Paris - When It Sizzles

Memorandum to Paramount Pictures,

Hollywood, California,

from Alexander Meyerheim.

Subject - my latest production.

Gentlemen, while you sit back safely

in your air-conditioned offices,

we here... in the trenches

are progressing brilliantly.

As to your anxieties

about the script, dismiss them.

l talked to the author in Paris.

He assures me that he has

at this moment 138 glorious pages,

which are even now being typed. l

plan tojoin him in Paris on Sunday.

Period. Paragraph.

Gentlemen, success is inevitable.

An Alexander Meyerheim production

of an original story and screenplay

by Richard Benson.

- Richard Benson?

- You know him, my angel?

Know him?

l hate him! Richard Benson, phooey!

lt seems there are facets of him

you know even better than l do.

l cannot imagine

when he finds time to write.

Unfortunately, he had time

to write a script for me.

The last ten pages were found

floating off Malibu,

in a vodka bottle.

Send the usual telegram to Benson.

Richard assures me that for all

practical purposes he's on the wagon.

lt's open. Come in.

- Yes?

- Mr Benson?

You are the young lady

from the typing bureau?

l am.

lf we are to have a happy

and harmonious relationship,

l beg you, never answer

a question with a question.

- ls that clear?

- Did l?

There you go again, answering

a question with a question.

My yes when you opened the door

was a question.

Question mark implied, of course.

You know the difference

between implied and inferred?

lsn't that a question?

Yes.

Then you answered my question

with a question.

To imply is to indicate

without saying openly or directly,

to infer is to conclude

from something known or assumed.

- My name is Gabrielle Simpson.

- ls that a bird?

l was told thejob would take several

days. l had nobody to leave him with.

Well, this is it. The office there,

l live up here,

the terrace is out there.

That grotesque object so prominent

on the horizon is the Eiffel Tower.

l had it moved there to remind me

what town l'm in.

lf it offends you,

l'll have it taken away again.

You live through here.

lt's an adjoining room,

which no doubt to your mind

has terribly sinister connotations.

- Not at all...

- lf so, dismiss them.

l would have got you a room

down the hall

but thejoint's filled up.

Bastille Day weekend, all that.

lt's quite alright. l once worked

for an American novelist

who only wrote in the bathtub.

l'm used to anything.

You can unpack. ln the bathtub?

Yes. l gave him a packet of

bubble bath and we got on swimmingly.

l see.

Does that imply that

the bird's name is Richelieu?

lt's inferred, l believe,

rather than implied.

Swimmingly.

lnteresting figure of speech.

You call the canary Richelieu

because you wanted a cardinal?

That's very funny.

No, it isn't.

Just one of the hazards of being

a famous international wit,

which l am. Have to keep trying.

l can't tell you how delighted l am

by this assignment, Mr Benson.

And to have the opportunity to work

with a screenwriter of your stature.

l'm interested in cinema myself.

l'm sure l can learn a great deal.

Thank you.

Last month l worked for Roger Roussin

the New Wave director. You know him?

l'm more of an Old Wave man.

The picture's terribly interesting.

Very avant-garde.

About people who go to this party

and decide not to play Scrabble.

lt was called The Scrabble Game

Will Not Take Place.

His next one's about a girl

who won't have a birthday party -

Blow Out No Candles.

Roger believes what's important

on screen is what doesn't happen.

Does your film have a title yet?

Of course.

The Girl Who Stole

the Eiffel Tower.

The Girl Who Stole the Eiffel

Tower. lt sounds fascinating.

The title is symbolic?

She doesn't really steal

the Eiffel Tower. Does she?

What's the story about?

lt's an action-suspense...

..romantic melodrama.

With lots of comedy, of course.

And deep down underneath

a substrata of social comment.

Oh. Well, if l could see

the pages you've written,

l could estimate

the size of the typing job.

The pages, my dear girl,

are right here.

An Alexander Meyerheim production.

The Girl Who Stole

the Eiffel Tower.

Original story and screenplay

by Richard Benson.

Here, with a page or two

of interestingly photographed

establishing shots,

possibly from a helicopter,

- a boy and a girl meet.

- But, Mr Benson...

Now, after some chitchat,

getting-to-know-you stuff,

which l do so brilliantly,

we feel an unconscious attraction

between the two.

An indication to the audience

of the tremulous beginnings of love.

And then, conflict!

We can tell by the music

how deeply fraught with danger

the whole situation is.

And now,... our first switch.

The audience gasps when they realise

they've been fooled.

Things are not what they seem.

Not at all.

ln fact, the whole situation

is completely reversed,

involving

the magnificently ingenious

switch... on the switch.

Amazed by the sudden turn of events,

the boy and girl realise how gravely

they've misjudged each other.

At that moment,

the music turns ominous once more.

They become aware of the danger

that they're in and the chase is on!

Screaming tyres, rooftops,

long shots of tiny figures racing

through the fear-gripped city.

When suddenly in a deserted alley

we see, seated on a garbage can,

licking its wet rain-bedraggled fur,

close shot, the cat!

Now, as we build

step by step to the climax,

the music soars.

And there, totally oblivious

of the torrential rain

pouring down upon them,

the two fall happily and tenderly

into each other's arms.

And as the audience drools

with sublimated sexual pleasure,

the two enormous and highly paid

heads come together

for that ultimate

and inevitable moment.

The final, earth-moving,

studio-rent-paying, theatre-filling,

popcorn-selling...

..kiss.

Fade out. The end.

That's it. 138 pages. Why make it

longer? We'd only have to cut later.

- Mr Benson...

- Yes?

This screenplay,

when does it have to be finished?

Well, let's see, today is Friday.

My friend and, in this case, patron

and producer Mr Alexander Meyerheim

arrives in Paris from Cannes

at ten o'clock on...

..Sunday morning.

Which happens to be Bastille Day.

Perfect! 10:
01 we hand him

the completed script,

and then you and l celebrate. Drink

champagne, dance in the streets,

whatever they do on July 14th.

You're very kind but l have a date.

You haven't written anything at all?

You have a date?

You mean this entire movie

has to be done in two days?

Miss Simpson, if you aren't up to

your part of thejob, tell me now.

- l can find someone else.

- No, l didn't mean that.

lt's just that it's,

well, rather unusual, isn't it?

Not for me.

l imagine you've given it

a great deal of thought.

No, l haven't.

So what have you been doing?

What any red-blooded

American screenwriter

would or should have been doing

for the first 19 and a fraction weeks

of his employment.

Water-skiing in St Tropez,

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