The Moon-Spinners Page #7

Synopsis: British musicologist Frances Ferris and her late teen niece Nicky Ferris are traveling through Crete recording Greek folk songs for the BBC. In the usually quiet coastal town of Aghios Georgios, they manage to get a room at an inn called the Moon-Spinners, despite the people at the inn being busy preparing for a wedding, and no one there, except Alexis, the young teen son of the proprietress Sophia, he who is fond of spouting current popular Americanisms in his slightly broken English, seeming to want them there. Frances and Nicky learn from Alexis that the unwelcoming feeling is all because of his maternal Uncle Stratos, who has become a man suspicious of anyone ever since his recent return from London after being away for fifteen years. Beyond those there for the wedding, the only other guest at the inn is a young Englishman named Mark Camford, who they befriend. Nicky is too preoccupied with her own suspicions and mistrust of Stratos truly to see that there is something more siniste
Director(s): James Neilson
Production: Walt Disney Productions
 
IMDB:
6.9
G
Year:
1964
118 min
271 Views


Not that I know of.

Such a dear person.

Her daughter married

a second cousin of mine.

Reginald Busby-Pelham.

Really?

Yes.

I'm so frightfully

out of touch...

with everyone here.

There isn't even

an English club.

Tch. Ohh.

(Door closes)

Reginald Busby-Pelham?

(Giggles)

Of Pentwithwithwith... with.

Oh, crikey.

Ah, there you are, my dear.

How's Mr. Camford?

I just looked in.

He's still sleeping.

Oh, dear. Poor chap.

Oh, what a beautiful yacht.

Yes, isn't it?

Um, shall we go in?

Yeah.

Lunch ought to be ready

by now.

Now, this way.

I'm sure it was a wise

decision to go to Athens.

I've arranged for a plane

to pick you up at Heraklia.

Mr. Camford should be safe

in the British hospital...

in not more than three hours.

Oh, that is a relief.

I'll wire them

to reserve a room.

There we are.

Unfortunately, you've chosen...

the worst day

of the whole year...

to leave here.

Tonight is the feast

of King Minos...

our local carnival...

and the whole place

goes mad.

So the sooner you leave

for the airport...

the better.

How can I ever thank you

and your wife enough?

Well, it was

a stroke of luck...

that Cynthia was able

to look Mr. Camford over.

You can always trust

Cynthia completely.

Hello, my dear.

We just sat down.

(Slurring)

I'm sorry to be late.

I was finishing a letter

to Maud Devises.

Do you know Maud Devises?

No, I'm afraid I don't.

She's the daughter

of the Earl of Leigh.

We're old, old friends.

Ohh.

Would you...

would you care for

some bread?

It's so close.

There's thunder in the air.

Well, take a pill,

dear, and go to bed.

I wish I could go to Athens.

Anything to get away

from here.

The Acropolis is really

quite pretty by moonlight.

I'm afraid my wife

fails to respond...

to the glories

of classic art.

I'm tired of classic art.

All those broken columns...

and statues

without arms and legs.

Oh, Greece isn't so bad.

Think of Blackpool in November.

(Chuckles)

One can't make friends

with people here.

Even those shipping

magnates... who are they?

For all their yachts

and their villas...

nouveau riche.

Take Madame Habib.

Imagine a woman like that

being received.

Cynthia.

A scrubwoman's daughter

from Alexandria.

That's what she was.

Married five or six times.

Cynthia, I hardly think...

Sailing around the world

in that enormous yacht...

entertaining royalty.

Who's Madame Habib?

C YNTHIA:
Why,

she's the woman that...

(Clears throat)

Eat your curried eggs, dear.

I'm tired of curried eggs.

Maud Devises

wouldn't have allowed her...

inside the house.

Neither would Lady Ferris...

or Millicent Coatesworth.

Maud Devises

is a galloping old bore.

Don't speak of my friends

like that.

My friends mean

everything to me.

That's what comes

of living in an outpost.

It ruins your manners.

(Sighs)

I think I should go

up to my room.

I did ask you, didn't I?

You don't come

from Pentwithwith?

No, I don't.

Oh.

I should like some sherry

sent up to my room.

(Clears throat)

I think I shall lie down.

Take her up a cup of cocoa,

would you, please?

(Whispering)

Mark.

Mark.

Mm.

Oh, hello.

(Whispering)

How are you feeling?

(Grunts)

Peculiar.

Must be the color

of these pajamas.

How are you?

All right.

How's your shoulder?

Does it still hurt?

No, not much.

Lady Cynthia gave me

a couple of shots.

Well, I hope she knows

what she's doing.

She tipples.

I thought as much.

Oh, and there was

a scene at lunch.

What about?

Oh, how awful

everyone is in Greece.

Simply too unrefined...

especially some woman

who has a yacht...

called Madame Habib.

Too ghastly.

Who?

Madame Habib. Too ghastly.

Married five or six times.

Nobody who is anybody...

would even have her

inside the house.

Madame Habib?

Mm.

Her yacht's in harbor.

The Minotaur?

Are you sure?

Mark, lie down.

Is she here?

Oh, I don't know. I asked...

Madame Habib?

That would explain everything.

What would?

Why he was so desperate

to get rid of us.

Why he's been hiding

in Aghios Georgios.

What he's been waiting for.

Stratos?

The deal. The big deal.

I must get out

of this house.

You're not going anywhere.

Now, Mark, just lie still.

I've got to go back

to the village.

You're doing no such thing.

You're coming with us

to Athens...

because Mr. Gamble

has already ordered the plane.

Well, he can unorder it.

I can't let Stratos

slip through my fingers now.

Mark, please, be sensible.

Help me, Nikky.

I've got to get dressed.

Just tell me

why this woman...

is suddenly

so important to you.

She's

a multi-millionairess...

of doubtful repute...

with one of the finest

collections of jewels...

in the world.

So what?

She'd be the perfect

customer, don't you see?

Stratos can't sell

the Fleet emeralds...

on the open Market.

They're too well known.

I don't knowwhat

the Angel of Eastbourne gave me.

I feel half-crocked.

Now, look...

if you lie down...

and promise not to move...

I'll go and see

if that yacht...

really is the Minotaur...

because there's a telescope

on the terrace. All right?

I'll be right back.

And don't move.

(Dramatic music playing)

Oh...

If you're interested

in the sights, Miss Ferris...

you ought to look

at the Fort.

Now, where are we?

There it is.

It's a famous V enetian Fort.

NIKKY:
Hmm.

The heads of malefactors

were stuck on spikes...

over the gate...

and left there

to blister in the sun.

Oh, how awful.

(Both chuckle)

Well, um,

if you'll excuse me...

I'm just going to...

Yes, of course.

Nikky!

Auntie!

Ohh!

Ohh!

Oh, auntie!

I don't think I've ever

been so furious...

with anyone

in my whole life.

Oh, hello.

I've given the driver

full instructions.

You've been wonderful.

I don't know how

to ever thank you.

It's my job.

As your passport has it...

"To afford

Her Majesty's subjects...

"every help and protection."

Oh! Do be careful.

Oh, he's unconscious.

Do you think

we'll get there in time?

Poor boy.

Everything

will be all right.

Just try to keep calm.

NIKKY:
It's a hearsse!

How very bizarre.

I don't think

that's very funny.

Well, it wasn't intended

to be, my dear.

It so happens it's

the only available vehicle...

in which anybody

can stretch out flat.

As long as it gets us

to the airport...

that's all that matters.

Yes, well, I think I'm going

to get in the back with Mark.

Thank you so much,

Mr. Gamble. Good-bye.

Good-bye.

Have a good journey.

Thank you.

Now, you will do

all you possibly can...

to see that that horror

Stratos is arrested?

Yes, of course. Absolutely.

We'll be happy to testify.

Well, uh... I sincerely hope

that won't be necessary.

Good-bye.

Good-bye.

(Speaking Greek)

And happy landings in Athens.

(Fireworks whistling)

(Marching band playing)

(Driver shouting in Greek)

(Crowd whooping)

Shh!

Please, quiet!

Shh!

We must get off this street.

(Speaking Greek)

Go down there. Oh!

(Shouting and fireworks)

It's all right.

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Michael Dyne

Michael Bradley Dyne (August 19, 1918, London – May 17, 1989, Linlithgo, New York) was a British-American television and film screenwriter. He was also an actor, and wrote one stage play. Dyne was the son of sculptor Musgrave Bradley Dyne. He was born in London and educated in France and Switzerland, and became a writer and actor in Canada, then emigrated to the United States in 1938.Dyne played small parts in some Paramount and 20th Century-Fox films (such as the Prince of Wales in Kitty (1945)). He tried out for the title role in The Picture of Dorian Gray (1945) but lost out to Hurd Hatfield.Starting in 1949 Dyne became a pioneering television writer, turning out 25 plays for Studio One and also writing scripts for The Alcoa Hour, Kraft Television Theatre, Playhouse 90, and other television shows. From 1952 to 1970, Dyne wrote more than 150 dramas for television, including adaptations of Henry James, Pirandello, and Thomas Hardy.Dyne also wrote movie scripts for Walt Disney Studios, including The Moon-Spinners (1964). He wrote the 1964 play The Right Honourable Gentleman which ran for three years in the West End and was also produced on Broadway. more…

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