Table for Two

by Amor Towles

—Without a doubt, there are titanic personalities at the helm of Hollywood. And to those who read the papers, it must seem that we alone deserve the credit or condemnation for what reaches the screen. But making a movie is a contingent art, Miss Ross. Yes, a great producer starts with a vision and personally assembles its elements. After an extensive search, he chooses the Mona Lisa as his model. He selects a dress that will drape across her shoulders just so. He arranges her hair. He locates the perfect landscape as a backdrop. He makes her comfortable, unselfconscious. Then patiently, he waits for her to express her innermost humanity through a smile, so that he can capture it on canvas. But at that very moment, the studio doors fling open to admit an onslaught of actors and extras, stuntmen and cameramen, Foley artists, fitters, gaffers, best boys—every one of whom brandishes a brush. David spoke of his employees with a slight grimace, as if their arrival signaled civilization’s second descent into the Dark Ages. —What I am telling you, Miss Ross, is that every single one of the two hundred men and women whom I have enlisted to help make my picture can ruin it. He began ticking off potential setbacks: —A poorly scripted line of dialogue. A hapless delivery. A garish gown. Unflattering lighting. Maudlin music. Any one of these bumbled details can turn a carefully crafted romance into claptrap, or a heart-wrenching tragedy into a vaudeville farce. And to this list of pitf...