Great Performances

Next on "Great Performances"... London's National Theatre celebrates 50 extraordinary years as one of the world's most influential centers for groundbreaking theater.er. Words. Masses and masses of words.

MAN

Yes, well, they're great fun to play with. I am glad you think so. Personally, they bore me stiff. From its founding in 1963 under the legendary Laurence Olivier, the National Theatre has brought more than 800 productions to life, starring a veritable who's who of the British stage. Don't you approve One who keeps tearing around One who can't move Join Maggie Smith... Ralph Fiennes... Judi Dench... Benedict Cumberbatch... Helen Mirren... Derek Jacobi... Penelope Wilton, and many more, for "The

National Theatre

50 Years On Stage." "Great Performances" is brought to you by... So we've 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's more than 800 to choose from. We've 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 don't 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's ever done anything quite like this before.

WOMAN ON P.A.

"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're 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... All right, Matt....who played Laertes in the original production 50 years ago. The first voice you will hear is a live archive recording of Richard Hampton. Richard spoke the first lines in the first performance ever given by the National Theatre. The rest of the scene will be played by members of this year's company. I'm one of them.

Wind whistling, distant drumbeats

HAMPTON (BERNARDO)

Who's there?!

FRANCISCO

Nay, answer me. Stand and unfold yourself.

BERNARDO

Long live the King!

FRANCISCO

Bernardo?

BERNARDO

He.

FRANCISCO

You come most carefully upon your hour.

BERNARDO

'Tis now struck twelve. Get thee to bed, Francisco.

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 to 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. Farewell, honest soldier; who hath reliev'd you? Bernardo hath my place. Give you good night. Holla, Bernardo! Say, what, is Horatio there? A piece of him. Welcome, Horatio. Welcome, good Marcellus. What, has this thing appear'd again tonight? I have seen nothing. Tush, tush, 'twill not appear. Horatio says 'tis but our fantasy and will not let belief take hold of him. 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.

MARCELLUS

Thou art a scholar. Speak to it, Horatio.

BERNARDO

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

HORATIO

Most like. It harrows me with fear and wonder.

BERNARDO

It would be spoke to.

MARCELLUS

Question it, Horatio.

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!

MARCELLUS

It is offended.

BERNARDO

See, it stalks away.

HORATIO

Stay, speak, speak! I charge thee, speak!

JOAN PLOWRIGHT

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.

MAGGIE SMITH

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. Look here, gentlemen; he that bids me fairest shall have me! My dear, I'd prefer you; I'd make you a corporal this minute! A 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.

PLOWRIGHT

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

SMITH

Joan was very important because she was Mrs. Olivier, and she sort of kept us all in check, really. Tell me, Mikhail Lvovich. Hmm? If I had a friend, or a younger sister, and if you found out that s-she... well... suppose she loved you... How would you take that?

Sighs

SMITH

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, 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 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 from me 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 knightsghts 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.

CUMBERBATCH

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. Heads. Heads! One should think of the future. It's the normal thing. To have one. One is, after all, having one all the time. Now. And now. And now. It could go on forever. Well, not forever, I suppose. Do you ever think of yourself as actually being dead, lying in a box with a lid on it? No. Nor do I... really. It's silly to get 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, 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 talk about it. Because you'd be helpless, wouldn't you? Stuffed in a box like that. I mean, you'd be in there forever. Even taking into account the fact you're dead. I mean, really, ask yourself. If I was to ask you straight out, "I'm going to stuff you in this box now; would you rather be alive or dead?" Naturally, you'd prefer to be alive. Because 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! Any minute, someone's gonna bang on the lid and tell me to come out." 'Oi! You, what's-yer-name! Come out of there!' You don't have to flog it to death!

Rosencrantz sighs

CUMBERBATCH

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?

Applause

CUMBERBATCH

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? Now, really, David, I wish you wouldn't say things like that. I've knocked you off your plate. I'll look away a minute while you climb back on 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. -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.

DAVID

Yes, well, that was rather rude. You have 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. Thank you. Anyhow, I don't know what you mean by the commonplace. -You want me to explain? -Not at all. -Very well; I will. -I shan't listen. You'll pretend not to, but you'll hear every word really. 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. 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 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! They're great fun to play with. I am glad you think so. Personally, they bore me stiff. Myra, don't be statuesque. -Yes, let go of my hand! -You're charming. -Let go of my hand! -I won't! -You will! -Ohh! Oh, I'm so sorry!

Applause

DAVID

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, water, earth, 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

JACOBI

"No Man's Land" by Harold Pinter. I remember seeing it. -Yeah, I saw it. -With Gielgud and Richardson.

At the Vic. GAMBON

At the Old Vic.

JACOBI

And then it...

GAMBON

Moved to the South Bank.

JACOBI

I can't remember knowing what it was about, but I sat there in awe and wonder. It didn't really matter, did it? You're not supposed to really know. It's Harold Pinter, so you just watch it. And there are laughs in it. And when they pause, have they dried or is it intended? There were just long pauses, weren't there? Yes, long pauses.

GAMBON

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 anything. He just wouldn't speak to you. He'd say, "Just get on with it and do it, that's all."

Laughter

JACOBI

I don't quite know what Spooner and Hirst represent. I mean, they seem to, uh... 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. One is a kind of parasitic "hanger-on-er" type person, isn't he?

GAMBON

Yes. The other's a man who's done it all and is sitting there drunk. I wish I was playing that part! But 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 shall 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? Hmm? 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, truly did love her, truly caressed her, truly did cradle her, truly did husband her, falsely dreamed or did truly love her. I have seriously questioned these propositions and I find them threadbare. Her eyes, I take it, were hazel? Hazel

bleep

GAMBON

! Good Lord! Good Lord! Do I detect a touch of the maudlin? Hazel

bleep

GAMBON

? I ask myself, have I ever seen hazel

bleep

GAMBON

? 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. Things are looking up.

Applause

GAMBON

The next playwright is Alan Ayckbourn, one of the most prolific playwrights for the National Theatre. I can remember many -- among them "Sisterly Feelings," which I was in, "Way Upstream," "A Chorus of Disapproval," "A Small Family Business" and "Bedroom Farce." He started it on a Wednesday, he finished it on a Friday, he typed it up on the Saturday and he went into rehearsal on the Monday.

AYCKBOURN

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 leant 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?"

WILTON

"Bedroom Farce" takes pl 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." Ah. 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 films, but they don't have to worry about the laundry bills. Oh, well. Oh, 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.

Chuckles

WILTON

Right. I'll wolf the lot then, shall I? No, no, no! Leave me a little. Oh, right.

Clears throat

WILTON

Aaah. Didn't put the blanket on, did we? Nor did we. Ah. Ah. Ahhh. Woooh. 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? Oh... Metaphorical. These are not bad at all. You know, I think I could become a pilchard man in time. 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. It's not my fault. Most women have cold feet. It's circulation. I wouldn't know about that. I haven't sampled that many. All the girls at school had cold feet. Well, not the younger ones. The younger girls had very hot feet -- like little boys -- but when we got into the sixth form, we all found we had cold feet. Something to do with... maturing. Very curious. Chaps I shared a hut with in the army all had overwhelmingly hot feet -- Ohh! I can imagine. Yes... I pronounce these pilchards a success. Jolly good. Well, here I come. Stand by for cold feet. Oooh! Oooh! Oh, darling, you're getting fish all over 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 somebody's. Oh, well. You only live once. What the hell. Well, it's on your side. You'll have to put up with it. Mmm! Yes, 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. Oh, God forbid.

Mozart Requiem plays

WILTON

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 sound insisted -- a solemn adagio in E-flat. It started simply enough...

Adagio plays

WILTON

...just a pulse in the lowest register. Bassoon and basset horn, like a rusty squeezebox. 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 an 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 squeezebox 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 squeezebox 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 and 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

WILTON

Which of you gentlemen would like to testify? Detroit. We'll hear testimony from Brother Nicely-Nicely Johnson. Brother Nicely-Nicely Johnson. Get up, you fat water buffalo.

Applause

WILTON

Well, uh, it happened to me kinda funny, like in a dream. Tell us in your own words.

Bell chimes

WILTON

I dreamed last night I got on a boat to Heaven And by some chance I had brought my dice along And there I stood And I hollered, "Someone fade me..." Ahhhh! 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 passing out the whiskey... But the passengers were bound To resist For the people all said, "Beware!" People all said, "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 Ohhhh And as I laughed at those passengers to Heaven Ooh, bah, ooh, bah! Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-haaaa! 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" "Sit down, you're rocking the boat" And the devil will drag you under With a soul so heavy you'll 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, you're rockin', sit down, sit down Sit down, you're rockin' the boat Sit down You're rockin' the boat!

Cheering and applause

WILTON

And I said to myself, "Sit down" "Sit down, you're rocking the boat" Said to myself, "Sit down" "Sit down, you're rocking the boat" And the devil will drag you under Yes, 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, sit down, sit down You're rockin' the boat Whoa-oh-oh-oh Sit down You're rocking the boat!

Applause

WILTON

I never saw "Pravda" at the National Theatre.. but I remember it was Anthony Hopkins at the center of this new play, jointly written by David Hare and Howard Brenton, and everyone was talking about this extraordinary performance of Hopkins, so I suppose, if I had seen it, I wouldn't 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's 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 that 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 realization that you are born into a divided culture. No one has tried harder than I have through my organizations to untie the knots of the cultural contradictions -- black, white; rich, poor; us, them -- but people who come from Europe bearing simplistic solutions ignore the grandeur, 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 get on with it and don't stand about complaining all the time.

Audience laughs

WILTON

We are greatly interested in your mother's shareholdings in the Victory. The Daily Victory!? Acquiring it. Oh, I know what you will tell me. The Daily Victory is one small part of your country that you all say will never be for sale. An Everest of probity. Unscalable. The only newspaper with England on its masthead. 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, go and talk to her. It is often hard to speak clearly with Dame Elsa. She is often inaccessible. Her mind is often inaccessible. Her mind is often drifting between one thing and another. Incoherent. Senile. I gather from what you're saying you've already offered for her shares. Yes. Dame Elsa seems not to realize the potential of her shareholdings. Oh, 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're South African. We have the England cricket captain. That's right. Just like that? There are trustees. With a veto on ownership. Do you suppose they'd ever let you in? But what if they did? And you were the man who had helped me? You're a member of Parliament -- some backbench lobbying? The right word here and there? You've not much to lose. And if we 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. Too close, and danger ensues. 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, formalized 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... channeled in my direction, if "Man Of Steel" were to become a regular feature, a column, written by myself, by me... then democracy would be safeguarded. And we would have a very... very satisfactory deal.

Applause

WILTON

What the

bleep

WILTON

is happening? What the

bleep

WILTON

is going on here? Christ, I've never read such a load of...! It's...! It's...! What a load of...! God, who writes this...rubbish? You! What do you do? Home Affairs, sir. Eaton? Where are you? How much have we spent? 150,000. How much does that leave in the firing fund? 350,000. -You're fired. -Upstairs! 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. -You. Where are you going? -I'm going to the lavatory. Use the public toilet. You're fired. The accountant's on the fourth floor. -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. Have a cup of coffee. Ah! Aha! Where is marketing? They are the worst. What is this slogan? "The Victory Is Yours?" What does it mean? What is this, communistic propaganda? All the advertising people must go. Don't even let them take a pencil with them! Search them! Let them go out naked! Excuse me, sir. I am Deputy Editor. I've been holding the fort. I trust you find everything to your satisfaction. And what is your name? My name is Cliveden Whicker-Baskett. In South Africa there are no men called Whicker-Baskett. The name is totally unknown. And who is this? Oh. That's Mack Wellington, the drama critic. "Whipper" Wellington. He's just been to a lunch-time theatre. What sort of criteria do you use in your reviews? Is it more important that the play flatters your personal prejudices, or do you make a genuine attempt at objectivity? Oh, God! Whicker-Baskett, did I sack you? -Oh. No. -Doesn't make any difference. I'm sacking you now. Right, everyone. Let's get the news on the street.

Applause

WILTON

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, indeed, have cast in darkness, I do beweep to many simple gulls. Namely, to Stanley, Hastings, Buckingham. And tell them 'tis 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 villainy in odd old ends stolen forth of holy writ; and seem a saint... when most I play the devil.

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 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

that grew the more by reaping

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 3, I realized 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, and it was called "Angels in America."

Birds singing

that grew the more by reaping

Poor Louis. I'm sorry your grandma is dead. Tiny little coffin, huh? Sorry I didn't introduce you to my -- I 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 sssibilant S. -I don't have -- -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 been

bleep

that grew the more by reaping

you for the last four years, 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 there's something 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. K.S., 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?! -I'm handling this well. I'm going to die. 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.

Bleep

that grew the more by reaping

you!

Bleep

that grew the more by reaping

you!

Bleep

that grew the more by reaping

you!

Bleep

that grew the more by reaping

you! That's what I like to hear, a mature reaction. Come on, 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. Feel my belly. It rumbles, sir. I et a pear at supper. Two pears, sir. It is as tight as a drum. Tsk-tsk-tsk! Saving your presence, I will try a fart.

QUEEN

No? It's hopeless. Lady Townshend came to see me this evening. Yes? Wanted to know if she could sit during the drawing room. Sit? What on earth for? She is about to give birth. Yes, well, you've given birth 15 times. Yes, but I do sit. Yes, but there's nothing wrong with standing. It's only two hours. What did you say? -Told her she should stand. -Yes, quite right. If everybody having a baby wants to sit, the next thing it'll be everybody with gout, and before long the place'll look like a Turkish harem, what, what?

Applause

"Send in the Clowns" plays

QUEEN

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 And 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 you've 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

Applause

QUEEN

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 nothing to me but a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours. What a piece of work is a man! How noble in reason! How infinite in faculties! 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

QUEEN

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 to 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, 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 undo his holster instead. He's going to shoot me because it's simply less labor. 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 twenty cigarettes he let me live. And on I went. For 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- laborers walking home to France, to Poland, to Estonia. Through Gammertingen and Biberach and Memmingen. Mindelheim, Kaufbeuren, and Schongau. Across my beloved homeland. My ruined and dishonored and beloved homeland.

Applause

QUEEN

Oklahoma Where the wind comes sweeping down the plain A kind of artificial barrier had grown up that musical theater is something where you kind of check in your brain at the cloak room, and I don't think that's the case; I'd never thought that's the case. I've never seen that there should be any particular division. We know we belong to the land And the land we belong to is grand! Yippeee, yippeee Yippeee, yippeee Yippeee, yippeee yaaaa I think a national theater 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's 3

00 in the morning. Do be reasonable. I'm 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 the 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 mixture 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.

HIGGINS

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 that soggy plain? In Spain! In Spain! The rain in Spain stays mainly in the plain! Ha ha! The rain in Spain Stays mainly in the plain! In Hertford, Hereford, and Hampshire... Hurricanes hardly happen

Tapping "How Kind of You to Let Me Come"

HIGGINS

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! Whoo-hooo! Whooo! Whoooo! Eliza! Toro! Toro!

Shrieks

HIGGINS

iOle!

Applause

HIGGINS

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.

Applause

HIGGINS

Christine. Yes. Must be near daybreak, isn't it? Yes. It's 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 just didn't want to disturb you by tossing. We'd better light the light and talk awhile. 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 say things like that, Ezra. If you're gonna say stupid things, I'm going in my room. Wait! Don't go. I don't want to be alone. I didn't mean to say those things. I guess there's bitterness inside me. Hmph. You've always been bitter. Before we married? I don't remember. You don't want to remember you ever loved me! I just don't want to talk of the past! I feel... strange, Christine. Is it 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 -- Stop talking like that, Ezra! If you're going to talk like that, I'm going in my own room. Wait! I'm sorry I said that. It isn't my heart. It's something uneasy troubling my mind, as if something inside 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're empty, waiting for someone to move in! And you are not my wife! You're 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 can't stand -- 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 those years? No, Ezra! It's too late! You want the truth? Well, you've guessed it! Oh, yes, you've used me, you've given me children, but I've never once been yours! How could I be! And whose fault is that? I loved you when I married you! I wanted to give myself! But you, you... you made me so I couldn't give! You filled me with disgust! You say that to me?! You want the truth, well, you're gonna 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? You dared?! 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 I've ever longed for. He's what I wanted all those years with you -- a lover! I love him! So now you know the truth! You...you... whore! I'll kill you! Aaah!

Groaning

HIGGINS

Quick! My medicine! Where is your medicine? On the stand! Hurry! Wait. I have it.

Ezra groaning

HIGGINS

Here.

Groaning

HIGGINS

Here! Now drink. That is not my medicine!

Applause

HIGGINS

Baghdad tonight, the nineteenth 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.

RUMSFELD

Freedom's untidy, and free people are free to make mistakes and commit crimes and do bad things. Stuff happens.

HYTNER

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'm 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've been getting a very strong feeling that 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. And 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'm sure we do. The only discussion is going to be about method, because, well, back at home, you probably know, you've probably heard -- you've been taking soundings of your own? Matter of fact, yes. It's true, I'm 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... I know it sounds silly, but foxhunting. Also, there's something called Railtrack? -Is that a railroad company? -You really don't want to know. My point is this... I'm in rough water. There's an accumulation, foreign and domestic. A 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 U.S.-led war on Iraq. The phrase they're using is "deep unease." Deep unease. Huh. 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. It's an option. But I have to give you my judgement. Please. I welcome your judgement. In the event of your 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 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 the threat to British national security from Iraq is what he calls "real and imminent." I see. I see. That's... that's putting the bar quite high. Yeah. It's high.

Applause

Tell me what he says. -What he says is this

Ou voudriez-vous travailler cet aprs-midi?

Sigh

Tell me what he says. -What he says is this

Dans un garage?

BOYS

Non, non. Pas encore. Ayez piti 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? A brothel. He would like to work in a brothel.

Laughter

BOYS

Trs bien. Mais une maison de passe ou tous les clients utilisent le subjonctif ou le conditionnel.

Knock on door

BOYS

Voil. Dj un client! Qui est la femme de chambre? Moi. Je suis la femme de chambre. Comment appelez-vous? Je m'appelle Simone.

Knock on door

BOYS

Simone! Simone, le monsieur ne peut pas attendre. Oh, bonjour, monsieur. Bonjour, chrie. Entrez, s'il vous plat. Voil votre lit... et voici votre prostitue. Ici on appelle un chat un chat. Merci, madame. Mademoiselle. Je veux m'tendre sur le lit. "Je voudrais..." Oh, just lie on the bed in the subjunctive! Mais les chaussures, monsieur, pas sur le lit. Excusez-moi, Mademoiselle. Excusez-moi. Et votre pantalon, s'il vous plat.

Laughter

BOYS

Oh! Quelles belles jambes! Watch it. Et maintenant, Claudine. Oui, la prostitue, s'il vous plat.

Wolf whistles

BOYS

Monsieur, je pensais que vous voudriez des prliminaires? Quels prliminaires? Claudine. Quels prliminaires 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? Non! Ca vous couterait quinze francs. Pour vingt francs, vous pouvez poser votre bouche sur ma poitrine en agitant... En agitant quoi?

Knock on door

BOYS

Un autre client.

Bleep

HECTOR

Cher Monsieur le Directeur! Mr. Hector, what on earth is happening? L'anglais, c'est interdit. Ici on ne parle que franais, en accordant une importance particulire au subjonctif. Oh. Uh... Et qu'est-ce que se passe ici? Pourquoi ce garon... uh, Dakin, isn't it?...est sans ses... trousers? Quelqu'un? Ne soit pas timide. Dites Monsieur le Directeur ce que nous faisons. Dakin? Je suis un homme qui...? Vous n'tes pas un homme. Vous tes un soldat... un soldat bless, un soldat bless, Monsieur le Directeur. Wounded soldier? Yes, of course. Ici... c'est un hpital en Belgique. Belgique? Pourquoi Belgique? -A Ypres, sir. -Ypres? Ypres. Pendant la Guerre Mondiale Numro Un.

BOYS

Ypres! C'est a. Dakin est un soldat bless, un mutil de guerre, et tous les autres sont des mdecins, infirmires, et tout le personnel d'un grand tablissement mdical et thrapeutique. Continuez, mes enfants.

HEADMASTER

Mais...

Boys moaning, wailing

HEADMASTER

Qu'il souffre! -Ma mre! Ma mre! -Il appelle sa mre. -Mon pre! -Il appelle son pre. Ma tante! Sa tante?

TIMMS

La famille entire!

HECTOR

Il est distrait. Distrait.

IRWIN

Il est commotionn, peut-tre?

HECTOR

Comment? Il est commotionn. Shell-shocked. C'est possible. Commotionn. Oui, c'est le mot juste. Permettez-moi d'introduire Monsieur Irwin, notre nouveau professeur. Enchant. Ce que je veux... Veuille...veu...ille... Enough of this silliness! Not silliness, no. 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've found him three lessons a week, but I was wondering... No, Headmaster. Surely on a temporary basis. It will be the last time. I promise. Last time was the last time also. I'm thinking of the boys! I, too. Non. C'est hors de question. Non, non, non. Absolument non. Et puis, si vous me permeter, je dois continuer la leon. A tout l'heure.

Bleep

Bell rings

Applause

Owl call

HECTOR

I'll wager a hat full of guineas

Owl call

HECTOR

Against all the songs you can sing

Owl call

HECTOR

That someday you'll love And the next day you'll lose And winter Will turn into spring Pfffft! Good boy, Joey! And the snow Falls The wind calls The year turns round again Good boy, Joey! And like Barleycorn who rose from the grave Oi! Come here, you! A new year will rise up again And 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... Oi! Get off, you! You silly donkey! Pfffft! The year turns round again And like Barleycorn Who rose from the grave A new year will rise up again All right, Joey, you think you know everything, do you? Come on, then, boy. Which hand's it in? Ohh! Good boy, Joey! Good boy!

Joey whinnies

HECTOR

Hello? What was that? Do that again! Come on. Way up, boy! Way up, boy! Yes!

Joey whinnies

HECTOR

Good boy, Joey! Good boy! Easy, Joey! Easy! That's it! And...way up, boy!

Whinnies

HECTOR

Yes! Good boy, Joey! Good boy! Easy, Joey, easy. Let's go again. Come on, Joe! And way up! Phoebe arise

Neighing

HECTOR

A gleam in her eyes And the year turns round again And like Barleycorn Who rose from the grave Joey, are you ready for a ride? A new year will rise up again That's it, Joe! Come on, boy! Good boy, Joey! Whoo-hoooo! Whooo!

Applause

HECTOR

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! Y-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 you seek is a fear of life! -Of love! -Whaaat? What is she saying? 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? -I will leave! -You're a virgin at your age?! This is horrible!

Door slams

HECTOR

Oh, sweet Suzy, you see what you've done You played him at his own sweet game and won

Applause

HECTOR

I've got two jobs. How did that happen? You got to concentrate, ain't ya, with two jobs. I mean, I can do it, as long as I don't get confused. But I do 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 you call me a cock-up, you cock-up!

Gasps

HECTOR

You slapped me!? Yes, I did. And I'm glad I did because -- Oh-oh! That hurt. Good! 'cause you started it. Aaaaah! Get off! Kill ya! Get off! Kill ya! Get off! Kill ya! Get off! Kill ya! Get off! Kill ya!... No! You wouldn't dare?! Wouldn't I?

Applause

WOMAN

"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. ...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, um, impatiens And things Marigolds Petunias An' we got up they-ya We got Busy Lizzies Hanging geraniums, alright see

MAN

There's all sorts in that basket, anyway. Hanging lobelias Petunias in a basket 'anging baskets That's a fuchsia Um... There is a special name I just call them lilies They're a lily type There is a special name an' For the first time this year I've got a couple of, um... Baskets Begonias And petunias And, um... Impatiens and things Marigolds Begonias Petunias And petunias We got Busy Lizzies And Hanging lobelias Um... Hanging lobelias Impatiens Hanging lobelias And things Hangin' baskets Variegated ivy in there Which makes a nice show And then you've got, uh... These sky-blue... Whatever they are Vm-ber-ber-la-la... That's, uh, little purple ones Rhubarb The old-fashioned marguerites The daisies The roses 'ave done really well this year Yeah Gave us an extra point For having basil in the windowsill, didn't she? Yeah Hanging baskets Rhubarb Variegated ivy The old-fashioned marguerites The daisies The roses... The rhubarb ...'ave done really well The old-fashioned marguerites The daisies Whatever they are I've got nearly 17 Hanging baskets In this back garden Believe it or not Begonias and petunias...

Neighbors singing round

MAN

Begonias and Petunias and Um... Impatiens and things Begonias and petunias And Um... Impatiens and things Impatiens and things Impatiens and things Impa... tiens And Things!

Applause

MAN

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 forty thousand lives! One is too poor, too weak for my revenge. Now I do see it... is... 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 yon marble heaven, in the due reverence of a sacred vow, I here... 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.

OTHELLO

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.

IAGO

My friend is dead; 'tis

done at your request

But let her live. Damn her, lewd minx! Oh, damn her! 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. Oh, I am your own forever!

Applause

done at your request

Actors. I never get used to them. They're frightened. But then everybody's frightened. To act is to be frightened. When I used to do it, I was always frightened. Threw up before every performance. Before you were a stage manager, you acted? Yes. I loved it. What happened? Nothing. That was 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's the fear of this building. I worked once or twice with Ronald Eyre. Ron, not Richard. Difficult man, but like all the best directors, an 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 a billiard hall, and the Lyttelton boxing. Then, after twenty odd years of ordinary, unpretentious entertainment, when it's shabby and rundown and been 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 anymore. Except, of course, the actors. He was wrong, though, Ron. Because what's knocked the corners off the place, taken the shine off it, and made it dingy and unintimidating are plays. Plays plump, plays paltry, plays preposterous, plays purgatorial, plays radiant, plays rotten -- but plays persistent. Plays, plays, plays.

OLIVIER

A word or two before you go. I have done the state some service and they know it.

SCOFIELD

That night I heard Mozart's music for the first time. Some serenade for wind instruments...

DENCH

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.

NICHOLLS

And then pretend they're what they're not.

SMITH

Yes, words, words. Masses and masses of words!

NICHOLLS

They're great fun to play with.

Actors reciting overlapping monologues

Applause

NICHOLLS

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