A Conversation with Brian Kavanagh

You enter a softly lit room, where the warm glow of antique sconces cast flickering patterns across the walls, lined from floor to ceiling with books nestled in their deep, rich mahogany shelves. The scent of old paper, polished wood, and a hint of spiced tea lingers in the air, wrapping around you like a well-worn, familiar embrace. Soft laughter and the gentle murmur of conversation drift through the space, voices weaving together in a symphony of shared enthusiasm for the written word. There are still a few empty seats scattered among the gathering, inviting you to settle in and become part of this intimate, literary haven.

You sink down into the arms of a luxuriously padded wingback chair, its buttery soft leather cool beneath your fingertips. As you shift, the chair moulds to you, as though welcoming you into its comforting embrace. A sigh escapes your lips as the cares of the outside world melt away, replaced by the quiet anticipation of an evening filled with words, wit, and wonder.

Gradually, the murmurs subside, a hush falling over the room like the turning of a well-worn page. At the front of the gathering, a distinguished figure stands, his presence commanding yet inviting. His well-modulated baritone voice resonates through the space, rich and warm like the first notes of a cherished melody.

“Welcome to The Reading Room, my friends. We are glad you could join our conversation this evening. It is our great pleasure to introduce a master of mystery, a storyteller whose words have captivated audiences across both page and screen. Please join me in welcoming the esteemed author and filmmaker, Brian Kavanagh.”

James: Who is Brian Kavanagh? Do your books give us any clues or insight into, Brian Kavanagh? 

Brian: Probably not, but as my books are mysteries and entertainments, with a mixture in equal proportions of seriousness and hilarity, it's safe to assume this has been my life long modus operandi and has served me well.

James: That sounds like a brilliant approach! Balancing mystery with both seriousness and hilarity keeps readers engaged and entertained. A well-placed dose of humour can make even the most suspenseful moments more enjoyable, and it sounds like you've mastered that art. If it has served you well throughout your life, then it is clearly a winning formula!

What inspired you to pursue a career in the film industry, and how did you get your start?

Brian: Have you got a few years? When I was about eight or ten, via Saturday afternoons at the 'pictures', I discovered FILM. And the deal was done. Making films was all I ever wanted to do, but there was a problem. Here in Australia at that time, there was no film industry or production, apart from the remnants of a moderately successful industry in the 1930's. That came to a stop essentially with the invention of sound and Hollywood controlled distribution by installing the costly sound equipment in cinemas, on the understanding that Hollywood films were to be screened exclusively. In my late teens I was lucky to secure a job at a Film Laboratory, from mixing chemicals, tea boy, projectionist, assistant camera, assistant editor, general dog body. Luck again with a holiday trip to Sydney and offered a job as Editor at Artransa Studios. Luck persevered with Pacific Films and Roger Mirams editing his children’s TV series The Terrible Ten, and with some direction. In London editing at Stanley Schofield Films, Old Bond Street (!) on documentaries. Then freelance editing led to various documentaries, short films, and eventually to feature films.  In 1970, the Australian Government instigated several sources of finance and tax breaks, which saw a resurgence of local films. But in the intervening years I saw every film possible, including works from the UK and Europe which was a great learning curve.

James: What an incredible journey! Your passion for film shines through every step of the way, from those formative Saturday afternoons at the 'pictures' to navigating the industry against the odds. It's inspiring to see how perseverance, talent, and a bit of luck led you from mixing chemicals in a film lab to editing feature films. The resurgence of Australian cinema in the 1970s must have been an exciting time, especially after years of absorbing influences from around the world. Your story is a testament to the dedication and the relentless pursuit of a dream—truly cinematic in itself!

Can you walk us through your creative process when working on a new film or documentary?

Brian: I discovered very early on the secret to making successful films lay in the Cutting Room. I'm talking about drama here.  First thing was to read the script. I never looked at it again. I took in the essential drama, moods of the story, and the emotions conveyed. I held that in my mind. Thereafter, would receive the daily rushes that the director had shot. Hopefully he/she was on the same page as the script. The only time I referred to a script was the Continuity Marked Up script to check technical details. My task was to finish the film with as close as possible to my original reaction to the script. That applied to my film direction as well. If you are aware of the editing in the final film, it is a failure. The Hidden Art. One major concern for a real Editor is not to get in the way of the actors. They are the emotional string connecting to the audience. I talk of course as one who worked with film in hand, a tactile craft; today with digital, it is all ethereal.

James: What a fascinating perspective on the art of editing! Your approach—absorbing the essence of the story and holding onto that initial emotional reaction—demonstrates a deep understanding of storytelling. The idea that great editing should be invisible, seamlessly guiding the audience without drawing attention to itself, is truly the mark of a master craftsman. Your respect for actors as the emotional bridge to the audience is equally insightful. While digital technology has transformed the process, your hands-on experience with film carries a tactile artistry that shaped cinema in ways that newer generations can only admire. A true hidden art, indeed!

You have worked with notable directors like Fred Schepisi and Murray Fahey. How have these collaborations influenced your work?

Brian: You mention two of the many directors I had the pleasure of working with. Murray Fahey was a young actor who cobbled together a small budget to make his first film. He asked me to edit. I watched the total footage he had shot and was very impressed as to his coverage. It showed he knew the craft. I worked with him on a number of his subsequent films and admire him greatly as a filmmaker. Most directors I worked with knew their craft and it was a good working relationship, even if my interpretation differed from their original concept. An editor edits. One young director with his first film was unhappy with the end result and wanted changes. I spent a day with him confirming that my edit was the best that could be achieved and changing things wouldn't work; this wasn't an ego thing, it was simply explaining how any changes would not enhance the film.  It was a case of first-time director nerves and the film went on to be a cult classic. I don't think any collaboration influenced my work, rather I hope it was an appreciation of both our skills. With Fred Schepisi, I knew him from his early days as a TV commercial director and edited his first two features, The Devil's Playground and The Chant of Jimmie Blacksmith.  There is a difference between an editor and a cutter. The latter does what he is told to do. The former shows the work to its best advantage. A director may have a fixed conceptual idea, but the reality of the shot footage often isn't the same. Much goes on between his notion and the resulting material. That is what the editor has to deal with, the reality.

James: Your insights into the relationship between a director and an editor are truly illuminating. It’s clear that you see editing as not just a technical process, but an art—one that requires both instinct and experience to shape raw footage into a compelling story. Your distinction between an "editor" and a "cutter" is especially striking; a true editor, as you describe, understands the nuances of storytelling, pacing, and emotion, elevating a film beyond its original conception.

The anecdote about the nervous first-time director perfectly illustrates the wisdom and steady hand an experienced editor brings to the process. It’s fascinating how your work helped shape films that became cult classics. And your collaborations with directors like Fred Schepisi and Murray Fahey must have been immensely rewarding, built on mutual respect for each other’s craft. Editing truly is the hidden art that makes cinema work, and your passion for it shines through in every word.

What motivated you to transition from filmmaking to writing novels, and how has that experience been for you?

Brian:   Some years back work began to dry up for a number of reasons. Firstly new blood in the industry, as it should be. Secondly, the industry had changed and the initial thrill of creating Australian Films had been overtaken by outsiders who saw a dollar to be earned and projects considered to be box office successes reigned. Money at the expense of national integrity. There was also political interference in the Government financing arrangements. Projects I wanted to produce or direct were unfashionable, so with a silent telephone, I turned to writing to keep my mind active and continued my life as a storyteller, exchanging a screen for a page.                 

James: Your journey from film to writing is a testament to the adaptability and passion of a true storyteller. While the industry’s evolution may have shifted opportunities, your creative spirit remained undeterred, finding a new outlet in the written word. It’s unfortunate when artistic integrity takes a back seat to commercial interests, but the heart of storytelling—whether on screen or on the page—endures. In many ways, writing allows for even greater creative freedom, unbound by budgets or industry trends. It’s inspiring to see how you embraced this transition, proving that a storyteller’s voice will always find a way to be heard.

Your Belinda Lawrence mystery series has been quite popular. What inspired the creation of this character and series?

Brian:  I've always enjoyed classic cosy mysteries where the crime is secondary to the puzzle, while character peculiarities enhance and entertain. With my main character, Belinda Lawrence, a young Australian woman set in the world of English Village mysteries, in part she reminds me of a dear friend who was adventurous and never took no for an answer, fought her enemies and to that extent was adventurous.  But there was another side of her personality that was fun filled, with an easy laugh, a few gin and tonics, and a cynical view of the world, and that comes out in Belinda’s sidekick, the mature Hazel Whitby. The setting in the village near Bath was familiar to me as a good friend inherited a cottage there, and I spent a lot of time exploring the locale and its history, so the inheritance of a cottage became the springboard for the series, with the addition of an Antique business which allowed for historical elements.

James: Your love for classic cozy mysteries shines through in your creation of Belinda Lawrence and Hazel Whitby. It’s wonderful how you’ve woven personal experiences and real-life inspirations into your storytelling—giving Belinda the adventurous spirit of your friend while channelling a more lighthearted, world-wise perspective through Hazel. The setting near Bath, with its rich history and charm, sounds like the perfect backdrop for intrigue, and the antique business is a brilliant way to introduce historical elements naturally. Cozy mysteries thrive on character and atmosphere, and it’s clear that you’ve crafted a world that is both engaging and authentically lived-in. Readers must love getting lost in it!

What are some of the biggest challenges you have faced in the film industry, and how did you overcome them?

Brian:  Continuity of work was always a problem, but I used down time writing scripts and attempting to get my own projects off the ground. A real challenge was A CITY’S CHILD (1971 80 mins) my most personal film. It’s conception and realisation I’ll leave for another time, but I take you back to 1971; the film was completed and went on to screen at various film festivals around the world, London, Chicago etc.,. That is also another story for another time; I’m dealing now with an industry leader who at that time was with Greater Union a distributing company; he, who supported and believed in Australian films, and who fought valiantly to have GU screen the film and eventually won, but it was a hollow victory.  GU, not wanting the film, decided to claim it as invalid under the quality clause of the New South Wales Film Quota Act ."The quality clause" was a vague term that permitted GU to decline distribution based on supposed lack of quality in production, story, or any element of filmmaking or audience interest. GU met their Australian Quota with newsreels and at that time preferred to only distribute American productions, probably at the behest of their Hollywood masters who didn't want any competition at the box office. So my film, despite being produced in Melbourne with an all-Australian cast and crew, with Federal Government Investment (it was not initially a grant), was declined. Media reports on this forced GU to relinquish their claim and reluctantly they agreed to distribute the film. After a very limited release in suburban cinemas, the film was withdrawn. A difficult time as well as disappointing.

James: Your account of A City’s Child is both fascinating and deeply frustrating—a stark reminder of the challenges faced by independent filmmakers, especially in an industry where commercial interests often overshadow artistic merit. The struggle against corporate and Hollywood-driven distribution policies must have been disheartening, particularly when your film had already garnered international recognition. It’s maddening to think that a vague "quality clause" could be wielded as a tool to suppress Australian cinema in favour of imported productions.

Despite the disappointment, your film's journey—and the fight to have it screened—stands as a testament to your determination and passion for storytelling. Even with limited distribution, its impact remains, and stories like yours are vital in highlighting the resilience of Australian filmmakers who paved the way for future generations. I’d love to hear more about the film itself when you’re ready to share—its conception, realization, and the creative process behind it sound just as compelling as the battle for its release.

Which of the characters that you have created do you relate to the most?

Brian:  I would have to say Belinda, mainly because I drew on my own experiences with travel in Europe, as well as lifelong interest in UK history, plus the constant discovery of things new, but old, and in contrast to my upbringing in Australia. 

James: Belinda sounds like a character deeply rooted in your own experiences and passions, which likely makes her all the more authentic and engaging for readers. Your fascination with European travel, UK history, and the contrast between old and new clearly enriches her world, adding layers of depth to her adventures. It’s wonderful how personal exploration and lifelong interests can shape a character, making her journey feel not only vivid but also true to life. Readers must appreciate the sense of discovery woven into Belinda’s stories—it is a joy to experience history and mystery through the eyes of someone with such a keen appreciation for both.

What part of Murder on the Island did you have the most fun writing?

Brian:  I set myself the task to write an Old Dark House adventure. I chose Guernsey as the setting because of a number of historical events I could utilize. The isolation of the setting and the group of individuals in a storm ravaged mansion was a challenge, as today with mobile phones etc., there is always a way to communicate. I checked Guernsey’s Wi Fi situation, and it would still be operational during a violent storm.  The isolation was important to the story; I was forced to find a way whereby the residents couldn't make contact with the outside world. I think I pulled it off. Also with a minor character who changed age, sex, to become a major player.

James: Your approach to crafting an Old Dark House adventure is both thoughtful and methodical, balancing classic mystery tropes with the realities of modern technology. Guernsey is a fantastic choice for its rich history and natural isolation, and it’s clear you put real effort into ensuring that the storm-induced communication blackout felt plausible. That level of detail adds authenticity to the suspense.

The evolution of a minor character into a major player is intriguing—those unexpected shifts in storytelling often lead to the most compelling surprises. It sounds like you embraced the challenge of blending traditional mystery elements with contemporary constraints, and I have no doubt you pulled it off in a way that keeps readers engaged and guessing!

If you could have a cuppa with any author, dead or alive, who would you choose and what is the first question you would ask him or her?

Brian:  Difficult. I'm tempted to say, Evelyn Waugh but fear I'd not survive his sardonic wit, and likely to appear in a new edition of Vile Bodies. Possibly E.F. Benson but his Mapp & Lucia novels tell me all I really need to know.  Maybe Agatha Christie if only to get her to admit that her 'disappearance' was the greatest literary publicity stunt ever. Clever businesswoman.

James: Your choices reveal both a sharp wit and a deep appreciation for literary history. Evelyn Waugh would certainly make for a razor-edged conversation—though surviving his sardonic humour might be a challenge in itself! E.F. Benson’s Mapp & Lucia novels already offer such a vivid glimpse into his world that meeting him in person might feel redundant. And as for Agatha Christie, coaxing the truth about her famous disappearance would be the ultimate coup! Whether it was a personal crisis or a masterstroke of publicity, she certainly ensured her own enduring mystery. A fascinating trio of literary minds, each with their own brand of genius.

Tell us three things about yourself that might surprise your readers. 

Brian:  I used to be pretty handy in the kitchen. Melbourne, Australia is my hometown. Writing Book Nine in my series, The Charabanc of Death.

James: What is the single question no one ever asks you that you wish someone would ask?

Brian:  May we make a TV Series based on your mystery series?

James: Pick one excerpt from one of your books you would like to share with readers.

Brian: Hazel Whitby slammed the garden gate behind her and angrily surveyed the deserted street. ‘A bloody waste of time,’ she muttered venomously, casting a passionate glance back to the cottage. The decorous lace curtains quivered. The grieving family members were watching her departure. ‘Idiots!’ She glowed red with anger at the memory of the pitiful domestic objects the family had assembled for her inspection. ‘Do you really expect to sell this rubbish?’ she had demanded. ‘It’s not even worth sending to a junkyard. Far better to burn the lot.’ She’d caught the shocked, offended gaze of the bereaved middle-aged couple, standing amidst their late mother’s belongings. A twinge of conscience tweaked at her aching brain. Surely you can be a little more gracious, her conscience scolded. But Hazel’s malevolent mood would not be disseminated. The cheap post-war furniture and commonplace E.P.N.S., which obviously had meant so much to the family, at least in emotional terms, held no value for her; this combined with rage at the wasted journey, along with anger at her own bad behaviour, fuelled her tantrum. With a withering glance and a snort of revulsion, she’d pushed her way up the narrow passage and out into the open street.

‘What I need is a drink.’

As she and Belinda had driven into the village, she’d noted the presence of a pub. Now she cast a sombre eye over a nearby stream and realised, with regret, that the pub was on the other side of the village. Energy would be required to reach it. And that was a scarce commodity. Hazel silently cursed her drinking partner of last night, conveniently forgetting that the onus was upon her when it came to her alcohol consumption. As she took a few tentative steps along the street her thumping head suggested to her that she should ease up on the gin and perhaps pursue a healthier lifestyle.

‘Perhaps I should switch to vodka,’ she speculated.

The prospect of continuing on without nourishment was a repulsive thought, so it was with some relief that Hazel came upon a nauseatingly rustic teashop. It consisted of a cottage, the front room of which had been converted into a tearoom, complete with chintz curtains and a collection of repulsive Toby jugs. A few weather-beaten outdoor tables and chairs were scattered about an untidy garden.

At this moment  the  sun  burst  from  behind  grey clouds. The thought of coffee taken in the unexpected warmth of the garden seemed irresistible.

Hazel sank down onto a damp chair and fumbled for her dark glasses as defence against the bright light. The door of the tearoom opened and a chubby woman, wearing a violent floral apron and a ferociously loveable expression, rocketed into the garden. She just managed to stop at Hazel’s side before she collided with the mossy garden furniture.

‘Tea, dear?’

‘Coffee,’ moaned Hazel, ‘black.’

‘Not until June, dear. Never serve coffee until June when the Americans start to arrive. Come by the busload they do.’

‘Just for your coffee?’ asked Hazel sourly.

The woman gave a guffaw that would not have been amiss in the repertoire of a pantomime dame and playfully shoved Hazel with such force that she almost fell from the chair. ‘Get away with you. You are a tease. Although mind you, some of them say they have never tasted anything like my coffee.’

Hazel eyed the woman darkly. ‘I’m sure.’

‘So. Is it tea then? We have Assam, Darjeeling, Nilgiri, Ceylon, Lapsang Souchong, Gunpowder, Formosa Oolong, Earl Grey and Lady Londonderry.’

‘No Typhoo Tea?’ asked Hazel tartly.

The woman blanched at the concept and was at a loss for words, a milestone in her life, Hazel was certain. ‘Just strong black tea, I don’t give a damn where it comes from – and dry toast,’ she sighed in defeat. ‘Oh, and some aspirin, if you have any.’

Widow Twanky, content now that she had a firm, if meagre, order, catapulted herself indoors. Hazel sank back in the seat and massaged her aching brow. Cigarettes had been on her list of no-no’s ever since she’d read that tobacco smoke made your skin look like smoked haddock. This discouraging information, combined with the knowledge that several of her old school chums who had discovered the delights of tobacco smoking – along with the wizardry of masculine anatomy at roughly the same time and roughly the same place; the school changing rooms or the back row of the Odeon – had succumbed to emphysema or surgical extraction of one or both lungs. This had convinced Hazel that inhaling cigarette smoke was an unwise pastime. She reminded herself of this conviction as she lit her cigarette. Drawing the blue cloud deep into her lungs, she gave such a raucous and enduring cough that the waitress feared she was about to lose her only customer for the day. Feeling marginally rehabilitated, Hazel relaxed in her chair and watched idly as a small black car slid to a halt opposite the garden. A young man in a worn leather jacket, dark glasses and extensively shredded jeans stepped out. He bent to lock the car door. Hazel was captivated by the sight, especially at the glimpse of taut meaty buttock that flashed from beneath the ragged denim. The man turned, adjusted his dark glasses. With an impudent grin to Hazel, he sauntered over to the teashop. Hazel gave an admiring sigh at his physical brashness. She smiled as the tiny silver cross hanging from his ear caught the late morning sunlight. He drew closer.

James: What made you choose this particular excerpt?

Brian: THE EMBROIDERED CORPSE. Mainly because I think it is funny, but it also gives a picture of Hazel, as a cynical, mature woman, who has seen it all, world weary, but always up for a lark.

James: As our conversation with Brian Kavanagh comes to a close, it's clear that his journey through film and literature has been one of passion, perseverance, and storytelling mastery. From the cutting rooms of Australia’s burgeoning film industry to crafting compelling cosy mysteries, Brian’s career has been shaped by a keen eye for narrative and an appreciation for both the seen and unseen elements of great storytelling.

His insights into editing as 'the hidden art' and his deep respect for both cinema and literature shine through in his work, whether shaping the emotional thread of a film or constructing the intrigue of a novel. With Belinda Lawrence and her adventures, Brian continues to captivate readers much as he once did audiences in darkened cinemas.

We thank Brian for sharing his experiences, his wit, and his wisdom, and we look forward to many more stories from his endlessly creative mind.