All language subtitles for Butley.1974.1080p.BLURAY.REMUX.eng

Shit!

Hold the doors!

Hold the doors!

Gags

He should be here somewhere.

Yes, this is probably the only place
in the college where one will find him.

Gardner, JK.

Good morning.

Oh, can I help you?

Well, it's my tutorial. On Wordsworth.
"The Prelude."

Oh, no, I can't give tutorials

in the first week after the break,
I'm afraid.

Too much administration.

Oh. When should I come, then?

Come at the same hour
of the same day of next week.

-Next week?
-Next week, yes.

If we keep to our timetable,
we'll' know where we are, won't we? Right.

Good morning.

-Nice to see you.
-Nice to be seen.

What's the matter with your chin?

I'm trying to cultivate cotton wool on it.

Your own is shining pleasantly.
What did you have to work with?

A razor?

What did you use?

Anne left one behind.
Behind the fridge, to be exact.

So either mice have taken up shaving,

or that stubble was sheared
from her calves.

I thought of mounting a tuft in a locket.

You needn't have taken
the only one we have.

It also happens to be the only one I have.

Couldn't you have shared Ted's?

It's no pleasure slicing open my chin
with my estranged wife's razor blade.

The symbolism may be cleft,
but the memory still smarts.

I didn't mean to take it,
in point of fact.

I put it in the bag without thinking.

Lust is no excuse for thoughtlessness.

And where is your bag?

I left it with Reg.

Reg? Who's Reg?

The one you call Ted
is the one I call Reg.

He calls himself Reg too.

How sweet.

In fact,
everybody calls him Reg except you.

You call him Ted.

Now why do I do that, I wonder?

To embarrass me.

Oh, yes, that must be it.

Did you have a good weekend?

It was all right.

Butley, English.

Oh, hello, James. Have a nice break?

Oh, dear. Hmm.

James, I'm sorry. I can't talk now.
I'm right in the middle of a tutorial.

Bye.

How is he this morning?

-Who?
-James.

Ah! Our professor.

Oh, he and Hazel spent
most of the break in bed

recovering from
one of Hazel's gastric goulashes.

Are there any details yet?

You want details of James's diarrhea?

You know what I mean. About my board.

Ah. About your board. Yes.

Now when is that, exactly?

-A fortnight tomorrow.
-Indeed.

A fortnight tomorrow. Mmm-hmm.

"How do you do, Mistress Pussy?
Mistress Pussy, how do you do?

I thank you kindly, little dog,
I fare as well as you!"

Did he say anything?

You are genuinely interested
in this promotion of yours, aren't you?

Why?

No, he did not say anything.
Your name did not come up,

and there is no reason that it should

until', in the normal course of events
and strictly according to the rules,

the board is rigged,
the strings are pulled,

and it is passed over for that of someone
more closely related to the principal,

or with more distinguished qualifications.

I should warn you that there are almost
as many of the latter as of the former.

Mmm.

"Cecily Parsley lived in a pen,
And brewed good ale for gentlemen,

Gentlemen came every day,

Till Cecily Parsley ran away."

Why?

Why has he got your bag?

He happened to pick it up for me
when we got off the train.

Not many young men
are as gallant these days.

You've not been home yet, then?

To the flat? No.

Ah. Why not?

Because I haven't had time, obviously.

I waited for you.

Did you? Sorry.

You had a nice little mid-term break then,
did you?

It was all right.

Well, are you going to tell me about it
or shall I probe and pry?

I'd rather let it slip out naturally,
if I may.

But you're much more charming
under interrogation.

My natural force plays excitingly
with your natural submissiveness.

Or has your holiday changed you,
as we say in the trade, radically?

Ah! I thought so. Blake!

Now, why is your briefcase
bulging with Blake? What's this?

I happen to be lecturing on him this half.
Look, kindly don't mess my notes up.

-Can I have it back, please?
-Notes to whom? Reg?

"What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?"

Yes, I suppose Ted is quite symmetrical
in a burly sort of way.

"Did he who made the Lamb make thee?“

All right, all right, let's be infantile.

No, bags first go.
I haven't unpacked it for weeks.

Oh.

It's laid out like a film script.

It must be an American MA thesis.

"Henry James
and the Crucified Consciousness." Yeah.

Ooh. Now where's the other?
There must be a pair.

You mean you forgot
to give his thesis back?

No, not yet.
So far I've forgotten to read it.

Forgetting to give it back comes later.

Failing Americans
is a slow and intricate ritual,

and that's what they come here for,
the ritual.

Ah, here it is.

Those are mine, naturally.

Naturally, you're very welcome.

Personally, I wouldn't be caught dead
wearing a pair like that.

Those happen to be mine, too.

Well, you really must give up
buying cheap socks.

I can feel a hole growing around the toe.

Perhaps if you bothered
to cut your toenails...

Are we going to have a tantrum?

The thing is to stop your rubbish
creeping across to my side of the room.

Here, anyway.

Are we? I'd quite enjoy one.

-Would you?
-Yes. Then I'll know you're back, you see.

You've been a little thin
on presence so far.

There is not enough room.

I was wondering if I might inquire
as to how your friend is. May I?

Oh, I'm so glad.

May I ask-- Oh, done all those, have we?
Hadn't done them last week, had you?

Did you do them on the train,
going “hup” with your friend?

Hi always say
that "hif" a job's worth doing,

it's worth ignoring.

Oh, sorry. I was just wondering
when my tutorials are.

Oh, same as last term,
except, of course, for this week.

You didn't take me last term.
My name is Heasman, Carol Heasman.

I'm replacing Mrs. Grainger.

Mrs. Grainger?

Yes.

She said she didn't get to see you often,
owing to administrative tangles.

Mrs. Grainger got into
administrative tangles?

No, you were busy with them.

Oh, if only they'd let us get on with it
and teach.

Anyway,
you'd better come at the same hours

as Mrs. Grainger then, all' right?

I expect so. What were they?

Could you find out from Mrs. Grainger,
please?

I'll try.

Thank you.

I didn't care for that one at all.

There was an air of mad devotion about her

that reminds me of my wife's mother,
the mad monk.

You're in trouble, Joey.

What?

I'm sorry. I...

I've been wondering how to tell you.

Still, as you've got a fortnight
before your board...

A member of the department
has his knife out.

Who?

That pre-break meeting we had,

the one you had to leave early
to meet Reg?

Yes. Well?

-The contemporary books list?
-Yes. We", go on.

Well, on the face of it,
you were very adroit.

You didn't actually support me,

but you indicated a certain attitude,
shall we say,

by coughing into my speeches
with dialectical authority.

You wouldn't have thought
that so genteel a rhetorical device

could give offense on the face of it, eh?

But who-- who did I offend?

First of all, who proposed
that a contemporary novel's list--

Burroughs, Genet, Roth, etcetera --
be added to our syllabus?

-You did.
-And who opposed it?

Everybody else. Except me.

-Who won?
-We d-- You did.

They gave way in the end, didn't they?

Oh, yes, it was passed unanimously.

But I happen to know that one person,
one powerful person there,

resented our victory and blamed you,

yes, you, for it.

But this is ridiculous! It's absolutely--
I scarcely said anything anyway.

Exactly.

But this person was hoping,
was relying on you

to oppose that book list
with every cell in your body.

Ben, please, eh?

Now think, child, think!

Who had most to lose
by that book list being passed?

Who is most affected?

Nobody at all.
You're the one who's going to teach it,

they'll be your lectures, your seminars,
and your tutor--

Exactly!

Precisely! Absolutely!

Fool! Imbecile! Traitor!

Lackey.

I wouldn't be caught dead
reading those books.

And you know how it exhausts me
to teach books I haven't read.

Why didn't you oppose me?

It's your own fault.
Your instructions were quite clear.

Haven't you heard of a subtext?

Very fashionable now.

In fact, I remember advising you
to use the word twice in every paper

when I was guiding you
through your finals.

But what's the matter, dear?

You're looking a little peaky
around the gills, wherever they are.

Were you frightened a trifle?

You needn't be.
You played the toad to perfection.

Is there a subtext to that,
or can I take it as straight abuse?

It's straight abuse. Can you take it?

No, not any longer.

-Where are you going?
-To the library.

-Why?
-I've got a lecture at 12:00.

But you're not running away
from me so soon.

And there are a few things on my Herrick
I've got to dig up.

Dig up!

"Diggory Diggory Delvet,
A little old man in black velvet,

He digs and he delves
You can see for yourselves

The holes dug by Diggory Delvet."

It is velvet, isn't it, this jacket?

Don't flounce.

You were due back last night, remember?

Did it make any difference?

In that I spent the evening expecting you.

In point of fact, I said I'd either
be back last night or this morning.

Also, you didn't phone.

I was only in Leeds for four days.
Of course I didn't phone.

Why not? Language difficulties?

I reserved a table at Bianchi's.
I was going to take us out.

-I'm sorry. It just didn't occur to me.
-It doesn't matter.

-I'm sure I said--
-Yes, yes, I expect you did.

I expect you did.

It's just that I assumed
you were coming back. That's all.

And as I spent four days on the phone
talking to people who weren't there...

Bugger'.

Sorry. All right?

And if that doesn't satisfy you,

Edna thinks well of you,
and James is more than happy.

How do you know?

These things slip out
under my persistent questionings.

Edna's actually very important, isn't she?

It depends rather on the context.

I mean in terms of influence.

You mean in terms of promotion?

Well...

Tell me. While you were
amusing yourselves up in Leeds,

I saw a film on television
about a publisher who hates himself.

Now, I've been meaning to ask you,
does Ted hate himself?

He quite likes himself, actually.

Does he ever discuss his work with you?

Or does he leave it behind him
at the office?

When you go around
to one of those little dinners of yours,

does he put his feet up, perhaps,
while you slave away over a hot stove,

or does he do the cooking?

No, no, I don't mean to probe.
Or am I prying?

For instance, in our professor's ménage,

Hazel rips the meat apart
with saw-edged knives

while James brews up sauces
from Guardian headlines.

In my ménage-- when I had one, remember?

Anne undergrilled the chops
and over-boiled the peas

while I drank the wine
and charted my dropping sugar-count.

Now that you and I
are sharing my life again,

I open the tins,
and you stir the Nescafé again,

just as we always used to do,
those evenings, at least,

when you're not cooking for Reg
or Reg isn't cooking for you,

which, arriving where we began,
does it happen to be?

And if it is the former, why,
now I come to think of it,

have you never cooked for me,
do you think?

He does the cooking, in point of fact.

Oh, Christ, I feel awful.

Do you know, all the time you were away,

I didn't have one telephone call.

I consider that very frightening.

Not even from Tom.

Oh, I thought you found
his company intolerable.

Yes.

But one likes, as they say, to be asked.

Also, one likes people to be consistent,
otherwise one starts coming adrift.

At least this one will.

Also, how does one know whether Tom
is still the most boring man in London

unless he phones in regularly
to confirm it?

This is the fourth week running
he's kept me in suspense.

He and Reg have a lot in common,
haven't they?

Really?

Didn't Ted do his National Service
with the Gurkhas?

I really can't remember.

I've never been very interested
in Ted's military car--

Reg's military career,
which was anyway about a decade ago.

Oh, but the experience lives on for us
through our born raconteurs,

and Ted is something of a raconteur,
isn't he?

That magnificent anecdote of his,
now surely you remember?

No.
Look, I really must get to the library.

No, wait. You repeated it to me.

The one about the Gurkha
with a bowl of soup.

Now I don't know whether I can do
your imitation of his accent.

“Woon day, Chef was in t'kitchen--"
Is that close?

"Stirring t'soup wi' his elbows,
when in coom a little tyke."

I remember.

I was sure you would.

Your imitation of Reg
made me laugh so much,

I was prepared to overlook its cruelty.

My point was that Tom

is a great National Service bore, too.

There's that six-volume novel
he's writing about it.

That's something else.
Yes, he's stopped showing me the drafts.

The last time he brought one around,
you dropped it in the bath.

"It"? He brought around 17 exercise books,

of which I dropped a mere three
into the bath.

No, I don't like his silence.
It's sinister.

-Well, you could always phone him up.
-I haven't finished!

Look, I must do something
on this bloody lecture.

Why?

You're looking furtive.

Why are you looking furtive?

I'm not looking at all furtive.

Have you seen Tom recently?

No. No, I haven't.

When did you last hear from him?

Perhaps he's busy.

Of course he's busy.

He's too damn dull to be anything else.

The point is, why has he stopped
being busy with me?

Do you think he's dropped me?

His attentions have been slackening
ever since my marriage broke up,

come to think of it.

He's very fond of Anne, isn't he?

That's an idea.
I must find out if he's been hounding her.

Yes. But Anne--
She likes him, doesn't she?

I mean, I always thought,
or had the impression,

that she was fond of him.

I expect she became addicted, yes.

She took up all my vices
except smoking, drinking, and you.

She never cared for you. Do you know that?

I had my suspicions.
Thank you for confirming them.

Why,
she said that Tom became a schoolteacher

because he had to prove,

after three years of being taught by me
at Cambridge,

that education was still' a serious affair.

Whereas you wanted to get back
to your old college here, and with me,

because you were incapable
of outgrowing your early influences.

Nursery dependence.

This analysis was based crudely
on the fact that you are homosexual.

She also said you were sly and pushing,
and that she didn't trust you an inch.

You never told me this before.

You never asked me before.

I didn't ask you now, either.

I know. But I got tired of waiting.

Do you like her?

I thought we were friends.

I'm sure you still are.
She just can't stand you. That's all.

Something about you gives her the creeps,
was her word.

Creeps.

Tell' me. What does he do, eh, Reg's dad?

But we're not ashamed, are we?

What does Reg's daddy do?

He owns a shop.

-What sort of shop?
-Just a shop.

Just a shop?

Just a shop like Harrods, for example?

What does he sell?

Meat, I think.

You think.

Did you ever see the shop?

Of course. Why?

-Was there meat on display?
-Yes.

Well, in that case,
he either owns a meat museum,

or if it was for sale, you're quite right,
he owns a shop that sells meat.

He's what's called a butcher.

That's right.

He's a butcher.

Mmm-hmm.

And do they live over their shop?

No. They live in, uh, a place
just outside Leeds, in point of fact.

In Point of Fact?

What sort of place is it?

A Georgian terraced house,
a Chippendale-style flat,

a dug-out, a rural' cottage,

a bungalow?

Yes. A bungalow.

A bungalow, eh?

Now let's see, starting with the garden,

do they have, say,
plaster gnomes in the garden?

And much to your satisfaction, say,
an electric fire with coals in it,

and a sofa decorated with doilies

and a revolving bookcase

with the collected works
of Mazo de la Roche.

In the garden? How witty!

And their front doorbell plays a tune.
Can you believe that?

They happen to be very nice people,
nevertheless.

Nevertheless what?

Nevertheless,
they happen to be very nice people.

What tune?

Does Reg's mother work in the shop too?

No.

-Oh. Where is she then, in the daytime?
-Out.

-Out where?
-Just out.

-Oh, she has a job, then?
-Yes.

Where does she do this job?
On the streets?

You could put it like that, yes.

Oh, what does she do? Sweep them?

No.

-She walks them?
-Yes, in point of fact.

The precise suburb is irrelevant.

So Reg's mother...

is a prostitute.

No, she's a traffic warden.

She isn't!

But what on earth did you do?

Nothing in particular.

-You went to a football match.
-Football match?

Yes. Hasn't it caught on there?

Down here in the south,
we place it slightly below music

and well above the theatre
in the cultural scale.

-Did you?
-What?

Go to any football matches?

Well done.
Yes, we went to a football match,

and furthermore, we wore rosettes,
coloured scarves, special hats,

and carried rattles.

You didn't!

Rattles and rosettes?

You didn't!

You poor old sod.
Why in Christ did you stay?

All right, then,
why did he take you there?

Is it rather like taking one's latest girl
back to the folks?

His friend's back.

He doesn't like people to know he's queer.

And a lot of the time,
he doesn't like me to know.

I suppose he probably took me there
as a kind of compliment

and perhaps as a test.

To see if you could take him au nature].

He's much more natural
as a London publisher

who knows all about food,
and cooks marvellously.

Much more natural
and much more convincing.

But tell me...

the butcher and the traffic warden,

do they...

know?

Know what?

-Oops! Oh, sorry'
-Sorry! I

I was just dashing off to the registrar.
Some administrative tangle.

-Mrs. Grainger, isn't it?
-Miss Heasman.

I can't find Mrs. Grainger,

but I'm very anxious for a session
on A Winter's Tale.

Oh, good God! Are you really? Yes.

Well, keep trying
and perhaps by next week, I'll--

Look, I go this way. Bye-bye.

Thank you very much indeed, Nurse.

But you and Reg have it off together?

No, of course not.

Now I'd like to stop talking about it,
if you don't mind.

I'm beginning to feel queasy.

Recollections of tripe and stout?

Guilt Lord, I pray,
answer thy servant's question!

Is it guilt I feel, or is it indigestion?

Don't worry.

Rognons au vin at Bianchi's
will soon calm the unsettled soul.

What, tonight, you mean? For dinner?

Well, I hardly fancy them for tea.

The thing is,
I'm going around to Reg's tonight.

Well, I'm sorry, it just seemed impossible
not to go, under the circumstances.

Mmm-hmm.

Well,
I'm willing to treat Reg if necessary.

Ah, well, you see,
Reg has already got our dinner.

Oh! What has he got for your dinner?

Kidneys, as a matter of fact.

His father gave him some special
English kidneys as a treat.

-Lamb's kidneys.
-Mmm-hmm.

-Sorry.
-No, there's no problem.

I'll get some more,
and Ted can cook them for me.

What's the matter?

I'd rather you didn't.

Oh. May one ask why?

It might be awkward.

Oh? May one wonder why?

Perhaps he doesn't like you very much.

You surprise me.

I thought he'd taken rather a fancy
on our one meeting.

On your one meeting, you pretended
you thought he was an Australian

and addressed him as "Cobber."

You also pretended you thought
he was an interior decorator,

in order to remind him of Ted,
whom he knew to be his predecessor.

You were also sick over his shoes.

It was a terrible evening. He hated you.

You exaggerate.

The confusion over his national identity
and profession

lasted a mere 20 minutes
at the beginning of the evening.

It took me some 20 seconds to be sick
over his shoes at the evening's end.

The intervening hour
was an unqualified success,

in spite of the odd misunderstanding
that developed into an occasional quarrel.

Anyway, you know perfectly well
I'd taken up drinking again

because I was still brooding
over Anne's departure.

I had what is known as a drinking problem.

I no longer have it.

Let's face it, Ben, you drink every night.
Very heavily.

Exactly. There's no problem.
I'm used to it again.

Well, Joey?

I might also be glad
of a chance to make it up.

I enjoy being on terms with your chaps.

Also, I don't fancy a fifth night
of eating alone.

Well?

He won't want you to come.

-Have you asked him?
-No.

Well, why don't you-- Here, come on now.
Let's find out, eh? There.

-He's not there.
-How do you know, unless you try?

He said he wouldn't be there
until after lunch.

He told me he had some things to do.

Hello, Ben. Joey.

-Oh, hello, Edna.
-Hello.

-Am I barging in on something?
-Oh, no, no.

No, not at all. In fact,
I was just on my way to the library.

Oh, it's no good going there.

It's closed while they install
a new security device.

It won't be open until this evening.

Oh, well, that's that, then.

Isn't that a comment on our times?

Indeed.

Do you know, I found a couple of students
in the canteen.

They actually pretended to have heard
from some source or other

that there were no tutorials
during the first week of the half.

Now what do you think of that?

Folie de grandeur.

They must learn
to leave such decisions to us.

Exactly. I wonder what they'd have to say
if we started putting them off

for any nonsensical reason
that came into our heads.

Yes, I often wonder that.

Oh, there's so much about them
one never finds out.

They come, they go away.

Do you know anything about
my particular black sheep, by the way?

His name is Gardner.

Gardner?

Gardner, Gardner, Gardner.

Yes, he comes to the odd lecture,
aloof in feathers.

Feathers?

He wears a kind of hat
with feathers in it.

Yes, that dreadful hat.

I wish there was some action
we could take about that, too.

You don't remember him, Ben?

I certainly can't place the hat.

Isn't Gardner the one
you had a conversation with

just before the break in a pub?

A feathered youth?

In a public house?

Certainly not.

Actually, the reason I asked
whether you remember him, Ben,

is that you interviewed him
for his place here.

I've just looked him up in the files.

Possibly. I only remember the ones
that we manage to reject,

like Father O'Couligan, for instance.

I must say, Ben, his headmaster's report
was very unfavourable.

Oh, I'm not surprised.
Father O'Couligan was in his 405.

The headmaster must have had him
in the sixth form

for a couple of decades at least.

Frankly, five minutes of Father O'Couligan
was as much as I could--

No. I was talking about Gardner.

I simply can't help wondering
what made you take him.

Well, Edna, I suppose I must have decided
that he wasn't fit for anything else.

A university isn't a charity, you know.

Do you mean for me, Edna,
or for the students?

I'm not in the mood to be flippant about
the more loutish of our students today.

Not with the committee's report
on the university library incident

fresh in my mind.

Sorry, what report?

It was in The Times this morning.

I read it in The Guardian.
It was very disturbing.

Disturbing? They completely destroyed
the Aristotle Collection.

Completely destroyed it.

That was their way of protesting
about South Africa.

I thought it was about Rhodesia.
The university maintaining relationships--

Well, one excuse
is as good as another, of course.

James said it was about
the Greek Colonels.

But perhaps
we're underestimating their capacity

for direct logical connections.

Perhaps they were protesting
about the Aristotle Collection.

It wouldn't surprise me.

I had one or two last term

who were mutinous about
"The Faerie Queene."

You mean the principal?
He really should learn discretion.

No, Ben. You mustn't say things like that.

Besides, the Aristotle Collection
is no laughing matter.

But I intend to nip
young Gardner in the bud

before he gets completely out of hand.

I'm not having any bomb-throwing hooligan
skipping my seminars.

Well, any bomb-throwing hooligan
has permission to skip mine.

Well,
there's no point in my haranguing you.

I suppose I'd better take it to James.

-To James?
-Certainly.

Gardner is ripe for a Dean's Report.

Oh, I meant to say,
you and Anne must come around soon,

if you can bear an evening
in my poky little flat.

-And Joey, of course.
-Thanks.

I'd love to.

How's the baby?

Oh, all right, as far as one can tell.

With babies, I mean.

Yes, they are indecipherable, aren't they?

How old is he now?

He's nine or ten months, about.

It's wretched of me,
but I've forgotten his name.

Though I do remember him
as a bonny little thing.

-Miranda.
-Marina.

Oh, yes. Marina. He's called Marina.

Oh, dear. Oh, Ben, I'm sorry.

I always think of babies
as "hims" or "its".

Probably safer these days.

Our ends never know our beginnings.

Are you all right for babysitters?

Babysitters? Oh, no problem.

Marina's mother
makes a marvelous babysitter.

Yes, and I'm afraid we're going through
what we professionals know...

as a sticky patch.

Oh, dear. Oh, Ben, I'm sorry.

I don't know what to say.
You must both be desperately unhappy.

Oh, dear.

It's always so sad for the children.

Yes, we do suffer the most.

Where are you now, Joey?
Still in that bedsitter?

Uh, no. I've moved back in with Ben again,
in point of fact.

Oh,
so you're both back where you were, then.

Exactly.

By the way, did I mention
that the little office next to mine

is going begging at last?

So if either of you wants
a place of your own--

Oh, thanks, Edna, but we're so used
to roughing it down here.

It's up to you, of course.

Well,
I must leave you two to get on with it.

If you should clap eyes on young Gardner,

please send him straight up to me
on pain of a Dean's Report.

I enjoyed that. It was so graceful.

In a little office next door to Edna.
Christ.

What does she want Gardner for, anyway?
She's got her own little coterie,

all the boys and girls that look as if
they've got the curse permanently.

Her obsession with Byron
is one of the more triste perversions.

But she should not be allowed
to practice it with students.

She's got her bloody book for therapy.

She's finished the book.

That's what she was telling me
on the tube this morning.

Well done, Edna.

I suppose it means another two decades
while she finds a publisher.

She's found one.

She never did understand her role,

which is not to finish
an unpublishable book on Byron.

Now the center cannot hold.
Mere Edna is loosed upon the world!

Bloody woman!

Bugger! Bugger.

A Dean's Report.

It was Gardner you told me about, then?

The boy who complained
about Edna's seminars in a pub.

Edna conducts her seminars in a pub?
I shall have to report this.

The one you said was interesting.

I don't find anything interesting
about a student

who complains of Edna's seminars.

You did it yourself years ago,
and you're as dull as they come.

Did you encourage him?

As far as I remember,
which is frankly nothing,

we had
a perfectly respectable conversation

about Edna's vagina, its length and width.

Oh, God.

Now, you mustn't be jealous, Joseph.

The young are entitled to
the importunities that you once enjoyed.

I can't afford to quarrel with Edna.
Besides, I've got to like her.

Because you've got to,
doesn't mean I've got to.

She thinks of us as allies.
If you upset her, she'll blame me, too.

Oh,
what the hell are you doing here anyway?

You're not lecturing till later.

You could have gone straight home
and tidied up your room.

It's in a disgusting state.

The only room in the flat
that is not in a disgusting state is mine.

Oh, really?
Then can you explain why it looks as if

a large, dignified and intelligent man
has been going to seed in it?

Did you have to use my room?

Do you think I could put up with the mess
everywhere else?

You're out most evenings.
It's easy for you to keep your room clean.

Anyway, I don't see why you shouldn't
learn what it's like to stay at home

and fret your way into a drunken coma.

Is that your tantrum? How piffling.

Look, Ben, I've got this lecture.
Can I do some work, please?

As I can't go to the library, please?

When are you gonna phone Reg up, then, eh?

I told you. After lunch.

Why are you lying about his being out?

I don't make a habit of lying.

Which is why you go on being so bad at it.

Good morning, good morning, good morning.

I just wanted to find out
about my tutorials.

Oh, good, good. Have you got
an essay for me, then, please?

You haven't set one.

Oh, well,
do me one for next week, all right?

What on?

You must decide for yourself.
You can't expect spoon-feeding. Righto.

I think that's the lot.

I found Mrs. Grainger.

She says she would have come to you
on Tuesdays at 3:00

if you'd been able to see her.

So be it. Tuesdays at 3:00, then,
with our fingers crossed.

Today is Tuesday.

Ah, well, I wouldn't have been able
to see her again today, I'm afraid,

as she'd have needed a week
in which to do me an essay.

Poor Mrs. Grainger.
But I'm all right, as I've done one.

I haven't put a title on, but I thought,

"Hate and Redemption in A Winter's Tale. "

Hmm. Needs work, that title.

Don't you want to read it
before the tutorial?

No, no.
You'll have to read it aloud to me.

Unless-- I tell you what.
Leave it here with me,

and I'll do my damnedest
to have it read by next week.

No, I'll read it aloud.
Three o'clock, then?

Bugger.

"Hate and Redemption.“
I told you she was mad.

She must be a secret agent
in Edna's employ.

"Hate and Redemption,“

"Pity and Terror," "Sin and Salvation."

"Faith and Despair
in Pride and Prejudice,"

The Mill on the Floss,
Appley Dapply, Cecily Parsley!

Why don't these cleaning women
do their job properly?

Standards are declining everywhere.

John Stuart Mill's cleaning woman

threw Carter's
History of the French Revolution

out with the other rubbish!

But then they took a pride
in their work in those days.

I should think Reg would enjoy
cooking my kidneys.

Sounds worse than settling my hash.

Anne's mother, the mad monk,
settles the hash

of bus conductors, milkmen, postmen,

anyone stupid enough
to waste their time insulting her.

"Oh, I settled his hash all; right. Oh!"

She must have got the taste for it
after she killed off her husband.

I wonder if there was any reference
in the coroner's report

as to the state of his hash.

Oh, this hash, my life...

this long disease, my...

Why the hell did we call her Marina?

"I made this, I have forgotten
And remember.

The rigging weak and the canvas rotten

Between one June and another September."

Born in June.

June, April, May, February, November.

Conceived in September,
so sometime in early September,

there was what you might call...
a seminal fuck.

Where?

In the park once, we...

Let me think.

Beneath the trees.

"Beneath the trees there is no ease
For the dull brain, the sharp desires

And the quick eyes of Woolly Bear."

"It must have been our last,
we were already fallen into the sere,

the yellow leaf,

a flash of thigh in the yellow leaf.

What seas, what shores,
what granite islands toward my timbers

And woodthrush calling through the fog

My daughter."

You do miss her then?

You know, what marks you out

as being a repressed
as well as a practising pervert

is your sentimentality over children.

Marina doesn't need a mother or a father.

She needs a pair of hands
to pick her up and change her

and put things to her mouth
and put her down again.

But later on she might need a father.

You generally have the taste to let me
raise the subject of my ruined marriage.

I can't help wondering
whether you miss it.

Only the sex and violence.

And these days,
you can get those anywhere.

So there's absolutely no chance.

Chance of what?

Of your marriage reviving.
You don't want it to?

Reviving? It's never died.
I consider it inviolate.

I'm a one-woman man, and I've had mine.
Thank God.

But things can't just go on as they are.

Oh, can't they? Why not?

But suppose she wants to marry again.

Oh, good God. Who would want to marry her?

You did.

Oh, well, that was before
she'd been through the mill.

Listen, Ben, you could be
making a mistake about Anne.

If you really don't want to lose her--

You know,
your conversation's beginning to sound

as if it's been stitched together
with song titles from the '505.

Making a mistake about Anne

If you really don't want to lose her

Ben, I'm trying to tell you something.

Haylife and Forlings

Three-four-one-two-one-two-one

What are you doing?

Haylife and Forlings.

Could I speak to Mr. Nuttall, please?
Mr. Reg Nuttall.

-I told you. He's not there.
-Thank you.

Waiting for Mr. Nuttall. Thank you.

All right. All right. I'll do it.

Well?

Do you intend to stay in the room
while I find out

if he'll have you to dinner?

Certainly.

But you needn't stay while I find out.

I said I'd do it.

What are you afraid of?

He can only say no, in which case
I'll only make your life a living hell.

Or perhaps I'm afraid he'll say yes.

Oh, you do worry for him, don't you, dear?

Why do you think it's him I'm worried for?

Well,
we all' know how you worry for yourself.

Ben, you're a fool. You're a bloody fool.

Butley, Nursery.

Oh, James, I'm sorry.

No, no, I was just pondering those lines.

“His rhythm was present
in the nursery bedroom,

In the rank ailanthus
of the April dooryard."

No, no, I'm quite free. Mmm.

What do you know about
this Gardner business?

Gardner?

Gardner, Gardner, Gardner.

No, I don't recall a student
called Gardner. What year is she?

Ah, he.

Oh, God!

Poor Edna.

Block that student.

He says I what?

No, look, he must have misunderstood me.

I certainly don't remember
telling a Gardner

that I would give him Eliot tutorials
instead of--

James, I'm sorry.
I appear to have miscalculated.

I have a student after all.

Speak to you later, eh? Bye.

How are you?

Thank you. And you?

Coping with Edna. Do you remember Edna?

The one you used to call
a human contraceptive?

- Actually, I called her a pill.
- Ah.

Well, I updated you.

How are you, Joey?

Oh, very well', thanks.

-How's Miranda?
-Marina.

She fills her belly and her nappy.

She grows the odd tooth. She cries.

How adult.

Except for the odd tooth, of course,
one loses that.

Actually, I've been thinking
of finding a new dentist.

I know you dote on Tonks, darling,
but he's terribly camp.

One sits in that chair
with one's whole body at his mercy.

-Who do you go to?
-A man in Pimlico.

Joey's teeth are always
in marvelous condition.

Are they? Let's see.

-What?
-Let's see your teeth.

Oh, yes, quite right. They sparkle.
Only, from time to time, I have noticed...

One of Ben's marriage jokes.
I'm surprised you haven't heard it.

Well, I haven't.

How flattering for me.

Yes, well, I think I'd better--

I'd better get along.

-Oh, why?
-Because he's embarrassed.

Are you?

- I've got a lecture.
- He has, yes.

-On Blake.
-Ah. Then he'd better go.

He's very sensitive. You frighten him.

Because he's creepy,
and he knows I know it.

Yes, I know. I told him.
He took it surprisingly badly.

You've settled down nicely together again,
then, have you?

We have our ups and downs.

That's all right then. May I sit?

I came to see you over the weekend,
as arranged, but you were out.

Yes, I'm sorry.

Grounds for a scene, though,
don't you think?

Oh, I should wait.

I had to see Tom's headmaster about a job.

-Oh. Did you get one?
-Yes.

Good.

But you're looking a trifle peaky
around the gills, wherever they are.

I can never locate them on Joey.

Are you all right?

I'm fine.

Oh, good.

Well', now, this is almost as delightful
as it is unexpected.

To what is it owed?

I came to find out
whether you wanted us back.

Is that an offer?

No. It's a question.

I'd like the truth, please.

Do you want us back?

Frequently.

But not permanently.

Do you want to come back?

No.

We've cleared that up, then.

I think we're going to get on very well
from this time forth, don't you?

Joey hasn't told you, then?

Told me what?

He's known for weeks. His--

what's his name--
friend Reg must have told him.

Reg?

Tom told him.

At least, he told me he had.

Tom?

Tom and Reg?

What on earth have Tom and Reg
got to do with us?

He's asked me to marry him.

Which one?

You're not.

You can't be!

Yes, I am.

Do you mind?

Yes, yes, I mind very much.

After all, a man is bound to be judged
by his wife's husband.

The most boring man in London--

You said yourself he was the dullest man
you'd ever spent an evening with.

That was before
I got to know him properly.

What do you call him now?

The dullest man
I ever spent the night with.

But I don't mind. Why should you?

Because...

Because I shall miss old Tom. That's why.

I'm too old to start
mature new friendships with bores,

far too impatient.

They have to grow on you hour by hour,
steadily through, year on years,

until they're actually doing their bit
towards holding you together.

Like ivy around crumbling walls.

Is that why you want him?

-Are you going to make difficulties?
-What?

About the divorce?

Divorce?

You see, I'm not allowed to marry him
until I'm divorced from you.

It's the law of the land.

Are you going to make difficulties?

This is humiliating.

But deserved.

By both of us.

I'll bloody make difficulties all right.

After all, this is liable to be the only
phase of our marriage that I shall enjoy.

At least since the moment
in the registry office

when the clerk who handled our contract
was under the impression

that he was supposed to bind me
for a year or two

to the mad monk, your mother.

I'll have to have my fun somewhere,
won't I?

After all, one moment of pleasure
is not much out of a whole year, is it?

It's a moment more than I had.

How many moments do you expect
from your next?

I shan't count them.

I'm not in it for fun, you see.

I never was.

And nor were you.

Oh. What was I in it for, then?

Perhaps you wanted a break.

Well, I'm certainly getting one, aren't I?

Or perhaps you were frightened.

But it doesn't matter anymore
because you're not anymore.

And I suppose you needn't ever try again,

now that you've found out whatever it is
you were determined to learn.

I don't care. Not at all.

Then you're halfway there.

And Tom will certainly teach you
to sit still.

Look, if you must get married again,
surely we can do better for you than that.

After six weeks, you'll be
the two most boring men in London.

There are signs of it already.
You're developing a new tone,

a combination of the didactic
and the enigmatically stoic

that's more than halfway
towards Tom's prose style.

Tell me. Does he know that
you greet spring and its signs of life

with wheezing and sneezes
from your hay fever?

Tom endorses spring.
He admires it for its moral exuberance.

Do you still make little popping sounds
when you drink your coffee?

No, it's your nose,
your nose I've always taken exception to,

or is it your mouth?

You can't marry Tom.

I can.

Well, yes, you probably can.

You can probably do
a lot of hideous things.

You're tough, versatile and brutal.

What I mean is...

don't.

Why not?

Well?

-Can I have a word?
-Oh, by all means, yes.

Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realize.

I'll look back later, if I may.

He's asked me to live with him
until we get married.

Are you going to make trouble?

By the way, when did we last have it off?

Was it that time in the park,
beneath the trees,

or did we have a quick go subsequently
in bed or under the kitchen table?

Joey and I were trying to work it out.

You're going to live with him
until you get married, did you say?

At least that's a realistic prospectus.

Bye-bye, darling.

Bye-bye.

Bye-bye, sweet princess.

Goodbye!

Butley is himself again.

♪ Christ, your breath is bad today ♪

♪ Haa-aa-al-it-osis ♪

♪ Haa-aa-al-it-o-- ♪

Bloody woman.

Bloody woman.

So are you coming or what?

"Hermione's reawakening--

the statue restored to life
after a winter of 16 years' duration--

is in reality Leontes's reawakening,
spiritually,

and of course
the most moving exemplification

of both the revitalization theme
and thus of forgiveness

on the theological
as well as the human level."

-Level?
-Yes.

-The human level?
-Yes.

Um, shall I go on?

Mmm.

"The central image is drawn from nature,

to counterpoint the imagery
of the first half of the play,

with its stress on sickness and deformity.

Paradoxically,
A Winter's Tale of a frozen soul..."

Bit fishmongery, that.

“...is therefore thematically
and symbolically about revitalization."

Sorry. Re-what-alization?

Revitalization.

Thematically...

and symbolically so, eh?

Yes.

Hmm.

"The central image--" Um, no.

Uh, had that. "In this context--"

Can you see?

-What?
-There.

Oh, sorry. No irony intended.

"Context. "

Um...

Yes.

"In this context, it might be said

that Leontes represents the affliction
that is a universal,

and so contingently human evil,

and in this sense,
the sense of a shared blight——"

A shared blight. Yes.

How much longer is it, exactly?

Uh, look.

I tell you what,

as our time together
is drawing to a close,

read the last two or three sentences
so we can get the feel of your conclusion.

Ready?

Please, please.

"So just as the seasonal winter
was the winter of the soul,

so is the seasonal spring
the spring of the soul.

The imagery changes
from disease to floral,

the tone from mad bitterness
to joyfulness.

As we reach the plays climax,
we feel our own spiritual sap rising."

"Sap"?

Sap.

Sap. Sap.

Yes, I think perhaps sap
is a better word there

than some others
that spring rhymingly to mind.

Good.

Well, thank you very much.

What do you want to do?
I mean, after your exams.

Teach.

-English?
-Yes.

Yes, I suppose that is more radical
than being a teacher of exams,

for which I think
you're already qualified, by the way.

I hope you'll take that as a compliment.

It isn't meant to be one, is it?

But whatever you think of my essay,

unless I do well in the exams,
I might not be able to be a teacher.

Teacher of whom?

Sixth forms, I hope.

Isn't it more exhilarating
to catch them earlier?

Sixth-form teachers are something like

firemen called in to quench flames
that are already out.

What do you want to do next week?

We have to cover
at least six Shakespeares.

Oh, from what I've heard already,
Shakespeare's as good as covered.

Could you please write
some comments on this?

It's a good thing to be merciless.

It comes in useful
when dealing with the young.

Believe it or not,
you can be as rude as you like.

I don't take it personally.

That's another good way
of taking the fun out of teaching.

Good afternoon, Miss Heasman.

Oh, Christ.

Bloody girl!

Tap tap-pit, tap tap-pit,
he's heard it before.

But when he peeps out,
there's nobody there,

but packets and whimsy
put down on the stair.

Or is something frightening him again?

Is that why he's peeping
through the frosted glass

with his whiskers twitching
and his paws to his nose?

If it's Anne you are hiding from,
she's gone.

If it's Edna, she has not arrived.

-I thought you and Anne might still be--
-What?

Thrashing it out? Having it off?

What would Anne and I still be doing
together in a small room after two hours?

She was always succinct,
even with her knickers down.

I saw Edna in the common room.
She was just leaving as I went in.

Oh, how did she look? Jovial?

-No, very upset.
-Ah.

Was that Miss Heasman
I passed in the corridor?

How did she seem? Jovial?

She had her face averted
as if she were in tears.

Then that was certainly Miss Heasman, yes.

Everything seems to be running smoothly,
doesn't it?

Tell me.

What did you make of old Anne turning up
in that enterprising fashion?

-I don't know.
-Don't you?

She was under the impression
that you have known for some time.

I did try to warn you.

Yes, and thank you.

How come you've known for some time?

Well, actually, I got it from Reg.

From Reg? Yes?

Tom's meeting Reg
had nothing to do with me.

It was something professional.
I don't know what.

But they got on very well
and Tom told Reg and Reg told me,

and then Tom phoned Reg
and told Reg not to tell me,

or if he had told me,

to ask me not to tell you
until he or Anne had told you.

Yes, I recognize Tom's delicate touch
there in your sentence structure.

It must have been amusing to hear me

chatter mindlessly on
about my marriage, eh?

I tried to warn you.

But was it amusing?

Was it fun?

Are you going to answer me?

Sorry.
I took the question to be rhetorical.

All right. Let me ask you, then,

why you promised
not to mention to your best friend--

is that presuming--
that his wife was being screwed by,

while contemplating marriage to,
the most boring man in London?

Is that question
sufficiently unrhetorical?

Because I didn't think it was my business.

Not your business?

And how many personalities and dramas
over which we've gossiped and whinnied

in the past few years
have been our business?

There have been some pretty sticky
silences between us recently,

and here you were, my clear,
in possession of a piece of information

that was guaranteed to raise,
at the very least, an amused eyebrow.

All right, because I'm a coward.
That's why. I'm sorry.

I am sorry, in point of fact.

Matters of fact and points of fact
have been cluttering your syntax

ever since you started going steady
with that butcher's boy.

I'm sorry
because I hoped it wouldn't happen.

Now it's a fact, and I wish it weren't.

I'm sure you could get her back.

How far back?

To live with you. She and Marina.

Oh, that's too far back. Far too far back.

Then what will you do?

Grab my quota of fun. That's all.

I'm working to a very tight schedule.

I've given myself a mere week

in which to get the most tenacious
and boring man in London

out of his job and home.

I'm starting on his landlady now.

"Fun"?

Or trouble. I can't remember
which I've promised myself.

But what's the point of making trouble?

Fun.

Because hounding them from job and home
is no trouble.

Local councils, police,
whole governments do it.

Why shouldn't a private citizen
be allowed to join in?

Oh, where are you going, eh?

The library's open now.
I thought I'd go up.

And hide again, eh? Who from this time?
Edna. Ah, yes, it must be from Edna.

Well, I'm not going to be here
when she comes to have it out with you.

-Oh.
-I can't help it.

I'm not going to antagonize her.

Don't worry. I'll do it for you.
You run along.

Haylife and Forling.

Though I must say
you do drag out your lunch,

some of which, by the way,

still appears to be in your mouth,
from the sound of you.

This is Joseph Keystone,
friend to Reg Nuttall,

if you take my meaning.
Could I speak to him, please?

You see how life repeats itself
with diminishing climaxes.

Well, is he still out?

Have you some more moralizing to do
or are you simply welching on a promise?

All right. If you like, I'll cancel Reg.

We can go to Bianchi's just the two of us.

Cancel him? Cancel Reg?

But this is a human bean
you're talking about here, kid,

not a check or an order of groceries,
but a human bean.

And frankly, dear,
he's more of an attraction

than your shy self, just at the moment.

Our games together
have been going a trifle stale lately.

Perhaps Reg and I can find some new ones.

Reg won't be very playful.

Don't you worry. I'll get my fun.

Besides, in this bag here,

kidneys!

Yes, kid, kidneys!

I'm sorry, Ben. Not tonight.

Mmm-hmm.

So you're not inviting me.

I'm not going.

We can either eat at the flat
or at Bianchi's. It's up to you.

Well, if you're really not coming,

then there'll be all the more kidneys
for Reginald and myself.

What do you think he'll say to that
for an offer, eh?

Don't you care?

No, not anymore.

Oh, you're not breaking off with him,
are you, you competitive child, you?

Is that what you're trying to tell me?

No.

I'm trying to tell you
that it'll be much better

if you leave that side of my life alone.

I can't stop you from phoning him up, Ben.
You can do it any time.

I'm just advising you.

Because I don't think you'll get
very much fun out of him. I really don't.

I know you've had a bad day already,
what with Tom and Anne.

But you're making it worse.

You're passing up the chance
for a Lawrentian-style wrestle.

Can't I interest you?

Just remember that I warned you.

Two warnings in one day.

What is it, Joey?

You better tell me about it.

What?

Whatever it is
that you are warning me about.

-No, it's nothing.
-Oh, come on, Joey.

It doesn't matter. Let it go.

Are you free now, please?

Now, would you kindly tell me

what transpired between yourself
and this Gardner?

I don't know anything about it, Edna.

My teaching, it appears,
isn't up to his standard.

Indeed!

Well, I can assure you, Edna,
that it is more than up to mine.

I know our society
has become insolently egalitarian,

but I refuse to believe that
the gardener's verdict on your teaching

will be given that much weight.

I didn't even know we had a garden,
let alone--

This is the first time
in 20 years' teaching

I've been complained about.

Oh, it's preposterous.
You're a very good teacher, Edna.

All right. Now, let's get this sorted out.
To whom did he complain?

To James.

And what did James say?

He said you promised Gardner
he could have tutorials with you.

This conversation
apparently took place in a pub.

What?

I've had no...

Well, now, there was a student,
come to think of it,

but, my God, I'd completely forgotten.

I suppose it might have been Gardner.
I scarcely took him in.

He wasn't wearing feathers in his hat.

Now, previously,
you spoke of a plumed youth, wasn't it?

And you said nothing to him
about coming to you for Eliot?

I have an idea he told me
he had become keen on Eliot. That's all.

"Keen on Eliot"?

Something of the sort. I suppose I thought
he was after a few tutorials,

but really, I haven't given him a thought.

And did you discuss
whether these tutorials

are to replace his seminars with me?

Certainly not!

And did you tell him to go to James
and explain the circumstances

that he wasn't getting anything
out of my seminars?

Is that what James said?

He tried so hard not to tell me
what Gardner had said,

it was perfectly obvious.

He had his diplomatic smile on,

the one that makes him look
exactly like a rabbit.

But I suppose I should be grateful
that he didn't encourage that lout

to throw my furniture out of the window
or burn my notes.

I work very hard for those seminars.

We know you do, Edna.

I don't expect gratitude, far from it.

But I do expect a minimum
of civilized behaviour.

And I expect to be backed up
by the Head of the Department

and the other members of the staff

when I'm unlucky enough to have
a bolshy troublemaker in my group.

But of course we'll back you up.

How dare he. How dare he complain.

Look, perhaps the best thing
is to let me take him on.

There's not the slightest question
of that, Ben. Not the slightest.

He stays in my seminars.
That's all there is to it.

Of course. If that's the way you want it.

The only trouble is,
you may not see much of him.

So you two are on his side then?

Certainly not.
I think Edna's got every right--

-Edna.
-Leave me alone.

I'm sorry, Edna. It was my fault
for not taking young Gardner seriously.

Nobody takes anything seriously anymore.

But universities were serious once.
Yes, they were.

But now they despise them,
just as they despise me.

Just as you two despise me.

Despise you?

I just didn't want you to be hurt
or to worry too much.

That's precisely what I mean.

Sorry.

Butley, English. Oh.

No, actually, this is not a good time.

I'm in the middle of something.

If that's James,
please tell him I'm going home.

As education has become optional
in this college,

I've chosen to cancel my classes
for the rest of the day.

Sorry, James. Could we talk later?

Bloody woman!

So you did agree to take Gardner in, then?

One of us took the other in, all right.

I shall find out later
which way around it was.

You'll enjoy that, I'm sure.

I deserve it, after all' this.

And what about Edna?

Oh, bloody woman.

That's all about Edna.

She's lucky to be rid of him.

It's not my fault
if she's too vain to admit it.

And all you had to do just now
was to keep quiet

and then tell Gardner
it couldn't be managed.

But I am managing it.

Oh, Christ!

But what for? What the hell for?

Perhaps I had a sense of vacancies
opening up in my life.

I needed to fill them, perhaps.

Then why don't you do it
from your legitimate students,

instead of fobbing them off
and refusing to teach them?

I haven't got any legitimate students.
They're all bastards.

Which is my term of endearment for bores.

Gardner's interesting.
He actually interests me.

At least, I think he does.
I can't remember him clearly...

and I shall have to see the hat,
of course.

You interested me once, dear,
and look where it's got you.

An assistant lectureship.

Of course,
I don't know whether my interest

can carry you through your board.

You mean he'll have a relationship
with you, don't you?

While all poor Edna can offer him
is a relationship with Byron

in a properly conducted seminar.

Well, Joseph,
what chance your lectureship now?

Edna says you despise her.
And she's quite right.

Toadying is the sincerest form
of contempt.

I remember when you stood in this room,

darkly dressed
to colour up your melancholy,

and I had you read a little Eliot to me.
Do you remember that?

Little did we know that a long time away,
far into the future,

we would be worrying and fretting together
about your promotion.

Our beginnings never know our ends.

They're always so sad, so sad.

Don't flounce, Dapply.
It doesn't suit your mousy hindquarters.

It's not my fault
you buggered everything up with Anne.

You don't have to
bugger everything up for me, too.

No, I don't.
I'm doing it as a favour and for fun.

I'm sick to death of your fun.

Bum-twitch, bum-twitch!

Bum-twitch.

Teacher's pet!

Oh!

Ah.

"Appley Dapply, a little brown mouse,

Goes to the cupboard in somebody's house.

In somebody's cupboard
there's everything nice,

Pot, Scotch, French letters

For middle-aged mice."

Hello? Hello?

Woolly Bear, English.

Who would like to see Mr. Keystone?

What?

Indeed?

Yes, he is here. Just one moment.

Mr. Keystone says would you kindly
send him along to the office? Thank you.

Come.

Minute, please.

Isn't Joey here?

Good God.

It's Reg, isn't it?

Of course it is.
I'm terribly sorry. Do come in.

But your porter said he was here.

Yes, yes. So he will be.
He's just popped out, actually,

to have a brief word
with a colleague in distress.

How are you?

Very well, thanks. And you?

As you see me.

Yes.

Look, you're obviously very busy.

If you just tell Joey
I'm at the porter's desk--

Don't be silly.

You sit yourself down over there,
and I'll just finish this off.

I won't be a moment.

Please.

What brings you down here, anyway?

I just thought I'd look in.

I have to make my handwriting illegible
so they don't find out about my spelling.

To check up, eh?

Check up?

Joey's always saying that
if you got your hands on our little room,

which is an everywhere,

or rather on me,

as I'm the one responsible
for the mess we're in.

Oh, but you should see our flat.
Even Joey's room is like a pigsty.

Naturally, I'm the pig
that made it that way.

Oh, you really must come down sometime
and help us out.

He says you've done wonders
with your little kitchen.

I'm in publishing.

Yes?

Not in interior decorating.

God, I'm so sorry. No, no.

I don't get your job wrong anymore.
It would be inexcusable.

I'm always making Joey tell me about it,
in fact.

Oh, I know. He's always telling me
about having to tell you about it.

He says you're a marvelous cook.

I'm glad he eats well.

Yes. Keeps his figure, too.
Lucky sod.

Reg, you know, I'm awfully glad to have
a chance to talk to you privately.

I behaved abominably the last time we met,
and I just hope,

well, that you have forgiven me
for your shoes.

I never apologized properly.

It's all right. These things happen.

But your shoes survived, did they?

They were suede.

Oh, dear.

Suede.

Look, you must want to get on.
I'll go back to the porter.

-No, you mustn't do that.
-I don't mind.

In point of fact,
we were doing a little business together.

He's an Arsenal supporter.

Good God. Is he really? In point of fact?

-So I can let you get on with--
-Have a drink.

I don't think I ought to.

Oh, you're lucky.

Then you'll really enjoy it.

I understand you've met my friend Tom.

Tom Weatherley, by the way.

I know Tom, yes.

You know all' my domestic news, too,
I gather.

I only just heard about it myself today.

Yes, I've heard something about it.

-I'm sorry.
-Do you detest warm Scotch?

I don't know how you drink it
in your part of the world.

This is fine.

Oh, good. Cheers.

Cheers.

Thanks.

It's nice to have some company.

These last few hours I've felt quite like
Antony at his close.

The air is full
of the gods' departing musics.

So do forgive a tendency to babble.

No, that's all' right. I understand.

Cheers.

Actually, what this whole business
has brought home to me

is how dependent I am on my past.

But it was quite a short marriage,
wasn't it?

No, I was talking about Joey.

Oh.

It's as if my marriage
were an intermission, if you see.

Now I'm catching up with my past again,

which is where I suppose
my future is also.

- Really?
- Sorry. I'm being literary.

But I've always thought of you
as a born romantic.

From Joey's description of your past.

A touch of the butterfly, eh?

Really?

And what does Joey say
to make you think that?

Oh, I don't know. The way you've pulled up
your roots in the north,

what I imagine to be
your emotional pattern,

your love of the... bizarre.

And how does that express itself?

Joey's always recounting your experiences.

For example, with the Gurkhas.
You were with them, weren't you?

I was stationed with them, yes.

About ten years ago,
during my National Service.

Exactly.
And I never knew what a Gurkha was.

I still tend to think he's something
you get with a cocktail.

-Do you?
-They must be tough little towsers.

They are.

You didn't do your National Service,
I take it.

Oh, Christ! Sorry, I mean, no.

How come?

I got took queer.

Oh, you're ready for another one.

No, in point of fact, I'd rather not.

This is an altogether different suburb.

Sorry, what suburb?

Oh, it's just a little joke of Joey's.
Impossible to understand out of context.

But how is the world of fiction?

Can't complain.

What have you got coming out
at the moment?

At the moment I'm doing two cookery books,

an authoritative guide to bird-watching
in Lincolnshire,

the only intelligent account of the farce
of El Alamein--

by an NCO, needless to say--

and a New Testament commentary.

That's your fiction list?

No, that's our list for next month.

No novels at all, then?

We",
just one of those historical romances

where the hero shoves his sword
into assorted villains

and his cock into assorted ladies.

It won't get the reviews,
but it'll make us money.

If he did it the other way around,
you might get both.

But the point is, you see,
by putting that one through,

we can afford to do
something worthwhile later.

For instance, I've just made a decision
about a novel on National Service life.

Oh, one of those?

I thought that vogue was eight years dead.

Oh, no, not one of those.

This is something special, in my opinion.

Of course, it mightn't interest you
as you didn't do your National Service,

but personally, I found it moving, witty,
gracefully organized, genuinely poetic.

The National Service?

Good God.

Those qualities are hard enough
to come by in art.

It never occurred to me
to look for them in life,

especially as run by the armed forces.

Cheers.

Nevertheless,
I expect you will be curious in this case.

Theoretically,
I can't tell you our author's name

as the board doesn't meet till tomorrow,

but if I just mention that
he's a comprehensive school teacher...

Cheers.

Well, well, well.

The most boring man in London
strikes again.

I'm sorry.

Why?

It must be painful for you.

Why?

Because of his relationship with you.

It was wrong of me to have mentioned it.

On the contrary.

It was the correct move.

Has Joey read it?

Not yet.
It was offered to me in strict secrecy,

at least until I'd made up my mind.

But I can tell him about it now.

I think he'll like it.

That's because you don't know him
very well, perhaps.

He may be something of a dilettante
in personal relationships,

but he holds fast to standards
on important matters.

We once drew up a list

of the five most tedious literary subjects
in the world.

National Service came fifth,

just behind the Latin poems of Milton.

Really?
And what occupied the other three places?

The English poems of Milton.

When I was at York,
I chose Milton for my special subject.

That sounds an excellent arrangement.

The thing is to confine him to the north.

Down here we can dally
with Suckling and Lovelace.

And Beatrix Potter?

Joey says you've got great admiration
for the middle-class nursery poets.

With reservations.

I find some of the novellae
a trifle... heavy-going.

I call Joey Appley Dapply, did you know?

- Do you?
- Yes.

And he calls me Old Mr. Pricklepin.

After Old Mr. Pricklepin,
with never a coat to put his pins in.

And sometimes I call him
Diggory Diggory Delvet,

when he's burrowing away at his book.

What did you mean by being took queer?

Oh, you know, I'm sure.

You do look shocked, Reg.

That's surprising,

because I'm not surprised, even.

You don't think
there's anything shameful in it, then?

In what?

Dodging the draft.

There are thousands of blokes
from working-class homes who couldn't.

They didn't know the tricks.

Besides, they'd rather have done
ten years in uniform

than get out of it that way.

Then you think there's something shameful
in being taken queer?

I'm talking about people
pretending to be what they're not.

-Not what?
-Not what they are.

But if people do get taken queer,

it's nature we must blame,
or their bodies, mustn't we?

Medicine's still got a long way to go,
Reg.

Why do you use that word?

-What word?
-“Queer."

Does it offend you?

It's beginning to.

Oh, I'm sorry.

It's an old nursery habit.

One of our chars used to say it.

Whenever I came down with anything,
it would be,

"Our Ben's took queer again,
poor little mite."

Although I must admit it is
a trifle inappropriate for a touch of TB.

TB?

Oh, they found it just in time.
At my board medical, in fact.

Why do you object to the phrase, though?

No, no, it doesn't matter.

A misunderstanding. I'm sorry.

Oh.

Oh, I see.

Queer.

Oh, good God.

You didn't think I'd sink quite so low,
did you?

I'm sorry.

It's all right.

-Cheers.
-Cheers.

Homosexual.

-What?
-Homosexual.

You see, I was wondering perhaps
one should say that instead of "queer,"

in your sense of the word, I mean.

Homosexual.

It doesn't really matter at all.

I don't really care.

Do you feel the same about "fairies"
as you do about "queers"?

Yes, in point of fact.

Since you ask.

Right, I've got that.

Of course, they've almost vanished anyway,

the old-style queens and queers,
the poofs, the fairies.

Oh, the very words seem to conjure up
a magical world

of naughty thrills and forbidden fruits.

Sorry.

See,
I used to enjoy them enjoying themselves.

Their varied performances
contributed to my life's varieties.

But now the law, in making them safe,
has made them drab.

Just like the heterosexual rest of us.

Poor sods.

Don't you think?

Oh, there's enough affectation
and bitchiness among heterosexuals

to be getting along with.

Don't you think?

Don't worry. He'll be here in a moment.

How are things between you two,
then, by the way?

-What things?
-No complications?

What kind of complications would there be?

Well, in that our routine
does not interfere with your--

plural meaning--

routine.

"Plural meaning"?

Meaning what?

Yours and his.

Your routines... together.

Well, it has done, frankly, yes.

Now you ask.

But I don't think it will from now on.

Then you're beginning
to get the hang of it.

Good.

Because sometimes I have suspected
that our friendship,

going back so far and including so much,

so much of his history,
so much of my history,

which has indeed become our history--

singular meaning this time--

must make it difficult for any new people
that we pick up... on the side.

Like your wife, do you mean?

Well done.

Yes, like poor old Anne.

I suppose she must have felt
that her share

amounted to a minor infidelity, really.

I speak metaphorically, of course,

but then I think that marriage
is the best metaphor

for all our intense relationships.

Except those that we have
with our husbands and wives.

Naturally.

So you think of yourself
as married to Joey, do you?

Metaphorically.

Sorry.

Butley, English. Oh, James.

No, I'm sorry.
I'm afraid I still can't talk properly.

I'm in the middle of a tutorial.

...really, really must talk.

Okay, yes. Bye.

What metaphor would you use

when you learned that Joey
was going to move in with someone else?

Would that be divorce, metaphorically?

- What?
- I'm sorry.

I shouldn't do that.

But I was thinking it must be odd

getting news of two divorces
in the same day.

Joey... hasn't said anything.

No. I'm giving the news.

You might say that when he comes to me,

our Joey will be moving
out of figures of speech

into matters of fact.

Ours will be too much like a marriage
to be a metaphor.

I thought you didn't admit to being--

What?

Different.

There are moments
when frankness is necessary.

No, our Joey has just been waiting
for the right queen,

fruit, fairy, poof,

or homosexual to come along.

He's come.

Well, isn't he lucky?

-Hello.
-And cheers.

We've just been sorting things out,
Ben and I.

Yes, our Reg has just been giving me
the second instalment of the day's news.

But then traditionally,
since metaphorically,

I should be the last to hear.

I wanted to tell you myself.

Wanted to, did you?

And were you looking forward
to a subsequent scene?

No.

Oh, how unlike each other we are.
I would have enjoyed it.

-How did your lecture go?
-All right.

-Any more teaching today?
-No.

Come on then.

Let's move your things.

Move my things? No, I can't until later.

Why not?

Because there's something I've got to do.

Oh, don't stay on my account.

No, it's something I promised Edna.

- Have you got time for a cup of tea?
- Yes.

Reg!

Are you going to come back after tea?

I don't see any reason to. Why?

I think you're pretty bloody good, Reg.

In your way.

It's not my way,
but it seems to get you what you want.

So far.

But thanks.

Oh, just a minute.

-What's this?
-My kidneys. Best English lamb.

You've been done.
They're New Zealand, thawed.

The small, clapper irony is that

I have been trying to join you
for dinner all day,

not to say for the last month.

-May I anyway?
-Of course.

-I'm sorry. We can't.
-Why not?

Because I've just bought two tickets
for the match tonight

from one of your porters.

I'm sorry. Perhaps some other time.

Thank you.

Do we have to go to the match?

Yes. It's an important one.

But some other time.
Now I'd like that tea, please.

Reg! I didn't know that
you supported a London club too, Reg.

Leeds are away to Arsenal.

Ah. Well, yes, enjoy it.

Thanks.

Reg!

Will you wear it all, then?

Sorry? What? Wear what?

Your gear and tackle and trim.

Have you got it with you? I...

What?

Your scarf and cloth cap and rattle.

Your rosettes and hobnail boots.

Isn't that your road, any road,
up your road?

I'm parched.

Can we compare customs some other time?

Reg!

Reg!

No, it's not customs, Reg.

It's you, old cheese.

Personally, I don't give a fuck
that mum and dad live up Leeds and all,

or that the whole tribe of you
go to football matches

looking like the back page
of the Daily Mirror

and bellow "Oop t'Rovers"
and “Clobber busturds"

or own a butcher's shop with
"cush on t'side" from parking tickets.

I really don't, old cheese.
No, no, no, no.

What is... culturally entertaining...

is yourself.

I'm talking about your...

hypocrisy, old darling.

Is that what you're talking about?

Because you are only good
at getting what you want

because you are a fraction
of a fake, old potato.

You really are.

You don't show yourself up north
except twice a year, do you,

with your latest boy or summat in tow.

And I bet you get all your football
out of t'Guardian and from television,

except when you flash a couple of tickets
at some soft southern bugger--

Oh, sorry.
Do you object to that word, old fruit?

...like me,

to show some softer southern bugger
like him

just how tough you are.

Tell me.
Did you cling consciously to funny vowels,

or did you learn them all afresh?

I ask because you're not Yorkshire.
You're not working class.

You're just a lucky parvenu fairy,
old fig,

and to tell you the truth,
you make me want to throw up.

Pardon. “Gap“!

All over your characteristically
suede shoes.

-Shut up, Ben!
-Why? What's the matter?

Have I upset him?

Have I upset you, Reg?

Eh, I thought you liked
straightforward blokes,

plain talk, brass tacks, hard dos
and no bloody metaphors.

I don't blame you
for being ashamed of t'folks,

except when you try to come
the simple sod--

Sorry, homo. Oh, sorry!

Bloke.

-I'd feel t'same in thy clogs.
-Ben!

Is there anything else?

Yes.

Tell me.
Did you have a plain talk and brass tacks

about yourself with mum, laddie,

when she's back from pasting tickets
on t'cars, lud, eh?

Or with dud, lud,
while he's flogging offal, lud?

Eh, thou'd get fair dos there all right,
wouldn't thee, eh,

from our dud with his strup?

Or does he take thee down to t'local

and introduce thee round
to all t'other cloth caps?

"Eh! This is our Reg. He's punsy.

Oop, sorry, Reg, lud. Homosexual.

Eh, come as a right surprise
to mother and me, it did,

mother joost frying oop
best tripe and garbage

and me settling down with gnomes
to a good read of Mazo de la Roche."

Oh, I see.

The information for all this drollery
comes from you.

Perhaps you'd better sort him out.

Reg!

Come here, lad!

You come and sort me out.

Come on, lad.

It's mum's work!

Cloomp, cloomp, cloomp, aye,
tha's the mother's feet, Reg.

I don't like these games, Joey.
You know that.

Going to cook my kidneys after all, then?

Is that what you want?

-Come on.
-No, I'm not playing with you.

So don't say one more word.

Not a word.

Reg!

Darling.

Come on then.

Old sod,

fairy,

punsy.

Don't!

There. Is that what you wanted?

Oh.

Sorry.

Living theatre.
Next time around in Polish.

Oh.

I-- I'll come back later.

For a kick in my balls, eh?

Why should she be left out?

Oh, you're pitiful.

Pitiful.

This man that you've given me
all that talk about.

That you made me jealous of.

Still, couldn't take it, could you,

butcher's boy?

It was silly.

You'll have to outgrow that kind of thing,
Joey.

Oh.

Your bugger's made me bleed again.

You're beginning to get little wrinkles
around your eyes, did you know?

Are they laughter wrinkles,

or is it age,
creeping up you on little crow's feet?

You'll be one of those with a crepe neck.

I'll be one of the fat ones
with a purple face.

Reg will be...

I was watching you while you were shaving
the morning that you were going to Leeds.

If you'd moved your eyes half an inch,
you'd have seen me in the mirror.

I was standing behind you,
studying your neck and my jowls.

I saw you.

Oh.

Well, what did you think of all that
with our Reg then, eh?

I thought it was creepy.

I wonder what your next will be like.

Don't be afraid to bring him home, dear,
will you?

I do worry so.

There isn't going to be a next one.
At least, not for some time.

Oh, really?

I think that's a good plan.

Abstinence makes the heart grow fonder.

I'm moving in with Reg.

Don't think he'll have you, dear,

after all' your indiscretions
and sauciness.

Yes, he will.

You'll go running after him, will you?

How demeaning.

Possibly. But it's better
than having him run after me.

I've been through that once.
I couldn't face it again.

You love him then, eh, your butcher's boy?

Actually, he's not a butcher's boy,
in point of fact.

His father teaches maths
at the university.

His mother's a social worker.
They live in an ugly Edwardian house.

Ah, of course.

Quite nice and creepy.

Creepy, creepy, creepy, creepy.

Sorry.

Thanks, anyway, for the fiction.

So... you love him, then?

No. But I've got to get away from you,
haven't I?

Really?

Why?

For one thing,
I'd like to get some work done.

During your married year,
I did quite a bit. I'd like to finish it.

What work?

My edition of Herrick.

If the consequence
of your sexual appetites

is another edition of unwanted verse,

then you have an academic duty
to control yourself.

Could I also mention,
in a spirit of unbecoming humility,

that if I hadn't taken over your studies

when you were
an averagely dim undergraduate,

you'd never have got a first.

Your nature is to settle
for decent seconds,

indecent seconds, in Reg's case.

I know.

But that was in the days
when you still taught.

Now you spread futility, Ben.

It creeps in,
like your dirty socks into my drawers,

or my clean ones onto your feet.

Or your cigarette butts everywhere.

Or your stubble and shaving cream
onto our razor.

Or your voice, booming out nursery rhymes

into every corner of this department,
it seems to me.

-Or--
-Shut up.

That's rehearsed.

Thousands of times.

I'm sorry it had to be today,
what with Anne and Tom.

I would have waited.

Which shows
you have no sense of classical form.

We are preserving the unities.

The use of messengers
has been quite skilful.

All right. All right.

It doesn't really matter very much.

What will you do?

Could you, do you think,
staunch the flow of blood? Mmm?

It's just a bubble.

Of course, the trouble with
all these confessions, revelations,

clean breaks and epiphanies--
shouldn't we call them these days--

is that cluttered contact goes on.

For instance, we still share this room.

You're going to have to live
with your past,

day after day and as messily as ever.

I'll see to that.

-May I?
-Of course. Of course you may, Edna.

It's your turn.

Now you'll really be able
to spread yourself.

It's much more sensible.

I've moved out all my files.
What can I do now?

I can manage down here.

Well, I'm glad
I made one of you take advantage.

I've quietened down, Ben,
you'll be glad to hear.

But I want to say I'm sorry about my--
my little outburst just now.

I must learn not to be so sensitive.

I suspect it's the only way
with this new generation.

Yes, they are rather frightening.

Oh, I don't imagine
you're frightened of them.

I haven't enough pride.

I shall continue to throw myself
on their mercy.

I, uh, haven't congratulated you
on your book.

Wouldn't it have been awful
if someone had got in ahead of me?

Twenty years. I'm really rather ashamed.

Will you go on to someone else now?

I don't know.

You know, last night,
I played a little game.

I closed my eyes and I turned over
whole groups of pages at a time

and then I looked at a page.

It was in the commentary
on a letter from his sad wife.

And I remembered immediately
when I started working on it.

It was in Ursula's cottage
in Ockham, Surrey.

I can even remember the weather.

How's the book on Eliot, by the way?

Oh, it has a good 20 years to go.

Oh, I don't believe that.

James is always saying
how quickly you get through things.

I'm sure you'll be finished
with Eliot in no time.

But don't dally with him.
Let me be a lesson to you.

Do you still go to Ursula's cottage?

Oh, not in the same way.

She got married during chapter six.

Oh, hello.

-Mr. Gardner's here.
-Oh! Yes.

Will you go in, Mr. Gardner?

Well, Mr. Gardner,
you're here for your Eliot.

Yeah, please.

Tell me. What did I say in the pub?

Well...

I told you I couldn't stand
Miss Shaft's seminars

and you told me
I was interesting enough to do Eliot,

and that I ought to go and see James.

You said he'd pass the buck back to you

because whenever he had a problem,
he converted it into a buck and passed it.

Actually, you called him Cottontail.

Oh, did I? Hmm.

And here we both wonderfully are.

Yeah.

Thank God.

Well, let's get going.

Can you start by reading me a passage,
please?

Hmm.

There.

-Do you mind?
-No, I'd like that.

Thank you.

Oh, sorry.

This is Mr. Gardner.

Mr. Gardner, Mr. Keystone.

-Hello.
-Mr. Gardner.

Once, some years ago,
I taught Mr. Keystone.

During our first tutorial, we spent
a few moments discussing his clothes.

Then he read me some Eliot.
Today, I'm actually wearing his socks.

Those are the key points in a relationship
that now goes mainly back.

So you see, Mr. Gardner,
you had better be careful...

if you value your socks.

Please begin.

"In that open field

If you do not come too close,
if you do not come too close,

On a summer midnight,
you can hear the music

Of the weak pipe and the little drum

And see them dancing around the bonfire

The association of man and woman

In daunsinge, signifying matrimonie--

A dignified and commodious sacrament.

Two and two, necessarye conjunction,

Holding eche other by the hand or the arm

Whiche betokeneth concorde.

Round and round the fire

Leaping through the flames,
or joined in circles,

Rustically solemn or in rustic laughter

Lifting heavy feet in clumsy shoes,

Earth feet, loam feet,
lifted in country mirth

Mirth of those long since under Earth
Nourishing--"

So you're Gardner, are you?

Yeah.

"Ninny Nanny Netticoat,
In a white petticoat,

With a red nose.

The longer he stands,
The shorter he grows."

What?

I'm moving on, Mr. Gardner.

I'm breaking new ground.

Oh.

Furthermore, where's your hat?

I don't wear it anymore.

But did you wear it
when you bombed the Aristotle Collection?

And will you wear it in your raids
on Dapply and Parsley, eh?

What?

It won't do you any good.

The Aristotle Collection stood alone,
vulnerable, unreadable, and so, unread.

But Dapply and Parsley are scattered

in nursery consciousnesses
throughout the land.

They can still be tongued with fire.

What are you talking about?

I wasn't anywhere near the university
library when that happened.

I don't even know what it was about,
properly.

No, you're a personal relationships
type chappie, I can sense that.

Please go away.

Go back to Miss Shaft.

But I can't...

after all that trouble.

Trouble for you,

fun for me.

Go away, Gardner,
and take your laundry with you.

I don't want to begin again.
It's all been a ghastly mistake.

I don't find you interesting anymore.

You're not what I mean at all,

not what I mean at all.

I'm too old to play with the likes of you.