The Richard Burton Diaries (39 page)

Saturday 24th
Things that happened while these pages were blank:

Monty Clift, possibly E's greatest friend and with whom she was about to start
Reflections
in one month from now, died of a massive heart attack in NY. He died in his sleep. [...] The news was told to E by phone from NY by Roddy McDowall. He said, to E's horror, that the death was caused by a combination of drink and drugs. This turned out to be totally untrue.
¹⁴³
Little Roddy, even when he loves someone, loves their attendant disasters almost as much. He, Monty, left E anything of his possessions in his will. She chose something I don't know what. His companion, nurse and major domo very kindly sent E his (Monty's) handkerchiefs which he had only recently bought in Paris and which he loved, delicate white on white.
¹⁴⁴
And to me – Monty's favourite soap! Should I use it or keep it? E was very upset and still cannot believe he's dead. A little Monty Clift cult has started since his death. It would have been more useful when he was alive. He couldn't get a decent job for the last 5 years of his life. Poor sod. I didn't know him very well but he seemed like a good man. [...]

We are down at Corsetti's at Tor Vaianica [...] for a month of weekends. She cooks, I clean – a little. She does hot dogs and hamburgers and steaks and omelettes and soup. I do salads and I clean – a little. Apart from people staring and the occasional autograph we are not much bothered. One fat young girl last weekend asked me to autograph her behind – only barely covered by a bikini. I declined and signed her arm instead.

We shot the Catacombs and my meeting with Lucifer Belzebub.
¹⁴⁵
It's an impressive set [...]

I saw the Garden of Delights – at least
¹
/
₂
of it – and was disappointed. It is much too slow. [...]

E has bur, arthr, or fibro situs and has great discomfort with her left shoulder and arm. Don't I know it. It is peculiarly maddening because you have nothing to show for it. No swelling, no wound, no bruise to boast of – just nagging infuriating pain.

Sat is an early day so we were here at Corsetti's by 4.45pm. I finished
Long Way to Shiloh
. It is very forgettable and too clever by half. The writer has promise though and I shall look out for his other two books.
¹⁴⁶

I am tackling Italian again. I might as well get it under my belt for the rest of my life. I'm here until the New Year and with my former knowledge of it I should be fairly fluent by then.
¹⁴⁷

Ron Berkeley, every night, after I've taken my hot shower and my pores are open, rubs my spotty back with alcohol. It will be interesting to see if it cleans up the skin. [...]

Sunday 25th
A lazy day by the sea. We both woke in the middle of the night (Saturday) and read. I woke again at 8.30 and [...] I took the dogs for a walk along the sand shore. Nobody on the beach except
¹
/
₂
dozen gesticulating Italians trying to launch a boat into the placid sea. Anyone of them could have done it by himself. The sea was so calm its waves could barely break at the water's edge. [...]

I made myself a [...] sandwich and drank a satisfying cup of tea. I read some Italian, went for a swim about 11am [...] I lighted the barbecue fire at 12 and after some frustration [...] E. finally cooked the steaks. They were delicious. It is the first time she's ever cooked a steak.

Some film people were about – Basil Fenton Smith (Sound) his wife, Dave Hildyard (Sound) his wife. Robert Jacks (Producer) his wife.
¹⁴⁸
[...] We exchanged pleasantries but didn't mix.

In the afternoon we read the papers, did crosswords, went for a swim (me) and other things.

[...] Gaston told us to change the time back one hour. It is the first time [...] that Italy has ever been on summertime and their puzzlement is so great that all trains wherever they were at midnight last night were told to halt for one hour. Is't possible? [...]

Monday 26th
A thoroughly unpleasant day. It began well enough. We arose early and were in the Studio by 7.45. I did endless pickup shots [...] in the Garden of Delights with Gwydion Thomas (R.S. the poet's son.)
¹⁴⁹
Infinite tedium. Then E did her bit appearing in the Crystal. [...] Then more shots of me and G. Thomas. Then shots of lesbian lovers and normal lovers and acrobats from a Rome circus working on trampolines. Then the set-up for tomorrow. I hate those days in which the script doesn't advance one single line of a page – not even one single stage direction – because these shots are of course added ones (apart from E's) and therefore not in the script. [...]

E is at work on the barbecue (We're at Corsetti's). I lighted the fire with one bottle of alcohol, then two, then a third then a fourth and have now decided to leave it to the Gods, E and Ron-next-door.

Astonishingly I have lost, temporarily I hope, my taste for alcohol in any form. I shall force a campari-soda-vodka between my clenched teeth before dinner or bust. I feel better without it but I look ghastly; great bags under my eyes. E is enjoying her booze as usual and I don't resent it – much. The fire is now, it appears, perfect, and I shall have my hamburgers any minute.

E's delight in cooking is lovely and I think she has a natural gift for it. So far she's done everything right. And has her own pet condiments and sauces. I'm still confined to boiled eggs and salads. I suppose you could live on them if the chips were down. No pun intended.

And now for the Campari-Soda-Vodka – known in this family as ‘Goop.’

Have now had my goop and my hamburger. Both delicious. It's extraordinary how one hamburger in a sandwich bun with a slice of raw onion, a slice of tomato, and a couple of lettuce leaves suitably salted and peppered, can be so filling.

Lovely here now. Maybe it's because I've eaten and drunk. [...] E's nerves have relaxed; she's frantic when she cooks – Quite incoherent, poised in the dark over the barbecue like a fury.

I shall mutter some Italian and go to bed – After I've had another goop.

I read today
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/
₂
of
Don Quixote
(script from Ronny Lubin) and
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/
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of
Oedipus
– by Lawrence Durrell.
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Both so far unworthy of their subjects. A standard cowboy script by Carl Foreman called
MacKenna's Gold
.
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Christ what a lot of rubbish one reads.

Tuesday 27th
Things that happened: Kate came to stay with us, from London, (in July?) with Ivor and Gwen as guardians. She looked bonny and long-legged and freckled and slightly pigeon-toed. She is so far physically like us (who's like us?) that she takes my breath away. There is no sign of Syb in her at all except for the mannerisms of proximity. She is loving and clearly loves E and E her. [...] They spent one entire gossipy day together in bed, both with temps, both with some ‘flu’ or other. I had to carry K to her bed at the end of the day because cunningly she thought, perhaps, that she could sleep the whole night with E if she Kate were already asleep. But I was firm and took her away. Neeeeeks! Neeeeeks is Maria's version of the word ‘snakes’ when she sees worms. Sybil only wanted her Kate to stay for 10 days, but, possession being nine points of the law, we kept her for an extra two weeks. She left, I think, reluctantly and brown and a good girl. Ivor and Gwen are now part of us finally and irrevocably. Were it not for Kate and Jessica I doubt that they would ever see Syb again unless she invited them which she wouldn't. Syb is so odd
now that, notwithstanding ‘love changing its property to the sourest and most deadly hate and hell hath no fury etc.,’ she did not send any word of commiseration on the death of Edie.
¹⁵²
And she purported to adore or like Edie. Funny lot those Williams. The odd thing is that nobody in my family ever mentions Syb and when I do, as I must, nobody responds. Nobody. [...] It will all resolve itself. Now and again, I look around and wonder how much we give away and realize how little we are given. I and my wife could live for the rest of our lives on what we have given away in the last 5 years. Not to taxes. Not to tax-deductive organisations but to private individual people. I've just discovered that in the last 20 months I have given $76,000 to one person! Over $1,000,000 to another. You have got to be an idiot. Anyway, we are lucky, we can always grow some more. Who's like us?! And anyway sitting on the edge of this central sea what should I write about now? [...]

Tea for breakfast and off to work. I have a slightly sore throat. Might be from smoking cigars, which I dislike, but they should stop me (and do stop me) from smoking and inhaling cigarettes [...] I mean I smoke less cigs than usual.

I am running out of energy and enthusiasm for
Faustus
. And I mustn't. A/It will show on the screen and B/the big stuff, meeting with Helen of Troy and the descent into hell is yet to be done.
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I long to laze. I drank some today. Two beers, two vodkas, a goop. [...]

We slogged away at the student scene. I didn't feel like working at all, but kept at it anyway. How lovely it would be if one were a highly paid amateur who worked only when he wanted to. But slog it is.

Franco Zeffirelli called in to discuss some cutting and stayed to have a drink. [...] E became sentimental and asked Franco to find another film for them to do together as she trusted his taste implicitly.

[...] Pasta for supper and having written this entry I will continue to read a book called
The Fixer
by Bernard Malamud.
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Highly praised. So let's see.

Wednesday 28th
7.15 in the morning. Bright sun. A train passes on to Rome. Sound of traffic on the Raccordo Annulare. A motor horn. I have opened the French window of the ‘den’ and the dogs are out chasing each other. Birds cheeping. It's difficult to compensate in Britain for instance for the joys of a lovely climate. I doubt if we've had a week's bad weather all told since we arrived in March. Another train passes. And another. I love the sound of trains
and hate the sound of jets, that awful high-pitched keening whistling whine. Off to work in 5 minutes. [...]

Franco says [...] that Fellini has run out of instant inspiration.
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He woke up one morning [...] and found that he couldn't shoot off the cuff anymore. He must prepare a film like other directors. Ah the woolly little genius. Hence the Dino De Laurentiis suit against Fellini.
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There is a huge set on the back lot which may now be unusable. Dino will figure out a way to come out smiling. Betcha.

3pm. Just had lunch with P. Glenville. [...] Lots of gossip [...] about Tony Richardson, Jeanne Moreau and a Greek gigolo. Apparently Tony R thought he was in love with Moreau and assumed she was in love with him, left his wife Vanessa Redgrave for that reason.
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In the meantime Tony Hartley (Tony R's producer, assistant and procureur) had produced a very handsome Greek boy as off-duty entertainment.
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Glenville then re-enacts the scene of the boy's first appearance on the set: Mouth pursed, eyes narrowed, Moreau says to herself: ‘I want that.’ And with ten days free from the picture takes the boy to Greece and later announces she will marry him.
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Peter says. ‘Tony R of course doesn't know which way to be jealous or which way turn if you'll pardon l'expression.’ He tends to lard his talk with foreign expressions. ‘And that Richard is the pozizzioni’ etc.
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Oh prenez garde.

Have also heard that Fellini has found another backer. He will make the film at De L. Studios but as an outsider. I betcha and I was righta!

Finished scenes with three students, Hugh Williams, Gwydion Thomas and Richard Heffer in the morning and began ‘was this the face that launched’ etc. with E afterwards.
¹⁶¹
We shall finish it tomorrow – I mean the scene.

Saw F. Zeffirelli (and earlier Sheila Pickles his secretary) at the end of the day.
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He is so camp we'll have to peg him down.

1 a.m. the morning of Thursday 29th
Sitting in my dressing room unable to sleep. [...] I left the bedroom because my restlessness was obviously disturbing E though no complaint.

Liza did her homework tonight in our bedroom [...] I asked what it was [...] She had to illustrate [...] a poem. Teachers haven't changed much. [...] The poem is ‘Cargoes?’ ‘Quinquireme of Nineveh .....’ Masefield.
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Well that's one poem virtually ruined for her unless I can step in and save it.

Shall read a little and try another sleep later. Don't mind really as long as I don't have to lie there in the dark and chase after my mind.

Thursday 29th
Woke to lovely noise of thunder. [...] Did my exercises yesterday morning for the first time for a fortnight and feel stiff as a board this morning.

Finished ‘Was this the face.’ And went over to stage 1 for Pope scene. It's going to be alright I think. Shot ‘till six thirty. A very worried John Sullivan arrived from London. He is in a desperate position poor feller. Daliah is 9 weeks pregnant and they are to marry in three weeks. But that's only part of it. His script
Osmosis
has been turned down. [...] He is also costing me a bloody fortune. It's a lousy position for both of us. I'm to see Elmo Williams on 27th October and see if I can salvage something.
¹⁶⁴
Nick Young came home with us last night as he leaves for London tomorrow. E furious that I invited them.

[...] N. Young told me that Ruth Blackmore (Phil's niece) had written letters of passion to himself, to a Welsh boy called Williams whose Dad is a Socialist MP, and another boy.
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She had met them all when she stayed with us in Oxford earlier this year. [...] What is the little minx up to? Is she pulling their legs? Is she a potential nymphomaniac? Her mother would probably have a fit.