All language subtitles for Live from the National Theatre 50 Years on Stage

So we have got two hours to show the
vast range of work that the National

has done over the last 50 years by
staging short scenes from some of

the most memorable shows and there
are more than 800 choose from. We

have got an unbelievable array of
great actors, all of them at some

point members of the National
Theatre company. And six of them

were in the first National Theatre
company that started at The Old Vic

in 1963. A small part of the show is
from the archive recently discovered

and we do not think ever seen
before. But most of it is going to

be absolutely live, live on stage
and live on television and we're not

sure anybody has ever done anything
quite like this before.

Olivier Theatre 50 Years On Stage
company. Ladies and gentlemen, this

is your beginners call, your calls
please, Miss Maxwell-Martin, Mr

Barker, Mr Jacobi, Mr Lester and Mr
Townsend. Thank you.

We are starting this evening the
same way the National Theatre

started in 1963, with the opening
scene of Hamlet where the sentries

on the battlements see the ghost of
Hamlet's father. Playing the ghost

this evening will be Sir Derek
Jacobi, who played Laertes in the

original production 50 years ago.
The first voice you will hear is

live archive recording of Richard
Hampton. Richard spoke the first

lines in the performance ever given
by the National Theatre. The rest of

the scene will be played by members
of this year's company. I am one of

them.
Who is there? Nay, answer me. Stand

and unfold yourself. Long live the
King! Barnardo? He. You come most

carefully upon your hour. 'Tis now
struck twelve. Get thee to bed,

Francisco. For this relief much
thanks. 'Tis bitter cold, And I am

sick at heart. Have you had quiet
guard? Not a mouse stirring. Well,

good night. If you do meet Horatio
and Marcellus, The rivals of my

watch, bid them make haste. I think
I hear them. Stand, ho! Who is

there? Friends to this ground. And
liegemen to the Dane. Give you good

night. O, farewell honest soldier,
who hath reliev'd you? Say, what, is

Horatio there? A piece of him.
Welcome, Horatio. Welcome, good

Marcellus. Tush, tush, 'twill not
appear. So let us once again assail

your ears, That are so fortified
against our story, What we have two

nights seen... Peace, break thee
off. Look where it comes again. In

the same figure like the King that's
dead. Thou art a scholar. Speak to

it, Horatio. Looks he not like the
King? Mark it, Horatio. Most like.

It harrows me with fear and wonder.
It would be spoke to. Question it,

Horatio. What art thou that usurp'st
this time of night, Together with

that fair and warlike form In which
the majesty of buried Denmark did

sometimes march. By heaven, I charge
thee speak. It is offended. See, it

stalks away. Stay, speak, speak, I
charge thee speak.

It was announced that he was to be
the director of the National

Theatre. He was very excited by it.
He was also very frightened. Larry

kind of works, he has an area around
him which is quite difficult to

penetrate. It got easier. It got
easier and more relaxed.

Now look here, gentlemen, he that
bids the fairest shall have me! My

dear, I'd prefer you, I'd make you a
corporal this minute! Corporal? I'll

make you my companion. You shall eat
with me! You shall drink with me!

You shall lie with me, you young
rogue. You shall receive your pay

and do no duty. Then you must make
me a field officer! I'll do more

than all this - I'll make you a
Corporal and give you brevet for

sergeant. Can you read and write,
sir? Yes. Then your business is

done. I'll make you chaplain to the
regiment.

It was an actors' theatre in that it
was run by the greatest actor we

had. Joan was very important because
she was Mrs Olivier, and she sort of

kept us all in check really.
Now tell me Mikhail Lvovich, if I

had a friend, or a younger sister,
and if you found out that she, well

- suppose she loved you, how would
you take that? I don't know. No how

I expect. I should give her to
understand that I could not care for

her, my mind was taken up with other
things. Anyway if I'm going, I

really must get off. Goodbye, my
dear girl or we shall not finish

till morning. I'll go out through
this way if you don't mind, I don't

want your uncle to detain me. No, no
don't trouble please.

My voices were right, they told me
you were fools and that I was not to

listen to your fine words...or trust
to your charity. You promised me my

life but you lied. You think that
life is nothing but not being stone

dead. It is not the bread and water
I fear. I can live on bread, when I

have asked for more? 'Tis no
hardship to drink water if the water

be clean. Bread hath no sorrow for
me, nor water no affliction. But to

shut me from the light of the sky,
and the sight of the fields and

flowers, to chain my feet so that I
can never again ride with the

soldiers or climb the hills; to make
me breathe foul damp darkness, and

keep me from everything that brings
me back to the love of God when your

wickedness and foolishness tempt me
to hate Him. All this is worse than

the furnace in the Bible that was
heated seven times. I could do

without my warhorse, I could drag
about in a skirt. I could let the

banners and the trumpets and the
knights and the soldiers pass me and

leave me behind as they leave the
other women, if only I could still

hear the wind in the trees, the
larks in the sunshine, the young

lambs crying through the healthy
frost, and the blessed blessed

church bells that send my angel
voices floating to me on the wind.

But without these things I cannot
live, and by your wanting to take

them away from me, or from any human
creature, I know that your counsel

is of the devil, and that mine is of
God.

In 1966 Kenneth Tynan, who was the
literary manager of the National

Theatre came back from the Edinburgh
Fringe Festival with a dazzling new

play which focused on two very
peripheral characters from Hamlet.

It was Tom Stoppard's first play at
the National, Rosencrantz And

Guildenstern Are Dead, in which
Hamlet's two doomed school friends

ponder The Mysteries of eternity,
chance and death.

Heads.Heads (and again). Heads.
Heads.

Yes, one must think of the future.
It's the normal thing. To have one.

One is, after all, having it all the
time. Now. And now. And now. It

could go on for ever. Well, not for
ever, I suppose. Do you ever think

of yourself as actually dead, lying
in a box with a lid on it? No. Nor

do I, really. It's silly to be
depressed by it. I mean one thinks

of it like being alive in a box, one
keeps forgetting to take into

account the fact that one is dead,
which should make a

difference,shouldn't it? I mean,
you'd never know you were in a box,

would you? It would be just like
being asleep in a box. Not that I'd

like to sleep in a box, mind you,
not without any air. You'd wake up

dead, for a start and then where
would you be? Apart from inside a

box. That's the bit I don't like,
frankly. That's why I don't think of

it. Because you'd be helpless,
wouldn't you? Stuffed in a box like

that, I mean you'd be in there for
ever. Even taking into account the

fact you're dead, really - ask
yourself, if I asked you straight

off - I'm going to stuff you in this
box now, would you rather be alive

or dead? Naturally, you'd prefer to
be alive. Life in a box is better

than no life at all. I expect. You'd
have a chance at least. You could

lie there thinking - well, at least
I'm not dead! In a minute someone's

going to bang on the lid and tell me
to come out. "Hey you, whatsyername!

Come out of there"! You don't have
to flog it to death! I wouldn't

think about it, if I were you. You'd
only get depressed. Eternity is a

terrible thought. I mean, where's it
going to end?

I don't think you're being very
kind. Oh, what makes you think that?

You being the cynical author
laughing up his sleeve at a gushing

admirer. I think you're a very
interesting woman, and extremely

nice-looking. Oh, do you? Yes. Would
you like me to make love to you? Oh,

now really, David - I wish you
wouldn't say things like that. I

know I've knocked you off your plate
- I'll look away for a minute while

you. Climb on to it again. Oh,
really this is wonderful! That's

right. Now then... Now then, what?
You're adorable - you're magnificent

- you're tawny. I'm not in the least
tawny. Now, don't argue. This is

sheer affectation. Now affectation's
very nice. No, it isn't - it's

odious. Oh, you mustn't be cross.
I'm not in the least cross. Yes, you

are - but you're very alluring.
Alluring? Terribly. How sweet of

you. I can hear your brain clicking
- it's really very funny. Yes well

that was rather rude. You've been
consistently rude to me for hours.

Never mind. Why have you? I'm always
rude to people I like. Do you like

me? Enormously. Oh, how sweet of
you! But I don't like your methods.

Methods? What methods? You're far
too pleasant to occupy yourself with

the commonplace. And you spoil
yourself by trying to be too clever.

Oh you're so inscrutable and
quizzical, just exactly what a

feminine psychologist should be.
Yes, aren't I? You frighten me

dreadfully. Oh darling! Oh, don't
call me darling. Well that's

unreasonable. You've been trying to
make me the whole evening. Your

conceit is outrageous! It's not
conceit at all! You've been firmly

buttering me up because you want a
nice little intrigue. Oh how dare

you! It's perfectly true. If it
weren't you wouldn't be so cross. I

think you are insufferable! Oh Myra
- dear Myra... Ah! Don't touch me!

Oh, come along let's have that nice
little intrigue. The only reason

I've been so annoying is that I love
to see things as they are first, and

then pretend they're what they're
not. Yes words, words. Masses and

masses of words! Yes, well, they're
great fun to play with. Oh, I'm glad

you think so. Personally, they bore
me stiff. They're great fun to play

with. I'm glad you think so.
Personally, they bore me stiff. Myra

- don't be statuesque. Yes, let go
of my hand! Oh! Oh, I am so sorry.

APPLAUSE AND CHEERING
Wedlock, we own ordained by heaven's

decree, But such as heaven ordained
it first to be: Concurring tempers

in the man and wife. As mutual helps
to draw the load of life. View all

the works of Providence above. The
stars with harmony and concord move.

View all the works of Providence
below. The fire, the water, earth,

and air we know. All in one plant
agree to make it grow. Must man, the

chiefest work of art divine, be
doomed in endless discord to repine?

No, we should injure heaven by that
surmise. Omnipotence is just, were

man but wise.
APPLAUSE

Peter Nichols' The National Health
was the first in a long of

illustrious line of what came to be
known as State of the Nation plays

at the National Theatre. A funny but
merciless parody of a sentimental TV

hospital soap is intercut with a
very realistic portrayal of a

shabby, underfunded hospital and a
hospital staff that seems intent on

doing anything but serving their
patients properly. In the second bed

from the right is Charles Kay, who
played the same role 44 years ago.

Good morning, how are you today?
GROANS. Keep smiling. You'll soon by

out of here. Good morning, how are
you today? Morning, Matron, not so

dusty, thank you. That's the style.
When you consider half my tummy's

been? Keep it up. Taken away.
GROANS. Good morning. How are you

getting along? Eh? Are they treating
you well? Not too bad. That's right.

Though I'd like to go to a toilet...
Sister. You know - toilet with a

decent chain. Get this patient a
bedpan. Bedpan for Mr Flagg. Good

morning how are you today? Lovely,
Matron. That's what we like to hear,

isn't it, Sister? Get well soon. We
need the beds.

LAUGHTER
You could have waited. What's he

brought me this for? You said you
wanted to go to the toilet. I said I

would like a toilet with a decent
chain like I have at home. Mr Flagg

don't said he was looking forward to
a toilet with a decent chain. The

Matron says do this, it's a Royal
command. I don't want the bedpan.

Come along, Mr Flagg. I have been on
duty for 29 hours.

LAUGHTER
Where's Her Majesty? On the balcony.

Who do you feel? Nurse, this patient
should have the screens round.

They're all being used. Get them in.
Coming! Shall I take you off, Mr

Flagg. I never wanted to come on
here. Now I am on, you better leave

me. Oh. Doctor. Doctor! We will
aspirate a pleural effusion. Thank

you, nurse. He should be on the
terminal ward. Ask Strr to arrange

it. I will be with the almoner if
you want me. Other way if you want

to go out. Mr Mackie to the terminal
ward. Go for a nice long ride now,

Mr Mackie. Chuff-chuff-chuff. Those
chairs are anyhow. Put them straight

Those chairs are anyhow. Put them
straight. The whole ward block is in

for a face-lift which I am sure you
will agree is long overdue. The

walls will be in washable avocado
pear, curtains and counterpanes in

Cotswold stone. High level louvres
on the windows. King's Fund beds

with slimline mattresses. Into the
jet-age with one big jump.

APPLAUSE
No Man's Land by Harold Pinter. I

remember seeing it with Gielgud and
Richardson at the Vic. Then it moved

to the South Bank. I can't remember
knowing what it was about. But it

didn't really matter. You are not
supposed to really know. It's Harold

Pinter, you just watch it. And when
they pause, is it intended? Just

long pauses, weren't there? Long
pauses. I've done many plays by

Harold. If you asked Harold what his
plays were about he wouldn't reply.

He wouldn't say, I don't know or
wouldn't say anything. Just wouldn't

speak to you. So you just get on
with it and do it. That's all. I

don't quite know what Spooner and
Hirst represent. I mean, they seem

to... Um... Be sort of
kaleidoscopic. They can be many,

many things at any time you want
them to be. One is very rich and one

is very poor. And one is a kind of
parasitic hanger-on type person. The

other is a man who is sitting there
drunk. I wish I was playing that

part! He never stops talking, your
man, does he? Unfortunately, not! I

am enraptured. Tell me more. Tell me
more about the quaint little

perversions of your life and times.
Tell me more, with all the authority

and brilliance you can muster, about
the socio-political-economic

structure of the environment in
which you attained to the age of

reason. Tell me more. There is no
more. Tell me then about your wife.

What wife? How beautiful she was,
how tender and how true. Tell me

with what speed she swung in the
air, with what velocity she came off

the wicket. Whether she was
responsive to finger spin, whether

you could bowl a shooter with her,
or an off break with a legbreak

action. In other words, did she
google?

You will not say. I will tell you
then, that my wife had everything.

Eyes, a mouth, hair, teeth,
buttocks, breasts, absolutely

everything. And legs. Which carried
her away. Carried who away? Yours or

mine? Is she here now, your wife?
Cowering in a locked room, perhaps?

Was she ever here? Was she ever
there, in your cottage? It is my

duty to tell you you have failed to
convince. I am an honest and

intelligent man. You pay me less
than my due. Are you, equally, being

fair to the lady? I begin to wonder
whether truly accurate and therefore

essentially poetic definition means
anything to you at all. I begin to

wonder whether you do in fact truly
remember her, whether you truly did

love her, truly caressed her, truly
did cradle her, truly did husband

her, falsely dreamed or did truly
adore her. I have seriously

questioned these propositions and
find them threadbare. Her eyes, I

take it, were hazel?
Hazel shit. Good lord, good lord, do

I detect a touch of the maudlin?
Hazel shit. I ask myself: Have I

ever seen hazel shit? Or hazel eyes,
for that matter? Do I detect a touch

of the hostile? Do I detect, with
respect, a touch of too many glasses

of ale followed by the great malt
which wounds? Which wounds? Tonight,

my friend, you find me in the last
lap of a race I had long forgotten

to run. A metaphor.
LAUGHTER

Things are looking up.
APPLAUSE AND CHEERING

The next playwright is Alan
Ackybourn, one of the most prolific

playwright for the National Theatre.
I can remember many, among them

Sisterly Feelings which I was in,
Way Upstream, A Chorus of

Disapproval, Small Family Business
and Bedroom Farce. He started it on

a Wednesday and finished on a
Friday. He typed it up on the

Saturday. He went into rehearsal on
the Monday. Peter asked me to write

a play specifically, I said, are you
sure you want me to write for The

National? He did a Peter-ism, he
lent forward as we were having

dinner and he said, Alan, ask
yourself, can I do without The

National Theatre? The answer is yes,
but I'll ask you another question.

Can The National Theatre do without
you? Bedroom Farce takes place in

three suburban bedrooms over 24
hours and I think probably that's

all you need to know.
A damp patch. Definitely. It's

getting in from somewhere. I've just
been standing on the spare bed in

there feeling the ceiling. The
verdict is, very very damp. Grub up.

Just a minute. It'll get cold. I've
just got to take this off. You can

do that afterwards. I'm not getting
into bed with my make-up on,

darling. It may look beautiful in
the films but they don't have to

worry about the laundry bills. Oh
well. Spot of bad news, anyway. Bad

news? Sardines were not in evidence.
I had to settle for pilchards.

Pilchards? Oh. Don't you like
pilchards? Well, not as much.

Similar. Both fish, anyway. Yes. You
had them in stock. I assumed you

liked them. I don't necessarily like
everything I buy. Those were just

stores. For an emergency. Ah, the
old siege stores, eh? I bought a

little of everything. I think
there's even some tinned red cabbage

and I certainly don't intend to eat
that. Oh well, I'll wolf the lot

then, shall I? No, no, leave me a
little. Right. Aaah. Didn't put the

blanket on, did we? Nor did we. Ah.
Down you go.

Ah, this is nice. What better way to
end the day? Listening to the rain

gushing through our roof. It's not
raining surely? Metaphorical. These

aren't bad at all. You know, I think
I could become a pilchard man. I

think we're in imminent need of a
hot water bottle here, you know. Oh

yes. Bearing in mind the normal
running temperature of your feet.

Not my fault. Most women have cold
feet. It's circulation. I wouldn't

know about that. I haven't sampled
that many. The girls at school did.

Well, not the younger ones. Younger
girls have very hot feet. Like

little boys. But when we got to the
sixth form, we all found we had cold

feet. I think it's something to do
with - maturing. Very curious. Chaps

I shared a hut with in the army all
had overwhelmingly hot feet. I can

imagine. Yes, I pronounce these
pilchards a success. Jolly good.

Right, here I come. Stand by for
cold feet.

Darling, you're getting fish on the
sheet. Oh, sorry. Now we're going to

reek of fish all night. I don't
think this was a terribly bright

idea of someone's.
Oh well. You only live once. What

the hell. Well, it's on your side.
You have to put up with it. Oh yes,

they're quite pleasant, aren't they?
Not up to sardines but not bad. They

got my vote. At least we're in for a
reasonably early night. Yes. Sunday

tomorrow, we can lie in. Go for a
walk later on if you like. That'd be

nice. If unwet. Rather. Otherwise
we'll both be crouching in the

rafters with buckets. God forbid.
That night I heard Mozart's music

for the first time. Some serenade
for wind instruments, only vaguely

at first, too horrified to attend.
But presently the sounds insisted, a

solemn Adagio in E flat. It started
simply enough... Just a pulse in the

lowest register, bassoon and basset
horn, like a rusty squeeze-box. It

would have been comic except for the
slowness which gave it instead, a

sort of serenity. And then suddenly,
high above it, sounded a single note

on the oboe. It hung there
unwavering, piercing me through,

'till breath could hold it no
longer, and a clarinet withdrew it

out of me, and softened it, and
sweetened it to a phrase of such

delight it had me trembling. The
lights flickered in the room. My

eyes clouded! The squeeze-box
groaned louder, and over it the

higher instruments wailed and
warbled, throwing lines of sound

around me, long lines of pain around
and through me, ah, the pain! Pain

as I had never known it. I called up
to my sharp old God, "What is this?

What?!" But the squeeze-box went on
and on, and the pain cut deeper into

my shaking head and suddenly I was
running, downstairs through the

side-door, out into the street, out
into the dark night, gasping for

life "What?! What is this Signore!
What is this pain? What is the need

in the sound? Forever unfulfillable
yet fulfilling him who hears it,

utterly. Is it Your need? Can it be
Yours?" Dimly the music sounded from

the salon above. Dimly the stars
shone on the empty street. I was

suddenly frightened. It seemed to me
that I had heard a voice of God, and

that it issued from a creature whose
voice I had also heard, and it was

the voice of an obscene child.
APPLAUSE Would any of you gentlemen

like to testify? Detroit. We'll hear
testimony from? Brother

Nicely-Nicely Johnson. Brother
Nicely-Nicely Johnson. Get up you

fat water buffalo. Well it er,
happened to me kinda funny, like in

a dream. Tell us in your own words.
I dreamed last night I got on the

boat to Heaven,.And by some chance I
had brought my dice along. And there

I stood, and I hollered, "Someone
fade me". But the passengers they

knew right from wrong. For the
people all said, Sit down, sit down

you're rockin' the boat. People all
said, Sit down, sit down you're

rockin' the boat. And the devil will
drag you under By the sharp lapel of

your checkered coat; Sit down, sit
down, sit down, sit down. Sit down

you're rocking the boat. I sailed.
Away on that little boat to Heaven.

And by some chance found a bottle in
my fist,.And there I stood, Nicely

passin' out the whiskey, But the
passengers were bound to resist For

the people all said, "Beware!"
People all said, "beware, beware!

You're on a heavenly trip". People
all said, "beware"! Beware you'll

scuttle the ship; And the devil will
drag you under By the fancy tie

'round your wicked throat; Sit down.
Sit down, sit down, sit down, Sit

down you're rockin' the boat. And
as? I laughed at those passengers to

Heaven. Ah, ah, ah, ah! A great big
wave came and washed me

overboard,.And as I sank, and I
hollered, "Someone save me," That's

the moment I woke up, thank the
Lord! Thank the Lord, thank the

Lord! And I said to myself, "Sit
down". "Sit down you're rocking the

boat." Said to myself, "Sit down".
And the devil will drag you under.

With a soul so heavy you'd never
float. Sit down, sit down, sit down,

sit down, Sit down you're rockin'
the boat. Sit down you're rockin'.

Sit down sit down sit down you're
rockin' the boat. Sit down.

And I said to myself, "Sit down".
"Sit down you're rocking the boat."

And the devil will drag you under.
Sit down, sit down, sit down, sit

down, Sit down you're rockin' the
boat. Sit down you're rockin'. Sit

down. You're rockin'. The boat!
I never saw Pravda at the National

Theatre but I remember it was
Anthony Hopkins at the centre of

this new play. Everybody was talking
about this extraordinary

performance. I suppose if I had seen
it I would not be comfortable about

putting myself in the firing line
for this! The play is about a

newspaper magnate from South Africa
who comes to England and starts to

take over various important British
newspapers. It is supposedly based

on a famous newspaper magnate, we
can all guess who. He runs, takes

over like a beast takes over the
rather genteel and slightly

ineffectual British press.
You are born into a tragic culture.

Tragedy is bred in your bones. A
country of almost impossible beauty.

From the very moment you are born,
the sadness infects you. Like a mist

hanging over the veldt. Jackal,
giraffe, hyena, lion - the well-nigh

unimaginable richness of creation is
presented to you every day from the

window of your speeding car in
scenes of almost post-card-like

glamour. Nature is there. In front
of you. Childhood, boyhood, manhood.

These are special things in South
Africa. The hardening of muscle, the

sprouting of hair. The coming
realisation you are born into a

divided culture. No one has tried
harder than I through my

organisations to untie the knots of
the cultural contradictions. Black,

white, rich, poor, us, them, but
people who come from Europe bearing

si police -- simplistic solutions
ignore the scale of what we have

inherited from Mother Nature
herself.

What I do is a natural thing. There
is nothing unnatural about making

money. When you are born where I was
born you do have a feeling for

nature. What I admire about nature
is animals, birds, plants, they f

ucking get on with it and don't
stand about complaining all the

time. We are greatly interested in
your mother's share holdings in the

Victory. The Daily Victory?
Acquiring it. I know what you will

tell me. The Daily Victory is one
small part of your country you all

say will never be for sale. An
Everest of probity, unscaleable. An

institution like Buckingham Palace,
the Tower of London and your two

Houses of Parliament and as dismal
and dreary a read as it is possible

for humanity to contrive It's true,
it isn't very good. Your mother owns

21% of the shares. I don't
understand, if you want to acquire

stock talk to her. It's often hard
to speak clearly with Dame Elsa.

She's often inaccessible. Her mind
is often inaccessible. Her mind is

often drifting between one thing and
another. Incoherent. Senile. I

gather from what you are saying you
have already offered for her shares?

Dame Elsa seems not to realise the
potential of her shareholdings. God,

is there nowhere to sit down? Dame
Elsa's stock and we own 53% of the

shares. Control. Can you just buy a
piece of England? You are South

African. We have the England cricket
Captain. There are trustees with a

veto, do you suppose they will let
you in What if they did and you are

the man that helped me. You are a
Member of Parliament. Some backbench

lobbying. The right word here and
there. You've not much to lose. If

we are to succeed a friendly victory
will assist your career. I see. As a

politician. Not even a politician,
no longer a politician. With The

Daily Victory behind you, a
statesman. Get him a seat. The press

and politicians, it's a delicate
relationship.

LAUGHTER
Too close and danger ensues and too

far apart, democracy itself cannot
function. There must be an essential

exchange of information. Creative
leaks, a discreet lunch. Interchange

in the lobby, the art of the
unattributable telephone call late

at night, a source close to the
Prime Minister, meaning the Prime

Minister. Yes. This mutual
relationship is a good thing, and if

it can be made concrete, formalised
by an actual commercial arrangement,

if I, for instance, were to offer
you my private skill and influence,

and in return you were to guarantee
me access to your newspapers, if the

channels of free expression were to
be... Channelled in my direction, if

Man Of Steel were to be a regular
feature, a column, written by

myself, by me, then democracy would
be safeguarded. And we would have a

very satisfactory deal.
What the lock is happening? What is

going on here? Christ, I never met
such a load of locking shit. It's

shit! It's locking rubbish! What do
you do? Home affairs, Sir. Where are

you? How much have we spent? 150,000
How much does that leave in the

fund? 350,000. You're fired. Who
wrote this article on Central

American politics? Who is it? Is it
anybody here. Put your hand up. Sack

yourself, please. Spare me the
embarrassment no gringo should have

to read this kind of stuff. Where
are you going? I am going to the

lavatory. Use the public toilet.
You're fired. Where are you? Have I

fired you? No, Sir. Then get over
there. Get over that side. All the

ones I haven't fired are over that
side. Don't confuse me. Where is

marketing? They are the worst. Who
is this communistic propaganda? All

the advertising people must go.
Don't even let them take a pencil

with them. Search them. I am deputy
editor. I have been holding the

fort. I trust you find everything to
your satisfaction. What is your

name? Cliveden Whicker-Baskett. In
South Africa there are no men called

Whicker-Baskett. The name is totally
unknown. Who is this? That's Mack

Wellington, the drama critic.
Whipper Wellington, he has just been

to a lunchtime theatre. What sort of
criteria do you use in your reviews?

Is it more important the play
flatters your personal prejudices or

do you make a genuine attempt at
objectivity? Oh, God! Did I sack

you? No Doesn't make any difference
I am sacking you now. Everyone,

let's get the news on the street.
APPLAUSE

I feel very stubborn. I am going to
sit it out until that bloody

building is alive. I do enjoy a good
fight, if I believe it's worth

fighting and I am sure I am an
adrenalin addict. I like that.

APPLAUSE
I dream'd there was an Emperor

Antony: O, such another sleep, that
I might see but such another man! If

it might please ye,- His face was as
the heavens; and therein stuck a sun

and moon, which kept their course,
and lighted the little O, the earth.

Most sovereign creature... His legs
bestrid the ocean: his rear'd arm

crested the world: his voice was
propertied as all the tuned spheres,

and that to friends; But when he
meant to quail and shake the orb, he

was as rattling thunder. For his
bounty, there was no winter in't; an

autumn 'twas that grew the more by
reaping: his delights were

dolphin-like; they show'd his back
above the element they lived in: in

his livery walk'd crowns and
crownets; realms and islands were As

plates dropp'd from his pocket.
Cleopatra! Think you there was, or

might be, such a man as this I
dream'd of? Gentle madam, no. You

lie, up to the hearing of the gods.
But if there be, nor ever were one

such, It's past the size of
dreaming.

APPLAUSE
The luckiest thing that happened to

me when I was running The National
Theatre, that I received a play from

an American friend and it was a play
that had never been performed in

America and I started to read it.
After I got to page three I realised

I had to put this play on. It was a
play about living with Aids, about

American politics, about religion.
It was about sex, love, and death.

Which, after all, is the stuff of
all good drama. It was called Angels

In America.
Poor Louis. I'm sorry your grandma

is dead. Tiny little coffin, huh?
Sorry I didn't introduce you to - I

always get so closety at these
family things. Butch. You get butch.

"Hi Cousin. Doris, you don't
remember me I'm Lou, Rachel's boy."

Lou, not Louis, because if you say
Louis they'll hear the sibillant S.

I don't have a... I don't blame you,
hiding. Bloodlines. Jewish curses

are the worst. I personally would
dissolve if anyone ever looked me in

the eye and said "Feh." Fortunately
WASPS don't say "Feh." Oh and by the

way, darling, cousin Doris is a
dyke. No. Really? You don't notice

anything. If I hadn't spent the last
four years fellating you I'd swear

you were straight. You're in a pissy
mood. Cat still missing? Not a

furball in sight. It's your fault.
It is? I warned you, Louis. Names

are important. Call an animal Little
Sheba and you can't expect it to

stick around. Besides, it's a dog's
name. I wanted a dog in the first

place, not a cat. He sprayed my
books. He was a female cat. Cats are

stupid, high-strung predators.
Babylonians sealed them up in

bricks. Dogs have brains. Cats have
intuition. A sharp dog is as smart

as a really dull two-year-old child.
Cats know when something's wrong.

Only if you stop feeding them. They
know. That's why Sheba left. Because

she knew. Knew what? I did my best
Shirley Booth this morning, floppy

slippers, housecoat. Curlers, can of
Little Friskies; Come back, Little

Sheba, come back - to no avail. Le
chat, elle ne reviendra jamais,

jamais...
See. That's just a burst blood

vessel. Not according to the best
medical authorities. What? Tell me.

KS, baby. Lesion number one. The
wine-dark kiss of the angel of

death. Oh please... I'm a
lesionnaire. The Foreign Lesion. The

American Lesion. Lesionnaire's
disease. Stop. My troubles are

lesion. Will you stop. Don't you
think I'm handling this well? I'm

going to die. Bullshit. Let go of my
arm. No. I can't find a way to spare

you baby. No wall like the wall of
hard scientific fact. K.S. Wham.

Bang your head on that. Lock you.
Lock you, lock you, lock you. Now

that's what I like to hear. A mature
reaction. Let's go see if the cat's

come home. Louis? When did you find
this? I couldn't tell you. Why? I

was scared, Lou. Of what? That
you'll leave me. Oh.

Bad timing, funeral and all, but I
figured as long as we're on the

subject of death... I have to go
bury my grandma. Lou? Then you'll

come home? Then I'll come home.
I do the wrong, and first begin to

brawl. The secret mischiefs that I
set abroach I lay unto the grievous

charge of others. Clarence, whom I
have indeed cast in darkness, I do

beweep to many simple gulls. Namely,
to Stanley, Hastings, Buckingham.

And tell them this the queen and her
allies that stir the king against

the Duke my brother. Now, they
believe it; and withal whet me To be

revenged on Rivers, Dorset, Grey:
But then I sigh; and, with a piece

of scripture, tell them God bids us
do good for evil: And thus I clothe

my naked villany in old odd ends
stolen forth of holy writ; And seem

a saint, when most I play the devil.
My first job at the National was

selling ice creams and caring
tickets as a 19-year-old usher. But

I was in the audience when David
Hare wrote his great trilogy in

which he examines Britain through
the prism of three of its great

institutions: The church, the law
and Westminster. Absence Of War

examines the Labour Party as its
volatile leader fights are doomed

campaign.
Now, let's change the subject

entirely, Mr Jones. The policies
themselves. And how they change.

Let's look at mortgage tax relief.
Ah yes. Yes, of course. There is no

mention in your manifesto of any
plan to abolish this concession. No.

No we have none. And yet my
understanding is, until very

recently you were determined to
abolish it. Abolish it? No, that is

absolutely not true. You see I've
been told, on very good authority,

plans to abolish it were there. They
were in the draft manifesto. Then at

the last minute they were removed. I
don't think so. On November 14th, on

your instructions, a whole paragraph
was specifically removed. No, I

don't think you'll find that is so.
You mean you're denying it? You're

denying this proposition was
removed? On mortgage tax relief, it

was never my intention-.you ask me,
I tell you, I want to be clear?. The

truth now, Mr Jones-. This proposal
was never to appear in the final

manifesto. Ah good yes, now, now
we're making some headway, so now

you admit it was there for a time.
Well? So who took it out? That is my

question. Did you or did you not
take it out? I did not. Really?

Really? That's not what I've been
told. Are you calling me a liar? I'm

calling you nothing. That is for the
public to decide. Thank you, Mr

Jones.
Walk me away, just walk me away from

him - All right, George. What the
hell's going on? How did he know?

Somebody told him. You tell me, who
told him? Who bloody told him? Wait,

wait a moment. Whoever told him is
going to have to face me. George, Mr

Frank would like to say goodnight to
you. George, no, George, you're not

making this worse. George, oh
George, I don't believe it. It's

already started, the phones are
ringing out there. How could you? He

rattled me! How could you do that? I
know. You've handed them their

issue. LABOUR'S SECRET PLAN TO RAISE
TAX. You've handed them their

headlines. I know that. Are you
calling me a liar? They're all going

to use it. Every one! They're going
to go for you. He sets the trap and

you walk right in. Oliver. Now
everyone hold on, let's stop for a

moment. I gave you the cards, it was
on the cards I bloody gave you, be

careful, it said, watch for it,
watch for mortgage tax relief. All

right. But oh no! You're too vain to
do your bloody homework. Oliver. Of

course you're standing round wasting
time with these bloody girls. You,

you're listening to goo-eyed bloody
Mary, all these women surrounding

you telling you how marvellous you
are. Do you not get it? Will you

never get it? Giggling with girls
who are in love with you. That isn't

the job. That's not the bloody job,
you idiot. Come on, George, come on,

get off him! Get off him! Come on,
gentlemen, let's calm this thing

down.
Feel my belly. It humbles, sir. I

had a pair at supper. Two pairs,
sir. I will try a Fat.

It is hopeless. Lady Townsend came
to see me this evening. She wanted

to know if she could sit during the
drawing room. Sit, what for? She is

about to give birth. It is only for
two hours. If everybody who is

having a baby wants to sit, then it
will be everybody with gout and

before long the place will look like
a Turkish harem.

Arcadia is widely regarded as Tom
Stoppard's masterpiece. It explores

things like maths, physics, literary
criticism, the nature of truth, the

impossibility of knowledge,
horticulture, the cosmos, the

behavioural patterns of tortoises.
We probably cannot get that into

three minutes but here Hannah, a
best selling novelist, a

mathematician and Bernard, literary
critic, determined to find traces of

Lord Byron wherever he looks,
crossed swords over the nature of

truth.
Last paragraph, if we seek the

occasion of Ezra Chater's early and
recorded death, do we need to look

far? Without question, Lord Byron in
the early season as a literary

figure, quit the country and stayed
abroad for two years at a time when

continental travel was unusual and
dangerous. If we seek his reason, do

we need to look far? Bollocks. I
think it is true. Byron had been

banging on about leaving. He was
talking back living in February.

Geller macro everything moved more
slowly than. He was two weeks in

Falmouth waiting for wind. Bernard,
as a scientist, your theory is

incomplete. I am not a scientist.
But as a scientist. Nobody would

kill a man and then pan his book. I
mean, not in that order. It is all

trivial. What is? Who wrote what
went. Did you say trivial? It is

eight technical term. Not where I
come from. The questions you ask are

not important. It does not matter.
What matters is the calculus,

scientific progress, knowledge.
Really? Why? Why what is? Why does

scientific progress matter more than
personality? Remap is he serious?

No, it is trivial. You're going to
zap me with penicillin. Spare me

that. Do not confuse progress with
respectability. A great poet is

always timely. A great philosopher
is an urgent need. There is no rush

for Isaac Newton. We were perfectly
happy with Aristotle's cosmos and

personally, I preferred it. 55 years
linked to God's crankshaft is a

satisfying universe. I cannot think
of anything more trivial than the

speed of light. Black holes, who
gives a shit? Why did these people

con us out of money will stop are
you against penicillin? I would push

the lot of you over a cliff, except
the one in the wheelchair will start

that would lose the sympathy vote
before you had a chance to think it

through.
This unwieldy sceptre from my hand.

With mine own tears are awash away
my balm. With mine own hands, I give

away my crown. With mine own
tongue, deny my secret.

The reason why the seven stars are
in reason. Monster ingratitude. If

you were not my uncle I would have
the beaten.

Isn't it rich?
Are we a pair?

Me here at last on the ground, You
in mid-air.

Send in the clowns.
Isn't it bliss?

Don't you approve? One who keeps
tearing around.

One who can't move.
Where are the clowns? Send in the

clowns.
Just when I'd stopped opening doors.

Finally knowing the one that I
wanted was yours. Making my entrance

again with my usual flair. Sure of
my lines, no one is there.

Don't you love farce? My fault I
fear.

I thought that you'd want what I
want.

Sorry, my dear. But where are the
clowns?

There ought to be clowns. Don't
bother, they're here.

Desiree, I'm sorry. I should never
have come. To flirt with rescue when

one has no intention of being saved.
Do try to forgive me.

Isn't it rich?
Isn't it queer?

Losing my timing this late in my
career.

And where are the clowns?
There ought to be clowns.

Well, maybe next year.
The medieval Mystery Plays were

written over 500 years ago and they
were created by ordinary men and

women and the plays basically tell
the story of the creation, the fall

and the redemption of man. Thou must
be slayed... The poet Tony Harrison

adapted The Mysteries. Bill Bryden's
original production took all of the

seats out of the Cottesloe Theatre
and his actors playing Yorkshire

working people were able to mix with
the audience and it was a profoundly

religious experience, whether you
were a believer or not.

Lully lullay thou little tiny child
Bye, bye lully lullay. Lully lullay

thou little tiny child Bye, bye
lully lullay.

Hail, comely and clean! Hail, young
child! Hail, maker, as I mean, of

maiden so mild! Thou has confounded,
I ween, the Warlock so wild: The

false bringer of teen, now goes he
beguiled. Lo, merry he is! Lo, he

laughs, my sweeting! Ah! A very fair
meeting! I have held to my telling:

Have a bob of cherries. Hail,
sovereign saviour, for thou hast us

sought! Hail, nurseling and flower,
that all thing has wrought! Hail,

full of favour, that make all out of
nought! Hail! I kneel and I cower. A

bird have I brought To my bairn.
Hail, little tiny mop! Of our creed

thou art crop: I would drink of thy
cup, Little day-starne. Hail, little

darling dear, full of Godhead! I
pray thee be near when that I have

need. Hail, sweet in thy cheer! My
heart will bleed To see thee sit

here in so poor a weed, With no
pennies. Hail! Put forth thy dall. I

bring thee but a ball: Have and play
thee withall, And go to the tennis.

The father of heaven, God
omnipotent, That set all in days

seven, his son has he sent. My name
could he namen, and on me his light

spent! I conceived him full even by
God's might as he meant; And now is

he born. May he keep you from woe! I
shall pray him so. Tell forth as ye

go, And mind on this morn.
I hope without dread today To see

that child and his array. But,
methinks, lords, by my fay The star

it standeth still. Whom seek ye,
sirs, by ways so wild, With talking,

travelling to and fro? Here dwells a
woman with her child And her

husband; here are no mo. We seek a
bairn that all shall shield; His

certain sign has said us so; And his
mother, a maiden mild, Here hope we

now to find them two. Come near,
good sirs, and see. Your way to an

end is brought. Me beseemeth by this
place That little treasure his

mother has. Therefore to help her in
this case Gold present shall I. And

I will offer through God's grace
Incense that noble savour has. Stink

of the stable it shall make pass
Where they both lie. And myrrh is

best my offering to be To anoint
him, as thinks me, The baby's

members, head and knee, Yea, all his
bright body.

Shepherds arise be not afraid, With
hasty steps prepare.

To David's city, sing on earth. With
our blessed infant there.

With our blessed infant there.
With our blessed infant there.

Sing, sing all earth. Sing, sing all
earth Eternal praises sing. To our

redeemer. To our redeemer. And our
heavenly king.

Sing, sing all earth. Sing, sing all
earth. Eternal praises sing. To our

redeemer.
To our redeemer, And our heavenly

king.
APPLAUSE AND CHEERING

I have of late - but wherefore I
know not - lost all my mirth,

forgone all custom of exercises. And
indeed it goes so heavily with my

disposition that this goodly frame,
the earth, seems to me a sterile

promontory. This most excellent
canopy, the air. Look you, this

brave o'erhanging firmament, this
majestical roof fretted with golden

fire, why, it appears no other thing
to me than a foul and pestilent

congregation of vapours. What a
piece of work is a man! How noble in

reason! How infinite in faculty! In
form and moving how express and

admirable! In action, how like an
angel! In apprehension, how like a

god! And yet, to me, what is this
quintessence of dust? Man delights

not me.
APPLAUSE AND CHEERING

The Allied troops were closing in;
there was nothing more we could do.

Elisabeth and the children had taken
refuge in a village in Bavaria, so I

went to see them before I was
captured. Out of Wurttemberg, down

through the Swabian Jura and the
first foothills of the Alps. Across

my ruined homeland. Was this what
I'd chosen for it? This endless

rubble? This perpetual smoke in the
sky? These hungry faces? Was this my

doing? And all the desperate people
on the roads. The most desperate of

all were the SS. Bands of fanatics
with nothing left to lose, roaming

around shooting deserters out of
hand, hanging them from roadside

trees.
The second night, and suddenly there

it is - the terrible familiar black
tunic emerging from the twilight in

front of me. On his lips as I stop -
the one terrible familiar word.

"Deserter," he says. He sounds as
exhausted as I am. I give him the

travel order I've written for
myself. But there's hardly enough

light in the sky to read by, and
he's too weary to bother. He begins

to open his holster instead. He's
going to shoot me because it's

simply less labour.
And suddenly I'm thinking very

quickly and clearly. What comes into
my mind this time is the pack of

American cigarettes I've got in my
pocket. And already it's in my hand

- I'm holding it out to him. The
most desperate solution to a problem

yet. I wait while he stands there
looking at it, trying to make it

out. Trying to think. His left hand
holding my useless piece of paper,

his right on the fastening of the
holster. There are two simple words

in large print on the pack: Lucky
Strike. He closes the holster, and

takes the cigarettes instead. It had
worked, it had worked! Like all the

other solutions to all the other
problems. For 20 cigarettes he let

me live. And on I went. Three days
and three nights. Past the weeping

children, the lost and hungry
children, drafted to fight, then

abandoned by their commanders. Past
the starving slave-labourers walking

home to France, to Poland, to
Estonia. Through Gammertingen and

Biberach and Memmingen. Mindelheim,
Kaufbeuren, and Schingau. Across my

beloved homeland. My ruined and
dishonoured and beloved homeland.

APPLAUSE AND CHEERING
A kind of artificial barrier had

grown up that musical theatre is
something where you kind of check in

your brain at the cloakroom, and I
do not think that is the case. I

have never thought that is the case.
I have never seen that there should

be any particular division. I think
the National Theatre is very well

served by doing the whole spectrum.
The rain in Spain stays mainly in

the plain. I can't. I'm so tired.
I'm so tired. Oh, for God's sake,

Higgins. It must be three o'clock in
the morning. Do be reasonable. I am

always reasonable. Eliza, if I can
go on with a blistering headache,

you can. I've got a headache,
an'all. Here. Eliza, I know you're

tired. I know your head aches. I
know your nerves are as raw as meat

in a butcher's window. But think
what you're trying to accomplish.

Think what you're dealing with. The
majesty and grandeur of the English

language. It's the greatest
possession we have. The noblest

sentiments that ever flowed in the
hearts of men are contained in its

extraordinary, imaginative, and
musical mixtures of sounds. That's

what you've set yourself to conquer,
Eliza. And conquer it you will. Now,

try it again.
The rain in Spain stays mainly in

the plain. What was that? The rain
in Spain stays mainly in the plain.

Again. The rain in Spain stays
mainly in the plain. I think she's

got it! I think she's got it! # The
rain in Spain stays mainly in the

plain. By George, she's got it! By
George, she's got it! Now once

again, where does it rain? On the
plain! On the plain! And where's the

soggy plain? In Spain! In Spain! The
rain in Spain stays mainly in the

plain!
# The rain in Spain stays mainly in

the plain! In Hertford, Hereford,
and Hampshire? Hurricanes hardly

happen. How kind of you to let me
come!

Now once again, where does it rain?
On the plain! On the plain! And

where's that blasted plain? In
Spain! In Spain! The rain in Spain

stays mainly in the plain!
# The rain in Spain stays mainly in

the plain!
You were a wonderful lover. Such a

wonderful person to go to bed with,
and I think mostly because you were

really indifferent to it, isn't that
right?

Never had any anxiety about it. Did
it naturally, easily, slowly, with

absolute confidence and perfect
calm, more like opening a door for a

lady or seating her at a table than
giving expression to any longing for

her. Your indifference made you
wonderful at lovemaking, strange,

but true. You know, if I thought you
would never, never, never make love

to me again, I would go downstairs
to the kitchen and pick out the

longest and sharpest knife I could
find and stick it straight into my

heart. I swear that I would. But one
thing I don't have is the charm of

the defeated, my hat is still in the
ring, and I am determined to win!

What is the victory of a Cat On A
Hot Tin Roof? I wish I knew. Just

staying on it, I guess, as long as
she can.

Christine. Yes. Must be near
daybreak, isn't it? Yes. It is

beginning to get grey. What made you
jump when I spoke? Is my voice so

strange to you? I thought you were
asleep. I haven't been able to

sleep. I've been lying here
thinking. What makes you so uneasy?

I haven't been able to sleep either.
You crept out of bed so quietly. I

didn't want to wake you. Couldn't
you bear it - lying close to me? I

didn't want to disturb you by
tossing. We'd better light the light

and talk a while. I don't want to
talk! I prefer the dark. I want to

see you. You like the dark where you
can't see your old man of a husband,

is that it? I wish you wouldn't talk
like that, Ezra. If you are going to

say stupid things, I'll go in my own
room. Wait! Don't go. I don't want

to be alone. You have always been
bitter. Before we married? I don't

remember. You don't want to remember
you ever loved me! I don't want to

talk of the past! I feel strange,
Christine. You mean...your heart?

You don't think you're going to be
taken ill, do you? No! Is that what

you're waiting for? Is that why you
were so willing to give yourself

tonight? Were you hoping? Ezra! Stop
talking like that! Wait! I'm sorry I

said that. It isn't my heart. It's
something uneasy troubling my mind -

as if something in me was listening,
watching, waiting for something to

happen. Waiting for what to happen?
I don't know. This house is not my

house. This is not my room nor my
bed. They are empty - waiting for

someone to move in! And you are not
my wife! You are waiting for

something. What would I be waiting
for? For death - to set you free!

Leave me alone! Stop nagging at me
with your crazy suspicions! Not your

wife! You acted as if I were your
wife - your property - not so long

ago! Your body? What are bodies to
me? I've seen too many rotting in

the sun to make grass greener! Ashes
to ashes, dirt to dirt! Is that your

notion of love? Do you think I
married a body? Look out, Ezra! I

won't stand - And I had hoped my
homecoming would mark a new

beginning - new love between us! By
God, I'm an old fool! Did you think

you could make me weak - make me
forget all the years? Oh no, Ezra!

It's too late! You want the truth?
You've guessed it! You've used me,

you've given me children, but I've
never once been yours! I never could

be! And whose fault is it? I loved
you when I married you! I wanted to

give myself! But you made me so I
couldn't give! You filled me with

disgust! You say that to me! You
wanted the truth and you're going to

hear it now! Be quiet, Christine!
I've lied about everything! I lied

about Adam! It was I he came to see!
I made him come! You dared! You!

Yes, I dared! And all my trips to
New York weren't to visit Father but

to be with Adam! He's gentle and
tender, he's everything you're never

been. He's what I've longed for all
these years with you - a lover! I

love him! So now you know the truth!
You - you whore. I'll kill you! Ah!

Quick, medicine! Where is your
medicine? On the stand! Hurry! Wait.

I have it now. Here. Now drink.
This street is what the media have

dubbed murder mile due to the high
number of shootings. It is the world

I have decided to set my playing,
Elmina's Kitchen. Ash, do you read?

They make all the good books into
films. You are reading self-help

manuals. Reading is for whites? I
try to open my mind to different

things, what is wrong with that?
What you are saying is there is

nothing wrong with education? Happy
birthday, old man. Thank you. Why

did I find all your college books in
the rubbish? Why are your books in

the bin, Ashley? I put them there.
Don't be rude. I do not have time

for college. What do you have time
for? Garage raise? You wanted to --

you wanted me to take days off to
help with locking food. Yellow macro

don't swear at me. You want to keep
serving plantain burgers, good luck

to you. You would like me to punch
your lights out so you could walk

the streets and say, I told you my
dad were in no punk. Why would I say

that? I could take you the hell out.
You are joking, you cannot touch

me. How do you think you are going
to live good? Man lives how he can.

Put your hand on me now! Put your
hand on the! Get off! You know I

read one of those white books the
other day. The true -- truth is man

is a product of his environment. I
am trying to change shit around

here. It is a dark place which goes
nowhere.

This is my Jerry Springer moment.
Jerry Springer. Jerry Springer. I

don't want this moment to die.So dip
me in Choclate and Throw me to the

Lesbians. I don't want this moment
to die. Die, die, die die, die, die.

Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,
and welcome to the show. Jerry,

Jerry! Go Jerry go! Jerry Jerry!
Jerry Jerry! Go Jerry go!

Jerry Jerry!
Jerry Jerry!

Please give a special welcome to my
guests tonight. They've come a long

way to be with us, so please show
some respect. Bring on the losers.

Bring 'em on, bring 'em on. Bring on
the losers. Tonight all my guests

have guilty secrets. So, Dwight,
what's your story? I been seein'

someone else. I been seein' Someone
else. I been seein' Seein' someone.

I been seein' Your best friend. What
the lock? What the lock? What the

locking locking lock? Peaches, you
seem surprised. Lock. Okay, so next

up is Chucky.
It says here your wife wants to be a

pole dancer.
What ya got to say to that? All

women are whores. Whores or sluts or
prostitutes. He don't know shit. He

just a piece of... Shut it. Shut it.
Slut! Whatever. Well, let's see her

dance. We got a pole, we got some
music. So Shawntel, let's see your

moves. Dance dance dance dance. I
don't give a lock no more. If people

think I am a whore. I just wanna
dance. Oh, I just wanna dance.

Things are going bad for me. I am
feeling sad for me. So I just wanna

dance. Oh, I just wanna dance.
I'm tired of laughing and I'm tired

of crying. I'm tired of failing and
I'm tired of all this trying. I

wanna do some living cause I've done
enough dying.

I just wanna dance.
I just wanna locking dance.

Tired of laughing. She's tired of
crying. She's tired of failing and

she's tired of all this trying. She
wants to do some living 'cos she's

done enough dying. She just wants to
dance. She just wants to locking

dance. Dance. Dance, dance, dance.
Seeing someone else All women are

whores! Dance! Dance! Take care of
yourselves and each other. Dance!

APPLAUSE AND CHEERING
Baghdad tonight, the 19th evening of

air strikes. Very shortly after the
invasion of Iraq in 2003 I asked

David Hare to come up with a
response and Stuff Happens was the

play he wrote. Freedom's untidy and
free people are free to make

mistakes and commit crimes and do
bad things. Stuff happens. It was

based on public records and
eyewitness accounts and only moved

into areas of speculation when the
conversations that it was

reconstructing were necessarily
secret. It included nothing that was

known to be untrue, it blamed
nobody, and it mocked nobody. And it

left the audience to make up its own
mind, which it doubtless did.

My concern is this, Tony. At this
moment, just at this very moment, I

am finding the subject of Iraq seems
to be moving up the agenda. That's

clear. It's moving up all the time.
Since 9/11 I am getting a strong

feeling this is something we can't
leave alone. Saddam has to be dealt

with. My view is we're moving into a
second phase. We did Afghanistan.

Now we move on. The second phase.
How do you feel about that, Tony?

How do you feel about a second
phase? I agree with the idea. Good,

good. There's no question of leaving
him alone. He's been left alone for

far too long. This is a guy who
gassed his own people. Quite. Quite.

You and I want the same things. I am
sure we do. The only discussion is

going to be about method. Back at
home, you probably know, you

probably heard, you've been taking
soundings of your own? Yes. I am

going through one of those periods.
You haven't had one yet when

political problems come together.
Can you give me an example? Well,

for example, it sounds silly, but
fox-hunting.

LAUGHTER
Also something called Railtrack. Is

that a company... You really don't
want to know. My point is this, I am

in rough water. There is an
accumulation, foreign and domestic,

first term is easy, George. 146 MPs
have already signed what we call an

early day motion. It's a kind of
warning. And 130 of them are in my

own party. They're expressing their
opposition to British support for a

US-led war on Iraq. The phrase
they're using is deep unease. Deep

unease. Now, you and I know we're
way ahead of ourselves. Way ahead.

Any war, any conceivable war is a
long way off. It isn't going to

happen tomorrow. Not tomorrow, no.
It's an option. That's what it is,

an option. To I have to give you my
judgment. Please, I welcome your

judgment. In the event of
considering armed action against

Iraq, the British Parliament and I
would say still more the British

people won't go along without UN
support. From the British point of

view this has to be approached in a
certain way. On Afghanistan you had

a coalition, there were tensions,
definite tensions, but we agreed on

the aim. So it is here. Say more. I
have an Attorney skaf General who is

advising me that any invasion of
Iraq without UN support is going to

be in breach of international law.
Is that what he says? That's it.

That's what he says. In fact, he
says more than that. Do I know this

guy? You don't. Tell me what he
says. What he says is this - even

with UN support, any invasion may
still be illegal unless we can

demonstrate that the threat to
British national security from Iraq

is what he calls real and imminent.
I see. I see. That's putting the bar

quite high. Yes, it's high.
APPLAUSE AND CHEERING

Ou voudriez-vous travailler cet
apres-midi? Dans un garage. Non,

non. Pas encore. Ayez pitie de nous.
Dakin. Ou voudriez-vous travailler

aujourd'hui? Je voudrais
travailler?dans une maison de passe.

Oo-la-la. Qu'est ce que c'est?
Qu'est ce qu'une maison de passe? A

brothel. He would like to work in a
brothel. Tres bien. Mais une maison

de passe ou tous les clients
utilisent le subjonctif ou le

conditionnel, oui? Voila. Deja un
client! Qui est la femme de chambre?

Moi. Je suis la femme de chambre.
Comment appelez vous? Je m'appelle

Simone. Simone, le monsieur ne peut
pas attendre. Bonjour, monsieur.

Bonjour, cherie. Entrez, s'il vous
plait. Voila votre lit et voici

votre prostituee. Oh. Ici on appelle
un chat un chat. Merci, madame.

Madmoiselle. Je veux m'etendre sur
le lit. Je voudrais...I would like

to stretch out on the bed in the
conditional or the subjunctive.

Continuez mes enfants. Mais les
chaussures, monsieur, pas sur le

lit. Excusez-moi, Madmoiselle. Et
votre pantalons, s'il vous plait.

Oh! Quelles belles jambes! Watch it.
Et maintenant...Claudine Oui, la

prostituee, s'il vous plait.
Monsieur, je pensais que vous

voudriez des preliminaires? Quels
preliminaires? Claudine. Quel

preliminaires sont sur le menu? A
quel prix? Dix francs. Dix francs?

Pour dix francs je peux vous montrer
ma prodigieuse poitrine. Et

maintenant, pourrais-je caresser la
poitrine? ca vous couterait quinze

francs. Pour vingt francs vous
pouvez poser votre bouche sur ma

poitrine en agitant? En agitant
quoi? Un autre client.

Ah, cher Monsieur le Directeur, Mr
Hector what on earth is happening?

L'Anglais, c'est interdit. Ici on ne
parle que Francais, en accordant une

importance particuliere au
subjonctif. Oh, ah. Et qu'est ce-que

se passe ici? Pourquoi cet garcon?..
Dakin, isn't it?...est sans ses?.

Trousers? Quelqu'un? Ne soit pas
timide. Dites a cher Monsieur le

Directeur ce que nous faisons.
Dakin? Je suis un homme qui? Vous

n'etes pas un homme. Vous etes un
soldat?un soldat blesse, vous

comprenez, cher Monsieur le
Directeur?soldat blesse? Wounded

soldier, of course, yes. Ici c'est
un hopital en Belgique. Beligique?

Pourquoi Belgique? ? Ypres, sir.
Ypres. Pendant la Guerre Mondiale

Numero Un. C'est ca. Dakin est un
soldat blesse, un mutile de guerre

et les autres sont des medecins,
infirmieres et tout le personnel

d'un grand etablissement medical et
therapeutique. Continuez, mes

enfants.
Il est commotionne, peut etre?

Comment? Commotionne. Shell-shocked.
C'est possible. Commotionne. Oui,

c'est le mot juste. Permettez-moi
d'introduire M. Irwin, notre nouveau

professeur. Enough of this
silliness. Not silliness, no?but?Mr

Hector you are aware that these
pupils are Oxbridge candidates. Are

they? Nobody has told me. Mr Irwin
will be coaching them but it's a

question of time. I have found him
three lessons a week and I was

wondering? No, Headmaster. Purely on
a temporary basis. It will be the

last time, I promise. Last time was
the last time also. I am thinking of

the boys. I, too. Non. Absolument
non. Non. Non. Non. C'est hors de

question. Et puis, si vous voulez
m'excuser, je dois continuer le

lecon. A tout a l'heures. Lock.
And I'll wager a hat full of guineas

against all of the songs you can
sing; that some day you'll love and

the next day you'll lose and winter
will turn into spring And the snow

falls the wind calls.
And the year turns round again. And

like Barleycorn who rose from the
grave, a new year will rise up

again.
But there will come a time of great

plenty. A time of good harvest and
sun. Till then put your trust in

tomorrow, my friend for yesterday's
over and done. Ploughed, sown,

reaped and mown.
And the year turns round again. Get

off. You silly donkey.
And like Barleycorn who rose from

the grave a new year will rise up
again.

Which one? Which hand? Which hand is
it? There! Good boy. Good boy.

Hello? What's that? What's that,
then? Do that again! Whey up, boy!

And whey up, boy! Yes! Yes! And whey
up, boy!

Phoebe arise. A gleam in her eyes.
And the year turns round again.

And like Barleycorn who rose from
the grave, a new year will rise up

again. Good boy, Joe.
I am going to find out who killed

Wellington. Someone killed her dog?
With a fork. Jesus Christ! A garden

fork. Ah. I like maths and also I
like outer space and I like being on

my own.
I can create...people. You make

sport with my life! In the cause of
science! This is your universe,

Frankenstein!
You need to love! Oh! Oh?! You need

to understand what it is to love!
You carry on about the future and

the great bright world, but you are
scared to love. You are horrified by

people in all their failings and
this, this purity that you seek is a

fear of life! What? What is she
saying? You are not higher than

love, you are not higher than love!
You are retarded! That's not a beard

it's fungus! Is there hair down
there? Or is it all shrunken like a

mossy statue of some baby man? Is
there anything male about you? This

is horrible! Is there a man down
there at all? How old are you and

not to have had a lover? This is
horrible! I can't...I will leave!

You're a virgin at your age?!
Oh sweet Susie you'll see what

you've done, you played in Maddy's
arms sweet game and now you've won.

I've got two jobs, how did that
happen? You got to concentrate ain't

ya, with two jobs. I can do it, long
as I don't get confused. But I get

confused easily. I don't get
confused that easily. Yes I do. I'm

my own worst enemy. Stop being
negative. I'm not being negative.

I'm being realistic. I'll screw it
up. I always do. Who screws it up?

You, you're the role model for
village idiots everywhere. Me?!

You're nothing without me. You're
the cock up! Don't call me a cock

up, you cock up! You slapped me!?
Yeah, I did. And I'm glad I did.

That hurt. Good. You started it.
Get off! Come here! Get off! Come

here! Get off! Get off! No, you
wouldn't dare! Wouldn't I? !

London Road is about a real
community in Ipswich that came

together and healed itself after a
series of murders. It was created

from a series of interviews that I
did with real people from that

community, and Adam Cork set some of
those interviews to music by

following the real speech patterns
of those people. I've got nearly 17

hanging baskets, in this back
garden.

I've got nearly 17 hanging baskets,
in this back garden.

And it was a bit of a crazy
experiment.

I've got nearly 17 hanging baskets
in this back garden. Believe it or

not. Begonias and petunias and
inpatients and things. Marigolds,

petunias. We've got busy Lizzie 's
and geraniums. There's all sorts in

that basket anyway. Petunias in a
basket. Hanging basket. And some

fuchsia. There is a special name. I
just called them lilies. They are a

lily type, there is a special name,
and for the first time this year

I've got a couple of... Baskets.
Begonias and petunias and inpatients

and things. The going ears and
petunias... We've got busy Lizzie

's.
Hanging baskets, variegated ivy in

there which makes a nice show. And
then you've got these... Sky-blue

whatever they are. That's a
little... Purple one. Rhubarb. The

old-fashioned Margarets. The
daisies. The roses have done pretty

well this year. She gave us an extra
point for having basil on the

windowsill, didn't she? Hanging
baskets. Variegated ivy in their

makes a nice show. The old-fashioned
Margarets, the daisies. I've got

nearly 17 hanging baskets.
Begonias and petunias and things.

Begonias. And petunias. And things.
Inpatients and things.

O monstrous! Monstrous! Nay, this
was but his dream. But this denoted

a foregone conclusion. 'Tis a shrewd
suspicion, though it be but a dream.

And this may help to thicken other
proofs that do demonstrate thinly.

I'll tear her all to pieces. Nay,
but be wise: yet we see nothing

done; She may be honest yet.
Tell me but this, have you not

sometimes seen a handkerchief
spotted with strawberries in your

wife's hand? I gave her such a one;
'twas my first gift. I know not

that; but such a handkerchief - I am
sure it was your wife's - did I

today see Cassio wipe his beard
with. If it be that... If it be

that, or any that was hers, it
speaks against her with the other

proofs. O, that the slave had 40,000
lives! One is too poor, too weak for

my revenge. Now do I see 'tis true.
Look here, Iago; all my fond love

thus do I blow to heaven. 'Tis gone.
Arise, black vengeance, from thy

hollow cell! Yield up, O love, thy
crown and hearted throne to

tyrannous hate! Swell, bosom, with
thy fraught, For 'tis of aspics'

tongues! Yet be content. O, blood,
blood, blood! Patience, I say; your

mind perhaps may change. Never,
Iago: Like to the Pontic sea, whose

icy current and compulsive course
ne'er feels retiring ebb, but keeps

due on to the Propontic and the
Hellespont. Even so my bloody

thoughts, with violent pace, shall
ne'er look back, ne'er ebb to humble

love, till that a capable and wide
revenge swallow them up. Now, by

yond marble heaven, in the due
reverence of a sacred vow I here

engage my words. Do not rise yet.
Witness, you ever-burning lights

above, you elements that clip us
round about, witness that here Iago

doth give up the execution of his
wit, hands, heart, to wrong'd

Othello's service! Let him command.
And to obey shall be in me remorse,

what bloody business ever. I greet
thy love, not with vain thanks, but

with acceptance bounteous. And will
upon the instant put thee to't:

Within these three days let me hear
thee say That Cassio's not alive. My

friend is dead; 'tis done at your
request: But let her live. Damn her,

lewd minx! O, damn her! Come, go
with me apart; I will withdraw, to

furnish me with some swift means of
death for the fair devil. Now art

thou my lieutenant. I am your own
forever.

Actors. I never get used to them.
They are frightened. But then

everybody is frightened. To act is
to be frightened. When I used to do

it I was always frightened. Throw up
before every performance. White --

you were an actor? What happened?
Nothing, that is the trouble. Actors

are like soldiers. The soldiers fear
the enemy, the actors fear the

audience. Fear of failing. Fear of
forgetting. Fear of art. Olivier

ended up terrified. If you sat on
the front row you could see him

trembling. And besides all that,
there is the fear of this building.

I worked once or twice with Ronald
Eyre, Ron, not Richard. A difficult

man but like all the best directors
and ex-schoolmaster. He was here not

long after it opened. The opening
was, of course, disastrous. Ron said

they should have moved out
straightaway, gone back to the old

Vic and rented the place out. Made
the Olivier into a skating rink. The

Cottesloe billiard hall and the
Lyttelton, boxing. Then after 20 odd

years of ordinary unpretentious
entertainment, when it is shabby and

rundown and being purged of
culture, and all the pretension had

long since been beaten out of it,
then with no fanfare at all, they

should sneak back with the
occasional play. And nobody need be

frightened any more. Except, of
course, the actors. He was wrong

though, Ron. Because what's has
knocked the corners of the place,

taken the shine off it, made it
dingy and unintimidating our plays.

Plays plump, plays paltry, plays
preposterous, plays purgatorial.

Plays radiant, plays rotten, but
plays assistant. -- persistent.

Plays, plays, plays. A word or two
before you go, I have done the

stakes on service... Tonight I heard
Mozart's music for the first time,

some Serenade for wind it
instruments. When he met at Quail

and shake... Pretend they are what
they are not. Words, words, words,

masses of words.
APPLAUSE. CHEERING AND APPLAUSE.