Another Soho Film?
. . . I was not altogether surprised when, walking innocently along Old Compton Street, I was waylaid by an acquaintance with the question,
'Do you want to be in a thing about Soho?'
'Another?'
'Yes, another.'
So much later that I had forgotten the few words exchanged in the street, a minor televisionary whom I had never met telephoned me to remind me of them. I agreed to meet him in the As-You-Like-It Coffee Bar. . . The stranger fed me with tea and questions about the difference between Soho now and what it had been like when I was young. . . My inquisitor seemed dazed rather than enlightened by what I said but he must have regaled his employers with a favorable account of our meeting because after another interval of several weeks, he telephoned me again.
This time he wished me to go immediately to a public house in Greek Street. . . within a few days, he visited my room in Chelsea . . a day finally came when he said,
'I think we'll make it all in this room.'
'Make what?'
'The film.'
'About Soho?'
'It won't be about Soho.'
'Then what will it be about?'
'You.'
Early in October of 1968 a production team of six marched on Beaufort Street. . . Sheets of pink acetate were fixed over the windows of my room and for four days as though lit by the dawn of a new Doris day, I walked about, sat in my chair or rolled on my bed droning on about eternal things. The resulting abundance of material . . . was rendered down until it lasted only half an hour and was shown on Granada Television at the end of the following year. . . the film about me was shown twice, first by itself and later as the first of six documentaries about old men looking back on their lives.
They proposed that another film should be made, this time not about my habits but my opinions. . . When this second documentary did not materialize I was disappointed. It seemed that fate had thrust me back into limbo or , as least, not drawn me forward. I did not dream that one day, beautifully made though it was, Mr. Mitchell's film in terms of publicity, would seem no more than a trailer for the television version of The Naked Civil Servant.
'Do you want to be in a thing about Soho?'
'Another?'
'Yes, another.'
So much later that I had forgotten the few words exchanged in the street, a minor televisionary whom I had never met telephoned me to remind me of them. I agreed to meet him in the As-You-Like-It Coffee Bar. . . The stranger fed me with tea and questions about the difference between Soho now and what it had been like when I was young. . . My inquisitor seemed dazed rather than enlightened by what I said but he must have regaled his employers with a favorable account of our meeting because after another interval of several weeks, he telephoned me again.
This time he wished me to go immediately to a public house in Greek Street. . . within a few days, he visited my room in Chelsea . . a day finally came when he said,
'I think we'll make it all in this room.'
'Make what?'
'The film.'
'About Soho?'
'It won't be about Soho.'
'Then what will it be about?'
'You.'
Early in October of 1968 a production team of six marched on Beaufort Street. . . Sheets of pink acetate were fixed over the windows of my room and for four days as though lit by the dawn of a new Doris day, I walked about, sat in my chair or rolled on my bed droning on about eternal things. The resulting abundance of material . . . was rendered down until it lasted only half an hour and was shown on Granada Television at the end of the following year. . . the film about me was shown twice, first by itself and later as the first of six documentaries about old men looking back on their lives.
They proposed that another film should be made, this time not about my habits but my opinions. . . When this second documentary did not materialize I was disappointed. It seemed that fate had thrust me back into limbo or , as least, not drawn me forward. I did not dream that one day, beautifully made though it was, Mr. Mitchell's film in terms of publicity, would seem no more than a trailer for the television version of The Naked Civil Servant.