The Ploughman's Lunch Page #6

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JAMES:

I'll ring you in the next couple

of days.

Mr. Penfield stands and nods. This is a familiar exchange.

Finish on him.

INT. BARBICAN ARTS COMPLEX - AFTERNOON

James and Susan arrive at the Barbican together. Their

conversation is a little detached from its subject matter.

They are feeling each other out. They are not disagreeing

here. As they talk they make a complicated route through

the Arts Centre, always on the verge of getting lost.

JAMES:

What did you think of that Wadja

film?

SUSAN:

I quite liked it. I wasn't as

enthusiastic as everyone else.

JAMES:

I thought it was tremendous.

SUSAN:

I think it went on rather too long.

JAMES:

I couldn't bear for it to end.

SUSAN:

And I didn't like that man.

JAMES:

Oh, but he was terrific.

SUSAN:

And the shape of it all. It was

sort of...shapeless.

JAMES:

Really? I thought those long

flashbacks were extremely good.

INT. LIFT - AFTERNOON

JAMES:

You don't like flashbacks because

your mother's a historian.

SUSAN:

Good theory. But I like my mother.

I have no aversions to what she

does.

JAMES:

Too bad. What did your father do?

SUSAN:

My real father? Well, he was a

flashback.

They laugh as they step out of the lift.

INT. BARBICAN ART GALLERY - LATE AFTERNOON

A little later. A Private View. A discreetly murmuring,

wine, canapés.

The paintings - painfully pretentious - represent various

forms of aesthetic self-consciousness.

James and Susan look at the pictures, but make no reference

to them. They spend a little time in front of each one

before moving to the next. James speech is broken by

moments of contemplation. As they move on again, he picks

up his thread.

JAMES:

Everyone describes the same process.

At first it is exciting. You're

at the centre of the world. As

soon as anything happens, you're

the first to know about it. And

there are deadlines a dozen times

a day, even more, and that's

intimidating and exciting. Then

you get the hang of it and the

excitement wears off. Your a clerk

in a rather dowdy Office. There's

none of the glamour of television,

or the penetration of serious

journalism. You're a processor of

semi-official news. Some people

leave at this stage. Then, if you

hang on, and especially if you're

promoted, you discover a new kind

of pleasure. You're pleased by

the ease with which you can write

summaries and bulletins from news

agency printouts, by the way you

ca judge length. Ending a broadcast

on the dot, having everything run

smoothly, selecting a running order

that makes sense, knowing

instinctively what you can and

cannot do. Professionalism.

SUSAN:

And you're at this third stage

JAMES:

No, there's a fourth. Numbness.

You do everything right, but you

feel nothing either way.

SUSAN:

I think you're exaggerating. And

if you aren't, you should jolly

well change your job.

JAMES:

Oh yes?

SUSAN:

Yes. You're much too old to making

a drama out of alienation, or

whatever you call it. You've got

to take responsibility for your

own happiness. That's what I think

anyway.

Susan has moved on a couple of steps and is bending forwards

to look at a picture. James smiles at her wonderingly, a

little deflated, but impressed.

INT. JAMES' FLAT - EVENING

Jeremy is sprawled in a chair with a drink. James is

standing. Muted piano music from the stereo. EDWARD has

just entered. The other two have been waiting for him.

JAMES:

It's the Poet Laureate himself.

Edward approaches. He is a contemporary of the other two,

but looks much younger and less worldly in manner. He is

slightly nervous. He works on a literary magazine and he

is a poet whose work is just beginning to be recognised.

The three are old friends. Jeremy and James keep up their

friendship with Edward because they recognise his talent,

and this makes them feel more authentic. Edward keeps up

with them because he is lonely and his own life is rather

dull. However, he does distrust them a little. And they

keep his talent in place by teasing him.

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