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maybe the first one on the earth. Like, they don't need it any more, so they've forgotten about it and don't understand it any 
longer. Quite a thought! 
Wednesday. Ought to have said more about the job. Not going badly. Script isn't what I remembered, but then it never is, 
usually because they've changed it. Matt isn't too bad to work with. I asked Make-Up to give him a few mosquito bites but he 
refused point-blank. Said he wanted to be the pretty one for a change. Quite funny that - I mean it's obvious that deep down he 
thinks he's jolly good-looking! I suppose I'd better not tell him that thing you said about his face looking as if it was carved out 
of corned beef. 
[p. 204]
Thursday. Terrible thing happened. Quite terrible. One of the Indians fell off the raft and was drowned. Just swept away. 
We stared at the water which was pretty choppy and waited for the Indian to surface but he never did. Naturally we said we'd 
stop work for the day. Guess what? The Indians wouldn't hear of it. What good old troupers they are! 
Friday. Thinking about yesterday's incident. We were much more upset about it than the Indians were. I mean, he must 
have been somebody's brother or husband or something, but there wasn't any crying or anything. I half expected that when we 
pitched camp for the night there'd be some sort of ceremony - I don't know, burning a bundle of clothes or whatever. Not so. 
Same old jolly camp-fire life went on as per usual. I wondered if they hadn't liked the fellow who went overboard, but that's 
too obvious. Maybe they don't distinguish between life and death in some way. Maybe they don't think he's `gone' as we do - 
or at least not gone altogether. Gone to a nicer bit of the river. I tried this out on Matt who said, `Hey man I didn't know you 
had hippie blood.' Matt is not exactly the most spiritual and sophisticated fellow you've ever met. Believes in making your own 
way through life, walking tall, shooting straight, balling chicks as he puts it and spitting in the eye of anyone who does you 
wrong. That at any rate seems to be the sum of his wisdom. He thinks the Indians are rather cute kids who haven't yet invented 
the video recorder. I must say it's pretty funny that a chap like him ends up playing a Jesuit priest having doctrinal disputes in 
the rain forest. The fact is, he's one of those perfectly efficient American actors whose careers are decided by their image 
makers. I told him about taking six months off and doing rep in the provinces just to get back in touch with live acting and live 
audiences and he reacted as if I told him I'd had a mental breakdown. Say what you like, I think the stage is the place you learn 
to act. Matt can twitch his face in any direction and crinkle up his eyes knowing that his jailbait fans will be sitting there 
wetting themselves. But can he act with his body? Call me old-fashioned, but I think a lot of American actors just do a sort of 
swagger and leave it at that. Tried to explain all this to Vic, 
[p. 205]
who said I was doing fine and Matt was doing fine and he thought we'd gel together on screen. Sometimes I do wish he'd 
LISTEN to what I say. Here comes the post, or rather the copter. Nothing from you yet. 
- love, Charlie 
Letter 6 
Pippa love - 
Look I know we said we wouldn't talk about it and maybe it's not fair cos I don't know what state you'll be in when you get 
this, but why don't we just move to the country and have babies? No I haven't fallen in the river or anything. You've no idea 
how good it's been for me out here. I've cut out coffee after lunch and almost don't smoke at all. Well the Indians don't, do 
they, I say to myself. The Indians don't need to support the mighty firm of Philip Morris Inc. of Richmond Va. When things get 
tough they sometimes chew on a little green leaf, which I reckon is their equivalent of the occasional ciggy one takes when the 
director is behaving like a prize muffin. So why not cut it down like they do? And that Linda thing. I know you probably don't 
want to hear her name ever again and if that's what you want that's my promise, but it's all to do with London isn't it? Not 
really to do with of at all. Just bloody London with its grime and filthy streets and the booze. Well that's not really living, the 
way we do in cities, is it? Also I think cities make people lie to one another. Do you think that's possible? These Indians never 
lie, same as they don't know how to act. No pretence. Now I don't think that's primitive at all, I think it's bloody mature. And 
I'm sure it's because they live in the Jungle not in cities. They spend all their time surrounded by nature and the one thing 
nature doesn't do is lie. It just goes ahead and does its thing, as Matt would say. Walks tall and shoots 
[p. 206]
straight. It may not be very nice some of the time but it doesn't tell lies. Which is why I think the country and babies is the 
answer. And when I say the country I don't mean one of those villages just off the motorway full of people just like us buying 
Australian Chardonnay from the local wine merchant and the only time you hear an ooo-aarr accent is when you're listening to 
the Archers in the bath. I mean the real country, somewhere hidden away - Wales maybe or Yorkshire. 
Sunday. The baby thing. It's to do with the Indians in a funny sort of way. You know I said they're all fantastically healthy 
and yet there aren't any old folks even though we thought they travelled around together in a group? Well, I finally got Miguel 
to talk to them about it and it turns out the reason there aren't any old folk around is because they don't live much longer than 
about 35. So I was wrong when I thought they were fantastically healthy and a good advert for the Jungle. The truth is it's only 
the fantastically healthy ones who can get by at all. What a turnaround. But the point is, I'm now older than most of this tribe 
will ever be and that feels like a chill wind. And if we lived in the country then it wouldn't be me coming home every night 
whacked out and wanting to be looked after and having a squawking infant instead. If I only took the big parts and none of this 
TV crap I'd just go away to film, and then when I was around I'd really be around. See? I could make a playpen for him and 
buy him one of those big wooden Arks with all the animals in and I could get one of those bags you carry babies around in like 
the Indians have had for centuries. Then I'd go striding off across the moors to get the both of us out of your hair for a bit, what 
do you say? By the way, I really am sorry I hit Gavin. 

---

J
ULIAN 
B
ARNES
: A History of the World in 10 ½