Upstart Crow (2016) s02e03 Episode Script

Bring ale, bring pie, let all be merry, for at last our theatre has acquired a patron.
What's that mean, then, master? Well, Bottom, it means that this is England and, therefore, no matter how creative, industrious or successful a workforce may be, they will still require a talentless over-entitled freeloading posh boy to give them social and legal status.
Fortunately for us, the Lord Chamberlain doth love the drama and so we are become his men.
A powerful friend indeed, Will.
One who must be flattered and indulged.
His secretary, the odious Robert Greene, who doth hate my gutlings, tells me His Lordship demands a bloody and vengeful history.
Luckily, I am very good at those.
Well, then, it's top news all round, mate.
Got a pretty nifty new gig myself.
Walsingham is sending me to Verona on a spy mission.
Fine wine, fabulous food, top Italian totty! I presume you will also be expected to do a bit of actual work? No, not really.
Job is a doddling skive.
Just got to contact some contessa who is a Protestant and wants to spy for us.
Seems she has a list of papist assassins she wants to give us.
Only bother is I'm supposed to learn some Italian.
Goodness, having to make some small effort, how awful for you! Bestrew me, Will, methinks me bolingbrokes be being busted! Forgive her, Kit, Kate doth ever chafe at the lack of opportunities afforded to women, suffering as she does with the curious illusion that talent and brains in some way mitigate the absence of a cod-dangle.
Learning Italian, you say? Mm, Walsingham's orders.
Do you know, I think he's worked out that I don't take being a spy as seriously as he'd like! You can see how the got to be head of the intelligence service.
I'm sorry, is there a problem? Yes, Kate, you are being a teeny bit of a pain in that which though it be sat on, be not a chair, though it doth trumpet loud, be not a military fanfare, and though it be divided in two with a crack in the middle, be not a frozen lake on which stands a nervous skater who has overestimated the strength of the ice.
He means arsing-mungle.
Yes, Bottom, got that and, like most men, he seems to be talking out of it.
What is your problem, Kate?! You, for a start! You live only for pleasure.
- You gorge, you quaff, you treat women as playthings.
- Yes but what is your problem?! Come along now, you two, let's not fight.
Look, here's an idea, Kit.
I'm off to Stratters to write my new play.
While I'm away, why doesn't Kate teach you Italian, for then you will have your lessons and she some occupation for her very large but frustratingly female brain.
Do you speak Italian, Kate? Naturalmente io parlo italiano, grande idiota! Oh, right, that was Italian, was it?! Father is returned! Did you get our sugar sticks? Yes, I got your sugar sticks.
The way children eat sugar these days, by the time they're 20, you will scarcely be able to count their ribs.
Bad journey, was it, love? Just a touch, my sweet.
There be a dispute betwixt coaching management and staff.
One side claimeth that a single worker is all that is required .
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to shout giddy-up and poke the horse's arse, hit it with a stick, whilst also ensuring that there be sufficient turding straw laid about the carriage, while t'other side insists that two men must needs do the job for the comfort and safety of all, a situation which produces in mine little heart a tortuous duality of emotion.
Naturally, of course, I support those who withdraw their labour in order to protect their jobs and maintain standards.
And yet I canst not help sort of wishing they'd burn in hell till the end of time.
That's right, because it's all about you, isn't it?! None of us ever have any problems! I hate you! Shut up! Zounds, daughter, that's an impressive explosion of random intolerance, even by your volcanic standards.
Don't mind her, love, she's a bit sensitive.
It's a boy.
Mu-um! The springtime woodland gadabout approaches.
Sue would like to go with this boy, but he's shy and he won't ask her.
Of course I'm not allowed to ask him.
Well, I should say not! A maid ask a youth to gambol in the green wood? All order would end! Chaos would become again! Except, actually, Gran, it wouldn't.
Well, I'm not sure, Sue.
Methinks perhaps there is a certain social covenant that prevents a kind of chaos.
If girls started to act as boys, then would there come a time in Albion where gangs of maids were seen of a Friday night, staggering from tavern to tavern, collapsing in the gutter and passing out in their own vomit? Man must ever be the master of women because man is made in God's image and he sits at the pinnacle of creation.
- I hate him! - Never mind all that.
So, what are we going to do about Sue and the shy and timorous youth, Darren? Why, the answer is obvious.
We must invent some stratagem whereby he be persuaded to approach our Sue.
Any bright ideas? Anne, please, it's me you're talking to! Bright ideas are what I do! Susanna must woo this foolish boy by proxy, dressing as her own cousin Shane, come a-visiting from Solihull.
I can't see how it can possibly go wrong.
It's funny how many of your ideas involve girls dressing up as boys.
I think it's a pattern.
It's not a pattern.
It looks like a pattern.
It is not a pattern.
Now, if you will excuse me, I've got a bloody and vengeful history to write.
I'm planning a cheeky little Roman number called Titus Andronicus, in which 14 characters are brutally murdered and a mother forced to eat her own children baked in a pie.
Ar-har-har! Our patron will love it.
This will not do! What do you mean it won't do? You told me to write a blood-soaked history.
Did I? Goodness, so I did! Sorry, my badlington.
What I mean to say was DON' write a blood-soaked history, the Lord Chamberlain hates them.
Rather, his Grace demands a light, romantic comedy set in an exotic location.
But I've never written a play like that in my life, I wouldn't know where to start.
Which is why I suggested the idea.
You will fail in your commission, lose your new patron and be disgraced, a laughing stock.
Vorrei comprare il pane per favore.
Bene, Signor Marlowe, bene! It's all credit to you, Kate, couldn't have had a better teacher.
Si, prega di parla italiano.
You know my rules, we must parla solo italiano.
This house is not in London, but Verona.
I am not Kate, the landlady's daughter, but la Contessa Silvia.
And Bottom be named in the Latin style as is the Italian fashion and thus he is an Anus.
That's been said before.
What's more, Mr Marlowe, you must be ever proficient in fine phrases, flirty flourishes, gentle sighs .
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for Italian society would expect a noble gentleman to be well versed in the sweet words of Amore? Oh, God, I think I'm falling for her, which is just raving tonto! But when she does speak Italiano, it's so damn saucy it makes me call for a more copious codpiece.
Aye, sirrah, amore.
How can this be? I feel my pulse quicken and my boobingtons do palpitate most mightily.
It is very madness and yet, when he practises the sweet words of romance, I do totally find myself going diddly doodah.
They're doing a lot of talking to themselves, which, in my experience, means things are going to start going very wrong.
Kate Babes Bambina Si? I love you! Like the wild pig, I long to snuffle your truffle.
Can I hope that you love me? Yes, yes, I love thee too.
Result! And yet late tonight I must to Verona, my ship awaits.
Aye, sirrah, tis against such a day that we have studied here in our little Verona, I, your Contessa, with Anus always at your service.
Pardon? She means me.
Right, yes, absolutely! Bit of a leap! Anyway Right now I must to the tavern, there to meet my sidekick, Valentine, but I shall return tonight for one final farewell.
Until tonight, gentle Christopher.
Please call me Kit, I am your Kit.
Oh, such irony! I, your Kit, must get off, when all I desire .
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is for you to get your kit off.
Oh, such a poetic soul! Kate, weren't you listening? He said he wants to get your kit off! Yes, but in a nice, romantic way.
Clear the decks, cancel all appointments, Greene has tricked me into writing the wrong play for our new patron.
He wants a light romantic comedy set in an exotic location.
What are you going to do? You're absolute crap at comedy.
I am not crap at comedy! You are a teeny bit crap at comedy, Mr Shakespeare.
How can you say that?! It's just mad! Every single history I've ever writ has contained at least one hilarious scene in which poor people of low social status with amusing names like Doll Tearpants and Ned Snatchbutt acted stupidly.
So funny! But I've only ever done comedy scenes, never a whole comic play.
Well, at least all be peaceful here, Mr Shakespeare.
My Italian lessons are done.
Brave Kit must away on his country's service.
Yes, I passed him on the stair.
He seemed different, as if some strange and luminous light shone from within.
Possibly he bit on a bad oyster and was struggling to keep his buttocks clenched till he didst make the shitting ditch.
Child? There is a blush to your cheek and your boobingtons do palpitate most mightily.
Have you been eating maggoty cheese? It is not maggoty cheese which doth palpitate my boobingtons.
No, it's a cheesy maggot.
Bottom! It is not so! She's only gone and got all diddly doodah over Mr Marlowe.
Kate, can this be true?! Be you diddly doodah over Mr Marlowe? Yes! And he is not a cheesy maggot, he's just a bad boy who needs a good girl, and what's more, he's diddly doodah over me.
Kate, I'm sure he thinks he is, but that's Kit, he's a gadabout.
Like the newly discovered American hummingbird that doth flit from bud to bud, spreading wide the soft, damp petals, plunging deep its beak and lapping full fervent of the nectar within, using its curiously long and agile tongue.
Gosh, Mr Shakespeare! You're not helping, master! So, you boys be off to Verona? Aye, Mistress Lucy, but Valentine here travels separately so the papist spies may ne'er know he's my sidekick.
Yeah, except that wouldn't happen, would it? Because, in fact, you're my sidekick! He's my sidekick.
So, sidey-balls, got any cool new gear from the boffins at the Tower? Oh, just a bit, side-dangle! An innocent ostrich feather? No, no, no, a lethal throw dart.
Witness buzzy bee on yonder flower.
That's fine if you are attacked by a bee.
An innocent codling pouch? No, a dangle-mounted blunder banger! Yeah, well, they offered me that, but no room.
My codling pouch is already fully loaded.
Boys, boys! Don't have a dangle-off in my pub, because, believe me, I will win, and I haven't even got one.
Ah, Kit, thought I'd find you here.
I was just rushing to the theatre, but I wanted a quick word.
Not a problem.
Valentine is just leaving.
He's my sidekick.
Wey-hey! In your dreams, sidekick boy.
Ooh! Ha-ha-ha! Such a sidekick! Anyway, Will, what up? Make it snappy, I leave for Verona tonight and I would first bid farewell to my true love.
Yes, that is what I hurried over to talk to you about.
This true love, that would be Kate, right, our Kate? Damn, she hot! Do you know, I always thought she was a proper Penny Pure-pants.
She is a proper Penny Pure-pants.
But you haven't heard her speak Italian.
Ooh, the passion! Pah! If you think Italian be sexy talk, you should hear a bit of Igbo.
~ .
.
Which means your chest is broad and your testicles large and hairy.
Phew! Thoroughly invigorating stuff, I must say.
But look here, Kit, this crush on Kate.
You know what you're like, you fancy anything in a farthingale.
What happens if, while you're away, you fall for some Italian tottling-gobble and come home covered in garlic-flavoured love bites.
- If you break Kate's heart, I'll - You'll what? I'll write a pretty stern sonnet about it, you see if I don't.
Oh, fear not, Will.
No, my roistering days are done.
Nevermore will Marlowe the bonking rodent be, that all know that he be Kate's true kissy love-gerbil.
Why not take her these roses from my garden? All girls love flowers.
Sorry, Lucy, no can do.
You see, I do suffer from the summer snottage.
Roses in particular make my eyes water.
Wouldn't want my bird to see me blub now, would I? Thanks anyway.
Settle the drinks, will you, mate? Love you loads.
Where is your play, Will? Our new patron is impatient for our first production.
How about we bring back Richard for another run? I know the crowds miss my Margaret.
I get so many letters.
I can't imagine there would be much public interest in digging up Richard III.
Of course there would, but the Lord Chamberlain wants a comedy.
So, play it for laughs, job done.
Play Richard III for laughs? What comedy is to be found in such an evil and grotesque villain? Dark comedy.
Yeah? Edgy comedy.
Yeah? You've done the groundwork, making Richard a hunchback, now you've got to ramp it up.
Ramp it up, Kempe? How so? Well, for instance, do a scene where everyone is trying really hard not to mention his stoop, but they can't stop themselves.
That would be funny, would it? Er, yeah! Like Richard's with his knights and Norfolk goes, "Oh, fancy spot of hunch? "Ohh! "Sorry, I meant lunch.
" Brave, edgy, challenging taboos.
You're not changing a line of my Richard, it's perfect, all four hours of it.
Yes, but the Lord Chamberlain demands a new play now, Will.
I'm trying! He wants a light romantic comedy set in an exotic location and I've only ever done histories.
Maybe Kempe's right, maybe I should do a comical history, go with what I know.
Henry VI, Part 4.
Henry meets Joan of Arc at her trial and, instead of burning her, takes her for a naughty weekend at Lyme Regis.
Might work.
O, how this spring of love resembleth The uncertain glory of an April day Which now shows all the beauty of the sun And by and by a cloud takes all away! You see? You see? Got to dig all that poetry stuff.
I mean, so sexy! It's a bit of Mr Shakespeare's, actually.
Isn't it perfect? Our love is like the bright sun and your leaving be a cloud upon it.
Is that what thou meant? I could never tell.
You're such a classy bird, Kate.
I can't believe I've wasted my life a-roistering and a-rogering when I should have been a-worshipping you.
Let us exchange tokens so that, while we are parted, we may always know to whom our hearts belong.
Oh, Kit, let's! My grandmother's communion ring.
She wore it on her finger, then my mother on hers and now I on mine.
I gladly give it thee.
Agh! My grandfather's nipple ring.
He wore it through his nipple, my father through his and now I through mine.
I give it to thee Em Thanks.
I'll just put it on a chain around my neck, if that's all right? Well, suit yourself.
You are missing something pretty cool.
It's so erotic when you play with it.
Really, I'm fine.
I feel stupid! Well, it's your dad's idea and he is a genius, so you're going to have to give it a go.
I can't take another week of you moping and mooning about.
It is not proper for a young lady to go about in britches.
I think it looks very fetching.
Don't be creepy, Grandad.
Do you want this lad to invite you to the gadabout, or don't you? Now, let's go through it again.
Hello, Darren, I'm Sue's cousin Shane and Sue really likes you and I think you should ask her to the woodland gadabout Mum, this is never going to work.
It will, love, honestly, you look really convincing.
So you think I look like a boy? A very attractive boy.
Shut up, Grandad! I just miss my Kit so much.
I fear he will forget me.
Oh, me! Oh, me! Oh, oh! Oh, me! Seriously, Kate, you have got to stop pining.
It's very frustrating.
Here am I trying to conjure up a brilliant plot involving parted lovers in an exotic foreign location and there you are making it impossible for me to think because you are parted from your lover who has gone off to an exotic foreign location.
Hang on.
Hang the futtock on! My dearest Snuggle Bunny, I write from the Contessa's antechamber, where I await her presence.
I wish she'd get a move on as I long to return only to you.
~ Welcome, Signor Marlowe.
I hope you will allow me to practise my English on you.
You can do anything to me you like, you captivating little pomodoro! My secretary is preparing a list of the Pope's assassins, which I think will be of interest to Signor Walsingham.
You will deliver it to him.
Never mind the secret list.
Will you have dinner with me tonight? Oh, Signore Marlowe! That would be so nice! - Oh! - Except I have already agreed to a dinner with another English visitor, Signor Valentine.
Unbelievable! When you buy a boat ticket to Verona, you expect to be taken to Verona, not a tiny fishing village on the Channel coast, which, outrageously, the shipping line have renamed Verona North, with coaches laid on to cover the 750-mile transfer to Verona actual.
Well, that's what you get if you sail budget.
Which actually turned out to be not very budget at all, once you factor in the extras, like the outrageous indulgence of actually wanting to travel with a bag! Which they lost! I mean, how? Just how? They load the bag on, they take the bag off.
Where is the window of opportunity to futtock that up? - Got put on the wrong boat! - Exactly.
Even as we speak, my brand-new holiday puffling pants, which I was really looking forward to wearing on the piazza, are off to North Virginia, where they will no doubt end up adorning the bottom of a scabby-arsed beaver trapper.
Sorry, got distracted.
So many amazing shops.
- Is this the Contessa's garden? - Yes, Kate, it is, and here you are, as I instructed, in guise of gadsome youth.
Good effort, by the way.
Thanks.
Knocked it up out of two curtains and a carpet.
And now let us hide ourselves behind this small tree, which, by strict convention, will render us invisible.
No doubt shortly Kit will come a-strolling and when he does, you must approach him and become his servant, thus, not only will you be close to your love, but also, should his gladsome eye start to stray, you'll be in a position to plead your own cause, ever reminding him of his devoted Kate.
Oh, my God, it's brilliant! It's double brilliant because I'm going to take it all down and use it for my play.
But, master, Mr Marlowe has known Kate for years, he's going to recognise her the second he sees her.
Of course he won't, Bottom! She's wearing puffling pants and a boy's hat! He's not clairvoyant! Sh! Come on, quick! Oh, my lady love, canst you e'er be mine? Oh Oh, bugger! Roses, that's all I need! He weeps, he pines.
He longs to get my kit off.
Now is your chance to get near him and plead your own troth.
Off you go.
- Ho, sirrah! - Who comes? Sorry, bit blurry, these damn roses have made my eyes water.
I do suffer from the summer snottage.
Sweet! He doth seek to hide his love from me with the old summer snottage excuse.
See? He didst not recognise her! His eyes are watering, he's got the summer snottage.
It is not the bloody summer snottage, it's because she is wearing puffling pants and a boy's hat.
Tell me, what is your business here? Why, only to serve you, my lord.
I am but a poor English boy far from home.
Gadzooks, here's a happy chance.
A servant will be useful in my pursuit of the divine Contessa.
Very well, boy, you may enter my service and know straightaway that I do love.
Joy! He thinks only of me! - See, my love comes! - What?! Now hide we must behind this small tree, which, by strict convention, will render us invisible.
I thought this might happen.
Kit's eye hath lit upon another.
Brilliant, that's the Act 2 opener right there.
Poor Kate, her heart will be broken.
Not for long.
Soon will she reveal herself as a girl - and Marlowe's love will be rekindled.
- Or not.
It is mine own Silvia.
Is she not radiant? Aye, sirrah, radiant indeed and yet be there no sweet English girl at home who you do hold in your heart? Well, there was one, a bookish Polly Pure-pants whom I thought I did love, but I am so over her! La bella Silvia be my love now.
So far have I plighted my troth in vain, therefore I will send you in my stead.
You are a charming pleasant-voiced youth and tis certain Silvia will lend you her ear.
Here, give her this token of my love.
Oh! This ring, sir, but .
.
surely tis most precious to you.
No, not really.
Got it off a landlady's daughter, can't really see her having anything valuable to give away! Save perhaps her heart.
Kit sends Kate to plead on his behalf with the very love token she gave him.
Boom! Act 3 just wrote itself! What a total bastable! Don't worry, when she reveals herself, all will be well - and I'll have my finale.
- Or not.
Madam, forgive my intrusion, but I bring word from my master, Christopher Marlowe.
Signor Marlowe? What says he, girl? Boy.
I am a boy.
I see you are confused with your gender, or perhaps just curious, is more common than people think.
Well, then, boy trapped in a girl's body, what message have you for me? Only that my master does .
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love you full well and, as a token of his love, does offer you .
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this nipple ring, which didst pierce the nipples of his forebears.
Zounds, this lad doth have the very gift I gave Ka It IS Kate, come in disguise the better to be near me! And I've just sent her to declare my love for Silvia.
Awkward! You can tell your master that both my nipples be already pierced with finer jewels than this.
Besides, I do love another.
My Valentine! And I love thee! A second lover! Brilliant, I'll certainly use that.
And now will Kate reveal herself.
You were right to spurn Marlowe, Contessa, for once he did love me.
See how she doth shake out her hair most ravishingly.
Now will Marlowe love her once again.
Kate, I've been a fool! Forgive me.
Boom! Textbook stuff! I predict a double marriage.
Or not.
Silvia, will you give me your hand? Yes! Kate, will you give me your hand? - Yes! - What did I tell you? English foreplay, I've heard of this! Summon the priest, bring the candles, burn the incense, let the twin weddings begin.
Back in Blighty at last and with my play as good as writ.
I shall use it all.
The only tiny change is that, in my play, I'll have both couples marry at the end instead of only one while the other lover gets punched unconscious.
To be honest, I think I kind of dodged a bit of a musket ball.
I mean, you are a cracking-looking bird, Kate, but a little bit scary.
I think I dodged a musket ball too, Mr Marlowe.
You are a handsome chap, but a shallow, cheating bastable.
Guilty as charged! I want to thank you, Kate, for making me one of Walsingham's favourites.
Yes, it was clever of you, Kate, to notice that the Contessa called for a priest and all the trappings of a Catholic wedding despite claiming to be a Protestant.
Turned out she was a papist double agent and her secret assassin list a total plant.
I still think you should have told your sidekick, Valentine, that he was marrying a mortal enemy of the Crown.
Yeah, right, going to do that! But really, Mr Shakespeare, are you seriously going to write a story where the heroine, having been completely cheated on and actually sent by her false boyfriend to woo another girl with the very ring she gave him, - just takes the bastable back and marries him? - Absolutely.
That is how The Two Gentlemen Of Verona will end.
Honestly, it is not going to be one of your best.
Well done, Kate, I wouldn't have taken Marlowe back either.
Can't put that in the play, though, wife.
The Lord Chamberlain wants escapist romance, not gritty realism.
What's more, so do the punters.
I've writ my first comedy and I plan to write a shedload more.
Really, love, do you think that's a good idea? Absolutely.
Anyway, enough of my doings, how did Sue get on with the shy youth? Did my stratagem work? Well, it sort of worked.
Darren fell in love with me as Shane.