Fifty Years on Stage (2013) Movie Script

So we have got two hours to show the
vast range of work that the National
has done over the last 50 years by
staging short scenes from some of
the most memorable shows and there
are more than 800 choose from. We
have got an unbelievable array of
great actors, all of them at some
point members of the National
Theatre company. And six of them
were in the first National Theatre
company that started at The Old Vic
in 1963. A small part of the show is
from the archive recently discovered
and we do not think ever seen
before. But most of it is going to
be absolutely live, live on stage
and live on television and we're not
sure anybody has ever done anything
quite like this before.
Olivier Theatre 50 Years On Stage
company. Ladies and gentlemen, this
is your beginners call, your calls
please, Miss Maxwell-Martin, Mr
Barker, Mr Jacobi, Mr Lester and Mr
Townsend. Thank you.
We are starting this evening the
same way the National Theatre
started in 1963, with the opening
scene of Hamlet where the sentries
on the battlements see the ghost of
Hamlet's father. Playing the ghost
this evening will be Sir Derek
Jacobi, who played Laertes in the
original production 50 years ago.
The first voice you will hear is
live archive recording of Richard
Hampton. Richard spoke the first
lines in the performance ever given
by the National Theatre. The rest of
the scene will be played by members
of this year's company. I am one of
them.
Who is there? Nay, answer me. Stand
and unfold yourself. Long live the
King! Barnardo? He. You come most
carefully upon your hour. 'Tis now
struck twelve. Get thee to bed,
Francisco. For this relief much
thanks. 'Tis bitter cold, And I am
sick at heart. Have you had quiet
guard? Not a mouse stirring. Well,
good night. If you do meet Horatio
and Marcellus, The rivals of my
watch, bid them make haste. I think
I hear them. Stand, ho! Who is
there? Friends to this ground. And
liegemen to the Dane. Give you good
night. O, farewell honest soldier,
who hath reliev'd you? Say, what, is
Horatio there? A piece of him.
Welcome, Horatio. Welcome, good
Marcellus. Tush, tush, 'twill not
appear. So let us once again assail
your ears, That are so fortified
against our story, What we have two
nights seen... Peace, break thee
off. Look where it comes again. In
the same figure like the King that's
dead. Thou art a scholar. Speak to
it, Horatio. Looks he not like the
King? Mark it, Horatio. Most like.
It harrows me with fear and wonder.
It would be spoke to. Question it,
Horatio. What art thou that usurp'st
this time of night, Together with
that fair and warlike form In which
the majesty of buried Denmark did
sometimes march. By heaven, I charge
thee speak. It is offended. See, it
stalks away. Stay, speak, speak, I
charge thee speak.
It was announced that he was to be
the director of the National
Theatre. He was very excited by it.
He was also very frightened. Larry
kind of works, he has an area around
him which is quite difficult to
penetrate. It got easier. It got
easier and more relaxed.
Now look here, gentlemen, he that
bids the fairest shall have me! My
dear, I'd prefer you, I'd make you a
corporal this minute! Corporal? I'll
make you my companion. You shall eat
with me! You shall drink with me!
You shall lie with me, you young
rogue. You shall receive your pay
and do no duty. Then you must make
me a field officer! I'll do more
than all this - I'll make you a
Corporal and give you brevet for
sergeant. Can you read and write,
sir? Yes. Then your business is
done. I'll make you chaplain to the
regiment.
It was an actors' theatre in that it
was run by the greatest actor we
had. Joan was very important because
she was Mrs Olivier, and she sort of
kept us all in check really.
Now tell me Mikhail Lvovich, if I
had a friend, or a younger sister,
and if you found out that she, well
- suppose she loved you, how would
you take that? I don't know. No how
I expect. I should give her to
understand that I could not care for
her, my mind was taken up with other
things. Anyway if I'm going, I
really must get off. Goodbye, my
dear girl or we shall not finish
till morning. I'll go out through
this way if you don't mind, I don't
want your uncle to detain me. No, no
don't trouble please.
My voices were right, they told me
you were fools and that I was not to
listen to your fine words...or trust
to your charity. You promised me my
life but you lied. You think that
life is nothing but not being stone
dead. It is not the bread and water
I fear. I can live on bread, when I
have asked for more? 'Tis no
hardship to drink water if the water
be clean. Bread hath no sorrow for
me, nor water no affliction. But to
shut me from the light of the sky,
and the sight of the fields and
flowers, to chain my feet so that I
can never again ride with the
soldiers or climb the hills; to make
me breathe foul damp darkness, and
keep me from everything that brings
me back to the love of God when your
wickedness and foolishness tempt me
to hate Him. All this is worse than
the furnace in the Bible that was
heated seven times. I could do
without my warhorse, I could drag
about in a skirt. I could let the
banners and the trumpets and the
knights and the soldiers pass me and
leave me behind as they leave the
other women, if only I could still
hear the wind in the trees, the
larks in the sunshine, the young
lambs crying through the healthy
frost, and the blessed blessed
church bells that send my angel
voices floating to me on the wind.
But without these things I cannot
live, and by your wanting to take
them away from me, or from any human
creature, I know that your counsel
is of the devil, and that mine is of
God.
In 1966 Kenneth Tynan, who was the
literary manager of the National
Theatre came back from the Edinburgh
Fringe Festival with a dazzling new
play which focused on two very
peripheral characters from Hamlet.
It was Tom Stoppard's first play at
the National, Rosencrantz And
Guildenstern Are Dead, in which
Hamlet's two doomed school friends
ponder The Mysteries of eternity,
chance and death.
Heads.Heads (and again). Heads.
Heads.
Yes, one must think of the future.
It's the normal thing. To have one.
One is, after all, having it all the
time. Now. And now. And now. It
could go on for ever. Well, not for
ever, I suppose. Do you ever think
of yourself as actually dead, lying
in a box with a lid on it? No. Nor
do I, really. It's silly to be
depressed by it. I mean one thinks
of it like being alive in a box, one
keeps forgetting to take into
account the fact that one is dead,
which should make a
difference,shouldn't it? I mean,
you'd never know you were in a box,
would you? It would be just like
being asleep in a box. Not that I'd
like to sleep in a box, mind you,
not without any air. You'd wake up
dead, for a start and then where
would you be? Apart from inside a
box. That's the bit I don't like,
frankly. That's why I don't think of
it. Because you'd be helpless,
wouldn't you? Stuffed in a box like
that, I mean you'd be in there for
ever. Even taking into account the
fact you're dead, really - ask
yourself, if I asked you straight
off - I'm going to stuff you in this
box now, would you rather be alive
or dead? Naturally, you'd prefer to
be alive. Life in a box is better
than no life at all. I expect. You'd
have a chance at least. You could
lie there thinking - well, at least
I'm not dead! In a minute someone's
going to bang on the lid and tell me
to come out. "Hey you, whatsyername!
Come out of there"! You don't have
to flog it to death! I wouldn't
think about it, if I were you. You'd
only get depressed. Eternity is a
terrible thought. I mean, where's it
going to end?
I don't think you're being very
kind. Oh, what makes you think that?
You being the cynical author
laughing up his sleeve at a gushing
admirer. I think you're a very
interesting woman, and extremely
nice-looking. Oh, do you? Yes. Would
you like me to make love to you? Oh,
now really, David - I wish you
wouldn't say things like that. I
know I've knocked you off your plate
- I'll look away for a minute while
you. Climb on to it again. Oh,
really this is wonderful! That's
right. Now then... Now then, what?
You're adorable - you're magnificent
- you're tawny. I'm not in the least
tawny. Now, don't argue. This is
sheer affectation. Now affectation's
very nice. No, it isn't - it's
odious. Oh, you mustn't be cross.
I'm not in the least cross. Yes, you
are - but you're very alluring.
Alluring? Terribly. How sweet of
you. I can hear your brain clicking
- it's really very funny. Yes well
that was rather rude. You've been
consistently rude to me for hours.
Never mind. Why have you? I'm always
rude to people I like. Do you like
me? Enormously. Oh, how sweet of
you! But I don't like your methods.
Methods? What methods? You're far
too pleasant to occupy yourself with
the commonplace. And you spoil
yourself by trying to be too clever.
Oh you're so inscrutable and
quizzical, just exactly what a
feminine psychologist should be.
Yes, aren't I? You frighten me
dreadfully. Oh darling! Oh, don't
call me darling. Well that's
unreasonable. You've been trying to
make me the whole evening. Your
conceit is outrageous! It's not
conceit at all! You've been firmly
buttering me up because you want a
nice little intrigue. Oh how dare
you! It's perfectly true. If it
weren't you wouldn't be so cross. I
think you are insufferable! Oh Myra
- dear Myra... Ah! Don't touch me!
Oh, come along let's have that nice
little intrigue. The only reason
I've been so annoying is that I love
to see things as they are first, and
then pretend they're what they're
not. Yes words, words. Masses and
masses of words! Yes, well, they're
great fun to play with. Oh, I'm glad
you think so. Personally, they bore
me stiff. They're great fun to play
with. I'm glad you think so.
Personally, they bore me stiff. Myra
- don't be statuesque. Yes, let go
of my hand! Oh! Oh, I am so sorry.
APPLAUSE AND CHEERING
Wedlock, we own ordained by heaven's
decree, But such as heaven ordained
it first to be: Concurring tempers
in the man and wife. As mutual helps
to draw the load of life. View all
the works of Providence above. The
stars with harmony and concord move.
View all the works of Providence
below. The fire, the water, earth,
and air we know. All in one plant
agree to make it grow. Must man, the
chiefest work of art divine, be
doomed in endless discord to repine?
No, we should injure heaven by that
surmise. Omnipotence is just, were
man but wise.
APPLAUSE
Peter Nichols' The National Health
was the first in a long of
illustrious line of what came to be
known as State of the Nation plays
at the National Theatre. A funny but
merciless parody of a sentimental TV
hospital soap is intercut with a
very realistic portrayal of a
shabby, underfunded hospital and a
hospital staff that seems intent on
doing anything but serving their
patients properly. In the second bed
from the right is Charles Kay, who
played the same role 44 years ago.
Good morning, how are you today?
GROANS. Keep smiling. You'll soon by
out of here. Good morning, how are
you today? Morning, Matron, not so
dusty, thank you. That's the style.
When you consider half my tummy's
been? Keep it up. Taken away.
GROANS. Good morning. How are you
getting along? Eh? Are they treating
you well? Not too bad. That's right.
Though I'd like to go to a toilet...
Sister. You know - toilet with a
decent chain. Get this patient a
bedpan. Bedpan for Mr Flagg. Good
morning how are you today? Lovely,
Matron. That's what we like to hear,
isn't it, Sister? Get well soon. We
need the beds.
LAUGHTER
You could have waited. What's he
brought me this for? You said you
wanted to go to the toilet. I said I
would like a toilet with a decent
chain like I have at home. Mr Flagg
don't said he was looking forward to
a toilet with a decent chain. The
Matron says do this, it's a Royal
command. I don't want the bedpan.
Come along, Mr Flagg. I have been on
duty for 29 hours.
LAUGHTER
Where's Her Majesty? On the balcony.
Who do you feel? Nurse, this patient
should have the screens round.
They're all being used. Get them in.
Coming! Shall I take you off, Mr
Flagg. I never wanted to come on
here. Now I am on, you better leave
me. Oh. Doctor. Doctor! We will
aspirate a pleural effusion. Thank
you, nurse. He should be on the
terminal ward. Ask Strr to arrange
it. I will be with the almoner if
you want me. Other way if you want
to go out. Mr Mackie to the terminal
ward. Go for a nice long ride now,
Mr Mackie. Chuff-chuff-chuff. Those
chairs are anyhow. Put them straight
Those chairs are anyhow. Put them
straight. The whole ward block is in
for a face-lift which I am sure you
will agree is long overdue. The
walls will be in washable avocado
pear, curtains and counterpanes in
Cotswold stone. High level louvres
on the windows. King's Fund beds
with slimline mattresses. Into the
jet-age with one big jump.
APPLAUSE
No Man's Land by Harold Pinter. I
remember seeing it with Gielgud and
Richardson at the Vic. Then it moved
to the South Bank. I can't remember
knowing what it was about. But it
didn't really matter. You are not
supposed to really know. It's Harold
Pinter, you just watch it. And when
they pause, is it intended? Just
long pauses, weren't there? Long
pauses. I've done many plays by
Harold. If you asked Harold what his
plays were about he wouldn't reply.
He wouldn't say, I don't know or
wouldn't say anything. Just wouldn't
speak to you. So you just get on
with it and do it. That's all. I
don't quite know what Spooner and
Hirst represent. I mean, they seem
to... Um... Be sort of
kaleidoscopic. They can be many,
many things at any time you want
them to be. One is very rich and one
is very poor. And one is a kind of
parasitic hanger-on type person. The
other is a man who is sitting there
drunk. I wish I was playing that
part! He never stops talking, your
man, does he? Unfortunately, not! I
am enraptured. Tell me more. Tell me
more about the quaint little
perversions of your life and times.
Tell me more, with all the authority
and brilliance you can muster, about
the socio-political-economic
structure of the environment in
which you attained to the age of
reason. Tell me more. There is no
more. Tell me then about your wife.
What wife? How beautiful she was,
how tender and how true. Tell me
with what speed she swung in the
air, with what velocity she came off
the wicket. Whether she was
responsive to finger spin, whether
you could bowl a shooter with her,
or an off break with a legbreak
action. In other words, did she
google?
You will not say. I will tell you
then, that my wife had everything.
Eyes, a mouth, hair, teeth,
buttocks, breasts, absolutely
everything. And legs. Which carried
her away. Carried who away? Yours or
mine? Is she here now, your wife?
Cowering in a locked room, perhaps?
Was she ever here? Was she ever
there, in your cottage? It is my
duty to tell you you have failed to
convince. I am an honest and
intelligent man. You pay me less
than my due. Are you, equally, being
fair to the lady? I begin to wonder
whether truly accurate and therefore
essentially poetic definition means
anything to you at all. I begin to
wonder whether you do in fact truly
remember her, whether you truly did
love her, truly caressed her, truly
did cradle her, truly did husband
her, falsely dreamed or did truly
adore her. I have seriously
questioned these propositions and
find them threadbare. Her eyes, I
take it, were hazel?
Hazel shit. Good lord, good lord, do
I detect a touch of the maudlin?
Hazel shit. I ask myself: Have I
ever seen hazel shit? Or hazel eyes,
for that matter? Do I detect a touch
of the hostile? Do I detect, with
respect, a touch of too many glasses
of ale followed by the great malt
which wounds? Which wounds? Tonight,
my friend, you find me in the last
lap of a race I had long forgotten
to run. A metaphor.
LAUGHTER
Things are looking up.
APPLAUSE AND CHEERING
The next playwright is Alan
Ackybourn, one of the most prolific
playwright for the National Theatre.
I can remember many, among them
Sisterly Feelings which I was in,
Way Upstream, A Chorus of
Disapproval, Small Family Business
and Bedroom Farce. He started it on
a Wednesday and finished on a
Friday. He typed it up on the
Saturday. He went into rehearsal on
the Monday. Peter asked me to write
a play specifically, I said, are you
sure you want me to write for The
National? He did a Peter-ism, he
lent forward as we were having
dinner and he said, Alan, ask
yourself, can I do without The
National Theatre? The answer is yes,
but I'll ask you another question.
Can The National Theatre do without
you? Bedroom Farce takes place in
three suburban bedrooms over 24
hours and I think probably that's
all you need to know.
A damp patch. Definitely. It's
getting in from somewhere. I've just
been standing on the spare bed in
there feeling the ceiling. The
verdict is, very very damp. Grub up.
Just a minute. It'll get cold. I've
just got to take this off. You can
do that afterwards. I'm not getting
into bed with my make-up on,
darling. It may look beautiful in
the films but they don't have to
worry about the laundry bills. Oh
well. Spot of bad news, anyway. Bad
news? Sardines were not in evidence.
I had to settle for pilchards.
Pilchards? Oh. Don't you like
pilchards? Well, not as much.
Similar. Both fish, anyway. Yes. You
had them in stock. I assumed you
liked them. I don't necessarily like
everything I buy. Those were just
stores. For an emergency. Ah, the
old siege stores, eh? I bought a
little of everything. I think
there's even some tinned red cabbage
and I certainly don't intend to eat
that. Oh well, I'll wolf the lot
then, shall I? No, no, leave me a
little. Right. Aaah. Didn't put the
blanket on, did we? Nor did we. Ah.
Down you go.
Ah, this is nice. What better way to
end the day? Listening to the rain
gushing through our roof. It's not
raining surely? Metaphorical. These
aren't bad at all. You know, I think
I could become a pilchard man. I
think we're in imminent need of a
hot water bottle here, you know. Oh
yes. Bearing in mind the normal
running temperature of your feet.
Not my fault. Most women have cold
feet. It's circulation. I wouldn't
know about that. I haven't sampled
that many. The girls at school did.
Well, not the younger ones. Younger
girls have very hot feet. Like
little boys. But when we got to the
sixth form, we all found we had cold
feet. I think it's something to do
with - maturing. Very curious. Chaps
I shared a hut with in the army all
had overwhelmingly hot feet. I can
imagine. Yes, I pronounce these
pilchards a success. Jolly good.
Right, here I come. Stand by for
cold feet.
Darling, you're getting fish on the
sheet. Oh, sorry. Now we're going to
reek of fish all night. I don't
think this was a terribly bright
idea of someone's.
Oh well. You only live once. What
the hell. Well, it's on your side.
You have to put up with it. Oh yes,
they're quite pleasant, aren't they?
Not up to sardines but not bad. They
got my vote. At least we're in for a
reasonably early night. Yes. Sunday
tomorrow, we can lie in. Go for a
walk later on if you like. That'd be
nice. If unwet. Rather. Otherwise
we'll both be crouching in the
rafters with buckets. God forbid.
That night I heard Mozart's music
for the first time. Some serenade
for wind instruments, only vaguely
at first, too horrified to attend.
But presently the sounds insisted, a
solemn Adagio in E flat. It started
simply enough... Just a pulse in the
lowest register, bassoon and basset
horn, like a rusty squeeze-box. It
would have been comic except for the
slowness which gave it instead, a
sort of serenity. And then suddenly,
high above it, sounded a single note
on the oboe. It hung there
unwavering, piercing me through,
'till breath could hold it no
longer, and a clarinet withdrew it
out of me, and softened it, and
sweetened it to a phrase of such
delight it had me trembling. The
lights flickered in the room. My
eyes clouded! The squeeze-box
groaned louder, and over it the
higher instruments wailed and
warbled, throwing lines of sound
around me, long lines of pain around
and through me, ah, the pain! Pain
as I had never known it. I called up
to my sharp old God, "What is this?
What?!" But the squeeze-box went on
and on, and the pain cut deeper into
my shaking head and suddenly I was
running, downstairs through the
side-door, out into the street, out
into the dark night, gasping for
life "What?! What is this Signore!
What is this pain? What is the need
in the sound? Forever unfulfillable
yet fulfilling him who hears it,
utterly. Is it Your need? Can it be
Yours?" Dimly the music sounded from
the salon above. Dimly the stars
shone on the empty street. I was
suddenly frightened. It seemed to me
that I had heard a voice of God, and
that it issued from a creature whose
voice I had also heard, and it was
the voice of an obscene child.
APPLAUSE Would any of you gentlemen
like to testify? Detroit. We'll hear
testimony from? Brother
Nicely-Nicely Johnson. Brother
Nicely-Nicely Johnson. Get up you
fat water buffalo. Well it er,
happened to me kinda funny, like in
a dream. Tell us in your own words.
I dreamed last night I got on the
boat to Heaven,.And by some chance I
had brought my dice along. And there
I stood, and I hollered, "Someone
fade me". But the passengers they
knew right from wrong. For the
people all said, Sit down, sit down
you're rockin' the boat. People all
said, Sit down, sit down you're
rockin' the boat. And the devil will
drag you under By the sharp lapel of
your checkered coat; Sit down, sit
down, sit down, sit down. Sit down
you're rocking the boat. I sailed.
Away on that little boat to Heaven.
And by some chance found a bottle in
my fist,.And there I stood, Nicely
passin' out the whiskey, But the
passengers were bound to resist For
the people all said, "Beware!"
People all said, "beware, beware!
You're on a heavenly trip". People
all said, "beware"! Beware you'll
scuttle the ship; And the devil will
drag you under By the fancy tie
'round your wicked throat; Sit down.
Sit down, sit down, sit down, Sit
down you're rockin' the boat. And
as? I laughed at those passengers to
Heaven. Ah, ah, ah, ah! A great big
wave came and washed me
overboard,.And as I sank, and I
hollered, "Someone save me," That's
the moment I woke up, thank the
Lord! Thank the Lord, thank the
Lord! And I said to myself, "Sit
down". "Sit down you're rocking the
boat." Said to myself, "Sit down".
And the devil will drag you under.
With a soul so heavy you'd never
float. Sit down, sit down, sit down,
sit down, Sit down you're rockin'
the boat. Sit down you're rockin'.
Sit down sit down sit down you're
rockin' the boat. Sit down.
And I said to myself, "Sit down".
"Sit down you're rocking the boat."
And the devil will drag you under.
Sit down, sit down, sit down, sit
down, Sit down you're rockin' the
boat. Sit down you're rockin'. Sit
down. You're rockin'. The boat!
I never saw Pravda at the National
Theatre but I remember it was
Anthony Hopkins at the centre of
this new play. Everybody was talking
about this extraordinary
performance. I suppose if I had seen
it I would not be comfortable about
putting myself in the firing line
for this! The play is about a
newspaper magnate from South Africa
who comes to England and starts to
take over various important British
newspapers. It is supposedly based
on a famous newspaper magnate, we
can all guess who. He runs, takes
over like a beast takes over the
rather genteel and slightly
ineffectual British press.
You are born into a tragic culture.
Tragedy is bred in your bones. A
country of almost impossible beauty.
From the very moment you are born,
the sadness infects you. Like a mist
hanging over the veldt. Jackal,
giraffe, hyena, lion - the well-nigh
unimaginable richness of creation is
presented to you every day from the
window of your speeding car in
scenes of almost post-card-like
glamour. Nature is there. In front
of you. Childhood, boyhood, manhood.
These are special things in South
Africa. The hardening of muscle, the
sprouting of hair. The coming
realisation you are born into a
divided culture. No one has tried
harder than I through my
organisations to untie the knots of
the cultural contradictions. Black,
white, rich, poor, us, them, but
people who come from Europe bearing
si police -- simplistic solutions
ignore the scale of what we have
inherited from Mother Nature
herself.
What I do is a natural thing. There
is nothing unnatural about making
money. When you are born where I was
born you do have a feeling for
nature. What I admire about nature
is animals, birds, plants, they f
ucking get on with it and don't
stand about complaining all the
time. We are greatly interested in
your mother's share holdings in the
Victory. The Daily Victory?
Acquiring it. I know what you will
tell me. The Daily Victory is one
small part of your country you all
say will never be for sale. An
Everest of probity, unscaleable. An
institution like Buckingham Palace,
the Tower of London and your two
Houses of Parliament and as dismal
and dreary a read as it is possible
for humanity to contrive It's true,
it isn't very good. Your mother owns
21% of the shares. I don't
understand, if you want to acquire
stock talk to her. It's often hard
to speak clearly with Dame Elsa.
She's often inaccessible. Her mind
is often inaccessible. Her mind is
often drifting between one thing and
another. Incoherent. Senile. I
gather from what you are saying you
have already offered for her shares?
Dame Elsa seems not to realise the
potential of her shareholdings. God,
is there nowhere to sit down? Dame
Elsa's stock and we own 53% of the
shares. Control. Can you just buy a
piece of England? You are South
African. We have the England cricket
Captain. There are trustees with a
veto, do you suppose they will let
you in What if they did and you are
the man that helped me. You are a
Member of Parliament. Some backbench
lobbying. The right word here and
there. You've not much to lose. If
we are to succeed a friendly victory
will assist your career. I see. As a
politician. Not even a politician,
no longer a politician. With The
Daily Victory behind you, a
statesman. Get him a seat. The press
and politicians, it's a delicate
relationship.
LAUGHTER
Too close and danger ensues and too
far apart, democracy itself cannot
function. There must be an essential
exchange of information. Creative
leaks, a discreet lunch. Interchange
in the lobby, the art of the
unattributable telephone call late
at night, a source close to the
Prime Minister, meaning the Prime
Minister. Yes. This mutual
relationship is a good thing, and if
it can be made concrete, formalised
by an actual commercial arrangement,
if I, for instance, were to offer
you my private skill and influence,
and in return you were to guarantee
me access to your newspapers, if the
channels of free expression were to
be... Channelled in my direction, if
Man Of Steel were to be a regular
feature, a column, written by
myself, by me, then democracy would
be safeguarded. And we would have a
very satisfactory deal.
What the lock is happening? What is
going on here? Christ, I never met
such a load of locking shit. It's
shit! It's locking rubbish! What do
you do? Home affairs, Sir. Where are
you? How much have we spent? 150,000
How much does that leave in the
fund? 350,000. You're fired. Who
wrote this article on Central
American politics? Who is it? Is it
anybody here. Put your hand up. Sack
yourself, please. Spare me the
embarrassment no gringo should have
to read this kind of stuff. Where
are you going? I am going to the
lavatory. Use the public toilet.
You're fired. Where are you? Have I
fired you? No, Sir. Then get over
there. Get over that side. All the
ones I haven't fired are over that
side. Don't confuse me. Where is
marketing? They are the worst. Who
is this communistic propaganda? All
the advertising people must go.
Don't even let them take a pencil
with them. Search them. I am deputy
editor. I have been holding the
fort. I trust you find everything to
your satisfaction. What is your
name? Cliveden Whicker-Baskett. In
South Africa there are no men called
Whicker-Baskett. The name is totally
unknown. Who is this? That's Mack
Wellington, the drama critic.
Whipper Wellington, he has just been
to a lunchtime theatre. What sort of
criteria do you use in your reviews?
Is it more important the play
flatters your personal prejudices or
do you make a genuine attempt at
objectivity? Oh, God! Did I sack
you? No Doesn't make any difference
I am sacking you now. Everyone,
let's get the news on the street.
APPLAUSE
I feel very stubborn. I am going to
sit it out until that bloody
building is alive. I do enjoy a good
fight, if I believe it's worth
fighting and I am sure I am an
adrenalin addict. I like that.
APPLAUSE
I dream'd there was an Emperor
Antony: O, such another sleep, that
I might see but such another man! If
it might please ye,- His face was as
the heavens; and therein stuck a sun
and moon, which kept their course,
and lighted the little O, the earth.
Most sovereign creature... His legs
bestrid the ocean: his rear'd arm
crested the world: his voice was
propertied as all the tuned spheres,
and that to friends; But when he
meant to quail and shake the orb, he
was as rattling thunder. For his
bounty, there was no winter in't; an
autumn 'twas that grew the more by
reaping: his delights were
dolphin-like; they show'd his back
above the element they lived in: in
his livery walk'd crowns and
crownets; realms and islands were As
plates dropp'd from his pocket.
Cleopatra! Think you there was, or
might be, such a man as this I
dream'd of? Gentle madam, no. You
lie, up to the hearing of the gods.
But if there be, nor ever were one
such, It's past the size of
dreaming.
APPLAUSE
The luckiest thing that happened to
me when I was running The National
Theatre, that I received a play from
an American friend and it was a play
that had never been performed in
America and I started to read it.
After I got to page three I realised
I had to put this play on. It was a
play about living with Aids, about
American politics, about religion.
It was about sex, love, and death.
Which, after all, is the stuff of
all good drama. It was called Angels
In America.
Poor Louis. I'm sorry your grandma
is dead. Tiny little coffin, huh?
Sorry I didn't introduce you to - I
always get so closety at these
family things. Butch. You get butch.
"Hi Cousin. Doris, you don't
remember me I'm Lou, Rachel's boy."
Lou, not Louis, because if you say
Louis they'll hear the sibillant S.
I don't have a... I don't blame you,
hiding. Bloodlines. Jewish curses
are the worst. I personally would
dissolve if anyone ever looked me in
the eye and said "Feh." Fortunately
WASPS don't say "Feh." Oh and by the
way, darling, cousin Doris is a
dyke. No. Really? You don't notice
anything. If I hadn't spent the last
four years fellating you I'd swear
you were straight. You're in a pissy
mood. Cat still missing? Not a
furball in sight. It's your fault.
It is? I warned you, Louis. Names
are important. Call an animal Little
Sheba and you can't expect it to
stick around. Besides, it's a dog's
name. I wanted a dog in the first
place, not a cat. He sprayed my
books. He was a female cat. Cats are
stupid, high-strung predators.
Babylonians sealed them up in
bricks. Dogs have brains. Cats have
intuition. A sharp dog is as smart
as a really dull two-year-old child.
Cats know when something's wrong.
Only if you stop feeding them. They
know. That's why Sheba left. Because
she knew. Knew what? I did my best
Shirley Booth this morning, floppy
slippers, housecoat. Curlers, can of
Little Friskies; Come back, Little
Sheba, come back - to no avail. Le
chat, elle ne reviendra jamais,
jamais...
See. That's just a burst blood
vessel. Not according to the best
medical authorities. What? Tell me.
KS, baby. Lesion number one. The
wine-dark kiss of the angel of
death. Oh please... I'm a
lesionnaire. The Foreign Lesion. The
American Lesion. Lesionnaire's
disease. Stop. My troubles are
lesion. Will you stop. Don't you
think I'm handling this well? I'm
going to die. Bullshit. Let go of my
arm. No. I can't find a way to spare
you baby. No wall like the wall of
hard scientific fact. K.S. Wham.
Bang your head on that. Lock you.
Lock you, lock you, lock you. Now
that's what I like to hear. A mature
reaction. Let's go see if the cat's
come home. Louis? When did you find
this? I couldn't tell you. Why? I
was scared, Lou. Of what? That
you'll leave me. Oh.
Bad timing, funeral and all, but I
figured as long as we're on the
subject of death... I have to go
bury my grandma. Lou? Then you'll
come home? Then I'll come home.
I do the wrong, and first begin to
brawl. The secret mischiefs that I
set abroach I lay unto the grievous
charge of others. Clarence, whom I
have indeed cast in darkness, I do
beweep to many simple gulls. Namely,
to Stanley, Hastings, Buckingham.
And tell them this the queen and her
allies that stir the king against
the Duke my brother. Now, they
believe it; and withal whet me To be
revenged on Rivers, Dorset, Grey:
But then I sigh; and, with a piece
of scripture, tell them God bids us
do good for evil: And thus I clothe
my naked villany in old odd ends
stolen forth of holy writ; And seem
a saint, when most I play the devil.
My first job at the National was
selling ice creams and caring
tickets as a 19-year-old usher. But
I was in the audience when David
Hare wrote his great trilogy in
which he examines Britain through
the prism of three of its great
institutions: The church, the law
and Westminster. Absence Of War
examines the Labour Party as its
volatile leader fights are doomed
campaign.
Now, let's change the subject
entirely, Mr Jones. The policies
themselves. And how they change.
Let's look at mortgage tax relief.
Ah yes. Yes, of course. There is no
mention in your manifesto of any
plan to abolish this concession. No.
No we have none. And yet my
understanding is, until very
recently you were determined to
abolish it. Abolish it? No, that is
absolutely not true. You see I've
been told, on very good authority,
plans to abolish it were there. They
were in the draft manifesto. Then at
the last minute they were removed. I
don't think so. On November 14th, on
your instructions, a whole paragraph
was specifically removed. No, I
don't think you'll find that is so.
You mean you're denying it? You're
denying this proposition was
removed? On mortgage tax relief, it
was never my intention-.you ask me,
I tell you, I want to be clear?. The
truth now, Mr Jones-. This proposal
was never to appear in the final
manifesto. Ah good yes, now, now
we're making some headway, so now
you admit it was there for a time.
Well? So who took it out? That is my
question. Did you or did you not
take it out? I did not. Really?
Really? That's not what I've been
told. Are you calling me a liar? I'm
calling you nothing. That is for the
public to decide. Thank you, Mr
Jones.
Walk me away, just walk me away from
him - All right, George. What the
hell's going on? How did he know?
Somebody told him. You tell me, who
told him? Who bloody told him? Wait,
wait a moment. Whoever told him is
going to have to face me. George, Mr
Frank would like to say goodnight to
you. George, no, George, you're not
making this worse. George, oh
George, I don't believe it. It's
already started, the phones are
ringing out there. How could you? He
rattled me! How could you do that? I
know. You've handed them their
issue. LABOUR'S SECRET PLAN TO RAISE
TAX. You've handed them their
headlines. I know that. Are you
calling me a liar? They're all going
to use it. Every one! They're going
to go for you. He sets the trap and
you walk right in. Oliver. Now
everyone hold on, let's stop for a
moment. I gave you the cards, it was
on the cards I bloody gave you, be
careful, it said, watch for it,
watch for mortgage tax relief. All
right. But oh no! You're too vain to
do your bloody homework. Oliver. Of
course you're standing round wasting
time with these bloody girls. You,
you're listening to goo-eyed bloody
Mary, all these women surrounding
you telling you how marvellous you
are. Do you not get it? Will you
never get it? Giggling with girls
who are in love with you. That isn't
the job. That's not the bloody job,
you idiot. Come on, George, come on,
get off him! Get off him! Come on,
gentlemen, let's calm this thing
down.
Feel my belly. It humbles, sir. I
had a pair at supper. Two pairs,
sir. I will try a Fat.
It is hopeless. Lady Townsend came
to see me this evening. She wanted
to know if she could sit during the
drawing room. Sit, what for? She is
about to give birth. It is only for
two hours. If everybody who is
having a baby wants to sit, then it
will be everybody with gout and
before long the place will look like
a Turkish harem.
Arcadia is widely regarded as Tom
Stoppard's masterpiece. It explores
things like maths, physics, literary
criticism, the nature of truth, the
impossibility of knowledge,
horticulture, the cosmos, the
behavioural patterns of tortoises.
We probably cannot get that into
three minutes but here Hannah, a
best selling novelist, a
mathematician and Bernard, literary
critic, determined to find traces of
Lord Byron wherever he looks,
crossed swords over the nature of
truth.
Last paragraph, if we seek the
occasion of Ezra Chater's early and
recorded death, do we need to look
far? Without question, Lord Byron in
the early season as a literary
figure, quit the country and stayed
abroad for two years at a time when
continental travel was unusual and
dangerous. If we seek his reason, do
we need to look far? Bollocks. I
think it is true. Byron had been
banging on about leaving. He was
talking back living in February.
Geller macro everything moved more
slowly than. He was two weeks in
Falmouth waiting for wind. Bernard,
as a scientist, your theory is
incomplete. I am not a scientist.
But as a scientist. Nobody would
kill a man and then pan his book. I
mean, not in that order. It is all
trivial. What is? Who wrote what
went. Did you say trivial? It is
eight technical term. Not where I
come from. The questions you ask are
not important. It does not matter.
What matters is the calculus,
scientific progress, knowledge.
Really? Why? Why what is? Why does
scientific progress matter more than
personality? Remap is he serious?
No, it is trivial. You're going to
zap me with penicillin. Spare me
that. Do not confuse progress with
respectability. A great poet is
always timely. A great philosopher
is an urgent need. There is no rush
for Isaac Newton. We were perfectly
happy with Aristotle's cosmos and
personally, I preferred it. 55 years
linked to God's crankshaft is a
satisfying universe. I cannot think
of anything more trivial than the
speed of light. Black holes, who
gives a shit? Why did these people
con us out of money will stop are
you against penicillin? I would push
the lot of you over a cliff, except
the one in the wheelchair will start
that would lose the sympathy vote
before you had a chance to think it
through.
This unwieldy sceptre from my hand.
With mine own tears are awash away
my balm. With mine own hands, I give
away my crown. With mine own
tongue, deny my secret.
The reason why the seven stars are
in reason. Monster ingratitude. If
you were not my uncle I would have
the beaten.
Isn't it rich?
Are we a pair?
Me here at last on the ground, You
in mid-air.
Send in the clowns.
Isn't it bliss?
Don't you approve? One who keeps
tearing around.
One who can't move.
Where are the clowns? Send in the
clowns.
Just when I'd stopped opening doors.
Finally knowing the one that I
wanted was yours. Making my entrance
again with my usual flair. Sure of
my lines, no one is there.
Don't you love farce? My fault I
fear.
I thought that you'd want what I
want.
Sorry, my dear. But where are the
clowns?
There ought to be clowns. Don't
bother, they're here.
Desiree, I'm sorry. I should never
have come. To flirt with rescue when
one has no intention of being saved.
Do try to forgive me.
Isn't it rich?
Isn't it queer?
Losing my timing this late in my
career.
And where are the clowns?
There ought to be clowns.
Well, maybe next year.
The medieval Mystery Plays were
written over 500 years ago and they
were created by ordinary men and
women and the plays basically tell
the story of the creation, the fall
and the redemption of man. Thou must
be slayed... The poet Tony Harrison
adapted The Mysteries. Bill Bryden's
original production took all of the
seats out of the Cottesloe Theatre
and his actors playing Yorkshire
working people were able to mix with
the audience and it was a profoundly
religious experience, whether you
were a believer or not.
Lully lullay thou little tiny child
Bye, bye lully lullay. Lully lullay
thou little tiny child Bye, bye
lully lullay.
Hail, comely and clean! Hail, young
child! Hail, maker, as I mean, of
maiden so mild! Thou has confounded,
I ween, the Warlock so wild: The
false bringer of teen, now goes he
beguiled. Lo, merry he is! Lo, he
laughs, my sweeting! Ah! A very fair
meeting! I have held to my telling:
Have a bob of cherries. Hail,
sovereign saviour, for thou hast us
sought! Hail, nurseling and flower,
that all thing has wrought! Hail,
full of favour, that make all out of
nought! Hail! I kneel and I cower. A
bird have I brought To my bairn.
Hail, little tiny mop! Of our creed
thou art crop: I would drink of thy
cup, Little day-starne. Hail, little
darling dear, full of Godhead! I
pray thee be near when that I have
need. Hail, sweet in thy cheer! My
heart will bleed To see thee sit
here in so poor a weed, With no
pennies. Hail! Put forth thy dall. I
bring thee but a ball: Have and play
thee withall, And go to the tennis.
The father of heaven, God
omnipotent, That set all in days
seven, his son has he sent. My name
could he namen, and on me his light
spent! I conceived him full even by
God's might as he meant; And now is
he born. May he keep you from woe! I
shall pray him so. Tell forth as ye
go, And mind on this morn.
I hope without dread today To see
that child and his array. But,
methinks, lords, by my fay The star
it standeth still. Whom seek ye,
sirs, by ways so wild, With talking,
travelling to and fro? Here dwells a
woman with her child And her
husband; here are no mo. We seek a
bairn that all shall shield; His
certain sign has said us so; And his
mother, a maiden mild, Here hope we
now to find them two. Come near,
good sirs, and see. Your way to an
end is brought. Me beseemeth by this
place That little treasure his
mother has. Therefore to help her in
this case Gold present shall I. And
I will offer through God's grace
Incense that noble savour has. Stink
of the stable it shall make pass
Where they both lie. And myrrh is
best my offering to be To anoint
him, as thinks me, The baby's
members, head and knee, Yea, all his
bright body.
Shepherds arise be not afraid, With
hasty steps prepare.
To David's city, sing on earth. With
our blessed infant there.
With our blessed infant there.
With our blessed infant there.
Sing, sing all earth. Sing, sing all
earth Eternal praises sing. To our
redeemer. To our redeemer. And our
heavenly king.
Sing, sing all earth. Sing, sing all
earth. Eternal praises sing. To our
redeemer.
To our redeemer, And our heavenly
king.
APPLAUSE AND CHEERING
I have of late - but wherefore I
know not - lost all my mirth,
forgone all custom of exercises. And
indeed it goes so heavily with my
disposition that this goodly frame,
the earth, seems to me a sterile
promontory. This most excellent
canopy, the air. Look you, this
brave o'erhanging firmament, this
majestical roof fretted with golden
fire, why, it appears no other thing
to me than a foul and pestilent
congregation of vapours. What a
piece of work is a man! How noble in
reason! How infinite in faculty! In
form and moving how express and
admirable! In action, how like an
angel! In apprehension, how like a
god! And yet, to me, what is this
quintessence of dust? Man delights
not me.
APPLAUSE AND CHEERING
The Allied troops were closing in;
there was nothing more we could do.
Elisabeth and the children had taken
refuge in a village in Bavaria, so I
went to see them before I was
captured. Out of Wurttemberg, down
through the Swabian Jura and the
first foothills of the Alps. Across
my ruined homeland. Was this what
I'd chosen for it? This endless
rubble? This perpetual smoke in the
sky? These hungry faces? Was this my
doing? And all the desperate people
on the roads. The most desperate of
all were the SS. Bands of fanatics
with nothing left to lose, roaming
around shooting deserters out of
hand, hanging them from roadside
trees.
The second night, and suddenly there
it is - the terrible familiar black
tunic emerging from the twilight in
front of me. On his lips as I stop -
the one terrible familiar word.
"Deserter," he says. He sounds as
exhausted as I am. I give him the
travel order I've written for
myself. But there's hardly enough
light in the sky to read by, and
he's too weary to bother. He begins
to open his holster instead. He's
going to shoot me because it's
simply less labour.
And suddenly I'm thinking very
quickly and clearly. What comes into
my mind this time is the pack of
American cigarettes I've got in my
pocket. And already it's in my hand
- I'm holding it out to him. The
most desperate solution to a problem
yet. I wait while he stands there
looking at it, trying to make it
out. Trying to think. His left hand
holding my useless piece of paper,
his right on the fastening of the
holster. There are two simple words
in large print on the pack: Lucky
Strike. He closes the holster, and
takes the cigarettes instead. It had
worked, it had worked! Like all the
other solutions to all the other
problems. For 20 cigarettes he let
me live. And on I went. Three days
and three nights. Past the weeping
children, the lost and hungry
children, drafted to fight, then
abandoned by their commanders. Past
the starving slave-labourers walking
home to France, to Poland, to
Estonia. Through Gammertingen and
Biberach and Memmingen. Mindelheim,
Kaufbeuren, and Schingau. Across my
beloved homeland. My ruined and
dishonoured and beloved homeland.
APPLAUSE AND CHEERING
A kind of artificial barrier had
grown up that musical theatre is
something where you kind of check in
your brain at the cloakroom, and I
do not think that is the case. I
have never thought that is the case.
I have never seen that there should
be any particular division. I think
the National Theatre is very well
served by doing the whole spectrum.
The rain in Spain stays mainly in
the plain. I can't. I'm so tired.
I'm so tired. Oh, for God's sake,
Higgins. It must be three o'clock in
the morning. Do be reasonable. I am
always reasonable. Eliza, if I can
go on with a blistering headache,
you can. I've got a headache,
an'all. Here. Eliza, I know you're
tired. I know your head aches. I
know your nerves are as raw as meat
in a butcher's window. But think
what you're trying to accomplish.
Think what you're dealing with. The
majesty and grandeur of the English
language. It's the greatest
possession we have. The noblest
sentiments that ever flowed in the
hearts of men are contained in its
extraordinary, imaginative, and
musical mixtures of sounds. That's
what you've set yourself to conquer,
Eliza. And conquer it you will. Now,
try it again.
The rain in Spain stays mainly in
the plain. What was that? The rain
in Spain stays mainly in the plain.
Again. The rain in Spain stays
mainly in the plain. I think she's
got it! I think she's got it! # The
rain in Spain stays mainly in the
plain. By George, she's got it! By
George, she's got it! Now once
again, where does it rain? On the
plain! On the plain! And where's the
soggy plain? In Spain! In Spain! The
rain in Spain stays mainly in the
plain!
# The rain in Spain stays mainly in
the plain! In Hertford, Hereford,
and Hampshire? Hurricanes hardly
happen. How kind of you to let me
come!
Now once again, where does it rain?
On the plain! On the plain! And
where's that blasted plain? In
Spain! In Spain! The rain in Spain
stays mainly in the plain!
# The rain in Spain stays mainly in
the plain!
You were a wonderful lover. Such a
wonderful person to go to bed with,
and I think mostly because you were
really indifferent to it, isn't that
right?
Never had any anxiety about it. Did
it naturally, easily, slowly, with
absolute confidence and perfect
calm, more like opening a door for a
lady or seating her at a table than
giving expression to any longing for
her. Your indifference made you
wonderful at lovemaking, strange,
but true. You know, if I thought you
would never, never, never make love
to me again, I would go downstairs
to the kitchen and pick out the
longest and sharpest knife I could
find and stick it straight into my
heart. I swear that I would. But one
thing I don't have is the charm of
the defeated, my hat is still in the
ring, and I am determined to win!
What is the victory of a Cat On A
Hot Tin Roof? I wish I knew. Just
staying on it, I guess, as long as
she can.
Christine. Yes. Must be near
daybreak, isn't it? Yes. It is
beginning to get grey. What made you
jump when I spoke? Is my voice so
strange to you? I thought you were
asleep. I haven't been able to
sleep. I've been lying here
thinking. What makes you so uneasy?
I haven't been able to sleep either.
You crept out of bed so quietly. I
didn't want to wake you. Couldn't
you bear it - lying close to me? I
didn't want to disturb you by
tossing. We'd better light the light
and talk a while. I don't want to
talk! I prefer the dark. I want to
see you. You like the dark where you
can't see your old man of a husband,
is that it? I wish you wouldn't talk
like that, Ezra. If you are going to
say stupid things, I'll go in my own
room. Wait! Don't go. I don't want
to be alone. You have always been
bitter. Before we married? I don't
remember. You don't want to remember
you ever loved me! I don't want to
talk of the past! I feel strange,
Christine. You mean...your heart?
You don't think you're going to be
taken ill, do you? No! Is that what
you're waiting for? Is that why you
were so willing to give yourself
tonight? Were you hoping? Ezra! Stop
talking like that! Wait! I'm sorry I
said that. It isn't my heart. It's
something uneasy troubling my mind -
as if something in me was listening,
watching, waiting for something to
happen. Waiting for what to happen?
I don't know. This house is not my
house. This is not my room nor my
bed. They are empty - waiting for
someone to move in! And you are not
my wife! You are waiting for
something. What would I be waiting
for? For death - to set you free!
Leave me alone! Stop nagging at me
with your crazy suspicions! Not your
wife! You acted as if I were your
wife - your property - not so long
ago! Your body? What are bodies to
me? I've seen too many rotting in
the sun to make grass greener! Ashes
to ashes, dirt to dirt! Is that your
notion of love? Do you think I
married a body? Look out, Ezra! I
won't stand - And I had hoped my
homecoming would mark a new
beginning - new love between us! By
God, I'm an old fool! Did you think
you could make me weak - make me
forget all the years? Oh no, Ezra!
It's too late! You want the truth?
You've guessed it! You've used me,
you've given me children, but I've
never once been yours! I never could
be! And whose fault is it? I loved
you when I married you! I wanted to
give myself! But you made me so I
couldn't give! You filled me with
disgust! You say that to me! You
wanted the truth and you're going to
hear it now! Be quiet, Christine!
I've lied about everything! I lied
about Adam! It was I he came to see!
I made him come! You dared! You!
Yes, I dared! And all my trips to
New York weren't to visit Father but
to be with Adam! He's gentle and
tender, he's everything you're never
been. He's what I've longed for all
these years with you - a lover! I
love him! So now you know the truth!
You - you whore. I'll kill you! Ah!
Quick, medicine! Where is your
medicine? On the stand! Hurry! Wait.
I have it now. Here. Now drink.
This street is what the media have
dubbed murder mile due to the high
number of shootings. It is the world
I have decided to set my playing,
Elmina's Kitchen. Ash, do you read?
They make all the good books into
films. You are reading self-help
manuals. Reading is for whites? I
try to open my mind to different
things, what is wrong with that?
What you are saying is there is
nothing wrong with education? Happy
birthday, old man. Thank you. Why
did I find all your college books in
the rubbish? Why are your books in
the bin, Ashley? I put them there.
Don't be rude. I do not have time
for college. What do you have time
for? Garage raise? You wanted to --
you wanted me to take days off to
help with locking food. Yellow macro
don't swear at me. You want to keep
serving plantain burgers, good luck
to you. You would like me to punch
your lights out so you could walk
the streets and say, I told you my
dad were in no punk. Why would I say
that? I could take you the hell out.
You are joking, you cannot touch
me. How do you think you are going
to live good? Man lives how he can.
Put your hand on me now! Put your
hand on the! Get off! You know I
read one of those white books the
other day. The true -- truth is man
is a product of his environment. I
am trying to change shit around
here. It is a dark place which goes
nowhere.
This is my Jerry Springer moment.
Jerry Springer. Jerry Springer. I
don't want this moment to die.So dip
me in Choclate and Throw me to the
Lesbians. I don't want this moment
to die. Die, die, die die, die, die.
Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,
and welcome to the show. Jerry,
Jerry! Go Jerry go! Jerry Jerry!
Jerry Jerry! Go Jerry go!
Jerry Jerry!
Jerry Jerry!
Please give a special welcome to my
guests tonight. They've come a long
way to be with us, so please show
some respect. Bring on the losers.
Bring 'em on, bring 'em on. Bring on
the losers. Tonight all my guests
have guilty secrets. So, Dwight,
what's your story? I been seein'
someone else. I been seein' Someone
else. I been seein' Seein' someone.
I been seein' Your best friend. What
the lock? What the lock? What the
locking locking lock? Peaches, you
seem surprised. Lock. Okay, so next
up is Chucky.
It says here your wife wants to be a
pole dancer.
What ya got to say to that? All
women are whores. Whores or sluts or
prostitutes. He don't know shit. He
just a piece of... Shut it. Shut it.
Slut! Whatever. Well, let's see her
dance. We got a pole, we got some
music. So Shawntel, let's see your
moves. Dance dance dance dance. I
don't give a lock no more. If people
think I am a whore. I just wanna
dance. Oh, I just wanna dance.
Things are going bad for me. I am
feeling sad for me. So I just wanna
dance. Oh, I just wanna dance.
I'm tired of laughing and I'm tired
of crying. I'm tired of failing and
I'm tired of all this trying. I
wanna do some living cause I've done
enough dying.
I just wanna dance.
I just wanna locking dance.
Tired of laughing. She's tired of
crying. She's tired of failing and
she's tired of all this trying. She
wants to do some living 'cos she's
done enough dying. She just wants to
dance. She just wants to locking
dance. Dance. Dance, dance, dance.
Seeing someone else All women are
whores! Dance! Dance! Take care of
yourselves and each other. Dance!
APPLAUSE AND CHEERING
Baghdad tonight, the 19th evening of
air strikes. Very shortly after the
invasion of Iraq in 2003 I asked
David Hare to come up with a
response and Stuff Happens was the
play he wrote. Freedom's untidy and
free people are free to make
mistakes and commit crimes and do
bad things. Stuff happens. It was
based on public records and
eyewitness accounts and only moved
into areas of speculation when the
conversations that it was
reconstructing were necessarily
secret. It included nothing that was
known to be untrue, it blamed
nobody, and it mocked nobody. And it
left the audience to make up its own
mind, which it doubtless did.
My concern is this, Tony. At this
moment, just at this very moment, I
am finding the subject of Iraq seems
to be moving up the agenda. That's
clear. It's moving up all the time.
Since 9/11 I am getting a strong
feeling this is something we can't
leave alone. Saddam has to be dealt
with. My view is we're moving into a
second phase. We did Afghanistan.
Now we move on. The second phase.
How do you feel about that, Tony?
How do you feel about a second
phase? I agree with the idea. Good,
good. There's no question of leaving
him alone. He's been left alone for
far too long. This is a guy who
gassed his own people. Quite. Quite.
You and I want the same things. I am
sure we do. The only discussion is
going to be about method. Back at
home, you probably know, you
probably heard, you've been taking
soundings of your own? Yes. I am
going through one of those periods.
You haven't had one yet when
political problems come together.
Can you give me an example? Well,
for example, it sounds silly, but
fox-hunting.
LAUGHTER
Also something called Railtrack. Is
that a company... You really don't
want to know. My point is this, I am
in rough water. There is an
accumulation, foreign and domestic,
first term is easy, George. 146 MPs
have already signed what we call an
early day motion. It's a kind of
warning. And 130 of them are in my
own party. They're expressing their
opposition to British support for a
US-led war on Iraq. The phrase
they're using is deep unease. Deep
unease. Now, you and I know we're
way ahead of ourselves. Way ahead.
Any war, any conceivable war is a
long way off. It isn't going to
happen tomorrow. Not tomorrow, no.
It's an option. That's what it is,
an option. To I have to give you my
judgment. Please, I welcome your
judgment. In the event of
considering armed action against
Iraq, the British Parliament and I
would say still more the British
people won't go along without UN
support. From the British point of
view this has to be approached in a
certain way. On Afghanistan you had
a coalition, there were tensions,
definite tensions, but we agreed on
the aim. So it is here. Say more. I
have an Attorney skaf General who is
advising me that any invasion of
Iraq without UN support is going to
be in breach of international law.
Is that what he says? That's it.
That's what he says. In fact, he
says more than that. Do I know this
guy? You don't. Tell me what he
says. What he says is this - even
with UN support, any invasion may
still be illegal unless we can
demonstrate that the threat to
British national security from Iraq
is what he calls real and imminent.
I see. I see. That's putting the bar
quite high. Yes, it's high.
APPLAUSE AND CHEERING
Ou voudriez-vous travailler cet
apres-midi? Dans un garage. Non,
non. Pas encore. Ayez pitie de nous.
Dakin. Ou voudriez-vous travailler
aujourd'hui? Je voudrais
travailler?dans une maison de passe.
Oo-la-la. Qu'est ce que c'est?
Qu'est ce qu'une maison de passe? A
brothel. He would like to work in a
brothel. Tres bien. Mais une maison
de passe ou tous les clients
utilisent le subjonctif ou le
conditionnel, oui? Voila. Deja un
client! Qui est la femme de chambre?
Moi. Je suis la femme de chambre.
Comment appelez vous? Je m'appelle
Simone. Simone, le monsieur ne peut
pas attendre. Bonjour, monsieur.
Bonjour, cherie. Entrez, s'il vous
plait. Voila votre lit et voici
votre prostituee. Oh. Ici on appelle
un chat un chat. Merci, madame.
Madmoiselle. Je veux m'etendre sur
le lit. Je voudrais...I would like
to stretch out on the bed in the
conditional or the subjunctive.
Continuez mes enfants. Mais les
chaussures, monsieur, pas sur le
lit. Excusez-moi, Madmoiselle. Et
votre pantalons, s'il vous plait.
Oh! Quelles belles jambes! Watch it.
Et maintenant...Claudine Oui, la
prostituee, s'il vous plait.
Monsieur, je pensais que vous
voudriez des preliminaires? Quels
preliminaires? Claudine. Quel
preliminaires sont sur le menu? A
quel prix? Dix francs. Dix francs?
Pour dix francs je peux vous montrer
ma prodigieuse poitrine. Et
maintenant, pourrais-je caresser la
poitrine? ca vous couterait quinze
francs. Pour vingt francs vous
pouvez poser votre bouche sur ma
poitrine en agitant? En agitant
quoi? Un autre client.
Ah, cher Monsieur le Directeur, Mr
Hector what on earth is happening?
L'Anglais, c'est interdit. Ici on ne
parle que Francais, en accordant une
importance particuliere au
subjonctif. Oh, ah. Et qu'est ce-que
se passe ici? Pourquoi cet garcon?..
Dakin, isn't it?...est sans ses?.
Trousers? Quelqu'un? Ne soit pas
timide. Dites a cher Monsieur le
Directeur ce que nous faisons.
Dakin? Je suis un homme qui? Vous
n'etes pas un homme. Vous etes un
soldat?un soldat blesse, vous
comprenez, cher Monsieur le
Directeur?soldat blesse? Wounded
soldier, of course, yes. Ici c'est
un hopital en Belgique. Beligique?
Pourquoi Belgique? ? Ypres, sir.
Ypres. Pendant la Guerre Mondiale
Numero Un. C'est ca. Dakin est un
soldat blesse, un mutile de guerre
et les autres sont des medecins,
infirmieres et tout le personnel
d'un grand etablissement medical et
therapeutique. Continuez, mes
enfants.
Il est commotionne, peut etre?
Comment? Commotionne. Shell-shocked.
C'est possible. Commotionne. Oui,
c'est le mot juste. Permettez-moi
d'introduire M. Irwin, notre nouveau
professeur. Enough of this
silliness. Not silliness, no?but?Mr
Hector you are aware that these
pupils are Oxbridge candidates. Are
they? Nobody has told me. Mr Irwin
will be coaching them but it's a
question of time. I have found him
three lessons a week and I was
wondering? No, Headmaster. Purely on
a temporary basis. It will be the
last time, I promise. Last time was
the last time also. I am thinking of
the boys. I, too. Non. Absolument
non. Non. Non. Non. C'est hors de
question. Et puis, si vous voulez
m'excuser, je dois continuer le
lecon. A tout a l'heures. Lock.
And I'll wager a hat full of guineas
against all of the songs you can
sing; that some day you'll love and
the next day you'll lose and winter
will turn into spring And the snow
falls the wind calls.
And the year turns round again. And
like Barleycorn who rose from the
grave, a new year will rise up
again.
But there will come a time of great
plenty. A time of good harvest and
sun. Till then put your trust in
tomorrow, my friend for yesterday's
over and done. Ploughed, sown,
reaped and mown.
And the year turns round again. Get
off. You silly donkey.
And like Barleycorn who rose from
the grave a new year will rise up
again.
Which one? Which hand? Which hand is
it? There! Good boy. Good boy.
Hello? What's that? What's that,
then? Do that again! Whey up, boy!
And whey up, boy! Yes! Yes! And whey
up, boy!
Phoebe arise. A gleam in her eyes.
And the year turns round again.
And like Barleycorn who rose from
the grave, a new year will rise up
again. Good boy, Joe.
I am going to find out who killed
Wellington. Someone killed her dog?
With a fork. Jesus Christ! A garden
fork. Ah. I like maths and also I
like outer space and I like being on
my own.
I can create...people. You make
sport with my life! In the cause of
science! This is your universe,
Frankenstein!
You need to love! Oh! Oh?! You need
to understand what it is to love!
You carry on about the future and
the great bright world, but you are
scared to love. You are horrified by
people in all their failings and
this, this purity that you seek is a
fear of life! What? What is she
saying? You are not higher than
love, you are not higher than love!
You are retarded! That's not a beard
it's fungus! Is there hair down
there? Or is it all shrunken like a
mossy statue of some baby man? Is
there anything male about you? This
is horrible! Is there a man down
there at all? How old are you and
not to have had a lover? This is
horrible! I can't...I will leave!
You're a virgin at your age?!
Oh sweet Susie you'll see what
you've done, you played in Maddy's
arms sweet game and now you've won.
I've got two jobs, how did that
happen? You got to concentrate ain't
ya, with two jobs. I can do it, long
as I don't get confused. But I get
confused easily. I don't get
confused that easily. Yes I do. I'm
my own worst enemy. Stop being
negative. I'm not being negative.
I'm being realistic. I'll screw it
up. I always do. Who screws it up?
You, you're the role model for
village idiots everywhere. Me?!
You're nothing without me. You're
the cock up! Don't call me a cock
up, you cock up! You slapped me!?
Yeah, I did. And I'm glad I did.
That hurt. Good. You started it.
Get off! Come here! Get off! Come
here! Get off! Get off! No, you
wouldn't dare! Wouldn't I? !
London Road is about a real
community in Ipswich that came
together and healed itself after a
series of murders. It was created
from a series of interviews that I
did with real people from that
community, and Adam Cork set some of
those interviews to music by
following the real speech patterns
of those people. I've got nearly 17
hanging baskets, in this back
garden.
I've got nearly 17 hanging baskets,
in this back garden.
And it was a bit of a crazy
experiment.
I've got nearly 17 hanging baskets
in this back garden. Believe it or
not. Begonias and petunias and
inpatients and things. Marigolds,
petunias. We've got busy Lizzie 's
and geraniums. There's all sorts in
that basket anyway. Petunias in a
basket. Hanging basket. And some
fuchsia. There is a special name. I
just called them lilies. They are a
lily type, there is a special name,
and for the first time this year
I've got a couple of... Baskets.
Begonias and petunias and inpatients
and things. The going ears and
petunias... We've got busy Lizzie
's.
Hanging baskets, variegated ivy in
there which makes a nice show. And
then you've got these... Sky-blue
whatever they are. That's a
little... Purple one. Rhubarb. The
old-fashioned Margarets. The
daisies. The roses have done pretty
well this year. She gave us an extra
point for having basil on the
windowsill, didn't she? Hanging
baskets. Variegated ivy in their
makes a nice show. The old-fashioned
Margarets, the daisies. I've got
nearly 17 hanging baskets.
Begonias and petunias and things.
Begonias. And petunias. And things.
Inpatients and things.
O monstrous! Monstrous! Nay, this
was but his dream. But this denoted
a foregone conclusion. 'Tis a shrewd
suspicion, though it be but a dream.
And this may help to thicken other
proofs that do demonstrate thinly.
I'll tear her all to pieces. Nay,
but be wise: yet we see nothing
done; She may be honest yet.
Tell me but this, have you not
sometimes seen a handkerchief
spotted with strawberries in your
wife's hand? I gave her such a one;
'twas my first gift. I know not
that; but such a handkerchief - I am
sure it was your wife's - did I
today see Cassio wipe his beard
with. If it be that... If it be
that, or any that was hers, it
speaks against her with the other
proofs. O, that the slave had 40,000
lives! One is too poor, too weak for
my revenge. Now do I see 'tis true.
Look here, Iago; all my fond love
thus do I blow to heaven. 'Tis gone.
Arise, black vengeance, from thy
hollow cell! Yield up, O love, thy
crown and hearted throne to
tyrannous hate! Swell, bosom, with
thy fraught, For 'tis of aspics'
tongues! Yet be content. O, blood,
blood, blood! Patience, I say; your
mind perhaps may change. Never,
Iago: Like to the Pontic sea, whose
icy current and compulsive course
ne'er feels retiring ebb, but keeps
due on to the Propontic and the
Hellespont. Even so my bloody
thoughts, with violent pace, shall
ne'er look back, ne'er ebb to humble
love, till that a capable and wide
revenge swallow them up. Now, by
yond marble heaven, in the due
reverence of a sacred vow I here
engage my words. Do not rise yet.
Witness, you ever-burning lights
above, you elements that clip us
round about, witness that here Iago
doth give up the execution of his
wit, hands, heart, to wrong'd
Othello's service! Let him command.
And to obey shall be in me remorse,
what bloody business ever. I greet
thy love, not with vain thanks, but
with acceptance bounteous. And will
upon the instant put thee to't:
Within these three days let me hear
thee say That Cassio's not alive. My
friend is dead; 'tis done at your
request: But let her live. Damn her,
lewd minx! O, damn her! Come, go
with me apart; I will withdraw, to
furnish me with some swift means of
death for the fair devil. Now art
thou my lieutenant. I am your own
forever.
Actors. I never get used to them.
They are frightened. But then
everybody is frightened. To act is
to be frightened. When I used to do
it I was always frightened. Throw up
before every performance. White --
you were an actor? What happened?
Nothing, that is the trouble. Actors
are like soldiers. The soldiers fear
the enemy, the actors fear the
audience. Fear of failing. Fear of
forgetting. Fear of art. Olivier
ended up terrified. If you sat on
the front row you could see him
trembling. And besides all that,
there is the fear of this building.
I worked once or twice with Ronald
Eyre, Ron, not Richard. A difficult
man but like all the best directors
and ex-schoolmaster. He was here not
long after it opened. The opening
was, of course, disastrous. Ron said
they should have moved out
straightaway, gone back to the old
Vic and rented the place out. Made
the Olivier into a skating rink. The
Cottesloe billiard hall and the
Lyttelton, boxing. Then after 20 odd
years of ordinary unpretentious
entertainment, when it is shabby and
rundown and being purged of
culture, and all the pretension had
long since been beaten out of it,
then with no fanfare at all, they
should sneak back with the
occasional play. And nobody need be
frightened any more. Except, of
course, the actors. He was wrong
though, Ron. Because what's has
knocked the corners of the place,
taken the shine off it, made it
dingy and unintimidating our plays.
Plays plump, plays paltry, plays
preposterous, plays purgatorial.
Plays radiant, plays rotten, but
plays assistant. -- persistent.
Plays, plays, plays. A word or two
before you go, I have done the
stakes on service... Tonight I heard
Mozart's music for the first time,
some Serenade for wind it
instruments. When he met at Quail
and shake... Pretend they are what
they are not. Words, words, words,
masses of words.
APPLAUSE. CHEERING AND APPLAUSE.