All language subtitles for The.South.Bank.Show.Terence.Davies.1992.1080p.Crit.Web-DL

-In a moment, one of
Britain's finest filmmakers,

from Liverpool, Terrence Davies.

♪'The South Bank
Show' theme music♪

-Hello.

At next month's
Cannes Film Festival,

Britain will be represented in
the main competition by 'The

Long Day Closes,' the new
film by Terrence Davies.

Davies has previously directed
only a trilogy of short films

and one feature,
'Distant Voices,

Still Lives,' but he's already
been acclaimed as one of our

most distinctive
contemporary filmmakers.

Like his earlier work, 'The Long
Day Closes' draws on Davies's

memory of growing
up in Liverpool,

the youngest child
in a large, Catholic,

working class family.

In a style much more
European than British,

he renders the pleasure and pain
of ordinary experience with a

remarkable emotional intensity.

In tonight's 'South Bank
Show,' which includes sections

especially written
for us by Davies,

we trace this story where life
and art are inextricably linked.

[waves gently lapping]

[ship horn]

♪children choir singing♪

[ship horn]

[film reel spinning]

-[Terence VO] The
house stood about here.

So many houses, so many names.

Names which will
mean nothing to you,

gentle viewer, but for me are
part of the very fabric of my

life.

[film reel spinning]

Albert Drake, Jordan
Hughes, Jimmy Preston -- who was

considered a real
boy, and whom I envied.

Barbara Mayhew, wearing a stiff
dress with multi-colored squares

on it, would stand outside
Charlie Burnell's shop and sing

"Danny Boy."

Mary Carol whose
hair I used to pull.

All, all are gone.

The old, familiar faces.

-[woman] [humming]

Your tea's ready, Kev.

-Okay, Mom.

-[woman] [humming]

-Hi, Mom.

-Hiya, Mom.

-Hey, John, will you get
the flat irons out for me?

-Yeah, okay.

What's up?

-[woman] The pictures.
Where else?

-[Bragg] Your new film,
'The Long Day Closes,'

is partly about a boy
discovering the cinema,

and that's very
important to the film.

Can you remember when
you discovered the cinema,

and the impact that had on you?

-Yes, I can remember vividly.

I'd never been to
the cinema at all,

because I wasn't allowed out,
because my father was very very

strict and he died in
1953, when I was seven.

And my eldest sister took me
to the Odeon in Liverpool,

and it was to see
'Singin' in the Rain.'

Which was such a joy.

The only thing I could remember,
was the title sequence,

when he does the
title number in the rain,

and I just fell in
love with the cinema.

But I fell in love
with American cinema.

I was then taken to see every
musical that was ever made from

then on, simply because my
sisters loved American musicals,

and of course so did I.

And we'd even read the credits.

I mean, my sister would say, "I
see Bud Westmore on the make-up"

and I'd say, "Yes,
isn't that fabulous?"

As though we knew him.

But it was such a joy because
America was the land of magic,

it was color.

England was very gray, but the
real joy was seeing American

musicals.

And particularly Doris Day.

-Why particularly Doris Day?

-She seemed to embody that
world of the perfect family.

Like, for instance,
'Young At Heart,'

which was shot in
the studio mainly,

very very little location, even
a lot of the exteriors are shot

on sound stages which had this
incredible kind of glow about

it, and I just thought,
"Oh, isn't she wonderful?

Isn't she just so wonderful?"

And I desperately
wanted to be Doris Day,

and still do.

[laughter]

-Do you practice?

-Only at home with
the windows closed.

-My mother used to love those
films because of the kitchens.

[laughter]

They had such
wonderful kitchens.

-Yes, and I used to love
the wrap-around teeth,

you know.

[laughter]

-When you came
out to the cinema...

was Liverpool wet and grimy
and on austerity and in trouble,

or was it suddenly the Hollywood
of the west coast of England.

-Well, it was terribly
grimy, and very very hard.

We were a large
working class family.

But, those films
transformed your surroundings.

Suddenly, you
saw them in a new light.

Suddenly, you'd look at the
way the street was after rain,

and it just seemed so
glowing and wonderful.

♪Doris Day
performs "At Sundown"♪

-I'll get you, Mavis!

-What are you running for?

-Two lads was chasing me.

-Why?

-I was getting them.

-You be careful.

One day he'll catch you and
give you a right go along.

-You mentioned
working class families,

it was a large family I believe,
there were ten children.

-[Terence] Yes.
-And you were the youngest.

-Yes, I was.

-And your father died
when you were seven.

Your father was an
extraordinarily brutal man.

-Well, he was I think quite,
quite mentally disturbed...

when he was younger.

I mean, he just -- he'd
physically abuse people,

and particularly my mother.

But the rest were I think, um...

mentally, um...

abused.

In the sense that...

it was a kind of
terror which reigned.

I could go into the
parlor, at four or five,

and I knew whether he
was in a good mood or not,

and if he wasn't in a good mode
and you could sense it like that

what you did was, you kept your
head down and tried not to be

noticeable.

I just remember being
frightened all the time,

and then he began
to get very ill,

when I was five.

And he died at home,
he died of cancer,

and it took two
years for him to die.

So what was also awful was the
fact that he was suffering from

the stomach cancer, and in those
days they gave you morphine,

it wore off, and they wouldn't
give you another one until your

next prescribed injection and
he would be screaming like an

animal.

-[man] [screaming]

[yelling] Get out of here,
you're bleeding hurt me!

-Do you have any feelings now?

I mean, if you
met him, would you,

as it were, try
to understand him,

or would you try to
-- what would you do?

-I don't think I've reached a
level of maturity where I would

try to understand him.

I went through a period when I
was incredibly angry about what

he'd done to my mother.

'Cause my mother's full of love,
and to do that to someone I just

think is -- I
think it's vicious.

And I went through a period
where I was just so angry that,

I mean, had he been
around, I would have killed him.

Quite cheerfully choked him.

Because nobody should be allowed
to do what he did to his entire

family, 'cause we've all
been affected by that malign

influence.

-After your father's
death when you were seven,

there seems to be an instant
swing into enormous happiness

for the next four years.

Is that in fact what happened?

-It was so wonderful,
because we began to live.

I mean...

And the house was
a kind of magnet.

And in those days, it was
very swish if you were a girl to

actually have a
Yank boyfriend,

because my sister had an
American seamen called Jimmy

Francisco, I think his name
was, who had been brought up in

Boston and had gone to
school with Ruth Roman,

a film star.

And he came down the
street in a white suit.

I'll never forget that.

A white suit, in the
middle of Liverpool,

in 1954 for heaven's sake.

And brought us
peanut butter, nylons,

and Wrigley's
spearmint chewing gum,

and a percolator for coffee, but
we didn't know how to use it so

we used it for paint.

[laughter]

-Everyone gathered in the
back kitchen on Friday nights,

my sisters and their friends and
their brothers in the lean-to.

I was allowed to go
for the girls' make-up.

-Well, did you get
my stuff for me?

-Yeah, two pair of nylons,
fifteen [indistinct]...

and nail varnish.

-Majestic Red?
-Yeah.

In Paisley Leather, Picture
[indistinct] and Picture Show.

-Evening in Paris?

-He didn't have any.

-[Terence VO] Then out they'd go
through the front door in the

trail of perfume
shoulder-high behind them.

My brothers,
laughing to the pub,

giving me money and chocolate.

The sheen of
electricity over everything,

and waiting for them
to come home late.

-Leave her alone, you two.

-[Terence VO] Magic Fridays.

-[Bragg] And the gate closed
again when you went to secondary

school.

I've read that you think you
were bullied every day you were

at that school for the
next four or five years.

-I was.

I was beaten up
every single day.

I think that by that time I'd
probably lost my accent.

I thought I sounded
like everybody else.

In actual fact, I
sounded like Phyllis Calvert,

you know?

Which is pretty depressing if
you come from a working class

area.

They just picked on me,
and I was the victim,

and that was it, and
I didn't tell a soul.

-[boy] Who's a fruit, then?

-[boy] Aye, it's
Al Capone, isn't it?

Hey your name's Al
Capone isn't it?

-Al Capone.

[laughter]

-When the boys are hitting
him, they're saying "fruit,"

aren't they?

Was that part of
the, as they saw it,

the difference, and was that the
reason why they could victimize

you?

-That was one way
of getting at you.

'Cause if you're a sissy.

I mean, that was the worst
thing that you could be told.

And it could convey a
great deal of hatred,

a real hatred for what you are.

Or what they think you are not.

-[Bragg] Have you
seen these blokes since?

-Well, ironically, I was making
the second part of the trilogy,

and we were shooting
in West Derby Road in Liverpool.

And I was waiting
outside this shop,

and this bloke came
along, and I thought,

"He's one of those."
His name was McCabe.

And he stopped.

And he said,
"What are you doing?"

I said, "We're making a film."

He said, "What do you do?"

I said, "I'm directing it."

And we had this
long conversation.

And he didn't recognize me.

And I thought, "You
made my life misery.

You made my life
absolute misery,

and you can't even remember."

That's what was so-- that
was even more depressing.

Because you think, it was
done almost to pass the time.

And it's affected my
life, and you think,

"How could you have done it?

How could you have done it?"

I mean, all children are cruel.

I mean, I was by
no means a saint,

no Frank of Assisi here.

But, I mean, I didn't
do that to anybody.

-You came from a
Catholic family,

and went to a Catholic school.

This is the mid '50s when I
presume the school was still

rigorous and very Catholic.

Prayers beginning at
the end of the day,

and a lot of sin, a
lot of confession,

and so on.

Did it dominate your
inner life, that Catholicism?

-The damage, of course,
was done in primary school.

It's much more insidious.

-[Bragg] Why do
you say damage?

-Well, because what they tell
you is that you have this thing

called a soul and
it is in danger,

and it already comes
into the world stained,

by original sin, and you have
to get rid of that original sin,

and you have to
keep your soul pure,

and free from sin,
whether it's venal or mortal.

And it's impossible to live by
the tenets of "You have to be

pure in soul" --
indeed it's not possible.

Even saints can't do it.

Even though I gave
up, when I was 22,

I'm still full of do's and
don'ts and ought's and ought not

to's, because if I lie or
-- because I don't lie,

I try to be as honest as I can
-- I know that God will know,

and I don't even believe in Him!

And I know that He'll know!

It's absurd!

You never get rid of it.

Well, I'm filming here because
I worshipped here for 17 years.

This was my parish church.

I worshipped here
from the age of five.

My sort of crise de
coeur occurred here.

Over there.
[laughs]

Well, that sounds like a fun
person, but I don't want her

to know it.

-[Terence VO] Well, I suppose
it must have had a subconscious

role, because I'm
obsessed with symmetry,

and altars are very symmetrical.

The idea of the
three godheads in one.

All these things are
very very symmetrical.

Surrounded by these images
of high Catholic revival,

you're impregnated with it
from a very very early age.

It must go into your
subconscious in some way,

and at such a deep level
that you're not aware of it.

-Am I in the right place?

-[Terence VO] You can't
recreate the way it was,

you can't.

You can only
scratch at it really.

When I was here, when
I came to [indistinct]

with my mother,

I wasn't sitting in
the pew thinking, "Well,

in 30 years' time I'm going to
use a hundred mil on this shot

with my mom and I."

You can't, because you don't.

It is different.

It is different.

You can only
recreate its essence,

which is not the same
thing, but that's good,

because you recreate a
memory of something.

And that's more fascinating
because it takes on extra

meaning.

-Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.

I give you my body and blood.

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,
assist me in my last agony.

May I say, when I am
dying, Jesus have mercy,

Mary help.

In the name of the Father and of
the Son and of the Holy Ghost.

Amen.

-Had you any ambitions to
stay on at school or did these

various forms of terrorization,
internal and external just put

you off business altogether?

-But also, I
mean, in those days,

you know, you left at 15, and
the only kind of career guidance

you got, you know, you went into
the corridor and this man from

the Youth
Employment office said,

"This is your academic record,
you will go into an office,"

and I went into a
shipping office,

'cause that's what
I was told to do.

So I was there a year, and
then I got into an accountant's

practice.

I was there for a long time.

-[Bragg] For about 12 years.

-Yes.

-Did you do
anything over the weekend?

-No.

-[Terence VO] And
always, the gentle women,

gliding past in blue,
beige, or multi-colored glasses,

their hair falling and their shy
smiles above the coffee cups,

writing, typing, signing
invoices which in correspondence

racks stretched down the
entire length of one wall.

Invoices for flags.

The doors leading to the quiet
factory where they spin the

flags of every nation.

Flags to go all over the world.

To Norway, Saudi
Arabia, Egypt, Singapore,

Iraq, and the the blue
Ensign for Australia,

and the warm Polynesian
seas southeast of the equator.

35, 39, 40,

and running to seed.

-You stayed with your mother
in a council flat, that's right?

-[Terence] Yes.

-And in the films, there's a
very tender relationship between

yourself and your mother, which
I think might be hard for some

people who don't come out of
that particular culture to

understand.

Is that based on your own
experience with your mother?

-It was very very close.

I mean, sometimes we got...

Sometimes there was friction.

I mean, especially when I went
to drama school and came back,

and I began to change, and that
relationship began changing and

there was a friction
for quite some time,

which then worked itself out.

But I didn't want to leave her.

I mean, I forced myself to.

-[Terence VO] Sitting
quietly in this quiet room,

high above
corporation Liverpool,

their fingers drumming
silently in the silent flat,

and the folded bed,
and the smell of age.

Cheap cut glass,
white and orange,

along the cluttered side board.

The very milkette
faded to the touch.

And the gathering dark.

-[indistinct]

-[Terence VO] With
nothing to say.

-Oh, Mom.

-And I know, that out of that...

in your late 20s
or whatever it was,

you became a filmmaker.

Now that, for most people
in that sort of background,

is an almost inconceivable
leap which requires energy,

guile, tunnel vision,
obstinacy, whatever.

Now how did that start?

-Well, it happened
in a way by accident,

because originally I
wanted to act and write.

And I bought 'The
Stage' every Thursday,

in those days.

And I thought, the
next time I open it,

I'm going to look at the first
drama school I see and I'm going

to apply.

I had applied to others,
and I had never never got in,

because every time I came down
to London it was so depressing,

I found it so terrifying,
and going to places like RADA,

where my name was called out as
"Teresa Davis" and I had to say,

"No, look, it's
Terrence," you know,

"despite the rumors."

[laughing] That was
terribly depressing.

I mean, I did something like...

What did I do?

I did Lord
Foppington from The Relapse.

Ah, Jesus!

-And so at 10
o'clock, I say, I rise.

Now, if I find it is a good day,
I resolve to take a turn in the

park, and see the fine women,
so huddle on my clothes and get

dressed by one.

If it be nasty weather, I take
a turn in the Chocolate House,

where as you walk, madam...

-[Terence VO] In the middle
of 'The Stage' there it was,

on the bottom right hand corner,
for Coventry drama school.

It was a completely
third rate drama school,

but I got in.

-But I'm afraid
I tire the company.

-I had written the year before
I'd gone up to drama school,

'Children,' the first
part of the trilogy,

and sent it all over England,
and everyone turned it down,

so I thought, "Oh, well,
it can't be any good."

And I used to go home every
three weeks then in my first

year, and there was a thing
on BBC called "Cinema Now,"

and the very last one was
about the BFI Production Board,

and they gave money.

So off I sent my
script, and a year later,

Mamoun Hassan
asked me to go down,

and I got down
there, and he said,

"You have eight and a
half thousand pounds,

not a penny more.

You will direct."

I said, "I've never
directed before."

He said, "Now's your chance."

And I was terrified, and it
was an absolute baptism by fire,

but that's how it happened.

Oh, God, I remember
the first time I looked down the

camera lens.

I was so excited by what I saw.

And something happens between
photographing what you've looked

at, and the things
that you've left out.

Some magic happens.

And I didn't know it was.

I still don't.

That's why it's so wonderful.

And I thought, "God,
I would like to do it.

So, I'll apply to film school.
The National Film School."

♪children chanting♪

-[Terence VO] And I got in on
the second occasion and thank

goodness.

-[Nun] Robert.

♪♪♪

There's no need to
run inside the school.

-No, sister!

-There were certain films
by certain directors that I

couldn't live without.

I couldn't live without
'Cries and Whispers' by Bergman.

I couldn't live without
'Night of the Hunter' by Charles

Laughton.

I couldn't live without
'Letter from an Unknown Woman.'

All those things, 'cause I think
they're just wonderful films.

But the influence was
the American musical.

That was my greatest influence.

But the greatest thing--

-[Bragg] Can I
just stop you there?

If we showed at
this point a cilp,

technically of any
clip, from that trilogy,

and said, "The influence
was the American musical,"

a lot of people
would feel, "Well,

what is the connection?

What is the real
connection there?"

If you'd said the
influence was Bergman,

the influence was some of
the '30s French directors,

the influence was documentary.

So where it is?

-Up to that point, I'd
never seen any Kurosawa.

I had never seen any Bergman.

I'd only seen 'Letter from an
Unknown Woman' on television,

and 'Night of the
Hunter' on television.

I mean, a lot of
it was closed to me.

I mean, a lot of cinema
history was closed to me.

So, it was on instinct.

The trilogy was my
apprentice work,

I was learning my craft.

And it very much is
an apprentice work,

there's many, many,
many things wrong with it.

But those influences I can
relate straight back to the

American musical.

If you remember the opening of
'Death and Transfiguration,'

it's a funeral, and a cremation,
over which Doris Day sings 'It

All Depends on You," which is
from 'Love Me or Leave Me.'

-[Bragg] Sure.

-And trying to marry--
trying to marry music to images.

Especially if the music is in
complete contrast to what you're

looking at.

A frisson rises.

♪Doris Day performs
"It All Depends on You"♪

-Alexander Mackendrick
came, in the second year,

and he's just wonderful, and I
remember when we were cutting

'Madonna and Child' he went
to see a rough cut -- I wasn't

there this particular weekend --
and he came out of the cutting

room, and someone said,
"What have you been to see?"

and he said,
"'Madonna and Child.'"

And they said, "It's a
gay movie, isn't it?"

And he said,
"Not at the moment."

[laughter]

And I reminded him of this,
and he roared with laughter.

It's such a wonderful put-down.

Also, when I finished the
trilogy and it was first shown

in America, someone said, these
films make Ingmar Bergman look

like Jerry Lewis.

[laughter]

Which is true.

-If the trilogy
dealt, in some parts,

with your childhood and
adolescence and early manhood,

and then an imagined end,
'Distant Voices' dealt with a

time almost
before you were born,

but still with your
family -- your elder brothers,

sisters, your father, who's a
dominating personality in that

film.

What made you go
there for the subject?

-I heard stories from my
eldest sisters and brothers,

'cause they obviously needed to
talk about the way he'd behaved,

and those stories were so vivid,
'cause they were all wonderful

storytellers, I mean
really wonderful storytellers,

and they were so vivid that
they became sort of part of my

memory, I felt as though
almost I'd experienced them.

And the odd thing was that it
made me feel that my family was

incredibly unique.

I thought that they were the
most wonderful family in the

world, that they'd
endured all this,

and it was kind of so
brave and courageous,

and that my house
seemed so magical,

and we had nothing,
but they made it magic.

-What were these stories?

-Well, for instance, one
time, before I was born,

my brother Kevin
was a babe in arms,

and my father would go
into these black rages,

but he would go
very quiet beforehand.

And my mother just thought one
day -- he was going to go into

one of these rages -- and
she just couldn't take it.

So she picked up
my brother Kevin,

and she ran up the
stairs to the first bedroom,

on the first floor,
and he ran after her.

And she opened the
window and she jumped out.

And a solider was
passing and he caught them.

You know, I mean, if you put
that in a film nobody would

believe it.

-It was a very
considerable success,

in terms of gongs
and reviews and so on,

I don't know what sort of
financial success it was--

-Neither do I!

[laughs]

-It's always difficult
to get the figures back,

isn't it?

Did it sort of go to
your head, Terence?

-Well no, it came as a surprise.

I mean, it came as a surprise,
because the biggest revelation,

and it reveals more about
my psyche than anybody else,

is that when we were invited
to the Quinzaine at Cannes,

and I heard that we
had to watch the film,

and I thought, "Oh
God, I can't do that,

I can't be doing with this, and
I actually did toy with the idea

of getting a sick
note from my mother,

but I thought, no
I will be brave,

I will go."

So, only a few
people walked out,

there was quite a
lot of applause,

some bravos, and I thought,
well thank goodness that's over.

And then Pierre Deleau said,
"Will you come out into the

foyer, of the old
Croisette Cinema,"

which is alas no longer there.

"Some people would
like to see you."

So I said, "Yes,"
thinking about eight people.

Well, I go out, and it's
crowded with cheering people.

And he points to the stairs,
which has got this red carpet

down, and at first
I thought, "Oh God,

he wants me to clean it!"

[laughter]

And not a Ewbank anywhere.

And he said, "No,
you walk down it."

And so I did twice,
like the Queen Mother.

It was absolutely wonderful,
it was transcendental,

and came as a complete surprise.

-In the Hollywood
version of your story,

having a success
with this 'Voices,'

well, there you go,
that's the rocket boost,

got you out of the
clammy Earth atmosphere,

you're now away there,
and more offers come,

planets are conquered and so on.

What really happened about
putting the next film together?

-It was extremely difficult,
because of what I wanted to do,

of course, in terms of
narrative and the shots.

It would have made
it very expensive.

And really we should
have had 2.2 million pounds,

and we couldn't raise it,
we simply couldn't raise it.

The most we could
raise was 1.75.

-The problem in England is that
there's a very strong television

culture.

It's not matched by
the cinema culture.

Unlike America, it's not
regarded as an industry,

unlike Europe, it's
not a cultural entity.

If you go to France, you'll
find that films like 'Jean de

Florette' will be
number two in the sales.

There's not the discrimination
between a commercial,

and therefore successful film,
and an arthouse and therefore

unsuccessful film.

And so I think
certainly, in Europe,

if a film had done as well
as 'Distant Voices' did,

there would have been no problem
in raising the finance to the

kind of budgets that
we were looking for.

-Because we're a
literary culture,

we have never really understood
the way the nature of images

work.

And that goes right through
from the way writers write,

the way producers produce.

They will give money to people
who write scripts where people

tell them
everything, but as I said,

that's television,
it's photograph theatre,

it's not cinema.

Any real piece of cinema
tells you the story by what it

reveals, and the
juxtaposition of images,

and the ambiguities which arise
between those juxtapositions.

That's understood
everywhere but here.

If you're trying to move
in an area that does that,

that is perhaps taking
linear narrative a step further,

or jettisoning linear
narrative altogether,

for something which is
elliptical or cyclical,

it's twenty times more difficult
to get that off the ground here.

When you're being told the story
by what people say that isn't

cinema.

♪"Blow the Wind Southerly"
by Kathleen Ferrier♪

-It does seem to me to
be, consciously or not,

a differently styled
movie from 'Distant Voices.'

Could you comment on that?

-I think there's much more
choreography in the shots,

in 'The Long Day Closes.'

But it's very difficult to know
how -- if one does have a style

-- how that evolves,
because you're so close to it.

If there is a style then I think
there will be certain things

that will recur,
like I love dissolves,

but 96-frame dissolves, 'cause
they're the longest ones and I

like them, you know, so I
would very rarely use a short

dissolve, because what's lovely
about a four second dissolve is

you get an after-image of the
previous image that's actually

going out, you just
see it for a moment,

and then it goes, and I think
that's just fabulously moving,

for me, anyway.

So I would always use
that length dissolve.

I like to track.

But only when it's right.

When you track you're
making a huge visual statement,

not just getting from one
part of the set to another,

and what I like is the idea
of the denial of geography,

both emotional and physical.

And that was an idea which
actually I got from the Leonard

Bernstein 'Norton Lectures' in
the '70s -- he was talking about

it in a musical
sense -- where you hear,

say, take the Adagietto
from Mahler's fifth symphony,

which, I am not musical, so I
think it's written in the minor,

but we'll say for argument
sake it's written in the minor,

after 15 minutes, it
resolves to the major.

But your inner harmonic
knows what that resolution is,

and when it comes, you melt,
because it's what you've been

waiting for, and I think you
can do that -- physically,

you can do it in images.

♪swelling
sentimental music♪

If you're tracking, and
you travel left to right,

the feeling is that
you've gone forward in time.

If you track from right to left,
you always feel that you've gone

backwards in time,
because we don't read that way.

When a track is used properly,
to reveal something emotionally

and visually, and
geographically,

it is terribly exciting, because
you don't know where you are and

then you do.

Or, you know where you are and
then at the end of the series of

tracks you might not
know where you are,

which is even better.

Just as if you are in
long shot from someone,

when you go into closeup you
feel that there's something

different that's happening.

Now why should you feel that?

Nobody's told us that.

But that's what we
feel emotionally.

♪♪♪

-[man VO] In those days,
they had time for everything.

Time for sleigh
rides, and balls,

and assemblies, and cotillions,
and open house on New Year's.

[crowd chanting]

-[Terence] Action.
-[man] Action!

-[Terence VO] The
script is written,

I mean, so that
every track, pan,

dissolve, bit of
music, bit of dialogue,

everything, is in there.

And because the
script is so detailed,

I can say to someone, you know,
we'll only use this part of the

set, or that part of the set.

That day we only
need six extras,

but there we need fifty, and
you can husband your resources.

Background action is always
difficult 'cause you don't want

to make it too fussy.

In a wide shot you can't
just have one thing happening,

'cause, I mean, it looks bare,
and it looks under-dressed,

so you've got to have something
that looks as though it's

natural.

Cut!

But is natural enough so that it
doesn't detract from what you're

looking at.

Well, you know I'm not that
good on background action,

I've never had it before.

-[Christopher] Well,
the set here is really a

reconstruction from Terence
Davies' memory of his street

that he was brought
up in as a child.

And we've sort of psychoanalyzed
it out of him almost,

and tweaked it up.

There are no photographs
extant at all of this street,

so we've actually recreated it
from his memory almost entirely.

♪"Softly, Softly"
by Ruby Murray♪

It's not actually a film
about recreating the '50s,

so much at least as
far as I can see,

the recreation of memory.

And therefore the street is
not strictly speaking realistic.

When one is a child everything
is much crisper and livelier,

and you go back afterwards
and it's somehow flat,

so I've tried to take
that flatness out of it.

Just to lift it a little.

For instance, the reveals of
the doors and the windows,

which are normally
four inches deep,

are six inches deep, and all
sorts of curious little things

like that.

Even the bird
droppings are fake,

so there's absolutely nothing
real that you see here at all.

I rather like a
minimalist approach,

myself, I like a very empty set.

And the effect is
reasonably convincing,

I think merely because we don't
have millions and millions of

period props everywhere.

Which I do think
looks horrid, myself.

♪crowd singing "On A
Slow Boat to China"♪

[cheering]

-[man] Who's this?

"I'm Attila, Attila the Hun."

Esther Williams.

-Oh, you bastard.

Edna, tell him to behave.

-People have been strangled
for less, haven't they?

-Want a drink girl?

-In a minute, I'm
going for a twinkle.

-Say one for me.

-Oh, shut it.

-[Terence VO] The reason we shot
it in the studio is because all

those places now are
gone, in Liverpool,

they're all pulled down.

And I can't find streets that
look anything like the one I

grew up in.

So that was the reason
that we had to recreate it.

This house that we've recreated,
which is where I grew up,

it's very tiny.

And ten of us
were in this place.

It's quite extraordinary.

It's very odd to
see your own house,

and your own childhood,
being recreated in front of you.

Yes, the reason there were no
doors on any of the rooms is

because my father took them off,
to make the lean-to roof and our

parlor floor.

And when we used to dance
it used to go up and down,

you know, like a sprung floor,
that's why we had no doors.

Well the scene we did this
morning was a conflation of

several visual and
emotional memories.

I used to watch my
brothers mend their bicycles.

I could never understand
how a puncture kit worked,

it's still a
complete mystery to me.

So I remember them making
these repairs to the bike,

watching them, and then watching
them ride up the street with

their friends, and I wanted to
conflate that scene so it was

both a literal memory, and
an emotional memory as well,

because as I say, I do remember
atmosphere and emotions with

incredible accuracy, actually,
I don't think I've got a

photographic memory, but I've
got a photographic emotional

memory.

The difficulty of course is that
you've got actors who are not

your brothers, and
who are not you,

so they bring their own
different things to it,

like Leigh, today, who's
playing me as a child,

actually happened to
pick up the inner tube,

and I said, well,
keep the inner tube.

-Terence says
before we do a scene,

if you want to do
anything what's natural to you,

you just do it.

But if it doesn't feel
natural, I just don't do it.

Like, if there's
something there to play with,

or fiddle with, I just do that,
and then you just fit that in

the scene as well with me lines.

-You have to be open enough
for the actors to bring their

recreative skills to it.

But also you have to contain
the original emotional memory.

So it's six of one and half a
dozen of the other, really.

You take it slowly,
there's nothing to do,

nowhere to go, you
really want to go with him,

and don't rush it.

Don't rush it at all.

And can you drop your
voice a little more,

Leigh, because
it's still too high.

The difficulty
with Leigh is, well,

he's only 13, and his
voice hasn't broken yet,

so it can tend to
go up in pitch.

Now a high-pitched
voice, from anybody,

whether it's an
adult or a child,

is extremely monotonous, and
coupled with the speed of the

Liverpool accent, you
can't actually understand it.

So I have to say,
"Slow the speed down,

and lower the voice otherwise
we won't be able to hear you."

Again please, drop your voice.

And when you do
this, then touch that,

and then do that, and
not this, then that,

it's too much.

Just once, and then do that.

Action.

-Are you going to
Cast Iron Shore, Kev?

-No, Woolton Woods.

-[Terence] No, Woolton Woods.

With Anthony,
who's playing Kevin,

he tended to rush
part of the dialogue,

and take the
other part too slow,

so you've got to say to Leigh,
you slow down and lower the

voice, you speed up
and keep the voice low,

and then you've got to
keep them within the frame,

because it's a static frame,
the positions of their heads and

hands are crucial.

-Are you going to
Cast Iron Shore, Kev?

-No, Woolton Woods.

-Can I go with you?

-You haven't got
a bike, Bud, lad.

-Well will you bring me
some pears back then?

-Yeah.

[audience on the radio cheers]

-Can I have a bit
of your gin, Kev?

-You won't like it.

-[coughs]

Aw, it's horrible.

-Told you you wouldn't like it.

-Do you have a commercial market
in your mind when you're making

films?

-No, I mean, I had this constant
thing at film school where they

said, "Well who are
these films for?"

I said, "Well I don't know, I
don't know why people go to the

cinema."

And, I mean, it was borne out
when the Trilogy was finished

and shown at the I.C.A.

-- God bless them -- I mean,
they put it in the main cinema,

and like three people
and a cough turned up,

you know.

I don't know why people go.

I've no idea why
they go anymore.

It's not like a captive audience
as it was when I was growing up,

where, you just
went anyway, because,

you know, all there
was was the radio,

and there was the cinema.

And if you were grown up, there
was the pub and the dance hall.

-Does this mean you see
filmmaking as a much more,

what our generation thinks
of, a much more European,

more private, more
personal activity,

nearer to writing
poetry or writing a novel.

-Well my feelings
really are mixed.

I mean, I'd love
to make a musical.

I mean, I'd love to
make a romantic comedy.

I want to make a thriller.

Whether or not I'll be
able to I don't know,

but that's what I want to do.

I'd love to make a musical
with 150 girls coming down,

or preferably 150 men coming
down in tights and topless,

that would be really good, but,
that's not the way I see my own

cinema.

I mean, I hope that
doesn't sound too pretentious,

but I see it as an expression
of what I need to say.

Now that, in a way, is private.

It's much more subtle,
it's on a smaller scale,

but because it's on a smaller
scale it doesn't necessarily

have to be small.

It can be on a grand
scale emotionally,

you know, you can say important
things by concentrating on the

small.

That's what Chekhov did.

Again, I wouldn't dream of
comparing myself to Chekhov,

but that's what he did.

And I think you can do
that for ordinary people,

because I do passionately
believe in the poetry of the

ordinary.

I really, really do.

-[Parkinson] What
do you mean by that?

-Well, the fact that, you know,
the majority of us don't see car

chases every day,
or mass murderers,

or people being blown
to bits in slow motion.

We don't.

Our lives are much
more ordinary than that.

But what's important to us, if
we're from an ordinary family,

is that someone gets
married, or has a kid,

or dies, they're big things.

Someone moves house
-- it's important.

And I find that
immensely moving,

because it's small, but
we can all share that.

We all know what it's like.

-So when you look back
on these five films,

really, the Trilogy,
and 'Distant Voices,'

and 'Long Day Closes,' do
you think that's a catharsis,

or do you think
it's a reclamation?

-No, I thought it
would be a catharsis,

but it wasn't.

All it did was make me
realize my sense of loss.

And all that
suffering, and what was it for?

Nothing.

But I suppose, if
you record suffering,

then, in a way it gives
it some kind of meaning.

I don't know what
kind of meaning,

but it does.

Not to record it
seems to be even worse.

But no, it certainly
wasn't a reclamation.

It certainly wasn't a catharsis.

I suppose, if anything, it's
made me look at it and think,

"Well it happened, and
this is what I'm stuck with,

and I've got to try
and get on with it."

And I do try and
count my blessings,

I do try.

I don't always
succeed, but I do try.

♪dramatic music♪

Sunset and evening star,
And one clear call for me,

And may there be no
moaning of the bar,

When I put out to sea.

But such a tide as
moving seems asleep,

Too full for sound and foam,
when that which drew from out

the boundless deep,
turns again home.

-[sobbing]

Dad!

Oh, Dad.

♪♪♪

-[Terence VO]
Twilight and evening bell,

And after that the dark,

And may there be
no sadness of farewell,

When I embark,

For though from out our
borne of Time and Place,

The flood may bear me far, I
hope to see my Pilot face to

face, when I have
crossed the bar.

♪♪♪