sessions because they don’t like doing voices live. That’s when the music usually gets written, to fit the cuts. But Pacini’s different. He’s like Leone: he likes to get the music written upfront & recorded so he can play it while they’re shooting to establish the mood of each scene for the actors. I think it’s a brilliant approach & I wish Vasily had done that with Vauli M. & made an even better film.
Now I’ve got a script to work from & Pacini has sent all sorts of computer gear to help me record it as soon as I write it & send it off to him for his reaction. I told him I couldn’t understand the equipment so he’s promised to send me a tame geek or nerd to teach me. I can’t remember if I’ve already told you that Gerry, my dudi neighbour, has unwittingly provided me with one of the film’s defining sounds? He compulsively – & repulsively – sings as he works – sort of pastichey, bogus, all-purpose sub-Rossini ramblings with a characteristic yodelling effect that is absolutely perfect for my score. Pretentious, vapid & amateurishly earnest. Piero said it was a brilliant inspiration. Unfortunately I couldn’t tell him I’d stolen it from the Englishman next door: I want to keep Gerry very much at arm’s length & certainly well away from Pacini. I just know he’s one of those showbiz groupies who, once he gets wind of what I’m working on, will never leave me alone for a minute. Just let him learn that Piero Pacini has dropped by & he’ll be over here every other hour trying to borrow a cup of Fernet Branca (his preferred tipple) or else bringing me some inedible example of British cuisine. Story follows, incidentally, after I’ve had a shower & a break.
But to round off, the Pacinis stayed late & were excellent com pany. As I said, Filippo may be a bit figlio di papà but he’s growing on me. He’s certainly a very handsome creature even if the dash he cuts in that ludicrous car is over the top. He really does look like a celebrated film director’s spoiled brat, but there’s more to him than that, I think. He has nice manners & pretty ears. He & Dad roared off together in the small hours leaving a strange silence behind them in the house, although less so out side. Long after they’d gone I could hear that burping snarly noise Filippo likes to make on the corners dying away further & further below. I bet they woke everyone in Casoli as they passed through.
Later
I now smell of rosemary, having used that shower gel you gave me. It made me all nostalgic. I really do miss you & am determined you shall come here as soon as possible.
Apart from anything else you would get a big laugh from Gerry, who nearly came to grief terminally the other day. It was lucky for him I happened to catch sight of him in ‘off to work’ mode, yodelling away in the campest outfit you ever saw: yellow con struction worker’s hat, thick leather toolbelt holding up his shorts & toting a crowbar he could barely lift. He could have strolled unnoticed onto the set of any gay porno movie. I happened to know he also had most of a bottle of Fernet Branca inside him. So there he is in the distance warbling & striding off to work like Disney’s eighth dwarf – call him Doody, what else? – & he disappears around the corner of his house. Stage wait. Then a wail like Callas being goosed followed by a distant crash. Well, you know me: we’re none of us exactly neighbourly by instinct but I can’t resist a laugh, so I grabbed a bottle of medicinal brandy & hurried over. At first I couldn’t see anyone but then I made out his yellow hat. He was lying right down below on an overgrown terrace in a heap of mouldy planking. He looked quite dead, actually, & I wasn’t too keen to go down, but then I saw him twitching so felt obliged. When I got there he had his hat over his face & seemed to be knocked out but when I removed the hat he came to. I knew he’d be all right then because the
Now I’ve got a script to work from & Pacini has sent all sorts of computer gear to help me record it as soon as I write it & send it off to him for his reaction. I told him I couldn’t understand the equipment so he’s promised to send me a tame geek or nerd to teach me. I can’t remember if I’ve already told you that Gerry, my dudi neighbour, has unwittingly provided me with one of the film’s defining sounds? He compulsively – & repulsively – sings as he works – sort of pastichey, bogus, all-purpose sub-Rossini ramblings with a characteristic yodelling effect that is absolutely perfect for my score. Pretentious, vapid & amateurishly earnest. Piero said it was a brilliant inspiration. Unfortunately I couldn’t tell him I’d stolen it from the Englishman next door: I want to keep Gerry very much at arm’s length & certainly well away from Pacini. I just know he’s one of those showbiz groupies who, once he gets wind of what I’m working on, will never leave me alone for a minute. Just let him learn that Piero Pacini has dropped by & he’ll be over here every other hour trying to borrow a cup of Fernet Branca (his preferred tipple) or else bringing me some inedible example of British cuisine. Story follows, incidentally, after I’ve had a shower & a break.
But to round off, the Pacinis stayed late & were excellent com pany. As I said, Filippo may be a bit figlio di papà but he’s growing on me. He’s certainly a very handsome creature even if the dash he cuts in that ludicrous car is over the top. He really does look like a celebrated film director’s spoiled brat, but there’s more to him than that, I think. He has nice manners & pretty ears. He & Dad roared off together in the small hours leaving a strange silence behind them in the house, although less so out side. Long after they’d gone I could hear that burping snarly noise Filippo likes to make on the corners dying away further & further below. I bet they woke everyone in Casoli as they passed through.
Later
I now smell of rosemary, having used that shower gel you gave me. It made me all nostalgic. I really do miss you & am determined you shall come here as soon as possible.
Apart from anything else you would get a big laugh from Gerry, who nearly came to grief terminally the other day. It was lucky for him I happened to catch sight of him in ‘off to work’ mode, yodelling away in the campest outfit you ever saw: yellow con struction worker’s hat, thick leather toolbelt holding up his shorts & toting a crowbar he could barely lift. He could have strolled unnoticed onto the set of any gay porno movie. I happened to know he also had most of a bottle of Fernet Branca inside him. So there he is in the distance warbling & striding off to work like Disney’s eighth dwarf – call him Doody, what else? – & he disappears around the corner of his house. Stage wait. Then a wail like Callas being goosed followed by a distant crash. Well, you know me: we’re none of us exactly neighbourly by instinct but I can’t resist a laugh, so I grabbed a bottle of medicinal brandy & hurried over. At first I couldn’t see anyone but then I made out his yellow hat. He was lying right down below on an overgrown terrace in a heap of mouldy planking. He looked quite dead, actually, & I wasn’t too keen to go down, but then I saw him twitching so felt obliged. When I got there he had his hat over his face & seemed to be knocked out but when I removed the hat he came to. I knew he’d be all right then because the
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