The Sentence Is Death

I looked for the camera and saw Jill deep in conversation with the director, Stuart Orme, and the rest of the camera crew. None of them were looking very happy either. I was already feeling guilty. The script that I had written for this episode, ‘The Eternity Ring’, had opened in New Mexico at a test for the nuclear bomb. (Stuart had managed to shoot it on a beach at the crack of dawn, stealing the scene in the two hours before the tide came in.) From there it had moved to the Russian embassy in London, the Liverpool docks and then to Whitehall and the headquarters of MI6. It had been a huge amount to ask and Scene 27 might have been one step too far. Sam could have walked home. She could have just turned up at her front door.

Stuart saw me and came over. He was only one year older than me, although with his white hair and white beard I found him slightly intimidating. But we had already worked together on one episode and I was glad he had come back for a second. ‘We can’t shoot the scene,’ he said.

‘What’s wrong?’ I asked, fighting an irrational worry that, whatever had happened, it would turn out to be my fault.

‘A lot of things. We had to move two cars. We’ve had issues with the weather.’ It had only just stopped raining. ‘The police wouldn’t allow us to start shooting before ten o’clock anyway. And the bus has broken down.’

I looked round. The AEC Regent II was being towed out of shot. Another bus had arrived to replace it. ‘That’s a Routemaster,’ I said.

‘I know. I know.’ Stuart looked harassed. We both knew that the first Routemaster hadn’t appeared on London roads until the mid-fifties. ‘But that’s what the agency sent round,’ he went on. ‘Don’t worry, we can CGI it in post-production.’

Computer-generated imagery. It was very expensive but at times it could be our greatest benefactor. It gave us views of a bombed-out London. It allowed us to drive past St Paul’s when we were nowhere near.

‘What else?’

‘Look, I’ve only got ninety minutes to shoot the scene. We have to be out of here by twelve and right now there are four set-ups. I can’t do it. So if it’s all right with you, I want to drop the dialogue. We’ll just film Sam getting off the bus and we’ll pick her up meeting Adam when she gets home.’

In a way, I was quite flattered. As I’ve mentioned before, the writer is the one person on a set who has nothing to do and it’s one of the reasons why I usually stay away. I have a bad habit of always being in the wrong place. If a mobile goes off during filming, it will almost certainly turn out to be mine. But here was the director actually asking for my help and I saw at once that what he was suggesting wouldn’t make any material difference to the episode.

‘That’s fine,’ I said.

‘Good. I hoped you wouldn’t mind.’ He turned and walked away, leaving me with the realisation that he had actually made the decision long before I arrived.

Even without the dialogue, though, it was going to be a close-run thing. Stuart was going to have one rehearsal and then try for the take but it was still a complicated set-up. A twenty-metre track had been built, allowing the camera to glide along the first street as the bus came rumbling towards it at right angles down a second. The bus would turn the corner and come to a halt. The camera would continue its journey, reaching the stop just as two or three passengers got out, followed by Sam. At the same time, other vehicles, including the horse and cart, would pass in both directions. Children would play on the pavements. Various pedestrians would walk past: a woman pushing a pram, a couple of policemen, a man with a bicycle and so on. It would involve very precise timing if it was all going to be captured in a single shot.

‘Positions, everyone, please!’

The actor playing Sam’s husband was sent back to his trailer, none too happy. He would have been up since the crack of dawn. The driver of the Routemaster was given his briefing. The background artists took their places. I went over and stood behind the camera, making sure I was out of the way. The first assistant director glanced at Stuart, who nodded.

‘Action!’

The rehearsal was disastrous.

The bus arrived too soon and the camera too late. Sam got lost in the crowd. A cloud chose that moment to block the sun. The horse refused to move. I saw Stuart exchange a few words with his director of photography, then briskly shake his head. They weren’t ready to film. They would need a second rehearsal after all.