Hard at it, Will? That's the spirit. Gotta keep the cash coming in.
I mean, all this ale and pie I'm quaffing and gorging does not buy itself.
No, Kit.
And now that thou hast faked thine own death
and must ever crash upon mine couch,
my household bills soareth most steeply.
Well, establishing a new identity takes time.
Yes, particularly if done from a horizontal position.
What are you writing, then? Another Henry?
You haven't churned one of those out in at least a fortnight.
I imagine all London is gagging for Henry XIX, Part 12.
No, not a history, Kit.
Burbage demands yet another comedy.
I think he's right, people need escapism.
We're living in dangerous times.
Yeah, look at me - I got killed in a fight.
And now the hungriest, thirstiest corpse in Southwark.
Burbage also wants romance, so I've decided to set the play in Venice,
city of carnival, city of light.
City of stink, more like. I've been there.
They've combined the transport system with the sewage system
and float about on a shimmering sea of turdingtons.
That's why they're developing opera -
keeps them breathing through their mouths.
Well, I certainly can't think of any other reason for developing opera.
What's the story, master?
I like a bit of the old soppy stuff.
Well, Portia, a noble lady, has many suitors,
so her father devises a brilliant test of character
to discover the right man for his beloved child.
He hides his permission in one of three boxes -
a gold box, a silver box and a lead box.
Now, here's the stunner.
The permission is contained within...
- The lead box. - ...the lead bo...
How did you know that?
Well, cos it's obvious.
Why?
If you were offered a gold casket, a silver one or a lead one,
you'd choose the gold one.
Yeah, but you didn't say, "Choose a casket and you can keep it,"
you said it were a test of character.
And gloriously, stunningly obviously, the lucky note's going to be concealed
in the least showy and ostentatious box.
Duh!
Well, I think it's brilliant,
and you're just jealous cos you didn't think of it.
Yeah, well, nor did you, as it happens.
I bloomin' did!
Sorry, mate, you pinched it from a collection of medieval stories
called Gesta Romanorum,
which Kate's reading and which she leaves in the privy.
Well, I... I may have glanced at it
while awaiting the appearance
of that which the cockney costermongers have,
in tribute to me and in the manner of their amusing rhyming slang,
termed a Richard III.
Ah! It's cos it rhymes, is it?
I thought it was because they thought your play was crap.
I kinda think it is.
No, definitely because it rhymes.
And yes, Kit, 'tis possible that, as I awaited King Richard,
who was as ever late upon his hour due to a lack of fibre in my diet,
I glanced at this Gesta Romanorum.
Yes, in fact, I do recall now.
I remember thinking,
"Goodness, some medieval fellow had exactly the same idea for a plot as me!"
What were the odds?
So, what's this three casket business got to do with a merchant, anyway?
Is he Portia's suitor?
No, that's Bassanio.
But Bassanio is too poor to marry Portia, so he asks his mate,
the merchant Antonio, to lend him some cash.
Unfortunately, Antonio's cash is all tied up at sea,
so he has to borrow it
from a kindly old moneylender called Timothy.
Now, Timothy's daughter Jessica is in love with Lorenzo, a friend of Bassanio's...
Nodding off already.
Sorry, mate, it sounds like a right load of overconvoluted puffling porridge,
if you ask me.
Yeah, I kind of know.
On the plus side,
overconvoluted puffling porridge has never let you down before.
But people like a bit of edge, something new.
I've got a clown called Launcelot Gobbo, which is a very funny name.
But what else?
I need a big, important, timeless issue to put at the heart of the new piece.
But it's not as if a big, important, timeless issue
is just going to come walking through the door.
Gosh, that was scary!
But also wonderful,
being part of such a big, important, timeless issue.
Goodness, Kate, where have you been?
At the anti-immigrant riots.
I've been on the counterdemonstration,
defending the French and Dutch refugees who have come here
escaping religious persecution on the Continent.
It's worse than the Dutch church riots of 1593.
Yes, I fear anti-European sentiment is getting worse.
Well, they're everywhere,
talking foreign and eating weird food...
Soft cheese? What's all that about?!
Cheese is meant to be hard.
When I see soft, runny cheese for sale at market...
Ugh! ...I feel alienated and uncomfortable in my own city.
The other day, I was confronted by a furious crowd
because a woman thought I was concealing a baguette in my tights.
- Yeah. - Laughable misunderstanding, of course.
Just pleased to see her.
The times really are turning ugly.
Our maids and matrons protest group was continually interrupted
by groups of apprentice boys
demanding that we display to them our boobingtons
and even threatening our honour.
Strange how some men's considered response to a woman expressing a political view
or merely going about her business is sexual harassment.
I'm sure that in centuries hence
men will be sufficiently emotionally mature
to reject such patriarchal intimidation.
Or, if not,
women will finally begin to stand up to it and name and shame those responsible.
Blimey, Kate, have a care.
I mean, that could go horribly, horribly wrong.
I mean, what of jolly banter? What of harmless japes and japey japes?
Why, if women were to set out on such a chillingly threatening course,
I mean, men would scarce be able to admire a pertsome bum-shank,
insist upon an overly long hug with a junior employee
or make creepy observations masquerading as compliments
at Christmas parties.
Strangely, I think I could live with that.
In the meantime, the only comfort we may take
from this awful anti-European rioting is that,
if ever such an influx of foreigners happens again,
government can prepare for it properly...
affording extra funding for expanded community services
and not simply dumping the incoming migrants
on the poorest areas.
Yes, at least if those lessons are learned,
then something good will come of this.
Meanwhile, I can't talk about prejudice,
bigotry and intolerance of minorities all day,
I have to find a big, important issue
to put at the heart of my Merchant Of Venice.
What do you think of this?
Antonio, the merchant of Venice,
wants a loan from Timothy, the moneylender.
Antonio - "Can I borrow 3,000 ducats?"
Timothy - "No problem, pay me back when you can.”
It's almost there, I just think it needs a bit of edge, a bit of tension,
some issue which divides them.
Well, you can't be worrying about divisive issues now, master,
because with all this hatred of minorities and anti-foreigner rioting,
you're going to be late for the theatre,
so you'd better give yourself extra time.
Yes, you're right, Botsky. We're auditioning a new actor.
Why not come along, Kate?
I'd value the totty viewpoint.
Oh, I'd love to, Mr Shakespeare!
And good experience for me, since, as you know,
if ever the law be changed and as a woman I be allowed to act,
then as a strong woman, who is strong,
I shall straightway announce that my real ambition is to direct.
I really admire you for that, Kate.
Gotta follow your insane delusions.
I truly believe that if you dare to have a big enough insane delusion,
then anything is possible.
Where is Will?
This new actor is expected any moment and Will is late upon his hour!
Sorry, the anti-immigrant protests have closed half the town.
Some say it could be as bad as 1517,
when the blood of butchered foreigners did flow through London streets
and Sir Thomas More himself faced down the mob.
You're so old you were probably there!
Old fart phobic or bravely challenging old fart phobia?
You decide.
Yes... But to business!
We are assembled to consider acquiring this new player,
who's causing quite a stir.
I've asked Kate along.
I thought it could be useful to get a woman's perspective.
Such a privilege.
As long as she doesn't try and get the job herself.
We've seen her girlish tricks before.
On my honour, sir.
There's no honour when it comes to getting a part, ducky.
I've torn the coconuts off more convincing girls than you!
So, what are the qualities we should be looking for in this actor?
Well, shouting, obviously.
And strutting.
Yes, we're looking for an actor who can shout and strrrut.
I am the actor Wolf Hall
But I do not shout and I do not strut.
I have developed a revolutionary new style,
subtle, nuanced, emoting from within by means of long, sad-eyed stares...
pregnant with weary wisdom
and penetrating perception.
Next!
Stay a moment, Burbage, he may have something.
Here is my Thomas Wolsey.
And here, by way of contrast, is my Thomas Cromwell.
Now...
my Thomas More.
Actually, fair play, he gives good Thomas.
I must admit, he is subtle and nuanced.
Those eyes, so sad.
And so pregnant with weary wisdom and penetrating perception.
I imagine audiences will happily watch the actor Wolf Hall
stare wearily and wisely for minutes at a time.
Blimey! If we had him in a show, my plays would be twice as long.
Richard IIT would be eight or nine hours!
How good would that be?
Book him, Mr Burbage. Trust me.
Us brainy birds will go totally wibbly-wobbly
for an actor like that.
This gal's already a member of the Wolf pack.
Whoo!
Well, he does have a certain presence, I admit.
Perhaps in smaller roles.
There are no small roles for the actor Wolf Hall, Mr Burbage.
With a stare as weary, penetrating and perceptive as this,
every role is a lead.
The actor Wolf Hall bids you good day.
God's boobikins,
Shakespeare has found an actor with eyes so sad and weary
and a stare so astute and penetrating
that every brainy bird in London will go wibbly-wobbly.
So, 'tis agreed, this Wolf Hall shall join our company,
and Mr Shakespeare will write a little part for him
in his new Venetian comedy.
Absolutely.
Curses!
Such subtle and nuanced acting would lend wings to the Crow's verse
and increase his fame tenfold.
How can this be stopped?
Well...
If there's one thing I know about actors,
particularly the subtle and nuanced kind,
is that because they put on funny voices for a living,
they be in constant fear that people will think them thick,
thus will they loudly champion
any exotic theorem or obscure cause that comes their way
in the mistaken belief that it'll make them look clever.
I begin to see my way.
But first, Will, let us to Miss Lucy's tavern,
for we actors have a radical idea to discuss with you
to help the poor refugees.
A benefit night for the refugees,
with all London's leading theatre stars?
I think it's a wonderful idea. Don't you, Miss Lucy?
Oh, yes, Mr Shakespeare.
Although, as an escaped sex worker myself,
I would say legal status, safe sanctuary,
ruthless prosecution of people traffickers
and, above all, a global approach to the causes of the crisis
would be better.
But in the absence of these,
I'd say a bunch of luvvie-kissies showing off is as good a start as any.
Then that's settled.
Yes, well, the concert will need a title.
A day, I think. We should name a special day.
Well, many a time and oft during our touring days
did Condell and I perform the big red nose gag.
Where I took my inflated pig's bladder and whacked him on the nose,
causing it to go red.
Brilliant! That's it, we'll call our day Inflated Pig's Bladder Day.
Ah, good!
Oh, it's going brilliantly!
And look! Burbage and Condell are going to do their joke.
Oh!
Oh, master, now I'L make thy arse as red as thy nose!
Oh!
That's so funny!
Now, recently,
on behalf of Inflated Pig's Bladder Day,
we visited a refugee area in Shoreditch.
We saw clogless Dutchmen begging for cheese and stroopwafel.
Frenchmen so weak with hunger
they had not the strength to cheat on their wives.
I can't deny that the moments of harsh, documentary reality
sit rather uncomfortably
against the hilarity of the bum-kicking gags.
Yes, it does feel like rather a strange juxtaposition.
Still, the benefit night is a new art form.
No doubt in future ages they'll have found a way round that one.
You've got to hope so.
Which means that we have raised the amazing amount of...
Thank you, London!
Thank you!
Well, sounds like an amazing result.
I mean, I wish I wasn't in hiding and could have been there.
Nearly five pounds! That's a hell of a lot!
Hey!
Although, not so much
if you consider that a full great ship of the line
cost the Exchequer about 2,000.
Well, you hear a lot of that sort of argument
from gloomy naysayers, Miss Lucy,
but five quid's five quid,
and without tonight's benefit,
all we'd have would be nothing.
Hey!
Except that maybe, without charity nights like tonight,
people wouldn't be able to think they'd achieved something
when, really, nothing's changed at all.
And without that comforting illusion, they might be more minded
to agitate for genuine political change, which could make an actual difference.
I mean, you could argue that charity affords politicians an excuse for inaction
and exploiters the pretence of a conscience.
Still, we raised nearly five pounds!
Hey!
But it would be wonderful to do something more
than just raise money, don't you think, Mr Shakespeare?
Something profound and timeless,
a lasting reflection on the corrosive nature
of bigotry and intolerance.
Well, that is undoubtedly true, but I'm also very busy, Kate.
I'm looking for a truly timeless and universal issue
to elevate my Merchant Of Venice.
Hang on... Hang the futtock on!
Mr Hall, if you join the Burbage company
with your extraordinarily sad but kindly eyes
and weary, perceptive stare,
you will without a doubt soon become
one of the greatest Shakespearean players of your day.
That much is certain.
Hm.
This Shakespeare...
A curious thing, is he not?
I mean, who could have imagined
that a mere town-school spotty-grotty could write such verse?
That a turnip-chewing, country bum-shankle
could produce such insight and such wisdom?
- 'Tis passing strange. - Mm...
One might almost imagine
that some educated posh boy
had writ his plays in secret.
I don't know, a university man like Sir Francis Bacon or the Earl of Oxford.
Interesting. Fascinating.
Or Christopher Marlowe, perhaps!
They say he's dead, but is he?
The actor Wolf Hall is intrigued.
He takes the bait, and thus do I prove one of the great truths of life and art,
that just because an actor looks intelligent and can play intelligent
doesn't mean that he is intelligent.
I wonder how Susanna's getting on with her first day at work.
I'm so proud of her.
Well, I don't think it's fitting, a maid teaching in a dame school.
Oh, she's only helping out with the younger ones,
reading and writing.
The responsibility‘ll do her good,
stop her being such a grumpy little bitchington.
Where's my tea? I'm starving!
I had to walk home.
Why couldn't Grandad pick me up in the cart? What's he do all day?
Nothing! I hate my life! Shut up!
Long day, love?
What is this, the Star Chamber? You're always on at me!
Yes, it was a long day. You happy now? Shut up!
I actually think she might be improving a bit.
Well, tell us a bit about it.
Were the boys nice?
No, they're a bunch of nasty little swine.
There's this one kid who's a bit different,
you know, what they call a holy innocent, and they are so mean to him.
We had a boy like that in my class.
Brilliant!
We used to call him stupid.
Wasn't any harm in it.
We used to play tricks on him.
Wasn't any harm in it.
We used to steal his lunch,
chuck him in the pond
and reduce him to a weeping, sobbing wretch in the corner.
Wasn't any...
harmin it.
Actually, when I think about it,
there was quite a lot of harm in it,
which is why I try not to think about it.
So thanks a lot for bringing it up, Susanna!
My class is full of insensitive bastables like Grandad was.
I just wish there was a way I could make them see
that this kid has exactly the same feelings
and exactly the same human value as they do.
Well, maybe you should speak to your father about it.
He can be very astute on matters of human nature.
He knows a bit about being bullied, too.
He started going bald when he was seven.
I'll put an outsider at the centre of my Venice play -
despised and belittled.
I'll make him the moneylender and create an iconic figure
who will stand for all time as an affront to prejudice and bigotry.
Such a brilliant idea!
I can't deny, it seems strong.
So what type of outsider are you going to make him?
Well, isn't it obvious?
I'll make the moneylender a Dutchman.
These riots are about European refugees,
and I can't go French
because even my huge brain would struggle to find sympathetic qualities there.
So Dutch it is.
Laas, a villainous but ultimately deeply human Dutchman.
A tall, blond man in clogs
fond of rubbery cheese and high-quality beer,
yet somehow managing to maintain a trim and attractive figure.
- Isn't it brilliant? - Hm, I'm not sure.
Then it's a good thing I'm the genius, isn't it?
So, Antonio has asked for his loan,
and Dutch Laas is reflecting on the fact
that this same Antonio has insulted him and plotted against him on the rialto.
Kate, read it out for me.
You have something of the subtlety
that I believe Wolf Hall will bring to the role.
You hath disgraced me, laughed at my losses, mocked at my gains,
scorned at my nation... And what's his reason? I am Dutch.
Excuse me, but, Bottom, Marlowe, why are you laughing?
Sorry, can't help it.
It's the accent.
I beg your pardon, I do a very good Dutch accent.
It just seems to play against the timeless majesty of the poetry.
Well, surely that's the whole point.
People are alienated by things they're unfamiliar with
and thus despise them.
Kate, please, proceed.
If you prick us, do we not bleed?
If you tickle us, do we not laugh?
If you poison us, do we not die?
And if you wrong us, shall we not revenge?
Actually, Mr Shakespeare...
Actually, Mr Shakespeare,
it is quite difficult to get the required gravitas doing it Dutch.
Yeah, and the clogs are going to make a terrible racket on the stage!
Also, it strikes me that,
if you still want to set the play in Venice,
that doesn't work either.
The Venetians don't hate the Dutch.
In fact, Holland's maritime success has made them trading partners.
Yeah, to be fair, Will, this anti-Dutch thing
is pretty recent, even in Britain.
I mean, they've been our allies in the past.
People only hate the Dutch at the moment.
Damn! You're right.
If I'm to create a timeless classic, I need a group that everybody persecutes,
a people who truly encapsulate
the eternal nature of ignorant prejudice and bigotry.
But who can it be?
A ginge?
Yes, Bottom. Absolutely, a ginge would be perfect.
Carrot Top, the ginger moneylender of Venice.
The play will write itself.
Except, hang on, there is one thing -
the Queen's a ginge.
Mr Shakespeare,
we can avoid the obvious no longer.
We seek a people who are universally vilified and despised.
There can be only one contender.
Of course, a Scot!
Don't be ridiculous, Mr Shakespeare.
How can anyone dislike the Scots?
They are perfect in every way, as they keep telling us.
Think about it, Mr Shakespeare.
What we've learned from the riots here in London
is that people blame their troubles
on any convenient minority living amongst them,
and there's one group of people
who are always in the minority wherever they go.
It's time for another big Jew play.
I am to give my Jew once more.
Oh, joy! Oh, joy!
I shall have a new prop nose built -
huge and hooked and warty.
And I shall hiss and lurk and prowl.
And I'L have a stock of prop babies hidden beneath my black, sinister gown,
from which I shall drink stage blood!
Mr Burbage, the character is supposed to be at least partially sympathetic.
Sympathetic Jew? Ha! Are you mad?!
Such a thing has ne'er been known in all European culture.
That's what's going to make the play so memorable.
Oh, so do you think I should tone down the baby blood-drinking bit or...?
Yes, well, that's kinda the point.
We're trying to rewrite the rules a bit on stage Jews here.
Speaking of which, all this "do we not bleed" stuff,
as if they're the same as us,
I presume you want me to play that for laughs.
- Laughs? - Yes, it's a joke.
Obviously, Jews are not the same as us.
They are a wicked, naughty people.
They drink the blood of Christian babies and they poison Christian wells.
They deliberately created and spread bubonic plague - fact.
But have you ever actually seen any of these things?
Are you suggesting all this stuff is made up?
Well, you have to wonder.
I mean, they're supposed to secretly run the world for their own advantage.
Well, if that's true, quite frankly, they're not doing much of a job, are they?
I mean, they get hounded, beaten and murdered wherever they go.
Hath not a Jew eyes?
Hath not a Jew hands, organs,
dimensions, senses, affections, passions?
Fed with the same food,
hurt with the same weapons,
subject to the same diseases,
healed by the same means,
warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer as a Christian is?
If you prick us, do we not bleed?
If you tickle us, do we not laugh?
If you poison us, do we not die?
And if you wrong us, shall we not revenge?
Mr Burbage, Wolf Hall must play the Jew!
I'm sorry, that's impossible.
I, Burbage, always play the title role.
Oh, well, that's all right, then. The title role is Antonio.
- Antonio? - Yes, Antonio is the merchant of Venice.
- Really? - No-one's ever going to get that. Ever.
For evermore, people will presume Shylock is the merchant of Venice.
Well, he isn't. Antonio is.
Very well, then I shall give my Antonio.
And Mr Hall will play the Jew,
my most startlingly nuanced creation to date.
A villainous character, of course,
but also with human emotions and even nobility.
Wolf Hall, it is an honour to have you in my play.
Yes, it is.
Oh, although, of course, it isn't your play.
Not my play?
You didn't write it.
Nor indeed any of your plays.
- What? - "Twas another scribe, I'm certain.
A posh boy, no doubt?
Didn't write my plays? That's insane!
Burbage, Condell, Kempe, back me up here.
Well, of course!
But now it's been said, Will,
it's hard to get out of your mind.
I mean, innit weird?
We've seen you write bits of them, but now doubt's been put in my mind,
um, you know...
I can't help wondering if all that proof is actually evidence
of a vast conspiracy to hide the truth.
That you... did not...
write your plays.
Shut up!
Shut up, stop saying it!
By St Thomas's tiny testicles,
the more you say it, the more I must needs debunk it,
yet the very process of debunking it lends credibility to the lie.
Get out! I ban you from my plays forever.
You can go and do panto in the provinces.
How very rude!
I was only expressing reasonable doubt.
The actor Wolf Hall bids you goodbye.
Well, Will, looks like you're in need of a stage Jew.
Shylock is still not the title role, Burbage.
The merchant of Venice is Antonio.
Will, believe me, no-one is ever, ever going to get that.
Argh!
If you prick us, do we not bleed?
If you poison us, do we not die?
And if you wrong us, shall we not revenge?!
Oy vey, oy vey, oy vey... Argh!
Looks like promoting tolerance and understanding
might be a bit of a bigger project than we thought.
Yes, Mr Shakespeare.
I fear it may be a long time
before the play's message of inclusiveness and tolerance finds an audience.
Actually, I'm not so sure. My daughter Susanna has asked
if she might use a passage from it as a teaching aid.
Settle down!
As you know, my dad's famous,
and he's given me one of his speeches to be recited
for the next village gladsome gadabout, to raise money for the school.
And I have chosen one of you to recite it.
Up you get, Rodney.
Hath I not eyes?
Have I not hands, organs, dimensions, senses,
affections, passions?
Fed with the same food,
hurt with the same weapons?
If you prick me, do I not bleed?
If you tickle me, do I not laugh?
If you poison me, do I not die?
Nice one, Rodney.
There's some lovely stuff in that play, will.
And those lines Rodney said, they were beautiful.
And of course it represents a game-changing moment in world culture.
You think?
Oh, no doubt about it.
In creating the world's first slightly sympathetic Jew,
I have set humanity upon a path
which must lead inevitably
to a world of universal tolerance, peace, love and understanding.
I am literally that good.
Course you are, love.
Do you know, I don't think your hair's receding at all.
Really, my sweet?
That's encouraging.
No, what's happened is...
your head's got bigger.