The Pied Piper - screenplay

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After working for Kubrick on his aborted Napoleon, I joined the cutting rooms at Pinewood to learn about editing. Later that year (1969) I met a young producer, David (now Lord) Putnam, who was putting together his first movie, Melody. Once the film was set up, I got the gig as location manager as well a spot of second unit directing. David knew I’d written a couple of unmade scripts, and after browsing them asked if I’d like to try my hand at writing one based on the legend of the Pied Piper. His idea was for Bob Dylan to play the Piper, but in the event Bob was unavailable – or merely disinterested – and the role went to the folk singer Donovan.

After spending time sketching out a storyline while staying with my sister Jane and her lover Serge Gainsbourg in Yugoslavia, I drove north to Hameln in northern Germany, where the Pied Piper’s story originated, but too much had been flattened by allied bombing during WW2 to make it a feasable location for the film. Instead I was told that the small mediaeval town of Rothenburg-ob-der-Tauber would be ideal – "the most German of German towns" -- as indeed it proved to be. I holed up in the Eisenhut Hotel and set to work, cranking out the screenplay when not scouting for locations in which I could set scenes. Included in my storyline was the construction of a huge cathedral to ward off the approaching Black Death, but Rothenburg didn’t have one. No problem, I though: we’ll build one.

This necessitated a visit to the Burgermeister, both to secure his approval and obtain his help in selecting a site. While browsing through the archives, I stumbled upon a sheaf of photos depicting these same mediaeval buildings drooling with swastikas. The Burgermeister explained that the Nazis regarded Rothenburg as the quintessential German town, the great majority of its citizens being card-carrying members of the Nazi party. In October 1938 Rothenburg had become one of the first German towns to expel all its Jews. Back at the Eisenhut, I got friendly with the night porter, and learned from him that the townsfolk were delighted to see the back of the ‘Jewish vermin’. “Where did they go?” The Porter shrugged. “They were – how do you say in English? – umgesiedelt.”

Resettled.

After three weeks of hammering out the script on my portable, David showed up and asked the receptionist if I was in. “We have no idea. We never see him. Please, ask him not to keep his food and milk on the windowsill. It might attract vermin.”

David was enthusiastic about the script, as was Seagrams’ boss Edgar Bronfman, who was to bank-roll the picture along with Paramount. David and I were smitten by a Czech film directed by Jiří Menzel, Closely Observed Trains, and flew out to Prague in the hope of persuading Menzel to direct our Pied Piper. Russian tanks were still in evidence from the invasion two years earlier. Driving with Menzel and David, I expressed my fondness for black humour. Menzel responded laconically, “We’re living it.”

In the event, the Soviet regime wouldn’t allow Menzel to leave Czechslovakia for fear that he might defect, and David - and his co-producing partner Sandy Lieberson - scouted around for another director, settling on Jacques Demy. I didn’t share their enthusiasm for Jacques, but since the film was now cast (including Donald Pleasence, John Hurt, Jack Wild and Diana Dors as well as Donovan) and a huge cathedral as well as other sets under construction in Rothenburg, we risked losing both cast and cathedral if we didn’t forge ahead with Demy at the helm.

The production started shooting in Rothenburg while I remained in England, having effectively walked off in protest at Demy’s script changes. But soon enough I got a call from David: they were in need of a fast scene rewrite, and would I fly out to Rothenburg asap.

While waiting for my flight at Heathrow, I browsed through the bookstall magazines. Playboy had never been one of my regular reads, but faced with a fortnight’s solo spell in Germany I bought a copy and tucked it inside my hand luggage. On the plane I checked out the dubious delights of Miss June 1970 before moving onto the featured in-depth interview. The last time I bought a copy, the interview had been with Stanley Kubrick.

This month it was with a man I’d never heard of.

Albert Speer.

(see Inside the Third Reich for the continuing saga ...)