He is arguing with everyone. He is arguing because he is unmoored, and troubled in his heart. He is arguing because he feels undervalued. He is arguing because he is tired of barely getting by.
And he is arguing with Mae, and he is arguing because of Mae.
Hal Roach isn’t paying him enough. Even Mae says so, and in this much, at least, Mae is not wrong, because Mae knows the value of a dollar. Worse, Hal Roach pays slowly, and Hal Roach takes too long to sign off on pictures. Harold Lloyd is a star, and Hal Roach’s treatment of Harold Lloyd is of a different order to how the rest of the actors are treated. He is not a star, and Hal Roach lets him know it.
He wishes A.J. were here. A.J. is taking care of his business affairs outside the United States, but A.J. is in Ealing, not Hollywood. Whenever he calls A.J. in frustration, and raises the possibility of returning to vaudeville, A.J. counsels him to stay in pictures. A.J. has at last smelled the dying of the music halls, and vaudeville must surely follow.
What can he do? He can stay with Hal Roach, or he can show some spine and leave. Mae tells him that he should go elsewhere, but he no longer feels comfortable trusting Mae’s instincts.
He no longer feels that he can trust Mae at all.
Friends have ceased to call on them. Invitations to join dinner parties as a couple have dwindled to nothing. He works better when Mae is not on set, so he no longer campaigns for her.
And Mae knows. Mae, like Chaplin, is no fool.
You don’t listen to me, she says.
—I listen to you. You don’t give me any choice.
—I only want what’s best for you, what’s best for both of us.
—Maybe they’re not the same thing, not anymore.
—What do you mean? Do you want to leave me?
But he does not answer, because she is Mae, and he loved her once.