You Look and You Think (Ben Woodiwiss, 2010)
It occurred to me recently that no one knows who Diane Susans is, and this should probably not be the case.
Diane (pronounced the French way, 'dee-ann') was a friend of my Grandmother's, which, of course, means that she was also an actress at some stage. She told me a lot of stories about my Grandmother: a wild, foreign, hurricane of a woman, who paid little attention to anyone or anything. Very very difficult, but also very charming. There were acres of stories about her, coming on stage with no idea of her lines, having to ad-lib, and generally making everyone's life a nightmare. She sounded like a lot of fun in those days. By the time I got to know her she had become embittered by the world, and drank and drank and drank and drank, as many people do.
Long before this happened to my Grandmother Diane fell out of acting, and into life; falling in love with a man, and travelling the world together. They planned their entire lives out; where they would go, and what they would do. They were on top of the world, and for a brief while Diane was extremely happy. Diane and her love were often forced into extended periods of time apart, corresponding only via the written word. And then, as it often does, bad news came to good people, and Diane received a letter that her love had died, aged 43.
She never remarried, and lived the rest of her life alone. No children. No family.
But, she was an extremely positive woman. She travelled, met people, lived the kind of life that she and her love had always wanted to share together. She was a great believer in creativity, and was particularly fond of painting and poetry as outlets.
Time passed and Diane grew older. But she never forgot the lady who she shared the stage with all those years ago. She got back in contact with her family, and found her way to me, and my children. Although they probably don't remember it, we met Diane several times, and she told them about her Great Grandmother; her strange voice, and impudent, but charming, ways. I was grateful that she remembered her this way, and not how she became in the years before her death. Diane was filled with love for my Grandmother, and filled with love for life, and children, and nature, and everything. She was truly a deeply charming and fascinating woman, and loved to talk.
But then, as it often does, bad news came to good people, and Diane was struck down with a particularly unpleasant disease. She withered away to almost nothing, and I visited her often. It would have been so easy for her to become bitter and angry with the world, but she never did. The last time I saw her she couldn't move at all, but smiled and asked me how my children were. I told her, and then she asked me how I was. There she lay, with scant hours to live, and wanted to know how I was doing. She was particularly interested in me being creative, and I eventually told her about my plans to make films, but that the time was never quite right. She smiled: 'the time is never quite right, but you do these things anyway'. With great effort she moved her arm and held my hand 'you were born to do this, and you will.'
Conversation moved on and she told me more about my Grandmother, and asked more questions about my children, and I held it together until I left and was out of sight and tears hit me hard. It was very painful to see her like that. Very painful.
She died the next day. And a few days after her funeral I was walking down a street in the financial district of London. I had a job that I didn't particularly want to do, and I was thinking about Diane. Without really knowing what was happening, words started running into my head. I took out my phone and wrote all those words down, and by the end of the street I had the script for what was to become my first short film as writer/director, You Look and You Think. Then I made it. And then I travelled around Europe with it. And then I made more films. It all happened very quickly, but this I can promise you: hand on heart, without Diane Susans there would be no Look/Think Films.
Years before all of this my Aunt died at the age of 22. Diane was still very close to my Grandmother and family at this stage, and it hurt her deeply. Years later she wrote a poem about it, and shortly after Diane's death I received a book of her poems in the post, from a lady who I never met, saying that Diane had asked her to send this to me. In the book was a poem about my Aunt: Margaret. No one called her Margaret, everyone called her Tita. She was an extremely difficult young woman. Very headstrong, very opinionated, very intimidating, but Diane loved her. I present here Diane's poem:
For Tita
There is a special love we feel
For those we know from birth
For whom we watch the years
Unreel: the sadness and the mirth.
There is a special joy we feel
When former children wed
We smile to see fond hopes
Fulfilled: fear and doubt now fled.
There is a special grief we feel
For those we loved when young
Who die too soon, who never know
Their promise: sing their song.
There is a particular sense of loss
For none can fill that place
Return that future-terminate:
Bring back that special face.