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total horror. There were accompanying captions: 'Pauline Lewis, aged 10 -
Raped'; 'Carol Burley, aged 12 - Raped and Murdered'; 'Sarah Tomkins' . . .
'Diana Cummings' . . . Some twenty names and photographs in all, but Sir
Robert was too shocked to count.
The final shot was a freeze frame of the girl's hand on the Consul's door
handle as she was about to get into the car. It was a brilliantly-composed
shot: reflected in the car door were the girl's friends, symbols of her little
world of walking home in gossipy, noisy company to watch Crackerjack on
television while eating hot, buttered teacakes with her cat rubbing around
her. The car door itself was the barrier between that friendly world and the
blackness beyond, represented by the driver's fingers helping to push the door
open. A caption appeared: 'DON'T LOSE YOUR LIFE FOR A LIFT.'
The film ended. The unseen Smithers restored the lights. Sir Robert sat
staring at the blank screen for some moments while he marshalled his thoughts.
He felt that he had just been slammed in the stomach by a prize fighter.
Marshall broke the silence. 'I deliberately made it a silent film, sir, so
that infants' schools with eight mill silent projectors can show it.'
The thought of children under eleven seeing the film jerked Sir Robert back to
reality. 'Yes ... of course,' he muttered. 'The girl. . . She looks too young.
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Far too young. Who is she?'
'Sally Turner, sir. She's actually eighteen. A member of Equity. I picked her
out of Spotlight.'
'Good heavens.' Sir Robert lapsed into silence. The ice-chip eyes watching him
carefully made him uncomfortable.
'So what do you think of it, sir?' asked Marshall anxiously.
The banker considered his answer, choosing his words with the same care that
he would give to an investment decision or the placing of chips on a roulette
table. 'It's a film that possesses tremendous impact, Mr Tate,' he observed at
length. 'However, I can well understand that Matthew Drew has grave
reservations about it.'
'He has no reservations about it at all,' Marshall countered sourly. 'He's
banned it, full stop. And he doesn't want you or the members of the council to
see it.'
Sir Robert guided his wheelchair towards the door; a clear signal that the
audience was over. 'Let's say misgivings, shall we? Thank you for showing me
the film, Mr Tate. I really can't comment on Mr Drew's decision until I've
discussed the matter with him. He'll be in touch with you as soon as
possible.'
Marshall rode home on his motorbike, wondering if he had done the right thing.
23
Celia had no inkling of the row that was brewing until two evenings later when
she was getting ready for bed. Marshall was out and, as usual, had not told
her where he would be. The telephone rang as she was preparing for bed. It was
a Daily Mail reporter after Marshall's views on the uproar that evening when
Dark Encounter had been shown in London to an extraordinary meeting of the
Schools Education Council. Celia took a message.
The telephone started ringing again the instant she replaced the receiver. It
was the Daily Express chasing after the same information. She took three more
similar calls before going to
bed. After that she shut her bedroom door and let the damn
thing ring.
All was made clear the following morning. 'STORM OVER CHILD RAPE MOVIE -
Education bosses walk out after seeing "porn" film' was splashed across an
inside page of the Daily Mail. There was a photograph of Marshall and the
child-like actress he had used in his film. She was clinging to Marshall's arm
and looking adoringly up at him. Celia sat down and read the story. At an
extraordinary meeting of the Schools Education Council the previous evening,
six members of the council and the full-time director had resigned en masse
and stormed out after the chairman, city financier Sir Robert Allsop,
exercised his casting vote in favour of the council distributing a five-minute
film made by Marshall Tate.
Celia re-read the piece slowly. The telephone rang. This time it was a local
stringer, stung at having a hot story stolen from under his nose by the
nationals. Celia called up to Marshall who tottered down the stairs
half-asleep. She returned to the kitchen and re-read the story for a third
time, more carefully, while Marshall finished talking to the reporter.
She looked up suddenly when she realized that he was standing in the doorway,
his head nearly touching the top of the frame. He smiled down at her. His eyes
were ice-cold and blue, like his father's. He was looking more like him every
day. She shivered. There was a noise from upstairs that sounded like someone
taking a shower. She looked questioningly at Marshall. 'Don't worry,' he said
calmly. 'It'll all blow over in a week.'
24 1970
Marshall was pleased to be proved wrong. The story spread across the country
like a virulent bug as local education authorities and parent teacher
associations were embroiled in rows over whether or not the film should be
shown to schoolchildren in their areas. Marshall become a popular target for
television interviews because he could be relied on to pour scorn on those
local councils who decided not to show his film. On a late night discussion
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show he suggested to one irate parent who had said that she had no intention
of exposing her daughter to such filth that maybe she would prefer her
daughter to be raped and strangled. The ensuing row became so heated that the
programme stayed on air, resulting in the epilogue being scrapped and God Save
the Queen being played thirty minutes late at 11.30 p.m.
Travelling home on the last train to Walton that night, Marshall reflected
that he had 'arrived'.
25
Six months later Bill Yates met Marshall for a lunchtime drink in the Kiwi.
This time Marshall insisted on paying for the drinks. There was an air of
confidence about him that Bill suspected was 50 per cent arrogance.
'I'm making money now, Bill. Real money.'
'You've been paid for all those interviews?'
'That's not real money.'
'Well I know you've quit Shepperton. I've tried calling your office.'
Marshall smiled coldly and raised his glass. 'You're now talking to the
director of the Schools Education Council film unit. Sir Robert Allsop offered
me the job last week.'
'Always thought you'd land on your feet, you old bugger,' said Bill,
swallowing most of his pint in one gulp. 'So how much are they paying you?'
'Same as they paid Drew plus a bit, four.'
Bill whistled. Marshall was right: four thousand per annum was good for a
young man in 1970.
'And I've made over five thousand quid flogging copies of Dark Encounter and
the money's still rolling in.'
The older man was astonished. 'How the hell did you manage that?'
'Easy. Every time an education authority announced a ban on the film, I put
ads in their local papers: "See Dark Encounter] The film they tried to ban.
Order your 8-mm colour print direct
from the maker. Guaranteed unexpurgated. £7 15s including post and packing".'
'That's a con, Matt, the film's not worth that. It must be one helluva
disappointment to the raincoat brigade.'
Marshall set his drink down carefully on a beer mat and turned to face Bill. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]