Original subtitles

Fedora!

Fedora is dead.

The legendary movie star was killed last night in a suburb of Paris,

when she either jumped or fell under a train.

And so the fabulous face that lit up the screens of the world,

for over 40 years, is no more.

Who will ever forget her as Madame Bovary or Joan of Arc or Lola Montez?

The enigma of the Polish-born actress has never ceased to fascinate the public.

Her age was variously reported to be anywhere between 60 and 70,

but somehow her radiant beauty never seemed to fade.

Funeral services will be private.

Until then, her body will lie in state at her mansion in Paris,

so that her thousands of fans can say goodbye.

They'd done a good job on her,

considering the messy way her life had ended.

Well, at least she was going out in style,

what with the spotlights and the fiddlers

and the honour guard with feathers in their helmets,

and all those TV cameras, like it was some goddamn premiere.

Sitting up there in the VIP section was that weird entourage of hers,

the old countess and her son, and Miss Balfour and Dr Vando,

moist-eyed and grieving, those bastards.

But they didn't fool me for a second.

Poor Fedora.

Maybe things would have turned out differently,

maybe she would still be alive,

if I hadn't gone to Corfu looking for her.

Was it only two weeks ago?

You are producer? Motion pictures?

Remember Zorba the Greek? I was in it.

Is that so?

It was only a small part, but I was really good.

I'm sure.

- You with Paramount? 20th Century Fox? - No.

I have deluxe suite for you on the top floor.

Ah, look, I'm an independent producer.

Oh. No expense account.

In that case, a very nice single with toilet and hand shower.

- Good enough. - Number 19.

There is continental breakfast every morning. No charge.

- I don't eat breakfast. - Sorry, no refund.

- You want some air conditioning? - Please.

- You're here on holiday? - No, on business I hope.

Here's the bathroom.

There is hot water until ten in the morning, and after six in the evening.

Oh... I'll fix that.

Does your operator speak English?

Uh, she speaks Greek, German, Italian, Yugoslav...

- But no English? - Not at the moment. Can I help?

I want to call the Villa Calypso.

Must be listed under Countess Sobryanski.

Will try.

Villa calypso, Miss Balfour speaking.

What is it that you want?

My name is Detweiler.

Barry Detweiler, I have been cruising the Greek islands on my yacht,

and I thought I'd stop off in Corfu and say hello to my friend Fedora.

I'm sorry to disappoint you, Mr Getweiler...

Oh, Detweiler, with a "d".

In any case, it's quite impossible.

Oh, come on now.

Fedora and I, we go all the way back together. The old days of Hollywood.

And how often am I in this neighbourhood?

It is impossible, because Madam Fedora is not here.

Uh, to tell the truth, this isn't just a social call.

I have something very important to discuss with her.

Important for both of us.

You don't understand. She's not in Corfu.

Why don't you try her house in Paris, or possibly Marbella?

Uh, I did, but I was told that she was here staying with Countess Sobryanski.

Well, you've been misinformed.

Who is that?

Some American tourist.

You're wasting your time, sir. Please don't call here again.

Tell me about that villa. Who lives there besides the countess?

Well, there's some English woman. Secretary or companion.

Then that crazy doctor, with the gold earring.

- Dr Vando? - Yes. Comes to the bar here often.

Drinks a whole bottle of cognac.

How about that actress, Fedora? Have you seen her around?

Oh, yes. Just a couple of weeks ago.

She was in town shopping.

As you get older, you like them younger, but that Fedora... whew...

How far is the villa from here?

It is down the coast. You will need a car.

- And then you will need a boat. - A boat?

The villa, it is on a small island, all by itself.

Fortunately, I have a brother-in-law. He has a boat. He will take you.

Mr Detweiler?

All aboard.

"From the east came a faint insect noise.

"The men in the carriage strained their eyes,

"until Pavlov pointed and said, there it is.

"the insect took the shape of a helicopter.

"It circled the bridge a couple of times,

"then slanted down so that they could see the pilot,

"and observe it steering down.

"Sheila said, 'you don't want him landing too near the Ridge.

"'We've got to assert ourselves.’

"Pavlov said, 'give me the pistol.’

"He opened the window, and fired into the sky.

"The shell exploded in a bright blue flame

"which hung for a few moments like a second sun.

"You could see the depth of the ravine now.

"A sheer drop of 2,000 feet down to the bed of a dried-up river,

"whose waters had been diverted by the builders of the Trans-Siberian.

"As the sun rose higher, the snow on the plane took on a pink tinge.

"A twist of blue smoke..."

Who gave you permission to unplug my heater?

If you feel cold, why don't you go inside?

Why don't you go inside, and play your record there?

Or better still, don't play it at all! It's loud and vulgar!

I'll do anything I damn well please.

You seem to forget... this is my home!

I would be more than happy to get out of here any time.

Stop that damn, damn noise!

You bitch! You bitch!

How dare you! How dare you!

Take it easy. You know it's bad for you to get excited.

- She does it once more, I'll kill her! - No, you won't. You're going to be fine.

I'd like to see Madam Fedora.

Not here.

Oh, don't give me that. I know damn well she is. I just saw her.

Not here.

Is that the only thing you can say, "not here"?

Not here!

- Oh, Mr Detweiler? - Yes?

- I have telegram for you. - For me?

It is the one you sent to Madam Fedora yesterday.

- Came back unopened. - Son of a bitch!

There must be some way.

Doesn't anybody get into that goddamn villa?

Well, there's a maid who goes up there three times a week,

and the postman with the fan mail,

and the butcher who delivers the meat for the dogs.

No outsiders?

Uh, last year a photographer from Paris match got in.

Huh! He said he was a tree surgeon! What those dogs did to him...

Any suggestions? Any bright ideas?

Me, when I have problems, I use my worry beads. Bring me luck.

You really believe in that crap?

Well, let me put it this way:

At 100 drachmas a piece, what can you lose?

Waiter!

No, no! No!

- Tao... - I'll be with you in a minute, madam.

I don't have a minute.

- That film I ordered. Is it here yet? - Not so loud, madam.

You're lucky. It has just arrived.

Let me have it.

- You owe me 3,000 drachmas. - I will pay you next time.

- You have not paid me for last time. - You don't trust me? I'll give you this.

No. No watch. I have to pay cash, you have to pay cash.

- Give it to me! - When you can pay for it.

Madam Fedora? Hi.

- I'm Barry Detweiler. Remember me? - No.

Ill give you a hint. Hollywood 1947, Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer.

I was an assistant director.

What did you say your name was?

Barry Detweiler. They used to call me Dutch. I had a crewcut.

Oh, yes. Do you have any money?

Sure.

Dollars OK?

Anything.

Here. $100.

Don't bother.

See you next week.

- Everything all right? - Fine.

I'm glad.

- Did you say we worked together? - That's right. MGM.

That's all gone now, isn't it?

Just about. They sold the backlot, auctioned everything off.

You know that big golden bed, shaped like a gondola,

where you made love to Robert Taylor?

Went for 450 bucks.

Robert Taylor. He died, didn't he?

Back in '69.

Gable's gone, Tracy, Joan Crawford.

I guess time catches up with all of us.

Not you, Fedora. You look no different than you did 30 years ago.

Thank you.

Don't you remember, the beach, Santa Monica in my roadster?

It was all so long ago.

Yeah, Truman was president. We were telling knock-knock jokes.

- Well, goodbye, mister. - Wait a minute.

- I came from California just to see you. - Oh, really?

Yes, I'm a producer now. I've made about a dozen pictures.

One of them, Chinaman’s Chance, got three nominations.

I never see films anymore.

Well, I'm preparing a new one. A great woman's part.

- It was written just for you. - Was it?

- I sent you the script. - I never got it.

As a matter of fact, I sent you three scripts. One to Paris, one to Marbella and one here.

- They keep things from me. - Who's "they"?

They lie to me. They watch me all the time.

The people at the villa? I thought they were your friends.

I have no friends.

I must go.

I told you to wait in the car.

I just wanted to buy some magazines. Pay for them, will you?

Dear Fedora,

obviously, the years have been kinder to you than they have been to me.

That's why you didn't recognize me this afternoon.

So let me refresh your memory, if I may.

It was 1947.

We were shooting something called Leda and the Swan.

I was the second assistant.

You didn't even know I was around until we started on the big pool scene

with the handmaiden and the water lilies, and you in the nude.

Good afternoon, darling.

Had a nice lunch?

Where do you want me? What do you want me to do?

We start with you in the pool.

You're floating sensuously in the moonlight.

From off comes lute music.

This is the beginning of the seduction scene.

Now, let me see you, Fedora dear. Just lie back and relax.

I'm afraid we're going to have a little problem with the censors.

You mean the boobs?

Dutch, fix those goddamn water lilies!

Gotcha!

Hmm.

Excuse me.

You sent for me?

That young man is here.

Come in.

Everybody else, out. Out, out.

- What's your name? - Barry Detweiler.

Tell me, Mr Detweiler, are you a faggot?

A what?

A queer. A fairy.

Don't tell me you're normal.

No normal man would yawn if he saw me without my clothes.

Did I do that? I'm sorry. But I had a very rough night last night.

Doing what? Picking up sailors at the bus station?

Boy, have you got the wrong number!

Ask any of the girls on the set, or in wardrobe. Or in makeup.

- You had them all? - Not all.

- But you're very popular? - I do all right.

And you consider yourself a great lover?

Well, I get a lot of return engagements.

That's even more insulting. You found my body boring?

No, not at all. You've got a very nice body.

- I do not. - You don't?

I have a terrific body.

You've got no argument for me, lady.

Am I keeping you from something?

As a matter of fact, I have a date. I'm meeting someone across the street.

- The girl from last night? - You bet.

We've been going steady since, uh, Tuesday.

Tell me, these girls, what do you do with them?

You take them to a nightclub? You go dancing?

- Only on the first date. - And after that?

It depends, this girlfriend, since she lives in Pasadena,

I'm staying at the Hollywood Athletic Club, so,

we just grab a couple of beers and a cheeseburger,

and we go to a motel.

Or if it's a warm night, a nice spot on the beach.

What, may I ask, is a cheeseburger?

I can't forget

how to hide

breathlessly

your arms open wide

and hold me inside

you took my lips

you took my love... I

What time is our call?

- Our what? - Our call at the studio.

Let me see.

Camera, 8.15. Electricians, 7.45.

You're doing makeup at seven, ready to shoot at nine.

We'd better get going.

Good morning.

I guess no gentleman would bring up an old affair,

but then I'm no gentleman.

The way things have been going for me lately, I can't afford to be.

So I was hoping that maybe for old time's sake...

Dear Madam Fedora,

here is the script that I mentioned to you this morning.

I'll be waiting to hear from you.

Sincerely, Barry Detweiler.

Good evening, Mr Detweiler.

That maid who works up at the villa, do you know her?

Kadina? She's the cousin of our cook.

Could she sneak this in to Madam Fedora? If I gave her some money?

Please, Mr Detweiler, do you want her to lose her job?

All she has to do is leave it in Fedora's room when she's cleaning.

She never cleans there. She isn't allowed in Fedora's room.

Good evening, Dr Vando.

Good evening.

Now, let me see.

Maybe the butcher. He can wrap it up with the meat for the dogs.

Or maybe if something could go wrong with the plumbing in the villa.

Never mind.

- Dr Vando? - Yes?

- May I sit down? - You may not.

Well, I just wanted to tell you... Those guys in Stockholm,

either they're stupid, or the whole thing is fixed.

What are you talking about?

Because as far as I am concerned,

you should have gotten a Nobel Prize a long, long time ago.

Sit down.

Double scotch on the rocks.

It's a real honor.

I mean, when I think of the job that you did on Generalissimo Franco,

Coco Chanel, Paul Getty.

No names, please.

I saw Fedora yesterday.

Nobody would ever believe that she was 62.

You must be a magician. How do you do it?

It is no secret. You can read about it in any Sunday supplement.

I put them in the deep freeze for months,

I recycle their blood, and pump them full of hormones.

I use sheep embryos and baboon semen, laser surgery and tissue transplant,

a little acupressure here, a little dermabrasion there.

And of course strict mental and dietary discipline.

Yogi and yoga, so to speak.

How much of that is true?

All of it. None of it. Depends on whom you ask.

To my patients I am a genius.

To my colleagues I am a charlatan, a quack.

Sour grapes.

They brought charges against me. Questioned my credentials.

I, who studied with Voronoff and Bogomoev.

I was not going to defend myself against these libels. It was beneath my dignity.

So I said, "to hell with them," and shut down my clinic.

What a shame. A man with your knowhow.

Let those rich bitches shrivel like prunes.

I have only one patient now. Fedora.

Not a bad life.

It's a damn bore under the same roof with three women.

No liquor.

Tell me, uh, that old countess and Fedora. What goes on there?

You ask a great many questions. Why are you so interested?

Is there any woman in the world more interesting that Fedora?

They're great friends, she and the countess, through Count Sobryanski.

- Really? - They're all Polish, you know.

I'm only asking because Fedora says she has no friends.

You mustn't take that seriously.

She thinks people are lying to her, keeping things from her.

- Nonsense. - It's not true then?

Of course not.

In that case, you won't mind taking this to her.

What is this? A film script? She does not read scripts anymore.

She'll read this one.

"The Snows of Yesteryear"

sounds like the usual Hollywood trash.

Actually, it's a new version of Anna Karenina.

Anna Karenina? Ah, Tolstoy.

- A giant. - No contest.

He didn't win the Nobel Prize, either.

No doubt you'll have mutilated it.

- Not at all. It's a very faithful adaptation. - I'm glad to hear it.

- Then you'll take it to her. - No, I will not.

Dr Vando, it's for you.

Excuse me.

Yes?

What?

Say that again.

Well, where did she get it?

Goddamn it! I told you to watch her.

Try to keep her quiet until I get there.

All right, all right. I'm on my way.

- Check! - No, no. It's on me.

- Please let me. - Why?

Because I'm crazy about you, doc.

Don't let this earring fool you.

Hello? Kritos? Who is Kritos?

The caretaker from the villa.

He has come to pick you up.

This is what you have been waiting for, right?

I'm pleased that it is working out for you,

because, I must confess, the other day when you paid your bill,

I noticed that your American Express card, it is running out the first of the month.

Not that I was worried, no, because if there's one thing I know, it is people,

and if you had been a deadbeat, you would have taken the big suite, right?

Goodbye, Mr Detweiler.

As I was saying...

Hi, doc.

Wipe your feet.

Thanks for delivering the script.

Give me your hat.

Did she read it? Did she like it?

What's all that whispering?

Come in here.

Countess Sobryanski, how kind of you to invite me.

The only reason you've been asked

is because you're making such a nuisance of yourself.

We are very private here.

Now, sit down.

No, not there. That's the cat's chair.

- Nasty day, isn't it? - Wretched.

I understand they're making electrified blankets now.

I'll send you one as soon as I get back to America.

Balfour!

Would you like some hot tea?

- Please. - At least I hope it's hot.

Milk or lemon?

- Could I have it with a shot of Brandy? - We have no Brandy.

However, we do have cognac, locked up there with the telephone.

It's like trying to hide truffles from a pig.

- That's you, isn't it, countess? - Yes.

With my son Anton.

It was painted in Warsaw right after the war.

World War I?

We did not use numbers in those days.

We just referred to it as "The Great War."

Now, Mr Detweiler, about that scenario of yours.

We have read it. All 180 pages of it.

And if you want our opinion...

I certainly do.

We do not care for it.

When you say "we" does that include Fedora?

I am sure she feels the same way.

Well, if you don't mind, I'd like to discuss it with her myself.

She rests in the afternoon.

She cannot be disturbed.

- I'll wait. - You're wasting your time.

Haven't you heard? Fedora has retired from the screen.

She retired once before, but she came back bigger than ever.

41 pictures. Don't you think that's enough?

Unless, of course, something exceptional comes along.

There's nothing exceptional about Anna Karenina.

Garbo did it twice!

So what? This time we can do it right.

Wide-screen, color, no censorship. The greatest love story ever told.

A Russian soap opera!

As for that ending, a woman abandoned by her lover,

throwing herself under a train.

Preposterous!

Tolstoy preposterous?

He knew nothing about women.

Leo Nikolayevich Tolstoy?

A woman contemplating suicide, the one thing that goes through her mind

is how will she look when they find her dead!

She will take pills, she will slash her wrists,

she will drown herself, or even shoot herself,

but under no circumstances will she throw herself under a train,

because she wants to be remembered as beautiful and serene,

not mangled and disfigured.

I love that ending.

It is so touching and so inevitable.

What are you doing out of bed?

It's all right, Miss Balfour.

Come on down, my dear. We have a visitor.

You know Mr Detweiler, don't you?

Mr Detweiler?

You met him in town the other day I believe.

- Good afternoon. - Excuse my glove.

Dr Vando may be a miracle worker,

but even he cannot disguise the age of a woman's hands.

Hands are a problem. So are knees.

When do you plan to make this picture?

Any time you say.

Every studio's fighting for it. The money's all there.

We can shoot in Paris, Rome, London. You name it.

And you can have any director in the world. They're all dying to work with you.

Isn't it nice to be wanted again?

And just think how those clothes would look on me.

Sable wraps and fur hats, riding in a trike,

through the snow with Lieutenant Vronsky.

Uh, who... who did you have in mind for the part of Vronsky?

We can get Jack Nicholson, Warren Beatty, Steve McQueen.

You know Michael York?

Michael York, I've seen him on the screen.

He would be perfect. I worked with him once.

That was her last picture. The one she never finished.

Would you like to tell Mr Detweiler why I never finished it?

Oh, come now, Fedora. You know very well you're in no condition to work again.

You keep saying that! I feel perfectly all right.

No, you don't! Would you allow her to make another picture?

Definitely not.

It would not be fair to her.

It would not be fair to you.

If I'm sick, it's because I've been cooped up here for too long.

- I have to get away from this damn island! - From... from all of you!

I'll take you upstairs.

- No! - Stop that crying now!

Mr Detweiler's going to return to Hollywood.

You want him to tell people he saw Fedora making a spectacle of herself?

I'm sorry.

I hope you're convinced by now, Mr Detweiler.

You better get somebody else to play it.

It's not all that easy.

Why? You have a scenario.

Every studio is fighting for it. You've got all the money.

Countess, I'm going to level with you. I've got nothing, zilch.

It's a whole different business now. The kids with beards have taken over.

They don't need scripts. Just give 'em a hand-held camera with a zoom lens.

For two years I've sweated blood to get this project off the ground.

Now I've finally found me some tax shelter guys.

They're willing to finance it.

But only if I can deliver Fedora.

Without her there's no picture.

- That is your problem. - I still owe the writers money.

I had to go crawling to my ex-wife to borrow $2,000 to pay for this trip!

Miss Balfour, where's my wallet?

We must repay Mr Detweiler.

- Hold it. I don't expect... - Only the money that Fedora owes you.

What money? What are you talking about?

The money that Mr Detweiler gave you in the gift shop.

Kritos saw you. How much was it?

I will not have this! People spying on me! Hounding me!

I have a right to some privacy!

Stop treating me like a bad-born child!

Always the actress.

How much did you say it was?

I didn't say.

$100.

- Do we know what she did with it? - She bought some film.

Film?

That's odd.

It did seem a lot for three rolls.

What's odd is that she has no camera.

Kritos!

He will take you back to town.

I'm sorry you came all this way for nothing.

Well, as Sam Goldman said,

"in life, you have to take the bitter with the sour."

Goodbye, countess.

Don't forget that.

And don't forget what you promised about the electrified blanket.

I won't.

Fedora, let me in!

Go away! Go away! Leave me alone!

What's wrong with her, doc?

Those treatments, sometimes they have adverse side effects.

You can't cheat nature without paying the price.

Goodbye, Mr Detweiler.

No!

Pardon, sir. This belong to you?

Yeah, but I'll listen to any reasonable offer.

Come in.

Come in and lock the door.

Hello.

I brought you this.

What happened to you?

I had to row over in the dinghy.

Well, why don't you take your gloves off, and soak your hands?

No! Open it.

- What are these? - Letters to me. Love letters.

Look at them.

I don't usually read other people's mail.

Just look at the signatures. Go ahead.

Jack Barrymore.

Hemingway.

Sergei Rachmaninoff.

Pablo... I suppose this is Picasso.

There's a drawing on the back. Very suggestive.

Maurice Chevalier.

Winston Churchill.

Aga Khan.

That's quite a collection.

Well, when you have been around as long as I have...

What do you want me to do with these?

I would like to sell them. I need the money.

- I'm sorry, but you've come to the wrong guy. - No, no. I want you to sell them for me.

They auction those things off in New York, don't they?

Why would you need the money? You must be a very rich woman.

I am. I have millions in Switzerland, but I can't even write a cheque.

- Why not? - They won't let me.

What do you mean, "they won't let you"? Are they your guardians?

Don't answer that. They're looking for me.

I don't get the whole setup. Are they keeping you prisoner or something?

They steal my mail. They lock up the phone to cut me off from Michael.

- Michael? - Michael York!

Why do you put up with it? Why don't you just walk out on them?

I tried to. But they caught me at the airport, and they took my passport away.

Are you sure you're not just dramatizing all this?

Am I?

Look here.

Oh, my god.

They keep me drugged.

- Have you thought of going to the police? - No, no, no! No police!

I don't want you to go back there tonight. Let me call the manager.

Hello?

You stay here. I'll be right back.

Why didn't you tell us you were visiting Mr Detweiler?

- We were worried about you. - I'll bet you were.

The countess was very upset.

She was afraid something might have happened to you.

You might have... hurt yourself.

You've had a very trying day.

Too much excitement. You know that's bad for you.

Oh, no, you don't!

Come along, my dear.

- We're taking you home! - You're not taking her anywhere!

Would you please remind your friend that we're in a hotel?

There are people here, strangers, and we don't want any ugly scenes.

You must not forget who you are.

You are Fedora.

Yes, of course.

Goodbye, Mr Detweiler. I'm sorry to have bothered you.

- Are you sure you want to...? - Oh, I mustn't forget my letters.

I was telling him about the men in my life.

The old lady showing her medals.

What else did she tell you?

- Plenty. - Like what?

We're keeping her against her will? We're driving her out of her mind?

- We're trying to steal her money? - Something like that.

The classic symptoms. You can look them up in any textbook.

- Under what? - Paranoid delusions.

I tried to break it to you gently this afternoon,

but the plain truth is that since her breakdown,

she's been more or less psychotic.

What breakdown?

You know that picture she never finished?

That's because she fell in love with an actor half her age.

Michael York.

Oh, but it was hopeless, of course. She attempted suicide.

After that she couldn't function anymore.

It's very sad.

All we can do for her now is try to keep her out of the public eye.

Let them remember her the way she was: The Great Fedora.

Don't you agree, Mr Detweiler?

Have a good trip.

Kritos!

No, no, no!

Where is she?

No!

Fedora?

Fedora!

Anybody here?

Fedora?

Hello?

Hello!

Villa Calypso.

I have a long-distance call for Dr Vando.

- Yes. - Is this Dr Vando?

- Uh, speaking. - Hold on. Paris calling.

Hello. Vando?

Hello. Can you hear me, Vando?

Yes. Go ahead.

Count Sobryanski here. I was afraid you had already taken off.

I have arranged with the authorities at Orly to let you land away from the terminal,

so we can get her off without attracting attention.

And I'll have an ambulance there to take her to the clinic.

Very good. Now, which clinic would that be?

Your clinic at Mortcerf. Who is... who is this?

Who am I talking to?

Hello! Hello!

Answer me!

Well, as long as the bar is open,

how about the two of us having a little cognac?

What am I doing in a helicopter?

It's the air conditioning.

You want it off?

What happened to me?

My brother-in-law found you drifting in his boat. Unconscious.

Oh, yes. I went to the villa.

That's eight hours at $5 an hour. You owe him $40.

The last thing I remember, Kritos and I were going to have some cognac.

It is not a hangover. The doctor said you had one son-of-a-bitch of a concussion.

How long have I been lying here like this?

- Almost a week. - A week?

There was this guy on the phone. Long distance. What did he say?

I've been feeding you liquids. I've been shaving you.

Shut up, and let me think.

They were going to take her somewhere to a clinic.

Now, what was the name of the place?

Cerf... Cerf... something Cerf!

- Careful! You're going to fall on your face. - I'm all right.

- Dr Popos says... - Oh, screw Dr Popos!

What's your hurry? Where are you going anyway?

I've got to find Fedora.

Fedora?

You mean you don't know?

Know what?

Of course not. How could you? You've been unconscious.

- Know what? - It was in the paper this morning.

What does it say?

Fedora is dead.

- Dead? - In an accident. Near Paris.

What else does it say? Come on, come on!

Happened last night. She was run over by a train.

In the station at Mortcerf. Is that the place you were trying to remember?

Jesus.

"The body as identified by her physician, Dr Vando.

"She had no immediate family.

"Arrangements for the funeral are being made

"by her close friend, the Countess Sobryanski."

They killed her, the bastards.

They killed her.

Monsieur, mon pardon.

- Yes? - We are closing now.

We shall open again at two o'clock.

I'll hang around if you don't mind.

I'm sorry. Nobody can stay here.

I must insist that you leave.

It's all right.

It's all right, Francois.

Mr Detweiler is a friend of... sorts.

I might have known you would show up.

I almost didn't make it.

Miss Balfour, Dr Vando.

I don't believe I've had the pleasure.

Sobryanski, Anton.

Detweiler, Barry.

How do you do?

We spoke on the phone the other day. Long distance.

Did we really?

Francois... there's a lot of work to be done before we let the public in again.

Look at this floor. It's filthy.

It will be cleaned, countess.

And I noticed several people smoking.

Have they no respect?

I will put signs outside.

Next, let's replace all those candles.

Yes, countess, and I'll have those television cables removed.

No, no, CBS is flying a crew over from New York

to do a one-hour programme on Fedora.

Are the makeup men standing by? And the hairdresser?

Yes, countess.

She'll need some touching up.

Balfour, look at those gloves, soiled already.

Why do they insist on pawing her?

I have another pair.

Anton, when those musicians come back,

tell them we've had enough of that valse triste.

It's rather tacky!

Jean Sibelius tacky?

Let's have something less sombre, like Chopin or Ravel.

How many shows a day are you planning to have?

Two, three, and maybe a special one at midnight?

I'm very angry with you, Mr Detweiler.

- You made a lot of trouble for us. - Me?

You put that idea in her head, throwing herself under a train.

Come off of it, countess! It was you people who killed her!

She committed suicide.

But you drove her to it. I'm not blind. I'm not stupid.

Nobody could make Fedora do anything.

She was too strong, too disciplined.

There she is, dead.

By all rights, I should tell you nothing,

but if you're going to spread rumours like this...

Countess!

You are both blind and stupid,

because the woman in the coffin is not Fedora.

Not Fedora? What are you trying to...?

Everybody in the world knows that face.

Never mind the face. Look at the hands.

Are those the hands of a 67-year-old woman?

The gloves.

She wore them not to hide the fact that she was old.

But to hide that she was young.

This is the woman I met in Corfu?

It is.

And all the time she was impersonating Fedora?

That's right.

But why?

Where's the real Fedora? What happened to her?

This is what happened to her.

You are Fedora?

I was Fedora.

You're wondering about this face and this wheelchair?

Ask Dr Vando.

Let it be, Fedora. Why stir up those old ghosts?

For 20 years I had been making pilgrimages to the clinic of Dr Vando.

Like the afflicted go to Lourdes.

And Dr Vando never failed to perform his miracles.

Until one year, it was 1962, wasn't it, doctor?

He decided to inject some new compound under the skin.

Something that had never been tried before.

Dr Vando!

Doctor! Dr Vando!

Dr Vando?

Doctor!

Oh, thank god.

There's something terribly wrong.

She's delirious.

Scissors.

Para amor de dios.

What is it, doctor?

W-w-what is it?

Get me a mirror.

Balfour... I want a mirror.

Butcher!

Butcher! Butcher!

Butcher!

As you can see, his scars healed. Mine didn't.

Be fair, Fedora, I warned you of the danger.

Just to arrest the ageing process, that wasn't enough for you.

You wanted to reverse it.

What went wrong?

An infection set in.

I tried every imaginable treatment to correct the damage,

but... there were complications.

A cerebral episode.

He means a stroke,

and I've been in this damn chair for 15 years.

15 years.

So, all of the Fedora pictures after that...

She was the one on the screen.

More flowers. They keep arriving.

Not now. We shall place them later.

If you are curious about the resemblance...

Where did you find her?

It wasn't too difficult. You see, she is my daughter.

- Your daughter? - Our daughter, Antonia.

I'll be damned. I had no idea.

Nobody did.

Remember those days? Moral turpitude.

You could have six husbands, but you couldn't have an illegitimate child.

Now you can have six children and no husband, and who cares?

Heatter and Dweller and Walter Winchell, they never caught on?

It all happened in Europe, the summer before the war.

We met aboard the Normandy,

and spent three marvellous months on the Riviera.

We were very much in love.

We were very careless.

When I found out Fedora was pregnant, I begged her to marry me,

but she turned me down.

I wouldn't wish that on any man, to be married to a movie star,

carrying her vanity case and her spare wigs.

It's too demeaning.

Antonia was born the following spring in Switzerland,

and Fedora rushed right back to Hollywood.

I had to. The studio would have sued me.

The sets were up. They had borrowed Paul Muni from Warner Brothers.

Then there was another picture, and another,

so my mother had to bring up Antonia.

Don't make me sound like such an ogre!

There was a war going on.

- After that I came to see her every year. - Oh, that's true.

On your way to Vando's clinic, you would see her at some airport between planes.

Or when she was going to school in London,

you would have Balfour smuggle her into the hotel for a few hours.

Uh, are you in London to see anyone special?

Everybody I know is special.

No, no. This way, Antonia.

Is it true that the next film you're making...?

Tell us, did you ever consider marrying one of your leading men?

Of course. Many times.

But we could never agree who should get first billing and the wedding invitations.

Is it true that MGM has insured your legs

for £1 million with Lloyds of London?

Actually, it's £2 million. One for each leg.

Excuse me, please. Miss Sobryanski is here.

Oh... I'm sorry, ladies and gentlemen. I have to run now.

- Thank you very much for your interest. - One more question, please.

No more questions. That's enough. Goodbye.

- How is my little girl? - Mother!

I had a bit of trouble getting her out of school.

- She was confined to quarters. - Why?

Because I gave my roommate a bloody nose.

Why did you do that?

She said Vivien Leigh's the most beautiful film star in the world,

and I said you were.

Oh! You didn't tell them?

Don't worry. Nobody knows.

They think my mother is in Africa working with Dr Schweitzer.

- Africa? - Let them check up on that.

Where would you like to have dinner, darling?

- Mirabelle? - No!

- Savoy Grill? White Elephant? - Uh-uh.

Then where would you like to go?

I'd like to go to Lyons Corner House, and have fish and chips.

All right, darling. Anything you say.

Balfour, would you please call Lyons, and book a table for two?

Of course.

Connect me with the nearest Lyons, please.

I'm so glad we are not taking her with us.

She's such a bore!

You don't understand, darling.

You and Balfour are having dinner together.

I can't go out with you.

We don't have to go anywhere. We can have dinner right here in the room.

Nobody has to see us.

It's not that, darling, but a friend of mine,

you've heard of Noel Coward, he's leaving tomorrow for Jamaica,

and I haven't seen him in six months.

You haven't seen me for a year!

I brought you some presents. Open them.

All you ever give me is things! I don't want things!

Well, they don't accept reservations at Lyons, so why don't I just...?

So why don't you just take me back to school? Please!

Now, don't be difficult.

And the next time the girls ask me about my mother,

I am going to tell them the truth!

Antonia!

I am going to tell them that my mother is dead!

Antonia!

Antonia!

For the next ten years they didn't see each other again.

Antonia dropped out of school.

She drifted from job to job, and man to man.

Wound up living in a filthy garret in Amsterdam,

with some musician, or sculptor, or something.

I used to send her cheques for her birthday, for Christmas...

But she never cashed any of them.

Except one when she needed money for an abortion.

She didn't want to bring any children into the world.

When I called to tell her what had happened to her mother,

I fully expected she would say, "so what? To hell with her."

But I was wrong. After all she was a Sobryanski.

And we are aristocrats.

Good afternoon, dear. There's someone here to see you.

Mother!

Really, Antonia, do you have to look like that?

Oh, mother!

It was the one good thing that came out of that tragedy.

I got my daughter back.

Trapped as I was in that clinic, afraid to show my face to the world...

She came to see me every day.

We had so much to catch up with.

I asked Fedora to marry me again,

and again she turned me down.

The first time was too early, the second time too late.

I would not become his wife, so I became his mother instead.

And the real countess. What happened to her?

She had died the year before.

We kept it secret, because she wanted to be buried in Poland.

It took some maneuvering,

but her ashes are now resting on our old estate near Warsaw.

As for me, I buried myself in her villa in Corfu.

People then naturally assumed that the old countess was back in residence.

You saw how we lived behind those... high walls.

Completely isolated from the rest of the world.

No neighbours, no questions.

It suited us perfectly.

Except for one problem.

There were 63 mirrors in the house by actual count.

And in my condition that was 63 too many.

More and more I began to see myself in Antonia.

She had become my mirror.

Whoo!

As far as anybody knew, Fedora had decided to quit

at the height of her career.

And after a few years the studios and the agents stopped pestering me.

A cable from Hollywood.

Hollywood? Good heavens.

"The Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences is pleased to inform you

"that the board of governors has voted you a special award

"at its annual meeting." - An Oscar?

Bloody fools.

They're just trying to make it up to me.

I should have gotten it in 1935 for Madame Bovary

or in 1947 when they gave it to what's her name?

The one that played that nun with tuberculosis.

The ceremonies are April 3rd.

They want you to be there. All expenses paid.

Tell them I would be happy to accept their award.

Can we all go?

But not in person.

Make some excuse.

They can mail it to me.

Huh. It's just another knick-knack that will need dusting.

Well, that was the beginning of all our troubles.

A month passed, and I forgot about the whole thing.

This is from some furrier in New York.

They want you to pose in an ankle-length chinchilla.

It's for a series called What Becomes a Legend Most?

Villa Calypso.

I'll tell you what becomes a legend most.

Nattering on beyond your time.

Monroe and Harlow, they were the lucky ones.

Hold on, please.

It's the president of the academy. He's in Cannes at the festival.

He has your Oscar and would like to deliver it to you personally.

He wants to come here?

Well, I made the usual excuses, but you know those Hollywood people.

They don't discourage easily.

Good morning, all.

I'll tell him that you're under the weather, that it's out of the question.

Doctor's orders.

Just a minute, Balfour.

When does he want to come?

Monday.

Tell him we will be delighted to see him.

Madam, you want to face him? Like this?

After all, he is the president, and he's come 7,000 miles.

Tell him to be here Monday afternoon. Late in the afternoon.

When the light starts to go.

May I escort you to the Academy Awards?

By all means.

Madam Fedora... The gentleman from the academy is here.

Good afternoon.

Good afternoon. I'm Henry Fonda.

Of course you are.

- How nice of you to go to all this trouble. - Not at all.

Every member of the board was fighting for this assignment.

But being president, I used a little muscle.

The Grapes of Wrath. I saw that three times.

And Mister Roberts.

I'm sorry we never got the chance to work together.

So am I.

How I used to envy Fredric March, and Charles Boyer and Ronald Colman.

You'd better stop while I'm still ahead.

- This, is it? - This is it.

Why don't you let that little man out before he suffocates?

I'm afraid there's a... a speech that goes with this.

I'm game. Fire away.

On behalf of the Board of Governors

of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences,

it's with great pleasure that I present this special award to you.

The citation reads, "To Fedora, whose achievements over the past 30 years...

"have brought a new prestige and dignity

"to the art of screen acting."

Thank you.

I'm deeply honoured by this award.

For 35 years I had a speech ready.

Now she gets to make it.

Say hello to all my friends in Hollywood.

Those who are still around.

What would it take to coax you back?

They don't make women's pictures anymore.

Because they don't make women like you anymore.

Thank you.

Good bye.

Mother!

Mother!

Those photographs of her, they were printed all over the world.

Life magazine, Paris Match, Aujourd'hui Derstern. Full page.

"Fedora as beautiful as ever."

Then the offers started to pour in.

People were tired of what passes for entertainment these days.

Cinéma vérité. The naked truth: the uglier, the better.

They wanted glamour again.

And who was I to disappoint them?

So you palmed off your daughter on the public as Fedora.

That's right.

No qualms? Just like that?

Come now, Mr Detweiler. What would you give to be reborn?

To have a second chance?

You should see it out there. There must be 2,000 people waiting in line.

Really? Tomorrow we must arrange to have coffee for everybody.

And let's have more policemen.

We don't want this to turn into a circus like Valentino!

You understand, I was against this whole scheme.

Right from the beginning.

This wretched masquerade.

Well, Antonia loved the idea.

It was like we were playing a game.

Could we pull it off?

And she worked like a dog, running the old pictures at night,

until she got everything down pat.

Every movement. Every inflection.

And naturally it took a lot of other preparations.

The trick was not just to make her look more like me,

but to make her look older than she actually was.

Finally, when we thought she was ready for a trial run,

we accepted a part in an Italian film.

America loves Santa Christi. It was just a cameo.

But Fedora was back!

That was the big news.

Of course, she was never the actress her mother was.

Uh, acting... that's for the Old Vic.

But every so often a face comes along the camera falls in love with.

You're born with that.

She was even better in her second picture, Dragonfly.

Then came...

Bitter Harvest. We shot that in Spain.

Miss Balfour went everywhere with her.

Protecting her from the press...

And anybody who had known the old Fedora.

There were no problems,

until we went to London to make that film with Michael York.

She played the wife of a general,

who falls in love with her stepson.

The title, I'm afraid, was rather prophetic.

Playback!

Action!

Cut!

That wasn't very good.

We have two very expensive faces here, and I would very much like to see them.

Let's thin it out a bit in the foreground.

All right! First positions, everybody. Let's go!

I've... I've never dared tell you this before, but I have a confession to make.

Oh?

The first time I saw you on the screen was in something called Half Moon Street.

That's going back quite a while.

Remember that terrifying scene when you come down the creaking stairs,

and there's a shadow following you,

and suddenly your candle blows out,

and you're alone in the cellar with that crazed Portuguese Butler.

What about it?

Well, uh, that's when it happened.

What happened?

You must realise I was only six years old.

My governess dragged me home. I was locked in my room.

They took away my bicycle.

What did you do?

I wet my trousers.

You what?

Isn't that disgraceful?

It's the sweetest thing I've ever heard.

Men have fought duels over me.

Joined the Foreign Legion to forget me.

One admirer flew halfway around the world to see me. In a balloon.

- The airplane hadn't been invented yet. - Oh, stop it.

You make it sound like you're 100 years old.

Well...

Coffee?

Not now.

All right! Here we go again!

Quiet, please!

Turn over.

Playback!

Action!

Perfect. Print that.

End marker.

Charlie, bring the car round, please.

How old do you think Michael is?

Michael? Middle 30s, I'd say. Why?

I can't wait to see his face, when he finds out.

- Finds out what? - That I'm younger than he is.

And just how is he going to find out?

Oh, don't worry. I won't tell him until after the picture's over.

I see. You'll wait till the night of the premiere.

Then you'll step through the curtains, and announce,

"Ladies and gentlemen, I want you to meet the real Fedora.

"That star of all stars. That fabulous beauty."

Then they'll wheel out your mother.

Withered. Disfigured.

Is that the sort of thing you had in mind?

You mean it's going to go on like this?

Until the day she dies?

No. Until Fedora dies.

And you are now Fedora.

Let's go.

The next morning, when I came to wake her up, I found her unconscious.

She had taken an overdose of sleeping pills.

They called off the picture.

She never worked again.

To pump out the stomach, that is easy.

The mind, that is another thing.

For a while, though, we thought she was recovering nicely.

What we did not realize was that she had started taking drugs,

amphetamines, uppers, what you call speed.

By the time we discovered it, she was heavily addicted.

It was the last thing I would have expected from Antonia.

What in god's name did you expect?

You took away her identity. You took away her youth.

I took nothing. I gave her everything.

I made her Fedora!

But she couldn't cope with it.

You're a producer, Mr Detweiler. You know what it takes to be a star.

Of course.

Sugar and spice, and underneath that cement and stainless steel.

Precisely.

But she turned out to be a dilettante.

Too soft, too weak, too sentimental.

Anton, please.

Perhaps now you will understand what was happening in Corfu.

We were not holding Antonia prisoner. We were not exploiting her.

We were just trying to keep her away from drugs.

But she always found new sources of supply.

You know how cunning they get.

So, we flew her to Paris, took her to my old clinic,

and tried various kinds of therapy,

Thorazine, Propranolol,

but she did not respond to treatment.

She wouldn't talk to any of us.

She was writing long rambling letters to Michael York,

and bribing her nurse to mail them.

So we decided the only thing to do was...

The only thing? It was the cruelest thing you could have done!

The most unforgiveable!

There is a call for you.

For me?

- From London. - London?

Careful. Keep your voice down.

- Yes? - This is the London operator.

I have a call for you from a Mr Michael York. Go ahead, please.

Hello... this is Michael.

Michael!

Did you get my letters, Michael? You did!

I guess they must have come as quite a shock.

I know it's hard to believe, but it's all true.

What's that, Michael? I can't hear you. Speak louder.

Sorry, I can't talk any louder.

I'm calling from the set. They're shooting a scene.

Yes, you certainly did have me fooled.

I'd like to see you, too, Fedora, I mean, Antonia,

but I can't leave here.

We have another six weeks to go.

But what about the weekends? You're not shooting on Saturdays or Sundays.

You can be in Paris in an hour,

and there are trains running to Mortcerf all the time.

We have so much to talk about. Try, Michael. Please try.

I will, Antonia. We'll both try.

I'll try to be there, and you'll try to get well. Promise?

I promise. See you, Michael.

And soon. Please.

- How did it go? - Fine.

I'm glad.

I had better take this out.

Here.

Oh, that's not necessary.

At the time we thought it was the right thing to do.

How could we have known that we'd started something we could no longer control?

She's gone!

Waiting for someone?

Because if it's Michael, he's not coming.

- He is. I talked to him on the phone. - Did you?

That was the last train in from Paris. Let's go.

He promised me.

He said he would try. Maybe he'll be here next weekend.

Or when the picture is finished.

How did you know?

Were you listening in on the phone?

You bitch!

That was a very disloyal thing you did to your mother.

What you wrote in those letters.

Letters? What letters?

You know.

They were never sent? You stole them!

Maybe you don't care about your mother, but I do.

That call, that wasn't Michael on the phone. Who was it?

What difference does it make? Come along, Fedora.

I'm not Fedora! I'm not!

I'm not! I'm Antonia!

There is no Antonia!

Look at yourself.

Ask a million people. Who does that face belong to?

It's a lie!

You can't escape from it, ever.

I hate this face! I hate it! Hate it!

We're going back now.

All right, dear?

Fedora!

It was bound to happen, I suppose.

Sooner or later.

She chose this particular method, because she wanted to get back at me.

By destroying my face for a second time.

It took two teams of cosmetic specialists working in shifts around the clock

to restore her features.

What time is it?

A quarter to two.

Francois!

- Yes, countess? - We'd better get ready, don't you think?

Absolutely.

Here are the cards that came with the flowers.

Federico Fellini.

Lord Olivier of Brighton.

Dear Larry.

Jean-Paul Sartre.

Marlene. Now, there's a real fighter.

Put these with the telegrams.

Let's clear out some of those small bouquets.

It's getting rather cluttered.

Balfour, watch them.

Don't let them overdo.

Francois, would it be a lot of trouble to move this?

- Which way? - Upstage.

Let's get some of that soft afternoon light on her.

Very good, countess.

You'd better round up the guardsmen. They are probably playing cards in the kitchen.

You sure know how to throw yourself a funeral.

Endings are very important.

That's what people remember.

The last exit. The final close-up.

Even if you have to use a stand-in?

The legend must go on.

You've been around this business long enough.

You know it's all special effects, painted backdrops, glycerine tears.

Magic time.

You think I'm a vain old woman, don't you, Dutch?

Selfish, unfeeling.

Did you call me "Dutch"?

That's right.

Then you do remember?

Why do you think I invited you to the villa?

I wanted to see what you looked like.

I'm very flattered.

You should be.

Let me see... It was at the beach somewhere.

Santa Barbara.

You had an open Cadillac.

A Cadillac. Me?

It was a second-hand Ford, and it was Santa Monica.

Close enough.

Time to go upstairs. I have the elevator waiting.

Goodbye, Mr Detweiler.

Goodbye, countess.

I know you will keep all this to yourself.

For old time's sake.

Too bad, because this would have made a much better picture

than the script I brought you.

Yes...

But who would you get to play it?

Six weeks later, the woman who called herself the Countess Sobryanski

died peacefully on the island of Corfu.

The news rated one short paragraph in the local paper.

The electric blanket I had sent her came back undelivered.