he was affable, polite, semi-retired and almost svelte,
shuffling away from the podium where he had just shared
his reminiscences with a class of eager film students.
He chuckled as he recalled the sometimes glib insertions
of one script collaborator into three celebrated films,
dryly observing that the man had always been overfond
of literary allusions.  Then he had trouble recalling a name
of a bit player and thought it might have been Bernardo,
but that didn’t sound quite right to him, so I raised my hand
and offered that perhaps he meant Beradino, reading this
reference straight out of the textbook I had smuggled in.
The great director made a little frown, neither acknowledging
me nor standing corrected, remarking only that It might
have been Bernadino.  And then fielding no further questions.