You can judge this book by its cover; the cover is orange, the endpapers green. Brian Desmond Hurst was born a Protestant in Belfast but converted to Catholicism so an apt reflection of his life.
Its author, Christopher Robbins, is hired to write a film script for Brian and ostensibly this is a story about making the film. It is a very shaggy dog story laced with lubricious yarns and many digressions, including how the author came to be called Christopher; his father’s first choice was Amanda. It is set in London, Tangier, Malta and Ireland and some of it may be true. There is a good description of lunch with the formidable Mabel Strickland in Malta. This is all enough to make it worth reading in a David Niven, The Moon’s a Balloon, way.
However, in the second half it changes gear and describes Brian’s difficult childhood before moving on to serve with the Royal Irish Rifles. He is sent to Gallipoli and lands at Suvla Bay. I shall look with even more respect at the memorial in Margravine Cemetery to Lt Charles Beaven who perished there.
“The sixth battalion of the Royal Irish Rifles landed on that Thursday in August with one thousand, one hundred and thirteen men,” Brian said. “By the following Monday, we were just two hundred and eighty … “
He tells the story of the atrocities and extreme hardship of that campaign unflinchingly. Having survived, it may explain his rackety, precarious life style; he is eccentric, often very funny, sometimes cruel, dishonest and a rogue. How he became one of Ireland’s most acclaimed film directors is surprising. Now I must get back to Transylvania.