By the end of a week of these meetings, they will have a six-page action script.
He doesn’t care that it isn’t his name on the script, because a script is simply a guideline. It never contains the best laughs; it just lets everyone know where they have to stand while they wait for Babe and him to come up with something better on the set. But his name is above the title alongside Babe’s, and this is the important part. Let Beanie Walker, the head of editorial, receive the dialogue credit, even if Beanie Walker is dying on his feet since the advent of sound, and maybe adds only a couple of lines that actually make it to the screen.
If Beanie Walker notices this, then Beanie Walker does not say.
Beanie Walker does not attend the gag meetings, which is just as well because Beanie Walker is odd. Beanie Walker rarely speaks, and never laughs. Beanie Walker just says ‘Yeah’ when an action script meets with his approval, which is the equivalent of a lesser man breaking out the champagne and calling for dancing girls. Beanie Walker smokes like Prohibition is about to apply to cigarettes from midnight, and has some kind of obsessive disorder. Beanie Walker never marries, and keeps company with cats. Eventually Beanie Walker quits on Hal Roach, and pretty soon after that, Beanie Walker dies.
Writers come and writers go.
Gagmen come and gagmen go.
Directors come and directors go.
Only he and Babe remain constant.
But these are his scripts, his camera positions, his edits, his directions. It does not matter who calls ‘Camera!’, who calls ‘Quit!’. They are his pictures – his and Babe’s.
He does not seek the credit.
He does not need the credit.
All he desires is the freedom to work.
86
He hears it from the lips of Warren Doane, who hears it from the lips of Hal Roach himself, but he is still not sure that he believes it.
Hal has hired who? he says.
– Fred Karno. Your old boss.
He cogitates on this information for a moment.
– But why?
Fred Karno is on his uppers. Fred Karno has gone broke from building lavish follies on islands in the Thames, and from fighting court cases, and from living beyond his means. Fred Karno has also, in return for promises of roles, accepted sexual favors in theater backrooms from so many young women – or, as is more likely, prized these favors from them with grasping fingers, and through force of body and will – that there are not enough plays and revues in the whole of England to fulfill Fred Karno’s obligations to his conquests, even if Fred Karno has any intention of fulfilling them to begin with, which Fred Karno probably does not.
So, like many a scoundrel before him, Fred Karno has fled west. But promises of money and work come to nothing. Fred Karno is an impresario, a British theatrical legend, and behaves like one. Fred Karno proves baffling at best to his American cousins, and Fred Karno is equally baffled in return. But Fred Karno is an old stager, and so hides his confusion more successfully.
Fred Karno falls back on Chaplin, who retains some affection for the man who gave him his start, and is therefore happy to break bread with him. Yet, as with the great Russian director Sergei Eisenstein and his request for funds, Chaplin is wise enough not to offer Fred Karno any guarantees of employment. Even were Chaplin so inclined, Chaplin is mired in the filming of City Lights, which has been before the cameras for almost a year, and will continue to be before the cameras for more than another year. City Lights is also, sound effects and musical score apart, a silent picture, because Chaplin is fearful of dialogue. Chaplin is the greatest pantomimist the screen has ever seen, but this will no longer be the case as soon as Chaplin opens his mouth to speak, and Chaplin knows this.
So between bouts of agonizing over City Lights, and finding consolation wherever possible after his latest divorce, which costs him $600,000 in alimony and leaves him labeled a pervert, Chaplin puts out word that the great Fred Karno is in town and available for engagements.
Which is how Hal Roach comes to hire Fred Karno, because Hal Roach has been hearing about Fred Karno for so many years that Fred Karno has assumed the condition of a minor deity to Hal Roach. Fred Karno will be the solution to all Hal Roach’s problems. Fred Karno, effulgent, will arrive at Culver City, gags pouring from the wound in his side, and from the holes in his hands and feet, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.
Because Hal Roach, like Julian of Norwich, is essentially an optimist.
He enjoys seeing Fred Karno again. In certain ways, Fred Karno reminds him of A.J., whom he misses greatly, although A.J. has few of Fred Karno’s baser predilections.
Hal Roach offers Fred Karno a five-year contract to write and produce pictures.
Hal Roach pays Fred Karno a weekly salary.
Hal Roach gives Fred Karno a pleasant office.
Hal Roach introduces Fred Karno to the gagmen, and the crews, and Dad Roach, and tries to ignore the way Fred Karno looks at the young women passing through the dappled daylight of the lot.
Hal Roach gets royally fucked.
Fred Karno tells tales of his life in the music halls.
Fred Karno describes the fallen Arcadia that is the Karsino.
Fred Karno lusts after the young women passing through the dappled daylight of the lot, and also the young women passing through the soft light of evening, and finally the young women, barely observable, passing through the darkness of night.
But Fred Karno does not produce a single picture, and Fred Karno does not offer up a single gag, because this is not what Fred Karno does. Fred Karno has always hired people who are funny to write and act while Fred Karno watches the crowds pour in, and their money with them. At Hal Roach Studios, Fred Karno lusts and schemes and antagonizes, but Fred Karno creates nothing. After four months, Hal Roach fires Fred Karno. Hal Roach puts Fred Karno on a boat back to England, off to die in penury, and returns to playing the saxophone to calm his nerves.
87
At the Oceana Apartments, a breeze arises, blowing in from the Pacific. The balcony doors are open, and the salt-sweat scent of the sea is on his skin, and on his lips, and in the air that he breathes. His senses are more acute since he stopped smoking. Chesterfield, his brand of choice, provided the finance for The Stolen Jools, and he and Babe generated some income by advertising Old Gold cigarettes, although he could never smoke Old Gold himself. Either way, the tobacco companies made their money back from him a thousand times over, and now he is an old man smelling the world anew.
Lois, his daughter, calls him on the telephone. He enjoys hearing from her, and loves spending time with his grandchildren. He could, perhaps, have tried for more children of his own, but he chose not to. His daughter is to be his sole such blessing.