All language subtitles for Coming Out (1979) 720p BD REMUX BFI AVC LPCM 1.0-aaHD

(DRUMROLL PLAYS)

(CYMBAL CRASHES)

(PHONE RINGS)

(PHONE CONTINUES RINGING)

(PHONE CONTINUES RINGING)

(PHONE CONTINUES RINGING)

(PHONE STOPS RINGING)

(HE SIGHS)

(DISTANT CLICK)

(DISTANT TYPEWRITER CLATTERS)

This morning, before dawn

feeling rampantly potent

I decided to arouse my wife.

I put a hand where it matters most

and I kissed her.

"Get your tongue out of my mouth," she said.

"It's too early for that."

Then she pulled my hair a bit

and she laughed a bit.

And then she took the initiative.

As usual.

She moved about on top of me

like a voluptuous jockey.

Hm.

Hitting me on the chest

and shouting at the top of her voice.

Obscenities, mostly.

Shouting obscenities.

Er, no. Correction.

Shouting rhythmic obscenities.

There was blood on my chest
where her nails had torn the skin.

I could hear her laughing.

I laughed too

overcome by a sense of fa...

I do not recall hearing you knock

and I certainly didn't ask you to come in,
Plasche.

Read these.

- They're disgusting.
- What are they?

Zippy Grimes' fan mail.

You deal with them.
They're disgusting.

What, all of them?

Read them.

Plasche, I don't suppose you could
occasionally dust this office, could you?

If you continue to treat me
as a domestic servant

I shall find myself another job.

Oh, what? At your age?
(HE CHUCKLES)

Next, you'll be telling me you're going to
marry that praying mantis of a boyfriend.

L'm not so thrilled by all this
that marriage would seem like an intrusion.

Mm. I think it's a splendid idea, Plasche.

Splendid.

A woman without a man
is like a door without a handle.

Sexist pig.

(DOOR SHUTS)

Tsk. Naughty.

Very rude.

(DISTANT TYPEWRITER CLATTERS)

I feel negative vibrations.

What am I supposed to do with these?

You opened the box, Pandora.

Oh, thank you for your helpful advice.
I shall cherish it.

What exactly does a hair fetishist do?

I don't know.

I suppose he rolls about in it or something.

No, seriously though, Plasche.
I can't answer these.

I warned you not to write that article.
This is just the start.

What are you talking about?
That was a perfectly serious piece of work.

Then why didn't you have the guts
to put your own name to it?

Y...

Two copies, right?

PLASCHE:
Please.

You are not indispensable, you know.

You can't sack me, I know too much.

True.

Mm...

LEWIS (V0): 'It's easy to write
about things like this, isn 't it?"

"I don 't have to look at your face, do I?"

"I don't have to give my name or address."

"It happened so long ago, 1964..."

"...and it's been preying on my mind
a lot lately. "

"I don't know why."

MAN'S VOICE:
It"s funny, after all these years...

I must tell someone.

And I don 't want to tell my wife.

The thing is, Zippy...

I killed this man, see.

LEWIS (V0):
”Well, boy, really. "

"He was queer, like you."

"I choked him with a patchwork cushion
and put him in the garden."

"Smothering, I suppose you'd call it."

"My wife was out, gone away to her sister
in Bournemouth for two days."

MAN'S VOICE:
I met this boy in the market...

and took him home...

and we did... this thing.

Mind you, Zippy,
I'm not saying I didn't enjoy it.

Because I did.

But he got awkward afterwards.

He got...

silly.

Not nasty, mind.

The opposite, really.

I think he was just lonely.

He wanted to come back again, see.

I couldn't have that, could I?

Not with the wife and everything.

Nobody ever wrote anything in the papers

that I saw.

Nothing about this boy
being missing from the town

or anything.

And then we moved.

And that garden 's part of a reservoir now.

So, they'll never find him

will they?

Not under all that water.

(FOOTSTEPS APPROACH)

Here, I haven't finished that, Miss.

Hello, Alan. Still digging for victory?

The name's Brian.
(NOSE SQUEAKS)

He's bloody not here again.

So I see.

Every bloody Wednesday,
he's bloody not here.

LEWIS:
Why don't you come another day?

Bloody piano lessons.

(HE SIGHS)
Close the door.

I said close it, not wreck it.

I'm gonna tell my father.

I don't doubt it.

No doubt you will make yourself at home,
Alan.

Brian!

Little monster.

(CLASSICAL PIANO PLAYS NEXT DOOR)

(INDISTINCT MAN'S VOICE)

- OK. Same time next week.
- (DOOR OPENS)

Practice the piece I gave you.

Fancies you rotten, that one.

- She's not bad.
- Mm!

Goodnight, Mr Lloyd.

- Goodnight.
- Goodnight, Mr Duncan.

I've seen bigger boobs on a carrot.

- Goodnight!
- I meant her playing, actually.

Oh.

- Lewis?
-Hm?

I thought you were going to get
supper ready.

- Oh... Oh, yes.
- Mm!

Er, can't we have curry tonight?

We ought to have shares
in that bloody takeaway.

Well...

- Where were you?
-Hm?

Earlier.

Oh, yes.
Yes, I'm sorry about that Russell brat.

If you must have that little runt as a pupil

you might try and be here
when he arrives.

Yes, I'm sorry, it's just that, er...

Gunnar wanted to get on with the painting
while the light was good.

You know what he's like.

Yes.

How's the portrait coming?

Oh, alright.

Just that I hadn't realised
it was gonna take so long, that's all.

Oh, thanks.

What are you doing?

Oh...

Harry's given me these
Zippy Grimes fan-mail to look at.

- Any offers of marriage?
- (HE CHUCKLES)

Only from the men.

You mean you've actually had
letters from women?

Why the surprise?

Over 70% of the readers of Arbiter
are women.

- I didn't know that.
- Yeah.

What are you going to do about your pupils?

When we move?

Well...

Surrey isn't exactly a cultural desert,
is it?

L'll put an ad in the local paper.

Yeah, I mean the ones you already have
like whatshername and, er...

that ghastly little nosepicker.

Well, they'll just have to find themselves
another teacher, won't they?

Mm.

- Rich.
- Mm?

You're not getting cold feet, are you?

I'm getting bloody hungry.

Oh. Yes.

I'll go and get some money.

Gunnar has asked us to dinner.

Why?

Oh. That's a bloody stupid question.

Well, when?

It depends on you.
Next week, Friday, Saturday?

(HE SIGHS)

- Either.
- Well, which?

Well, I'm not sure I want to go.

Look, he's your friend, not mine.

It was your idea
he should paint my portrait.

Ah, it's not him.

It's that evil queen, Gerald.

- Oh, love him, hate her.
- (LEWIS CHUCKLES)

What should I tell Gunnar?

Oh...

- Friday?
- OK.

Come on.

I'll get some food inside you

before you fly into one of your
Wagnerian rages.

Oh, God...

What the hell are you doing?

Playing Happy Families.

You know, it's been like
lying next to Clapham Junction.

You think you could take a pill or something?

All that huffing and puffing

and groaning and moaning.

It's wearing me out.

Sorry.

Thank you.

Mm...

nectar.

Curry always dries me out.

It's like getting sunburn on the inside.

What?

- Eating curry, dear.
- Oh.

- Don't.
- What?

They're in piles.

- Yes, I can see that.
- No, no, no. Specifically.

I put them in piles.

Pathetic.

Crazy.

Illegible.

And filth.

Seems to be rather more filth
than anything else.

(LEWIS MUTTERS)

How do you distinguish between
pathetic and crazy?

Well, pathetic's sad.

Crazy's just wild.

Then there's the Jesus freaks.

And the ones who think
they're gonna turn into monsters

because they've slept with a man.

Quite a few Catholics among that lot.

And there's one there who thinks
his pecker's gonna turn into a beak.

- I'd think that was pretty pathetic.
- Yeah.

Actually, none of them are very funny.

In fact, they're bloody depressing.

Except possibly the, er...

illegible ones.

I can't read those, so I can't really tell
whether they're comic.

Well, throw them away.

Yeah. I probably shall.

Listen, you dizzy faggot,
it's three o'clock in the morning

so what's so important about all these?

Well, they're important
to the people who wrote them.

At least some of them were.

Come on. Beddy-byes.

Come on.

(LEWIS SIGHS)

You know that stuff
is supposed to rot your teeth, don't you?

They told me that would happen
if I wanked too much.

(LEWIS CHUCKLES)

No, that was your eyesight

not your teeth.

Well, the mind boggles.

All those toothless schoolboys going blind.

(HE CHUCKLES)

(HE COUGHS)

Lewis.

If you really are that worried
about the letters

why don't you send them all back
to the magazine?

- They were addressed to me.
- No, they were not.

They were addressed to Zippy Grimes.

Well, I am Zippy Grimes.
I was Zippy Grimes.

No one knows that except you and me.

Yes, and Harry Essendorf
and Cecilia Plasche.

That's three too many already.

Let Harry deal with the letters.

He'll probably throw them away.

Yeah, he probably will.

Huh.

Harry's tougher than my mother
and she's metallic.

If you kicked Harry in the balls,
you'd probably break your ankle.

Come to think of it,
the same goes for my mother.

- Rich?
- Hmm?

Have you ever been...

scared of something

and you didn't know why?

You didn't know what it was
you were scared of?

Not lately.

For hours.

Sometimes days.

Irrational, Lewis.

Yeah.

Irrational.

Very frightening.

(CLASSICAL MUSIC PLAYS FAINTLY)

(RICHIE YAWNS)

This one's nice, Gunnar.

GUNNAR:
Hmm?

The landscape.

Oh.

It's a good thing cows aren't green.

What?

We'd never be able to see them otherwise.

- Huh.
- Clever of God, that.

Not making cows green.

- Please, keep your head still.
- Sorry.

I didn't know you did landscapes.

I don't, er...

That's one of Gerald's.

Oh.

Is it?

Oh, I still like it though.

Sorry.

- Are you comfortable like that?
- Not really. Like what?

With your legs crossed?

My God. You can't paint crossed legs,
can you?

L'll paint them knotted, if you like.

- L was thinking of your circulation.
- I'll probably get cramp anyway.

You are supposed to be looking to the front.

I'm sorry.

Am I allowed to talk?

I don't seem to be able to stop you.

It won't put you off?

That depends on what you talk about.

You see...

even if cows were green

we'd still be able to see them
by the whites of their eyes

and their big...

Dink.._

tongues.

(THEY SNIGGER)

Sorry.

Oh, hello.

Oh, I'm sorry about that.

They wouldn't let me in without one.

You're late.

Yes.

Oh, I see you had the same problem.

This, you prick,
cost me 16 quid in Bond Street.

Sotheby's?

What'll you have?

Er, wine, please.

I wouldn't.

White, please.

Dry. sir?

Yes.

And another green one for the host.

Come.

I suppose a smile would spoil his image,
would it?

Is he always like that?

He's a barman, petal.

Who cares whether he's got
one foot in the grave.

He keeps the rest of us going.

How to extract from the dead
the secret of life.

- What is that?
- Never mind.

You're late, Mr Duncan.

Yeah, I'm sorry. It's the traffic.

You're very late.

Busy editors don't like to be kept waiting.

I'm sorry, Harry.

I thought you employed a minion
to keep you alert?

That creature with the name like an anagram.

Plasche?

Yeah, well, she's not a computer, you know.
She makes mistakes too.

I'm not that late.

Plasche, that's it.

Cecilia Plasche.

Poor cow.

She must be followed by a chorus
of "gesundheits"

every time her name's mentioned.

(HE CHUCKLES)

Do that again.

- What?
- Put your tongue out.

- Lewis.
- No, no, really.

Behold the Himalayas.

Oh.

" Nasty?
- Very,

How many of these things have you had?

Who's counting?

Ah, Chateau ICI.

Don't say I didn't warn you.

They get it by the cubit from Leather Lane.

Thank you, Marten.

Most grateful.

Er...

don't forget to remove the empty glass.

His name's Marten, with an "e".

To Marx, Karl and Groucho.

What's in that concoction?

Grasshopper.

Créme de menthe and cream and...

little bit of this and that.

What, at this time of day?

Have to feed the ulcer, petal.

Oh, if the ulcer doesn't get you,
the heart attack will.

Cheers.

Book going well?

Well enough, yes.

How's Richie?

Fine. How's Margaret?

Getting worse.

She had the locks changed on Monday,
I had to climb through the loo window.

She's threatened to leave me.

Well, she's been doing that for years.

Have you any idea how humiliating it is

to live with someone who's completely
indifferent to you?

Yes.

She gets these bloody incredible crazes.

She dyed the kids' clothes yellow last month.

Felt as if I was taking canaries to school
every morning.

- (HE CHUCKLES)
- Now she's taken up colonic irrigation.

She has these weird bits of rubber
everywhere like entrails.

Shuts herself up in the bathroom
for hours on end

gets all the towels wet.

I always thought that colonic irrigation
had something to do with Greek agriculture.

Anatomy was never a strong point of mine.

I've never really had a satisfactory
explanation as to why the bathwater

doesn't go up your bottom
when you sit in the bath.

(HARRY LAUGHS)

I'm gonna miss you.

Why, where you going?

Thought you were.

Oh, I'm only going to Surrey.

It's not the Outer Hebrides, Harry.

Dropping out?

No, just a bit tired of London.

Sick of trees with their roots in concrete.

And Richie?

It was a joint decision.

It's a very boring club, Harry.

Well, I suppose the wallpaper
is a bit listless.

Somewhere neutral?

Something like that.
Too loud at my office, too poky at yours.

Ah.

What's it all about, Harry?

More?

By every post, flower.

Oh.

You don't like it, do you?

Well, yes, I like it,
it's just that I think my nose is a...

What?

Well, a little...

better than...

- No?
- No.

Hmm. Charming.

(RICHIE SNIFFS)

Hey)'-

You bought a copy.

- What is it?
- This month's Arbiter

Oh, Gerald bought that.

There's some gay article
he wants to read in it.

It's Lewis's.

What?

The article. Lewis wrote it.

Good Lord.

Well, why didn't Gerald tell me?

Well, he didn't know about it.
Lewis used another name.

What's it about?

Well, it's a sort of open letter
to homosexuals

telling them that they're not really
all that special

so why don't they stop moaning
about how badly they're being treated.

(GUNNAR CHUCKLES)

Gerald won't like that.

- He's being very militant at the moment.
- Oh, dear.

Lewis says that gays ought to climb down
from their martyr's pedestals

and clean up their own backyards
before they start throwing dirt at the law.

You know, importuning in public loos,
that sort of thing.

Zippy Grimes?

I don't know where he got that name from.

"Some boys are pitiless flirts..."

"...clutching their tubes of KY
like shields..."

"...and yet still virgo intacta."

"They promise pleasure to all..."

"...without any thought of the despair
they can cause..."

"...when it turns out
they're merely playing at courtship."

And Lewis really wrote this?

Don't tell Gerald, you see,
it's supposed to be a secret.

Well, I must read it.

Later.

I think you should put on your jumper now.

And go home to Lewis.

Lewis is out.

Lewis is always out.

And when he's not out, he's in

which is worse.

I like Lewis.

He's a good friend.

Pangs of conscience.

What a warm heart you have, Richie.

Good company, though.

No.

- Not very good.
- (HE CHUCKLES)

Another happily married man

worried about his gay sex life.

Quote.

"If every man or woman
who'd enjoyed a homosexual relationship..."

"...turned purple overnight..."

"...there'd be a lot of embarrassed faces..."

"...around the nation's breakfast tables,"
unquote.

Zippy Grimes.

Good stuff.

And there are more.

Quite a few more.

Why all the drama, Harry?

I mean, why all this?

Why didn't you send them like the others?
I mean, they're no different.

Oh, come on. You've never had a reaction
like this to one of your books.

What, letters? Course I have. More.

Oh, sure, ultimately.

That would be over a period of months,
wouldn't it? Years, maybe.

This is four days, Lewis.

116 letters already

and we only published the article
on Thursday.

- Very flattering.
- Don't give me that bullshit.

This is gold, and we want more.

No.

The loot's good, petal,
we'll go much higher on this one.

Look, I've told you

the Zippy Grimes thing was a one-off article.

I didn't want to write it in the first place.

Listen, we took a chance on this
and it paid off.

- You took a chance?
- Oh, alright, split hairs!

Arbiter magazine took a chance.

We're not in the habit of publishing articles
about homosexuals!

And I'm not in the habit of writing them.

What about my reputation?

You used a pseudonym.

Who the hell's gonna know that Zippy Grimes,
practising poof

is really famous butch novelist Lewis Duncan?

Yeah, who also writes children's books

and goes to schools

and moralises on TV chat shows.

If you've done it once without
any repercussions, why not again?

These are repercussions. This, all this.

Read them. Take them home.

No.

Listen, you cocky bastard.

That article touched a receptive nerve.

A follow-up can't go wrong,
on my mother's grave, Lewis!

Your mother is still alive.

(HE SIGHS)

They need answering.

L don't mean individually.
I mean collectively, in another article.

They're begging for help, goddammit.

They need a spokesman,
they need someone like you

someone like Zippy Grimes
to speak out for them.

Our communication
obviously seems to be fraying.

I'm not going to write any more Zippy
Grimes articles, right?

I can't make it plainer than that.

It's not on, Harry.

Look, Lewis, why not just
meet some of these people?

Oh! Are you out of your mind?

Have you any idea how nutty
some of these characters...

So be selective.

Pick the ones that seem genuine,
talk to them, let them talk to you.

Send me the bill.
There's a dozen articles in this lot.

Look, I'm a novelist,
I'm not a journalist.

This is a bloody sight better
than any of your books, flower.

(HE SIGHS)

Having a drink with you, Harry,
is certainly not a fringe benefit.

Well, back to the humdrum.

Do you know what I think?

L think those articles
have really shaken you up, Lewis.

I think you've too much compassion

just to turn your back on these people
and walk away.

You know your trouble?

You think too much.

See you, flower.

Don't you ever get sick of spending your days
doing exactly what's expected of you?

Yes, I do.

Don't you?

Come out of the closet, Lewis.

Oh, good. No damp.

Another winter and they'd have needed
a diver to fix it.

This should get the little buggers.

(HE MAKES KISSING NOISE)

There we are...

Come and get it.

Wouldn't believe it possible, would you?
I mean, what do they actually find to eat?

- Wood, probably.
- Mice don't eat wood.

How do you think they make their holes?
With a Black and Decker?

(RICHIE CHUCKLES)
Well...

they may gnaw it,
but they don't eat it, surely.

Ooh.

- Oh.
- Oh, yeah.

- (BIRDS SING)
- Well, well...

Any of the garden ours?

Yes.

From there, right the way through
to the corner of the wall here.

Oh, that's good.

Yeah, it's beautiful.

Better than Belsize Park, anyway.

You couldn't plant anything
in that nasty little concrete patch.

Mm.

Do you think you'll enjoy it here?

I don't see why not.

Look, they've put the phone in.

Oh, good.

Better make a note of the number.

For our use only, alright?

- What?
- Keep it between ourselves.

For the moment. OK?

It's your flat.

Thank you.

Ah.

A crack in the ice.

How very jolly.

I thought we might have to spend
the entire evening in total silence.

Funny.

L distinctly recall having a few words
when I came back from the theatre.

How was the opera?

Uncomfortable.

If I'd sat any higher,
I might've had a nosebleed.

And the tenor?

She looked divine in tights.

Pathetic voice, but the size of her
sexual organs might get her to La Scala.

Organs?

He had more than one?

That's a no-no, Gunnar, dear.

Leave the funnies to your Auntie Gerald.

All of this because I asked Richie to dinner?

- Richie?
- Mm.

Good heavens, Gunnar, what do I care
for that pretty little predator?

Richie Lloyd's just a sign of the times, dear

a striking example of spiritual decadence.

It's Lewis I can't abide!

Every time that man comes near me,
I develop a psychosomatic twitch.

He's so dull.

Don't underestimate Lewis.

Wouldn't dream of it, darling,
I'm sure he's far duller than even I imagine.

He's a very clever writer.

Dull. Dull, dull!

I mean, Lewis is the sort of man
who looks both ways before crossing his legs.

Please, at least try to be civil on Friday.

Oh, I shall. I shall.

Even if it gives me main-course nausea.

Did you arrive in my life, Gerald,
simply to foul it up?

Oh, dear.

Home truths? It'll end in tears.

You know I think you're mad?

A suspicion reinforced
by my taste in men, ducky.

I feel sorry for you, Gerald.

Mm.

One day, you won't even have enemies left.

Careful, you'll break something.

LEWIS (V0): The forbidden fruit'
this city has to offer

is almost always tasteless or overripe

or poisonous.

l suppose sex can be a career,
llke any other.

But most male whores have no heart!

and that's never more evident than when
they try to pretend that they have.

Some of them are full of anger

and hatred

which often gets dismissed
as bloody-mindedness.

Those are the dangerous ones.

There are exceptions, of course.

(CHILDREN PLAY IN DISTANCE)

Enjoy it?

Yes, I did.

You don't have to go yet.

I wasn't going to.

I haven't finished yet.

Could've fooled me.

It'll cost ya.

What, for conversation?

Oh, you're one of those.

You know, I've worked it out.

In a week, working five hours a day

you can earn upwards of £500 a week.

That's excluding Sundays.

Sometimes less, sometimes more.

There's overheads, see.
Laundry, that sort of thing.

- And I charge extra for dressing up.
- Dressing up?

Oh, you mean boots and things?

Well, boots, breeches, sailor-boy drag

guardsmen, cops, knickers, the lot.

Gotta pay for the clobber. Comes expensive.

I can imagine.

Some of them just wanna talk,
so I charge less for that.

I mean, twenty quid
to get into bed and yak's a bit steep.

Still, no skin off my nose.

Do you have regulars?

Yeah, sure.

Black Polo's a good lay.

Clean sheets, no clap,
get your rocks off in style.

Why do you call yourself Polo?

IN AMERICAN ACCENT:
Cos I'm cool and sweet, man.

- With a hole in the middle.
- (THEY CHUCKLE)

Right.

Even so, £500 a week without tax, phew.

I'm really in the wrong profession.

I earn it, mister.

You wouldn't believe some of the tricks
that come in here.

42 guys I went with, last week.

- What?
- Yeah, 42.

And all of 'em dogs.

All of them.

You see that?

Yeah, I felt it.

Two years ago, that happened.

Nice guy, picks me up,
gets me back to his place

takes his time with the ups and downs

then tells me he's got a social disease.

Pulls a knife out, doesn't he,
when I get shirty.

What happens?

I wake up bleeding to death
on a rubbish tip in Hounslow.

I earn my money.

Did they get him?

- Did they what?
- The police.

Did they get the man?

Ah, shit, man.
He was a policeman.

Wanna drink?

No.

How do you know I'm not a cop?

Wrong smell.

(LEWIS CHUCKLES)

Are you?

No.

I'm Zippy Grimes.

- What?
- Mm.

Hey, man! Why didn't you tell me?

Well, I wanted to get my money's worth first.

(HE LAUGHS)

Hey, that's great!

So you got my letter?

Yeah, you weren't very complimentary
about my article.

Yeah, well, only the bits about guys like me.

Where you get all that shit from?

- You just make it up?
- Mm.

Do I act like I got no heart?

Do I?

Tell you what, Zippy, baby.

Just to show you this is one whore
with a heart of gold...

have one on the house, huh?

You'd be a lot nicer to work with, Plasche

if your manner was a little less furtive.

It's ten to five.

If I don't go now, I shall miss my train.

Well, go.

Well, these arrived this afternoon
from Harry Essendorf.

Well, leave them!

Well, I don't know what to do with them.

Leave them,
and I will look at them later at home.

Place is a pigsty.

I thought you had a train to catch?

I've missed it.

Plasche?

Who's your favourite film star?

Male or female?

Male.

- Alive or dead?
- If you're gonna be difficult...

Oh, alright.

- Sean Connery.
- Ah. Thank you.

You fancy him? I mean,
do you want to go to bed with him?

Yeah.

Ah.

I've seen Goldfinger"three times.

And if 007's on the television

I won't even answer the telephone.

Would it alter your opinion of his films
if I told you that he was queer?

- He's not?
- No, of course he isn't.

But supposing I was to tell you that he was

and that I had it on really good authority
that he was gay?

What would you think of it then, eh?

Well, wouldn't stop me liking his films.

Mm...

I mean, what does it all matter nowadays,
anyway?

L was thinking of all those little old women
who ask librarians

for the latest Lewis Duncan thriller.

Oh, I get it.

You mean, if they found out you were queer

would they still enjoy your novels?

Well, it does alter things a bit, doesn't it?

When the author of those love scenes

has never been to bed
with a woman in his life.

Hm. It's all academic, isn't it?

I mean, you're on your seventh
breathtaking masterpiece

and nobody's found out about you yet.

I saw a kid this afternoon, you know.

One of the blokes
who wrote one of these letters.

Well, that's alright.

To him, you're Zippy Grimes.

Yeah, but supposing he'd recognised me?

How?

Well, I've been on TV, haven't I?

Twice! In the last 18 months.

Yes, but he might have recognised me.

Oh, who's gonna remember you from that?

What does it matter anyway?

It matters to me.

I want my private life to remain private.

Writers are supposed to be peculiar.

You don't suffer from reticence, do you,
Plasche?

Makes you very difficult to work with.

- Well, you asked for my opinion.
- Yeah, well, I've got it now.

Now you can fly off home on your broomstick,
go on.

I don't have to stay here day after day
to be insulted!

Yeah, you stay here year after year, d...

Don't you? You love it.

(HE CHUCKLES)
Appeals to your masochistic nature.

You're too arrogant for your own good,
Lewis Duncan.

That's what's the matter with your novels.
It's got nothing to do with you being queer.

What are you talking about, woman?

Honestly, sometimes I think
you weren't born at all.

You were knitted in some Women's Institute.

(SHE CHUCKLES)

That was wicked.

(THEY LAUGH)

- Wicked!
- (DOOR OPENS AND SHUTS)

LEWIS (V0): Middle-class parents
seldom fall to allow sexual deviation

to shatter the fearful rigidity
of their lives.

"Where did we go wrong?" they murmur

voices hushed with martyrdom.

"How can we face our friends?"

WOMAN IN DISTANCE:
Thank you so much. Goodbye.

WOMAN:
Oh...

Telephones, Mr Grimes.
Do you like telephones?

I can't abide the things, myself.

I thought we might talk out here

away from the wretched machine.

Good idea.

I just can't ignore the noise, I'm afraid.

If I hear it ringing,
I have to answer it.

I'm the same.

We might even have our tea out here later.

Lovely.

Do you like women, Mr Grimes?

Yes, yes.

My mother was a woman.

I meant socially.

I'm talking about women in general,
you understand

not just lesbians.

Yes, yes, well... Uh...

I like women.

Not all of them, of course.

Not unreservedly.

- That would be too much to expect.
- Yes.

I also like dogs.

And children too, sometimes.

Now you're actually here

I confess I find myself rather embarrassed,
I...

It was much easier to write the letter.

You said that you were worried
about your son Jamie.

I don't really see how you can help.

Well, this may sound trite, Mrs Cooper

but sometimes it does help, you know,
to talk to a disinterested party.

When I say disinterested, of course,
I don't exactly mean disinterested...

- What I mean is...
- A week...

before I picked up that magazine
and read your article

Jamie came to see me.

He doesn't live at home now, and...

quite calmly announced
that he was a homosexual and...

he thought I ought to know in case
I should find out some other way.

Good for him.

I still haven't had the courage
to tell my parents.

I was glad his father was dead.

He would've been deeply ashamed.

Were you, Mrs Cooper?

A little.

And I was unhappy for my son.

No one should have to travel
through life alone.

Mrs Cooper, when one is gay

homosexual

it doesn't necessarily mean
that you have to be lonely.

I mean, there must be, what

something like four million homosexuals
in this country.

Nobody's going to tell me
that they're all miserable and unhappy.

Can you accept the fact that your son Jamie

prefers going to bed with men
rather than women

and stop making him feel guilty about it?

Oh, he doesn't.

I'm the one that feels guilty.

You see, I...
I've always despised homosexuals.

Well, tolerance isn't a quality
that all of us possess.

And then I read your article and it seemed
so... sensible and compassionate.

I felt I had to write.

It seemed almost preordained
that I should see the magazine

after Jamie's confession.

Your letter told me quite a lot about you,
Mrs Cooper

but very little about Jamie.

Are you a religious man, Mr Grimes?

No.

Oh.

You don't go to church?

Weddings and funerals.

It's the first time I started
feeling middle-aged, actually

when I realised I was going to more
funerals than weddings.

Doesn't the Church say that it is sinful
to be a homosexual?

I think the Church says that it's a sin
to behave like one.

They prefer homosexuals to stay abstinent.

The trouble is, of course,
that if a man damps down his sexual drive

and remains abstinent

sooner or later,
he's going to get screwed up

and something's going to snap.

And it's then, willing or unwilling

that he starts drifting about
in public places

looking for someone like himself
to have sex with.

The Church doesn't go
a bundle on that, either.

I know.

You see...

Jamie is a priest.

- No, Harry.
- Will you just think about it?

No need.

I'm a very persistent man, Lewis.
I usually get what I want in the end.

You sound like an undertaker.

What the hell's the matter with you?

You go on playing so hard to get

you're likely to become extinct
in your own lifetime.

Look, Harry, you and I
have been friends for a long time

and if we're not careful,
we're gonna fall out rather badly over this

and I don't want that to happen.

You'll always be close to my heart, petal.

Oh, Harry. Look, I've already seen
three people, for God's sake.

- Three, out of all that lot? Jesus!
- Yeah.

Look, an MP

a black male whore who earns
three times as much as I do

and a parody of Lady Macbeth

who's taking her son on a pilgrimage
to Lourdes

to cure him of his homosexuality.

I don't want to write articles about that,
Harry.

I'm sorry, I want to concentrate on my novel.

You disappoint me, Lewis.

Oh... sorry.

That's all? "Sorry"?

Look, I've had more than enough
of Zippy Grimes, right?

Somebody just turned up at my office
the other day

frightened Plasche half to death.
It's not on, Harry!

Alright, alright, alright.

Run away to your menopausal dump in Suffolk.

Surrey.

Bury yourself, for all I care.

Is that what I'm doing, running away?

Well, aren't you?

Thought I was strolling away.

You know what I think?

I think it's very sad, petal.

You really are angry, aren't you?

It would give me the greatest of pleasure
to put a little piece in our next issue

telling our readers
exactly who Zippy Grimes is.

I hope you don't, Harry.

Gutless arsehole.

- (DISTANT CLATTER)
- (LEWIS MUTTERS)

Where've you been?

SLURRED:
Why haven't you gone home, Plasche?

I missed my train.

You smell like a wine cellar.

Oh, do be quiet. There's a good chap.

You're drunk.

Campari.

Somebody hit you over the head
with the bottle?

Oh, very drole. Very drole.

Good God.

You've got a dress on.

For a writer, you're remarkably observant.

They say alcohol improves one's perception.

I've never seen you in a dress before.

So, have I committed a crime?

Well, it looks unreal!

Not to me, it doesn't.

Well... where'd you get it?

Jumble sale?

(HE GIGGLES)

- Howard bought it.
- Oh.

Howard?

- The praying mantis.
- Oh!

Yes.

Prince Charming of Watford Junction.

He gave it to me.

Yeah, not a surprise.

Wouldn't suit him either,
I wouldn't think. Hm.

As a present.

A birthday present.

Oh, no.

Not again.

It's in your diary, you know.

Oh, Plasche!

I'm sorry.

You've never once remembered,
not once in seven years.

No, look, I'm sorry.

Look, since you...
you missed your train, right?

I will take you out to dinner. Hm?

I'm already going out.

Oh. Well, then tomorrow?

And... and we'll go to the pictures.

See Sean Connery, in...

007 and a half...

Howard is taking me out tomorrow and tonight.

Good old Howard.

Like to hear him living dangerously, right?

Why are you always so snide about him?

I mean, what's he ever done to you
to cause such contempt?

I don't want him to marry you.

Why not?

Well...

Cos you won't be able to work for me,
will you?

Eh? Would you?

You must be drunk.

You've never done anything like that before.

You know, Plasche...

you're a very clever girl, you know that?

Mad, of course.

But I like you.

And you have consistency.

That is very therapeutic, consistency.

You are so consistently awful

that I find you soothing.

Well...

if that was supposed to be a compliment

it got mangled up somewhere along the line.

Yeah. Oh...

I'll make you some coffee.

Oh, thank you. Plasche!

I'm sorry that I forgot your birthday.

It's alright.

About time I stopped having them.

I did get you a present, you know.

I tied a red bow right round it.

But then I had to take it off...

because I couldn't get my zip up.

Wash your mouth out with soap!

(HE GIGGLES)

Oh...

(EASY LISTENING MUSIC PLAYS)

(DOORBELL RINGS)

Gerald!

GERALD:
Panic not! I'm on my way.

(DOORBELL RINGS)

GUNNAR:
Hurry up, Geraldine!

Oh, don't fuss, Gunnar.
They aren't royalty.

Are you, er...

Jekyll or Hyde tonight?

I don't recall which was which.

Gerald!

I'll be as sweet as pie.

- Ah!
- (THEY LAUGH)

(INDISTINCT CHATTER)

GERALD:
Welcome to our humble abode!

You're a girl, I suspect.
You're too pretty to be a boy.

Hello, Gerald.

- Gunnar, bottle of wine.
- Oh, marvellous.

- I shall put it in the fridge.
- German, of course.

- Yet another for the feast.
- Wonderful.

My goodness, you brushed your hair!

(HE LAUGHS)

This really must be an occasion!

- Prompt, as usual.
- The only trouble with punctuality

is that people always think
you've got nothing better to do.

- You're looking very well.
- Trying, trying.

This boy's got a great future behind him,
Lewis.

- (THEY CHUCKLE)
- Ah!

You like it?

LEWIS:
Yes, I do!

I do, very much. It's very good, Gunnar.

- Who is it?
- (THEY LAUGH)

Very witty.

Tonight was supposed to be
the unveiling ceremony

but it's not quite finished yet.

Well, I think the uniform spoils it.

All that phony masculinity.

Hey, I resent that "phony" bit!

If you'll excuse me, duty calls.

(HE SNIFFS)
Something smells good.

Oh, it's Gerald.

My friend's barely civilised

but he makes a mean chicken béarnaise.

GUNNAR:
Gerald, how about some drink?

- Gorg?
- Martini, please.

I'll have the same.

- Dry?
- Mummified.

It's been one of those days.

(THEY LAUGH)

Anyway, no one can afford
to buy a Braque these days...

...except British Rail.
- (THEY LAUGH)

Well, personally, I prefer Mondrian.

Oh! You just can't compare
Braque and Mondrian, Lewis.

LEWIS:
Why on Earth not?

GUNNAR:
Mondrian's much too clinical.

- Perhaps that's why I prefer it.
- Lewis is a Virgo.

- It shows.
- (RICHIE CHUCKLES)

- Can't stand Mondrian, myself.
- Neither can I.

- It's like scaffolding.
- (THEY CHUCKLE)

You know, Richie,
when you try to get cultural

you're really worth your weight
in fairy cakes.

- Ooh!
- Temper, temper.

Or is it premenstrual tension, do you think?

- Very funny.
- (RICHIE LAUGHS)

Anyway, I don't think it's morally right
for a company to buy a work of art

and then just shove it away
in a vault for 20 years.

Ah, the innocence of it!

The dear boy's so normal and refreshing.

You make him sound like a mouthwash.

GUNNAR:
I agree with Richie.

Especially as they don't always
go into the vaults.

There's a Utrillo

hanging in Gerald's office right now.

Collecting art and antiques
is a good long-term investment.

It's a hedge against inflation.

- Is that true?
- What?

Do you really have a Utrillo
hanging in your office?

Yes.

Well, I think that's outrageous.

I beg your pardon?

Well, do the shareholders know?

Mind your own business!

Oh, temper, temper.
(HE CHUCKLES)

- Or is it premenstrual tension?
- (RICHIE LAUGHS AWKWARDLY)

- Cut it out, Lewis.
- Yes, please stop it.

- You started this.
- And now I would like to finish it.

- Hear, hear.
- Since you seem to feel

our ethical standards are
less than healthy, Lewis

perhaps you should come in on Monday
and give our art expert some advice.

No, my dear Gerald,
I'm sure there's no need.

I must say, I'm surprised you haven't
tried to bribe me

- to keep my mouth shut.
- If you kept your mouth shut more often

and your eyes open,
you'd be a much better writer, heartface.

You'd certainly be more observant.

Wouldn't he, Gunnar?

Well...

GUNNAR:
Have we any weight-watchers here tonight?

No.

My God, Gunnar, this looks absolutely...

When do you move?

Oh, a couple of weeks.

They eat their children, I'm told,
country people.

- (THEY LAUGH)
- Very odd, they are.

No, don't laugh!
You listen to your Auntie Gerald.

She knows whereof she speaks.

The countryside's full of psychotic animals

and prickly things that come
out of the ground and grab at you.

' Weurgh!
~ Argh!

Gerald thinks that anybody who lives
outside London is buried alive.

L'm sure you'll look
very fetching in wellies, dear

plodding about up to your goolies
in chicken poop.

- (THEY LAUGH)
- Trés butch.

Can't see you settling in at all.

Why not? I spent the first sixteen years
of my life on a farm.

Heavens!

I mean, farms are such slummocky places

and you're the most fastidious person I know.

I'll bet he even puts shoe trees
in his bedroom slippers.

Yes, he does.

You really are the ultimate laxative,
you know, Gerald.

GERALD:
I've never quite fathomed you out.

- Oh?
- There's something about you

that doesn't ring true.

How can anyone so mundane

- have written a book like "Chinchilla"?
- (RICHIE SNORTS)

I'm glad that you're your usual
charming self tonight, Gerald.

No, seriously, Lewis.
Haven't you ever done anything really crazy?

I mean, something that's not totally dull
and conventional.

I don't see there's anything wrong
in being conventional.

Mediocre don't suffer.

You should know that, Gerald.

Very boring, dear.

Writers have no business being boring.

He once took all his clothes off...

Oh, no.

And walked about outside naked.
Now, that's not very conventional.

- At night, of course.
- No, no, no.

Tell me. Tell me.

I'd rather not.

Go on, Lewis.

Tell us. Take no notice of them.

Well, I was sixteen at the time.

My parents were away for the day.

It was... a hot afternoon

so I took my clothes off.

And I went across the fields.

And I had a swim.

And then I walked back.

There were some men working in the field.

Nobody saw me.

It must have been an extraordinary feeling.

Yes, it was.

Welcome to the human race.

Yes, well, you're right in that respect,
I suppose.

I am conventional.
I've never had the guts to do it again.

Oh, come on, Lewis.

You had the guts
to write the Zippy Grimes article.

- Gunnar.
- Zippy Grimes?

Oh... I'm sorry.

I promised Richie I wouldn't say anything.

Yes, it's a pity someone else
didn't do the same.

GERALD:
W-what, pray, is everyone talking about?

Lewis wrote the gay article
in this month's Arbiter

- Really?
- MOCKING: Yes, really, Gerald!

Now that you know,
I suppose the gossip columnists

will be buzzing around like blowflies.

It doesn't surprise me in the slightest
that you used another name.

Gerald, I wish to be known as a good novelist

not a good gay novelist.

You really think they'll stop
buying your books because you screw men?

I've spent the last five years of my life

trying to persuade public men
to stand up and be counted.

Well-known people like you,
who could help if only you spoke up!

GUNNAR:
Gerald, you are preaching.

Isn't it about time
you came out of the closet, Lewis?

You do know what that means, I suppose.
"Coming out"?

If it means boring the knickers off everyone,
yes, I do.

GERALD:
That's cheap, even from you.

I used to admire the militants, you know,
who fought for our rights in public.

And then they got a little too strident
for my liking

and I started to wince a bit,
and then I began making excuses for them.

Oh, that's really progressive.

LEWIS:
You were beginning to enjoy it too much.

What a model to us all you are!

Why can't men like you just sit down

and shut up?

Why can't you exercise a little dignity
once in a while?

Dignity isn't going to stop blackmail,
and... and job discrimination

and queer-bashing and...
and police harassment!

- Gerald, please.
- Has it ever occurred to you

that perhaps we deserve
some of the bad things that happen to us?

Oh, Jesus. You...

You're... you're right
to go off to the country.

Look, when a straight man
goes to the gents to have a pee

do you think honestly that he enjoys
being cruised by some sticky-lipped poof?

Of course he doesn't.

What's he supposed to do?
Just pat him on the head?

And smile tolerantly?

He's offended, for God's sake,
and I don't blame him.

- It offends me.
- Oh, go to Surrey, Lewis.

Shove your head in the bloody sand.

- Oh, come on. This is all very childish.
- I agree.

- Brandy, Richie?
- Yes, please.

- Lewis?
- Yeah, no, thank you.

Get two more glasses, Gerald.

I'm curious about something.

Did you know about Richie and Gunnar
before you wrote that article?

It might explain your rather disenchanted
view of homosexuals.

- Jesus Christ...
- You are being very stupid, Gerald.

You are aware of the fact
your charming friend here

and our rugged host are engaged
in a colourful courtship dance?

Just five minutes with you, Gerald,
and I feel scratched all over.

Sit down and shut up.

Oh, but Lewis ought to know!
It's only decent.

Where decency is concerned

I don't think you have
any points of reference.

Goodnight, Gunnar.

I enjoyed the dinner.

- If you take my advice, Lewis...
- I'd rather take poison.

(DOOR SLAMS)

(DOOR SHUTS)

One day, Gerald...

somebody's gonna drive a stake
through your heart.

There's no wood hard enough, ducky.

(GUNNAR SCOFFS)

Aren't you overreacting a bit?

This is ridiculous, Lewis.

Gunnar doesn't mean a thing to me.

I know that.

He's just another scalp
to add to your collection.

Well, then.

You know, I think I'm gonna try
and live alone for a while.

How long a while?

I don't know.

If we stay together, we'll only end up...

What's that?

I said...

(HE SPITS)

If we stay together

we'll only end up scratching each other's
eyes out like Gunnar and Gerald.

(HE SPITS)

That what you want?

(HE SIGHS)

I have a talent for survival, you know, Rich.

Somehow I've learned how to swim in shit.

And I think you're gonna drown in it.

I just want to make absolutely certain
that I don't go down with you.

LEWIS (V0):
If you 're queer, you're queer

and that's it.

You just get on with it,
for better or for worse.

That's what life's about, isn't it?

Carrying on.

Coping-

You need good health
and a reason to get up in the morning.

And a sense of humour.

That, most of all

because let's face it

you're on your own.

Well, not all the time.

I mean, every now and then,
something nice might crop up

just to keep you hoping.

It won't last, of course.

Nothing does when you're queer.

(RAIN POURS)

The door was open.

When you leave, Alan, like right now

you can close it behind you, can't you?

It's Brian.

What are you doing here, anyway?

My dad's come to see Mr Lloyd.

Oh.

That is all I need.

Where is he now?

- Parking the car.
- Ah.

Well, you can tell him not to bother,
can't you?

You a poofter?

You are, ain't you? You and him.

- Am I what?
- A poofter.

I don't understand the meaning of the word.

Would you kindly explain?

Queer. Are you queer?

Do you mean, am I homosexual?

Yeah.

What business is it of yours, eh?

I don't care if you are.

That's very broad-minded of you.

My dad would, though.

That's very narrow-minded of him.

We're told to keep away
from people like you at school.

Very good advice.

It's a pity you didn't take it.

If my dad knew you and Mr Lloyd
were poofters, he'd go spare.

Well, it's just as well he doesn't know then,
isn't it? Hm?

I could tell him.

MAN IN DISTANCE:
Brian!

Are you trying to blackmail me?

- I don't have to tell him.
- MAN: Brian!

(LEWIS SIGHS)

Get out of here, you little creep.

L hope all your children
turn out to be little poofters.

I wanna see Lloyd.

My name's Russell, I'm his father.

Mr Lloyd is out.

It's about his music lessons.

He's been coming here eight months now

and he's no better than he was
when he started.

Perhaps he lacks application.

He lacks a good teacher.

He says Lloyd's hardly ever here
on a Wednesday.

And when he does condescend to turn up,
he's either half-cut

or he's got another pupil waiting.

Well, it's not good enough, is it?

- (BOX THUDS)
- I sympathise.

- I really do.
- Look, I don't want sympathy.

I want action.

We paid out good money
to have him learn the piano.

Yes, well, you'll have to take that up
with Mr Lloyd, won't you?

Who are you?

I am his lover.

Hey?

Your father appears to have been
struck dumb, Alan.

What does one pull to make words come out?

You're a poof?

You've won the washing machine.

What, Lloyd and all?

Oh, you're gonna go for the freezer too, eh?

Huh. Yes, we are spreading like greenflies.

You won't have to wait long, Mr Russell.
Goodbye.

Here, just a bloody minute.

I mean, somebody ought to know about you.

Bloody perverts, teaching kids!

Yes, well, you'll have to take that up
with the other bloody pervert, won't you?

I'll sort him out, alright. You and all.

Jesus!

Couple of bloody iron hoofs!

It's criminal.

Why don't you have a look at this magazine,
while you're waiting? Hm?

Bloody poofs.

Bloody poofs.

You're going up the doctor's tomorrow.

- L'm hungry.
- Oh, shut up.

Or better still,
go and practise your bloody scales.

Well, go on!

(HE SHUDDERS)

Bloody poofs.

(HE GASPS)

(PHONE RINGS)

GERALD VO».
Oh, go to Surrey, Lewis. Shove your head...

HARRY VO.
Run away to your menopausal dump in Suffolk.

GERALD VO. Isn 't it about time
you came out of the closet, Lewis?

HARRY VO.
Come out of the closet, Lewis.

Gutless arsehole.

GUNNAR VO:
Oh, come on, Lewis.

You had the guts to write the Zippy...

PLASCHE VO. Why didn't you have the guts
to put your own name to it?

GERALD (V0):
Writers have no business being boring.

LETTER WRITER (V0): The thing is, Zippy

I killed this man, see?

MRS COOPER VO».
And then I read your article...

LEWIS (V0):
We was queer, llke you. "

MRS COOPER NO): ...and it seemed so sensible
and compassionate.

GERALD VO. You do know what that means,
I suppose? Coming out?

RICHIE (V0): He once took all his clothes off.

LEWIS (V0):
Never had the guts to do if again.

RICHIE (VO): And walked about outside naked.
Now, that's not very conventional.

PLASCHE (V0): What does lt all matter nowadays, anyway?

HARRY (VO):
It'd give me the greatest 0f pleasure

to put a little piece in our next issue
telling our readers

exactly who Zippy Grimes is.