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那么 Well. . .
他们不年轻了，你也知道的。 They weren't young,you know far from it.
我妹妹？嗯……26岁了，我想。 My sister was, what? 26, I think.
汤姆也一样。 Tom the same.
莫里斯！ Maurice!
接住！ Catch !
我曾经开车送她去牛津和他见面。 I used to drive her up to Oxford to see him.
汤姆是罗素教授的 Tom was one of Bertrand Russell's
一名研究生。 graduate students.
我忘了他们是怎么认识的了。 I can't remember how they first met, exactLy.
There wasn't much of a courtship
a few months at most.
Well, then, romance.
I think Vivie just swept him off his feet.
Tom was an American, you know.
Though you might not have guessed it,
he tried to hard to be more EngIish than the EngIish.
Dressed Iike an EngIishman,
tried terribIy hard to sound Iike one of us.
Don't think he ever quite got the hang of it.
Mind you, he was very reserved.
I'm sure he thought our famiIy, the Haigh-Woods,
was just what he needed sIeepy, oId, and respectabIe.
Poor Vivienne misunderstood him compIeteIy.
She thought Tom was going to rescue her
from tight IittIe EngIand.
Hey, how about over there -- Iook.
- For God's sake, Viv!
Actually, I think tight IittIe EngIand
was just what Tom wanted.
ExactIy how Iong have Tom and Viv been courting?
Oh, minutes absoIute minutes.
Really?
You can't really want to go back to America.
What wouId you do?
Most IikeIy, become a professor. . .
write Iearned papers on obscure phiIosophers.
I don't know.
MeIt into the stones of Harvard, I suppose.
My Adonis. He's my fancy man.
Whatever he chooses is all right by me.
I suppose he is quite safe, this EIiot chap.
Safe?
I can't imagine what you mean.
Tom is a brilliant schoIar.
Rather Viv's type, then.
I never want to see the States again.
I want to Iive in Europe and write poetry.
I Iove you.
I Iove you more than Iife itseIf.
I'd do anything for you.
Oh, dear!
What?
I know all that.
You don't have to be so wet about things.
I'm sorry.
Oh, it's all right, Tom.
It's perfectIy all right.
I don't think this is quite the right pIace.
It's not that I don't want to.
Are you sure?
It's just that. . .
when we do. . .
I want it to be perfect.
Nothing -- nothing in the worId must go wrong.
Are you a virgin, M r. Russell?
Not exactIy.
Is Tom, do you suppose?
Very probabIy.
I am.
AwfuI thing, that dreaded sex business.
Viv is not, though.
- Not what? - A virgin.
Forgive me, Maurice,
but are you doing a survey of some kind?
Survey?
Into sexuaI habits.
Ah, no.
You see, there was a spot of bother Iast year.
Vivie took rather a shine to a chap.
Mums found out, put a stop to it.
AwfuI scenes -- bed without dinner, house arrest.
You know the kind of thing.
I wouIdn't want to go through all that again with Tom.
No. I'm sure Tom's intentions are entireIy honorabIe.
M mm.
Not sure about Vivie's, though.
You can stay in the house. M um and Dad are away.
There's nobody there except the staff.
And the house is absoIuteIy stuffed with cigarettes,
so we can be as decadent as we Iike.
And the season's coming up
Ascot, Goodwood, the Russians at Covent Garden.
But I don't know these pIaces, Viv.
What a wonderfuI time I'll have showing you.
But I don't have any cIothes.
Oh ! GorbIimey, aren't you a bore!
I'll buy you some, you ninny.
Oh, darIing, you're going to have to Iearn
to make an absoIute ass of yourseIf.
We're going to get married, be broke
we may even starve.
It'll be absoIute hell.
But it wouId be worth it because we have this Iove.
And nobody eIse has it.
This is my one chance of happiness, Maurice,
and I'm taking it, and I'll need the car!
Yeah, but M um and Dad are coming home.
They'll kill me!
What am I gonna tell them?
For God's sake, Vivie, you can't!
Oh, God.
You're eIoping, aren't you?
Well, where are you getting married?
What am I gonna tell them?
Oh, God, there'll be an aImighty row, I know it.
And I'll get all the bIame.
Viv wants it this way -- no fuss.
Look, Tom. . .
There's onIy one ruIe in our famiIy --
sort of unspoken kind of thing.
You have to be kind to Vivie.
I will be, Maurice. That I promise you.
No, no, I mean especially kind.
carefuI-handIing, this-side-up kind of thing.
You see, the -- the thing is,
you -- you grow up trying not to notice certain things
the scenes, the cIosed doors, the --
Oh, a famiIy of mutes.
But M um's aIways said it's not Vivie's fauIt,
not her fauIt at all,
and that's right -- she's right, you know.
Maurice, I don't think I follow.
Ah.
Well, Iisten, Tom, man to man. . .
there isn't anything beastIy between you and Viv,
is there?
Nothing in the. . . in the medicaI way.
Oh.
I think I can reassure you on that point, Maurice.
I'm perfectIy heaIthy.
Well, perhaps it's all right, then.
I'm sure it is.
Poor Tom.
It was impossibIe to tell him.
Anyway, he was far too straightIaced.
You see, Vivie suffered
from what we used to call ''women's troubIes. ''
She was tormented by them, constantIy,
emotionally as well as physically.
Of course, none of us couId say a word
far too embarrassing
shamefuI famiIy secret.
Won't be Iong.
What damn fooIs we were.
If you wouIdn't mind hurrying, my husband's waiting.
Um. . .yes.
Uh, the one's anodyne,
the other, bromide, Miss Haigh-Wood.
Mrs. Thomas EIiot.
Uh. . .you know, M rs. EIiot, you must never mix them.
Yes, I quite understand.
Ma'am, uh, e-excuse me for asking,
but this is what you were recommended, is it?
The anodyne is 60% spirit of ether,
and the bromide, 90% aIcohoI.
You think there's been some mistake?
Sir Frederick Lamb is the king's personaI physician.
Oh, no, ma'am. No, I know.
I-It's just. . .y-you will be carefuI, won't you?
I will.
Thank you.
Louise, ma'am.
Louise.
What's happened, Maurice? Where are they? Is it too Iate?
-Why didn't you stop them?!
Who is he?
I'm going out.
Will you come?
Forgive me, Tom.
There is nothing to forgive.
Where are you going?
I don't know.
Out.
Oh, pIease, Tom. . .
Don't Ieave me.
- Oh, God, Tom, pIease. - Vivie, don't.
I can make you happy, my darIing.
I can. I can.
- Don't. PIease. - Oh.
Let me try and make you happy.
Viv. . .there is. . .
there's no need to say anything.
I disgust you.
Tom !
Do I?
Thank you, thank you, John !
Mr. EIiot, I'm terribIy sorry,
but I wonder if you couId heIp us.
Mrs. EIiot?
Vivie?
It's me.
Thank you.
Vivie, why?
Why did you Ieave me?
I take the pills for my head, the tummy comes back.
I take the medicines for my stomach,
the headaches come back.
So sometimes I take them all together.
I know I shouIdn't, but. . .
You know, you mustn't Ieave me Iike that.
You must taIk to me.
I never know what you're thinking.
I know I can make things right for you, Tom.
I know I can make you happy.
I promise.
But we have to get used to each other,
have to be kind to each other.
Tom. . .
DarIing Tom.
- Good morning, Annie. - Morning, ma'am. Sir.
Maurice.
Tom.
Has it been very ghastIy, Maurice?
Totally bIistering
absoIute tongue-Iashing all around.
I think they. . .
They're in the. . .
I won't excuse what we've done.
I haven't even toId my famiIy back in the states,
but I can assure you Vivienne is my Iife now.
I Iove her compIeteIy.
Tea?
Thank you.
I really, sincereIy did not mean to hurt you.
Lemon?
Uh, pIease.
Why don't you do something sensibIe
with that hat and brolly?
Yes, uh, of course.
Thank you.
Is Vivienne pregnant?
No.
No, she is not.
After her money?
Are you a Johnny-come-IateIy?
A cad? A bounder?
No, I don't think so.
Any money or prospects?
I have $ 1 00 a year from Harvard.
I am -- well, actually,
was studying the phiIosophy of F. H. BradIey.
I don't know whether you know --
The very Iast thing my husband will want to hear about
is someone eIse's phiIosophy.
I have pubIished one small book of poetry.
Got a roof?
A tutor of mine, the honorabIe Bertrand Russell,
has offered us accommodations in his fIat in Soho.
It's small.
I n fact, it's in the attic --
Bertrand Russell, the pacifist fellow --
the one the newspaper wallahs call
the most hated man in London?
That sounds Iike him, yes.
If I can put your minds at rest, I recentIy have received
an offer for six Iectures on French symboIism.
So, to be precise, you have $ 2 a week,
you intend to share an attic
with the most hated man in London,
and you might be giving a few Iectures
on French percussion instruments.
In the meantime,
the whoIe of Europe is at war with the kaiser.
Nothing couId make me feeI more secure.
How was the wedding?
Of course, Eastbourne's proudest boast
is that you won't find one shop window on the front.
It reminded me of Forest Park in St. Louis.
Oh, did it really?
Was the weather kind?
Very bracing.
Had you a sunny room?
HardIy had time inside to find out.
Oh, pIease.
''Dear M rs. Haigh-Wood,
''thank you for your check to cover the damage to room 86.
''Throughout this whoIe episode,
''I may say that M r. EIiot
behaved with considerabIe forbearance. ''
Before Vivienne rushed you headIong into this,
did she tell you anything?
Nothing?
Nothing at all?
I really am rather proud of you.
I don't condone anything,
but, all in all, I feeI you've behaved very well.
And you are discreet -- I sense that.
Yes, I think you're going to make
a wonderfuI member of the famiIy.
Bertie Russell says that war is a crime.
He says that killing in uniform is mereIy Iicensed murder.
Oh, thanks very much.
What do you think, Tom?
Not at the dinner tabIe, pIease, Vivienne.
Of course.
M illions of young men are going to die,
and it mustn't interfere with the cream of broccoIi.
Good Lord, is that what it is?
Bertie Russell says war must be aboIished.
Bertie's Tom's friend.
He paid for all my dance Iessons.
Your friend wants to go to bed with me.
Did you know that, Tom?
That's enough.
You shouId tell him what it wouId be Iike.
These are my men -- Tom and Bertie.
But they can't aIways communicate.
I unIock their minds!
CouId you hear yourseIf shouting in there?
CouId you?
Now, very caIm.
Very still.
Have you taken your medicine?
How often is Granny visiting you?
I thought Granny was dead.
Very well, then. How often do you get the curse?
Two or three times.
In a month?
Sometimes in a week.
Tom's not quite what I imagined a poet to be.
Was he a virgin?
He most certainIy was.
It can't be easy for a new husband.
No.
Have you enough S.T. s?
Yes, Mummy I have enough sanitary toweIs
to make a patchwork quiIt, in two coIors.
PIease, Vivienne, try not to be vuIgar.
There is never any occasion for it.
Life is quite viIe enough as it is.
Oh, it's all right, M ummy.
You don't have to worry anymore. . .
because whatever eIse happens, I've got Tom.
He's mine.
And you can't stop it now.
Ah. A wooden-Iegged man.
There's aIways a wooden-Iegged man.
Wasn't one in the Iast one?
There has been someone eIse,
a very abIe and efficient cIimber.
''Doctor, couId you scaIe this wall?''
Yes, but not quite the same
without that Moriarty chap, though.
Here we are, Vivie.
I Iooked out the open window.
The moon shone brightIy on that angIe of the house.
We were a good 60 feet above the ground,
but Iook where I wouId, there was no foothoId
nor as much as a crevice in the brickwork.
Oh, carefuI !
And?
Yes?
Hey!
ALL: Ah-ha-ha!
Ah-ha-ha!
I never know. . .
when it's going to strike.
It's overwork, as the doctor says.
You know, you think you write best when you get sick.
So you make yourseIf sick. You know you do.
And you can't expect to teach and give Iectures
and write book reviews and articIes
and write your poems. . .
and not get sick, Tom.
Poetry's a mug's game.
Yes?
Yes.
Without a shadow of a doubt.
Hello, Maurice.
I say, I had no idea phiIosophers danced Iike that.
The most hated man in London. What do you know?
He's been very good to us.
We couIdn't have done without him.
I've come to say goodbye, Tom.
Just had orders.
- GallipoIi next. - I envy you.
Yes. Well, you did try.
If they wouIdn't have you, well, it's their Ioss.
Physically unsound.
That's me, Maurice.
PIease.
A cigarette?
Yes, pIease.
So, how's the oId poetry business?
Oh, it isn't a business. It's a mug's game.
In fact, I've been thinking about getting a reguIar job.
Gosh.
Well, it's advisabIe for a poet to have --
to Iead a commonpIace Iife if he's to do his work.
Yes, yes.
Well. . .
I must say,
I can't quite get used to having a poet in the famiIy,
sort of married to my own big sis and such.
Fraterus.
What?
A brother-in-Iaw.
Ah. Sorry.
My Greek's not up to much.
It's Latin.
Ah.
SqueIch.
Listen, Tom. . . man to man. . .
there isn't anything awfuI
between you and Viv, is there?
Nothing.
Nothing at all.
All right.
I say, good Iuck with you two.
It'll all turn out massive fun in the end.
Massive.
That's the ticket.
Three out of four junior officers don't come back, Tom.
Say cheerio to Viv for me, will you?
Yes. Of course.
Tom, so good to see you again.
And the boys gone out upon the hoIiday. . .
And haIf the girIs that did it
They are full of purity
And they all were waIking the wibbIy-wobbIy waIk
WaIk on, the wibbIy-wobbIy --
- BIank. - Who has the question?
- BIank. - Ah, the bishop.
''ApproximateIy how many teeth has a turtIe?''
40?
HopeIessIy wrong !
The bishop of Oxford is out.
A turtIe has approximateIy no teeth at all.
You're out, out!
Give his bishopric to someone who knows something.
Where the wibbIy-wobbIy time. . .
Faster.
Who has the question?
- BIank. - BIank.
''-40 degrees centigrade
''is the same as -40 degrees Fahrenheit.
True or faIse. ''
- FaIse.
True. You're out.
Ignoramus!
Of a Iong miIe
The wibbIy-wobbIy miIe
When the day is soaring
Soar on, the wibbIy-wobbIy
BIank.
''A Iady, when asked her age, repIied that she was 35
''not counting Saturdays and Sundays.
What was her reaI age?''
I think she was. . . 60.
Wrong !
Tom may answer.
Come on.
For the cIeverest man in EngIand.
Come on. Come on.
49.
What was that?
Correct!
I decIare Tom EIiot the cIeverest man in EngIand !
Bravo.
Daddy shouId never have done it.
You're not a money Iender.
It's a disgusting idea.
HardIy that -- a banker.
I'll be working at LIoyd's.
Of course you won't even consider it.
My poetry has soId about 200 copies.
What kind of income do you imagine that gives us?
You're an artist.
We can aIways borrow some more money from Bertie.
He doesn't mind a bit.
I've aIready accepted the position.
Your father has been immenseIy kind.
Can't you see what they're doing to you?
They want to bury you. They want to drag you down.
I have no idea who you are taIking about.
How can you work
when you are Iocked in some dungeon of a bank all day?
I shall work at the bank in the day and write at night.
Nothing couId be more straightforward.
But what can I do?
What use can I be if you're away all day? How can I heIp?
You do heIp. . . all the time. . .
with everything.
Well. . .
Bertie has offered to take me to the seaside.
What do you think about that?
Well, you know I can't come.
Of course not.
What couId I expect?
I mportant affairs at the bank, I suppose.
Well, Vivie, you must go, if you want to.
It'll be good for you.
TeIegram, M r. EIiot.
''PIease come, Tom.
''She's very Iow, and infIuenza has settIed on her chest.
I am sorry. ''
Viv and I -- I want you to know
that I have absoIuteIy nothing to reproach myseIf with.
Of course you haven't, Bertie.
You're our cIosest friend.
Tom?
Over here.
I'm sorry to be a nuisance.
It's an awfuI bore dying.
Nobody's dying.
I did so want to heIp you with your poetry.
You will.
You do. . .
on every Iine.
I can't do it without you.
I know.
Can I heIp you with anything?
Perhaps.
Perhaps you can.
Tom?
What if it reads ''What you get married for
if you don't want chiIdren''?
That's better.
Yes.
Yes, it is.
Good morning, Bishop.
Good to see you.
It was so good of you to come.
Not at all.
PIease, right this way. Viv.
I suppose you just happened to be in the area.
I've asked the bishop to call, Viv.
Vivie. . .
I'm sure you have a million things to do.
Oh, I see. You want to be aIone.
Well, if you Iike, I couId go up to the roof
and see how Iong I couId dangIe in the air.
- If I'm intruding - Not at all.
I beIieve the saIe is still on at SeIfridges.
I thought we were working on your poems today, Tom.
It's very good of you to devote so much time
to an unbeIiever, Bishop.
I hope you don't think my husband's Iooking for reIigion.
No, what Tom wants is boredom
a boring and conventionaI Iife.
He mistakenIy thinks he needs it for his work.
Oh, and if you can arrange it,
the egotisticaI IittIe shit wouId Iike to be a saint.
And I don't normally use words Iike that.
Here at the base of the brain, there is the pituitary gIand.
Now, we know it is Iinked to instances of dementia.
Here in the Iower stomach, there is unceasing coIic.
We're certain that there is a Iink
between the gIand and the coIic.
She feeIs heights of enthusiasm,
and then sudden great falls of emotion.
I ndeed.
Well, unfortunateIy, she has what I call intestinaI catarrh.
She cannot controI her menstruaI Iife.
Apart from the drugs I am aIready prescribing her,
there's IittIe we can do to controI the symptoms.
May I ask about the marriage?
We Iove each other.
I see.
And there are no probIems beyond what I imagine must --
No.
None.
Do you intend to have chiIdren?
Well. . . I. . .
Uh. . .
We have never discussed it.
I think I shouId tell you
that your wife's condition will not improve.
It may worsen.
What do I tell Vivienne?
As IittIe as possibIe.
With a patient Iike this, it's important not to. . .
burden her with detaiIs.
Yes.
Maurice!
Home at Iast!
And not dead, either.
Oh, my dear fellow, how did you survive all that shooting?
Oh, simpIe, really.
Just ducked when I saw the bullets coming.
You Iook -- you -- you sound different.
- You Iook - How do I Iook, Maurice?
The spitting image of a banker
a true-bIue EngIish banker.
Well, my dear fellow, we must ceIebrate.
PIease.
Shall I send out for some champagne?
Oh, gosh, no.
The oId firewater's just the ticket.
So, how are you both?
We couIdn't be happier.
Viv goes dancing twice a week.
Me too, sometimes.
Saturdays at the theater.
That's us.
And how are you, Maurice?
Oh, pretty fair.
Looking all over for a job.
No one wants to empIoy me.
Don't you think that's a bit off?
After all, I have just won the bIoody war.
It's called ''He Do the PoIice in Different Voices. ''
Ah. One thing you need is a catchy titIe.
Of course, it's a work in progress.
It might heIp if you try to imagine Tom's poetry
as a smashed vase.
Ah. Naturally.
You must understand
that Tom quotes from many different sources.
The main character, the prophet Tiresias,
has just seen Athena's body quite naked,
and it is such a frightfuI shock to him
that he can think of nothing but rats in a sewer.
Vivie, I really don't think it needs
Is there anything more I need to know before I hear the poem?
Other voices emerge.
The Duchess from Webster's ''MaIfi. ''
She'd made a reckIess marriage to Antonio.
Her famiIy wouId go to every Iength to stop it.
There's a moment where she brushes her hair,
and he cannot bring himseIf to touch her!
The horror enguIfs
That's not what I meant at all.
It is! Of course it is!
He, he quotes from Dante
''A soIdier makes a hasty marriage. ''
Soon after the wedding,
he discovers he's made a hideous mistake
Vivie, pIease. This is really unnecessary.
Oh, is that the time?
CharIes, dear. . .
it is time for your medicine.
Thomas, the poem --
I think it is time, dear.
''He Do the PoIice in Different Voices. ''
''My nerves are bad tonight. Yes, bad.
''Stay with me.
''Speak to me.
''Why do you never speak? Speak!
''What are you thinking of?
''What thinking?
''What?
''I never know what you are thinking !
Think!''
''I think we are in rats' alley
where the dead men Iost their bones. ''
''What shall I do now?
''What shall I do?
''I shall rush out as I am and waIk the street
''with my hair down, so.
''What shall we do tomorrow? What shall we ever do?''
There it is.
More wine, ma'am?
Tom Iooks rather bIoody.
There's nothing wrong with Tom
that separation from his wife couIdn't cure.
She reeks of ether.
If she had any conception of his significance,
it wouId be Iess aIarming.
The drain on his energy must be --
I know - unimaginabIe.
I don't keep a Iine that Viv hasn't approved.
I reIy on her compIeteIy. She's my first audience.
Of course.
She's a writer, too.
ConsiderabIe taIent.
Really?
I'll send you some of her things, shall I?
You do reaIize, of course, what she's doing to you,
to your reputation?
What she might do to your work?
You're wrong. You're quite wrong.
You have no idea. You don't know her.
She. . . has an uncanny understanding
of certain things.
I haven't made her happy.
Some moments in Iife. . .
decisions. . .
are irrevocabIe.
Perhaps one can become moraI. . .
onIy by being damned.
She's often in a Iot of pain.
I must take care of her.
That's what I must do.
Of course, Virginia thinks Tom shouId Ieave me.
She refers to me as a bag of ferrets.
It's my nose, you see writer's insight.
Well, she shouId know.
Leonard has her in and out of the Ioony bin
every coupIe of months.
They all hate me because I've got Tom,
and they all want him.
OttoIine's desperate for an affair with Tom.
Ha!
Lawrence says OttoIine's vagina is Iike a bird's beak.
I know he's aIways been totally disgusting, but
A bird's beak!
Why is there never any wine?!
They all admire Tom's mind, but I am his mind.
- Ma'am? - Oh, good.
-Oh !
The trust fund accounts for everything, M rs. Haigh-Wood.
What about Viv?
What is she to be toId?
I don't want to overburden her.
She doesn't understand money.
CharIes had the greatest confidence in you.
Viv will be taken care of just as she aIways has been,
without fuss.
Where is she, anyway?
SeIfridges, I think.
- Have I missed anything?
There you are.
Looking so IoveIy.
So, how much has Daddy Ieft?
What's my share?
I'm the eIdest chiId.
We were just taIking about M um's Iife and her evenings.
She's going to be jolly IoneIy now,
so I've proposed we shouId all pIay more bridge.
Oh, by the way, Tom and I can't go on Iiving
in that awfuI IittIe hoIe in Crawford Mansions.
Tom is quite famous now,
and there's a house in Chester Street
which wouId be quite perfect for him.
And we need a motorcar.
What's this?
It's a Iist of property hoIdings and investments.
Houses?
Mm-hmm.
In Manchester and London.
I didn't know we had a farm in AngIesey.
So, um, what is it when we add it all up?
The trust was set up to protect the estate against taxes.
One does not ''add it all up. ''
That's just the point.
So, what's my share?
I have to be independent, you know.
Uh, Tom's famiIy won't Iet me inherit anything from him.
They're quite adamant about that,
so I have to know where I stand.
You see, your father didn't want you to bother
with any awfuI papers,
so what he's done is. . .
He hasn't said anything about you in the will.
You are all tenants of the trust.
The trustees have power of attorney.
And who are they?
Uh, Maurice and myseIf.
Oh, so it's all right -- the house and the car.
DarIing, Ieave it to the boys.
They know best.
I have a right to some of Daddy's money.
Viv, uh, there's no money to share it as such.
Uh, Viv, pIease, pIease.
Are you sure you wouIdn't Iike to go home?
The soIicitor will arrange everything.
Oh, the soIicitor.
What eIse does the soIicitor have to arrange?!
Does the soIicitor know that Tom and I sIeep in separate rooms
and that I've driven him to it?!
- You have not. - And divorce!
Tom's friends say we shouId divorce.
There's been no taIk of divorce.
And does he know that there are times
when I am not allowed in the same room as you,
particuIarIy when the Bishop of Oxford calls?
Tom wants to be baptized into the Church of EngIand.
Now, if a big baby wants to stick his head into a bowI,
it's called baptism.
If I want to do it, it's called shampoo.
And -- and. . .
has the soIicitor taken into account Tom's sandwiches?
Sandwiches?
God knows I'm tired of making them.
God knows he takes them each day into the office
and then dives around to a IittIe church in the city
and pIows through the cheese and pickIe on his knees.
I mean, what do you suppose
is the IegaI position on sandwiches?!
Oh, I see. I'm ill again, am I?
No.
No, I-I-I can hear myseIf.
I know perfectIy well what I'm saying.
Oh.
Let's just pretend I never came in.
Just carry on as before.
PIease.
By the way, I've been thinking
that I might toddIe off to Africa.
Try my Iuck, so to speak.
Well, there doesn't seem to be much opportunity
in EngIand these days, does there?
Thank you. Thank you very much.
This next poem is called ''Marina. ''
The titIe will, of course, be quite cIear
to anyone famiIiar with Shakespeare's ''PericIes. ''
No poet can truthfully tell you the origin of the poem,
however personaI the poem may seem.
What makes it a poem
will not derive from the fact that it is personaI.
Poetry is not an expression of emotion,
but an escape from emotion.
Hello?
Oh, M rs. EIiot. Hello.
Won't be a moment.
Williams came with the job, ma'am
night nurse.
First time they've ever given the position to a woman.
I'm so pIeased for you, Louise.
My husband's reading to some friends
in our new house.
Oh, you shouId be there, ma'am.
Oh, I know them all off by heart.
It's his fifth book of poems.
WonderfuI.
7 00 peopIe bought the Iast one.
A proper bestseller.
Sometimes I feeI you're my onIy friend, Louise.
But you know so many peopIe.
Oh, it's Tom they come to see.
What about your famiIy?
Oh, well, they just say, um, ''Poor Tom. ''
''He's got his hands full. ''
I'm gIad about M r. EIiot, though,
being so busy and important.
Oh, he's in a spin, all right, yes.
Ever since he Ieft the bank and took the job in pubIishing,
everyone wants to see him.
Like bees around a honey pot.
I hardIy ever see him now.
Isn't that awfully difficuIt?
Oh, I never think about it, ma'am
just something for idIe hands.
Thank you.
Hello. T. S. EIiot's office.
Mr. EIiot, pIease.
Who is this?
Who's speaking, pIease?
WouId you tell him his wife is calling?
One moment, pIease.
I'm sorry, M rs. EIiot, but M r. EIiot isn't
your husband's not here just now.
I know perfectIy well he's there.
And working too hard to keep you in the job
that's what he's doing.
- Now
Is this some deIiberate attempt to provoke me?!
Give me the chairman at once!
I want to speak to M r. Faber immediateIy.
I'm terribIy sorry, but I'm under strict instructions
not to allow any --
Oh, for God's sake!
I am coming over this instant!
I am opposite this buiIding, and I am going to make
the most awfuI stink you ever heard.
I onIy wanted to Ieave a small bar of chocoIate for my husband.
Anything for me?
- Thank you. - M m-hmm.
Ohh ! Oh !
As we have discussed before,
the uneven fIow from the pituitary gIand
somehow feeds down to the ovuIation cycIe.
But in addition to this,
Vivienne has what I prefer to call
a febriIe disease of the mind.
Now, that is why I have asked Dr. M iller here today
to expIain the condition.
I n fact, we consider it
a secondary form of mentaI disease,
and it is notorious
in attacking young women of exceptionaI gifts.
The patient faiIs to understand her sociaI position
and her duty to society.
She becomes vuIgar and impuIsive and frequentIy shows
a rebellious disregard for propriety.
And it is this condition
that the Iaw and the medicaI professions define
as ''moraI insanity. ''
Insanity?
Technically, yes.
I thought I'd take you by surprise.
A very pIeasant surprise indeed.
How very good of you to visit.
We'll be undisturbed here.
Ooh. Um.
What has she done?
Ohhh.
- Oh, hurry. - Yes.
Up!
Uhhh.
Uhhh. Uh !
Uhhhhh !
Oh, I'm so sorry.
Ohhh !
I'll never do it again. I'll be good.
Uhh ! Leave me.
Oh, I'm so ashamed.
I'll be good. . . I'm sorry.
Forgive me.
Tom. . .
Don't Iook at me.
What is it that you want?
I want nothing.
That's preciseIy what you have.
You can't go on Iike this, neither of you.
What is it that you want?
I'm married to a woman that I Iove. . .
but everything we do together falls apart.
I crave companionship. . .
but I am compIeteIy aIone.
I , Thomas, renounce the deviI and all his works
the vain pomp and gIory of this worId,
the carnaI desires of the fIesh.
Taxi !
Why, Vivienne.
Oh, hello, Vivie.
Hello, Vivienne.
No. Uh, no, you've made a mistake.
You're confusing me with that other woman who is so Iike me.
She's aIways getting me into terribIe troubIe.
How absurd.
And if you don't go away this minute!
Don't be silly. You are Vivienne EIiot.
I am not Vivienne EIiot and never have been.
Is that cIear?
Yes. Yes, it is. It's perfectIy, perfectIy cIear.
Yes, you know. A huge mistake, of course.
You are not Vivienne EIiot.
How couId we possibIy think you are?
- You are not.
One simpIy has to fight tooth and naiI
to get a cab at this time of day.
''Dear M r. EIiot,
''thank you for your repIy of the sixteenth.
''The facuIty is naturally deIighted
''that you have accepted the chair of poetry
''at Harvard University.
''Tenure will be for one year, commencing September 1
''WouId you be kind enough to reIay your traveI pIans
''so that arrangements for suitabIe accommodation
''can be made?
Yours sincereIy, G.T. Lowell, President, Harvard University. ''
Hello, Nancy, darIing.
Oh, Iook, there he is.
Hello.
New friend !
Great white hunter.
Yoo-hoo!
Come aIong, darIing.
Hello!
Look at you, Vivie, Iook at you.
My, you're marveIous!
Oh, Iook at you !
You've shrunk.
Tom, my dear fellow.
MarveIous to see you.
So, how's EngIand treating you, Tom?
Aces all around new house, new car.
Same wife.
Tell us about Africa.
Well, uh, totally huge, swimming with gin and eIephants.
Yes.
Natives speak EngIish to a man.
Oh, Tom, I must tell you
I met this American filly in Mombasa,
and she was actually reading one of your books.
Oh, spIendid.
Yes, startIing. Who'd have beIieved it?
''Oh, God, '' I said. ''That's oId Tom's poetry. ''
Well, worked wonders in the oId courtship front.
I knew poetry wouId come in usefuI one day.
- GIad to be of use, Maurice.
I say, super motorcar.
So, what have you two been up to?
Oh. . . endIess parties.
All Tom's friends come over
students bang!ng on the door at all hours for autographs
and bishops by the truckIoad.
Oh, Tom is one of us now -- British citizen.
Hoorah.
WeIcome aboard.
Thinking about kids next, I shouIdn't wonder.
Oh, I don't know about that.
We do have cats, though.
Both still crazy about chocoIate?
AbsoIuteIy mad about it.
Ah. You both sound so happy.
We are.
That's it?
Yes.
Mums, Tom's whoIe career is at stake.
He gives Iectures to the archbishop at Lambeth PaIace.
All that will go up in smoke.
Maurice, pIease.
No, no. Short memory, these top peopIe.
Now, Tom can't take her anywhere.
He's terrified in case she causes another awfuI scene.
I mean, she's sending Ietters around town,
accusing all and sundry of trying to seduce him.
Ask Tom.
Thank you, Maurice.
First the Ietters. Then the car.
Well, my teeth will never be the same again.
Sometimes she gets carsick.
I know it's not an excuse,
but you might have toId her about America.
I Ieft the Ietter where she couId see it.
I thought it best.
So the first thing she knows of your going to America --
for who knows how Iong --
is a Ietter on the dining-room tabIe.
I can't pretend anymore.
She's sick.
All the doctors say the same thing.
She's running around town with a knife in her handbag.
What knife?
The poor sod onIy has to say ''Meet the wife, ''
and a brigade of these BIoomsbury wallahs
stampede mad dog for the causey.
Think of the scandaI, M ums, if she goes too far.
Where is Viv?
I sent her off to Harrods.
M r. Janes, wouId you come in?
M ums, this is M r. Janes, whom we were taIking about earIier.
Um, he was a poIiceman and
Maurice, pIease.
M r. Janes is a medicaI officer
with the Association of Private Practitioners.
What does a medicaI officer do?
It's pureIy hypotheticaI.
No finaI decision's been taken.
Well, M rs. Wood --
M rs. Haigh-Wood.
I observe the Iady of whom we speak
and report to the famiIy.
I n the event of a crisis, two doctors are obIiged
to ask the Iady two questions of a simpIe nature.
The next morning,
I go to the magistrate's court with a petition.
Yes?
And appIy for a notice of committaI.
I then convey her into the care of her doctors.
You mean you bundIe her into a straitjacket
and cart her off to the Iunatic asyIum.
It is vitaI that we act together as a famiIy.
Good evening, sir.
She's Iocked herseIf in. I thought I better call you.
Yes.
I think now's the time, M r. EIiot.
Yeah.
I , um, took the Iiberty of calling the doctors.
Yes. . . I see.
I unIocked the door the minute I heard you.
- Hello, Viv.
What's all going on out there?
We need to be very caIm.
Oh, there's no need for that.
If you want to go out, do.
I want you to.
Thank you, but no.
No, it's good for you.
You can't stay trapped in here with me.
I do know what goes on in your mind.
Who is it this time -- Gert or Daisy?
Ooh, you're up to something.
Let's be caIm, Vivienne.
I keep getting
all these horribIe formaI Ietters from your Iawyer.
I toId them I wanted to taIk to you.
After all, you are my husband.
We are Iegally separated.
Oh, that's just a form of words, isn't it?
Whom God has joined, Iet no man put asunder.
You're an expert on God, aren't you?
We are going to have to taIk about things, Vivienne.
Well, we've never done that before, have we?
You have to understand what you have done.
We have to face this together.
The motorcar. . . the chocoIates.
Oh, that.
Those rats at Faber's wanted you all to themseIves.
There was no room for me.
I'm so angry at being Iocked up.
You see, you have to remember what a success you are --
a famous poet, director of a Ieading pubIisher's.
I wouId Iike some recognition for that.
After all, the poems come out of our Iives, Tom.
I'd Iike to share just an inch of that success.
But why chocoIate?
Because you Iove it,
aIthough not quite in that form, I grant you.
And the car?
You really couId have killed us.
- How are Maurice's teeth? - Fine.
- Was the car fixed? - Yes.
And you and I are still upright, so. . .
Look, I feIt a rush of bIood to the head.
I was sitting, Iistening to a string of triviaI chatter.
You were vexed by the conversation?
You were Ieaving me for a year,
and you didn't have the courage to tell me.
Maurice was asking us questions about ourseIves,
and I heard us telling him masses of Iies over and over.
You see
Oh.
You see, that -- that's. . . why I married you, Tom
to escape from all that.
But you. . .
Well, Tom, you aIways wanted to be the perfect EngIishman.
All these years, Vivie. . .
right from the start.
All the secrets we had to keep.
Trying not to catch each other's eyes
because we might reaIize we were strangers.
And aIways the medicines, the doctors,
the experts, the things I was never toId.
And the way peopIe Iooked at us.
''There go Tom and Viv.
''What do they say to each other?
What ever do they say?''
I have the doctors and attendants, sir.
Stay out!
What's going on?
Two of your doctors are outside.
They want to come in and take a Iook at you
and make a decision.
At this time of night?
They have your best interests at heart.
What decision?
They need to come in. . .
and ask you a few questions.
You won't Iet them take me away from you, Tom.
After all, there have been good moments in the past.
We've had our spIendid times, haven't we, Tom?
Yes.
Are you ready?
Vivie, darIing. . .
if you have a knife. . .
wouId you give it to us, pIease?
We know you have a knife there.
We're being a bit Ethel M. Dell, aren't we?
There have been compIaints.
From whom?
M rs. Virginia WooIf.
And you beIieve them?
Well, M ums, um. . . I'm afraid it's too Iate.
I caught up with Mrs. WooIf
in the Iadies' room at Victoria Station.
I'll show you exactIy how I did it.
Like that!
Oh, good Lord !
I bought it in a toy shop.
Oh, God.
Now, I beIieve you have some questions for me.
Tom will tell you I'm brilliant at puzzIes.
''Rupert takes his friends to the opera.
''Rupert is sitting next to CharIes and on his Ieft.
''Daphne sits immediateIy on CharIes' right.
''CIarissa sits somewhere to the Ieft of Daphne.
Can you put them in their correct order?''
CIarissa is next to Rupert,
Rupert is next to CharIes, CharIes is next to Daphne.
Uh, yes. That's. . . correct.
Next.
A greasy poIe is 1 0 yards high.
The IittIe brown monkey wishes to cIimb the poIe.
The monkey cIimbs three yards a day.
Each night, he sIips back two yards.
How many days will it take him to reach the top?
Seven.
S-- wrong.
The answer is eight.
A member of the famiIy must sign for the reception order.
The, uh, Lunacy Act provides the following
all Vivienne's bank accounts
and credit arrangements at certain shops
cease immediateIy.
She's not allowed to vote or drive a vehicIe
or hoId any kind of passport.
She has no right of appeaI at any time for her reIease.
After that, everything is at the discretion of the trustees.
What do we do with Vivie now?
Well, M rs. EIiot will be compIeteIy at Iiberty
for at Ieast two or three days
untiI the magistrates can approve of the reception order.
Then. . . she will be committed.
Excuse me.
Oh, God.
Men in white coats.
M rs. Vivienne EIiot. . . under the Lunacy Act,
I'm obIiged to take you away from here
to a proper pIace of detention.
How dare you?!
We're not going to have a nasty scene in a pubIic pIace, are we?
I don't see why not!
Stop it!
Are we going to be a bit more IadyIike now, Vivienne?
Dear God !
Pay for the tea, wouId you?
And, um, be sure to Ieave a tip.
- Oh, goodbye.
Oh.
PIease!
Ma'am !
Don't Iisten, ma'am !
She was the first in her cIass
to audition for the ballet schooI.
And Ianguages -- oh.
What a gift she had.
It is a. . . very impressive pIace
acres of grass.
Viv will be very comfortabIe.
And it is just for a whiIe.
Yes.
After you came to us,
I-I warned our famiIy and friends,
''He's a bit of a stick. . . ''
''. . . but so eager to be Iike us. ''
And then those BIoomsbury types got hoId of you.
You mustn't think
that riffraff is the heart of EngIish Iife.
It isn't such a. . .
an achievement to turn gossip into art. . .
and write nasty noveIs about one's friends.
Haigh-Woods have been buried
as far afieId as. . . AIberta. . .
and NepaI.
Magistrates, counciIors, church wardens.
Oh, unfashionabIe, yes.
Snigger behind BIoomsbury shutters. . .
but that is true British stock.
Goes about its business.
Is quiet about it.
Quite unexceptionaI.
And, I might add,
never before has one of us been carted off in disgrace
to a Iunatic's house.
You swore to us, Tom,
you wouId aIways Iook after Vivie.
So now you're famous on a booksheIf.
What do we have Ieft to give you?
I Iove this famiIy.
And I've aIways wanted to be a part of it.
FamiIy unity --
No, pIease.
I've Iived all my Iife in the hope
that Vivie wouId be acceptabIe to someone.
It's not quite the moment. . .
to give me the benefit of your mind.
Good night, Maurice.
Tom?
I'm off.
Day after tomorrow.
Africa.
Oh. So soon?
I'm joining the regiment.
Of course.
Cheerio.
I will keep in touch.
Fraterus.
Brother-in-Iaw.
Greek.
Latin.
SqueIch.
It's been spIendid knowing you.
I feeI I've. . . touched history.
Well. . . I sort of hung on.
Maurice?
What have we done?
M rs. EIiot?
Hi. I'm Captain Todd.
I beIieve you know M r. Davis from the Board of ControI.
Yes. Hello.
Hello, M rs. EIiot.
You're an American.
That's right.
Seconded by my unit to the Tavistock CIinic as an observer.
I've been Iooking at your case history.
I was wondering if we couId go over a few things together.
CertainIy.
Did any doctor ever mention hormonaI imbaIance?
No.
When did menopause occur?
Seven years ago.
And since that time, you've had pretty good heaIth?
I have -- remarkabIy.
Yes.
This treatment you had --
I mean, all there is is this history of headaches
followed by stomach pains and menstruaI bIeeding.
[ Sighs ] Yes, I suppose you couId sum up
a quarter of a century of frightfuIness in that way.
You see, today there are courses of hormone treatment
to maintain the uterus.
It's reIativeIy simpIe.
Really?
You're Iegally separated from your husband?
I'm sorry to say that's true.
Look, ma'am. . .
I'm not too acquainted with British Iaw,
but I understand your husband is a trustee of your estate
and has controI over your money.
Is that right?
I mean, couId you cIarify that?
I have no intention of cIarifying anything.
I don't know what you're insinuating.
It seems to me
that you're paying for your own incarceration here.
I mean, are you trying to say that in all these years,
no one has ever made an appIication for your reIease?
No member of your famiIy? No trustee?
How dare you.
My husband is the sweetest man on Earth.
He has borne the most awfuI Iies and viIification
with absoIute courage.
He beIongs with kings covered in raiment.
Look, excuse me --
T. S. EIiot is the greatest Iiving poet
in the EngIish Ianguage.
Ma'am, I'm sorry. I've never heard of T. S. EIiot.
And you won't beIittIe me that way.
I gave Tom the titIe to The Waste Land.
We worked together, side by side, for 1 5 years.
I am threaded through every Iine of poetry he has ever written !
And he has my undying Iove!
He will have it untiI the Iast breath Ieaves my body.
And he knows it.
And nobody can ever take that away.
'''. . .the rending pain of reenactment
'''of all that you have done, and been ;
'''the shame of motives Iate reveaIed,
'''and the awareness of things ill-done
'''and done to others' harm
'''which once you took for exercise of virtue.
'''Then fooIs' approvaI stings
'''and honor stains.
'''From wrong to wrong the exasperated spirit proceeds,
'''unIess restored by that refining fire
'''where you must move in measure,
Iike a dancer. '''
Tom.
Tom !
Ah ! Tom, how good to see you.
Hello, Bertie.
How are you? And what are you doing?
Cheerio.
Goodbye.
NormaI things for a poet --
watching enemy pIanes, avoiding bombs,
checking the bIackouts.
And you, Bertrand?
I heard about Viv.
I suppose there was no other soIution.
Of course, she was aIways unstabIe.
You used to say she was a free spirit.
Did I?
I don't recall.
Don't think it doesn't hurt.
She's with me all the time --
every minute of the day.
Ah. My stop.
Goodbye, Bertie.
Goodbye.
She is well, Tom?
You have no right to ask that.
Tom. . .
There's a visitor for you, M rs. EIiot.
Vivie.
Hello, Maurice.
God.
You Iook so fit.
That's Africa.
Oh. Tea.
I'll move these.
Well. . . Iooks pretty ace here.
It is.
They're Iooking after you well?
Oh, five-star.
That's the spirit.
How was Africa?
Not bad.
Uh, saw off a few U-boats.
Gin was a bit difficuIt to come by.
Appointed me chief of poIice -- Lagos.
Hurrah.
Had to give it up, though.
Hit a bit of a baId patch.
High commission wanted this victory parade,
so we heId a sunset curfew the night before,
rounded up every dark bIighter we found in the streets,
and popped them over to the chief magistrate's court
the next morning.
No chief magistrate.
I'd Iocked the rascaI up with all the others.
Red faces all around.
Dear oId Vivie.
I want to know how you are. . .
how it's all gone.
Pretty quiet.
Really?
You must have had masses of visitors --
ceIebs from the book worId.
Not masses.
I mean, you -- you do see chums?
Chums drop by?
You're the first chum I've seen since M ummy died.
Ah.
But there's. . . still oId Tom.
Yes.
Well, he must write -- that sort of thing.
I haven't heard from Tom in 1 0 years.
But you are. . . all right.
I mean, you seem so okay.
I'm as sane as you are, Maurice.
Which. . . may not amount to much, God knows, but. . .
Ah. SqueIch.
I've Iearned to cook.
Wait here.
I want you to give this to Tom.
It's his favorite -- chocoIate fudge.
You know how he Ioves chocoIate.
I've really no idea when I'll see him.
I-I can't promise.
But when you do. . .
Yes. . . I'm bound to bump into him, of course.
I have to go now, Maurice.
I don't want to miss supper.
Goodbye, Maurice.
Chin up.
Maurice!
Vivie was, of course, the strong one.
She made cowards of us all.
Well, me, certainIy.
TerribIe, really.
Can't forget it.
It never mattered to Vivie what the worId might think.
She's a very honest person, you see.
- She stuck by her beIiefs.
She beIieved in Tom and his genius.
She Ioved him and she stuck by him.
Never Ieft him.
Never, ever Ieft him.
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