We'll Take Manhattan

This film contains some strong language.

Good afternoon, madam.

Good afternoon, Lady Clare. Welcome aboard.

Good afternoon, Elaine.

Thank you.

But what if she doesn't like me, Bailey?

Yeah. And?

So what if I muck it up?

You'll hate me forever and never speak to me again.

I don't give a stuff what she thinks! But Bailey..!

What?

I've never even been on an aeroplane before.

It's like a 29 bus. With wings. Come on now.

You're beautiful. It'll be fine.

Dry white wine, love. And she'll have a medium sweet. Chop chop.

Good afternoon, madam.

All right, Lady C?

They'll never let us land.

And we were by the river,

and Tony Armstrong Jones was posing me by a willow, and this man,

this rude and rather dirty man who I suppose must work on boats

or something, he came up,

and this man said, "Can I be in your picture?" and I said "no".

Never! Absolutely.

A little higher with the arm, Your Grace,

Not too wide on the lovely lips.

And he said, "why not?"

and I said, "They don't photograph just anybody, you know."

If we said anybody was worth photographing, who knows where we'd be.

There'd be a revolution. What did Tony say?

He gave him half a crown and told him to bugger off.

My goodness! I know.

Where's Lavinia?

She was here a moment ago.

No, no, no! You utter beast!

Go on, you love it.

Oh, God, yes!

Oi Bailey, we're on.

Righto.

So, same time next week, Your Highness?

Listen, sonny.

You can shtup me, but don't ever imagine you can afford me.

Love you too, chief.

HE WHISTLES

And so are you going anywhere nice for the weekend?

Well...

Ah, David, good. And do we have..?

Lavinia!

Are you quite all right?

You look a little flushed.

I'm divine.

Perfect. Thank you, ladies. And...!

..Still!

Lovely. Well done, all.

Now for this next shot, I think a little more erect.

If you orientate it this way. Can we have the key lights higher?

20 points I think on that.

And if we raise that up a little bit there.

Mr French? I'm off.

Good heavens. Tea already?

No.

I'm going to get my own studio. I'm leaving you.

Really, David? But you're...

What?

Not quite the type, I suppose.

So?

I mean, who will you work with?

I'll find someone.

Easy.

STIFLED GIGGLING

Look, Jean. They've started already.

They're doing it. The walking thing.

Good day. I'm Miss Lucie Clayton, principal of the academy.

And you must be...Joan?

Jean.

Jean. Jean, exactly.

Do come this way.

It all happened at a holiday camp, actually.

Last year. How picturesque.

Yes, it was one of those beauty contests, you know.

We thought they were just trying to make up the numbers,

but blow me!

Third. Third place.

Can you believe it? Our Jean, a beauty?

Well, you know, in the eye of the beholder and so forth!

It's only until she gets married of course.

Yes, of course. Yes, yes.

Walking out with a lovely chap called Richard.

From Henley.

Fascinating.

Thank you.

Mmm...

I'm not sure.

You see, it's a matter of being model material.

The requirements are rather specific.

I can do it.

The book thing, I mean.

See?

Very well.

I've brought cash. Is that wrong? We thought we should pay first.

You may settle your account in any way you wish.

Jolly good.

Building trade, you know. And a small-holding. Lots of cash.

Jean, why don't you join the other ladies?

Yes, as well as...um...

Deportment.

Yes. As well as that, could you teach her a bit of..?

She needs to fit in a bit more.

CRASHING

That might require our extended course.

That's beautiful, love. This hand here, just bring it up there a bit.

There you go, that's lovely.

PHONE RINGING

Hang about, ladies, keep your knickers off.

Hello, studio five?

Hello, yes, would that be Mr David Bailey?

This is Bailey, yeah.

The Mr David Bailey who was responsible for the, uh...

..interesting photograph of Pauline Stone in the Express involving a...

A squirrel, yeah. It's stuffed, by the way. Who's this?

Oh, sorry, yes, my name's Parsons. John Parsons,

I'm telephoning you from Vogue Magazine.

Yeah? And?

Concerning whether you would care to take up a position.

Here. On the staff.

How much?

I'm sorry?

How much is it?

Mary had a little lamb. Say it. Get your boat race moving.

15 guineas. A shot?

Good heavens, no. Per week!

Sorry, chief. I can't hear ya. Hang about, stay there.

Come on darling, loosen up a bit! Christ's sake!

Take a jump. I don't know. Skip! Something!

Anything!

Excuse me, mate, can you just keep it down a bit?

Sorry, guv. Women, eh?

If they didn't have a Morris, you'd have to shoot 'em.

Say "Mary had a little lamb".

Hello? Yeah. Sorry, I got to pass.

15 guineas is less than what Woman's Own are giving me per photograph.

You want to work for a proper magazine, what people really read.

Well...

All right, ladies! Who wants a lick of my raspberry mivvi, eh?

Come on, get back in positions.

Oi, mate. You sell a lot of these?

Some. Nice little earner.

PHONE RINGING

Bailey.

All right, Mr Bailey. A contract position. Per page. 15 guineas.

Free to shoot for anyone except the enemy - Harper's, Vanity Fair, Queen.

All right, cock. You're on.

Oh, er... Jolly good.

And... Is she your girl? The squirrel lady.

It's just, I'm not wholly sure she's us...

if you know what I mean.

No. She's not my girl. No, I don't have a girl.

Erm... Shall we say Monday?

Done.

Miss Shrimpton? Love?

You forgot your shoes.

Here Charlie, what happened to that bird from Pinner with the big Eartha Kitts?

I feel like celebrating.

PHONE RINGING

Hello?

You've got a booking, darling! Yes, Acrilan.

Autumn skirts. The photographer is one David somebody,

not long out of John French's, working at Vogue.

Asked for you by name.

Who?

David... Christine, turn that down this instant!

It's an ad, darling. 30 guineas. Smile. Pack your bag and try again.

Do I have to?

Yes, darling, you do.

If we're ever going to pay for all those ten by eights.

I can't do my bloody accounts surrounded by that bloody noise!

Come on Dad, she'll turn it down. Too right she bloody will!

What are you doing? Daddy...

GRAMOPHONE SMASHES It was a birthday present!

Why would you do that, Daddy? It wasn't that loud!

Seriously, you never, ever let me do anything that I want, Daddy.

Please, why would you do that?

Daddy, I hate you. That was a birthday present.

If you think that gramophone is coming back here... I'm sorry, Daddy!

I said I was sorry. I am sorry, really I am!

DOORBELL RINGS

Richard's here.

Thanks. He's so nice.

He's not going to wait around forever, you know.

First the typing, now this modelling business... Mum!

Your dad keeps asking.

Have you still got that car of yours? I do indeed, sir, yes.

What's it called again? Sunbeam Alpine.

Sunbeam Alpine - that's a silly name for a car, isn't it? Mm. It drives like a treat, though.

Oh, hello, Jean. Hi, Richard.

Can I help you?

Yes... erm...

Sorry.

Eh, David Bailey?

Up there.