Their Finest Page #4

on a true story.

Then don't.

Oh, Christ above, man, you're supposed

to be the propagandist!

700 ships went to Dunkirk.

338,000 men came back.

Don't say it's based on a true story.

Say it's based on 100 true stories.

- A thousand.

- 338,000.

Dunkirk, the biggest retreat

in military history,

or the miracle that put the fire back

in all our bellies?

Very well, carry on as you were.

I have a car waiting.

You won't regret it.

Thank you, Mr. Swain.

Buckley!

Buckley!

Sit. Sit.

I don't care that you lied.

I care that you lied to us.

There wasn't enough money.

Ellis wanted me to go back to Wales.

And you what, you couldn't bear

to miss the Blitz?

I'm sorry.

Well, at least Parfitt will be relieved.

His wife, Mary, she's an invalid.

He pays for a nurse in the day, but then

he has to sit with her himself at night.

When I told him you wanted

more than Ministry wages,

he was worried you'd found yourself

in a similar position,

what with your husband's Spanish War

wound and all.

Should I...

Do you want me to come in tomorrow?

And how would that help, losing you?

Who the bloody hell else do you think's

gonna be writing the slop?

The work's good, Mrs. Cole.

You're doing a good job.

Hello, Catrin.

- Hello.

- Hello.

Ellis?

I just saw Perry and Conroy.

You had friends over?

I got a letter.

A commission to document

bomb damage in the provinces,

and an exhibition in London

straight after.

The National Gallery.

Oh, Ellis.

Will there be Sunday trains,

do you think?

Only I'll need to get back

to London on Monday mornings.

- What are you talking about?

- Coming to see you.

Well, you'll be with me, silly.

Yes, of course.

After the script is finished.

Well, you can get out of that now, surely.

But I don't want to get out of it.

I don't want to let them down.

His office.

Last night, he was working late.

It was bombed.

They have asked me to identify him.

I am unable.

Mr. Hilliard?

Mr. Hilliard?

I'm afraid, my dear,

someone has made a mistake.

I almost did so myself.

You see, Sammy Smith has two fingers

missing from his left hand.

I'm sorry, we try very hard to...

to make a whole person.

For the relatives.

No, of course not.

Well, I leave on Monday, and I'll be back

in London for the exhibition.

I suppose it's not so very far off.

No, it's not so very far off.

And I'll come and visit as often as I can.

Right, then.

Veal's off. I've ordered

cutlets Milanese...

and semolina... pudding.

You are Mr. Ambrose Hilliard?

Yes.

I'm Sophie Smith, Sammy's sister.

Ah.

Oh!

Is it him?

Is it your friend?

MY agent.

Yes.

That's him.

You can stay with us, if you like.

It's very peaceful.

I'm sure we can make room.

Thank you.

Happy New Year, Mr. Hilliard.

Sammy liked the veal, I believe.

Do you also recommend it?

It's not veal in the pre-war sense.

Oh.

Um, now that Sam...

Now that my brother has gone,

I must find something

with which to occupy myself.

I have responsibilities, dependents.

I have decided therefore

to continue with the agency.

I understand Sammy discussed

with you Baker's Dunkirk film,

- the role of the inebriated uncle.

- No.

You know, after conversations

like this with my brother, I would say,

"What have you got to lose

by being honest, Sammy?

Explain to the man he is 63, not 36.

And that his brief moment

of fame as Inspector Charnfort..."

Charnforth!

Inspector Charnforth!

Please be calm, Mr. Hilliard.

I am perfectly calm.

What you are seeing is controlled anger

tempered with icy detachment.

It's one of the many subtle emotions

of which a good actor is capable.

Three weeks on location in Devon,

followed by three in a London studio.

There are currently only nine films

in pre-production in British studios.

None of the others holds a role for you.

I hope I share some of my brother's

qualities, Mr. Ambrose.

I do not, however, share

his sentimental attachments.

I will not keep unprofitable clients

on the books.

Veal, twice, please.

Oh, and semolina pudding?

Excellent choice.

Too long. Lose half.

- Which half?

- The half you don't need.

What's the matter?

You look like

you haven't slept in a month.

I'm all right.

I just found it easier

when it was every night.

At least you knew what was coming.

Well, never having known the joys

of married love myself...

- The bombing.

- Ah.

I thought perhaps too many long treks

to see the husband in the provinces.

Not really.

It's difficult, you know? The trains.

All right, then

What's that?

- It's France, Uncle Frank.

- Oh.

Oh!

It's Hitler!

- Bloody what?

- Meeting now with Mr. Swain.

Rot. We're about to issue this

as a shooting script.

- They want all of you.

- Oh, no.

Oh, don't worry.

All that's dead and buried.

No, this'll be some rear admiral

in a lather

because we've got the wind speed wrong

for the day in question.

Oh, and did I mention?

It's at Whitehall.

The Ministry of War.

"We few, we happy few,

we band of brothers.

For he today who sheds his blood

with me shall be my brother.

And gentlemen in England now abed

shall think themselves

accursed they were not here,

and hold their manhood cheap

whilst any speak who fought with us

upon Saint Crispin's Day."

The power of the dramatic arts.

Ah...

America.

Firmly against any military involvement

in a war they see as Europe's business.

I'm sure I need not tell you

how many people attend the cinema

every week in this country.

- Thirty...

- Thirty million.

And in America

that figure is closer to 90.

Mr. Churchill is persuaded that film,

in particular your film,

presents us with a unique opportunity

to put our case to the American people.

They fear that we are already beaten.

You show that we fight on.

They believe this country to be dominated

by an upper-class elite.

You present a vision of Britain

in which ordinary working people

are the heroes.

But most crucially of all,

your film concerns itself directly

with the feminine experience,

to show your American sisters

that this is a war their sons

and husbands and brothers

should be fighting.

Of course, if we want America to listen,

we must give them someone to listen to,

a character with whom

they can really identify.

- You want us to put an American in it?

- Exactly so.

Ideally, of course, one would cast

a star with British connections,

a Cary Grant or an Errol Flynn,

but the war will not wait on the

convenience of a Hollywood schedule.

Besides, we rather think

we've done one better.

Carl Lundbeck.

American boy,

Norwegian forefathers.

Before the war, he flew crop dusters

on his parents' farm in Michigan.

When Germany invaded Norway,

Carl made his way to England

to join the RAF...

where he's made himself

very much at home.

Salmon aren't the only creatures

who should stay out of Flight Lieutenant

Lundbeck's way.

So far he's shot down 24 German planes,

for which Britain gives her gratitude.

A genuine hero.

An inspiration to all other Americans,

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