The Loved One

We are now about to land in

the world-famous city of Los Angeles.

Its name, translated from the ancient

Spanish, means "City of the Angels."

It is also the home of the

American motion-picture industry.

The City is of Night, perchance of Death

Twenty-thousand people arrive

here to settle every week.

They leave all hope behind who enter here

One certitude while sane they cannot leave

One anodyne for torture and despair

The certitude of Death

There, I'll get it, then. Would you look after

my little girl? Please, just for a moment.

But, madam.

That's all right. That's all right.

That's all right.

Mama will be right back.

Mama will be right back.

Kindly fasten your seat belts

and refrain from smoking, please.

Here, sit. Sit down.

Welcome back to the U.S.A.

Right through that door there.

Thank you.

Your passport, please.

"Dennis Barlow. Profession..."

A.I.D., huh?

Yes, Artificial Insemination Donor.

It was just a job I had for a while.

Actually, I'm a poet.

- Poet? An English poet?

- Well, yes, I am English.

- One of them beatnik poets, huh?

- Oh, beatnik? No. No, I'm not a beatnik.

You got them Beatle haircuts,

haven't you?

A Beatle haircut? No, I don't s...

It's an ordinary English haircut.

What do you do for a living,

Mr. Barton?

Barlow. I haven't decided

on anything specifically.

Haven't decided?

Just how did you get to this country, then?

Well, that's rather an amusing story.

You see, what happened, I was...

I was seeing my girlfriend off

at the London airport.

Then they said that I was the

5-millionth person to see... No, wait.

It was the 10-millionth person

to see someone off on a plane.

And they...

Well, they gave me this ticket,

so I thought I'd come here.

It was either Los Angeles or Calcutta,

and I thought, well, what the hell?

Just how long do you plan to stay

in our country, Mr. Burton?

- Barlow. Oh, that depends.

- Depends? Depends on what?

Well, I'll be staying with...

...Sir Francis Hinsley, the artist.

He's my uncle.

Megalopolitan Pictures,

that's where he works.

Now, D.J. Jr., we wanna get a piece

of this James Bond audience.

- Fine.

- And we're gonna give them that package...

...but with a brand-new ribbon on it.

We give him the one thing that

Jim Bond don't have:

Human warmth.

Are you still with me, D.J. Jr?

Now, he's still English,

he's still aristocratic...

...but he's got human warmth.

He's a human James Bond.

Do you think you can handle that

English accent, Dusty?

Oh, shucks, I reckon I could,

if I just sort of snuck up on it.

Well, I think Frank here could

straighten him out on the accent bit.

Is that right, Frank?

Do you think you can?

Oh, yes. I daresay I could.

Yes. I think I can.

You're sure you think

you're sure you can, right?

Yes, I think I can.

What do you say, Dust?

You think you'll feel at home with this?

You feel it's right for you?

You just turn him loose, D.J. Jr.,

and I'll try to ride him.

Okay. Harry, look, this is your baby. I'll tell

you what I want you to do. Hold it, fellas.

Who?

Oh, yeah. Yeah, yeah. Just a minute.

Frank, it's for you.

For me? How very embarrassing.

I can't imagine who.

Hello? Yes, speaking. Who? Barlow?

Who? You mean you're Emily's boy?

Good heavens.

What on earth are you doing out here?

Very well. I'll be down in a few moments,

quick as I can.

Yes. See you in a moment. Goodbye.

You'll excuse me, won't you, gentlemen?

I seem to have inherited a nephew.

- Go ahead, Frank. Go right ahead.

- So long, Harry.

As I was saying, my dear Dennis,

mine was only a gradual decline.

Most of my fellow relics have been

discarded years ago.

I think I'll just have my usual

Deep Dish Lolita...

...and iced tea with a sprig of mint,

please.

I'll have Breast of Squab Brigitte...

...and the Goldwater Nut Flip.

Actually, I never quite knew why

they ever gave me a knighthood.

I suppose it may have been because

I always painted important people.

But here there are only

the dregs of the dregs, so to speak.

- Hello, Frank, baby.

- Oh, hello, Harry.

- This is my nephew.

- Pleasure to meet you, kid.

You just take it easy, you hear?

- That wasn't the Dusty Acres, was it?

- It was indeed.

About to undergo a major operation

on his image.

So, to continue,

the climate here suits me admirably...

...the people here are so kind and generous.

They talk entirely for their own pleasure.

And they never expect you to listen.

Remember that, dear boy.

It's the secret of social ease

in this country.

By the way, where do you propose to live

while you're out here?

- Well, I hadn't quite decided.

- Why not come and stay with me, then?

Thank you, Uncle Francis.

That's very kind of you.

If you don't mind taking potluck.

That reminds me, there's dinner tonight

at the English Club.

Not grand, of course,

but they might give us a decent meal.

It'll give you the opportunity

to meet some of the chaps.

Oh, there's Sir Ambrose Abercrombie,

one of our most ardent thespians.

You've probably seen him, Dennis.

He usually plays prime ministers or butlers.

- Ambrose.

- My dear Francis, how good to see you.

The trouble with this place is, one is so

confoundedly busy, one loses touch.

You'd better pick up Her Ladyship,

come back for me at 11 sharp.

Ambrose, I would like to introduce

to you my nephew, Dennis Barlow.

Sir Ambrose Abercrombie.

A stalwart young fellow...

...occasionally touched by the muse

and given to understand...

Gentlemen, the queen.

The queen. The queen.

God bless her.

Well, here we are,

gathered together again, gentlemen.

I must say I look forward

to these dinners.

It keeps us limeys together.

Yes, rather.

As I was just saying

to our young friend here...

...we have to put up a good show. There

aren't many of us, but we are watched.

That's why I've always made it a rule

never to do anything in my own home...

...that I wouldn't do

in front of the camera.

And never to do anything in front of the

camera that I wouldn't do in my own home.

- Hear, hear.

- Hear, hear.

Francis, I think your nephew

is in need of air.

Oh, how very embarrassing.

Dennis. Come along, Dennis.

Come along. Upsy-daisy.

I'm afraid it's the heat, you know.

This place is rather close to the change...

...of temperature and climate, and so on.

Come along, Dennis.

Home to bed. Come along.

My dear Dennis. Good morning.

I do hope you slept well.

Good morning, Uncle Francis.

I'm sorry about last night.

Oh, don't give it another thought, dear boy.

I expect you were a bit overtired.

These newfangled jets, abrupt transition.

One loses all sense of time and proportion,

not like the old days on the Queen Mary.

What would you fancy

for breakfast? Eggs?

That'll be fine.

Dear me. There don't seem to be any eggs.

How stupid of me.

Perhaps we could make do

with these bran shreddies.

That's a sketch I made for the

orchard scene in The Sins of Solomon.

Thank you, Dennis.

The studio was simply scandalized by it,

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