MAN: "Critic".
From the Latin "criticus".
And the Greek " kritikós".
"Via krités", a judge.
(GENTLE MUSIC PLAYING)
(FLASHBULB POPS)
- Your seats, Mr Erskine. - Tom.
- Curtain? - 10:40
- Oh. - Provided we go up on time.
Well, ensure it, hmm? I have a deadline!
MR ERSKINE: The drama critic is feared
and reviled for the judgement he must bring.
But the truth
is imperative.
A critic must be cold and perfectly alone.
(TYPEWRITER BELL DINGS)
Only the greats are remembered.
(SHIP'S HORN BLARES)
I must tell you,
when you go to the theatre,
in the dramas presented,
you'll find many a murderer with cold blood.
(HUMS)
But do take notice of the occasional killer
- with a conscience. - (WATER SPLASHING)
(CHARCOAL SCRATCHING)
I shall need two more sessions.
Can you find the time?
For immortality, who wouldn't?
(CHUCKLES)
(LIGHT CRACKLES)
(PEACOCK CALLING IN DISTANCE)
You vicious old bastard.
(FOOTSTEPS CRUNCHING ON GRAVEL)
My father enjoyed indulging this newspaper.
But times are harder now.
We're going to have to economise
across all departments, I'm afraid.
However, if we trim the fat,
we can restore The Chronicle to its rightful place
as the most read family newspaper in the country.
So...
let's resume our mission with renewed vigour, eh?
MAN: No more inexplicable expenses.
No more long lunches.
No late copy.
He's dragging the paper into the 20th century.
- How dare he. - (BOTH CHUCKLE)
MAN: Be warned. MAN 2: Hmm?
Watch your backs.
He won't come after the old guard.
- We are the bloody paper! - (SNICKERS)
He won't have pirates on board.
We must all show loyalty to the cause.
The sole historical cause of The Chronicle
is to compete for readers with the Daily fucking Mail.
- MAN: Mm-hmm. - Fascists.
Loyalty!
I've been with this festering organ 40 years!
Forty-three.
Hmm.
Mm.
He should show loyalty to us.
He's Robespierre in a top hat.
- (ALL CHUCKLE) - Madame la Guillotine, salut!
Nh, don't, Jim. Don't, you're plastered.
- Stephen. - Good afternoon.
Oh.
David.
Viscount Brooke, I should say.
My condolences again.
We all adored your father.
Thank you.
I remember when mine passed away.
He was an insignificant man, but his absence was profound.
(CHUCKLES DRUNKENLY)
You know, your father gave me the job
right here in the club. (CHUCKLES)
Over, er, lunch... No, dinner.
And he squeezed my young cheeks,
and, "Jimmy,
"I hereby anoint you my chief drama critic."
(CHUCKLES)
Hmm.
Working tonight?
The White Devil.
Best seen sober, I suspect.
Not necessarily.
MAN: That is the half, Mr Cooper.
That is the half. Thirty minutes.
Half an hour, ladies and gents.
- (INDISTINCT TALKING) - Half an hour, Mrs Reverly.
- Half an hour. Half an hour. - All right, Lennie.
LENNIE: Tell him half. Half an hour, Miss Land.
- Fuck off, Lennie. - I'll do my best.
WOMAN: Excuse me.
(SIGHS) I'm too old for this.
From your secret admirer.
- Who is he, Miss? - Oh, it's a mystery.
I could travel to the Orkneys and act in a stable,
two dozen white roses would appear on the first night.
Have them.
"Unto my lord the duke, The best of welcome.
"More lights! Attend the duke."
(GENTLE MUSIC PLAYING)
TOM: I'm in the mood for Jacobean tragedy.
Not often I say that.
JIMMY: Done badly, this play could drive a nun to arson.
MAN 1: Mr Erskine? MAN 2: Mr Erskine?
LENNIE: Five minutes, White Devil company.
That's the five.
(INDISTINCT CHATTER)
You will be a sensation.
Don't expect a good notice in The Chronicle.
At least, not for my performance.
Jimmy Erskine's never liked me.
Well, tonight, the beast will experience
- a Damascene conversion. - (EXHALES)
Ready? Have courage.
(INDISTINCT CHATTERING)
"Unto my lord the duke,
"The best of welcome. More lights."
Where's Mr Erskine?
(WHISPERS) Over there.
How's his portrait coming along?
(IN NORMAL VOICE) Quite well.
His face is more interesting than his opinions.
(SCOFFS) I love him.
He's gutsy.
Viscount at one o'clock.
JIMMY: Shame his lady wife never attends.
Perhaps she's got a prior engagement
with a keg of lithium.
(BOTH SNICKER)
(MYSTERIOUS MUSIC FADES IN)
Your best of rest.
Unto my lord the duke, The best of welcome.
Attend the duke.
- (STIFLED LAUGHTER) - More lights!
- Flamineo. - FLAMINEO: My lord.
Quite lost, Flamineo.
(JIMMY GROANS SOFTLY)
Now to the act of blood.
There's but three Furies found in spacious hell...
(DIALOGUE MUTED)
(INHALES, EXHALES DEEPLY)
(INDISTINCT CHATTERING)
(WOMAN CLEARS THROAT)
I think I prefer this play to his other one.
- His other one? - Well, his other famous one.
Duchess of Malta.
- Malfi. - Oh, yes!
(LAUGHING) Duchess of Malfi.
Jew of Malta. Duchess of Malfi.
Same era, though.
Webster is Jacobean. Marlowe, Elizabethan.
Oh, a slightly pedantic distinction.
It's the correct one.
Well, I'm sure we can agree on tonight's performance
thus far.
I... I just adore Nina Land.
She's such a mercurial actress.
I'm... I'm... I'm sure you'll be
dipping that famous nib in nectar tonight.
(CHUCKLES NERVOUSLY)
No need for the prussic acid.
- (LAUGHS NERVOUSLY) - Excuse me.
Meadows! (GRUNTS)
Will you remove that lunatic baggage?
I'm so sorry, Mr Erskine. What seems to be the problem?
Ah, no, not "seems".
She invaded my table,
she besieged me with her opinions,
and stole my nuts!
I must have silence!
I must be protected from the general public!
Move her, move her.
(LOUDY) Run!
(SOFT MUSIC PLAYING)
O, happy they who never saw the court,
Nor ever knew great man but by report.
- (GRUNTS) - I recover,
like a spent taper...
- (TENSE MUSIC PLAYS) - ...for a flash.
But instantly go out.
The rack, the gallows,
- and the torturing wheel... - (JIMMY SIGHS)
...shall be but sound sleeps to me.
Here's my rest,
I limb'd this night-piece and it was my best.
GIOVANNI: Remove the bodies.
See my honoured lord.
Let guilty men remember their black deeds
Do lean on crutches made of slender reeds.
(APPLAUSE)
JIMMY: No...
Replace with, er, "succubus".
(MUMBLES) Cut all that shit.
- This shit? - No, that shit.
Oh.
There is no "e" in "somnambulant".
There never has been, God help us, never will be.
(HUMS)
Change "damp squib" to... (INHALES)
"wet blanket". No, no. Help?
- Er, "sopping"? - Perfect, yes.
No, "sodden". Yes. (CHUCKLES)
All right, get typing.
"Sodden".
BOY: That was the longest play in the world.
WOMAN: Longer than life itself.
- BOY: How long is life? - Endless.
As long as you eat your vegetables.
(BOY CHUCKLES)
GIRL: Wasn't Nina Land the greatest?
She's magical.
You should paint her.
STEPHEN: Mm.
I think you've got secrets.
STEPHEN: You're very direct. GIRL: You raised me to be.
STEPHEN: True.
But I don't.
GIRL: I wouldn't mind if you did.
Not if she makes you happy.
I love your mother. (EXHALES)
Said unconvincingly.
STEPHEN: Your father seemed to enjoy it.
STEPHEN'S WIFE: Mm.
Brutal play.
- Mm. - Extraordinary.
All that wailing and gnashing.
You are aware it was written in the early 17th century?
I had gleaned it.
People don't wail and gnash nowadays.
- Well, we don't. - Well, if we don't...
I mean, we are representative of everyone.
Oh, must you?
(SIGHS)
(SOFT CLASSICAL MUSIC PLAYING)
JIMMY: All right, come on, Tom, hurry up.
Ah, thank you.
"The Duke of Bracciano's steatopygous form"?
From the Greek.
"Excessive flesh on the buttocks."
I doubt our readers are familiar with the word.
I doubt our readers can read.
Change it, please.
Replace with "fat-arsed".
(CHATTER AND LAUGHTER)
You can't leave the bloody party!
Sorry. Exhausted.
The producers tell me
the vibrations are extremely positive.
It's opening night.
We're a hit!
Even the beast gave me the nod.
Caught my eye as he scarpered up the aisle.
Hmm. Probably thinking of all the vile things
he'll say about me.
Well, if you can't enjoy the moment,
you'd best fuck off. Hmm.
Love you! (BLOWS KISS)
(FAINT PENSIVE MUSIC PLAYING)
MAN: A word of advice.
Brooke told me it's the best thing he's seen all season.
But he's not the paper's drama critic.
Not yet.
What do you know?
He's begun culling the old lags.
And he's not so keen on you.
Nor does he like your...
proclivities.
Family paper.
Be careful.
(MIDNIGHT, THE STARS AND YOU BY AL BOWLLY PLAYING)
♪ Midnight with the stars and you ♪
- ♪ Midnight ♪ - (WHISTLING)
♪ And a rendezvous ♪
♪ Your eyes held a message tender ♪
♪ Saying, "I surrender ♪
♪ "All my love to you" ♪
- (POLICE ALARM BELL RINGING) - Raid! Get down.
POLICEMAN: Stop there!
(DOGS BARKING)
MAN: Get off! Get off me!
POLICEMAN: And you, you little pansy, come here!
(SONG CONTINUES PLAYING)
♪ I'll be remembering you ♪
♪ Whatever else I do ♪
♪ Midnight ♪
♪ With the stars and you ♪
- (KNOCK AT DOOR) - No baths after 10:00.
NINA: Sorry!
Well, turn the taps off before you wake the whole house.
- (SONG ENDS) - (BIRDS CHIRPING)
(MUFFLED VOICES ARGUING AND BABY CRYING)
(SIGHS HEAVILY)
NINA: Thank you.
(SIGHS)
JIMMY: The vamping and shrieking Miss Nina Land
attempts Vittoria with all the grace of a startled mule.
There's not a single moment of stillness nor subtlety.
After three long hours,
when Miss Land finally, blessedly, expires,
her death is akin to a deflated dirigible.
- (PHONE RINGING) - (CHEWING LOUDLY)
(KNOCK AT DOOR)
LANDLADY: Miss Land?
Visitor!
(GROANS) It's a disaster. He's so important.
- NINA: I know. - (SIGHS)
What did you think?
Last night?
Well, I... I told you. I... I raved.
But?
I'm your most ardent supporter.
- It's irrelevant. - Mum.
Well, I thought you were a touch too florid
with your hands. You know...
And... And you pushed a bit...
bit too hard at times.
But you looked striking.
And...
You were very audible.
I mean, every syllable, clear as a bell.
(SCOFFS)
Nina, you're 30... oomph years old,
you're a spinster,
you're living in a squalid one little room.
I mean, life is passing you by.
- I'm perfectly content. - Well, you're patently not.
You should talk to him.
We don't talk to critics.
It's not the done thing.
- Confront him and have it out. - You're bloody mad!
Deal with the odious man before he insults you again.
You've got 10 days before you open Twelfth Night.
Do it now!
I wish you'd stop meddling.
I'm not meddling.
I'm mothering.
(SUSPENSEFUL CLASSICAL MUSIC PLAYING)
(DOOR SHUTS)
(SIGHS)
No, no, no.
(BREATHLESSLY) What do you require from me?
I have a very important meeting.
Please make it brief.
- I want an apology. - (SCOFFS)
For expressing my opinion?
For the manner of its expression.
The rudeness, the disrespect.
One of my many solemn duties is to entertain the reader.
At my expense?
Well, it's not just you, is it?
I write, what, half a million words a year?
Oh, mea culpa if 12 of them offended you.
Over the last 10 years,
you've compared me to livestock,
creatures of the sea, and an extinct bird.
You've said my voice is "fluting", "grating",
"girlish" and "manly".
You've described me as plump and emaciated.
Which is it, damn you?
Last season, "Her Mrs Elvestad is glamourous but ungainly.
"She doesn't seem to know how to walk."
How to walk?
You've been dishing it out to me for a decade
and now it's going to stop.
Oh, are you retiring?
Oh, I'm tight enough to scratch your eyes out!
Oh, I wouldn't try.
You stand before the junior vice-captain
of the Wigan Boxing Club.
You all right, Miss? He's a bit weird, this one.
This is a private conversation.
Weird?
Oh, be a good chap and bugger off.
The lady's perfectly safe.
Oh... Oh, tell.
(WHISPERS) Please.
MAN: He likes it rough.
NINA: Does he, now?
Apologise.
I won't, Miss Land.
I will fight to the death for freedom of thought
and its public expression.
"Erskine of The Chronicle
"pays trade for rough sex."
(SIGHS)
Why do you like that?
I daresay you can imagine.
You spoke it last night.
"My soul, like a ship in a black storm,
"Is driven, I know not whither."
Humiliation.
Danger.
I think you understand.
(PENSIVE MUSIC PLAYING)
Don't take what I write to heart.
There are other critics, albeit lesser ones,
who think you're spectacular.
I'm not interested in them.
- I follow you. - Me? (SCOFFS)
I'm a monster, I'm weird.
You most certainly are.
But I grew up reading you.
I wanted to act because of you.
You're mocking me.
You formed me.
Well...
that's a terribly flattering thing to say.
You write so tenderly and... and passionately
about the plays and the actors who move you.
And yet you dismiss those who disappoint you so ruthlessly.
As if you've been betrayed.
This little England lowers its standards every day.
In my footling way,
I'm attempting to maintain them.
I so wanted to meet your standards.
But you think I'm appalling?
I'm afraid so.
(SIGHS)
I might dissolve.
There is art in you, Miss Land.
My disappointment is in your failure to access it.
You know where I live.
You may visit if you wish.
- (PHONES RINGING) - (INDISTINCT CHATTERING)
Dorothy. (SNIFFS)
Joan! Good afternoon.
Jimmy.
(SOFTLY) Yes.
MAN: Good luck. (SPEAKS INDISTINCTLY)
La commedia è finita.
(DOOR OPENS)
Jimmy.
(SIGHS LOUDLY)
Tone it down.
(PEN SCRATCHING ON PAPER)
Er, what exactly?
The unpleasantness.
The extravagance.
Less.
C... Could you be more specific?
In order that I may obey.
(CLEARS THROAT) "Warning. Hold your breath
"as you pass the Duke's Theatre
"for here is untreated theatrical sewage.
"A play of elemental passion
"has been reduced to the scale of a sodden sock."
Well, it's my responsibility to discourage our readers from
wasting their wages on tripe.
Never mind all that.
We're discussing the extremity of your style.
But that's why people read me, you know.
I wither and I effuse.
And the proud tradition of this paper,
established by your dear father...
Yes, I know he was fond of you.
He was also fond of Sir Oswald Mosley.
You can't compare me with him.
Anyone who threatens the reputation of this newspaper
is an undesirable.
Oh, so it's a witch hunt?
Jim!
Don't break the law.
Don't cause a stink.
Be kinder.
More beauty, less beast.
Final warning.
NINA: Stay.
If I think so, I think the same of you.
Think thou right. I am not what I am.
I... I would you...
Yes?
"Were as I would have you be."
Were as I would...
would you were as I would have you be.
Break them.
Lunch, everyone. That's lunch, please.
Back in an hour. Thank you.
We must all get over that review
and focus on this show.
- I know my lines. - I know you know them.
Why can't you say them?
- I am. - Heavily.
Where's the lightness?
- Where's the wit? - (SNAPS FINGERS)
(SIGHS)
(INDISTINCT CHATTERING)
(BREATHES DEEPLY)
I'm going mad without you.
Hello. Could you tell her I miss her?
Could you tell him
he's married with two children?
STEPHEN: Please.
Thank you.
- Nina... - I'm in rehearsals.
I'm being dreadful, and we open in two days.
As we discussed at length,
I won't be your mistress any more.
We were lovers.
You were my lover.
Go home to your family.
(LIVELY JAZZ MUSIC PLAYING)
MEN: More! More!
...well, I say...
- More! - MEN: More!
(DRUNKEN INDISTINCT CHANTING)
(LAUGHTER)
JIMMY: If I can't write freely,
I can't write at all.
- Don't resign. - Well, there's no need.
(CHUCKLES) He'll be rid of me as soon as he finds an excuse.
Oh.
(SLURRED) I am on the scaffold,
black cloth bag over my head
and the frigid fart's just fumbling for the lever.
(MEN LAUGH)
TOM: We should turn back.
JIMMY: They don't own the streets.
Not yet.
We have the right to walk here.
- Come on. - Well, I'm turning back.
- Let go. - No!
(MEN CHATTERING)
All right?
Oh, yes. How are you?
- I'm all right. - I'm so glad.
Who's your friend, then?
I'll tell you about mine if you tell me about yours.
(GROUP CHUCKLES)
Tell your friend to go home.
Oh, but I'm taking him home.
He lives in this environ.
You're a cheeky old queer, ain't ya?
May I return the compliment and say how splendid you look
with your badges and crests
and crisp black shirt?
Did you iron it yourself?
- Getcha! Go on! - (GROUP LAUGHS)
- (MOCKING LAUGHTER) - MAN 2: Go on, now!
JIMMY: Stop it! (LAUGHING)
I'm... I'm gonna die!
You could've got us killed!
Oh, don't be silly.
They could've killed us.
Nobody gets murdered in Bloomsbury. (LAUGHS)
You're a maniac with a death wish.
It's true!
(JIMMY GRUNTS)
Stop that now.
He who lives in fear dies of shame.
Who said that?
Me. Just now.
Just scribble it down for the memoirs.
I will never let anything bad happen to you.
MAN: (IN DISTANCE) Oi!
TOM: There's police on the way.
- Oh, sod the law! - Quiet!
Home's this way. Oh! Oh, fuck!
- (WHISTLE BLOWING) - (JIMMY LAUGHING)
Please get up. We have to move.
- Give me a kiss and I will. - Oh, get up!
Kiss me, you gorgeous bastard.
- And then you'll get up? - Yes.
- (WHISTLE BLOWS) - (MEN CLAMOURING)
That's it, you filthy queers!
Get hold of him.
Get up, you dirty old sod!
(GROANS)
- (DOOR SLAMS) - OFFICER 1: Round!
OFFICER 2: I'll check 'em for lipstick.
(FOOTSTEPS RECEDING)
MAN: Are you a homosexual?
No.
Have you ever engaged in unnatural practices?
No.
Your young friend, Thomas Turner,
claims he's your secretary.
What are his duties?
(MUFFLED SHOUTING)
Typing, filing, research.
- And does he do shorthand? - (OFFICER SNICKERS)
(MAN TUTS)
Is he a proficient secretary?
- He is first-rate. - First-rate?
You seem surprised by his competence.
Is it due to the colour of his skin?
Is it correct that you co-habit with your secretary?
He's my lodger.
Do you share a bedroom?
No.
He sleeps on the sofa.
How long has he been sleeping on your sofa?
Six years.
- How's his back bearing up? - (OFFICER SNICKERS)
Where'd you find him, Mr Erskine?
- Was he trade? - No!
I understand you enjoy the theatre.
I do not enjoy the theatre.
I'm the chief drama critic of The Daily Chronicle.
(DOOR UNLOCKS)
(WHISPERS) His lawyer's here, sir.
(DOOR LOCKS SHUT)
Lambert, thank you.
The police were in the mood to charge you.
JIMMY: Hmm.
I had to tell Brooke.
Needed him to pull strings.
(JIMMY GROANS)
- Had to, Jim. - Yeah.
Can't have you two going to prison.
(CHUCKLES)
Dorothy.
- Terms. - JIMMY: Uh-huh.
And one month's notice.
(SCOFFS)
What did you expect?
You were found committing an indecent act
in a public place.
You resisted arrest and assaulted a police officer.
You're in full breach of your contract.
The terms are significantly more generous
than those I advised Viscount Brooke to offer.
(CLOCK CHIMING)
- Oh, Tom. - TOM: Oh, Jim...
No first nights.
No dinners.
No life.
(OPERATIC MUSIC PLAYING FAINTLY)
I'm walking dead.
Oh, come on. Enough self-pity.
Well, you know my debts.
I live like a king on a pauper's wage.
When the fall comes, it'll sweep me under.
Where's your spirit?
Where's your fight?
Fuck 'em!
TOM: That's the spirit.
(SLURPING)
Stephen, I'm here for my sitting.
Oh.
I have got the right day?
Well, yes, but...
Perhaps you should contact Viscount Brooke's office.
Are you going to eat that chop?
(JIMMY GRUNTS)
How's unemployment?
Wake at noon, hunk of bread, mug of sherry,
back to bed.
Still go to the opera?
Can't afford it.
You must have something on him?
Ethos of the club.
We don't machinate against fellow members.
Yes, we do.
(SIGHS)
Brooke is known as a very decent fellow.
Look how he's cared for his bonkers bride
all these years.
The man's a saint.
Don't be sloppy.
No one is a saint.
Literature teaches us that.
Romeo?
Betrays entire Montague dynasty
for his own selfish lust.
- Oliver Twist. - Class traitor.
Causes death of Nancy.
You're deranged.
(SIGHS)
All men have secrets.
I'll find his.
(SENTIMENTAL CLASSICAL MUSIC PLAYING)
ORSINO: Come, boy, my thoughts are ripe in mischief.
I'll sacrifice the lamb that I do love,
to spite a raven's heart within a dove.
And I, most jocund, apt, and willingly,
To do you rest, a thousand deaths would die.
(SENTIMENTAL MUSIC CONTINUES)
(NINA BREATHES DEEPLY)
(BELL RINGS)
WOMAN: Fifteen minutes, please. Back at 4:20.
(BREATHING HEAVILY)
(DOOR BELL RINGS)
Nina Land.
JIMMY: What does she want?
Sounds weepy.
Let her in.
Do a good deed for once, huh?
Welcome!
Um, I was just passing. Sorry if it's too late.
Oh, we receive at all hours.
- (CHUCKLES) - This is Tom.
- Hello. - Hello.
Oh. Thank you.
- You were an actor? - Mm-hmm.
For two years.
My zenith was Laertes.
In Dundee.
Oh.
JIMMY: Oscar Wilde, of course.
I saw him once when I was young.
I made a pilgrimage to the stage door
of the Theatre Royal and waited for hours.
And then he appeared.
Rolling up Suffolk Street, quite alone...
in the clear bright sunshine.
A king.
Were he to command me to give him my body and soul
right there, I would have done it... (CHUCKLES)
gratefully.
But... (SIGHS) he swept by.
I wasn't pretty enough to engage his eye. Hmm.
Henry James. (SNIFFS)
JIMMY: Well, attributed.
His last words.
NINA: "So here it is at last, the distinguished thing"?
Death.
Oh, forgive me. Come on.
- Now, do sit down. - (SOBS SOFTLY)
Has something happened?
(SIGHS) I've got the fear.
Ah.
And we open tomorrow night.
You're the last person in the world I should tell. (EXHALES)
Hmm.
Or the only one that you can, huh?
Drink?
(GULPING)
(INHALES DEEPLY)
- (GLASS THUDS) - (EXHALES)
Another, hmm?
You're too keen to please. (CLEARS THROAT)
Now, when an actor tries too hard,
it sends mustard gas through the house.
You have to trust.
And it's very difficult to trust, but...
the courage to give of the self entirely
is what all great actors share.
I mean those with the capacity to conjure the sublime.
You have to trust that we are present to you.
That we're sensitive to your deepest sufferings,
your gentlest feelings, your most intimate thoughts.
But you must trust that we can perceive all this
without your help.
Less.
(CHUCKLES)
It's a dagger to the soul, but "less" is the only note.
NINA: (AS OLIVIA) What is your parentage?
Above my fortunes, yet my state is well.
I'm a gentleman.
I'll be sworn thou art.
(PENSIVE MUSIC PLAYING)
Thy tongue, thy face,
thy limbs, actions, and spirit
do give thee five-fold blazon.
(LAUGHS) Whew!
- (AUDIENCE LAUGHS) - Not too fast.
Soft, soft.
(SIGHS) Unless the master were the man.
How now?
Even so quickly may one catch the plague?
O, methinks I feel this youth's perfections
with an invisible and subtle stealth
- to creep in at mine eyes... - (BREATHING HEAVILY)
TOM: He's crying.
NINA: (AS OLIVIA) Well, let it be.
Er, Mr Erskine, I've reserved a private room
for you through here.
I do hope it will suit.
Well, thank you, Graham.
That's really very thoughtful of you.
(INDISTINCT CHATTERING)
Erm, I didn't catch your name.
- Ivan. - Ivan.
Would you invite the Viscount
to join us in the private room?
JIMMY: Mm.
We should throw a dinner for you.
A celebration for your retirement.
I would be honoured.
Will you continue to write?
JIMMY: Oh, no, no, no.
I couldn't work for another paper.
But, er, I might start my memoirs.
BROOKE: Hmm.
Well, break a leg.
Enjoying the show?
Very much.
Some fine acting on display.
(INHALES) Yes, I particularly...
- Sorry? - No, I, er...
Hmm?
I was going to say, I thought, er,
the Olivia and Viola were both excellent.
Oh, Miss Nina Land.
Er, which one?
Olivia.
Olivia, is she?
She has a very particular talent.
- Do you think? - Oh, yes.
And she's beloved.
Whenever I've been a touch harsh about her,
(INHALES)
sacks of angry mail arrive from her devoted supporters.
Are you a devotee?
I... I don't think I've ever seen her before.
Oh, but you have, you know, here.
In The White Devil.
Twice, I believe.
Yes, of course.
And I seem to recall you attended Hedda Gabler
at The Globe.
Last season.
Nina Land was
"an indecently fetching" Mrs Elvestad.
(CHUCKLING)
Well, I... I'm quoting your father. (CHUCKLES)
Well, that doesn't make me a devotee.
Oh. Oh, no.
Of course not.
Final para.
(JIMMY HUMS)
TOM: "Miss Nina Land's magnificent Olivia."
(CONTINUES HUMMING)
- Really? - (LIGHTER CLICKS)
I move mysteriously, hmm.
In my valedictory weeks, why not be generous?
Huh? (CHUCKLES)
JIMMY: Attention to those who have heeded
my recent warning
regarding a foul stench emanating from the Aldwych.
I am most pleasantly surprised to report good news.
I must stand and applaud
Miss Nina Land's magnificent Olivia.
She now offers a performance
of such astonishing, delightful nuance...
(PHONE RINGING)
...and depth of feeling that I fear...
LANDLADY: Miss Land!
(SOFT MUSIC PLAYING)
(WHISPERS) Go.
- (DOOR CLOSES) - Hello?
JIMMY: Good morning, Miss Land.
Oh, hello.
Oh, and thank you for what you said.
Did you really mean it, or did you take pity?
Oh, I never lie.
And this is only the beginning.
Great success awaits you.
- (EXHALES) - Er, Nina?
Yes,
Jimmy?
I have something a little delicate to discuss.
One could say it's a part.
NINA: In a play?
No, no, no. Er, a performance.
Consider a man of around 60,
powerful, rich.
But catastrophically married.
And it transpires
that he's secretly obsessed
with a vivacious younger woman.
Which part do I play?
(BOTH LAUGH)
Who is he?
Viscount Brooke.
- Your proprietor? - Mm-hmm.
- Do you know him? - (GRUNTS SOFTLY)
Decent chap, handsome.
Wife barking...
- in the aristocratic mode. - And?
I want you to please him.
Coyness doesn't suit you.
You want me to fuck him.
(LAUGHS WHEEZILY)
That's my girl there.
I'm afraid I must decline the role.
I don't want to play a prostitute.
Oh, dearest Nina, there's no vulgar cash involved.
I'm asking you to do me a little service.
And in return,
you will gain my unyielding favour.
Stunning reviews.
Acclaim.
"The actress of her generation."
And we might start with an interview
for my "Backstage Whispers'" column.
And my chum, Cecil, will photograph you.
Only the best for Nina.
And there'll be parties,
gatherings, entrées, dinners.
All that's required to make you a star.
Everything you crave.
And deserve.
An immortal of the stage and screen.
I can't do it.
- It's not me. - It's a part.
- It's not you. - (SIGHS)
Your cruel profession bestows glory on its young.
And time has no pity.
It will define you or cast you out.
(EXHALES SHARPLY)
(PENSIVE MUSIC PLAYING)
JIMMY: I blame the writers.
Repertoire is so lacking in parts
for the mature actress.
And between playing the soubrette and the old maid
lie decades of waste.
Except for the select.
You said you yearn to meet my standards.
Well, here they are.
JOAN: Miss Land.
NINA: Hello.
Congratulations. You're the hit of the season.
Oh, thank you so much.
(DOOR OPENS)
JOAN: Miss Land.
Welcome.
NINA: Hello.
Have a seat.
Thank you.
It's so kind of you to see me.
Not at all.
I... I've come here to beg a favour.
I... I don't suppose you've seen my photograph
in your paper today?
My rather demanding mother
has requested a print for her birthday next week.
- (CHUCKLES COYLY) - I see.
Perhaps I could offer you some tickets
for these plays I'm in?
Well, to be honest, I've... I've seen both of them.
And you were...
excellent.
Oh.
I might blush. (CHUCKLES)
Well, we mustn't disappoint your mother.
How can I possibly thank you?
Perhaps you could have supper with me?
I could give you the photograph?
A very reasonable exchange.
Right, well, if, er, you give Joan your details,
she can organise us.
She has the most spectacular flowers on her desk.
Yes, her sister's a florist.
I have a secret admirer who's been sending me
two dozen white roses every opening night since 1928.
And he's never made himself known?
Isn't it mysterious?
(SOFT CLASSICAL MUSIC PLAYING)
Just there, please.
(NINA CHUCKLES)
- Thank you. Thank you so much. - Thank you, Miss Land.
BROOKE: Thank you.
(CUP CLINKS)
(EXHALES)
Shall I, um...
fetch the photograph?
You go. I'll follow.
(DOOR OPENS)
(SIGHS HEAVILY)
- May I take your coat? - Hmm.
For you.
Would you like a drink?
Later.
(YAWNS)
(SOFT MUSIC PLAYING)
(EXHALES)
- (WATER SPLASHES) - (EXHALES)
(BREATHES HEAVILY)
(SHUDDERS)
(EXHALES)
(BREATHING HEAVILY)
- (SWITCH CLICKS) - Too... Too bright.
(NINA GROANS QUIETLY)
Er, I have to get home.
Well, shall I send for the car?
No, thank you.
Here.
- (EXHALES) - (JEWELLERY CLINKS)
Thank you. (CHUCKLES)
Where did you put my coat?
- Your coat is here. - Oh.
(NINA CLEARS THROAT)
You've forgotten something.
Oh. (CHUCKLES)
Look, I'm old, I'm married.
I'm very grateful.
But don't see me again
if it's not something you want.
Are you saying you don't want to?
You know I'm besotted.
Well, then... see you tomorrow.
- (DOG BARKS IN DISTANCE) - (MELANCHOLY MUSIC PLAYING)
I won't do it again.
Not tonight, not ever.
You'll play as cast, as agreed.
As contracted.
You told me to please him.
I did.
He's very grateful. He doesn't need more.
Our great partnership is in its infancy.
Brooke expects you tonight. Don't let me down.
Or what?
Well, if you don't do my bidding,
I'd be obliged to withdraw my favour.
And you'd suffer its opposite.
It's not just wrong, it's evil.
I'm fighting for my life here.
She's done enough!
Once is never enough!
You're the help.
You're my squire. (SCOFFS)
If you're not with me, you're against me!
- Nina. - Go away.
I can't.
You're a good egg, more or less.
And I'm vain, selfish and madly ambitious.
And this is news?
I'm driven in ways I don't understand.
I need things it doesn't occur to you to want.
I'm trouble.
Stay away.
(KNOCKING AT DOOR)
Apologies for the lateness of the hour,
but it, er, is a matter of some importance.
Well, it'll have to wait, I'm busy.
No, you're not.
- I can assure you, I am. - She is not coming.
- Who? - (SCOFFS)
Let's not, eh?
I can confirm she arrived downstairs, but then
the flighty little thing departed.
What?
(MELANCHOLY MUSIC PLAYING)
(VEHICLE APPROACHING)
The vulnerable young actress
you lured to this room last night?
The poor innocent woman that you took advantage of?
The sweet girl you assaulted?
Or so she will say.
In court.
- That's not true. - True or false,
it's the same scandal.
But please, don't despair,
good Viscount.
I'm here to help.
(CAR DEPARTS)
BROOKE: Your employment,
a reprieve with a modest pay rise
is acceptable.
Reinstate Hugh Morris as opera critic? No.
He was drowning, and you know it.
Your reinclusion in the portrait is impossible.
We've selected another man.
Get rid of him.
"Twelve Distinguished Gentlemen of the Club."
Are you sure you qualify?
Most certainly.
How on earth do you live with yourself?
Well, it's a struggle.
Now, returning to the, er... the portrait. I...
I have a number of, er, letters
stamped and addressed to your wife, your daughter,
the club secretary, the editor of the Daily Mail,
and other assorted ghouls.
Now, please... (EXHALES)
don't oblige me to slip them
into the post box downstairs.
I suppose I...
I should assume...
Miss Land doesn't even like me?
Do you know, we've never discussed it.
Shall I ask her?
STEPHEN: Who is he?
(MELANCHOLY MUSIC PLAYING)
Don't ask.
If you ever loved me, don't ask.
(NINA SIGHS HEAVILY)
I miss you.
What?
I miss you.
(MELANCHOLY MUSIC CONTINUES)
(DOOR OPENS)
Where were you?
I slept at the studio.
Alone?
No.
So your affair has resumed?
I think so.
Who is she?
I can't say.
Well, then pack.
BROOKE: He'll be back.
He won't survive poverty.
He'll make a virtue of it.
He's always resented our wealth,
our name, our standing.
I should never have married a Jew.
Cora!
Spare me your disapproval.
(GENTLE MUSIC PLAYING)
What?
I'd be most grateful if you'd now include him.
- Why? - My father would've wanted it.
(INHALES SHARPLY) He loved a character.
Though he never much cared for mine.
I'll step down, it'll be a clean dozen.
You can paint me out
and stick him in.
I don't mean to diminish your art.
Fine.
But I don't approve.
And I don't deserve immortality.
All my achievements have been due to nepotism.
Item two.
Cora.
I know my daughter can be tricky.
She has her ways. But the thing of it is...
- it's really not her fault. - David.
I can't go back.
May I know who she is?
If she's going to be stepmother
to my grandchildren, I'd like to know something about her.
But, er, don't feel obliged, I...
I really shouldn't pry.
- Always the gent. - (CHUCKLES)
It's a curse.
(PENSIVE MUSIC PLAYING)
She's an actress.
- Oh. - We met last year.
She happened to come to my opening.
Actually, you saw her in those productions at the Duke's.
Oh?
Nina Land.
(SCOFFS SOFTLY)
She was...
very fine.
I have to admit, I am...
I'm head over heels.
(PENSIVE MUSIC CONTINUES)
David?
(INHALES SHARPLY)
I really shouldn't say this, but, er...
I wish you good fortune.
(PENSIVE MUSIC CONTINUES)
(DOOR OPENS AND CLOSES)
You... You open it.
- It's personal, Miss. - We're intimates.
You see me at my worst every day.
"Dear Miss Land,
"late last night, I received a visit..."
BROOKE: ...from your co-conspirator.
I daresay you can imagine my disappointment.
My personal feelings aside,
I'm writing to tell you that I fear no good will come
from your association with this man.
I urge you to end it.
(EXHALES)
Tom!
I've been used.
We all get used, darling.
Use him back.
You've done his bidding,
now get what you want from him.
The whole thing's disgusting.
I'm disgusting, he's disgusting,
and you're disgusting for letting him do it.
Sleep on it.
(PENSIVE MUSIC CONTINUES)
- (GUNSHOT ECHOES) - (BIRDS' WINGS FLUTTER)
(BIRDS SQUAWKING IN DISTANCE)
(CLOCK TICKING)
(PERSON SNIFFLING)
- (PHONE RINGING) - (SNORING)
(RECEIVER CLICKS)
- (CONTINUES SNORING) - Jim.
(MELANCHOLY MUSIC PLAYING)
STEPHEN: Nina Land.
She was...
very fine.
(FOOTSTEPS APPROACHING)
My father-in-law committed suicide.
I know. I'm so sorry.
You knew?
I mean, I...
I didn't know he...
I... I just knew he was dead.
When did you find out?
This afternoon.
His secretary sent a message to stage door.
And why would Joan do that?
Why would she inform you of his death?
(BELL TOLLING IN DISTANCE)
Did you...
Were you in love with him?
I didn't know him.
Then why? (SNIFFS)
(TEARFULLY) I'm too ashamed.
Let me explain.
There's no need.
- Why be so predictable? - Why be so cheap?
(OBJECT THUDS)
(CRIES QUIETLY)
(FOOTSTEPS CRUNCHING ON GRAVEL)
You and I are cursed.
Drawn to weak men.
Let him have the children.
You can have more with a man who's worthy of you.
Dear Jimmy.
We met in this room.
Oh, now what an occasion that was.
You're absolutely full of shit.
You are absolutely right. (CHUCKLES)
Rattle the old memory box, will you?
It was my 10th birthday.
(EXHALES) Of course.
You should know I intend to oversee the paper.
Excellent.
The new Chronicle will be a platform for common sense
and measured debate.
(INHALES) A source tells me
that a few weeks after you were fired,
my late father reinstated you
with a new contract on improved terms.
I will honour your contract.
But no more fisticuffs with the law.
And if you must practise your perversion,
behind closed doors.
I gratefully accept your generous terms.
(ENGINE DRONING)
(JIMMY HUMS MERRILY)
Must you hum? The man killed himself.
Don't you read the newspapers?
It was a shooting accident.
You drove him to it.
He pulled the fucking trigger!
Have you no shame?
I merely fought for my job
as all working men must do in these dark days.
I'm handing in my notice.
Four weeks and I'm off.
Oh, for God's sake, man.
You've got the second best job in London.
- What? - (SNIFFS)
Well, in theatrical London.
You write for a... a right-wing rag!
With readers.
Our loathsome paper has millions of readers.
And we are forming
the aesthetic taste of generations.
The Fascists may come and go, but theatre is eternal.
It matters more than politics.
More than society.
It's life itself!
- (YELLS) - (LAUGHS)
- Whoa! - JIMMY: Oh, Christ!
Hey!
JIMMY: Darling, what a lovely surprise.
I want to talk to you, Jim.
- Splendid! - Here's good.
No, no, no. Up here. Come on. Yes. Yep.
- There. - NINA: Oh. Oh.
JIMMY: It's slippery. NINA: No.
JIMMY: There we are, yes.
It's a bit slippery here. Yes. Good.
(GIGGLES)
(INDISTINCT CHATTERING INSIDE)
Excuse me. Is Nina Land still inside?
She was indisposed tonight, sir.
The understudy went on.
Yes, that's right. You help yourself.
(SNIFFS)
(SIGHS HEAVILY)
(JIMMY SIGHS)
You do know we killed him?
No, we didn't!
Do you even care that he's dead?
Of course I do.
It's terribly sad.
It really is.
And our indirect involvement in the matter
is all terribly secret.
He was quite a nice chap.
Sweet, in a way.
He was so excited, it was all over in a minute.
Have you come here to grieve?
You see, I have been at the funeral,
and I've done a considerable amount of grieving already.
- Was Stephen there? - Hmm?
His son-in-law.
Stephen Wyley?
(FALTERS) Do you know him?
I know him very well.
He found out about me and Brooke.
Did you tell him?
No. Why... Why would I?
'Cause you're the beast.
- (BISCUIT THUDS) - Stop that.
Don't!
- (NINA GRUNTS) - (PLATE CLATTERING)
I'm going to run you a cold bath.
And you're going to remove your make-up,
as professionals do.
And then you're going to lie in that bath
until you sober up.
And then we will have a constructive conversation
about your wonderful new career.
I won't be long.
NINA: (SOFTLY) I'm going to the police.
(LOUDLY) I'm going to the police!
What? You what?
I'm gonna tell them everything about the case.
Might help with the case.
There is no case!
The man's in the ground.
But it's important. People need to know the truth.
I'll go to the papers.
That's better.
Stop. Think.
It's over.
He's dead.
The distinguished thing.
Precisely.
What will it say when we meet it?
How will it judge us?
There's no Judgement Day.
Here is life. No God, no justice.
Just t...
two people in a room.
We did what we did,
and now we have to live with it.
(REFLECTIVE MUSIC PLAYING)
NINA: It's fucking freezing!
JIMMY: It'll do you good.
(WATER SPLASHING)
Do you share your baths with Tom?
- Not for years. - (NINA LAUGHS)
Where is he?
He'll be back soon.
(HUMS DISTRACTEDLY)
You've got a little boat. (CHUCKLES)
And you're welcome to play with it.
(SHUDDERS)
NINA: Can I add some hot water, please?
JIMMY: You're not sober yet.
Oh, come on!
JIMMY: Fine!
- NINA: Mm. - (BREATHES HEAVILY)
Did you really love my Olivia
or did you just rave to enlist me?
(SIGHS)
I thought you were magnificent!
(GRUNTS SOFTLY)
- I always will. - Really?
Well, yes. (GRUNTS)
Maybe I should tell Stephen's wife
about her father,
and me, and you.
(GRUNTS)
And why would you do that?
'Cause you've driven me mad, and you've broken my heart.
(GRUNTING RESTLESSLY)
Yes, I'm going to confess everything to Cora.
How do you like that, Jimmy?
(JIMMY BREATHES HEAVILY)
(KEYS JANGLING)
(DOOR OPENS)
TOM: Jimmy?
JIMMY: We're here.
(JIMMY PANTING)
(JIMMY GRUNTS)
TOM: I should call for the police.
Oh, no, wait. Now, think.
No one knows she's here.
- No. No... - (MUMBLES)
I owe you my life.
But I won't.
Oh...
You think you won't be implicated?
Think the law won't assume foul play?
A couple of queers with a corpse?
Huh? Well, I don't matter, but...
Oh, no, no, man, think about your future.
Just one final task, and then I promise
I will set you free.
(SOMBRE MUSIC PLAYING)
(GRUNTS)
(BREATH TREMBLING)
(SOUND OF WATER DRIPPING)
- (SOUND OF WATER SPLASHING) - (INHALES)
(SOMBRE MUSIC FADING OUT)
(FOOTSTEPS APPROACHING)
(DOG BARKING IN DISTANCE)
Are you here to visit Nina?
I'm a friend. Stephen Wyley.
I'm, um, Annabel Land, her mother.
Well, hello.
Hello! Good to meet you.
The dragon says that she's not here.
So I've been... I've been waiting all night.
Are you a close friend?
She... hasn't mentioned me?
Well, we... we've had a sort of a falling out.
But, er, I'm completely mad about her.
I've come to beg her forgiveness.
She was found on a beach last night in Kent.
Police said her alcohol levels
were really high. (VOICE BREAKS)
Yeah, she...
She took her own life.
She'd attempted it before...
when she was 16.
(MELANCHOLY MUSIC PLAYING)
(FOOTSTEPS RECEDING)
CORA: This drowned actress.
Is her passing a great loss to the British theatre?
An ordinary girl from ordinary stock.
A girl like our readers, who, I don't know, lost her way.
- Write it up, then. - Hmm.
An appreciation.
(TYPING)
(CONTINUES TYPING)
(TYPING STOPS)
(SIGHS SOFTLY)
(DOOR OPENS)
(DOOR CLOSES)
(CHURCH BELL TOLLING)
(MIDNIGHT, THE STARS AND YOU BY AL BOWLLY PLAYING)
(LIGHTER CLICKS)
(LAUGHTER)
JIMMY: The death of any promising young actress
is always a shock.
Regarding Miss Nina Land's recent passing,
it's tantamount to tragedy.
I raved about her.
And all too briefly, she tasted glory.
Who knows what demons drove poor Nina
to her lonely grave.
Perhaps the same demons
with which she summoned greatness
in her final performances on the London stage.
♪ Midnight with the stars and you ♪
♪ Midnight and a rendezvous ♪
(TYPING)
♪ Your eyes held a message tender ♪
♪ Saying, "I surrender all my love to you" ♪
♪ Midnight brought us sweet romance ♪
♪ I know ♪
- (KNOCK AT DOOR) - ♪ All my whole life through ♪
(MUSIC STOPS ABRUPTLY)
I'm sorry if my letter upset you.
Why have you stayed silent so long?
I was his accomplice.
In telling you, I risk imprisonment.
And yet here you are.
I have a conscience.
(SCOFFS SOFTLY)
You seem surprised.
A man with a conscience would have stopped Mr Erskine
a long time ago.
He was my friend.
I greatly admired him.
And he was kind to me.
So...
The letters he used to blackmail your father.
I assume you'll be wanting compensation?
(SOMBRE MUSIC PLAYING)
(MUFFLED INDISTINCT CHATTERING)
(FLASHBULB POPS)
No.
Justice.
(HAMMERING ON DOOR)
(INSISTENT HAMMERING ON DOOR)
(PHONES RINGING)
(PLAINTIVE MUSIC PLAYING)
(CELL DOOR SLAMS)
JIMMY: Tom,
did you follow the trial?
Did you see how I protected you?
"No, Your Honour, I acted alone."
I do regret the unpleasantness with Miss Land.
But, you see, she couldn't be trusted.
I had no choice.
In fact, I rather liked her.
Despite her crimes against the theatre,
she was sensationally gorgeous when drunk.
As for Mr Wyley and his oily little brush,
glad to be out of his awful painting.
Immortality in their company? No, thanks.
To the matter.
I've left you my entire estate.
It's not much. Furnishings, minor works of art, books.
And I've appointed you my literary executor.
Notoriety might inspire publication
of my uncollected essays.
You'll find them in the file
you labelled "miscellaneous shit".
I encourage you to continue your education in the theatre.
I believe you have a talent for the trade.
I once thought you were too kind to plunge the dagger.
Events have revealed
you're made of stronger stuff than I knew.
Tom,
- you know where I am. - (APPLAUSE)
Do visit.
Please.
I won't be here forever.
(LIGHT CRACKLES)
(SENTIMENTAL CLASSICAL MUSIC PLAYING)
(SOMBRE MUSIC PLAYING)