All language subtitles for The Picture Of Dorian Gray.1945.720p

Lord Henry Wotton had set himself
early in life to the serious study...

of the great aristocratic art
of doing absolutely nothing.

He lived only for pleasure...

but his greatest pleasure was to
observe the emotions of his friends...

while experiencing none of his own.

He diverted himself by exercising a
subtle influence on the lives of others.

Eighteen, I think you said, sir.

- Shall I wait, sir?
- Yes.

Among Lord Henry's friends
was the painter Basil Hallward.

He had been strangely secretive
about his latest painting...

and Lord Henry, sensing a mystery...

determined to discover what it was
that his friend wished to conceal.

I'm sorry, my lord,
Mr. Hallward is not at home.

Mr. Hallward doesn't
wish to be disturbed.

It's your best work, Basil.
The best thing you've ever done.

Of course, I can't believe that anyone
is really as handsome as that portrait.

Who is he? What's his name?
Why are you being so secretive about it?

It's a great painting.

You ought to send it to the Grosvenor
and let everyone admire it.

- I shall not send it anywhere.
- But why?

I've put too much of myself into it.

I knew you'd laugh,
but it's true all the same.

Well, there certainly isn't any resemblance
between you and this young Adonis.

You have an intellectual expression,
and intellect destroys the beauty of any face.

Don't flatter yourself, Basil.
You're not in the least like him.

Of course I'm not like him.
And I'm glad of it.

"The Wisdom of Buddha."

You always did have a
passion for virtue, Basil.

Why are you glad you're not like him?

We suffer for what
the gods give us...

and I'm afraid Dorian Gray
will pay for his good looks.

Dorian Gray. Is that his name?

Yes. I didn't intend
to tell it to you.

If I'm going to keep visiting you,
I'll have to send some good sherry.

- Why didn't you intend to tell me his name?
- I can't explain.

As I've grown older,
I've come to love secrecy.

I suppose that sounds foolish to you.

Come into the garden. It doesn't
sound foolish to me at all.

You forget that I am married and
that the one charm of marriage...

is that it makes a life of deception
absolutely necessary to both parties.

I believe you are really a
very good husband, Harry...

but that you are thoroughly
ashamed of your own virtues.

- Your cynicism is simply a pose.
- Being natural is simply a pose...

and the most irritating pose I know.
But you haven't answered my question.

I want to know the real reason why
you won't exhibit Dorian Gray's picture.

There is really very little to tell, Harry.
Besides, I'm afraid you will hardly believe it.

I can believe anything provided
that it is quite incredible.

I'm afraid this will seem so.

There is something I
can't quite understand.

- Something mystic about it.
- Mystic?

I don't know how to explain it,
but whenever Dorian poses for me...

it seems as if a power outside
myself were guiding my hand.

It's as if the painting had a life
of its own, independent of me.

That's why I'm not
going to exhibit it.

It belongs rightfully to Dorian,
and I shall give it to him.

I want to meet this extraordinary
young man. I think we shall be friends.

I choose my friends for their good looks
and my enemies for their good intellects.

A man cannot be too careful
in his choice of enemies.

Harry, I despise your principles,
but I do enjoy the way you express them.

I like persons better
than principles...

and persons with no principles
better than anything else.

- Now I remember.
- Remember what, Harry?

- Where I heard the name of Dorian Gray.
- Where was it?

Well, don't look so startled.
It was at my Aunt Agatha's.

My aunt told me that she had
discovered a wonderful young man...

who was going to help with her charities
and that his name was Dorian Gray.

I pictured somebody with
spectacles and lank hair...

tramping about on huge feet,
and so I avoided meeting him.

That's a very common
type of butterfly.

Limenitis sibylla. It hardly
belongs in a gentleman's garden.

- I'm glad you didn't meet Dorian Gray.
- Why?

I don't want you to meet him.

Who's that at your piano, Basil?

- You've come early today, Dorian.
- Have I?

You must lend me these pieces, Basil.
I want to learn them.

Depends on how you
sit this afternoon.

I thought the picture was
going to be done today.

It will be.

Please go on, Mr. Gray.
You play brilliantly.

This is Lord Henry Wotton, Dorian.
An old Oxford friend of mine.

My aunt has spoken to me about you.

You are one of her favorites
and one of her victims too.

- You shouldn't go in for philanthropy.
- Harry, I want to finish this picture.

Would you think it rude if
I asked you to go away?

Am I to go, Mr. Gray?

- Stay and tell me why not philanthropy.
- You don't really mind, do you, Basil?

You've told me that you liked your
sitters to have someone to chat to.

Sit down then, Harry.

Now, Dorian, get up
on the platform...

and don't pay any attention
to what Lord Henry says.

He has a bad influence over his friends,
with the single exception of myself.

Have you really a
bad influence, Lord Henry?

There's no such thing as a
good influence, Mr. Gray.

- All influence is immoral.
- Why?

Because the aim of life
is self-development.

To realize one's nature perfectly.

That's what we're here for.

A man should live out his
life fully and completely...

give form to every feeling,
expression to every thought...

reality to every dream.

Every impulse that we suppress
broods in the mind and poisons us.

There's only one way to get rid of a
temptation and that's to yield to it.

Resist it and the soul grows sick...

with longing for the things
it has forbidden to itself.

There is nothing that can
cure the soul but the senses.

Just as there is nothing that can
cure the senses but the soul.

Turn your head a little
more to the left, Dorian.

The gods have been
good to you, Mr. Gray.

Why do you say that?

You have the most marvelous youth...

- ...and youth is the one thing worth having.
- I don't feel that, Lord Henry.

You don't feel it now,
but some day you'll feel it terribly.

What the gods give,
they quickly take away.

Time is jealous of you, Mr. Gray.

Don't squander the gold of your days.
Live. Let nothing be lost upon you.

Be afraid of nothing.

There is such a little time
that your youth will last...

and you can never get it back.

As we grow older,
our memories are haunted...

by the exquisite temptations we
hadn't the courage to yield to.

The world is yours for a season.

It would be tragic if you
realized too late...

as so many others do...

that there is only one thing in the
world worth having, and that is youth.

Dorian Gray had never heard the praise
of folly so eloquently expressed.

The creed of pleasure soared
into a philosophy of life...

while Dorian stood as if
he were under a spell.

He felt afraid of Lord Henry's ideas and
ashamed of himself for being afraid.

It was as if he were learning to
know himself for the first time...

as if a stranger had revealed his
own most secret thoughts to him.

For the first time he became
conscious of his youth...

and conscious of the fact that
one day he would lose it.

My visit hasn't been wasted.

I've found a rare and beautiful butterfly,
Euvanesse antiope.

It's very unusual in England.
Don't you think it's beautiful, Mr. Gray?

- Yes, Lord Henry, very beautiful.
- You may sit down now, Dorian.

I'm glad you met Lord Henry.

- Are you glad, Mr. Gray?
- I'm glad now.

- I wonder if I shall always be glad.
- "Always"?

That's a dreadful word.
It makes me shudder to hear it.

Women are so fond of using it.

They spoil every romance by
trying to make it last forever.

The only difference between a caprice
and a life-long passion is...

the caprice lasts a little longer.

But I believe our
hostess has appeared.

You're just in time, darling...

to witness my signature
to Dorian's painting.

Could I sign it too?

Well, I think you're entitled to.
Since you haven't missed a sitting.

Here.

G for Gladys.

Which do you prefer, Gladys,
Dorian Gray or his picture?

I like Dorian best.

Heh. You prefer him today,
but when you are a young lady...

and are turning all the heads in London,
you may prefer the portrait.

For it will look just as it does today,
but we shall all be changed.

And not for the better.
Your uncle and I and even Dorian.

Dorian won't change.

Dorian will stay just as
he is until I'm grown.

Won't you, Dorian?

Of course I shall, darling.

You may say goodbye now, precious.
Nanny's waiting. Come along. Hurry.

- On your way.
- What about me, young lady?

Has Dorian Gray stolen
you from me completely?

- Goodbye, Lord Henry.
- Heh.

When this is known, I shall be torn to
shreds in every drawing room in London.

Don't you think a gentleman
should remove his hat...

in the presence of a lady, Parker?

I never take off my hat
except when I'm out of doors.

She'll be as lovely as
your sister was, Basil.

Yes.

But I'm afraid Dorian has
stolen her heart from me too.

I must congratulate you, Basil.
Look at yourself, Mr. Gray.

As I grow old, this picture
will remain always young.

If it were only the other way.

If it were I who was always to be young
and the picture that was to grow old.

You would hardly care for
such an arrangement, Basil.

- It would be hard lines on your work.
- I should object strongly.

You oughtn't to express such a wish
in the presence of that cat, Dorian.

It's one of the 73 great gods of Egypt and
is quite capable of granting your wish.

Lord Henry is right.

I know now that when one loses
one's youth, one loses everything.

Perhaps a cup of tea will bring you around.
You'll have some, too, won't you, Harry?

Or do you object to
such simple pleasures?

I adore simple pleasures.
They're the last refuge of the complex.

It's more than a painting.
It's part of myself.

As soon as you're varnished and framed,
Dorian, you will be sent home.

You can do whatever
you like with yourself.

Better send along the Egyptian cat. The god
and the picture shouldn't be separated.

I will, if Dorian wants it.

If only the picture could change,
and I could be always what I am now.

For that I would give everything.

Yes, there's nothing in the
whole world I would not give.

I would give my soul for that.

Dorian began to venture alone
on warm summer evenings...

into surroundings which
were strange to him.

Filled with curiosity about places and
people remote from his own experience...

he wandered to the
half-world of London...

the words of Lord Henry
vibrating in his mind.

"Live. Let nothing be lost upon you.
Be afraid of nothing."

The Two Turtles is honored
by the visit of a gentleman.

If you please, sir.

I give you the sweetheart
of the Two Turtles.

Our own Sibyl Vane!

Snow was very plentiful
And crumbs were very few

When a weather-beaten sparrow

Through a mansion window flew

Her eye fell on a golden cage

A sweet love song she heard

Sung by a pet canary there

A handsome yellow bird

He said to her, "Miss Sparrow
I've been struck by Cupid's arrow

Will you share my cage with me?"

She looked up at his castle

With its ribbon and its tassel

And in plaintive tones said she

"Goodbye, little yellow bird

I'd rather brave the cold

On a leafless tree

Than a prisoner be

In a cage of gold"

I'd gladly introduce you,
sir, but she's proud.

She won't meet anybody.

Come, my delightful dove.

Descend and make a pilgrimage
with me among these mortals.

The spoiled and petted yellow bird

Could scarce believe it true

That a common sparrow should refuse

A bird with blood so blue

He told her the advantages
Of riches and of gold

She answered that her liberty

For gold could not be sold

She said, "I must be going"
But he cried, "No, no, it's snowing

And the wintry winds so blow

Stay with me, my little dearie

For without you, it would be dreary"

But she only sighed, "Ah, no"

"Goodbye, little yellow bird

I'd gladly mate with you

I love you, little yellow bird

But I love my freedom too

So goodbye, little yellow bird

I'd rather brave the cold

On a leafless tree

Than a prisoner be

In a cage

Of gold"

She's taken with you, sir. Say the
word and I'll take you backstage.

Thank you, no.

Night after night Dorian went to the
Two Turtles to watch Sibyl Vane.

A patron of the arts, Mrs. Vane.

He's come to the Two Turtles
each evening for a fortnight.

He wants to tell you how much
he admires your daughter.

If you will permit me,
I have a request to make.

You're very kind, sir.

Miss Vane, will you sing
"The Little Yellow Bird" for me now?

She will, sir, gladly.

But there's no one to play for me.
Everyone's gone.

I think I might manage
the accompaniment.

You will, won't you, dearie?

Yes.

On one condition.

Please.

I apologize for my daughter.

So goodbye, little yellow bird

I'd rather brave the cold

On a leafless tree

Than a prisoner be

In a cage of gold

It's wonderful. Did...?
Did you write it?

Frederic Chopin wrote it
for a woman he loved.

Her name was George Sand.
Someday I'll tell you about them.

I should like that.

What did the music mean to you?

I don't know. It is full of emotion.

But it's not happy.

No, it's not happy.

Why was he unhappy?

Perhaps because he felt his
youth slipping away from him.

- What an odd thing for you to say.
- Why?

- You are so young.
- Yes.

And you also.

What is the music called?
Has it a name?

A kind of name.
It is called "Prelude."

- Is this the way you watch Sibyl, Mother?
- You don't understand, James.

I wish I wasn't going to Australia.

I'd cancel it if my articles
hadn't been signed.

I want Sibyl to make a brilliant marriage.
Actresses marry into the upper classes.

- I almost did myself.
- Who is this young dandy? What's his name?

Oh, I don't know
his name, but he's rich.

What's his name, Sibyl?
How often has he been here?

- What are his intentions?
- I don't know.

But I do know his name.
It is Sir Tristan.

You don't know his name and
yet you permitted him to...

Your brother's right, Sibyl, you ought
not to have permitted such familiarity.

He is good. I know it.
There is no evil in him.

- Did you see his face?
- No, but I wish I had.

If he ever does you any wrong,
I'll track him down and kill him.

Jim! You're foolish, Jim.
Utterly foolish.

You talk like one of the
melodramas Mother used to act in.

That was when acting was understood.
I received a lot of attention in those days.

All I say is watch over Sibyl, Mother.
Watch over her while I'm gone.

Jim.

You're going away tonight.

The ship will take you far
away over the dark waters.

Don't let me remember
you angry and troubled.

That's better.

Can't you read what people
are in their faces?

You think I'm silly when
I call him Sir Tristan.

But to me he's like one of
King Arthur's knights...

that we used to read about
when we were children...

who took the vow of chivalry
to battle against all evil-doers.

To defend the right
to protect all women.

To be true in friendship
and faithful in love.

You can't go wrong with this one, sir.
I've never heard a sweeter warbler.

Little yellow bird.

- Late as usual, Harry.
- Please forgive me, Aunt Agatha.

Punctuality is the thief
of time, Harry says.

Victoria, darling, how nice.

I love coming to
your house, Aunt Agatha.

It's one of the few places I'm
likely to meet my husband.

Oh, I'm always dropping it.

Mr. Gray has something terribly
important to tell you, Harry.

We're all dying to learn what it is.

I imagine it can wait
until luncheon is over.

I'm vexed with you, Harry.

Why do you try to persuade
Mr. Gray to give up the East End?

He's a wonderful musician,
and they love his playing.

The East End is a very
important problem.

Quite so. It's the problem of slavery,
and we try to solve it by amusing the slaves.

I suspect we're
interested in the poor...

in order to amuse ourselves.

Especially as we grow older and
are unfit for other amusements.

Lord Henry, I wish you would tell
me how to become young again.

Can you remember any great errors that
you committed in your early days?

- A great many, I fear.
- Then commit them over again.

To regain one's youth, one has
merely to repeat one's follies.

A delightful theory.

- A dangerous theory.
- One of the great secrets of life.

Most people die of a
creeping common sense...

and discover too late that the only things
one never regrets are one's mistakes.

But surely if one lives for oneself,
one pays a terrible price for doing so.

Yes, we are overcharged
for everything now.

- One has to pay in other ways than money.
- What sort of ways, Sir Thomas?

I should fancy in remorse, in suffering, in...
Well, in the consciousness of degradation.

No civilized man ever
regrets a pleasure...

and no uncivilized man ever
knows what a pleasure is.

I know what pleasure is.
It's to adore someone.

In that case, I think I can guess
what it is you have to tell me.

But adoring someone is
better than being adored.

Being adored is a nuisance.
You will discover...

that women treat us just as
humanity treats its gods.

They worship us and keep bothering
us to do something for them.

Harry, you're incorrigible.

You must admit that women give
men the very gold of their lives.

But they invariably want it
back in such small change.

Women, as a witty Frenchman put it...

inspire us with the desire to do masterpieces
and prevent us from carrying them out.

I don't understand you.

You seem to know us women
awfully well, Lord Henry.

I am analyzing women at present.

The subject is less difficult
than I was led to believe.

Women represent the triumph
of matter over mind...

just as men represent the
triumph of mind over morals.

These views are horrifying,
Lady Agatha.

I did not expect to hear the
devil's advocate at your table.

I apologize for the intelligence
of my remarks, Sir Thomas.

I'd forgotten that you were
a member of parliament.

You will forgive me, Lady Agatha,
if I leave at once.

Before the quail, Sir Thomas?
The first quail of the season?

I ordered them especially for you.

No, surely not before
the quail, Sir Thomas.

Think with the Liberals and eat
with the Tories. Isn't that the rule?

How men argue. I can never make
out what they're talking about.

Do sit down, Sir Thomas.

Lord Henry's ideas are
demoralizing and delightful.

They're not to be taken seriously.

I confess, I never could
resist Lady Agatha's quail.

Well, Dorian, what have you
to tell me that is so important?

From what you said at luncheon,
my guess is that you've fallen in love.

I'm engaged to be married.

Now that we're on our way,
perhaps you'll tell me where we're going.

- Grosvenor Square, Number Seven.
- It's Dorian we're going to see?

We're going to pick him up and then see
the young woman he's engaged to marry.

- Dorian engaged? To whom, Harry?
- To an actress in a cheap vaudeville.

An actress. With dyed
hair and a painted face?

Don't run down dyed
hair and painted faces.

- There's an extraordinary charm in them.
- But surely you can't be serious.

- I hope I shall never be more serious.
- You don't approve.

- You can't possibly.
- I never approve or disapprove of anything.

Dorian falls in love with a beautiful girl
and proposes to marry her. Why not?

Every experience is of value.

Whatever can be said against marriage,
it's certainly an experience.

Dorian will make this girl his wife.

Six months later, he'll become
infatuated with someone else.

- You think he could be so unfaithful?
- Faithfulness is merely laziness.

Number Seven, sir.

I've been watching for you.

Go to Lower Euston Road, Number 22.

Lower Euston Road, sir?

- Lower Euston Road.
- Yes, sir.

They're always surprised when I
give them that address. Hurry.

I want you to get there in time
to meet her before she sings.

I hope you'll always be as happy
as you are at this moment, Dorian.

Thank you, Basil. Our engagement
is still a dead secret.

- She's not even told her mother.
- What will your guardian say?

Lord Radley will be furious.
But there's nothing he can do.

May I ask you a question?

At what particular point
did you mention marriage?

I didn't make any
formal proposal, Harry.

I told her I loved her, and she said
she was not worthy to be my wife.

- "Not worthy."
- Women are wonderfully practical.

In situations of that kind, we often forget to say
anything about marriage and they remind us.

Sibyl has made me forget
your poisonous theories.

- Which theories?
- Your theories about life, about pleasure.

Pleasure is the only thing
worth having a theory about.

It's nature's sign of approval.

When we're happy, we're always good.
When we're good, we're not always happy.

Sibyl is the answer to all
your cynicism, Harry.

I believe you'll understand
that when you see her.

So goodbye, little yellow bird

I'd rather brave the cold

On a leafless tree

Than a prisoner be

In a cage of gold

This marriage is quite right.
I didn't think so at first...

but the moment we met her,
I was convinced.

She's charming and innocent,
transparently so.

- I knew you would say that.
- She's all that you say, but I don't agree.

I believe she loves you so much,
you have no need to marry her.

What wickedness are you
contemplating now?

I ought to be angry with you,
Harry, but I'm much too happy.

All I know is that
Sibyl is sacred to me.

It's only the sacred things
that are worth touching.

I begin to find you disgusting.
Don't listen to him, Dorian.

Don't worry, Basil.
I'm immune to his ideas now.

In that case, I needn't tell you how I
should proceed if I were in your place.

What would you do?
I'm curious to know.

Well, I should invite her to come
to my house to see Basil's portrait.

When she said it was time for her
to go, I should ask her not to leave.

She'd be shocked, of course.
I'd pretend to be disappointed in her.

If she still wished to go,
I'd become cold and indifferent.

I'd, ask her to let herself out...

saying that I couldn't
bear sad farewells.

But if she left, then I'd believe her
to be as good as she is beautiful...

and I'd beg her forgiveness
and marry her.

I've always thought
your wickedness a pose.

I know better now.
You're an unmitigated cad.

Will you try my experiment, Dorian?

Miss Vane. Miss Vane, has Sir Tristan,
as you have so charmingly called him...

ever invited you to see the wonderful
portrait that Basil Hallward has made of him?

No, he hasn't. I should
love to see it. May I?

Of course you may, darling.
Tonight, if you wish.

I shall always remember
this room, just as it is now.

The lamplight, you at the piano,
my own happiness.

Your clock thinks it's
time for me to go home.

Clocks can't help being disagreeable.

They think it's their duty.

It's that cat.

I thought I saw its eyes move.

Perhaps you did.

Lord Henry says it's one of
the 73 great gods of Egypt.

- Doesn't it frighten you?
- It does a little. Listen to this.

Dawn follows Dawn, and Nights grow old
And all the while this curious cat

Lies couching on the Chinese mat
With eyes of satin rimmed with gold.

Get hence, you loathsome mystery!
Hideous animal, get hence!

You wake in me each bestial sense
You make me what I would not be.

You make my creed a barren sham

You wake foul dreams of sensual life

What a strange poem. Who wrote it?

A brilliant young
Irishman out of Oxford.

His name is Oscar Wilde.

Why do you look at me so strangely?

What would you do, Sibyl,
if I should say to you...

"Don't leave me now, don't go home"?

What would you do, Sibyl?

I suppose I should have expected
a conventional reaction.

Good night, then.

Good night.

You don't mind letting yourself out, do you?
I can't bear sad farewells.

A wise friend warned me
that your innocence...

upon which I would
have staked my life...

would fail to meet the
test I set before you.

I called his wisdom cynicism,
but now I know better.

You have killed my love.

You have been false, not to me...

but to the ideal I had formed of you.

You used to stir my imagination.
Now you are nothing to me.

I will never see you again.
I will never mention your name.

I will never think of you.
Henceforth, I shall live only for pleasure.

Everything else is meaningless.

And if this leads me to the
destruction of my soul...

then it is only you
who are responsible.

Do not try to see me.

I shall leave England and
not return for a long time.

I am sending with this
letter a gift of money...

which will compensate you for any
disappointment you may feel.

I have been living in
a land of illusions.

Now, I shall make an end of dreams.

My real life begins.

My own life, in which you
cannot possibly have any part.

Five minutes, Miss Vane.

In spite of himself, Dorian was
troubled by what he had done.

His uneasy conscience made
him avoid those he knew...

and all night he had wandered alone
through the dimly lit streets...

and evil-looking houses
of the London half-world.

When at last he returned to his silent,
shuttered house in Mayfair...

he could not overcome a sense
of something ominous impending.

His eye fell on the portrait Basil
Hallward had painted of him.

In the dim, shaded light...

the face appeared to him
to be a little changed.

The expression looked
somehow different.

One would have said that there was
a touch of cruelty in the mouth.

It was very strange.

There was no doubt that the
whole expression had altered.

The lines of cruelty about
the mouth were unmistakable.

There was no such
expression on his face.

If only the picture could change,
and I could be always as I am now.

For that I would give everything.

Yes, there is nothing in the
whole world I would not give.

I would give my soul for that.

But, surely, his wish
had not been fulfilled.

Such things were impossible.
It was monstrous even to think of it.

What if someone else observed the
horrible change, his valet, perhaps?

What if Basil Hallward came and
asked to look at his own picture?

But he was being ridiculous.
This was a mere hallucination.

An illusion brought on
by his troubled senses.

The picture had not changed.
He was mad to think so.

A painted canvas could not alter.

He would look at it again after he
had slept, when he was calmer...

and he would laugh
at this fantastic idea.

But in the afternoon when he returned
to examine the portrait again...

fantastic as the idea was...

his memory of that cruel
look was disturbingly vivid.

It was true.
The expression had altered.

There was no doubt of it. It was
incredible, and yet it was a fact.

Was this portrait to become for him
the emblem of his own conscience?

Would it teach him to
loathe his own soul?

But if this painting was to be
his conscience made visible...

then he would let it instruct him.

He would give it no
reason to reproach him.

He would live purely and nobly.

He had been cruel to Sibyl Vane. But it
was not too late to make that right.

She could still be his wife.

He would marry her.
They could be happy together.

He implored her forgiveness.
He blamed himself.

He gave way to the
luxury of self-reproach.

When he finished the letter,
he felt that he had been forgiven.

Dorian, let me in. I must see you.

Open the door, Dorian.
I'll not go away until I see you.

Dorian, let me in.

You shouldn't lock yourself in like this, Dorian.
I'm sorry for it all, dreadfully sorry.

- You mean about Sibyl Vane?
- Yes, of course.

It's all right now.
I'm actually grateful to you.

I've learned to know myself better.

I know you will sneer at me, but from now on,
I'm going to do as my conscience bids me.

- What on earth are you talking about?
- About Sibyl Vane. I'm going to marry her.

- Marry her?
- I know what you're going to say.

Something cynical about marriage.
Don't say it.

Two weeks ago, I asked Sibyl to marry me.
I'm not going to break my word to her.

- Then you don't know.
- Know what?

- Haven't you read the morning papers?
- No, I haven't.

What is it, Harry? What's happened?

Sibyl Vane is dead.

That's why I hurried here. I didn't
want you to see anyone until I came.

When I found you'd locked yourself in,
I assumed you knew about it.

There'll be an inquest.
You mustn't get involved.

They don't know your name at the
theater, I suppose, so it's all right.

Did Sibyl?

- Tell me everything, Harry.
- It was obviously not an accident.

Though I suppose it must be
put that way to the public.

Half past 12 or so, she was leaving
the theater with her mother...

when she said she'd forgotten something
and went back to her dressing room.

She didn't come down again.
They found her on the floor.

She'd swallowed something.
By mistake, they say.

She died instantaneously.

It's tragic, but you mustn't
let yourself brood over it.

You must learn to see it
in its proper perspective.

You must put it out of your mind.
Come and dine with me.

Afterwards, we'll look in at
the opera. Don Giovanni.

Everybody'll be there, and you
can come to my sister's box.

So I have murdered Sibyl Vane...

- ...as surely as if I'd cut her throat.
- I can't see why you should blame yourself.

I suppose she foolishly
thought she'd lost you.

But no woman destroys herself
who isn't already unbalanced...

Where do you keep your sherry?

If you'd married this girl,
you would've been wretched,

and so in time would she have been.

I assure you, the whole thing would
have been an absolute failure.

I remember your saying there's a
fatality about good resolutions.

They're always made too late.

- Mine certainly were.
- You should look upon this tragedy...

as an episode in the
wonderful spectacle of life.

What is it that has really happened?
Someone has killed herself for love of you.

I wish that I'd had
such an experience.

The women who have admired me...
There have been some.

- have insisted on living on long after
I have ceased to care for them...

or they to care for me.
They've become stout and tedious.

When I meet them,
they go in for reminiscences.

That awful memory of woman.
Drink, it'll make you feel better.

I found myself sitting next to
such a woman the other night.

She once proposed to sacrifice
the whole world for me.

Always a dreadful moment. It fills
one with the terror of eternity.

It happened years ago, but she
dragged the whole thing out again...

and she assured me that I'd spoiled her life.
However, she ate an enormous dinner.

Not one of the women I've known would have
done for me what Sibyl Vane did for you.

But you haven't told me yet
if you will dine with me.

I don't feel up to it, Harry.

Then perhaps you'll join
me later at the opera.

My sister's box number is 27.
It's on the Grand Tier.

You'll see her name on the door.
I hope to see you before half past 9.

I don't want you to miss
de Reszke in the duet.

I'm sorry, Mr. Hallward. Mr. Gray
isn't in. He's gone to the opera.

- To the opera?
- Yes, sir. Is there any message, sir?

No. No, I'll come by in the morning.

But in the morning...

Dorian no longer wanted the
consolation of his friend...

nor his reproaches.

His pride and his sense
of guilt prompted him...

to assume an air of indifference.

Hello, Basil. Sorry to keep you.

- Have you had breakfast?
- Yes, I have, thank you.

I'm famished. You don't mind
if I have a bite while we talk?

Of course not.

You went to the opera while Sibyl Vane
was lying dead in some sordid lodging?

- What is past is past.
- You call yesterday the past?

It's only shallow people who require
years to get rid of an emotion.

A man who is master of himself...

can end a sorrow as easily
as he can invent a pleasure.

I don't want to be at the
mercy of my emotions.

I want to use them, enjoy them,
and dominate them.

Something has changed
you completely, Dorian.

You look exactly the same.

You talk as if you had
no heart, no pity in you.

You've come too late.

If you had come in yesterday
at a particular moment...

about half past 5 or
a quarter to 6...

you would've seen how
deeply I was affected.

Even Harry, who brought me the news,
had no idea what I was going through.

I suffered immensely.
Then it passed away.

I cannot repeat an emotion.
No one can.

This isn't you talking, Dorian.
These are Harry's ideas.

It has nothing to do with Harry.

I suppose Harry didn't give you that
yellow book I saw on your table.

- What's wrong with it?
- Everything.

It's vile, evil, corrupt,
decadent. I detest it.

What would you like
me to read, Basil?

Since you asked me.

- "The Light of Asia."
- I'm never without it.

- The story of Buddha, isn't it?
- The story of Buddha, a good man.

- Promise me you'll read it, Dorian.
- I promise.

You've done a sketch of Sibyl.
It's charming. May I have it?

Of course. I must go now, Dorian.

I'm relieved to find you in such good spirits,
in spite of what has happened.

Thank you, Basil. It's good
of you to be so concerned.

Before I go, I'd like to look
at the painting I did of you.

There's a screen in front of it.

I thought the room looked
different when I came in.

The light was too
strong on the portrait.

Surely not.

It's an admirable place for it.

Wait.

You must not look at it.

Not look at my own work?
You're not serious.

- Why shouldn't I look at it?
- I don't offer any explanation...

and you're not to ask for any,
but if you try to look at that picture...

on my word of honor,
I will never speak to you again.

What on earth is the matter with you?
I'm planning to exhibit it next month.

- That's why I wanted to look at it.
- Exhibit it?

But you told me a month ago,
you would never exhibit it.

You told Harry the same thing.

At that time the painting had
a strange fascination for me.

It seemed almost to
have a life of its own.

It affected me so much, I felt I
couldn't let it be seen publicly.

Perhaps you've seen the same
mysterious quality in it, Dorian?

Have you noticed something
curious in the painting?

Something that at first did not strike you,
but that revealed itself to you suddenly?

- I see you did.
- I saw something in it.

Something that seemed
to be very curious.

You were right.

There can be something
fatal about a portrait.

I think I understand
what you feel about it.

And I respect your wishes.

Perhaps someday you'll
recover from it, as I did.

At any rate, I'll certainly not
let it destroy our friendship.

I'm glad of that.

Goodbye, Dorian.

Goodbye, Basil.

It had been mad of him to allow the
thing to remain, even for an hour...

in a room to which any of
his friends had access.

Henceforth, he must be on
his guard against everyone.

At the top of the house
was his old schoolroom...

which had not been used for years.

No one ever entered it.

Nothing was in it but his old
school books and his toys...

gathering dust and cobwebs.

The picture could be
safely hidden away there.

He could lock it up.
He himself would keep the key.

There was no need for the
servants ever to enter the room.

He would have to let
Victor go, and the others.

He must bring new
servants into the house.

In this room, every moment
of his childhood...

and its stainless purity
came back to him.

Here among the innocent
souvenirs of his childhood...

the hideous portrait would
be forever hidden away.

The face painted in the canvas could
grow bestial, sodden and unclean.

No one would ever see it.
No one, except himself.

He was to have eternal youth...

while the portrait bore
the burden of his shame.

He was caught in an evil destiny.

As the years passed, the miracle
of Dorian's changeless youth...

caused wonder but rarely suspicion.

Even those who had heard the
most evil things against him...

the strange rumors about
his mode of life...

which spread through London and
became the chatter of the clubs...

could not believe anything to
his dishonor when they saw him.

He had always the look of one...

who had kept himself
unspotted from the world.

But while he fascinated many,
there were not a few who distrusted him.

Curious stories were
current about him.

It was rumored that he had
been seen in a low den...

in the distant parts of Whitechapel.

His extraordinary absences
became notorious...

and when he reappeared again in society,
men would whisper to each other...

in corners, or pass him with a sneer,
or look at him with cold, searching eyes.

Some of those who had been
most intimate with him...

appeared after a time to shun him.

Women who, for his sake,
had set convention at defiance...

were seen to grow pale if
Dorian Gray entered the room.

He could not endure to be
long out of England...

or to be separated from the picture,
it was such a part of his life.

He was afraid that
during his absence...

someone might gain access to
the room where it was hidden.

Then, suddenly,
some night he would go down...

to dreadful places near Bluegate Fields,
and stay there, day after day.

When he had recovered from
these visits to the abyss...

he would stand in front of the picture,
sometimes loathing it and himself...

but filled at other times with
that pride of individualism...

that is half the fascination of evil.

He would examine with minute
care the hideous lines...

that scarred the
wrinkling forehead...

or crawled around the
heavy sensual mouth...

wondering which were more horrible,
the signs of sin or the signs of age.

He found reasons
to justify his actions.

He told himself that man was a being
with myriad lives and myriad sensations.

To live a simple, sincere, honest life
was hardly to live at all.

Was insincerity such a terrible thing?
Dorian thought not.

It was merely a method by which
we could multiply our personalities.

Yet, there was one person towards whom
he found it difficult to be insincere.

It was Basil Hallward's niece, Gladys,
who had loved him since she was a child.

Goodbye, little yellow bird

I'd rather brave the cold

On a leafless tree

Than a prisoner be

In a cage of gold

I was close by and came in for a moment.
I found this old song in your piano bench.

It's charming.

So is the face that my
uncle sketched on it.

He did do it, didn't he?
I know his style so well.

Did she sing this song?

Who is she? Do tell me about her.

She died many years ago,
when you were only a little girl.

Did you love her very much, Dorian?

Yes.

Goodbye, Dorian. I'm looking
forward to your party tonight.

I'm sure it will be wonderful.
Your parties always are.

I'm not really as lovely as
that picture, am I, darling?

Of course not.

I think I've discovered why
Dorian hasn't proposed to me.

And I've decided what to do about it.

And what have you
decided to do about it?

I'm going to ask him to
marry me, tonight, perhaps.

What about David Stone?

You think he'd take
you to Dorian's party...

- ...if he knew your intentions?
- Of course he would.

Nothing petty about David,
but I don't intend to tell him.

- No, don't tell David.
- David, you cad.

I never thought you'd
be an eavesdropper.

Don't be alarmed about Dorian Gray.
I'm the one Gladys will marry.

Of course, I have
nothing to say about it.

- I wouldn't let you marry that devil.
- I'll not have you say anything against him.

I don't have to. There are
plenty of others to say it.

Lies and jealousy. There's no evil in Dorian.
Anybody can see that by looking at him.

He hasn't asked you yet.

You heard what I said.
I'm going to ask him myself.

- In front of all those people, I suppose.
- I'll get him alone. It's a big house.

- Good night, sir.
- Good night, David.

What's wrong, Dorian?
Why don't you answer me?

Is there something else?
Something I don't know about?

You must have heard the
stories they tell of me.

- Don't they frighten you?
- I don't believe them.

- Suppose I were to tell you that they're true.
- I will never believe anything evil of you.

What do you know of evil?

I only know there is none in you.

If you had some great trouble,
Dorian, I would want to share it.

If I were to marry you, it would
be an incredible wickedness.

Is that a way of saying
you don't love me?

If you like.

It's very beautiful, Dorian.
Thank you.

Would you find David for me?

I must go now.

I've been exploring
your house, Dorian.

You don't mind, do you?
It's better than a museum.

I see.

You must have some priceless possessions
in that room if you keep them locked up.

May I see them sometime?

What rare things have you
stored away there, Dorian?

Skeletons of inquisitive guests.

- I suspected as much.
- I want to leave now, David.

- Of course.
- Good night, Dorian.

- Good night.
- Good night.

Good night.

It was the ninth of November,
the eve of his own 38th birthday...

as Dorian often
remembered afterwards.

He was walking home about
11:00 from Lord Henry's...

where he had been dining.

A strange sense of fear for
which he could not account...

came over him at the sight
of Basil Hallward...

and prevented him from making
any sign of recognition.

Dorian.

I thought it was you or your
fur coat, but I wasn't sure.

- Didn't you recognize me?
- In this fog?

I can't even recognize
Grosvenor Square.

My house is somewhere about here,
but I'm not certain of it.

I've been waiting for you in
your library ever since 9:00.

Finally, I took pity on your
man and told him to go to bed.

I'm off to Paris on the midnight train,
and I wanted to see you before I left.

It's luck running into you like this.

I haven't seen you in ages.
I suppose you'll be back soon.

No. I shall be out of
England for several months.

I'm going to take a studio in
Paris and shut myself up...

until I finish a picture
I have in my head.

Gladys is coming over to join me later on.
May I come in for a moment?

Won't you miss your train?

It doesn't leave until 12:15,
and it's only just 11.

I was on my way to the club to look for you.
There won't be any delay about my luggage...

as I've sent on my heavy things.
All I have with me is in this bag.

Come in, or the fog will
get into the house.

I hope you're not going to
talk about anything serious.

Nothing is serious nowadays.
At least nothing should be.

What I have to say to
you is serious, Dorian.

Don't frown like that. You make
it so much more difficult for me.

I hope it's not about myself.

I'm tired of myself.

It is about yourself and
I must say it to you.

- I'll only keep you half an hour.
- You sound terrifying, Basil.

It's for your sake I'm speaking.

I think you should know the things that
are being said against you in London.

I don't want to know them.
I love scandals about other people...

but scandals about myself
don't interest me. They lack novelty.

You must be interested
in your own reputation.

Mind you, I don't believe these rumors.
I can't believe them when I see you.

There aren't any secret vices.

Such things write themselves
across a man's face.

You, with your untroubled youth...

I find it hard to credit
anything against you.

When I hear all these hideous things
that people whisper about you...

I don't know what to say.

I absolve you from the
necessity of defending me.

You can't dismiss these
charges so lightly.

Why does a man like the Duke of Harwick
leave the room of a club when you enter it?

Not because he knows anything about my life,
but because I know everything about his.

But why are your friendships
so fatal to people?

There was that wretched boy in the
Guards who committed suicide.

What about Adrian Singleton
and Lord Wayne's son?

What gentleman will be
seen with either of them?

The boy in the Guards was
so in love with a woman...

he felt he couldn't live without her.
Am I to blame for that?

Wayne's silly son marries a woman
no one will receive. Is that my fault?

Adrian Singleton writes his
friend's name across a bill.

Am I his keeper?

Still, one has a right to judge a man
by the effect he has on his friends.

Yours seem filled with an
insatiable madness for pleasure.

And when I think of how
fond Gladys is of you.

- What has Gladys to do with this?
- Nothing, I hope.

And nothing in the future,
if I can prevent it.

I'm told things it seems
impossible to doubt.

Lord Wallace was one of my
greatest friends at Oxford.

He showed me a letter that his wife had written
when she was dying in her villa at Montone.

Your name was implicated in the most
terrible confession I ever read.

I told him it was absurd...

that I knew you, and that you were
incapable of anything of the kind.

"Know." Do I know you?

Before I could answer that,
I should have to see your soul.

- To see my soul?
- Yes. To see your soul.

But only God can do that.

You shall see it yourself, tonight.

Why shouldn't you look at it?
It's your own handiwork.

You can tell the world
afterward if you like.

No one will believe you.
You've chatted enough about corruption.

Now you'll look at it.

I'll show you my soul.

I can make no sense out of
what you're saying, Dorian.

I only ask you to give me some answer
to the charges that are made against you.

Tell me they aren't true,
and I'll believe you.

Come upstairs, Basil. I keep a
diary of my life from day to day.

It never leaves the room
in which it is written.

I'll show it to you.

I don't want to read anything. All I
want is a plain answer to my question.

You'll find that upstairs.
You won't have to read long.

You're the one man in the world who's
entitled to know everything about me.

You've had more to do with
my life than you think.

You think it's only God
who sees the soul.

In spite of the indescribable
corruption of the portrait...

Basil was still able to recognize
his painting of Dorian.

It was from within apparently that
the foulness and horror came.

It was as if some moral leprosy
were eating the thing away.

He could not believe that he
had made this portrait...

yet there was his own name,
just as he had painted it.

But this is monstrous.
It's beyond nature, beyond reason.

What does it mean?

On the day you finished
this painting, I made a wish.

Perhaps you would call it a prayer.

My wish was granted.

But you told me you had
destroyed my painting.

- I was wrong. It has destroyed me.
- It has the eyes of a devil.

Each of us has heaven
and hell in him.

But if this is true, if this is what
you have done with your life...

it is far worse than anything
that's been said of you.

Do you know how to pray, Dorian?

What is it we were taught
to say in our boyhood?

Lead us not into temptation.
Forgive us our sins.

Wash away our iniquities.
Let us say them together.

- It's too late, Basil.
- The prayer of your pride was answered.

The prayer of your repentance
may be answered also.

Do you think I haven't tried?
I tell you, it's no use.

Isn't there a verse somewhere?

Though your sins be as scarlet,
yet I will make them white as snow.

Only last week, Gladys recalled
the day this painting was finished.

She remembered putting her
initial under my signature.

There it is, just as she made it.

If she could see it now.

I can still pray,
Dorian, if you can't.

Gladys must never know.

Yet sometime, somehow,
Basil might reveal his secret to her.

The one person in the world whose good
opinion was indispensable to him.

An uncontrollable feeling of
hatred for Basil came over him...

together with a terror of the
knowledge he had given him...

and the use he might make of it.

Panic seized him. He felt like a
hunted animal, cornered, desperate.

It was as if the painting had
sweated a dew of blood.

He felt that he had struck a mortal blow,
not only at his friend but at himself.

It seemed to him unbearable...

that what he had done
could never be undone.

Basil was dead.

Men were strangled in England
for what he had done.

And yet what evidence
was there against him?

Basil had left the house at 11.
No one had seen him come in again.

Most of the servants were at Selby.
His valet had gone to bed.

Paris.

It was to Paris that Basil had gone by
the midnight train as he had intended.

I'm sorry to wake you, Francis.
I forgot my latchkey.

What time is it?

- Half past 12, sir.
- Half past 12.

You must wake me at 9 in the morning.
I have some work to do.

Yes, sir.

Did anyone call this evening?

Mr. Hallward, sir. He stayed till 11
and then he went to catch his train.

He said he was leaving for Paris.

I'm sorry I didn't see him.
Did he leave any message?

He said he would write you from Paris
if he didn't find you at your club.

- Thank you, Francis.
- Is there anything more, sir?

I'm going to write a letter. I'd like
you to deliver it early in the morning.

Mr. Allen Campbell. You'll find
the address on the envelope.

Yes, sir. Good night, sir.

In the morning, when Allen Campbell
received his letter, he would come.

He would come at once.

Allen would help him. He was the
only one who could help him now.

But what if Allen Campbell
should be out of England?

Days would pass before
he could come back.

Perhaps he would refuse to come.

Mr. Allen Campbell, sir.

This is kind of you, Allen.

You said it was a matter
of life and death.

Listen to this.

I sent my Soul through the Invisible

Some letter of that
After-life to spell:

And by and by my Soul return'd to me

And answer'd "I Myself
am Heav'n and Hell:"

That's quite good, don't you think?

I didn't come here to discuss
the verses of Omar Khayyam.

No, of course not. Please sit down, Allen.
I'll tell you why I sent for you.

Allen, in a locked room
at the top of this house...

a room to which no one
but myself has access...

a dead man is lying across a table.

He's been dead for 10 hours.

Who he is, why he died, how he died,
are matters that do not concern you.

- What you must do is...
- There's no need for you to go on.

Your horrible secrets
don't interest me.

They'll have to interest you.

You are the one man
who is able to save me.

You are scientific, Allen.

I have seen your name in scientific reviews
in connection with certain experiments.

What has that to do with you?

What you have got to do is to
destroy the thing that is upstairs.

Destroy it so that
not a vestige is left.

Nobody saw this person come into
the house. He is supposed to be in Paris.

When he is missed, not a trace
of him must be found here.

You must change him and
everything that belongs to him...

including his coat and his traveling bag,
which I have locked up in this room...

into a handful of ashes.

You must be insane to suppose
I'd lift a finger to help you.

- It was suicide, Allen.
- What drove him to it?

You won't do this for me?

How can you ask me, of all men,
to mix myself up in this horror?

Allen, it was murder. I killed him.

He was responsible
for the ruin of my life.

He didn't intend it,
but the result was the same.

You are certain to be caught.

No man commits a crime without
doing something stupid.

- I'll have no part of it.
- We were friends once, Allen.

I regret that.

Don't you understand that if
you don't help me, I'm lost?

- They will hang me for what I have done.
- Let them.

- You refuse?
- Yes.

- I entreat you.
- It's useless.

I'm sorry, Allen.
You leave me no alternative.

I've written a letter. Here it is.

You see the address.

If you don't help me, I must send it.
If you don't help me, I will send it.

You know what the result will be.

The thing is quite simple, Allen.

It would kill her.

I didn't think you would want her
name involved in such a scandal.

I cannot do it.

You have no choice.

I shall have to go home and get
some things from the laboratory.

You've saved my life.

Dorian dined that evening
with Lady Narborough...

who had what Lord
Henry described as...

the remains of a really
remarkable ugliness.

You left early last night, Dorian.

Did you go straight home,
or did you go to the club?

Why are you so inquisitive, Harry?
I came in at half past 12.

If you want any corroborative
evidence, you can ask my man.

- Remember your promise, Lord Henry.
- There are two hours unaccounted for...

I suspect will bear investigation.
Or perhaps they will not.

You've hardly touched my
beautiful dinner, Lord Henry.

I believe you're in love.

I haven't been in love.
Not since Madame de Farrol left.

- Madame de Farrol?
- She's a wonderful woman.

When her third husband died,
her hair turned quite gold from grief.

What's her fourth husband like?

Husbands of beautiful women
belong to the criminal classes.

I'm not surprised that the
world says you're wicked.

What world says that, Lady Narborough?
It can only be the next world.

This world and Harry
are on excellent terms.

Everyone I know says he's wicked.

It's monstrous the way
people go about nowadays...

saying things behind one's back that
are absolutely and entirely true.

Women love us for our defects.

If we have enough of them, they'll forgive
us anything, even our intellects.

At any rate, no one'll ever persuade
me that Mr. Gray is wicked.

And I shall never forgive him
for remaining a bachelor.

Don't you think we ought
to find a wife for Mr. Gray?

I'm always telling him so.

I shall go through Debrett tonight...

and draw out a list of all
the eligible young ladies.

- With their ages?
- Only slightly edited.

I want it to be a suitable alliance.
I want you both to be happy.

I shall save you the
trouble of looking.

I have already chosen her,
if she will have me.

I don't believe it.

Gladys, darling. Will you marry me?

Of course I will, darling.

This is the only marriage
I've ever approved of.

- How exciting.
- That is a stunner.

- I'm so happy for you.
- I congratulate you both.

For months, the mysterious
disappearance of Basil Hallward...

was the sensation of London.

You don't mind if I go on
with my work while we talk?

- Not at all.
- It's a matter of some urgency.

- Tell me what you discovered in France.
- We discovered nothing, nothing at all.

We hunted up everyone even remotely
acquainted with my uncle...

but not one had seen
him or heard from him.

The Paris police don't believe
he ever arrived in France.

And here, at Scotland Yard, we're
equally convinced he did leave London.

The man in the gray ulster who boarded
the train at Victoria Station...

was undoubtedly Basil Hallward.

What are we to do now?

You're both young. I understand
you're engaged to marry.

Go on with your own lives peacefully.
Believe me, that's the best course.

I promise you, Scotland Yard
will not forget Basil Hallward.

I thought it might be good for
Gladys to go away for a while.

It would be.

I'm going to Selby tomorrow.

I've persuaded Gladys to join me
with some friends on Thursday.

Others are coming for the pheasant shooting.
We'd be delighted if you'd join us.

Oh, I'm afraid I can't get away.
But I'm glad you're going.

The diversion will do you good.

Thank you, Sir Robert.
You've been very kind.

Not at all.

Mr. Gray?

Are you acquainted with a young
man named Allen Campbell?

Why, yes. At one time
we were great friends.

It's been a long time since I've
seen him. Why do you ask?

I've just received a
very tragic notice.

This morning, Allen Campbell
died by his own hand.

- Why on earth should Allen Campbell?
- Why, indeed.

I thought you might give me a clue.
He had everything to live for.

He was just beginning to achieve
a name for himself in science.

He left no note or letter,
no explanation of any sort?

None. Whatever drove him to it,
he took the secret with him.

How little we really know of
what goes on inside a man.

Yes.

You've been sad all evening.
Is it Allen Campbell?

- Perhaps.
- I'm sorry.

Let's be married soon,
in a fortnight.

A simple wedding with
only our closest friends.

A fortnight? You call that soon?

Good night, darling.

I'll come to Selby on Thursday
afternoon with Janet.

I'll be at the station.

Allen Campbell.

Would Allen's blood be
on the painting now?

There were other roads to forgetfulness
than the one that Allen took.

- Where to, sir?
- Bluegate Fields.

Yes, sir.

One day we shall be awakened
with suffering and dismay...

to the realization that the
soul is not a superstition.

Nor the spirit of man, a material substance
that can be viewed under a microscope.

The eternal words are as true
today as when he uttered them.

What shall it profit a man
if he gain the whole world...

and lose his soul?

The soul is not an illusion.

It is a terrible reality.

It can be bought and
sold and bartered away.

It can be poisoned or made perfect.

That man, rich or poor, who has the light
of faith and charity within himself...

even though he were plunged
into the very pit of darkness...

would still enjoy the
clear light of day.

But the wretched creature whose
soul is filled with dark thoughts...

and foul deeds must
dwell in darkness.

Even though he walk under
the noonday sun...

he must carry his own vile
dungeon round with him.

What's that you're playing?

It has a name, hasn't it?

A kind of name.

It's called "Prelude."

Play something else.

Why you do not like that music?

I heard someone play
that piece before.

- Eighteen years ago.
- A woman?

Every time I get back
to London, I look for him.

"Sir Tristan," my sister called him.
Because he was like a knight.

If he was in Rangoon or
Valparaiso, I'd find him.

But in London, it's like looking
for a needle in a haystack.

I don't know his real name.

I don't even know what he looks like.

And when you find him,
what will you do?

Maybe he's dead already.
Did you think of that?

I'll keep on looking.

You're not English.

What is English?

There are men and there are women.

This is Sir Tristan, Kate darling.

I've asked you not to
call me that, Adrian.

I heard Lord Henry call you Sir Tristan,
and at the time I thought it fit.

- Why do we never see you?
- I have all I need here.

Drink and drugs and no friends.

I've had too many friends.

Oh, he's drawing a picture of you, sir.
Come and look at it.

What would you like?
A song, a poem, a painting?

I do all three surpassingly well.

It seems to me there's
something lacking.

I have it.

But grim to see

Is the gallows-tree

Goodbye, Adrian.

And, green or dry, a man must
die Before it bears its fruit!

Goodbye, Sir Tristan.

What did you call him?

Sit down.

I'll draw your picture for
the price of three drinks.

- Four drinks.
- Sir Tristan, you said.

And Sir Tristan rode forth into
the forest, seeking his only love.

He has gone to kill your friend.

Justice has come to England...

without wig or gown.

Come on, Kate.

- If it's money you want...
- I'm Sibyl Vane's brother.

- Does that mean anything to you?
- No, nothing.

Why are you called Sir Tristan?

It happens to be my name.

You're lying. Eighteen years
I've been looking for you.

How old do you think I am?

Why didn't you murder him?
They could only have hanged you for it.

He's not the man I'm looking for.
He's too young.

- How old do you think he is?
- Twenty-two, I'd say.

What are you laughing at?

Dorian Gray has looked 22
for the last 20 years.

What did you say his name was?

When a man says he's exhausted life,
you may be sure that life has exhausted him.

But in your case, this strange
impulse to be good...

is the effect of your
approaching marriage.

It will wear off in time. Do you
mind pulling down that blind?

Not at all. The truth is I want to be better.
I'm determined to be better.

At least it will be a novel sensation,
and needn't become a habit.

Marriage itself is merely
a habit, a very bad habit.

I trust it won't make you a
hopelessly reformed character.

Harry, I've been away so long.
What are people talking about in London?

They were talking about
Basil's disappearance.

But now they are completely taken
up with Allen Campbell's suicide.

- What do you think happened to Basil?
- I haven't the slightest.

I suppose in a fortnight, we shall be told
that he's been seen in San Francisco.

Everyone who disappears is said
to be seen in San Francisco.

It must be a delightful city and possess
the attractions of the next world.

He was a fine painter.
I'm certain of that.

The best thing that Basil ever did
was that wonderful portrait of you.

I remember you told me it was
stolen or destroyed or something.

What is your secret?

You don't look a day older than you
did when that portrait was painted.

Perhaps I'll tell you some day.

To get back my youth,
I'd do anything in the world...

except get up early,
take exercise or be respectable.

I sometimes think I'd give anything if I
could change and grow old like other people.

My good resolutions may
have come too late.

Though Dorian placed
guards about the estate...

the consciousness of being hunted,
snared, tracked down...

began to dominate him.

In the small hours of the night...

when every sound is seized upon
by the distraught imagination...

remorse and terror laid hold of him.

Each detail of his crimes came back to
him in nightmares with added horror...

haunting him relentlessly with
the living death of his soul.

With the day came the cruel necessity to
dissemble to Gladys and to his guests.

- Have you had good sport, Geoffrey?
- Not very good.

I think most of the birds
have gone to the open.

It may be better after lunch,
when we get to new ground.

- Don't shoot it, Geoffrey.
- Nonsense!

Good heavens, I've hit a beater.

What an idiot the man was
to get in front of the gun.

Stop shooting there. A man's hurt.

Where sir? Where is he?

Here. Why on earth don't
you keep your men back?

Spoiled my shooting for the day.

The shooting's stopped for today.
It wouldn't look well to go on.

- Is the man?
- Yes, he's dead.

He received a full
charge in his chest.

Thornton, come in.

I suppose you've come about the
unfortunate accident this morning.

Was he married? Did he have any dependents?
I'll write them any sum you think necessary.

We don't know who he is, sir. That's why
I took the liberty of coming to you.

- Wasn't he one of your men?
- No, sir. Never saw him before.

Seems like a sailor.

- A sailor.
- Looks as if he'd been a sort of sailor.

Tattooed on both arms
and that kind of thing.

Wasn't anything found on him?
Anything that would tell his name?

Some money, not much,
and a six-shooter.

No name of any kind.

Decent-looking man, sir. But rough-like.
A sort of sailor, we think.

- Where is the body?
- In an empty stable at the home farm, sir.

Show me his face.

Come in.

What is it, Dorian?

Oh, but you haven't changed.
You'll be late for dinner.

I wanted to look at you.

I know, darling. I've felt
that way so often about you.

- Goodbye, Gladys.
- Goodbye? Until half past 8.

Until half past 8.

Go on.

- Shall I go on, sir?
- Yes.

Dorian.

Dorian!

David. What brings you to Selby?
Have you seen Dorian?

Well, what is it? What's happened?

Dorian's gone to London.
Didn't you know?

David passed him on his
way from the station.

- It's strange, his rushing away.
- He looked black as thunder.

I thought he'd found out
what I've been up to.

What have you been up to, David?

You'll put it down to jealousy.
I don't deny jealousy's mixed up in it.

I had a dreadful
presentiment about you.

And when you announced the
date of your marriage, I...

I grew desperate. I wanted to
do anything to try and stop it.

What is it you've done, David?

There is a locked room at
the top of Dorian's house.

I didn't think it was
important at first.

He could have locked up anything
he wanted to keep safe...

from the servants even.

But then one of Dorian's valets
came to see me about a position.

It struck me how often
Dorian changed his servants.

This one told me that Dorian would go into
that room at all hours and lock himself in.

One night he heard a noise and went to
investigate. It was 4:00 in the morning.

Dorian came out of the room and
looked at him in the strangest way.

As if he could kill him, he said.

Then he accused him of
spying and sacked him.

I began to feel that if I
could get into that room...

I might find something that would
put a stop to this marriage.

And did you get in?

I bribed one of his servants to
get me an impression of the lock.

Here's the key.

I waited until Dorian came down here
to Selby and then I let myself in.

I know you'll despise me for stooping to
such measures, but I'm not important.

It doesn't matter what happens to
me or even what you think of me...

- ...if I can stop you from marrying him.
- What did you find in the room?

Nothing to help me, really.
It's just an old schoolroom.

And there's a huge portrait
with a covering over it.

- A portrait? Of whom?
- I don't know.

The original must be a monstrous
person, if an original exists.

It has a vague family resemblance to Dorian.
A sort of middle-aged, mad, gruesome uncle...

with a debauched face
and blood all over him.

It was painted by your uncle.

- My uncle never painted such a picture.
- He signed it.

I'd been counting so much
on finding something...

that I decided it was just
jealousy on my part...

and I'd been doing
Dorian a great injustice.

I had an impulse to come down here and
make a clean breast of it to both of you.

Give you my blessing and
ask your forgiveness.

Can you describe the
portrait in greater detail?

There's a curious cat in it.
Like the one in Dorian's drawing room.

Only in the portrait the eyes shine
in an evil way that's indescribable.

Did you notice anything
unusual about the signature?

No, I don't think so.

Now that I see you, Gladys.
I can't say what I intended to.

I'd be lying if I did.

I know this marriage is wrong.
You can't go through with it.

There's something strange
and evil in Dorian.

Was there a letter G under the
signature on that painting, David?

Like this?

I believe there was.
How did you know?

- Yes, Gibson?
- I beg your pardon, miss.

But Mr. Gray asked me to bring you this
letter when I got back from the station.

- He said I must give it to you in person.
- Thank you.

Once I said that if I
were to marry you...

it would be an incredible wickedness.

You thought it was a way of
saying that I didn't love you.

You must know that I do love you,
more than anything in the world.

But I can only bring disaster
on those who love me.

If you knew how I've already wronged you,
you would turn from me in horror.

You will never see me again.

Try to remember me, dear Gladys,
without bitterness.

This is the only good
thing I have ever done.

Won't you tell us what it is, Gladys?
Perhaps we can help you.

We must go to London at once.

Was it true that one
could never change?

He longed for the unstained
purity of his youth...

before he had prayed in a monstrous
moment of pride and passion...

that the painting should bear the burden
of the years and of his corruption.

Sibyl Vane was dead.

And now her brother would be
hidden in a nameless grave.

Allen Campbell had shot himself.

And Basil...

Nothing could alter that.

It was of the future
that he must think.

He had spared Gladys.

Would there be any sign of his
one good deed in the portrait?

It was there, almost imperceptible,
but surely it was there in the eyes...

struggling through the horror
and the loathsomeness.

There was hope for him, then.

He would go away, leave England forever,
live obscurely in a distant country...

find peace in a life of
humility and self-denial.

He would expel every sign
of evil from the painted face.

He would watch the
hideousness fade and change.

But the painting would always
be there to tempt his weakness.

Better to destroy it...

to grow old inevitably
as all men grow old.

If he fell into evil ways, to be
punished as all men are punished.

Better if each sin of his life were
to bring its sure, swift penalty.

The knife that had killed Basil Hallward
would kill his portrait also...

and free him at a stroke from the
evil enchantment of the past.

But when the knife pierced
the heart of the portrait...

an extraordinary thing happened.

Pray, Father, forgive me. Pray,
Father, forgive me for I have sinned.

Pray, Father,
forgive me for I have sinned.

Through my fault,
through my most grievous faults.

Heaven forgive me.

Take Gladys home, David.