Limelight Page #3

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That's what you must do.

I'm tired of fighting.

Because you're fighting yourself.|You won't give yourself a chance.

But the fight for happiness|is beautiful.

Happiness...

- There is such a thing.|- Where?

Listen, as a child I used to complain|to my father about not having toys

is the greatest toy ever created.

Here lies|the secret of all happiness.

To hear you talk, no one would|ever think you were a comedian.

I'm beginning to realize that.|It's the reason I can't get a job.

Why?

Because they have no imagination.

Or think because I'm getting|on in years I'm old, all washed up.

Never! After hearing you talk.

Perhaps I drank too much.

There's usually a reason|for drinking.

Unhappiness, I suppose.

No, I'm used to that.

It was more complicated.

As a man gets on in years|he wants to live deeply.

A feeling of sad dignity comes upon|him, and that's fatal for a comic.

It affected my work.

I lost contact with the audience,|couldn't warm up to them.

And that's what started me drinking.

I had to have it before I went on.

It got so I couldn't be funny|without it. The more I drank...

It became a vicious circle.

What happened?

A heart attack. I almost died.

And you're still drinking?

Occasionally, if I think of things.

The wrong things I suppose,|as you do.

What would you like|for your breakfast?

What a sad business, being funny.

Very sad if they won't laugh.

But it's a thrill when they do.

To look out there|and see them all laughing,

to hear that roar go up,|waves of laughter coming at you.

Let's talk of something|more cheerful.

Besides I want to forget the public.

Never. You love them too much.

Maybe I love them,|but I don't admire them.

I think you do.

As individuals, yes.|There's greatness in everyone.

But as a crowd, they're like|a monster without a head

that never knows which way|it's going to turn.

It can be prodded in any direction.

I keep forgetting about breakfast.|How about some poached eggs?

Come in.

- A telegram.|- Oh, thank you.

Are you all right?

This is what I've been waiting for.

Good news?

Redfern, my agent, wants to see me.

Wonderful!

You're right.|This is the turning point.

Those managers have been holding|out on me, breaking my morale.

But now they want me!

And now I'll make them pay!|For their contempt and indifference.

No, I'll be gracious.

That'll be more dignified,|put them in their place.

I'm to be at Redfern's office|at three.

I'll call the doctor|and tell him about your legs.

But I forgot your breakfast!

How about some nice kippers?

Nothing for you, or you, or you...

Nothing for you.

- Anyone waiting?|- Miss Parker.

Anyone else?

Yes, Calvero.|He's been here since three.

I forgot all about him.|Show him in.

Good afternoon, Calvero.|Sit down.

Sorry about yesterday. I was held up|over some important business.

However, I've good news for you.

I can get you a week|at Middlesex Music Hall.

At what terms?

I don't know yet,|but I wouldn't bother about that.

No bother at all.

However, if money's no object,

- what billing am I to get?|- I wouldn't bother about that either.

I'm not to get star billing|at Middlesex?

I'm not sure|we can book you there.

You think I'd allow those managers|to throw in my name

with a lot of nondescripts|just to build up their reputation!

Calvero's still a name|to conjure with!

You're mistaken.|Today it means nothing.

Then why do they want me?

They don't want you.|They're doing me a favor.

Very kind of them.|I hope you appreciate the fact.

I'm going to be perfectly frank|with you.

I've been talking Calvero|to them for over six months.

Your name is poison.|They don't want to touch you.

They couldn't if they tried.

I'm sorry, but you must|be made to realize the facts.

You're succeeding splendidly.

I'm trying to help, that's all.|But you must cooperate.

Whatever you say, I'll do.

That's the spirit.

As soon as the contract's confirmed,|I'll let you know.

However, cheer up.

If my name is poison to them,|I won't use it.

- I'll go by another name.|- I think that's a splendid idea.

Well doctor, how is our patient?

The condition is cleared up, but|I find nothing wrong with her legs.

Didn't she tell you|she's had rheumatic fever?

Yes, but I don't think she has.

The heart would have been affected|and it's perfectly sound.

I believe it's a case|of psycho-anesthesia.

What's that?

A form of hysteria that has|the characteristics of paralysis

without being so.

How do you account for it?

In her case, I'd say|it's psychological, self-imposed.

Having failed at suicide,|she's decided to become a cripple.

Is there any way I can help?

Primarily she must help herself.|It's a case for a psychologist.

Doctor Freud.

Well, I'll see what I can do.

- Good day, Doctor.|- Good day.

Tell me more|about your sister Louise.

There's nothing more to tell.

When she couldn't find work|she was driven to the street.

How old were you|when you discovered this?

About eight.

Tell me about it.

It was after my mother died.|I loved Louise.

She was everything to me,|supported me, had me taught dancing.

Then one day I realized|what she was doing.

I was coming home from dancing|with the other girls

and I saw her, and the other girls|saw her, walking the street.

What did you do?

I just ran and wept.

Ran and wept.

Then what happened?

I tried to forget.

I was sent to boarding school. At 16,|I left and joined the Empire Ballet.

Louise went to South America.|I haven't heard from her since.

Up to that time,|you had no trouble with your legs?

No.

When did it start?

About two years later.|After Melise joined the ballet.

Who's Melise?

One of the girls|from the dancing school.

One who was with you|when you found out about Louise?

Mr. Freud would say|that since meeting this girl again,

you don't want to dance.

Why?

You've associated it|with the unhappy life of your sister

who paid for your lessons|through a life of shame.

You've been ashamed to dance|ever since.

I'd despise myself|if I thought that.

That's the trouble, you do.

That's the trouble with the world.|We all despise ourselves.

Streetwalking!

We're all grubbing for a living,|the best of us.

All a part of the human crusade,

written in water.

But enough of that.

Ever been in love?

No, not really.

I think it was more|a feeling of pity.

The plot thickens.|Tell me about it.

It's a ridiculous story.|I hardly knew the man.

It was something I built up|in my own mind.

of the hospital.

at Sardou's stationary shop.

a young American.

He used to buy music paper

according to his finances.

so helpless and shy.

about him.

but someone tried to elbow in.

he smiled in gratitude.

he lived told me he was Mr. Neville,

and that he occupied the top room.

without food to buy music paper.

I could see it in his eyes.

The haggard look.

a few extra sheets.

than his proper change,

but I wasn't sure.

house and hear him playing piano,

over and over again.

excited and melancholy.

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