Tuesday, July 31, 2007

Michelangelo Antonioni dead

Yesterday it was Ingmar Bergman. Today it is Michelangelo Antonioni.

And it's another excuse for an iconic movie image. This time it's David Hemmings in Blow-Up.

Incidentally, judging by his memoirs, Hemmings had no more idea what was going on in that film than the rest of us:
I had a costume fitting that same afternoon, where they threw a pair of white jeans and a green corduroy jacket at me. And for the first time, I was allowed to see the script and was given a copy to take away.

As soon as I was out of the building, I dived into the nearest pub, probably didn't even notice its name, ordered what I've always called a PoG - a pint of Guinness - which I didn't remember drinking, opened the script and buried myself in it. I read it three times from cover to cover before I rang Jane and told her.

"What's it like?" she asked eagerly.

"God knows," I said, shaking my head rather like the Maestro. "I don't understand what the hell it's all about."

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