All language subtitles for Bloom.2003.1080p.WEBRip.x264.AAC-[YTS.MX]

(light orchestral music)

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- Yes, because he never did a thing like that before,

like the City Arms Hotel

when he used to be pretend to be laid up with a sick voice,

doing his highness to make himself interesting

to that old faggot, Mrs. Riordan.

Still, I like that in him,

polite to old women like that and waiters and beggars.

She never left us a farthing,

all for masses for herself and her soul,

greatest miser ever, telling me all her ailments.

She had too much chat in her about politics and earthquakes

and the end of the world and, oh, Jesus.

Let us have a bit of fun first.

Yes, so he came somewhere.

Really.

And the story he made up, a pack of lies to hide it.

Yes, because the day before yesterday,

he was scribbling a letter when I came in

to to show him Dignam's death in the paper.

Poldy?

As if something had told me.

I see Paddy Dignam is dead.

And he pretending to be thinking

about business, fool!

Oh, not that I care two straws who he does it with,

though I'd like to find out,

like that slut, that Mary,

padding out her false bottom to excite him.

All his own fault, of course, ruining servants

and then proposing that she could eat at our table

on Christmas, if you please.

I see you've been taking in the views, Poldy.

Oh, no, thank you.

Not in my house, stealing my oysters.

Yes, because he couldn't possibly

do without it that long,

so he must do it somewhere.

Oh, why can't you go and kiss a man

without marrying him first?

I wish some man or other

would take me sometimes when he's there

and kiss me in his arms.

Nothing like a kiss long and hot,

down to your soul.

It almost paralyses you.

I wonder, was he satisfied with me?

I didn't like his slapping me behind, though I laughed,

"I am not a horse."

Goodbye, mister Boylan.

Yes because, he must have come three or four times

with that tremendous,

big, red brute of a thing he has.

I thought the vein or whatever the dickens you call it

was going to burst out though his nose.

No, I never in all my life

felt anyone had one the size of that,

to make you feel full up.

What's the idea of making us like that

with a big hole in the middle of us?

Like a stallion driving it up into you.

What I went through with Milly.

(shouting indistinctly)

(grunts)

Not satisfied till they have you swollen out like elephants.

- Good girl!

That's it!

- I had a great breast of milk with Milly, enough for two.

I had to get him to suck them they were so hard.

What are all those veins and things?

It's curious the way it's made, two the same,

in case of twins.

Supposing I risked having another one?

No, not off him.

Poldy has more spunk in him.

(snoring)

He knows a lot of mixed-up things.

He says you have no soul inside, only grey matter,

because he doesn't know what it is to have one.

They're all so different.

Ah, let them all go and smother themselves

for the fat lot I care.

(grunts)

I wish he was here, or somebody,

to let myself go with and come again like that.

I feel all fire inside me.

I was coming for about five minutes,

my legs 'round him.

Oh, lord, I wanted to shout all sorts of things,

fuck or shit or anything at all.

They're not all like him, thank god.

Oh, some of them want you to be oh, so nice about it.

Oh, lord, I can't wait till Monday.

(grand orchestral music)

(birds chirping)

(speaking foreign language)

- For this, O dearly beloved, is the genuine Christ,

body and soul.

Slow music, please.

Silence, all.

Thanks, old chap.

Switch off the current, will you?

(chuckles)

Lend us a loan.

The bard's nose rag, huh?

A new art colour for the Irish poets, snot green.

You can almost taste it, can't you?

(chuckles)

God.

The snot green sea.

The scrotum-tightening sea.

She is our great, sweet mother.

The aunt thinks you killed your mother.

That's why she won't let me have anything to do with you.

- Someone killed her.

- You could have knelt down, damn it,

when your dying mother asked you to.

To think of your mother

begging you with her dying breath

to kneel down and pray for her, and you refused.

Poor dogsbody.

(sighs)

What have you got against me now?

- Do you wish me to tell you?

- [Mulligan] Yes.

What is it?

- Do you remember the first day I went to your house,

after my mother died?

- I can't remember anything.

I remember only ideas or sensations.

Why?

What happened?

- Your mother asked you who was in your room.

- [Mulligan] Yes, and what did I say?

- You said, "Oh, it's only Dedalus,

"whose mother is beastly dead."

- Did I say that?

Well what harm is in that?

I mean, what is death?

Your mother's, yours, my own?

I suppose I did say it.

I didn't mean to offend the memory of your mother.

- I am not thinking of the offence to my mother.

- [Mulligan] Of what, then?

- [Stephen] Of the offence to me.

- Oh, impossible person.

Look at the sea.

What does it care of offences, eh?

Come on.

The Englishman wants his breakfast.

And don't mope about it all day.

I'm inconsequent.

Give up the moody brooding.

(light orchestral music)

(humming)

- [Stephen] Fergus' song, I sang it alone in the house.

Holding down the long, dark chords.

Her door was open, she wanted to hear my music.

(piano music)

Silent with awe and pity, I went to her.

She was crying in her wretched bed.

"For those words, Stephen, love's bitter mystery.

"Pray for me, Stephen."

- I'm going around the corner.

Be back in a minute.

- Mmmm.

- You don't want anything for breakfast?

(light orchestral music)

Not there.

In the trousers I left off.

No use disturbing her.

All right till I come back anyhow.

Be a warm day, I fancy,

especially in these black clothes.

Feel it more.

Black conducts, reflects, refracts, is it?

The heat.

Makes you feel young.

Somewhere in the east, early morning,

set off at dawn, travel 'round in front of the sun.

Steal a day's march.

Keep it up forever,

never grow a day older, technically.

Wander through awned streets.

Turbaned faces going by.

Dark caves of carpets.

Wander along all day.

Might meet a robber or two.

Well, meet him.

Probably not a bit like it, really,

kind of stuff you read.

- [Clerk] Now, my miss.

Thank you, my miss.

And one shilling threepence change.

For you, please?

- To catch up and walk behind her if she went slowly,

behind her moving hams.

Pleasant to see first thing in the morning.

Hurry up, damn it.

Make hay while the sun shines.

They like them sizable.

Prime sausage.

- [Clerk] Threepence, please.

(coins clinking)

Thank you, sir.

Another time.

- Good morning.

- [Clerk] Morning, sir.

- No sign, gone.

Still, an idea behind it.

What matter?

To smell the gentle smoke of tea,

fume of the pan, sizzling butter.

- "Jesus, I'm melting,"

as the candle remarked when, but hush!

Not another word on the subject.

Dedalus, wake up.

Bread, butter, honey.

Bless us, O lord, and these thy gifts.

Where's the sugar?

Jesus.

There's no milk!

- We can drink it black.

There's a lemon in the locker.

- Oh, damn you and your paris fads.

I want milk.

The blessings of god on you.

- I'm giving you two lumps each.

But I say, Mulligan, you do make strong tea.

- When I makes tea, I makes tea,

as old mother Grogan used to say.

And when I makes water, well, I makes water.

(laughs)

- Ohh.

By Jove, it is tea.

- Dedalus, I'm stony broke.

Hurry out to your school kip and bring back some money.

Today, the bards must drink.

Ireland expects every man will do his duty.

- That reminds me.

I have to visit your national library today.

- Our swim first.

It is the day for your monthly wash, Kinch?

The unclean bard makes a point of washing

(sniffs)

once a month.

- All Ireland is washed by the Gulf Stream.

- I intend to make a collection of your sayings,

if you will let me.

- Wait till you hear him on Hamlet.

Ready!

(cup thuds)

Come, Kinch.

I suppose you've eaten all we've left.

(light orchestral music)

- Poldy?

Who are the letters for?

- A letter for me from Milly,

a card for you from Milly,

and a letter for you.

Do you want the blind up?

That do?

- She got the things.

Hurry up with the tea.

I'm parched.

- Kettle is boiling.

- Poldy.

- [Leopold] What?

- Scald the teapot!

- [Man] What is your idea of Hamlet?

- [Mulligan] No!

Wait till I've a few pints in me first.

You couldn't manage under three pints, Kinch, could you?

- [Stephen] It has waited so long, it can wait longer.

(laughs)

- [Man] You pique my curiosity.

Is it some paradox?

- [Mulligan] Pooh!

Quite simple, really.

He proved by algebra

that Hamlet's grandson is Shakespeare's grandfather,

and that he himself is the ghost of his own father.

- What?

He himself?

- The sacred pint alone

can unbind the tongue of Dedalus.

- I think I read a theological interpretation

of it somewhere,

the father-and-son idea.

The son striving to be atoned with his father.

You're not a believer, are you?

I mean, believer in the narrow sense of the word.

Creation from nothing and miracles and a personal god.

- There's only one sense of the word, it seems to me.

- Yes.

Of course.

Either you believe or you don't, isn't it?

Personally, I can't stomach the idea of a personal god.

You don't stand for that, do you?

- You behold in me, a horrible example of free thought.

(laughs)

- [Man] Well, I should think you are able to free yourself.

I mean, you are your own master, it seems to me.

- [Stephen] No, I am the servant of two masters,

an english and an Italian.

- Oh!

Forgot to tell you, got a card from Bannon.

Says he's found a sweet, young thing down in Westmeath,

"Photogirl," he called her.

Snapshots, eh?

(clicks tongue)

- And a third, who wants me for odd jobs.

- Italian?

What, what do you mean?

- The imperial British state

and the Holy Roman Catholic and Apostolic Church.

- I can quite understand that.

An Irishman must feel that way, I daresay.

We feel in England that we treated you rather unfairly.

It seems history was to blame.

Of course, I'm a Britisher, and I feel as one.

I don't want to see our country fall into the hands

of German Jews, either.

That's our national problem.

Just now.

(light orchestral music)

- What a time you were.

(liquid pouring)

- Who was the letter from?

- Oh.

Boylan.

He's bringing the programme for the tour this afternoon.

- What are you singing?

- La Ci Darem and love's Old Sweet Song.

- Would you like the window open a little?

- What time is the funeral?

- 11, I think.

I didn't see the paper.

- Mmmm.

No.

No.

That book.

It must have fell down.

Show here.

I put a mark in it.

There's a word I wanted to ask you.

Metem, metem,

- Metem what?

- Here.

What does that mean?

- Metempsychosis?

- Yes.

Who's he when he's at home?

- Metempsychosis.

It's Greek.

From the Greek.

That means the transmigration of souls.

- Oh, rocks!

Tell us in plain words.

- Did you finish it?

- Yes.

There's nothing smutty in it.

Is she in love with the first fellow all the time?

- Never read it.

Do you want another?

- Yeah.

Get us another Paul de Kocks.

Nice name, he has.

(cup thuds)

(light orchestral music)

(liquid pours)

- Some people believe we go on living in another body

after death.

They call it reincarnation.

Metempsychosis is what the ancient Greeks called it.

They used to believe you could be changed

into an animal or a tree, for instance.

What they called nymphs, for example.

- There's a smell of burn.

Did you leave anything on the fire?

- The kidney.

(quirky orchestral music)

(meat sizzling)

- You.

Armstrong.

What was the end of pyrrhus?

- [Armstrong] End of pyrrhus, sir?

- [Boy] I know, sir.

Ask me, sir.

- No, wait.

Armstrong.

Do you know anything about pyrrhus?

- Pyrrhus, sir?

Pyrrhus, a pier?

(all laughing)

- Well, tell me, now.

What is a pier?

- A pier, sir.

A thing out in the waves.

A kind of Kingstown Pier, sir.

- Kingstown Pier.

Yes.

A disappointed bridge.

- How, sir?

A bridge is across a river.

- Tell us a story, sir.

- Do, sir.

A ghost story.

- Who can answer a riddle?

- [Boy] A riddle, sir.

Ask me, sir.

- [Student] Ask me, sir.

A hard one, sir.

- Here is the riddle,

the cock crew, the sky was blue,

the bells in heaven were striking 11.

'Tis time for this poor soul to go to heaven.

What is that?

- [Boy] What, sir?

- Again, sir.

We didn't hear.

- What is it, sir?

We give up.

- The fox burying his grandmother

under a hollybush.

(bell ringing)

- [Man] Hockey!

- Mr. Deasy told me to write them out all again

and show them to you, sir.

- Do you understand how to do them?

- Numbers 11 to 15.

Mr Deasy said I was to copy them off the board, sir.

- Can you do them yourself?

- No, sir.

- Here.

Let's take a look.

(light orchestral music)

He proves by algebra

that Shakespeare's ghost is Hamlet's grandfather.

Futility, ugly and futile.

Yet someone had loved him, borne him in her arms

and in her heart.

But for her, the race of the world

would have trampled him under foot,

a squashed, boneless snail.

She had loved his weak, watery blood

drained from her own.

Was that then real?

The only true thing in life?

Her glazing eyes,

staring out of death, to shake and bend my soul.

Ghostly light on the tortured face.

Her hoarse, loud breath rattling in horror.

- Ghoul, chewer of corpses.

- No, mother.

Let me be, and let me live.

Do you understand now?

- Yes, sir.

- Can you do the second one yourself?

Like him was I,

these sloping shoulders, this gracelessness.

My childhood bends beside me.

Mine is far, and his secret.

Secrets, silent, stony,

sit in the dark palaces of both our hearts.

It's very simple.

- Yes, sir.

Thanks.

- You better get your stick and go on out to the others.

- Yes, sir.

- [Milly] Dearest Papli,

thanks ever so much for the lovely birthday present.

It suits me splendid.

Everyone says I'm quite the belle.

I'm getting on well in the photo business now.

We're going on a picnic tomorrow.

Give my love to mummy, and to yourself,

a big kiss and thanks.

I hear them at the piano downstairs.

There is a young student comes here

some evenings named Bannon.

Must now close with fondest love.

Your fond daughter, Milly.

P.S., excuse bad writing.

- [Leopold Voiceover] 15 yesterday.

Curious.

15th of the month, too.

Her first birthday away from home.

Remember the morning she was born,

running to knock up Mrs. Thornton

in Denzille street.

Jolly old woman, lots of babies

she must have helped into the world.

She knew from the first.

- You can come in now, sir.

- [Leopold] Poor, little Rudy wouldn't live.

- Its a little boy.

- [Leopold Voiceover] She knew at once.

He'd be 11 now if he'd lived.

Coming out of her shell.

Young student.

Bannon,

oh, well.

She knows how to mind herself.

But if not?

No, nothing has happened.

Of course, it might.

Wait, in any case, till it does.

Destiny.

Wonder have I time for a bath this morning.

Better be careful not to get these trousers

dirty for the funeral.

Now.

No great hurry.

The king was in his countinghouse.

Our prized tidbit.

"Matcham's masterstroke.

"Written by Mr. Philip Beaufoy, Playgoers' Club, London.

"Payment at the rate of one guinea a column

"has been made to the writer."

Hope it's not too big to bring on piles again.

No, just right.

(water splashes)

(grunts)

Print anything now, silly season.

Might manage a sketch.

By Mr. And Mrs. L.M. Bloom.

Invent a story or a proverb, which?

Is that Boylan well off?

He has money.

What time is the funeral?

Better find out in the paper.

(paper rustles)

Poor Dignam.

(paper rips)

Ah, yes.

Prize tidbit.

"Matcham's masterstroke."

(toilet flushes)

- One, two three.

Three twelve.

I think you'll find that's right.

- Thank you, sir.

- Well, don't carry it like that.

You'll pull it out somewhere and lose it.

You just buy yourself a pocketbook.

You'll find it very useful.

- Mine would be often empty.

- Because you don't save.

You don't know what money is.

But one day, you must feel it.

A generous people, but we must also be just.

- I fear those big words, which make us so unhappy.

- Oh, that reminds me.

Uh, you can do me a favour, Mr. Dedalus,

with some of your literary friends.

I have a letter here for the press.

I put the matter into a nutshell.

It's about the foot and mouth disease.

I want that to be printed.

Mark my words.

England is in the hands of the Jews.

They are a sign of a nation's decay.

As sure as we are standing here,

the Jew merchants are already at their work of destruction.

Old England is dying, if not dead by now.

- A merchant is one who buys cheap and sells dear,

Jew or gentile, is he not?

- They sinned against the light.

And you can see the darkness in their eyes.

(scoffs)

- History is a nightmare from which I am trying to awake.

- I am happier than you are.

I foresee that you will not be here long.

You were not born to be a teacher.

- A learner, rather.

- And here, what will you learn more?

- Who knows?

But life is the great teacher.

As regards this...

- Ah, yes.

If you could have that published at once.

- I'll try.

I know two editors slightly.

- That will do.

There is no time to lose.

- Good morning, sir.

- Oh, just one moment.

(sighs)

- Yes, sir?

- I just wanted to say,

Ireland, they say, has the honour

of being the only country which never persecuted the Jews.

Do you know that?

No.

And do you know why?

- Why, sir?

- Because she never let them in.

She never let them in.

That's why.

(light orchestral music) (bell tolling)

(bell ringing)

- Are there any letters for me?

- [Martha] Dear Henry,

I am sorry you did not like my last letter.

Why did you enclose the stamps?

I am awfully angry with you.

I do wish I could punish you for that.

Are you not happy in your home,

you poor, little, naughty boy?

I often think of the beautiful name you have.

When will we meet?

I think of you so often, you have no idea.

Please write me a long letter and tell me more.

Remember, if you do not, I will punish you.

Goodbye now, naughty darling.

And write by return to your longing Martha.

P.S., do tell me what kind of perfume does your wife use?

I want to know.

- Hello, Bloom, what's the best news?

Is that today's?

Show us a minute.

I want to see about that french horse that's running today.

Now, where the bugger is it?

- You can keep it.

- Ascot gold cup.

Wait.

Half a mo.

- You can keep it.

I was just going to throw it away.

- What's that?

- I say you can keep it.

I was going to throw it away that moment.

(dramatic orchestral music)

- I'll risk it.

Thanks.

- [Stephen Voiceover] Now, tea.

(light orchestral music)

Ineluctable modality

of the visible,

at least that, if no more.

Thought through my eyes.

Signatures of all things I am here to read,

Seaspawn and seawreck, the nearing tide.

Snot green, bluesilver, coloured signs.

Shut your eyes and see.

You are walking through it, howsomever.

I am, a stride at a time.

A very short space of time

through very short times of space.

Exactly.

And that is the ineluctable modality of the audible.

Open your eyes.

No.

Jesus.

I am getting on nicely in the dark.

My ash sword hangs at my side.

Tap with it.

They do.

My two feet, in his two boots, at the end of his two legs.

Am I walking into eternity along Sandymount Strand?

Open your eyes.

Wait.

That dream.

Yes.

Street of harlots.

That man led me...

- Stephen, Stephen.

- [Stephen] Spoke.

I was not afraid.

- Stephen.

- [Stephen Voiceover] Open your eyes now.

I will.

One moment.

Has all vanished since?

If I open and am forever in the black.

I will see if I can see.

See now.

There all the time without you,

and ever shall be.

World without end.

My Latin quarter hat.

God.

We must simply dress the character.

You were a student, weren't you?

Of what, in devil's name?

You were going to do wonders with mother's money order.

Eight shillings.

- It's just a little something...

- [Stephen Voiceover] A fiery missionary to Europe.

Pretending to speak broken english.

Rich booty you brought back, a blue telegram.

"Mother dying.

"Come home.

"Father."

The aunt thinks you killed your mother.

I will not sleep there when this night comes.

Take all, keep all.

My soul walks with me.

- There's a friend of yours gone by, Dedalus.

- Hmm?

Who is that?

- Your son and heir.

- Where is he?

Was that Mulligan cad with him?

- No.

He was alone.

- He's in with a lowdown crowd.

That Mulligan is a contaminated, bloody double-dyed ruffian

by all accounts.

His name stinks all over dublin.

(light orchestral music)

- Noisy, self-willed man.

Full of his son.

He is right.

Something to hand on.

If little Rudy had lived,

see him grow up.

Hear his voice in the house.

My son.

Raah!

Me in his eyes.

Aha!

Strange feeling it would be

from me.

Must have been that morning,

she was at the window,

watching the two dogs at it by the wall.

- [Both] Give us a touch, Poldy.

- [Leopold] She said.

- God, I'm dying for it.

- [Leopold] "God, I'm dying for it."

- Come on.

- [Leopold] How life begins.

- Big boy.

Come on.

- [Leopold Voiceover] Got big then.

Had to refuse the Greystones concert.

My son inside her.

I'd have helped him on in life.

I could.

Make him independent.

Learn German, too.

- But the worst thing is, the man who takes his own life.

- Temporary case of insanity, of course.

We must take a charitable view of it.

- They say a man who does it is a coward.

- It is not for us to judge.

(sighs)

- [Leopold Voiceover] Poor papa.

Poor man.

The letter, "To my dear son Leopold."

(dramatic orchestral music)

Just that moment, I was thinking.

The nails, yes.

He's coming over in the afternoon.

Is there anything more in him that she sees?

Worst man in dublin.

But a type like that.

My nails.

I am just looking at them,

well pared.

- [Man] How is the concert tour getting on, Bloom?

- Oh, very well.

I hear great accounts of it.

It's a good idea, you see?

- Are you going yourself?

- Well, no.

In point of fact, I have to go down to the county Clare

on some private business.

You see, the idea is to tour the chief towns.

What you lose on one, you make up on the other.

- Quite so.

Quite so.

(light orchestral music)

- [Stephen Voiceover] The flood is following me.

I can watch it from here.

These sands are language tide.

Sands and stones.

Heavy of the past.

I could not save her.

I want her life still to be hers,

mine to be mine.

I couldn't save her, bitter death.

Ha.

The ineluctable modality

of the ineluctable visuality,

the virgin in the window,

keen glance you gave her.

She lives in Leeson Park.

Touch me.

Soft eyes.

Soft, soft, soft hand.

I'm lonely here.

Sad, too.

Touch.

Touch me.

I'm caught in this burning scene.

Pain is far.

And the blame?

As I am, I am.

All or not at all.

(light orchestral music)

Better get this job over quick.

God becomes man becomes fish becomes barnacle

becomes featherbed mountain.

Dead breaths, I, living, breathe.

(speaking foreign language)

- [Leopold Voiceover] I daresay, the soil around here

must be quite fat

with corpse manure, bones, flesh, nails.

Dreadful.

Of course, the cells or whatever they are,

go on living.

Live forever, practically.

Nothing to feed on, feed on themselves.

But they must breed a devil of a lot of maggots.

Poor Dignam.

His last lie on the earth in his box.

When you think of them all, it does seem a waste of wood.

They could invent something with a kind of panel,

sliding, let it down that way.

Ah, but they might object to be buried

out of another fellow's.

They're so particular.

Lay me in my native earth.

Bit of clay from the holy land.

I see what it means

to protect him as long as possible, even in the earth.

The Irishman's house is his coffin.

Embalming in catacombs, mummies, the same idea.

(light orchestral music) (speaking foreign language)

Who is that lanky looking galoot

in the Macintosh?

I've never seen him before.

Good idea, the Latin.

Stupefy them first.

Lourdes cures, statues bleeding.

Safe in the arms of kingdom come.

Wake up this time next year.

Oh Rudy, you would be 11 years old now.

Holy water that was, I expect.

He must be fed up with that job,

shaking that thing over all the corpses they trot up.

Every mortal day, a fresh batch,

middle-aged men, old women,

children, women dead in childbirth,

men with beards, bald-headed businessmen,

consumptive girls with little sparrows' breasts.

All the year round,

he prays the same thing over them all, sleep.

On Dignam now.

Well, it is a long rest.

Feel no more.

Must be damned unpleasant.

Can't believe it, at first.

Mistake.

Must be somebody else.

Try the house opposite.

People talk about you a bit, forget you.

"Don't forget to pray for him.

"Remember him in your prayers."

Then they follow,

dropping into a hole one after the other.

- Foot and mouth!

- The letter is not mine.

Mr. Garrett Deasy asked me to...

- Oh sure, I know him.

Knew his wife, too.

By Jesus, she had the foot and mouth disease,

and no mistake.

I want you to write something for me.

Foot and mouth disease, all balls!

Give them something with a bite in it.

Put us all into it.

You can do it.

- Telegraph.

Racing special.

Telegraph.

Racing special.

Telegraph.

Racing special.

Telegraph.

Racing special.

Telegraph.

Racing special.

Telegraph.

Racing special.

- [Mrs. Breen] Oh, Mr. Bloom.

How do you do?

- How do you do, Mrs. Breen?

- How is molly these times?

I haven't seen her for ages.

- In the pink.

How are all your charges?

- Still on the baker's list.

You're in black, I see.

You have no...

- No.

Just come from a funeral.

- [Mrs. Breen] Oh, dear me.

I hope it wasn't any near relation.

- Dignam.

An old friend of mine.

Died quite suddenly, poor fellow.

Heart trouble, I believe.

Funeral was this morning.

- Sad to lose the old friends.

- Do you ever see anything of Mrs. Beaufoy?

- Oh, you mean Mina Purefoy.

- [Leopold Voiceover] Phillip Beaufoy, I was thinking.

Playgoers' Club.

Matcham often thinks of the masterstroke.

Did I pull the chain?

Yes.

The last act.

(toilet flushes)

- I just called in to see if she was over it.

She's in Holles Street Hospital.

She's three days bad now.

- Oh, I'm very sorry to hear that.

- Yes.

And a houseful of kids at home.

It's a very stiff birth, the nurse told me.

Oh, there he is.

I must run after him.

He's a caution to rattlesnakes.

Goodbye.

Give my regards to molly, won't you?

- I will.

(light orchestral music)

Tea.

Tea.

I forgot the tea.

God.

Three days.

Three days groaning on a bed.

Dreadful.

Lucky molly got over hers lightly.

They should invent something for that.

Hmm.

Life with hard labour.

Old woman who lived in a shoe,

she had too many children.

(birds chirping)

See that?

Gone.

Every morsel.

They never expected that.

Manna from heaven.

I'm not going to throw any more.

Lot of thanks I get.

Not even a caw.

They spread foot and mouth disease, too.

But how can you own water, really?

It's always flowing in a stream, never the same,

which in the stream of life we trace.

Ah, yes.

Stream of life.

What was the name of that priesty-looking chap

who was always squinting?

Weak eyes, pen-something.

Pendennis?

My memory is getting,

Pen?

Oh, it's years ago.

Their little frolic after meals.

Who will we do it on?

I pick the fellow in black.

Here goes.

Must be thrilling from the air.

Apjohn, myself, and Owen Goldberg,

up in the trees near goose green,

playing the monkeys.

Mackerel, they called me.

How time flies.

Pillowed on my coat, she had her hair,

my hand under her nape.

Oh, wonder.

The sky.

Cool-soft with ointments,

her hand touched me, caressed.

Her eyes upon me did not turn away.

Ravished over her I lay,

full lips, full open, kissed her mouth.

Yum.

Softly, she gave me in my mouth the seedcake,

warm and chewed.

Joy.

I ate it.

Joy.

Young life, her lips that gave me pouting.

Soft, warm, sticky gum-jelly lips.

Flowers, her eyes were, take-me, willing eyes.

Hot, I tounged her.

She kissed me.

All yielding.

She tossed my hair.

Kissed.

She kissed me.

28, I was, she, 23.

When we left Lombard Street, something changed.

Could never like it again after Rudy.

Can't bring back time.

Like holding water in your hand.

I was happier then, or was I?

Or am I now?

Would you go back?

Just beginning then.

Would you?

- All these questions are purely academic.

Art must reveal to us ideas, formless, spiritual essences.

The deepest poetry of Shelley, the words of Hamlet,

bring our minds into contact with the eternal wisdom,

Plato's world of ideas.

All the rest of it is just the speculation of schoolboys

for schoolboys.

- The schoolmen were schoolboys first.

Aristotle was once Plato's schoolboy.

- And has remained so, one should hope.

- But what is a ghost?

One who has faded into impalpability

through death, through absence.

Elizabethan London lays as far from Stratford

as corrupt paris lies from virgin Dublin.

Who is the ghost,

returning to a world that has forgotten him?

Who is king Hamlet?

(light orchestral music)

The play begins.

A player comes out under the shadow.

It is the ghost, a king and no king,

and the player is Shakespeare,

who has studied Hamlet all the years of his life.

He speaks these words to the younger player,

"Hamlet, I am thy father's spirit."

To a son, he speaks, the son of his soul,

the son of his body, Hamlet Shakespeare,

who has died in Stratford

that his namesake may live forever.

Is it possible that that player,

speaking his own words to his own son's name,

is it possible

that he did not foresee the logical conclusion

of those premises?

You are the dispossessed son, I am the murdered father,

your mother is the guilty queen, ann Shakespeare,

born Hathaway.

- Do you mean to fly in the face

of a tradition of three centuries?

Her ghost at least is laid forever.

She died, for literature, at least, before she was born.

- She died 67 years after she was born.

She saw him into and out of the world.

She took his first embraces,

she bore his children,

and she laid pennies on his eyes

when he lay on his deathbed.

- The world believes that Shakespeare made a mistake

and got out of it as quickly, as best he could.

- A man of genius makes no mistakes.

His errors become the portals of discovery.

- Do you want to cross?

You're in Dawson street.

Molesworth street is opposite.

Do you want to cross?

There's nothing in the way.

I'll see you across.

Do you want to go to Molesworth Street?

- Yes.

South Frederick Street.

- Come.

(light orchestral music)

Say something to him.

Better not do the condescending.

They mistrust what you tell them.

Pass a common remark.

The rain kept off.

- Thanks, sir.

- Right, now.

Second turn on your left.

Stains on his coat.

Slobbers his food, I suppose.

Tastes all different for him.

Like a child's hand, his hand.

Like Milly's was.

Sensitive.

See things in their foreheads, perhaps.

Bloodless, pious face

like a fellow going in to be a priest.

Penrose.

That was that chap's name.

Quite noisy here.

Good opportunity.

(farts)

It is.

It is.

To the right.

Museum.

Goddesses.

Quick.

Safe in a minute.

Handsome building.

Sir Thomas Deane designed.

Is it?

Almost certain.

Won't look.

Get on.

Not following me?

Didn't see me, perhaps.

Light in his eyes.

No, didn't see me.

My heart!

- Mr. Dedalus,

your views are most illuminating.

Is it your view, then,

that she was not faithful to the poet?

Where there is a reconciliation,

there must first have been a sundering.

- I was prepared for paradoxes

from what that Malachi Mulligan said,

but I may as well warn you.

If you're going to try to shake my belief

that Shakespeare is Hamlet,

you've got a stern task ahead of you.

- As we weave and unweave our bodies from day to day,

their molecules shuttling to and fro,

so, too, does the artist weave and unweave his image.

And through the ghost of the unquiet father,

the image of the unliving son looks forth.

In the intense instant of imagination,

when the mind is a fading coal,

I may see myself as I sit here now,

but by reflection from which I shall be.

- You were speaking of the gaseous vertebrate,

if I mistake not?

- Yes, indeed.

A most instructive discussion, Mr. Mulligan, on Shakespeare.

- Shakespeare?

I seem to know the name.

Come, Kinch.

Come, wandering bard.

Come on.

You have eaten all we left.

- Life is many days.

This will end.

- We shall see you tonight.

Notre Ami Moore says that Malachi Mulligan must be there.

- Monsieur Moore,

lecturer on french letters to the youth of Ireland.

I'll be there.

Come, Kinch.

The bards must drink.

Can you walk straight?

(scoffs)

(chuckles)

(light orchestral music)

Good day.

(chuckles)

The wandering Jew.

He knows you.

He knows your old fellow.

Did you see his eye?

He looked upon you to lust after you.

Kinch, thou art in peril.

(both laugh)

- Did you get any money?

- Huh?

- Where would I get money?

- Sceptre will win in a canter.

- Yeah, I plunged a bit myself.

Not on my own, mind.

- Can't you look for some money somewhere?

- I will.

I've looked all along the gutter in O'Connell street,

so I'll try this one now.

- [Leopold Voiceover] Sweets of sin.

More in her line.

Let's see.

"All the dollar bills her husband gave her

"were spent in the stores on wondrous gowns

"and costliest frillies.

"For him!

"For Raoul!"

- Ah!

Got to go.

- Have you got the horn or what?

(chuckles)

- "Her mouth glued on his

"in a luscious, voluptuous kiss

"while his hands felt for the opulent curve

"inside her deshabille."

I'll take this one.

- Sweets of sin.

That's a good one.

- You bitch's bastard.

(sniffs)

- I see Bloom put his name down for five shillings.

- Quite right.

And put it in, too.

(light orchestral music)

(panting)

(both moaning)

- What's that bloody freemason

doing out there, prowling up and down?

- Who?

- Bloom.

He's been up and down there on point duty,

the last 10 minutes.

- [Man] Hello, Bloom, what will you have?

- Thank you, no.

I just wanted to meet Martin Cunningham,

don't you see, about this insurance of poor Dignam's.

Martin asked me to go to the house.

- Oh well, you'll have a drink.

- [Leopold] No, I couldn't.

- Come on.

You're here now.

- Have a drink!

- [Man] What will it be?

- Well, I'll just take a cigar, thank you.

- A cigar for Bloom.

- To the memory of the dead.

Friends we love are by our side.

Foes we hate before us.

- I hear blazes Boylan is running a concert tour

up in the North.

- [Man] He is, isn't he?

- Who?

Ah, yes.

That's quite true.

Yes, a kind of summer tour, you see?

Kind of holiday.

Mrs. B is the bright, particular star, isn't she?

- My wife?

She's singing, yes.

I think it will be a success, too.

He's an excellent man to organise.

Excellent.

- Mr. Bloom, would you please tell Mrs. Dignam for me...

- Aah!

You look like a fellow that's lost a bob

and gained a tanner.

Gold cup, throwaway at 20 to 1.

A ranked outsider, and I didn't back her!

- And bass' mare?

- Still running.

Boylan shoved two quid on my tip sceptre

for himself and a lady friend.

- Mr. Bloom.

What's your nation, if I may ask?

- Ireland.

I was born here.

Ireland.

And I belong to a race, too, that is hated and persecuted

also now, this very moment, this very instant.

Robbed.

Plundered.

Insulted.

Persecuted.

- Are you talking about a new Jerusalem?

- I'm talking about injustice.

- Right.

Stand up to it, then, with a force like men.

- But it's no use.

Force, hatred, history, all that.

That's not life for men and women, insult and hatred.

And everybody knows that it's the very opposite

of that that is really life.

- What?

- Love.

I'm talking about the opposite of hatred.

I must go now.

Just 'round to the court a moment,

to see if Martin is there.

If he comes, just say I'll be back in a second.

Just a moment.

- Who's hindering you?

Universal love.

A new apostle to the gentiles.

- Well, isn't that what we're told?

Love your neighbours.

- Beggar my neighbour is his motto.

Fine cut of a Romeo and Juliet he'd make anyway, eh?

(laughs)

(light orchestral music)

(gasps)

- Hi, Stephen.

- What did you buy this for?

To learn french?

- Is it any good?

- It's all right.

Mind father doesn't pawn it on you.

I suppose all my books are gone.

- Some.

We had to.

- I know where he's gone.

- Who?

- Bloom.

The courthouse is a blind.

He had a few bob on throwaway,

and now he's gone to gather in the shekels.

Bet you what you like he had a 100 shilling to five on.

He's the only man in dublin has it.

- I'm looking for Bloom.

Does anyone know where he is?

- Where is he?

Defrauding widows and orphans.

- [Man] Charity to the neighbour.

- [Friend] Where is he?

We can't wait.

- A wolf in sheep's clothing.

Virag from Hungary.

Cursed by god.

That's what he is.

- I was just 'round at the courthouse, looking for you.

- Courthouse my eye.

And your pockets dangling there with gold and silver.

Typical Jew.

All for number one.

Cute as a shithouse rat, that's what you are.

100 to five.

- I beg your pardon?

- Come on, boys.

- Yeah, keep it to yourself.

Tell no one.

- [Man] Bye-bye, all.

- Three cheers for Israel!

Mendelssohn was a Jew.

And Karl Marx and Mercadante and Spinoza.

And the saviour was a Jew, and his father was a Jew.

Your god!

- He had no father.

Drive ahead.

- [Man] Whose god?

- Well, his uncle was a Jew.

Your god was a Jew.

Christ was a Jew like me!

- By Jesus, I'll batter him for calling his name in vain.

I'll bleeding crucify him!

Foreigners, coming in here,

stealing our wives, stealing our work!

- Hail Mary, full of grace, the lord is with thee,

blessed art thou amongst women,

and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.

(congregation speaking indistinctly)

Hail Mary, full of grace, the lord is with thee,

blessed art thou amongst women,

and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.

(congregation speaking indistinctly)

Hail Mary, full of grace, the lord is with thee,

blessed art thou amongst women,

and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.

(congregation speaking indistinctly)

Hail Mary, full of grace, the lord is with thee,

blessed art thou amongst women,

and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.

(congregation speaking indistinctly)

- I want the ball.

- No.

- It's my ball, and I want it.

- No.

No.

It's Jackey's turn.

- You're not my sister.

I want the ball.

- Now, off with the two of you.

(light orchestral music)

- Hail Mary, full of grace, the lord is with thee,

blessed art thou amongst women,

and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.

(congregation speaking indistinctly)

Hail Mary, full of grace, the lord is with thee,

blessed art thou amongst women,

and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.

(congregation speaking indistinctly)

(congregation speaking indistinctly)

Hail Mary, full of grace, the lord is with thee,

and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.

- [Congregation] Holy Mary, mother of god,

pray for us sinners

now and at the hour of our death.

Amen.

- Hail Mary, full of grace, the lord is with thee,

blessed art thou amongst women,

and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.

(overlapping voices)

- Tommy!

Jackey!

We're going.

Come on.

- [Leopold Voiceover] Oh, she's lame.

Poor girl.

That's why she's left on the shelf.

A defect is 10 times worse in a woman.

Glad I didn't know it when she was on show.

Hot, little devil all the same.

Near her monthlies, I expect.

Anyhow, I got the best of that.

Devils, they are, when that's coming on them.

Still, you have to get rid of it somehow.

Did me good all the same.

The mystery man on the beach,

prize tidbit by Mr. Leopold Bloom.

Payment at the rate of one guinea per column.

This wet is very unpleasant.

Better detach.

All quiet on howth now.

Where we lay.

The rhododendrons.

I am a fool, perhaps.

All that old hill has seen.

Names change, that's all.

Take the train there tomorrow.

No.

Returning not the same.

The new, I want.

Nothing new under the sun.

- Now drink we,

for this is not my body, but my soul's embodiment.

Our lust is brief.

We are but means to those small creatures within us,

and nature has other ends than we.

- What means this?

- In woman's womb, word is made flesh,

but in the spirit of the maker, all flesh that passes

becomes the word that shall not pass away.

Now, this is the postcreation,

all of us linked together with successive navelcords.

- Seed, breed, and generation.

(chuckles)

- We are all born in the same way,

but we all die in different ways.

- You have spoken of the past and its phantoms.

Why think of them?

If I call them to life,

will not the poor ghosts troop to my call?

- Who supposes it?

- I, Stephen, bullock-befriending bard,

am lord and giver of their life!

Mark this, and remember.

(sighs)

Time's ruins builds eternity's mansions.

The end comes suddenly.

So and not otherwise was the transformation,

violent and instantaneous,

upon the utterance of the word...

- Burkes!

(light orchestral music)

(laughing)

- Pray sir, was you in need

of some professional service, um, we could give?

(laughs)

Come, Kinch.

Come.

(laughing)

(clears throat)

(laughs)

- Goodnight.

Lord knows where they're gone.

Drunks cover distance double quick.

What am I following him for?

(all laughing)

(light orchestral music)

(urinating)

- [Stephen Voiceover] Get this job over quick.

God becomes man becomes fox

becomes barnacle becomes sea.

Dead breaths I living breathe.

I will not sleep there tonight.

Home, also, I cannot go.

(light orchestral music)

- [Leopold Voiceover] Stitch in my side.

Why did I run?

I'll miss him.

Run.

Quick.

(thunder rumbling)

- What is the password?

(speaking foreign language)

- No.

(speaking foreign language)

- No, no, no, no.

(speaking foreign language)

- No.

- What are you doing down this place?

Have you no soul?

Are you not my son Leopold?

Are you not my dear son Leopold

who left the house of his father,

who left the god of his fathers, Abraham, and Jacob?

(speaking foreign language)

- I suppose so, father.

- You watch them chaps!

I remember, mud head to foot.

- They challenged me to a sprint.

It was muddy.

I slipped.

(grunting)

- Poldy.

- Molly!

- Mrs. Marion, my dear man, when you speak to me.

Has poor hubby got cold feet, waiting so long?

- No, not the least bit, Marion.

- Psst!

10 shillings a maidenhead.

Fresh thing, was never touched.

- With all my worldly goods, I thee and thou.

You did that to me.

I hate you!

- I?

When?

You're dreaming.

I never saw you.

- When you saw the secrets of my bottom drawer.

Dirty, married man.

I love that you did that to me.

- Mister,

- Madam, when last we had this pleasure

by letter, dated the 16th...

- Mr. Bloom!

You, down here in the haunts of sin!

I caught you nicely.

Scamp!

- Not so loud, my name.

Whatever do you think me?

You're looking splendid.

Absolutely it.

Seasonable weather we're having, this time of year.

Black refracts heat.

Short cut home here.

Interesting quarter.

Rescue of fallen women, magdalen asylum.

I'm the secretary.

(chuckles)

- Don't tell a big fib!

Oh, just wait till I see molly!

Account for yourself this very minute

or woe betide you!

- She often said she'd like to visit.

Slumming.

The exotic, you see.

A little frivol, shall we?

If you are so inclined.

Would you like me, perhaps, to embrace you

just for a fraction of a second?

(panting)

(laughing)

Oh, you ruck!

You ought to see yourself!

(laughs)

- [Man] Caught in the act.

- I am doing good to others.

- Come.

Name and address.

- I have forgotten for the moment.

Ah!

Yes.

Dr. Bloom, Leopold, dental surgeon.

You have heard of von blum pasha.

Umpteen millions.

Owns half of Austria, Egypt.

- Proof?

Henry flower.

No fixed abode.

Unlawfully watching.

- This is the flower in question.

It was given me by a man.

I don't know his name.

We're engaged, you see, sergeant.

Lady in the case.

Love entanglement.

Dash it all.

It's a way we gallants have in the navy.

The uniform that does it.

I'll introduce you, inspector.

She's game.

Do it in the shake of a lamb's tail.

- Don't believe a word of it!

That man is Leopold Macintosh, the notorious fire raiser.

His real name is Higgins.

Call the woman Driscoll!

- Call the woman Driscoll!

- [Man] Mary Driscoll, scullerymaid!

- What do you tax him with?

- He made a certain suggestion,

but I thought more of myself,

as poor as I am.

- I treated you white!

I gave you mementos,

smart garters far above your station.

Incautiously, I took your part

when you were accused of pilfering.

Play cricket!

- As god is looking down on me,

if ever I laid a hand to them oysters!

- Of the offence complained of, did something happen?

- He surprised me in the rear of the premises, your honour,

when the missus was out.

He held me,

and I was discoloured in four places as a result.

And he interfered with my clothing.

- She counterassaulted!

- I had more respect for the scouring brush, your honour.

I remonstrated with him, your lord,

and he replied, "Keep it quiet."

(all laughing)

(laughing)

- Order, order.

Order in court!

- This is no place for indecent levity

at the expense of an erring mortal.

My client is an infant.

A poor, foreign immigrant

who started scratch as a stowaway

and is now trying to turn an honest penny.

If the accused could speak,

he could a tale unfold one of the strangest

that have ever been narrated between the covers of a book.

His submission is that he is of mongolian extraction

and irresponsible for his actions.

Not all there, in fact.

(all gasp)

- Arrest him.

He sent me an anonymous letter in backhand.

He offered to send through the post, a work of fiction,

by Monsieur Paul de Kock.

- And also to me.

Yes.

I believe it is the same, objectionable person.

- Also me.

He implored me to soil his letter

in a most unspeakable manner,

to chastise him as he so richly deserves,

to bestride and ride him,

to give him a most vicious horsewhipping.

- Me too!

- Me too!

- [All] Me too!

Me too, me too, me too, me too, me too!

(gavel banging)

- Order in court!

I will put an end to this white slave traffic

and rid Dublin of this odious pest.

Take him away from the dock where he now stands

and be him hanged by the neck until he is dead.

Lord have mercy on your soul.

Remove him!

- No, no.

Pigs' feet.

I was at a funeral.

- Liar!

(wood creaks)

(all gasp)

(coffin lid thuds)

- It is true.

It was my funeral.

- How is that possible?

- By metempsychosis.

- Oh, rocks!

(quirky orchestral music)

- You see, it's true.

It's from the Greek,

transmigration of the soul.

Some people believe that we go on living

in another body after death.

They call it reincarnation.

Metempsychosis is what the ancient Greeks called it.

They used to believe you could be changed into an animal

or a tree.

- Oh, go on.

Make a speech about it.

- My beloved subjects, a new era is about to dawn.

I, Bloom, tell you verily it is even now at hand.

Yea, on the word of a Bloom,

ye shall ere long enter into the golden city,

which is to be the new Bloomusalem

in the Nova Hibernia of the future.

(paper thuds)

(toilet flushes)

(audience applauding)

- What am I to do about my rates and taxes?

- Pay them, my friend.

- Thank you.

- When will we have our own house of keys?

- I stand for the reform of municipal morals

and the plain ten commandments.

(all cheer)

New worlds for old.

(all cheer)

Union of all, Jew, muslim and gentile.

(all cheer)

Electrical dish scrubbers!

(all cheer)

No more patriotism

of barspongers and dropsical imposters.

(all cheer)

Free money, free love,

and a free lay church in a free lay state.

(all cheer)

- What about mixed bathing?

- Whenever possible!

(all cheer)

- He is an episcopalian, an agnostic, an anythingarian,

seeking to overthrow our holy faith.

- I'm disappointed in you.

You are a bad man.

- I'm a Bloomite, and I glory in it.

I believe in him, in spite of all.

I'd give my life for him, the funniest man on earth.

- I bet she's a bonny lassie.

(all laughing)

- My hero god!

(gasps)

(body thudding)

- Give us a tune, Bloom, one of the old, sweet songs.

♪ I vowed that I never would leave her ♪

♪ She turned out a cruel deceiver ♪

♪ Tooraloom, tooraloom ♪

♪ Tooraloom, tooraloom ♪

♪ Tooraloom, tooraloom, tooraloom ♪

- This is midsummer madness.

I am guiltless as the unsunned snow.

I call on my old friend, Dr. Malachi Mulligan,

sex specialist, to give medical testimony on my behalf.

- Dr. Bloom is bisexually abnormal.

Traces of elephantisis have been discovered

among his ascendants.

He is prematurely bald from self-abuse.

I have made a pervaginal examination

and I declare him to be virgo intacta.

(spectators whispering)

Professor Bloom is a finished example

of the new womanly man.

I appeal for clemency,

in the name of the most sacred word,

our vocal chords have been called upon to speak.

He is having a baby!

(light orchestral music)

- Oh, I so want to be a mother.

- Stop press!

Stop press!

Stop press!

Stop press!

Stop press!

- Are you with him?

You're not his father, are you?

- Not I.

- [Woman] How's the nuts?

(glass clinks)

- A talisman.

Heirloom.

- For Zoe?

For keeps?

For being so nice, eh?

Your boy's thinking of you.

- Here's another for you.

The reason is because the fundamental

(light piano music)

and the dominant

are separated by the greatest possible interval,

which is the greatest possible ellipse.

- What a learned man, eh?

- God help your head.

He knows more than you have forgotten.

(discordant piano music)

- What went forth to the ends of the world

to traverse not itself, god, the sun, Shakespeare,

having itself traversed in reality itself

becomes that self.

- [Boy] Stop press!

- Wait a moment.

Wait a second.

Damn that fellow's noise in the street!

- Stop press!

Stop press!

Result of the rockinghorse races.

Safe arrival of the antichrist.

(scoffing)

(singing indistinctly)

(discordant piano music)

(scoffs)

- [Stephen Voiceover] Imitate pa.

♪ He must be a millionaire ♪

- [Stephen Voiceover] Play with your eyes shut.

Filling his belly.

(discordant piano music)

Too much of this.

I will arise and go.

Steve, thou art in a perilous way.

(sighs)

Must visit old Deasy or telegraph.

Our interview of this morning

has left on me a deep impression.

Will write fully tomorrow.

I'm partially drunk, by the way.

Minor chord comes now.

(light piano music)

- My word, I'm all of a mucksweat.

Married, I see.

- Yes, partly.

I have mislaid,

and the missus is master.

Petticoat government.

- That is so.

- [Woman] Have you forgotten me?

- Nes.

Yo.

- We have met.

You are mine.

It is fate.

- Exuberant female.

Enormously, I desiderate your domination.

I am exhausted, abandoned, no more young.

I stand, so to speak,

with an unposted letter before the too-late box

of the general post office of human life.

- Be mine now.

You may.

You must.

Smell my hot goat hide!

(sniffing)

- Awaiting for further orders.

- Hound of dishonour!

- Empress!

- Adorer of the adulterous rump!

- Hugeness!

- Dung devourer!

- Magnificence!

- [Woman] Off!

- [Leopold] Whoa!

(tense orchestral music)

- Bow, bondslave,

before the throne of your despot's glorious heels,

so glistening in their proud erectness.

- I promise never to disobey.

- You're in for it this time.

I'll make you remember me

for the rest of your natural life.

- Don't be cruel, nurse!

Don't!

(squishing)

Aahhhhhhh!

You're after splitting me.

Oh!

Monsters!

- No more blow hot and cold.

What you have longed for has come to pass.

Henceforth, you are unmanned and mine in earnest.

And now, for your punishment frock.

You will shed your male garments,

you understand, Ruby Cohen?

And don the shot silk over head and shoulders.

- Silk.

(birds chirping)

Oh, crinkly.

Scrapy.

I tried her things on only once, a small prank.

(whip cracks)

- Tell me something to amuse me,

smut or a bloody good ghost story

or a line of poetry.

Quick, quick!

I give you just three seconds.

One!

Two!

Three!

- I rererepugnosed in rerererepugnant...

- Get out, you skunk!

- Master!

Mistress!

Man tamer!

- By day, you will bat and souse our smelling underclothes.

(urinating)

You will get my tub ready,

empty the piss pots, rinse them well, mind,

or lap it up like champagne.

You will drink me piping hot.

(gulping)

(exhales sharply)

Hop!

(pot shatters)

(chuckles)

And there now.

With this ring, I thee own.

Say, thank you, mistress.

- Thank you, mistress.

- You'll know me the next time.

(light piano music)

- [Leopold] Give me back that potato, will you?

- Forfeit's a fine thing.

- There is a memory attached to it.

I should like to have it.

- To have or not to have, that is the question.

- Here, this isn't a musical peepshow.

And don't you smash that piano.

Who's paying here?

- Ah.

(snaps fingers)

(coins clatter)

(sighs)

- Whoops.

(sighs)

The fox crew, the cocks flew.

(laughs)

'Tis time for her poor soul to get out of heaven.

- [Leopold] This is yours.

- How is that?

- Better hand that cash over to me to take care of.

- Be just before you are generous.

- I will, but is it wise?

One, seven, 11, and five.

Six, 11.

I don't answer for what you may have lost.

- Burying his grandmother, probably.

He killed her.

- That's one pound six and 11.

One pound seven, say.

- Doesn't matter a rambling damn.

- No, but...

- Woman's hand.

- Continue.

Lie.

Hold me.

Caress.

- What day were you born?

- Thursday.

Today.

- Thursday's child has far to go.

Line of fate.

Influential friends.

Oh, you'll meet with a,

I won't tell you what's not good for you.

Or do you want to know?

- More harm than good.

Here.

Read mine.

- [Man] Smell that.

- Ah!

Lobster and mayonnaise.

Ah!

- Here, buy yourself a gin and splash.

I have a little business to attend to with your wife.

You understand?

- Thank you, sir.

Yes, sir.

Madam is in her bath, sir.

- Topping.

You can apply your eye to the keyhole

and play with yourself

while I go through her a few times.

- Thank you, sir.

I will, sir.

May I bring two men chums to witness the deed

and take a snapshot?

- You may.

- Thank you, sir.

(light orchestral music)

(panting) (moaning)

Hide!

Show!

Hide!

Plough her!

More!

Shoot!

Aah!

Look!

- She's beastly dead.

The pity of it!

Mulligan meets the afflicted mother.

Mercurial Malachi.

- Who are you?

(breathing shakily)

What trick is this?

- All must go through it.

You too, Stephen.

Time will come.

(breathing heavily)

- Oh look!

He's white.

- Giddy.

- They said I killed you, mother.

He offended your memory.

Cancer did it, not I.

Destiny.

- You sang that song to me.

Love's Bitter Mystery.

- Tell me the word, mother, if you know now.

The word known to all men.

- I pray for you in my other world.

Years and years I loved you.

- Shite!

- What?

(breathing heavily)

- Oh, my son,

my firstborn, when you lay in my womb,

repent, Stephen!

Oh, the fire of hell!

Beware!

God's hand!

- With me or not at all.

Non serviam!

- Give him some cold water.

- Oh, sacred heart of Jesus.

Save him from hell!

Have mercy on him, oh, divine, sacred heart!

(gasps)

- No!

No!

No!

Break my spirit, all of you, if you can!

I'll bring you all to heel.

- Have mercy on Stephen, lord, for my sake!

- No!

(glass shatters)

(dramatic orchestral music)

- Rudy?

Rudy.

Rudy.

(tense orchestral music)

Mr. Dedalus?

Stephen!

Stephen!

Stephen!

- Damn death.

Long live life.

(chuckles)

(groans)

Oh, no, no, my, my centre of gravity is displaced.

I have forgotten the trick.

Let us sit down somewhere and discuss.

Struggle for life is the law of existence.

- The only way is to walk.

Then you'll feel a different man.

- Yes.

(light orchestral music)

- [Leopold] I don't mean to presume

to dictate to you in the slightest degree,

but why did you leave your father's house?

- [Stephen] To seek misfortune.

- A gifted man, in more respects than one,

and a born raconteur if ever there was one.

He takes great pride, quite legitimately, out of you.

You could go back, perhaps.

- You suspect that I may be important

because I belong to the Faubourg Saint Patrice.

- I would go a step farther.

- But I suspect

that Ireland must be important because it belongs to me.

- What belongs?

Excuse me.

Unfortunately, I didn't catch the latter portion.

What was it?

- Or whatever you call it.

Look, we can't change the country,

so let's change the subject.

- [Leopold] At what o'clock did you dine?

- [Stephen] Sometime yesterday.

- Yesterday?

Ah.

You mean it's after 12.

- The day before yesterday.

(singing in foreign language)

Walk, walk walk away.

Walk in safety.

Walk with care.

(chuckles)

(speaking foreign language)

- Thy temple amid thy hair is as a slice of pomegranate.

(chuckles)

(light orchestral music)

(light piano music)

- Yes, so he came somewhere.

Really!

And the story he made up, a pack of lies to hide it.

Yes, because the day before yesterday,

he was scribbling a letter when I came in

to show him Dignam's death in the paper,

as if something had told me,

Poldy?

And he pretending to be thinking about business.

Fool.

- Oh.

(train whistle blows in distance)

- Train somewhere, whistling.

The strength those engines have in them,

like big giants

and the water rolling all over and out of them,

like the end of love's old sweet song.

Mulvey was the first.

I near jumped out of my skin.

He was the first man kissed me.

It never entered my head what kissing meant.

Then he put his tongue in my mouth.

I put my knee up to him a few times to learn the way.

What was it I said?

I said I was engaged, for fun,

to the son of a Spanish nobleman

named don Miguel de la Flora.

Many a true word spoken in jest.

What was his name?

Jack?

Joe?

Harry Mulvey was it?

Yes.

He said he'd come back.

Lord, it's just like yesterday to me,

perhaps he's dead or killed

or a captain or an admiral.

I never thought that would be my name, Bloom,

when I used to write it in print to see how it looked

on a visiting card

or practising for the butcher.

"M. Bloom, you're looking Blooming,"

Josie used to say after I married him.

Well, it's better than Breen or Briggs

or those awful names with bottom in them,

Mrs. Ramsbottom or some other kind of bottom.

Mulvey, I wouldn't go mad about that, either.

Suppose I divorced him.

Mrs. Boylan.

Oh, I wish he'd sleep in some bed by himself

with his cold feet on me.

Give us room even to let a fart.

Goodbye to my sleep for this night, anyhow.

I hope he's not going to get in with those medicals,

leading him astray,

to imagine he's young again,

coming in at four in the morning.

Still, he had the manners not to wake me.

What do they find to gabber about all night,

squandering money and getting drunker and drunker?

Couldn't they drink water?

Then he starts giving his orders for eggs and tea.

Still, it's the feeling, especially now with Milly away.

Such an idea for him to send the girl down there

to learn to take photographs.

Only he'd do a thing like that all the same.

Oh, on account of me and Boylan.

That's why he did it, I'm certain,

the way he plots and plans everything out.

She can't feel anything deep yet.

I never came properly till I was, what, 22 or so?

Went in the wrong place, always.

Off you go.

She's pretty with her lips so red.

It's a pity they won't stay that way.

God knows there's always something wrong with us,

five days every three or four weeks.

I bet the cat is better off than us.

Have we too much blood in us or what?

Oh, patience above, it's pouring out of me like the sea.

Anyhow, he didn't make me pregnant,

as big as he is.

(Leopold snoring)

Look at the way he's sleeping.

(scoffs)

It's as well he doesn't kick

or might knock out all my teeth.

Sleeping hard.

Had a good time somewhere.

Of course, he has to pay for it from her.

Oh, this nuisance of a thing.

I hope they'll have something better for us

in the other world.

Still, I love to hear him

falling up the stairs of a morning

with the cups rattling on the tray.

He says he's an author

and going to be a university professor of Italian,

and I am to take lessons.

I'm sure it will be grand if I can only get in

with a handsome young poet at my age.

I wouldn't mind taking him in my mouth,

even if some of it went down.

I'll make him feel all over him

till he half faints under me.

Then he'll write about me, lover and mistress,

publicly, too, with our two photographs

in all the papers when he becomes famous.

Oh, but then what am I going to do about him, though?

- On this donkey!

- No, that's no way for him.

He has no manners nor no refinement

nor no nothing in his nature,

slapping us behind like that on my bottom

because I didn't call him Hugh.

The ignoramus doesn't know poetry from a cabbage.

I suppose it was because they were so plump and tempting,

he couldn't resist.

They excite myself sometimes.

It's well for men,

all the pleasures they get off a woman's body.

They don't know what it is to be a woman and a mother.

How could they?

That's why I suppose he's running wild.

Well, it's a poor case

that those that have a fine son like that,

they're not satisfied, and I none.

Wasn't my fault we came together

when I was watching the two dogs.

Come on!

God, I'm dying for it.

Our first death, too, it was.

We were never the same since.

And that little woolly jacket I had knitted,

I knew we'd never have another one.

Oh, I'm not going to think myself into glooms

about that anymore.

I know what I'll do.

I'll give him one more chance.

I'll go about rather gay, not too much singing,

a bit now and then

and I'll let him have a good eyeful

to make his Micky stand for him,

unless I made him stand there and put him into me.

I've a mind to tell him every scrap,

it's all his own fault if I am an adulteress.

Oh, much about it if that's all the harm

ever we did in this veil of tears.

God knows it's not much.

Doesn't everybody?

Only they hide it.

Then if he wants to kiss my bottom,

I'll drag open my drawers

and bulge it right out in his face as large as life

and he can stick his tongue seven miles up my hole

and then I'll tell him

I want a pound or perhaps 30 shillings

and tell him I want to buy some underclothes,

then I'll wipe him off me and I'll go out.

I'll have him eyeing up at the ceiling.

(light orchestral music)

God of heaven, there's nothing like nature,

the wild mountains and then the sea,

the waves rushing.

And as for them saying that there's no god,

well, I wouldn't give a snap of my two fingers

for all their learning.

Who was the first person in the universe

before there was anybody that made it all?

Who?

That, they don't know and neither do I,

so there you are,

might as well try and stop the sun from rising tomorrow.

"The sun shines for you," he said,

the day we were lying among the rhododendrons on Howth Head,

in the grey tweed suit and his straw hat.

The day I got him to propose to me, yes.

First I gave him the bit of seedcake out of my mouth.

And it was leap year, like now,

yes, 16 years ago.

My god.

After that long kiss, I near lost my breath, yes.

He said I was a flower of the mountain.

Yes.

And that was one true thing he said in his life.

"And the sun shines for you today," yes.

And that was why I liked him, because I saw he understood

or felt what a woman is.

And I knew I could always get around him.

And I gave him all the pleasure I could,

leading him on till he asked me to say yes.

And I wouldn't answer first,

only looked out over the sea and the sky.

And I was thinking of so many things he didn't know,

of Mulvey and Mr. Stanhope

and father and old Captain Groves

and the Spanish girls laughing

(laughing)

and the sea.

The sea, crimson sometimes like fire.

And the glorious sunsets, yes.

And Gibraltar as a young girl

where I was a flower of the mountain, yes.

And I thought, well, as well him as another,

and then I asked him with my eyes to ask again, yes.

And he asked me would I, yes, to say yes,

my mountain flower.

And first, I put my arms around him, yes,

and I drew him down to me,

so he could feel my breasts, all perfume, yes,

and his heart was going like mad.

And yes, I said, "Yes,

"I will, yes."

(soft orchestral music)

(light orchestral music)

Destiny.

(light orchestral music)