Skip to main content

The Day the Carlton Began to Slip

The Carlton Hotel

This sequence from Terry Southern’s 1959 novel The Magic Christian was originally removed over potential libel concerns. Sometime in the early 1970s, after the release of The Magic Christian movie, Terry dusted the piece off, hoping to bring his character, “grand guy” Guy Grand, the billionaire trickster, back for a series of new adventures, but the piece didn’t find a home. We are publishing it here for the first time. The massive and opulent Carlton Hotel, built in 1909 in Cannes, continues to be a locus-point for celebrities and special events held during the Cannes Film Festival.

 

About a week after Guy Grand purchased the smart Carlton Hotel in Cannes, excavation work was begun, presumably for the purpose of an elaborate expansion of the lower and ground section of this already magnificent structure. Rumor had it that a vast complex of underground passages and rooms were to connect the hotel with the beach area opposite, thus giving Carlton residents—generally acknowledged to be the “smartest of the smart”—direct access to their private oceanfront. In any case, excavation work went ahead on a monumental scale for about three years.

As literally acres of stone and soil beneath the building were removed, they were replaced with a network of structural steel supports. Gradually, the size of the cavern beneath the hotel increased until, on May 13, 1973, it was one black square and over a thousand feet deep. On this day all work stopped (to the great relief of the residents) and, although there were as yet no visible benefits from the project, it was generally assumed that these would soon be dramatically evident.

Due to the incredible whirl of press and social events during the gala Cannes Film Festival, very little notice was given to the curious announcement which came over the hotel loud-speakers at six o’clock that morning: “Mesdames, monsierus… preparez-vous a descendre.”

An hour later it was announced: “Attention. Descente en cinq minutes…”  And this was repeated once in modern Arabic. At five minutes after seven, the steel beams supporting the building were telescoped inwards and the huge hotel slowly sank out of sight. People whose rooms had looked out onto the sea now awoke to find themselves staring at a wall of rust-colored earth.

Although the residents of the Carlton were eventually rescued, the hotel itself was never again seen.

Investigations have not yet determined the purpose of this strange and very costly project.

The internationally famous hotelier, Mr. Jack Hilton, when asked his opinion as to what could have been the “purpose” in putting the multi-million dollar Carlton Hotel below ground, was not able to shed light on the subject, and, in fact, refused to discuss it, beyond his simple statement: “Frankly, I think it was the work of a goddam nut.”

 

Terry Southern was a satirical novelist and pioneering New Journalist perhaps best known as the screenwriter behind Dr. Strangelove and Easy Rider. He was a driving force behind the early Paris Review. At the annual Paris Review Revel next week, the Terry Southern Prize for Humor, a $5,000 award honoring humor, wit, and sprezzatura, will be presented to David Sedaris.

 



from The Paris Review https://ift.tt/2pO2IeU

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

The Sphere

Photograph by Elena Saavedra Buckley. Once when I was about twelve I was walking down the dead-end road in Albuquerque where I grew up, around twilight with a friend. Far beyond the end of the road was a mountain range, and at that time of evening it flattened into a matte indigo wash, like a mural. While kicking down the asphalt we saw a small bright light appear at the top of the peaks, near where we knew radio towers to occasionally emit flashes of red. But this glare, blinding and colorless, grew at an alarming rate. It looked like a single floodlight and then a tight swarm beginning to leak over the edge of the summit. My friend and I became frightened, and as the light poured from the crest, our murmurs turned into screams. We stood there, clutching our heads, screaming. I knew this was the thing that was going to come and get me. It was finally going to show me the horrifying wiring that lay just behind the visible universe and that was inside of me too. And then, a couple se...

A Year in Reading: Daniel Torday

I’ve been on leave from teaching this year, so it’s been a uniquely good 12 months of reading for me, a year when I’ve read for only one reason: fun. Now when I say fun … I’m a book nerd. So I tend to take on “reading projects.” The first was to work toward becoming a Joseph Conrad completist. I’m almost there. I warmed up with critic Maya Jasanoff ’s The Dawn Watch: Conrad in a Global World , which granted me permission to remember the capacious scope of his perspective, his humanistic genius. His masterwork was hard work, but Nostromo belongs on the shelf of both the most important and most difficult of the 20th century. The Secret Agent blew the top of my head off—it’s funny and deeply relevant to our moment, about a terrorist bombing gone horribly wrong. Under Western Eyes is all I got left. 2018 isn’t over yet. But then much fun came in reading whatever, whenever. That started with a heavy dose of Denis Johnson . The new posthumous collection of his short stories, The Lar...

Dressing for Others: Lawrence of Arabia’s Sartorial Statements

Left: T. E. Lawrence; Right: Peter O’Toole in Lawrence of Arabia (1962) In the southwest Jordanian desert, among the sandstone mountains of Wadi Rum, there is a face carved into a rock. The broad cheeks and wide chin are framed by a Bedouin kuffiyeh headdress and ‘iqal, and beneath the carving, in Arabic, are the words: “Lawrence The Arab 1917.” If you are visiting Wadi Rum with a tour guide, you can expect to be brought to this carving. You may also be shown a spring where Lawrence allegedly bathed, as well as a mountain named after his autobiography, The Seven Pillars of Wisdom, whose rock face has been weathered into a shape that does, from some angles, look a little like a series of pillars. I am familiar with the legend of T.E. Lawrence—fluent Arabist, British hero of the Arab Revolt of 1916, troubled lover of the Arab peoples—as well as with the ways the Jordanian tourism industry has capitalized on this legend. Nevertheless, I am still surprised when I hear someone mentio...