Billy Wilder: ‘Nobody Can Portray What the Audience Can Imagine’

Billy Wilder

'If there's anything I hate more than not being taken seriously, it's being taken too seriously.'
Billy Wilder

I recently watched a couple of extended interviews with the legendary film-maker Billy Wilder. (‘Billy, How Did You Do It?’ (1992), Volker Schlondorff; ‘The Writer Speaks: Billy Wilder’ (1995), The Writers Guild Foundation)

'I have ten commandments. The first nine are, thou shalt not bore. The tenth is, thou shalt have right of final cut.'

Born into a Jewish family in a small town in Poland in 1906, Wilder was raised in Vienna and found work as a journalist and screenwriter in Berlin. After the Nazis’ rise to power, he moved briefly to Paris, before relocating to Hollywood in 1934. His mother, grandmother and stepfather were all victims of the Holocaust. 

‘Anyone who doesn't believe in miracles isn't a realist.’

Having learned English from scratch, Wilder co-wrote ‘Ninotchka’ (1939), the film where Garbo laughed, and ‘Ball of Fire’(1941), one of the great screwball comedies. He then took to directing, so that he could better control his vision.

‘People ask me if directors should also be able to write. I say to them: ‘What is important is that he is able to read.’’

Wilder went on to co-write and direct ‘Double Indemnity’ (1944), the prototype film noir; ‘The Lost Weekend’ (1945), the first movie to take alcoholism seriously; and ‘Sunset Boulevard’(1950), the definitive Hollywood expose. He filmed ‘Stalag 17’ (1953), the archetypal prisoner-of-war movie, and ‘Witness for the Prosecution’ (1957), the classic courtroom drama. He shone a spotlight on the cynicism of the press in ‘Ace in the Hole’ (1951). And he made us laugh like drains with ‘Some Like It Hot’ (1959) and ‘The Apartment’ (1960). Over six decades he created more than fifty films and won seven Academy Awards.

'An audience is never wrong. An individual member of it may be an imbecile, but a thousand imbeciles together in the dark - that is critical genius.’

In the interviews the elderly film-maker, still with an Austrian accent, looks back on his extraordinary career with authority, insight and a twinkle in his eye. Let us consider some of the lessons he imparts.

'Shoot a few scenes out of focus. I want to win the foreign film award.’

Wilder on the set of Double Indemnity (1944)

 1. Don’t Bore People

Wilder was at heart a popular entertainer. He wasn’t interested in arthouse credibility.

'Some pictures play wonderfully to a room of eight people. I don't go for that. I go for the masses. I go for the end effect.’

For Wilder the greatest crime was to be tedious.

'The Wilder message is don't bore - don't bore people.’

2. Start with the Architecture

Wilder’s films crossed many genres. They were characterised by tightly woven, intricate plots and dramatic reversals; by sharp dialogue and simple, elegant direction.  

‘Writing a movie is a mixture of architecture and poetry.’

Every twist and turn in the plot is carefully choreographed. Every scene is engineered like a Swiss timepiece.

‘The film has to be very precisely constructed, but the construction must not show.’

In ‘Double Indemnity’ (1944) a perfectly planned crime is undone by a car that fails to start. Expecting a rendezvous with his lover, the murderer is surprised by a visit from his boss. Counter to convention, a door opens onto a corridor, just so as to give Barbara Stanwyck somewhere to hide.
 
‘We have to find the mechanics and then write the scenes hiding the mechanics.’

Wilder was prepared to sacrifice great material if it didn’t serve the overall narrative. ‘Sunset Boulevard’(1950) was originally shot with an opening scene in the city morgue. In previews the audience burst out laughing when an identity tag was attached to a dead William Holden’s toe. Though Wilder loved the sequence, he cut it because it was setting the wrong mood.

3. Create Great Moments that Shake the House

Wilder was always thinking about audience attention.

‘Once you have the audience captured – once they are playing that game with the people on the screen – this is like you’ve got them by the throat, you can’t let it go. You squeeze a little more and more and more. Don’t let them escape. Don’t wake them up. Don’t let them realise this is only a movie that they’re seeing.’

And so he peppered his films with climactic moments. 

‘The strength of a film comes from those great moments that shake the house.’

As illustration of these mini-climaxes, he cites the rotten meat scene in Eisenstein’s ‘Battleship Potemkin’ (1925); the hitchhiker sequence in Capra’s ‘It Happened One Night’ (1934); the four-fingers reveal in Hitchcock’s ’The 39 Steps’ (1935).

'An actor entering through the door, you've got nothing. But if he enters through the window, you've got a situation.'

Wilder on the set of The Apartment (1960) with Shirley MacLaine and Jack Lemmon

4. Laughter Snowballs

Wilder was particularly attuned to the rhythm required for comedy.

‘In order to get laughs, you first have to create an atmosphere…One sporadic laugh and then nothing for 5 minutes is worse than no laughter at all. [Laughter] snowballs.’

For the final scene between Tony Curtis and Jack Lemmon in ‘Some Like It Hot’ (1959), Wilder gave Lemmon a pair of maracas and got him to shake them after each gag. He did this to create space for audience laughter before Curtis delivered his next straight line.

The movie ends with Lemmon revealing his secret to his wealthy suitor.

Jerry: But you don't understand, Osgood! [pulls off his wig]… I'm a man!
Osgood: [shrugs] Well, nobody's perfect!

5. The Public Has to Add It Up

Wilder's first significant success in Hollywood came when he collaborated with Ernst Lubitsch on ‘Ninotchka’ (1939). The great German director taught him to let the audience work some things out for themselves.

‘Lubitsch was not afraid that people won’t understand him. Unlike people that say 2 + 2 makes 4, 1 + 3 also makes 4, 1+1+1+1 also makes 4. But Lubitsch says 2+2…That’s it. The public has to add it up.’

And so Wilder relates his stories with subtlety and a light touch. He advises, for instance, never to show a character having an idea.

'It’s too difficult to act and it’s very difficult to believe.’

Similarly, the murder in ‘Double Indemnity’ (1944) is not shown on screen. Rather, it is conveyed by a slight move of Barbara Stanwyck’s head as she drives the car in which it takes place.

'Emotions that are of startling strength, or vehement reactions, are best shot and acted by an actor with the back to the camera. Nobody can portray what the audience can imagine.’

Wilder on set

6. The Best Director Is the One You Don’t See

Wilder was first and foremost a writer, and his filmic style always served the script. 

'How do you make sure they understand what you want to tell them? How do you direct their eyes to that thing? How do you make them remember? The subtler you are, the more elegantly you do it, the better a director you are.’

His complex narratives required simple direction.

‘There are only two kinds of film for the public. The simple story padded out, furnished in rococo. The simple plot allows visual embellishment. Then the complex story filmed simply, in order to make it comprehensible. But if it’s complicated and you also make arabesques, then the audience won’t understand.’

Wilder was no fan of technical tricks and imaginative camera angles.

‘I shot fast with as few camera positions as possible. Good positions, interesting positions. But nothing…tricky. If they notice the camera you’re lost…The best director is the one you don't see… Shoot the son-of-a-bitch and let’s go home’

7. It’s Much Easier to Say ‘Do Less’ than ‘Do Something’

Wilder had a particular talent for getting great performances from his actors. Fourteen of the stars he directed were Oscar-nominated, including Barbara Stanwyck, Audrey Hepburn and Charles Laughton; Jack Lemmon, Shirley MacLaine and Walter Matthau. 

‘A director must be a policeman, a midwife, a psychoanalyst, a sycophant and a bastard.’

He often cast against type, enlisting tough guy James Cagney for a comedy role, and Disney hero William Holden to play a villain. He worked with Marilyn Monroe on two of her best pictures.

'An endless puzzle without any solution.’
 
In ‘Sunset Boulevard’ (1950) Wilder cast Gloria Swanson as a silent era film idol desperate for a return to the spotlight. Swanson, a silent star herself, had virtually given up cinema, and some warned him that her traditional acting style was too expressive. But that’s what Wilder wanted from the role.
 
‘It’s much easier to say ‘do less’ than ‘do something.’’

8. Keep Some Ideas in the Bottom Drawer 

Watching David Lean’s romance ‘Brief Encounter’ (1945), in which a couple conduct a tryst in a friend’s flat, Wilder was prompted to ponder:

‘What about the man who has to crawl back into his warm bed?’

He wrote a 5-page outline and popped it in a drawer filled with assorted first acts, characters and scenes.

Some years later Wilder was so enjoying working with Jack Lemmon on ‘Some Like It Hot’ (1959) that he determined he had to collaborate with him again. But on what? He went to his bottom drawer and pulled out the 5-page outline that would eventually become ‘The Apartment’ (1960).

Wilder with IAL Diamond

9. Approach Creative Collaboration Like Bank Tellers

Wilder’s writing career was marked by two significant partnerships: with Charles Brackett from 1936 to 1950; and with IAL Diamond from 1957 to 1981. 

Here Wilder describes his working routine with Diamond.

‘When you think of two guys writing a screenplay, what comes to mind? You visualise two crazies screaming at each other, or dancing on the furniture when they have come up with what they think is a doozy. Iz and I, we’re more like bank tellers. We open the shop at 9-30. There was a quick exchange of ‘morning’, ‘morning.’ I would sit behind my desk and he would slouch in the black Eames chair, his feet on the ottoman. He would be chewing gum or sucking on a toothpick - anything not to smoke too much. Sometimes the muses would come and whip our brow and we would whip up 10 or 12 pages a day, his on the typewriter and me with the yellow pad. There was no arm twisting, no pulling rank, no shouting, no screams of ecstasy because one came up with an idea that was maybe not too bad. The highest accolade you could get out of Iz was: ‘Why not?’’

10. Don’t Delude Yourself

Wilder was happy to acknowledge that even a talented film-maker gets it wrong sometimes. The key is to make an honest mistake, and to follow it with a hit.

‘Having been at it for a long time, I don’t delude myself. Usually when a picture doesn’t work, you go round and you say it was ahead of its time, the release was too close to Christmas, the release of the picture was too close after Christmas because people had spent their money on presents. The picture was a failure because there was so much sun and people wanted to go to the beach. And then it was a failure because it rained and nobody’s on the streets. All kind of excuses…’
 
Wilder gained his final Academy Award nomination for the screenplay of 'The Fortune Cookie' (1966), the first film pairing Jack Lemmon with Walter Matthau. But as the ‘60s turned into the ‘70s, he felt increasingly uncomfortable with the fashion for technical wizardry and special effects; with the spiralling cost of film production and the consequential conservatism. Most of his movies were made on budgets of between $800 and 900k.

'Most of the pictures they make nowadays are loaded down with special effects. I couldn't do that. I quit smoking because I couldn't reload my Zippo… They don't want to see a picture unless Peter Fonda is running over a dozen people, or unless Clint Eastwood has got a machine gun bigger than 140 penises. It gets bigger all the time, you know. It started out as a pistol, and now it's a machine gun. Something which is warm and funny and gentle and urbane and civilized hasn't got a chance today. There is a lack of patience which is sweeping the nation - or the world, for that matter.’

Wilder’s later films failed to impress critics or the public. In 1976 he remarked:

'They say Wilder is out of touch with his times. Frankly, I regard it as a compliment. Who the hell wants to be in touch with these times?’

He died aged 95 in 2002, leaving a legacy of some of the most entertaining films in Hollywood history. His gravestone reads:

‘I’m a writer. But then nobody’s perfect.’

'Isn't it romantic?
Music in the night, a dream that can be heard.
Isn't it romantic?
Moving shadows write the oldest magic word.
I hear the breezes playing in the trees above,
While all the world is saying you were meant for love.
Isn't it romantic?
Merely to be young on such a night as this?
Isn't it romantic?
Every note that's sung is like a lover's kiss.
Sweet symbols in the moonlight.
Do you mean that I will fall in love perchance?
Isn't it romance?
Sweet symbols in the moonlight.
Do you mean that I will fall in love perchance?
Isn't it romantic?
Isn't it romance?’

Mel Torme, 'Isn’t it Romantic?' (R Rodgers, L Hart)

No. 477

Film Noir: Lessons from Beyond the Shadows

Still from ‘The Big Combo’

'Yes, I killed him. I killed him for money - and a woman. And I didn’t get the money and I didn’t get the woman. Pretty, isn’t it?’
'Double Indemnity’

I recently watched an entertaining documentary series about the history of Film Noir. (‘Film Noir’, Sky Arts)

Film Noir is a term used to describe a broad category of crime thrillers from the 1940s, ‘50s and beyond. Noir is characterised by strange angles, harsh light and dark shadows; by victims of circumstance, flawed heroes and seductive femmes fatales; by innovative storytelling, psychological insight and a pessimistic view of society.

‘That’s not the way to win.’
‘Is there a way to win?’
‘There’s a way to lose more slowly.’
'Out of the Past'

Let us consider what Noir could teach us today – lessons from beyond the shadows.

1. Question Society and Your Role within It

The term Film Noir was coined by French film critic Nino Frank in 1946 and became popular amongst European intellectuals in the 1950s. It was only used in the United States after the late 1960s.

Noir had its origins in German Expressionist cinema. With society reeling from the defeat and destruction of the First World War, filmmakers expressed uncertainty about hierarchies and tradition; about the impact of industrialisation and technological progress. Prompted by Freud, they were concerned with identity and the subconscious; with what lay beneath the surface.

Films like ‘The Cabinet of Dr Caligari’ (1920), ‘Nosferatu’ (1922), ‘Dr Mabuse the Gambler’ (1922) and ‘M’ (1931) presented a warped world of doubts and dreams; an unstable cityscape haunted by deranged hypnotists and masters of disguise; a culture where ordinary people could be killers.

'You know, this’ll be the first time I’ve ever killed anyone I knew so little and liked so well.’
'Murder, My Sweet’

2. Criminals Can Be Fascinating

The rise of Nazism in 1930s Germany prompted many Jewish and liberal filmmakers to flee the country. A vibrant emigree community of directors, screenwriters and cinematographers formed in Hollywood. Their ranks included many who would go on to play a significant role in Film Noir: Otto Preminger, Max Ophuls, Douglas Sirk, Billy Wilder, Robert Siodmak, Fritz Lang and more besides.

The innovations of German cinema in the 1920s were taken up by the Universal horror movies of the 1930s. Films like ‘Dracula’ (1931), ‘Frankenstein’ (1931) and ‘The Mummy’ (1932) came drenched in shadows as they explored myths, nightmares and the nature of evil. 

In the wake of Prohibition and the Depression, the United States had seen the rise of crime, corruption and the Mob. A cynical view of an unhinged society was played out in the hardboiled fiction of Raymond Chandler, James M Cain and Dashiell Hammett; and evidenced in sensationalist newspaper stories and graphic street photography.

'I’ve been rich and I’ve been poor. Believe me, rich is better.’
'The Big Heat'

Warner Brothers’ classic gangster films of this period - like ‘Little Caesar’ (1931), ‘Public Enemy’ (1931) and ‘Scarface’ (1932) - acknowledged that criminals were often ordinary people struggling to survive in extraordinary times; that despite their evil deeds, they could be fascinating.

‘After all, crime is only a left-handed form of human endeavour.’ 
'The Asphalt Jungle' 

Still from ‘Out of the Past’

3. Heroes Can Be Flawed

Film Noir was born with America’s entry into the Second World War and was nourished by the alienation and anxiety of the era.

Noir movies were populated by veterans, cops and crooks; by hapless grifters, gormless heavies and wrongly accused innocents. There were hard-bitten detectives like Philip Marlowe and Sam Spade – cynical, world-weary loners who drank and smoked, and were sustained by a sense of duty and a residue of idealism. There was Robert Mitchum in his battered trench coat - at once both menacing and vulnerable. And Humphrey Bogart in double-breasted suit and fedora - tough and stubborn, with an insolent charm.

‘You know what he’ll do when he comes back? Beat my teeth out, then kick me for mumbling.’ 
'The Big Sleep' 

These men were under pressure from without and within. How would they deal with the troubles that fate threw at them? Could they pull through?

4. Glamour Can Be Dangerous

In addressing their trials, the male protagonists often encountered femmes fatales - siren creatures that were both alluring and manipulative; glamorous and dangerous.

‘She can’t be all bad. No one is.’ 
‘Well, she comes the closest.’ 
'Out of the Past'  

Any man that fell for the charms of a femme fatale was in trouble. Relationships were cursed, doomed to failure.

‘I was born when she kissed me. I died when she left me. I lived a few weeks while she loved me.’ 
'In a Lonely Place' 

Of course, the femme fatale archetype was very much an expression of masculine anxiety. Some say veterans returning from the war had forgotten how to engage with women. 

‘I was warned.’
‘You mean you’re afraid… of me?’
‘The Woman in the Window’

It’s important to observe that, played by the likes of Joan Bennett, Barbara Stanwyck, Jane Greer and Veronica Lake, the women in Film Noir were smart, resilient and independent. They were navigating the same mean streets as the male characters. They had to do what they had to do.

'What I like about you is you’re rock bottom. I wouldn’t expect you to understand this, but it’s a great comfort for a girl to know she could not possibly sink any lower.'
'The Big Steal’

Still from from ‘The Lady from Shanghai’

5. Shadows and Light Create Tension and Fear

The action was played out on rain-sodden streets and in dark deserted alleyways; in shabby bars, seedy nightclubs and opulent apartments. 

'Kiss me, Mike. I want you to kiss me. The liar’s kiss that says I love you and means something else.’
'Kiss Me Deadly’

The artificial light of neon signs and streetlamps was harsh. Everywhere, inside and out, there were long shadows: at the deserted doorway, in the dingy stairwell, across the empty parking lot; shadows cast by mysterious figures and menacing hoods, by banisters and venetian blinds; shadows that fell across troubled faces. 

'Come on, read my future for me.'
'You haven't got any.'
'What do you mean?'
'Your future is all used up.’
’Touch of Evil’

These shadows prompted foreboding and fear. And the atmosphere of paranoia was often enhanced by low, wide or tilted camera angles; by frequent recourse to mirrored reflections and close-ups on the characters’ apprehensive expressions.

'When your head says one thing and your whole life says another, your head always loses.’
'Key Largo'

Still from ‘Touch of Evil’

6. Style Trumps Story

Film Noir plots were often labyrinthine. (Try explaining ‘The Maltese Falcon’, ‘The Big Sleep’ or ‘DOA.’) There were coincidences, red herrings and MacGuffins aplenty. Characters came and went. They were deceived and double-crossed. Events spiralled out of control.

'We didn’t exactly believe your story, Miss O’Shaughnessy. We believed your two hundred dollars. I mean, you paid us more than if you’d been telling us the truth, and enough more to make it all right.’
'The Maltese Falcon'

Ultimately style trumped story. The perilous settings, confused narratives, woozy angles and stark lighting conspired to express the psychological disorder at the heart of the film.

'You're never around when I need you.'
'You never need me when I'm around.’
'Kiss Me Deadly’

7. Restrictions Liberate

Often Film Noirs were B-Movies, created on low budgets by small studios. But imaginative directors demonstrated that restrictions could be liberating.

Edgar G Ulmer had to make ‘Detour’ (1945) in 6 days with $117k. He was allocated just 15 thousand feet of film and required to shoot within a 15-mile radius of the studio. Despite all this, he managed to create a compelling tale of a doomed hitchhiker’s encounters with death and deception. 

'That’s life. Whichever way you turn, fate sticks out a foot to trip you.’
‘Detour’

For ‘Side Street’ (1950) Anthony Mann employed the lighter cameras that had emerged during the Second World War to shoot on location in New York. The film moved freely through the streets, cut to dramatic overhead shots and culminated in one of the first modern car chases.

'Take that fifteen grand out of your pants or get out! I got a dinner date.'
‘Side Street’

‘Narrow Margin’ (1952) was shot in 13 days, and most of the action took place in a railway carriage. To save money, the train sets were rigidly fixed to the floor and a hand-held camera was moved to simulate motion. It became RKO's biggest picture that year.

'This train's headed straight for the cemetery. But there's another one coming along, a gravy train. Let's get on it.'
‘Narrow Margin’

8. Find a Different Way to Reveal Your Narrative

Noir cinema was always looking at new ways of telling a story. It often employed first-person voiceover, flashbacks, fragmented narratives and multiple viewpoints. These techniques created an uncertain, dreamlike quality. Nothing was quite as it seemed.

‘Doesn’t it bother you at all that you’re married?’
‘What I want to know is, does it bother you?’
‘Gilda'

‘Laura’ (1944) featured a detective who falls in love with the victim of the murder he is investigating. ‘Sunset Boulevard’ (1950) began with the narrator lying face down dead in a swimming pool. ‘DOA’ (1950) commenced with a man reporting his own homicide to the cops. He has been poisoned and wants to track down his killer before the toxin takes effect. He will be ‘dead on arrival.’

'I want to report a murder.'
'Sit down. Where was this murder committed?'
'San Francisco, last night.'
'Who was murdered?'
'I was.'
‘DOA’

Film Noir fell out of favour in the 1960s. The genre lost out to a combination of television, Technicolor, affluence and youth culture. But its influence lived on. And you can detect the spirit of Noir in the shadows and cynicism of ‘Chinatown’(1974), ‘Blade Runner’(1982), ‘The Last Seduction’(1994) and ‘LA Confidential’(1997).

'A woman doesn't care how a guy makes a living, just how he makes love.’
’The Big Combo'

Communication professionals could still learn a great deal from Film Noir: about the power of mood and lighting; about the nuanced depiction of heroes and glamour; about liberating constraints and inventive storytelling; and about great writing.

'Maybe I’ll live so long that I’ll forget her. Maybe I’ll die trying.’
'The Lady from Shanghai'

'The shadows on the wall look like a railroad track.
I wonder if he's ever coming back.
The moon's a yellow stain across the sky.
Oh baby, this one's from the heart.
Maybe I'll go down to the corner and get a racing form.
But I should probably wait here by the phone.
And the brakes need adjustment on the convertible.
Oh baby, this one's from the heart.’

Crystal Gayle and Tom Waits, ’This One’s From the Heart’ (T Waits)

No. 406

‘Sunset Boulevard’: Beware the Corrosive Effects of Cynicism, Delusion and Deceit

'You're Norma Desmond. You used to be in silent pictures. You used to be big.'
'I am big. It's the pictures that got small.’

‘Sunset Boulevard,’ Billy Wilder’s classic 1950 movie, holds a mirror up to Hollywood – its cruelty, greed and narcissism. It raises questions about the human cost of the creative industries’ relentless drive for progress and profit.

The film stars William Holden as Joe Gillis, a struggling screenwriter who has been worn down by one too many disappointments.

'Audiences don't know somebody sits down and writes a picture. They think the actors make it up as they go along.’

Gillis is cynical and bitter, short of money and considering packing it all in.

'I'd always heard you had some talent.'
'That was last year. This year I'm trying to earn a living.’

While endeavouring to evade his creditors, Gillis stumbles into the mansion of Norma Desmond, a former silent-film star, now long forgotten. The house is all faded grandeur: heavy ornate furnishings, a bed ‘like a gilded rowboat’, an unused tennis court and pool, an organ that whistles in the wind. Everywhere there are portraits of the star in her dazzling youth.

'The whole place seemed to have been stricken with a kind of creeping paralysis... out of beat with the rest of the world... crumbling apart in slow motion.’

Desmond is a sad, delusional figure. She refuses to accept that the arrival of cinematic sound represented an advance; and that her career is long since over.

'There once was a time in this business when I had the eyes of the whole world! But that wasn't good enough for them, oh no! They had to have the ears of the whole world too. So they opened their big mouths and out came talk. Talk! Talk!’

Desmond’s stiff, taciturn butler Max maintains that she is still a legend beloved by the public. And he forges her fan mail to sustain the deceit.

'You don't yell at a sleepwalker. He may fall and break his neck.’

Learning that Gillis is a writer, Desmond hires him to edit a script she has drafted for her planned return to the screen. Though Gillis thinks the work is execrable, he is happy to take the money. 

'What it needs is maybe a little more dialogue.'
'What for? I can say anything I want with my eyes.’

Gillis moves into the mansion, and, accepting clothes and gifts from the besotted actress, he gradually becomes her paid companion. At night they watch old movies together on her private screen – all of them starring the youthful Norma Desmond.

We realise the melancholy runs deep. Desmond has tried to commit suicide on a number of occasions, and so the locks in the house have been removed. Max is in fact Desmond’s former director and first husband, and he remains pathetically devoted to her. 

Ultimately Gillis’ cynicism, Desmond’s denial and Max’s deceit hold the three central characters in a vortex of self-destruction - one from which they cannot escape.

'No one ever leaves a star.'

Director Wilder introduces further resonances through his casting. He gives the role of Desmond to Gloria Swanson who was herself a major silent star in the ‘20s. Max is played by Erich von Stroheim - a famously fastidious director in the silent era, who shot Swanson a number of times. Indeed in 1929 von Stroheim was fired by Swanson from one of her productions, an incident that ended his directing career. And the ‘waxworks’ that visit Desmond’s house to play bridge in the evenings are genuine silent film actors, including the illustrious comedian Buster Keaton.

'We didn't need dialogue. We had faces.'

‘Sunset Boulevard’ is a story of lives blighted by ambition, success and failure; of the relentless drive of progress; of an industry that devours talent, spits it out and moves on. The film has some lessons for anyone working in a creative business. 

'There's nothing tragic about being 50, not unless you try to be 25.' 

Beware the corrosive effects of cynicism - the misanthropy that deprives Gillis of his intuition and flair. With every new setback the bitterness increases, and the chances of making it next time diminish.

Beware denial of change; yearning for past success and former glory. Where Desmond rages against sound, today’s former heroes resent the advances of performance marketing, data analytics, behavioural science and in-housing.

‘Poor devil - still waving proudly to a parade which had long since passed her by.’

And finally, beware the petty deceptions: the everyday falsehoods that sustain the illusion that everything is fine, when it patently isn’t. Don’t, like Max, confirm the biases and prejudices that are holding back advancement. Don’t bury your head in the sand.  

‘Sunset Boulevard’ ends where it began – with tragedy. Desmond descends her grand staircase. She pauses, and then steps towards the cameras, addressing the attendant press and the audience beyond.

'You see, this is my life. It always will be. Nothing else! Just us, and the cameras, and those wonderful people out there in the dark... All right, Mr. DeMille, I'm ready for my close-up.’

'Are we really happy here
With this lonely game we play?
Looking for words to say.
Searching, but not finding understanding anywhere.
We're lost in a masquerade.’

The Carpenters, ‘This Masquerade’ (L Russell)

No. 402