Night and Day Arena

THUNDER ROLLS

MUSIC: Another Green World by Brian Eno

MUSIC: Another Green World by Brian Eno

The unmistakable Arena bottle has been reliably introducing

a distinct brand of film-making since the 1970s.

I've been a fan ever since I first saw it.

This year, the programme celebrates its 40th anniversary, making it the

longest-running arts documentary strand in the history of television.

Throughout those 40 years, it has addressed the arts

and culture of the world, high and low,

from the Old Kent Road to Robben Island,

Amy Winehouse to TS Eliot,

the cinema of Bergman and Visconti to Elvis Presley's diet.

The Arena archive is a treasure trove that provides a unique history

of the last hundred years.

It was originated by Humphrey Burton,

then head of BBC Music and Arts, in 1975.

Burton had one of the most distinguished profiles in television.

He produced Ken Russell's legendary film on Elgar for Monitor,

and was television's leading figure in the arts.

The first episode featured no less than

Laurence Olivier in conversation with Kenneth Tynan.

She was immensely generous.

All her money, she was free with as the air.

She was marvellous in helping people.

-At one point, she actually asked for her salary to be cut.

-Yes.

Yeah, she was so worried about the expenditure going up.

Of course, she lived on nothing. Sausages and sardines...

In its first year, it was a weekly magazine programme.

Then Leslie Megahey took over,

and the series has had only three editors since,

all like-minded

and all directors in their own right.

So, highly unusually

for a TV strand, Arena has been run by an

unbroken editorial sensibility pretty much through its entire history.

Megahey has directed some of the finest films about visual artists ever made.

In 1978, he passed the role on to Alan Yentob,

who'd already made the classic film about David Bowie, Cracked Actor.

As editors, both continued to direct,

and notably Megahey's definitive portrait of Orson Welles,

and Yentob's entertaining engagement with Mel Brooks.

During Yentob's editorship, within a pool of highly talented directors,

there was a small team that worked only on Arena.

Author Nigel Williams' work, including films on George Orwell,

Joe Orton and Jean Genet,

became the core of Arena's literary output,

and Nigel Finch and Anthony Wall

made the films that gave Arena its unique signature style - My Way,

The Chelsea Hotel,

The Private Life Of The Ford Cortina

and Desert Island Discs were witty, stylish

and somewhat irreverent meditations on subjects

that, at the time, would not have been thought to be within the remit

of the BBC Music and Arts Department.

Alan Yentob became head of that department in 1985.

Nigel Finch and Anthony Wall took over

and ran the series

until Finch's untimely death in 1995.

Wall has continued as sole editor ever since.

The films I've mentioned represent only a fraction of Arena's output.

The film you are about to see brings together the work of many producers,

directors and their teams, but it demonstrates a commonality of purpose

that characterises the 600 or so films in the Arena canon.

It's been showered with honours at home and abroad,

not least nine BAFTA awards and 25 BAFTA nominations.

Rather than make a "best of" compilation to mark the anniversary,

the decision was made to try and bring the past into the present

and make a new film.

CLOCK TICKS

It's an evocation,

drawn entirely from Arena films,

of the one experience common to everything

and everyone on the planet -

the inexorable 24-hour cycle of night and day.

Dawn to dusk and on to dawn again.

And, remember, the darkest hour is just before the dawn.

BIG BEN CHIMES

THUNDER CLAP

To begin at the beginning...

It is spring, moonless night in the small town,

starless and bible-black, the cobblestreets silent

and the hunched, courters'-and- rabbits' wood limping invisible

down to the sloeblack, slow, black,

crowblack, fishingboat-bobbing sea.

The houses are blind as moles,

though moles see fine to-night in the snouting, velvet dingles,

and all the people of the lulled and dumbfound town

are sleeping now.

CRICKETS CHIRP

FROG BELCHES

HARP PLAYS

BIG BEN CHIMES

BIRDSONG

MUSIC: Night And Day by Frank Sinatra

# Night and day

# You are the one

# Only you beneath the moon

# And under the sun

# Whether near to me or far

# It's no matter, darling

# Where you are

# I think of you

# Day and night... #

I was out walking two blocks from where I lived at, actually,

and I looked up and I saw these steps going up.

I walked over the street and I walked up the steps

and there was this beautiful big expanse of bridge, you know?

Nobody up there.

TRAIN HORN BLARES

HE PLAYS A JAZZ RIFF

I haven't slept very much in the past couple of years

and I wake up very early, usually around six o'clock,

with unaccountable feelings of optimism.

I lie in bed smoking for half an hour, which is pretty disgusting,

contemplating the horror of having to write a column

and wondering just what the hell to write one about.

Then I do it with some desperation.

MUSIC: I Ain't Got No Home by Woody Guthrie

# I ain't got no home I'm just a-ramblin' round

# I work when I can get it

# I go from town to town

# Can't fill a form no matter where I go

# Cos I ain't got no home in this world any more. #

After I was on the highway to California,

I made about three trips back to Texas and back to Oklahoma

and back to California, again by freight train.

And every time, I saw hundreds and hundreds and hundreds and thousands

of families, of people living around under railroad bridges.

# I'm stranded on that road that goes from city to city

# A hundred thousand others are stranded same as me

# Eight hundred thousand years Eight hundred thousand more

# And I ain't got no home in this world any more. #

TRAIN HORN BLARES

# From the mountain to the prairie

# Through the ocean white with foam

# God bless America

# My home sweet home

# From the mountain to the prairie

# Through the ocean white with foam

# God bless America

# My home sweet home... #

I chose the name Poly Styrene

because it's a lightweight disposable product.

It sounded all right,

cos I thought it was a send-up of being a pop star.

It's like a little figure, not me, being Poly Styrene.

Just plastic, disposable.

That's what pop stars meant to me

so, therefore, I thought I might as well send it up.

The Surrealists never believed in looking bohemian

because they realised that people expected bohemian artists

to behave madly.

And so they chose to look like everybody else

and, when they did, therefore,

attack the bourgeoisie through surprise,

scandal or whatever means they chose,

it was all the more shock to those they attacked that those who

were attacking them looked exactly like themselves.

Mesens, for instance, was absolutely meticulous about his appearance

and in the bathroom, even to the point of obsession.

For instance, he shaved no less than three times,

using a fantastically elaborate mathematical system

to select a Gillette razor blade

from a huge pile he kept on the glass shelf in front of his glass.

Where is... Where is the jam?

The jam is up there.

Beans, tomatoes, chips, mushrooms.

Er...fried potatoes, two thick bread-and-butter

and it comes up really heaped well up on the plate, like.

44?

LAUGHTER

Cheers, mate.

That morning, when I walked into the dining room, I spoke.

I said, "Good morning." He said, "Good morning."

I said, "What we going to have for breakfast this morning?"

He said, "Fried peanut butter and banana sandwich."

And I looked at him and I said, "What?"

He said, "Fried peanut butter and banana sandwich."

I said, "I never heard of it."

The first time I went in, fixed the sandwich

and put it on the tray and brought it back, that wasn't right.

His father was sitting there and he said, "Mary, I'm going with you

"and help you and let's see maybe both of us can get it right."

I said, "OK."

Then he said, "Let's toast the bread first," so we toast the bread,

then spread the peanut butter on and sliced the bananas and put them on

and put them into the skillet and kept turning them with the spatula,

and turn them till they got heated all the way through.

Then I take them, cut them, put them on the platter and take them

back to him and he said, "That's what I want. That's right!"

And then smiled.

Run for that train. Run!

FRANTIC MUSIC PLAYS

'Radio 4.

'Now it's five past nine and time for Desert Island Discs.

'As usual, the castaway is introduced by Roy Plomley.'

DESERT ISLAND DISCS THEME PLAYS

And my 1,630th castaway is, I'm happy to say, Paul McCartney,

composer, musician and ex-Beatle.

How well could you endure loneliness?

How well could I endure loneliness?

Um, I don't really know.

When I was a kid, I never used to mind it too much.

Since then, I haven't actually been very lonely,

so I haven't kind of tested it lately.

But I never used to mind it too much.

I used to quite like getting away on my own.

-You mean alone, prolongedly, on a desert island?

-That's it.

As the old joke goes, it's better than the alternative.

-What's that?

-Being dead...

-Well, yes.

-..if you see what I mean.

But I wouldn't like it for too long, no.

The whole idea doesn't appeal to me at all.

I'm not especially gregarious.

I can get along with my own dismal personality for a little while,

but I would hate to endure it for any length of time.

To know and be uncertain about when you would see anyone else

would be a problem.

Fortunately, football means I have a fairly busy life,

got a lot of friends and meet a lot of people

and actually got a strong family background as well,

so I think to be isolated like that would be a problem,

unless you know some little boat was going to come along

in a few months' time and rescue you.

-Can't set any term to it.

-That's right. That's what I'm worried about.

Julio...go over to Warner Brothers this afternoon, get a shopping bag,

pick up the money that's due to us from Blazing Saddles.

We should have over 100 there waiting, and go to the supermarket.

Delicious apples are on sale. Get a pack.

Good morning, Mr Brooks.

Great to see you, Phil.

Phil, raise the gate, for Christ's sake! Will you raise it up?

Thank you, Phil. Oh!

Julio, get me a half a dozen bagels.

Make it seven. Take one for yourself, OK?

Good. I hope somebody's in there.

I've been writing a weekly column for the Spectator

for ten years now, write for at least two other magazines,

and so inspiration is sometimes difficult to muster.

But editors continue to ring with bright ideas

and impossible deadlines and so I persevere.

I really rather hate what I do for a living,

but I suppose it's better than a nine-to-five job.

I have about six spasms of job satisfaction a year only,

but, as I say, I'd hate to have to rush to work on a train.

I simply crawl out of my bed to get to it.

I pour myself a drink, which seems to lubricate the typewriter

and it certainly makes me feel less inhibited.

When you're committed to owning up and taking the piss out of yourself

in print, you're a sitting duck for literary snipers,

but I don't really mind.

DOORBELL RINGS

ENGINE ROARS

TYRES SQUEAL

-Mr Blake?

-Yeah.

-I'm Lloyd Ryan.

-Hello.

-Hi, there.

-Can I introduce you to Kendo Nagasaki?

-Kendo.

I must just say, he won't shake hands and he won't speak to you at all,

-so we'll have to do this without any communication whatsoever.

-OK, fine.

-And Lawrence, Kendo's personal assistant.

-Hello, Lawrence. Hi.

Well, the studio's at the top of the house so if you'd just follow me.

Right.

# This land is your land

# This land is my land

# From California to the New York island

# From the red wood forest to the Gulf Stream waters

# This land was made for you and me. #

MUSIC: Imagine by John Lennon

# Imagine all the people... #

It's easy if you try.

# ..It's easy if you try... #

No hell below us.

# ..No hell below us... #

Above us only sky.

# ..Above us only sky... #

Imagine all the people.

# ..Imagine the people... #

WOMAN SINGS IN JAPANESE

THEY SPEAK IN JAPANESE

Good morning, class. As I mentioned yesterday, today is John's birthday.

John wrote the famous song Imagine,

so today I'm going to look at the story - how did John meet Yoko?

Please open your texts on page 81.

When I did the Half-A-Room show,

where all the things were in halves, I became interested in objects,

the part of it is just in your mind.

John finished reading a catalogue and began walking around the gallery

looking at exhibits.

One of the exhibits was an apple, just an ordinary apple,

except that the price was 400.

John felt this was very funny.

Look, I don't have to pay all that money for an apple.

Yoko was pleased.

As an artist,

she was very happy that someone was responding to her work.

I climb up a ladder and hammer a nail into the wall at the gallery.

This nail is imaginary and will cost just five shillings.

I'll give you an imaginary five shillings if you let me

hammer the imaginary nail.

There are no imaginary nails left.

It was the beginning of a loving, creative

and often difficult relationship.

John suggested that, why don't I sell the other half

in a bottle?

This is half a wind.

Um...

half a table.

Half a letter.

Half a music.

Many people said, "Well, how about half a cat?" and all that, you know,

or half a human being?

But I did think it was necessary because a person is a half anyway.

At that time I hadn't met John yet, but, I mean, so my concept was there

maybe subconsciously, that I'm just really a half a person

without meeting John.

-But, you know, that bit...

-Cut.

She's got to me.

I try to get all my work done by 11.

There are always deadlines to meet and I make mine opening time,

whatever the editors may say.

Not that I always wait for opening time to have a drink.

I find this completely relaxing.

This is my rhythm today at this time of the day.

It is 11 o'clock

and since I have an hourly...

..rhythm, 11 o'clock is my best time,

and the rhythm is this.

Quite fast.

Now, when you are sick and tired of the whole day...

You see how tired the rhythm is?

TICKING

INDISTINCT

-This is Ali.

-Ali? Hi, bonjour.

Mick Jagger.

-This is Abdullah.

-Abdullah? How are you?

Mick Jagger.

-This is Ali.

-Ali, hello.

Mick Jagger.

-This is my brother, Mustapha.

-Hello. Your younger brother?

-This is my little brother.

-This is your older brother.

-You're not so bad with him?

-Huh?

-You're strong with him?

Yes, he plays music with me. We play the same time together.

This is Abdul. Mick Jagger.

-This is Abdullah.

-Abdullah.

-This is Mohammad.

-Mohammad.

This is old man.

He want to kiss you.

-And he thinks he meet you a long time.

-In Tangiers?

-In 1001 Nights with Brion Gysin.

-With Brion Gysin, yes.

-Yeah.

-This is... His name, Ali.

-Ali. Hello, Ali.

-Mick Jagger.

-Hi. Hi.

-Mohammad.

-Mohammad.

-Mick Jagger.

-This is Mochtar.

-Hi.

-Mick Jagger.

-He said he's very happy to meet you.

-Nice to meet you.

This is Ali.

-This is Absalom.

-Absalom, hi.

-This is Lehsun.

-Lehsun.

-Mick Jagger.

-This is all of them...

-This is good.

-..and they are very, very happy.

They waiting for you 20 years ago.

Waiting for you, all of them, very, very happy.

-Well, I'm very happy that we could all come.

-Thank you very much.

DRUMMING

It was just an idea that Mick and I had.

Ron, if ever we could use them, this is probably the track to do it on.

They pick it up amazingly quickly at first.

It's just this sort of cacophony of sound

but suddenly they're getting their patterns down.

It's a lot of drummers.

They all have to work out what they're going to play.

It's the pipes I want to hear next, you know?

Very good.

APPLAUSE

Good. Well done.

There's a sense of urgency about lunchtime drinking that I like.

In the evening, people are just plundering time.

Opening time and lunch are my favourite times of the day.

I think most people lead lives of such annihilating boredom

and so paralysed by the awfulness of life

that being in an ale house drinking

with a few acquaintances and talking a load of rubbish half the time

is a tremendous relief.

-Well, it's marginally less worse than not being, I suppose.

-Yeah.

I mean, most people actually are bored out of their minds,

-aren't they?

-Yeah.

Most of us don't comprehend any meaning of life. All this crap...

'Being out and about, hanging around, is my work

'because that's what I write about.

'I can only write about what I know about.

'Fiction is for novelists.

'If I arrive at the Coach and Horses at 12 and not 11,

'Tom Baker tells me that I'm late for work.

'Editors often call me at the pub,

'but the staff have developed a highly effective system

'of protecting me, and I never have to talk to anybody I don't want to.'

It's very important that the setting, the ambience,

the quality of the china, the glass,

the quality of the staff within that area is going to balance

the quality of food that you have in the back of house.

It's no good if you have first-class food and a second-class environment.

You need both those levels to be equal.

ACCORDION MUSIC PLAYS

Two pies and two lots of mash, three times, please, love.

And I KNEW he'd got the Nobel

and I just sat on the stairs there and thought, "Oh, my God!"

Cheers.

-Chin-chin.

-Chin-chin.

-Here's to the next show.

-Yeah.

Good luck to everyone.

Would you like to order now? Your guest has already arrived.

Yes, I see.

I think I'll just have 50 quid's worth all around the menu.

Better make it 40 quid's worth. I'll save a bit for the cab.

He said, "Do you know what, Mr Mancini?

"I'm going to name my car after your sandwich bar.

"I'm going to call it the Cortina."

Elvis helped make us famous for a moment by coming to Denver

on one occasion

and having 22 peanut butter and jelly sandwiches

delivered to his plane.

ACCORDION MUSIC PLAYS

INAUDIBLE

They're all characters who are against the system

and trying to exploit the system, aren't they?

Partly because they're hungry.

The great reward in these papers always is a feed.

HE SINGS AN ARIA

At lunchtime, people are relaxed,

with no expectations of being entertained or seduced.

No-one is really serious at lunch the way that they can be

at dinner parties, when everyone's trying to impress everyone else

with what they've done or what they're about to do.

You can be yourself during the day.

That was almost the last time I saw old Frank.

A week later, dead.

The slightly depressing thing about Soho, at my age, at any rate,

is that the faces are thinning out.

People will keep dying.

I think we sometimes look about us and wonder who's next.

Frank Blake was a fixture fitting for so long among

so many other old friends that I sometimes feel as though

I'm in a room that is slowly being stripped of its furniture.

-Very good.

-Very good.

-Bravo.

-Thank you.

The line that went out was -

"A pint? That's very nearly an armful!" -

which gets a nice laugh, but when the line...

Ray and I used to take great care in rhythms.

We used to spend a lot of time working out the sound of the line,

the rhythm of the line.

One "and" too many, one "but" too many, can kill a line.

-One syllable.

-Just like poetry.

-Indeed.

You've got to get the rhythm right.

You must get it right otherwise it doesn't work.

So probably that line started out,

"It's an armful," which, in itself, is quite an amusing concept,

to talk about blood being an armful or legful.

And the other one probably said, "Ah, that's nearly an armful,"

which is better because it's a little bit more precise.

And then the other one would have topped it up -

"That's VERY nearly an armful."

Now, "very nearly an armful" is much funnier than "that's an armful".

It's the same gag,

but it's being specific on a stupid way of assessing things.

Hold out your hand, please.

Now, this won't hurt.

You'll just feel a slight prick on the end of your thumb.

LAUGHTER

Well, I'll bid you good day, then. Thank you very much.

LAUGHTER

If you want any more, don't hesitate to get in touch with me.

Where are you going?

To have my tea and biscuits.

LAUGHTER

I thought you came here to give us some of your blood?

Well, you've just had it.

That's just a smear.

It may be just smear to you, mate,

but it's life and death to some poor wretch!

LAUGHTER

I've just taken a sample to test.

A sample? How much do you want, then?

Well, a pint, of course.

A pint?! Have you gone raving mad?

You must be joking.

A pint is a perfectly normal quantity to take.

You don't seriously expect me to believe that.

I came in here in all good faith to help my country.

I don't mind giving a reasonable amount, but a pint?!

That's very nearly an armful.

His name is Bob Dylan.

# In the dime stores and bus stations

# People talk over situations

# Read books and repeat quotations

# Draw conclusions on the wall

# Some speak of the future

# My love, she speaks softly

# She knows there's no success like failure

# And that failure's no success at all. #

Lloyds is a market.

It's very much like any market.

In other words, oranges, lemons and fish.

It's a series of stalls which are involved in selling insurance.

The people who man the stalls are called underwriters,

and the people who are trying to buy insurance are called brokers.

Basically, the broker is shopping in this market space

and the whole activity of Lloyds - again, like a market -

is under a single roof, and this is its unique quality.

SPANISH OVER TANNOY

Would you like some tea?

I'd love some.

I'll be mother.

Yes, milk.

Oh.

I like afternoon tea.

-It's a very civilised thing.

-Where is your oboe?

I had to sell it, I needed the money.

To buy a house, in fact.

My first house was the money from the oboe.

Have you still got yours?

-Oh, yes, of course.

-You treasure it, do you?

-Yes.

-You don't play it, though, do you?

-Yes, I do.

-Do you really?

Well, you never forget.

No, you never forget, but gosh, I don't think I could play one now.

-I'll give you one lesson...

-Would you really?

-..for nothing!

HE LAUGHS

-Do you know, I might take you up on that.

-Yes.

Why not?

# Cement mixer

# Put-ti, put-ti

# Cement mixer

# Put-ti, put-ti. #

What does everybody like? Anybody like anything?

# ..Cement mixer

# Goes put-ti, put-ti

# A puddle o'veet

# Concrete. #

Can I have some tea?

The next part isn't quite so sad.

# ..First you take some gravel

# And then you pour it in a vout

# To make a mess of mortar You take cement and water

# See the mellow roony... #

CLOCK TICKS

CLOCK CHIMES

Well...

another day, another dollar.

MIMICS TOMMY COOPER: Just like that.

Look at all these cigars. I gave up smoking cigars three years ago.

Look at all those boxes.

I can't bear to throw them away, there's not a cigar in them,

but I'll tell you what there is in them.

Ah!

Well, that's my fix for today.

Arrivederci.

DOOR CLOSES

I'm the president of the George Formby Society.

In fact, just retired president now, with honorary membership.

And we've come up to Blackpool, as we do three times a year,

to the Imperial hotel.

March, June and September, for our annual general conventions,

and, of course, September is always the biggest one because we have

members all over the world and they come from all over the world.

# With my little stick of Blackpool rock

# Along the promenade I stroll

# It may get sticky but I never complain

# I like to have a nibble at it now and again

# Every day, wherever I stray The kids all round me flock

# A fella took me photograph It cost one and three

# I said when that is done, is that supposed to be me?

# You've properly mucked it up The only thing I can see is

# Me little stick of Blackpool rock. #

The whole song is involved around Blackpool

and that's why, of course, the song is so comparative

with Blackpool itself.

I met him when I was seven, my sister took me

along to Ealing Studios to meet him making one of those films,

and when I was introduced to him and Beryl...

Well, you know, to a little kiddie of seven years old,

who idolised him, it was really something.

APPLAUSE

Thank you, and now I am going to sing a song,

and they are going to make a film of it at the same time,

so if you see any flashing, don't take any notice, you see.

All right, I'm going

to sing a song called My Little Stick Of Blackpool Rock.

This being in Blackpool, we'll have it filmed as well.

# Every year when summer comes round

# Off to the sea I go

# I don't care if I do spend a pound

# I'm rather rash, I know

# See me dressed like all the sports

# In my blazer and a pair of shorts

# With my little stick of Blackpool rock

# Along the promenade I stroll

# It may be sticky but I never complain

# It's nice to have a nibble at it now and again

# Every day, wherever I stray The kids all round me flock

# One afternoon, the band conductor up on his stand

# Somehow lost his baton It flew out of his hand

# So I jumped in his place and then conducted the band

# With my little stick of Blackpool rock

# With my little stick of Blackpool rock

# Along the promenade I stroll

# In the ballroom I went dancing each night

# No wonder every girl that danced with me stuck to me tight

# Every day, wherever I stray The kids all round me flock

# A fella took my photograph It cost one and three

# I said when it was done, is that supposed to be me?

# You've properly mucked it up The only thing I can see is

# My little stick of Blackpool rock

# My little stick of Blackpool rock

# Along the promenade I stroll

# In my pocket it got stuck I could tell

# Cos when I pulled it out I pulled my shirt off as well

# Every day, wherever I stray The kids all round me flock

# A girl while bathing clung to me My wits had to use

# She cried, I'm drowning and to save me, you won't refuse

# I said, well, if you're drowning then I don't want to lose

# My little stick of Blackpool rock. #

Well, there always seemed to be rivalry between groups

of alchemists and magicians, as I recall.

I mean, at one point, there was a 15th-century alchemical manuscript

that Jonson had that somehow was stolen or misplaced

and...I mean, there was a point where everyone was casting spells

-on everybody else...

-I know.

..and throwing the tarot before they left their room to find out...

Oh, it was hysterical. And the magicians denouncing one another

-in the lobby.

-Yes, right.

Cos he really didn't... He didn't give a damn. That was...

You must have seen him maybe 1,000 times...

# Night and day, you are the one... #

RESTAURANT HUBBUB

# ..Only you beneath the moon and under the sun

# Whether near to me, or far... #

'I wouldn't go that far...

'Possibly even psychologically...

'We should really reminisce about the time...'

# ..I think of you. #

-'..not married?

-Not married.

-'She's 16.

-He's a happy man'

-LAUGHTER

-'Watch it, buddy! Watch it, buddy.'

Cook a little rice with it or something, will you?

Something, you know... either rice or noodles.

OK, Timmy, I'll talk to you later. Bye.

Why do you have to know about my rice and noodles?

-I didn't know what you were going to say.

-Rice and noodles!

What if you had walked in here and I was talking...business?

Or personal matters, Jack, possibly.

You look cute today in your red shirt, huh?

All right, now, what have I got to do?

It's eight o'clock, why are we starting now?

-They are trying to finish it, Jack.

-Well, let's get 'em finished.

Let's get 'em out of here. Huh?

Finished with the assignment!

Beautiful. Excellent work.

Great work.

Can I have a look in your bathroom?

-Yeah, you want to go in with me while I go?

-No!

I do have to go. It's pretty neat, huh?

See?

-Toothbrush. I'll brush my teeth for you.

-Turn the light on.

-OK.

-I always brush my teeth before I report back in for work.

-Why?

Consideration for my co-workers.

It's gruelling enough without a face full of lamb cutlets.

Hmm.

-HE MUMBLES: They'll be so grateful to me now.

-What?

They'll be so grateful.

They'll say, "Look at that Jack.

"He's come down even though it's midnight."

That's not true, it's eight o'clock!

"And Lord knows...

"..what he's been doing.

"He's down here and he has a fresh and sparkling breath."

Hmm, it's rather nice.

You'll never guess what it is.

When using insects, you've got to understand what you're handling.

You've got to understand the fat, the mineral content of it,

you've got to understand that some produce we'll fry, some we'll grill,

some we'll dry roast.

Take the wings off.

Take them off here...

..and here. And the head.

One of the most important factors is to consult with a specialist.

You liaise, you add the knowledge together,

and between that, then you can break down the structures of what

you are trying to create and what you are trying to use.

Do not go into it blind,

the risk of food poisoning could be very high, it is an unknown

and you need to have that specialist subject well looked into.

That looks like...

Ah!

I'm back!

You've met Christine de la Rue...

-Lady Russell, Lady de la Rue.

-Hello.

-I'm over eight months. Babies!

-Are we comparing tummies?

-Yes!

-Fabulous.

-It's just so amazing because when you walked in...

-But it looks wonderful.

-On you, wonderful.

We are such different types, we're exact opposites.

You both have exquisite taste.

CHEERING

Two, three!

Off!

CROWD CHEERS

MUSIC: Nessun Dorma by Puccini

Although his physique has become less than athletic,

Pavarotti was a skilful teenage footballer

and he and his friends have been Juventus supporters since boyhood.

THEY SPEAK ITALIAN

The match has to be decided on penalties.

Juventus pray that their ace goalkeeper Buffon can save

Andriy Shevchenko's crucial kick.

ITALIAN COMMENTATOR ON TV

So we're right in the middle of the dinner now, it's pretty...

Tension here is pretty weird.

Andy Warhol is wearing a pair of headphones which he

brought with them and hasn't taken off since he sat down.

William Burroughs is looking fairly relaxed,

he's wearing a beautiful pearl-grey suit and Warhol is

telling him that he is the best dressed man in New York

and he admires his look more than anyone else's.

Burroughs, slightly bemused perhaps by this chic approach, has given

Warhol a copy of his new book, Cities Of The Red Night, a proof copy.

-What?

-Can you do drawings?

-Oh, yes, sure.

And has just drawn...signed in it and drawn a painting.

Warhol is telling Burroughs that he should be a painter.

WARHOL GASPS

My God!

Oh!

More, more. On this side, right here, here.

-No, no, no.

-My God.

-There we are.

-Thanks a lot!

-You're so lucky.

-How great!

I'll get back to you in a few minutes

and let you know what else is going on.

# Please don't have any more

# The more you 'ave The more you want, they say... #

You ought to be ashamed, I said To look so antique

And her only 31

I can't help it, she said Pulling a long face

It's them pills I took To bring it off, she said

She's had five already And nearly died of young George

The chemist said it would be all right

But I've never been the same

You are a proper fool, I said

Well, if Albert won't leave you alone, there it is, I said

What you get married for if you don't want children?

Hurry up, please, it's time

Hurry up, please, it's time

Goonight, Bill

Goonight, Lou

Goonight, May

Goonight

Ta ta

Goonight

Goonight

Good night, ladies

Good night, sweet ladies

Good night, good night.

SALIF KEITA SINGS

It was a cold November night in 1941.

I was living in digs in a Hertfordshire village.

My coal fire had gone out, I was already in my pyjamas.

What I needed was an idea strong enough for a series

of six programmes.

I was just about to get into bed and then I had the inspiration.

-RADIO:

-# Let's drift away

# On Dreamers Bay

# Let's sail along and sing a song together. #

Normally, I'd have been inclined to leave it until the morning,

by which time I'd probably have forgotten about it.

But I felt compelled to go straight to my typewriter.

We don't know where this island is, do we?

We don't know but it's not a bad island.

It's got everything on it that you need. You can get married.

-Oh, I think I could survive.

-Would you know which way to go?

-Do you know anything about stars or navigation?

-Yes, I do know the stars.

Within these four walls I am at peace.

Nothing can touch me.

Not the darkness of men's souls,

nor their contempt, nor their hatred, nor their judgment.

Once I was weak, once I was lost.

Now there is no question without answer.

There was so much I needed to ask and so much he alone could answer.

He to whom I submit.

Where I thought I was going to lose, there was so much more to gain.

I can't really describe where I'm at.

Paradise is beyond what my mind can conceive.

I want to be in paradise. The purpose of life is worshipping the Creator.

All of God's creations - the sun and the moon and the Earth

and the stars - also worship him.

This is what drives me.

Saves me.

Frees me.

BELLS TOLL

We had one shot where we would put poor John Russell

out on a flagpole, hanging onto his camera.

And it was the one shot where I fall, and it could never be

duplicated because the stuntman and all that got paid

so much for doing it.

And the next day at rushes we put in all the sound effects over black film

in order to make Russell think he'd forgotten to rack over!

HE LAUGHS

That's the sort of cruelty that was common on the sets in those days!

And we were all very forgiving, "It doesn't matter,

"we'll do it again tomorrow night." He had been so scared!

HE LAUGHS

I once said I thought you could define humanity

as people who prayed,

and I was met with rather cynical laughter.

And my friend said, "What about these

"dreadful louts and yobbos and murderers?"

"They don't pray." And I said, "How do you know?"

I said, "I'll bet there has never been

"a person who hasn't, perhaps in the night,

"had that sense of longing and incompleteness

"and shame at what they are." And that's prayer.

It's not explicit prayer, but it's real prayer.

I think we're made to pray because God made us for himself.

# ..Dreamed a dream by the old canal

# Kissed my girl by the factory wall

# Dirty old town

# Dirty old town

# Clouds are drifting across the moon

# Cats are prowling on their beat

# Spring's a girl on the street tonight

# Dirty old town

# Dirty old town

# Heard a siren from the docks

# Saw a train set the night on fire

# I smelled the spring on the smoky wind

# Dirty old town

# Dirty old town. #

APPLAUSE

If I'm not working and things, I don't like to go out.

Where do you go, first of all?

Should I take the car to drive around without any destination,

just to drive around? No.

But any Italian would suggest that if I am going to go round Rome to

do a thing like we did yesterday, you should take me to the fountain.

Even the Italians say it's Anita's fountain. It is my fountain!

Marcello, come here, hurry up.

'But why does the time have to change?

'Why do we have to change like that so drastically, too?

'Time goes by to everybody.'

This is the hour when the theatre crowds have gone,

the late-night restaurants have closed

and you become aware that you have crossed, all unwittingly,

some invisible frontier into a different world.

Without moving a single step from where you have been standing,

you have travelled during these few minutes into a far country -

the land of the night people.

A legendary kingdom of whose customs and laws you know nothing

and of whose inhabitants you have been told

only that they are dangerous and strange

and that a wise man or woman will keep well away from them.

You are in the kingdom of the night.

# Candy came from out on the Island

# In the back room she was everybody's darling

# But she never lost her head

# Even when she was giving head

# She says, hey, babe Take a walk on the wild side

# Said, hey, babe Take a walk on the wild side

# And the coloured girls go Doo-do-do, do-do, do-do-doo-doo

# Doo-do-do, do-do, do-do-doo-doo

# Doo-do-do, do-do-do... #

Don't disappoint me.

Be beautiful. That's very good, very good.

Give me your heart.

Max's Kansas City, a restaurant near The Factory, is the gathering

place for New York's underground.

Almost every evening, Warhol's clan can be found here.

Kansas City functions as both an unofficial casting agency

and a public playground.

Oh, God, that place was sick, it was wonderful!

Yeah, so much happened back there.

In one night, I mean, you would just see, like, you know,

everybody from Patti Smith,

Robert Mapplethorpe... Mick Jagger would be there,

somebody else would be there,

Jane Fonda and Roger Vadim would be in the toil... No.

Um, they'd be somewhere else.

And of course in the bathroom people were just doing drugs,

and, of course, the music.

You're not paying attention!

# Here's Room 506

# It's enough to make you sick

# Bridget's all wrapped up in foil

# You wonder if she can uncoil

# Here they come now See them run now

# Here they come now

# Chelsea Girls. #

He'd had enough of public performance

and enough even of his own exhibitionism,

and in despair he said, "I've come to the melancholy conclusion

"that my health is totally gone.

"I've seen the gates of hell."

Between 2 and 3.30am on the morning of November 3rd,

1953, in this bar, Dylan Thomas consumed 18 straight whiskys.

That is 18 English doubles, rather than 18 English singles.

He died six days later of what one doctor described as this

"severe insult to the brain".

Whew.

Does this story sound familiar to you?

I myself have read it in no less an authoritative source than

the Rough Guide To Britain.

It does sound exactly the way this wild, drunken Welsh poet

might have died. The trouble is, it's almost certainly completely untrue.

There were people in the bar that night and none of them

remember him drinking anything like that amount.

The phrase "severe insult to the brain" first surfaces in this book,

Dylan Thomas In America by John Malcolm Brinnin,

the fountainhead of the Dylan Thomas myth.

This is the poet as pulp fiction hero.

APPLAUSE

APPLAUSE

-Last drink.

-Two here, two there. Same thing.

Yes, sir.

-It's funny.

-What?

Time, Alec.

Did you ever think about time?

It goes, Alec.

That's the business of time.

'Little Ronnie Reagan we called him.'

He was just a nice little contract player, you know?

One does sit around and say, "Anything can happen in America."

There's no question about it.

Light breaks where no sun shines

Where no sea runs The waters of the heart

Push in their tides

And broken ghosts with glow-worms in their heads

The things of light

File through the flesh where no flesh decks the bones.

APPLAUSE

# There's a coal train

# There's a coal train

# That comes from Angola and Mozambique

# There's a coal train that comes from Namibia, from Caprivi

# From Zimbabwe and Zambia

# There's a coal train the comes from Malawi, from Swaziland

# From Lesotho and Botswana

# The whole hinterland of southern Africa

# And it carries with it young men

# And old men who are conscripted to come and work under contract

# In the gold, the coal, the mineral and diamond mines of Johannesburg

# And surrounding metropoli

# Deep, deep, deep down in the belly of the Earth

# When they are drilling and digging for that evasive mighty stone

# Or when they dish that mish mesh mush food out of cold iron shovels

# Into the iron plates

# Or when they sit miserably in their filthy, flea-ridden barracks

# And they think about the lands and their herds

# That were taken away from them

# They think about their lovers Their mothers, their brothers

# Their fathers

# Their sisters Their children and their friends

# Who are daily forcibly removed away from their lands

# Some of them they never may see again

# And when they hear that choo-choo train steaming away over the horizon

# They always curse the coal train

# The coal train that brought them to Johannesburg. #

TRAIN WHISTLE BLOWS

GASPING AND SHOUTING

Would you endure prolonged loneliness?

What would you be most glad to have got away from?

THUNDER CRASHES

Would you try to escape?

Do you know which way to go?

As a child, I suffered from the most horrific nightmares.

I used to strike out in my sleep at anyone within distance.

And one recurring dream came night after night, and that was my hands

seemed to grow larger and larger, like giant balloons.

I couldn't stand it.

It seems to me I am trying to tell you a dream, making a vain attempt,

because no relation of a dream can convey the dream sensation.

That commingling of absurdity, surprise and bewilderment,

and a tremor of struggling revolt.

That notion of being captured by the incredible,

which is of the very essence of dreams.

To begin at the beginning...

It is spring, moonless night in the small town,

starless and bible-black, the cobblestreets silent

and the hunched, courters'-and- rabbits' wood limping invisible

down to the sloeblack, slow, black, crowblack,

fishingboat-bobbing sea.

The houses are blind as moles,

though moles see fine to-night in the snouting, velvet dingles,

and all the people of the lulled and dumbfound town

are sleeping now.