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COMPETITION

Imaginary conversations

Jaspistos

IN COMPETITION NO. 1903 you were invited to supply the dialogue of the meet- ing that was mooted but never happened between Sam Goldwyn and Freud, with a view to the latter writing the script of a love story for the screen.

Landor's Imaginary Conversations being one of the Great Bores of Literature, per- haps because all the speakers were famous- ly intelligent, at first I thought I would spice the idea by making the conversation- alists some of the incompatibles in Kensal Green cemetery — Emmeline Pankhurst, the pugilist 'Gentleman' Jim Jackson, et al. Then I read Peter Gay's excellent biogra- phy of Freud, from which I pulled out this plum. Freud was offered $100,000 to come to the USA and 'help in a "drive" on the hearts of this nation'. The letter of rejec- tion that the super-polite Viennese sent back must be the shortest he ever wrote: 'I do not intend to see Mr Goldwyn.' It was not a very successful competition — too many predictable cheap jests — but at least that made it easy to judge. The four prizewinners printed below deserve their £25 apiece, and W.J. Webster is worthy of the bonus bottle of Isle of Jura Single Malt whisky.

SG: Treatment? Treatments make me sick, Prof. Million-dollar ideas are ten a penny. I need a finished script we can take apart.

SF: Hence my suggestion to rework the tragedy of Oedipus.

SG: Remakes I hate. Why pay royalties to some bum who didn't get it right the first time? SF: The author's dead.

SG: You should have said. Dead authors I can live with. So what was with this Eddie guy? But remember — I only want tragedies make every- one feel good. SF: Aristotle thought much the same. Well, it's a complex story. At the unconscious level SG: Don't give me unconscious, Prof. I want unconscious, I go in with Dempsey.

SF: Symbolically, then -

SG: Sym-what? Give me something I can get my mouth round. You want a cigar? SF: No, thank you. Look, Mr Goldmine Goldwyn. Why did I say that? SG: Don't worry, Prof. Happens to me all the time. Work on it — it could make a theory.

(W.J. Webster) SG: You come a long way, Siggy. You got every- thing you want? SF: I would like a couch in my office.

SG: Why's that? SF: For my clients. SG: Dames, you mean, Siggy. Dames. I know What's on your mind before you do. 1 only pro- vide couches for my best executives, to help them with their, er, choice of actresses. But you haven't even written an outline yet. Now, what's the greatest love, Sigmund? SF: The love of a mother and son for each other. Only we cannot admit this. SG: Admit. Admit. Then write. The growing up, the bond, the growing apart, then the coming together again, the wedding, SF: The wedding? SG: Yeah, when you finish, we get a rewrite man. He keeps the outline but makes the mother into the girl next door. But don't you worry about that part, Sigmund. By then, you'll be on the boat back to Vienna. (John Taplin) SG (proffering Havanas): Sig, have a cig. Ha ha ha. Pardon me, Mr Freud, but they say laugh- ter's the best policy, don't they? SF: Thank you, no. I have given up the infantile need to suck on my mother's breast. SG: Hey, there ain't no call for that. They told me you don't mince your metaphors, Mr F, but you gotta understand Hollywood's a respectable town.

SF: America is suffering from massive repres- sion.

SG: Exactly! That's why we need love stories. Take people's minds off the repression.

SF: You mean depression. SG: Repression, depression, what's the differ- ence? People want a little laughter, a little romance. And you talk to me about penis envy! SF: What?

SG: I been readin' about your ideas. Don't get me wrong, they're terrific. Have you got a treat- ment for me?

SF: I generally treat Viennese women for hyste- ria.

SG (impressed): Yeah? Well, like I said, make 'em laugh. (Peter Norman) SG: You see, Siggy, my writers keep coming up with boy-meets-girl, boy-loses-girl, boy-gets-girl. We need new angles.

SF: I don't see how I can help, Mr Goldwyn.

SG: Well, say we get to boy-loses-girl, what else might happen next?

SF: The boy might exhibit displacement by fixing on the nearest female presence.

SG: Sort of half a loaf is better than a bird in the bush? Great! I knew you could do it. And this female would be....

SF: His mother, of course.

SG: Now wait a minute, Siggy.... SF: He would have masturbatory fantasies about her ...

SG: You mean he'd be pulling his no, no, we got the Hays Office here.

SF: ... and then, you see, we could have his mother reject him and induce an anal fixation on his father. It's promising, Sam. We could call it Family Affairs.

SG: Well, it's been great, Doctor. Marcia, have Rudolph Valentino give Dr Freud his autograph on the way out. (Noel Petty)

No. 1906: Musing on the job

You are invited to supply poetic musings (maximum 16 lines) by somebody with an unpoetic job, e.g. bank teller, postman, traffic warden. Entries to 'Competition No. 1906' by 2 November.