In the country, their happiness blooms like the soundstage cherry trees beside their white picket fence. They’re in love, and they build a lovely life together. He starts earning money by writing (adding to the fairytale aspect of things) and even though he hasn’t recovered his memory, everything is lovely. Until, well, it isn’t.
Colman is in an accident, and the knock on his head knocks his memory back. His original, pre-war memory. And while in another movie this might be cause for some celebration, it also knocks all memory of his life with Garson away. Heartbreak! Grab that hankie now, because he remembers his name, and it isn’t Smithy.
Colman goes back to his old life, which includes a family manor (Random Hall), a family business (making lots of money), and Kitty (Susan Peters) a niece-by-marriage who goes from fifteen to twenty-two while crushing hard on him. Maybe it isn’t supposed to be icky because she isn’t really his niece, but it is. Because she’s twenty-two and he’s fiftyish and I know, but really.
In any case, watching her grow up we see that years have passed. Years with no Greer Garson. The only hint Colman has of his missing years is the key to their humble cottage, which he carries with him always. Clueless.
And then…THEN…we have a scene where Colman the businessman sits contemplative in his office. His secretary enters, and yes! It’s her! Greer Garson has found him and is working as his secretary! There’s no dialogue for a moment because everyone in the theater must have been losing their minds. Greer!! Sitting there serenely and calling him “Mr. Rainier” while he has no idea he used to love her! I can’t take it.
The look on her face as she watches him tells us everything we need to know about her. She still totally loves him. Once again she’s given up everything to be near him. And then the look on her face when he says he’s marrying the youngster Kitty—I can’t even.
I won’t say more. I won’t. You have to watch this movie. If you’re the type who believes in destiny and “the one,” you’ll be delirious. If you’re not (and I’m not) you’ll wish, just briefly, that you were. And although good taste and my lawyers prohibit me from endorsing a strategy of hitting your lover over the head to get him to snap out of it and remember you, you will be tempted. God knows I have been.
Random thoughts:
Check out the frothy frothy lace Garson wears at her collars and cuffs when she first meets Colman. So soft and feminine. Then her whole look changes to sleek sophistication when she becomes his long-faithful secretary.
Garson and Colman have two of the poshest voices ever to be recorded on film. I could just go on listening.
They made a lot of movies back then. This came out the same year as Mrs. Miniver, probably Greer Garson’s definitive role, for which she won the Oscar. Consider yourself encouraged to go watch that next. And bring another hankie.
Movies My Friends Should Watch
Sally Lee
Chapter 12
An unknown man had come to see Kate on the day she died. Trixie had seen him go up the balcony stairs with her.
Was he Raul Acosta? I tried to imagine a set of circumstances that started with Kate and Raul going up the stairs and ended with both of them dead, him on ice in the basement and her at the bottom of a hill in Golden Gate Park.
Did she kill him for some reason? And hide his body? Then kill herself in a fit of remorse by throwing herself off a hill?
That seemed doubtful.
Why would she have killed him? Who was he to her anyway? Trixie said it had seemed like Kate knew the man who came to the theater that day. If it had been Raul, what was their connection? And even if she had killed him, for whatever reason, why would she then kill herself? And in such a weird way? But the alternative was that she’d murdered him, then gone for a walk in the park and met with a highly unlikely accident. None of it made sense.
Which brought me back to what answers might be lurking in Kate’s email account. Maybe I should forget about finding her password written down somewhere and just get a hacker to break into it.
Wouldn’t it be great if I just happened to know a hacker? But my social circle tended more toward the out-of-work screenwriter set. And even they were in LA. The only people I knew in San Francisco were at the Palace. And one of them wasn’t even alive.
My phone pinged and I reached for it. Naveen had gotten back to me quickly.
Hey Nora. Long time! I’d be happy to take a look at the numbers for you and Robbie. Send the files anytime.
Okay. At least one piece of the puzzle might get some traction. I went back to the laptop, zipped up the files, and sent them to Naveen. Then I stared at the icon for Kate’s email some more. It taunted me.
I was still staring at it when I heard Marty’s overture.
Oh, good. Company.
“What was Kate’s favorite movie?”
I’d given Marty a chance to settle in before going to look for him, and I now hovered in the doorway to the projection booth. Marty sat on a stool at the table I’d seen yesterday with the disassembled equipment spread out on it. He was methodically examining and cleaning each piece. If he was surprised that I was at the theater on a dark Monday, he didn’t show it.
“She had a hundred favorite movies. That’s a ridiculous question.”
“It’s not a ridiculous question.” I came into the room and perched on the stool opposite him. “It’s the kind of question that keeps dinner party conversations going even in the toughest of times.”
He gave me a stony look. “I don’t go to a lot of dinner parties.”
This did not come as a surprise.
“From what I’ve seen, you don’t go to a lot of dinners,” I told him. “You’re always here.”
“Someone has to be.”
“Even on your day off?”
“There are no days off.”
“Right.” I hadn’t intended to have this particular conversation right then, but since he’d opened the door, and since we weren’t likely to be interrupted, I went for it. “That’s why I think we need to hire some backup for you.”
“Backup?” He stared at me. “You think you can just hire someone who knows how to…” he gestured to the pieces of equipment in front of him, then more broadly to the piles of gear on the shelves and the multitude of projectors and paraphernalia all over the room. “Good luck.”
“No, I don’t think I can just hire someone who already knows everything,” I said. “But I do think I can hire someone that you can train on some of it. Someone who can take a few shifts for you, once you’re comfortable that they know what they’re doing. Someone who can let you have a day off once in a while. I know Kate used to be able to help, but I—”
“You’re not Kate.”
I ignored his accusatory tone. “I’m not, and I’m not saying you should train me. But you should train someone.”
He placed the gear he’d been polishing on the tabletop, then crossed his arms and regarded me. “You do realize that would just add to my workload.”
“Temporarily,” I said. “Until they can actually help out with your workload.”
“Or leave,” he said. “Just about everyone who applies for a job here is a student. I can just see myself spending months training someone who’ll up and leave the minute they graduate.”
“Okay, let’s not hire a student,” I said. “Maybe someone who’s retired, like Albert.”
The look he gave me was scornful. “Alberts don’t just grow on trees. And don’t go getting any ideas. Albert himself does a lot around here. I don’t want him to overdo it with anything more.”
I put my elbows on the table and regarded Marty. He looked genuinely concerned that I might exploit the ancient Albert. “I have a theory about you.”
“I’m sure you do. I have one about you, too.”
“I think you’re a great big softie.”
He rolled his
eyes. “Why did you ask me what Kate’s favorite movie was?”
I sat back. “Okay, sure. Let’s change the subject. But we’ll come back to it.” I gave him a look. “I asked because I’m trying to open her email.” I held up a hand to ward off his inevitable protest. “I know, it’s a terrible invasion of her privacy. But, among other things, I want to know if she’d had any contact with Raul Acosta.”
Marty stared at me. He didn’t protest.
“Also,” I went on. “Some guy showed up yesterday claiming that he’d been working on a film festival with her. He said they’d emailed about it. I want to see if that’s true.”
Marty’s eyebrows lowered. “What guy? Kate wouldn’t have planned anything without letting me know about it.”
“Todd Randall,” I said. “He’s got a blog.”
Marty snorted.
“I know, I know, everybody and his uncle has a blog. But this guy got into the theater yesterday morning—maybe because I left the door unlocked and maybe not—and he knew where Kate’s office was, and I just want to make sure he checks out. Have you ever heard of him? Or the Real on Reel website? He said it’s down right now, but—”
“You left the door unlocked!?”
I waved my hands. “Maybe. Not the point. Do you know this guy?”
Marty stood. “I only read one film blog.” He started to pace, as best he could in the overstuffed room. “And it isn’t Real on Reel, whatever that is.”
I resisted the urge to ask him what that one blog was. “Okay, so, if Kate never mentioned him to you, it’s possible this guy isn’t who he says he is. One way of verifying that would be to look at her email.”
Marty stopped and glared me. Then he sighed and said one word.
“Summertime.”
Summertime (1955, Katharine Hepburn and Rossano Brazzi) is about an American spinster opening her heart to romance in Venice. It’s a gorgeous film and I love it. I don’t know if I’d call it my favorite movie, but, according to Marty, it had been Kate’s.
He followed me back to the office, muttering. I took a seat at the desk and opened Kate’s laptop. I clicked the email icon and hoped for the best.
summertime
Nope.
Summertime
Nothing.
Summertime1955
No.
SummertimeHepburn
Uh-uh.
I tried every variation on the movie name that I could think of, then tried a few Marty came up with, including Kate’s favorite quote from the movie: “Eat the ravioli.” Nothing worked.
Eventually Marty stopped hovering over my shoulder and slumped into the chair opposite the desk. “It isn’t the movie.”
My fingers still hovered over the keys. “I don’t suppose you could introduce me to an obliging hacker, could you?”
He shrugged. “We could always put an ad on Craigslist.”
I leaned back in the chair. “It may come to that.”
We sat for a moment in despondent silence, then Marty spoke.
“Were you serious?”
I blinked. “About what?”
“About hiring someone else.” He cleared his throat. “Someone to…help.”
“Of course I’m serious! Let’s start looking.” I was surprised but relieved that he’d apparently decided to be reasonable about this.
“Because I was thinking…” he said.
Oh. Something in his voice told me not to be too glad just yet.
“Maybe the reason Robbie sent you here instead of making me manager is that she knew it would be hard to backfill for me. I mean, aside from you being her bestie who’s having a breakdown and everything.” He shifted in his seat. “Maybe she and the other owners don’t see how they could replace me as projectionist. But if I can get someone else in, and at least partially train them, maybe when you leave she’ll see that she can promote me after all.”
I opened my mouth, then closed it. There was so much to object to in what he’d just said, but I focused on the most insulting bit.
“Her bestie who’s having a breakdown?” I said. “I mean…I’ll grant you that Robbie did me a huge favor by sending me up here, but being her friend is hardly my only qualification—”
I was interrupted by Marty’s snort of derision.
Okay. That did it. I’d had just about enough. “Do you think you know me?” I demanded. “Because of what you’ve seen on the gossip sites? Because you think you know my husband? You think you know my story? Well, you don’t, and the sooner you figure that out, the better.”
“Look, I was only saying—”
“And furthermore,” I stood. “What makes you think I’m going to be leaving anytime soon? What makes you think I won’t fall in love with this place and stay for—”
“Oh, please,” he interrupted. “You’re not staying, and we both know it.”
“We both know what?”
“We both know you’re only here for the duration of this midlife crisis divorce drama. By the end of the third act you’ll be back to swilling green drinks in Malibu with the rest of the LA narcissists, writing rom-coms that have any suggestion of originality focus-grouped out of them. And I’ll be the one still here, because I’m the one who goddamn loves this place.”
He spoke with heat and with certainty, as if no one could possibly disagree with him.
I was flabbergasted, hurt, and angry in equal parts. “That’s what you really think?”
He seemed to suddenly realize the epic inappropriateness of his remarks and had the very small grace to look uncomfortable. He cleared his throat. “Okay, maybe you won’t start writing rom-coms,” he allowed.
“Probably not,” I said icily. “But if I did they would be spectacular. Anything else?”
He sat again, not exactly squirming but close. “Well, maybe you’re not a complete LA narcissist,” he said grudgingly. “I mean, a complete LA narcissist probably wouldn’t get so invested in trying to figure out who killed Kate.”
“Thank you,” I said, sitting. “And maybe you’re not a defensive jerk, but I haven’t seen much evidence to the contrary.” I didn’t give him a chance to respond. “And I know you goddamn love this place.”
He gave me a wary look.
“I also know that you’re exhausted, and you’re threatened by me being here, and you’re grieving Kate. And I think the only emotion you allow yourself to show is anger. And I’ll admit it, the truth is I don’t know how long I’m going to be here. But I’ll make you a deal: if I do decide to move on, I promise you’ll be the first to know.”
At this he looked interested.
“But don’t think that means you’d automatically get this job,” I warned him. “For one thing, it wouldn’t be up to me.”
He crossed his arms. “And for another thing?”
I blew out a breath. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re not exactly a people person?”
Which is when something stunning happened. It wasn’t exactly on the scale of finding out that ghosts were real, but it was still something of a shocker.
Because that was when Marty laughed.
Chapter 13
“So, one employee thinks I’m so old I’m from another era, and another thinks it’s just a waiting game until I abandon ship and leave him to his rightful place as manager.”
I was on the phone with Robbie, sunk deep into the cushions of the couch in her guest house. And yes, I was drinking her wine.
“Okay, one,” she responded. “Millennials think anyone who didn’t grow up worshiping Hannah Montana is ancient. Just ask my beloved daughter. For all practical purposes, you are from another era. So am I. And I’m assuming you’re talking about the bitter projectionist wanting to be manager?”
“I think of him more as the hostile projectionist,” I said. “And to think, earlier in th
e day I called him a big old softie.”
“To his face? You’re a braver woman than I am,” she laughed. “But you’re right. Plus he’d do anything for the Palace and knows literally everything about it. If he weren’t so completely antisocial he might make a decent manager. He loves the place. If the ghost of a showgirl really were running around, he’d probably want to marry her.”
I didn’t know about the ghost of a showgirl. I only knew about the ghost of an usherette. And I didn’t think Marty was Trixie’s type. Or vice versa.
“On paper you two should be friends,” Robbie said. “He knows almost as much about classic films as I do, which means he knows maybe half as much as you do. Why don’t you just stick to talking about movies for a while?”
“He doesn’t think I know anything about movies,” I told her. “Classic or otherwise.”
There was a pause. “Okay, that’s hilarious. Does he know who you are?”
“He thinks he does.” I drained my glass. “That’s the problem. Hey, Robbie, tell me something. Were you and your partners ever thinking of turning the Palace into a first-run theater again?”
“Of course not. Why would we do that?”
“It was just a thought. I’m trying to figure out why Kate bought some of the equipment she did.”
“Oh! That reminds me, Naveen called this afternoon. He said there was something off with the books.”
I sat up. “Did he say what?”
“No. It was just a voicemail. I’ll call him back tomorrow.”
“Who actually managed the Palace finances?” I asked. “Did Kate have an accountant or a tax person that we should call in?”
Movie Palace Cozy Mystery Boxed Set: Books 1-3 Page 9
