A combination of wit and heartbreak in a memoir of a life intertwined with an obsession with film. A Fever Pitch for cinema lovers.‘This book will consider the influence of movies on one life, the interaction of celluloid fantasy and the growth of a personality. It’s not just a film buff’s record of his enthusiasm’s. It’s about how some films do, weirdly, change your life.’Beginning with his first cinema outing, The Mutiny on the Bounty, and tracing his passion through his growing up years to adulthood, Walsh will weave together his own life experiences with his rapturous dependence on key moments in film. He will write a funny, personal, loving account of the magic and drama of the silver screen and its ultimate, all-encompassing power to become larger than (real) life.
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John Walsh. Are you talking to me?: A Life Through the Movies
ARE YOU TALKING TO ME?
COPYRIGHT
DEDICATION
CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION STRAINING YOUR EYES TO SEE
1 THE CAT IN THE CRIMSON SOCK Mutiny on the Bounty (1962)
2 FACES AT THE WINDOW The Innocents (1961)
3 JOHN WAYNE’S FILTHY TEMPER Red River (1947)
4 GIRL IN THE GAZEBO The Sound of Music (1965)
5 WHITE HAT AND GOLDEN SHIRT Bonnie and Clyde (1967)
6 DANCING WITH DECADENCE Cabaret (1972)
7 FAR AWAY FROM EVERYTHING The Enigma of Kaspar Hauser (1974)
8 AFTER THE RED RAINCOAT ‘Don’t Look Now’ (1973)
If you enjoyed Are You Talking to Me? check out this other great John Walsh title
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
FURTHER READING
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A Life Through the Movies
JOHN WALSH
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Counting off the lashes, we took in with our young eyes the blooding and flaying of Mills’s back, the wincing of the more sensitive crew-members, the gloating interventions of Captain Bligh (‘You’re going too soft, Quintal – lay on with a will or you’ll take his place’ – a classic piece of schoolmasterly brinkmanship) and the gradual sinking down of the victim.
Bligh’s mouth twisted in a smile. God I hated him. He reminded me so much of Mr King, the sports master, who always had me in his sadistic sights. Once, when I had weedily underperformed at some football practice, he actually picked me up by the ears and held me dangling in agony. But you didn’t fight back or argue with Mr King. You accepted that he had every right to do horrible things to you, because you were a nasty little boy who was probably in the wrong. All you would say was ‘Flippin’ heck, sir,’ like a Cockney droll, and take your punishment in good heart and not complain. You weren’t allowed to make a fuss, even to answer back, when you were eight, in Wimbledon, in 1962.
