somewhere else.
A bank of TV monitors stood against one wall, with news stories from American channels showing on most of them, but one of the screens was running an animated feature, with the soundtrack turned down. Violent action flickered intermittently on all TV monitors, both news bulletins and fantasy animé. No one appeared to be looking at them. Next to the TV monitors was a gaming area: three separate consoles were there, two of them in use as Justin arrived. Electronic music was being pumped from speakers. There was also an array of automats: ice water, cola, soft drinks, iced tea, chocolate bars, protein bars, vegan bars, bubble gum, corn and potato chips, chilled salad portions, wristbands, headbands, memory sticks, mobile phone recharging station, caps and sweatshirts. A basketball hoop had been fixed to the highest wall. At the far end of the long room was a selection of cross-trainers, treadmills and exercise bikes.
Although the blinds on the windows had been lowered to filter the bright sunlight, Justin glimpsed through them a large satellite dish that had been set up on the balcony outside.
No one looked towards him. He stood by the doors to the elevator, wondering who to speak to. As he stared around he noticed that there was no paper anywhere, not a shred of it, not on desks, not being read or carried, there were no paper files, no newspapers or magazines or books. Nothing.
Finally, a young man with a buzz cut turned away from one of the automats, noticed Justin standing there and walked across to him. He was in training gear and sweatband, and a white towel was draped around his shoulders. A dark patch of perspiration lay on his chest. He wiped his face as he came across.
‘Hi, you look like you might be the interview guy. I’m Larry.’
‘Yes – I’m Justin.’ He extended a hand, but Larry merely knuckled it lightly.
‘You have your mobile handy, Justin?’ he said. ‘Let me use it for a moment?’
Justin passed it over. Larry glanced briefly at it, and produced his own phone from a back pocket. He pressed the two handsets together, screen to screen, then handed back Justin’s. Wet fingermarks lay on each side of the screen.
‘OK, you now have the questions for the interview. You may ask any of them or all of them, but do not deviate into questions of your own. Mr Horvath will not answer any questions of that sort. You should not try. Is that understood?’
Justin nodded.
‘I need you to say yes, Justin.’
‘Yes, it’s understood, Larry,’ he said politely. ‘Thank you.’ He glanced across the extent of the suite. ‘Is Mr Horvath here at the moment?’
‘He’s unavailable right now. May I take a message?’
‘I thought we might say hello to each other before the interview.’
‘Spencer Horvath does not like to say hello.’
‘I wanted to ask him about Teddy Smythe, and how she came to appear in The Silent Genius .’
‘Spencer Horvath never discusses his past features.’
‘OK,’ said Justin. ‘But I noticed Teddy Smythe is here at the festival. ’
‘What name is that? I’ll have to check if he’s on the list.’
Larry turned from him. He ambled away, passing between the desks. He paused to speak to someone else.
Justin waited for a while, but then walked back to the elevator, remembered the access code and the doors swished apart.
Justin stepped out on to the terrace, intending to take a seat in the sun and glance through the questions that Horvath would allow. He thought if he could select a few that came close to his own interests he could structure the interview around them. The only interviews with Horvath that he remembered seeing were in print media. He had never seen him interviewed live, on TV or even online, but the run of Horvath’s box office hits in the last two decades suggested a restless intelligence, a good mind and a wide-ranging imagination. Justin felt inspired to make the best of this opportunity to obtain an interview that would gain attention throughout the world of film. It was a stimulating prospect. And Teddy Smythe was also here: intriguingly, Horvath had said he knew who she really was.
As he walked down to the area of decking he saw immediately that something was going on. All the seats, the tables and the sunshades had been taken down and members of the conference centre staff were folding them and stacking them inside a concrete shelter situated to one side. The cocktail bar had already been closed and shuttered. In the pool, the many people who had been swimming were now levering themselves up and out of the water, and wrapping themselves in towels as they gathered their belongings. Staff were standing by, making sure the whole area outside the main building was cleared.
One of the women on the staff approached Justin and asked him if he would please return to the building and wait inside.
‘What’s happening?’ he asked her.
‘A storm is forecast, sir. Guests are obliged to stay inside the building if atmospheric pressure falls below a certain reading, or if there’s a big wind. We’ve received warnings of both.’
Justin could not help glancing at the peaceful scene of a sunlit midday, with scarcely the breath of a breeze. No dark clouds loomed. A low bulking of white clouds was on the far horizon.
‘Are you sure the forecast is right?’ he said.
‘This is April in Melbourne – the weather can change in a matter of minutes.’
She raised an arm impatiently, indicating he should move back and into the building. He obeyed.
He waited around in the general area inside. He sent Matty a text saying he had to interview Spencer Horvath at 2.00 pm in the auditorium, but if she was free there was still time for them to meet for a quick lunch.
He then moved to a spare chair by one of the windows that overlooked the terrace. He took out his mobile phone, and searched for and found the questions Larry had placed there.
Justin read them. It did not take long. There were only three.
‘Oh shit,’ he said aloud.
24
Because the terrace had closed, the main restaurant was crowded, but Matty and Justin were able to grab some sandwiches and coffee. Justin took his to the auditorium, where he mounted the stage. Two chairs and microphones were already in place, so he sat in one of them.
Staff from the conference centre were getting the theatre ready. They said he wasn’t in the way, and it was OK for him to sit there. The cinema screen and sound equipment were being winched up and out of the way. This revealed the bare rear area of the stage – two wooden crates had been left there, a coil of wire, a workbox of tools. A metal staircase led up to somewhere in the loft. Soon, the guys lowered a curtain upstage, making an intimate setting for an interview. From above, the stage lights were tested, on and off, targeted on the chairs, the table between them. They asked Justin to do a sound check.
Justin had wanted some space to think, but he felt bare of thought. He finished the sandwiches quickly, then sat with the paper cup, sipping the coffee. His ears suddenly popped, as if he were back on the long-haul flight again. He swallowed to clear them.
He was daunted by the prospect of this interview. He sat in a depressed and worried state as the workers cleared up and left. The audience began to arrive. At first there was just a trickle but the numbers built up. With only about ten minutes before the start time almost every seat was taken. Soon there was standing room only. Matty had taken one of the reserved seats in the centre of the front row. Harvey Hanting wheeled Teddy Smythe in. She went past Matty’s seat without looking, then sat staring around while Harvey locked her wheelchair in the allotted mobility position at the end of the row.
Justin looked deliberately towards her, hoping for a response or a sign of recognition, but nothing came. Once again, he felt the magnetism of her presence.
There was no sign of Spencer Horvath.
Justin had removed his wristwatch and placed it on the small table beside his chair. He kept glancing at it. His ears popped again, puzzlingly. Then, with three minutes to go, a loud crack of thunder came down from above. Justin at first wondered if it was a sound effect, an announcement, but the familiar sound rumbled on for a few seconds, followed by silence. The auditorium was below ground level, with no daylight admitted anywhere.
