All language subtitles for Sylvia.2003.1080p.WEBRip.x264-RARBG2_English

( children playing )

Woman's voice:
Dying is an art...

Like everything else,

I do it
exceptionally well.

I do it so it feels
like hell.

I do it
so it feels real.

I guess you could say
I have a call.

The new edition
of the "Saint Botolph's
Review."

The new edition
of the "Saint Botolph's
Review."

The new edition
of the "Saint Botolph's
Review."

Come on, you look
like a man who reads poetry.

- Tom!
- No?

Tom!

- Excuse me.
- Tom.

Tom, where are
the magazines?

They got held up
at the printer's.

I saw you selling them.

Oh, that's right.

They didn't
review me, did they?

No, they reviewed you
all right.

It's "Poetry," page 11.

"...essentially commercial...

bourgeois poetic...

nakedly ambitious."

It's not very
flattering.

Who the hell
do they think they are?

Well, you can ask them
yourself, if you want.

There is a launch party
at the Women's Union
tonight.

8:00.

( big band music playing )

- Genuinely subversive.
- Where is he?

- Who?
- The one who wrote it.

What? That stuff
about you?

No, the one who wrote
"Fallgrief's Girlfriend."

This Edward Hughes.

Ted?
He's over there.

- I read your poems.
- What?

As soon as I saw them,
I knew they were
the real thing.

Great, big,
crashing poems,

not blubbering baby stuff
like the others.

Shall we dance?

They're colossal,

magnificent,

great blowing winds

on steel girders.

- You like?
- I like.

"O, most dear
unscratchable diamond."

( music softens )

Who the hell are you?

Sylvia Plath.

Sylvia Plath?

- The one whose poem...
- ...you tore to shreds.

- No, no.
- Yes.

It was the editor.

He must have known
you were very beautiful.

You're all there,
aren't you?

Yes, I am.

I have an obligation
in the other room.

Oh, Jesus Christ!

This I'll keep.

Sylvia:
...black marauder...

One day, I'll have
my death of him.

"One day, I'll have
my death of him"?

It's a bit morbid,
isn't it?

He's my black marauder.

Well, don't get
your hopes up.

Why?
What have you heard?

Him and his crowd,
all they care about
is poetry.

Anything else
is a distraction.

Including
steady girlfriends.

Even pretty American ones
with Fulbright scholarships
and red bicycles.

Sylvia:
Ted Hughes.
Ted Hughes.

Edward Hughes.
Edward Hughes.

Sylvia Plath.
Ted Hughes.

Mrs. Sylvia...

Hughes.

- Get over.
- ( chuckles )

Quiet!
Oh, shit!

- Whe-- which one?
- That one.

How the bloody hell
do you know?

Where the light's on.

- What are you doing?
- Stand back.

Oh, bugger.

- Give this a shot.
- Here.

Ooh, what you
trying to do?
Bloody hell!

( groaning )

Oh, shit! Shit!

- ( laughing )
- Shh.

Woman:
Who is it?
Who's there?

I'm looking
for Miss Sylvia Plath.

Well, she's not here,
so just bugger off.

Excuse me.

Please,
could you tell her
that Edward Hughes--

Ted Hughes,
called for her.

You're late.

- He was here.
- Who?

Your black marauder.

Him and his little
playmate... legless.

Chucking clods
at my window.

Thought it was
yours apparently.

What did he say?

Nothing
comprehensible.

Sylvia.

- He left an address.
- ( gasps )

"The chief defect
of Henry King was chewing
little bits of string.

At last he swallowed
so much it tied itself
in ugly knots inside.

Physicians of the utmost fame
were called..."

Ted:
No, no, no, it's magic.

It's not about magic.
It's not like magic.
It is magic.

"When Henry... cried,
'All my friends...
It's real magic.

It's not conjuring tricks
or pulling rabbits out of
bloody hats.

Incantations.

Spells, ceremonies,
rituals-- what are they?

They're poems.

So what's a poet?
He's a shaman, that's
what he is.

Or a shame.

"...where I used to spend
my time ..."

A fucking good poem
is a weapon.

It's not like
a pop gun or something.

It's a bomb.
It's like a bloody
big bomb.

That's why they make
children learn them
in school.

They don't want them
messing about with them
on their own.

I mean, just imagine
if a sonnet went off
accidentally.

Boom.

- Drink!
- Drink!

Sylvia!

Come on, Sylvia.

Go on,
get up, go on.

"If it be you
that stir these
daughters' hearts

Against
their father,

Let not women's weapons,
water drops, stain
my cheeks!

No, you unnatural hags,

- I will have such
revenges on you..."
- Faster.

"That all the world shall--
I will do such things,

What they are,
yet I know not,

- But they shall be..."
- Faster.

"You think I'll weep.
No...

I'll have full cause
of weeping,

But this heart shall break
into... flaws or ere I'll weep,

O fool,
I shall go mad."

- ( laughs )
- ( cheering )

Man:
Come on, Ted.

"I know you all and will
a while uphold the... humor
of your idleness.

Yet herein will I imitate
the sun who permit the... clouds

To smother up his beauty...
when he please again
to be himself,

...he may be more
wondered at by breaking through

- The foul and ugly
mists or vapors..."
- Faster.

"If all the years
were play and holiday,

To sport would be
as tedious as to work...

...And nothing pleaseth
but rare accident.

So when this loose behavior
I throw off,

And pay the debt I never
promiseth, by how much better
than my word I am

By so much shall I falsify
men's hopes, and like bright
metal on sullen ground

- My reformation..."
- Faster.

"...shall show them all goodly
and attract more eyes

Than that which hath no foil
to set it off!

I'll so offend
to make offense a skill

( yells )
Redeeming time when men
think least I will!"

( cheering, laughing )

( chuckles )

Man:
Morecambe, again. Okay.

"O, dear Juliet,
why art thou yet so fair?

Shall I believe that
unsubstantial death
is amorous,

And that the lean
abhorred monster

Keeps thee here in the dark
to be his paramour?"

"For fear of that,
I still will stay
with thee,

And never from this palace
of dim night depart again.

Here--
here will I remain

With worms that are
thy chambermaids."

Oh, you.

"The doors of breath
seal with a righteous kiss

A dateless bargain
to engrossing death...

Here's to my love."

"Thus with a kiss.

I die."

( grunts )

How did you get
the scar?

I tried to kill myself
three years ago.

I broke into the box
where my mother kept
the sleeping pills.

Went down to the basement
into the crawl space
underneath the house.

And I took them
and I went to sleep.

Did you ever have something
that you wanted to erase?

No.

And?

And I took too many
of the damn things

and I puked them up.

And three days later,
my mother and brother

found me
and pulled me out.

What about the scar?

I ripped my cheek
on the concrete

when they
pulled me out.

- A memento mori.
- Hmm.

Yes.

Because I was dead...

only I rose up again.

Like Lazarus.
Lady Lazarus.

That's me.

( water tricking )

You wouldn't do that
if you knew.

What?

What was down there.

- Jesus Christ!
What the--?!
- ( screams, laughs )

( chuckles )

( laughs )

( cow moos )

Look.

( moos )

Very intelligent, cows.
Did you know that?

Really?

( mooing )

Not a lot of people
give them credit.

What do you
think they'd prefer,
Milton or Chaucer?

Chaucer, obviously.

Ladies, I give you
"The Wife of Bath."

"Experience,
though noon auctoritee

Were in this world,

is right ynogh for me
To speke of wo that is
in marriage.

For, lordynges, sith I twelve
yeer was of age,

Thonked be God
that were eterne on lyve..."

Beautiful.
( chuckles )

"...Housbondes at chirche dore,
I have had fyve..."

Ted:
"23rd of August, 1956.

We thank you
for the manuscripts
you submitted recently,

but cannot use this
at present.

It is herewith returned
with our compliments.

Yours faithfully..."
blah, blah, blah.

How many today?

Two, and they went
straight back out.

And I typed up
four more copies
of your manuscripts,

so now there's seven
in circulation.

( train rumbling )

Sylvia?

Come on.
Wake up.

Mmm, what time
is it?

Doesn't matter
about the bloody time, look
at this. Look, look, look.

"Our congratulations
that 'Hawk in the Rain'

judged winning volume,
Poetry Center first prize..."

- You won! You won!
- I fucking won.

I didn't even know
I'd entered.

( laughs )

You know what this means,
don't you?

You're going to be
a published poet.

And?

We're going
to America.

And?

Those whom God
hath joined together,

let no man
put asunder.

Woman:
It's so beautiful.

Oh, no, Daniel,
don't-- not there, dear.

Put it over there.
That looks much better, yes.

Great.

I'd like
to tie this back
if I could.

Mommy!

Mother:
Oh, darling!

Welcome home,
my darling.

Oh, God.

Oh, you look
beautiful.

Oh,
my sweet.

So this is
the uebermensch.

Pleased to meet you,
Mrs. Plath.

Sylvia's told me
a lot about you.

Let's hope
for both of our sakes
that some of it's true.

( chuckles )
Leave the bags.

I'll have Sam and Daniel
get them. Sam, Daniel.

What do you think?

Still too runny.

About Ted.

- He's very...
- What?

I don't know.

Different.

Why can't you ever
just be pleased for me?

How is he gonna
support you?

I don't want
to be supported.

He's gonna be
a great poet.

He just won this poetry
prize that was judged
by W.H. Auden.

Really?

And I've got
money saved up.

And when that
runs out?

Mother, I just got
this teaching job.

And I can always sell stories
to those stupid magazines.
It doesn't matter.

Darling, you know I've only
wanted what's best for you.

Well, he is
the best for me.

Then what do you
want me to say?

That you like him.

Do you love him?

I love him.

Then I like him.

Man:
Mmm, thank you.

- Man: Outstanding girl...
- Woman: That looks good.

- Hey, Bob.
- Hey.

Sylvia:
Oh, Mrs. Bergstrom.

- Hello, how are you?
- Sylvia! I'm well.

- It's so lovely to see you.
- And you, you're looking
beautiful.

Thank you.
This is my husband Ted.

- Hello.
- Pleased to meet you.

- We've heard
a lot about you.
- Likewise.

- Thank you.
- How are you
enjoying yourselves?

- Hello.
- Oh, we're having
such a nice time.

- Good.
- Thank you.

You've made us feel
so at home. Hasn't she?

Oh, if I close my eyes
I could be back
in Mytholmroyd.

Your hem's up
in the front,
darling.

Elizabeth,
meet Ted.

- Ted, Elizabeth Brooks.
- How do you do?

My, aren't you
the catch of the day.

- Ted is going to be
a great poet.
- Oh.

Aurelia:
His last book won...
what was that?

It was
the New York Center
Poetry Prize.

- Ooh!
- It's rather good.

It's the...
"The Hawk in the Rain."

- Really wonderful.
- You read it?

Yes. Of course.

What did you think
of the poem about
the giraffe?

Elizabeth:
Oh, listen
to that accent.

There wasn't a poem
about a giraffe.

Say something else.

I need a drink.
Excuse me, ladies.

Well!

This Sylvia's father?

Mm-hmm. Yes.
Bumblebees were
his specialty.

It's all he ever
thought about.

Before the war,
back in Germany,

his colleagues
always called him
"Der Bienenkonig."

- And that means...
- King of the bees.

Yes, that's right.

That was Otto.
King of the bees.

You must forgive
my friends, Ted.

They haven't had
the advantages you have.

And what might they be?

Having to fight
for what you want.

That's why she is in love
with you, you know,
Sylvia, I mean.

Oh my God,
they were--
oh, they were--

I don't-- I don't mean
to sound disloyal,
but there were...

a lot of other boys.
But they didn't
scare her.

She rather
frightened them, I think.

You're--

you're
very different.

But I think
you frightened her,
that's why she likes you.

You think I'd hurt her?

But I wouldn't hurt her.

Do you know
that we found her
right where you're standing?

Right under there,
near the boards.

We thought she was dead--
she was so pale, so white.

Some people want to be found.
Sylvia didn't. She'd just--

crawled into a hole
and waited to die.

Be good to her.

Always.

( seagulls squawking )

- Hi.
- I hope you like fish.

Wow, look at those.
My God.

- Did you have fun?
- Uh-huh.

It finally cooled down.
It was so hot earlier,
wasn't it?

- You tell me.
- I look a bit messy,

- because I started
baking and I made--
- Baking?!

I made one real cream cake,
but they went a bit funny
in the center.

I decided
to throw it out
and start over.

But the funny thing is
the second one looks nicer
than the first one anyway, so...

I thought you were
gonna write.

Do you know some husbands
would be happy

that their wives
stayed home and baked them
some nice cakes?

I am happy.

I'd just be happier
if you were writing.

I've got the whole
summer to write.

How was your walk?

Good.

Got a poem,
a good one.

You?

I'm dried up.

That's 'cause
you've got nothing to say.

- I'm not a real writer.
- Never will be.

- I'm no good.
- You make great cakes.

( squawking )

You know
what your trouble is?

I have a husband
who thinks he can tell me
how to write poetry?

There's no secret to it.

You've just got
to pick a subject and...

stick your head into it.

You've got to write.
That's what poets do.

Yes, well,
that's easy
for you to say.

You go out for a bike ride
and come back with an epic
in hexameters.

I sit down to write,
I get a bake sale.

Do you know what?

Do you know
what my trouble is?

It's that I don't have
a subject.

The novel,
"Falcon Yard,"
what's that about?

It's about a girl
who meets a boy.

No, what's it
really about?

You and me.

- What's it really about?
- Me!

A girl who spends
her summer at the beach.

No, see, no,
that's not really me.

Yes, it is.
You told me
it was about you.

What I'm trying to say
is that you've already
got your subject.

It's you.

I mean, you keep
skirting around
the issue.

- You keep flowering it up.
- All right, all right!
All right.

Shit!

- Jesus Christ!
- What?

The tide
is dragging us out.

I'm not gonna
get us back in.

People drown like this.

I tried
to drown myself once.

I swam out in the sea
as far as I could,

but it just spat me out
like a cork.

I guess it didn't want me.

You know what's funny?

I was always happy
until I was nine years old.

I was always in one piece.

Then my father died.

"Full fathom five
my father lies,

Of his bones were coral made,
those were pearls that were
his eyes."

Sylvia:
"Destroy! Destroy! Destroy!

hums
the underconsciousness.

Love and produce!
Love and produce!

cackles
the upper-consciousness.

And the world hears only
the 'Love and produce' cackle.

Refuses to hear the hum
of destruction underneath.

Until such time
as it will have to hear.

The American
has got to destroy!

It is his destiny."

And finally,

this poem by Yeats,
I think...

illustrates...

that point rather well.

At least,
I hope it does.

( clears throat )
Excuse me.

"The Sorrow of Love."

"The quarrel of the sparrows
in the eaves,

The full round moon
and the star-laden sky,

And the loud song
of the ever-singing leaves,

Had hid away
earth's old and weary cry.

And then you came

With those red
mournful lips,

And with you came the whole
of the world's tears,

And all the sorrows
of her labouring ships,

And all the burden
of her myriad years.

And now the sparrows
warring in the eaves,

The crumbling moon,
the white stars in the sky

And the loud chanting
of the unquiet leaves

Are shaken with earth's
old and weary cry.

Thank you.

Thank you.

- Well, thank you very much.
- It's so nice to meet you.

- You take care. Bye-bye.
- You too. Bye.

- Bye-bye, thank you.
- Mr. Hughes,

your voice
is so powerful.

What did you think
of the words?

The words?

So when is your next
book coming out?

Well,
when I've written it.

( giggling )

Oh, it must be wonderful
to be married

to such
a great poet.

Yes, it is.

It is.
Would you excuse us
for just a moment?

- Sure.
- Excuse me.

I'm sorry, I just--
I'm so exhausted

and I've got a stack
of papers this high
to get through.

So do you mind if we
go now or in a minute?

I'm going to have
to say thanks

to Merlin
for that review.

And Len Baskin's here,
so I--

- Who's Len Baskin?
- Len Baskin, he organized
all this.

Oh, right, right.

Sorry.
Take the car.

All right.

I'll see
you later.

Right.

( doorbell ringing )

Is Mr. Hughes in?

No.

He said he'd
look at my poetry.

He said it would
be okay.

I'm sorry
if I disturbed you.

( sighs )

Who is she?

She's nobody.

A student,
she was...

in that
creative writing class
I talked to.

She'd written
all these poems.
I took pity on her.

You think
I'm fucking her.

- Are you?
- Oh, for Christ's sake!

This place is really
getting to you,
isn't it?

This bunch of dried-up,
malicious old women

who think their men
are going to get a taste
for fresh meat.

As a matter of fact,
I'm not fucking her.

But if I do start
fucking the students,
you'll be the first to know.

Man #1:
♪ Do you think
the trouble is ♪

♪ That I'm in love? ♪

♪ Mmm, yeah ♪

♪ Hey, Doc,
hey, Doc ♪

♪ I wonder what's wrong
with me ♪

Man #2:
♪ Give me
your wrist there, son,

♪ And I'll see
if I can see ♪

Man #1:
♪ Hey, Doc, hey, Doc ♪

♪ My temperature's
one thousand and three ♪

Man #2:
♪ What you been doing
with yourself, son? ♪

Man #1:
♪ Hey, Doc, hey, Doc ♪

♪ Whenever that gal
casts them glimmers on me ♪

Man #2:
♪ I thought it was
something like that ♪

Man #1:
♪ I get a dizzy spell,
a dizzy spell ♪

♪ I run around
in circles... ♪

Man #2:
♪ You need a pill, son ♪

Man #1:
♪ That's it, Doc,
my ticker's stopped... ♪

Man #2:
♪ Let me listen to it ♪

Man #1:
♪ I need strength, Doc... ♪

- Last night--
- I--

I was very tired.
I--

I've organized everything
so I won't be quite so tired.

I'm--
I'm sorry.

It's not just you.
It's me, as well.

I can't write here.

- We should
go back to England.
- And live on what?

We'll survive,
lovely.

( baby crying )

Do you see that?

( baby cooing )

That's the world.

( knocking )

Sylvia:
Page 14 on line 14.

- Yes, page 14, line 14.
- ( knocking continues )

There is an "E"--
yes.

No-- no
two "P"s.

Will you get that?

Page 40.

Yes. Next, line eight.

Next, "The new moon's curve..."

Man:
All those guys
are all the same.

Right.

I mean after
"Hawk in the Rain,"
they--

No.

They were hoping
your next book would be
an anticlimax.

But I'm pleased to say
you've confounded them
and outdone yourself.

- It's really quite wonderful.
- On the back page...

in the back jacket.

- I've just made some coffee.
Would you like a cup?
- I think you can speak...

- ...to the agent about that.
- Thank you.

All right?

- Hello.
- Hello.

You must be
Mr. Alvarez.

Yes, indeed,
and you must be Mrs. Hughes.

"Night Shift"?

Uh...

"Night Shift."
It's a poem you printed
in "The Observer."

Oh yes,
"Night Shift," yes.

- It was a good poem.
- Well, yes, I know.

I wrote it.

- You're Sylvia Plath?
- I am.

- ( chuckles )
Oh, well, nice to meet you.
- And you.

Tell me, have you
written any others, or...?

Yes, I have.
Actually, I have...

a book of poems
coming out very shortly
called "The Colossus."

- I'd love to read them.
- Thank you. It would be
an honor.

Man:
Yeah, I spoke to George
about it last week

and he was quite optimistic.
It might take another
six months.

Well, the whole thing-- it's
about putting a face to a name.

For them to put--
you know, your name
to duh-duh-duh and likewise.

We've got Charlie Hetheringham
here, from the TNS.

We've got Les Robinson
from the "Critical Quarterly."

- That one there?
- Yeah.

And there's "The Telegraph"
and "The Times."

Oh, you see that chap
with the big heels?

He's easy,
he's from "The Listener."

So, it's a good turnout.

That's a good sign,
isn't it, that they all came?

Well, yes, of course.

Don't get your hopes
up too high, but yes it is.
It really is.

They're all bloody
civil servants moonlighting
as journalists.

It's their job
to protect the status quo.

- It's a tough game.
- Good to see you.

- It's the toughest.
- Mr. Robinson.

Mr. Robinson.

You forgot this.

Oh, thanks.

Do you think
you might be reviewing it?

Well, this,
I shouldn't think so.

We just got the new Pasternak.
Then Betjeman's out next week

and there' an E.E. Cummings
in the pipeline.

Not in the same league
really, is she, this Sylvia...?

Plath.

Poor thing,
can't be easy for her,

being married
to that.

Still, good party.
Thank the boss.

- This is good.
- What?

By Alvarez.
Very good.

Listen.

"Her poems
rest secure

in a massive
experience

that is never
quite brought out
into daylight."

Then there's a quote
and it says,

"It is this
sense of threat

as though she were
continually menaced

by something she could see
only out of the corner
of her eye

that gives her work
its distinction."

What about
the rest?

It's a good review.

- One review?
- But it's a good review.

Look, it's hard.
You know it's going
to be hard.

- My first book--
- Won prizes.

( baby crying )

( phone ringing )

I got it.

Hello?

No, no,
No, no problem.

- ( crying continues )
- Yes.

Yes. Oh, no,
certainly. Certainly.

Yes-- no, no,
that's no problem.

Good, all right.

Goodbye.
Bye.

That was Moira Doolan,
the lady from the BBC
I told you about.

I sent her the idea for
the Children's Radio Series,
you remember?

No.

She wants to have lunch.
I think she's interested.

- ( crying )
- That's short notice,
isn't it?

I'll see you later.

Bye.

( door closes )

( crying )

Yes, is that
the BBC?

May I speak
to a Moira Doolan

in Children's Radio,
please?

Do you have any idea
what time she left?

Did you happen to notice
if she left by herself?

Well, have you any idea
if she plans on coming back
there this evening?

I understand,
it's--

I'm looking for someone
who might have been with her.

His name is
Edward Hughes.

My name is
Sylvia Plath-Hughes and I--

( scoffs )

Don't take that
tone of voice with me.

What the fuck
is going on?

- Where have you been?
- What is going on?

- I've been sitting here
for 12 hours!
- Christ's sake!

- Where have you been?
- I was at a meeting!

- That was 12 hours ago!
- It was a lunch meeting.
It went into dinner.

I called the BBC and they
said Moira Doolan left--

She had another meeting.
We met later!

Fiction really isn't
your gift, is it?

- We had dinner.
- Why don't you tell me
where you were?

- She's a middle-age woman
for Christ's sake.
- Liar!

( screams )

( animal squeals )

( footsteps )

I love you.

Do you?

Ted:
A month in advance.
That'll do as a deposit.

You've got a bedroom,
kitchen,

another bedroom,
or study, or whatever
you want to use it for.

This is the living room,
which you've seen already.

That's it.
Not much to it,
I'm afraid.

No, it's fantastic.

It could be great
for David.

Why, what is it
that you do?

- I'm a poet.
- Oh.

So are we.

- You're--
- Ted Hughes--
I'll get some wine.

- I'm Sylvia Plath.
- Oh, my God. That's--

( laughs )

I gave Assia
a copy of your book,
"The Colossus."

That's amazing.

- Yes, I love your poems.
- Hmm.

They're very beautiful.
They're frightening.

They have this
haunting quality.

What?

No, it's just--

that's the best review
I've ever gotten.

I'm looking forward
to moving to the country.

- I think the fresh air...
- David: You don't think
it will be isolating?

- Devon, I mean.
- You should come down
and spend a weekend with us.

- Thank you.
- Absolutely, shouldn't they?

- Shouldn't they what?
- Come down to Devon
and spend a weekend.

- Yeah, they should.
- Get out of the city.
It would be nice.

I'd love to.

( men speaking French )

Do you want
to go higher?

Whoo!
( laughs )

( laughs )

( phone ringing )

I'll get it.

Hello?

Hello.

No, I'm fine.
We're both fine.

How are you?

How's David?

Oh, he has.
Oh, that's good.

( chuckles )
No, that would be--

that would be great,
yes.

Well, Saturday's fine.

Yes, yes.

Yes.

I'll look forward
to it.

Cheerio.
Bye-bye. Bye.

That was Assia
and David.

They want to come down
this Saturday.

That would be nice, no?

Assia: God, it's
so inspiring up here.

Assia:
It's good to see
you and Ted again.

Here, take my hand.
It's muddy.

Oh, my God.
Would you mind?

- There you go.
- Thank you.

- ( mud sloshes )
- ( groans )

Thank you, Ted.
Oh, this country air.

Well, this soup
is extraordinary.

Mmm.

- Have some more.
- No, I couldn't, thank you.

Please, here.
Let me help you.

There's plenty.

Just a little, please.

- There you go.
- Whoops, thanks.

Always loved my food.

Ted says you have the new
Robert Lowell recording.

What?

The new Robert Lowell...
recording.

What about it?

Well, perhaps we could
listen to it later.

Fine.

Thank you.
Thank you.

Thank you.

Excuse me.

You mind telling me
what's going on?

- I see you.
- You see what?

Why do you insist
on humiliating me?

Sylvia, nobody's
humiliating you.

I mean,
why bother?

You're doing such
a bloody good job
of it yourself.

- Can I give you a top up?
- Please.

Assia:
Oh, My God.
Look at this.

You shouldn't have gone
to all this trouble.

I'm beginning to think
the same thing myself.

Oh, Jesus Christ.

Thank you.
That's enough for me.

Thank you.

Ted:
Thank you.

You're not eating.

No, I'm waiting
for you.

I shall be very insulted
if you don't eat.

Would you like some?

No, you--
you help yourself.

Thanks.

So, are you managing
to write at all with the baby?

Me? Oh, no.

No, but Ted is.

And that's really
all that matters, isn't it?

I mean, he's the real poet
in the house.

Robert Lowell:
"The sea was still
breaking violently

And night had steamed
into our North Atlantic fleet,

When the drowned sailor
touched the drag-net.

Light flashed from his
matted head and marbled feet.

He grappled at the net
with the coiled,

Hurdling muscles
of his thighs.

The corpse was bloodless,
a botch of red..."

- I'm going to do
the washing up.
- I'll help.

- No, I'm fine.
- No, I insist.

"...lights or cabin windows
on a stranded hulk,

Heavy with sand..."

- ( water running )
- I'll wash, you dry.

Yes, yes.

"...close its eyes
and heave it seaward
whence it came,

Where the heel-headed dogfish
barks its nose

On Ahab's void
and forehead

And the name is blocked
in yellow chalk."

What is going on?

Nothing's going on.

Assia was just telling me
about a dream she'd had.

Can I help
with anything?

I'd like you and Assia
to leave first thing
in the morning.

It's just that I'm tired.
I'm so tired, and I--

you don't know
what I've been through.
I've got two small children.

If you had
children of your own,
you would understand.

I'm sorry.

Of course.

When will you
be back?

I don't know.

A couple of days,
maybe three.

It depends
how long it takes.

What number
will you be at?

I haven't decided
who I'm going to stay
with yet.

I think people are getting
pretty sick of me sleeping
on their floors,

so I'll probably just check
into a bed and breakfast.

You don't have
to go, you know.

Yes, I do.

( car pulls away )

( fire crackling )

( grunting )

Sylvia?

The truth comes to me.

The truth loves me.

( phone ringing )

Hello?

I know who you are.

Hello?

Get out.

( baby crying )

Sylvia's voice:
"This is the light
of the mind..."

"If the moon smiled
she would resemble you..."

"Their redness talks
to my womb..."

"She would drag me,
cruelly, being barren..."

"Thick, red and slipping..."

"Your nakedness shadows..."

"Whose is that long
white box on the grove?"

"And I,
I need feed them nothing..."

"I sizzled in his blue..."

"Our cheesecloth gauntlets
neat and sweet..."

"Bare-handed,
I hand the combs..."

"The man in white smiles..."

"So I can't see
what is in there..."

"Some god
got hold of me..."

"Lightly, through
their white swaddlings..."

"A world of bald white days
in a shadeless socket..."

"I cannot undo myself..."

"And the train is steaming..."

"Upflight of the murderess..."

"Never liked you.

They are dancing
and stamping on you.

They always knew
it was you.

Daddy, Daddy,
you bastard, I'm through."

It's--

It's what?
What is it?

Is it any good?

Good?

( sighs )
God, yes.

( sighs )

( laughing )

Alvarez:
That "Daddy" poem--
the use of metaphor--

the way it
builds the end

out of the blackness
into an explosion of fury.

It's just stunning.

I'm thinking
of moving back to London.

I'll send you some more
as soon as I'm settled.

I'd like that.

Sylvia...

I know this must have
been hard on you--

No.

Really, I've never
been happier.

And I've never
written more.
It's as if...

now he's gone,
I'm free.

I can finally write.

I wake up
between 3:00 and 4:00

because that's
the worst time.

And I write
till dawn.

I really feel like God
is speaking through me.

And now we need
the little purple star.

Go up here.

Put all of them on.

That seems...
much better.

( baby cries )

( kisses )

You've got
the snowflake.

All right.

Where's he going
to live?

There.

( laughs )

( gasps )

Oh, oh.
She looks beautiful.

( gasps )

Hello?

- Hello?
- Man: All right.

I'm very sorry
to bother you.

I'm--
I live upstairs.

My lights have gone out,
I've got no hot water.

I've got
my children up there--

There's been
a power cut.

The moment you need heat
and light to sustain
life itself,

the government cuts
the electricity.

- ( chuckles )
- Why?

To build
the national character.

Now leave your stove on
for heat, and to boil water
for washing.

Here's some
spare candles--

yeah,
and some matches.

There you are.

Thank you.

You must think I'm
some stupid American bitch.

Oh, no, not at all.
I assumed you were
Canadian.

( laughs )

- Yes, well, thank you.
- Pleasure.

- Thank you very much.
- Thank you. Bye-bye.

Ted:
Hello, sweetheart.

This one's for you.

Happy Christmas, darling.

( baby crying )

I didn't just come to see them.
I wanted to see you.

I want to see
how you are.

I've missed you.

I've missed you all.

Christmas is
bloody hard.

Can we-- can we talk?
Can we sit down?

Are you still
fucking her?

Sylvia's voice:
"I have fallen
a long way.

The moon sees
nothing of this.

And the message
of the yew tree
is blackness.

Blackness and silence."

I don't know
what else to do.

I can't--

I can't go back to her,
but I love her so much, it's--

- You want another one?
- ( grunts )

Thank you.

Alvarez:
This one is extraordinary.

And-- and--
"Lady Lazarus."

The one about
the failed suicides--

the despair,

the overpowering
sense of foreboding,

and yet without
a trace of anger

or hysteria
or any appeal for sympathy.

The--
the wealth of imagery.

Such horrors.

But expressed with--

with a coolness.

Like a--

like a murderer's
confession.

So, have you got a title
for your novel yet?

"The Bell Jar."

When's it coming out?

The new year.

Will you
let me read it?

It's a pot-boiler.

( chuckles )

Could you
get me an ashtray?

Sure.

I didn't know
you smoked.

I don't.
But I'm starting.

I'm thinking of trying
some new things.

Really?

Like what?

I'm thinking
of taking a lover.

Oh, how glamorous.

( chuckles )
Who is he?

Look...

I know how you feel.

No, you don't.

I do.

We have--
we share in common--

( sighs )
I--

I tried to--

I tried to--

How?

Same as you,
sleeping pills.

I took too many.

Everybody does,
don't they?

Sometimes I feel
like I'm not...

solid.

I'm hollow.

There's...

nothing behind
my eyes.

I'm a negative
of a person.

It's as if I never--

I never thought anything.

I never wrote...

anything.
I never felt anything.

All I want
is blackness.

Blackness and silence.

Look...

one thing I do
know about death

is it is not a...

a reunion
or a homecoming.

There's--
there's no--

your life doesn't
flash before you

and the missing piece
of you clicks into place.

It's just--
there's just fuck all.

There's nothing.

So what do you do
when your life...

gets as bad
as it can...

and just keeps
getting worse?

You just keep going.

Look...

listen.

You are so beautiful.

And you've--
you've a wonderful mind.

And you are
a great--

a great poet.

And you and Ted--

you understand each other
in ways that--

that other people
can only dream about.

So for God sakes, don't
throw it all away--

I don't want
to hear her name!

I was going to say

just because
of an affair.

( knocking )

Are you all right?
Come in.

I'm going to die.
I'm going to die soon.

Who's going to take care
of my babies?

Mrs. Hughes,
I don't understand.

What do you mean you're
going to die? Are you ill?

No, I'm not ill.
I'm not ill.

I think I really
should call the doctor.

No, no,
don't call a doctor.

( sobs )

Don't you know
what they do?

They hook you up
to the eastern grid
and fill you full of sparks.

Yeah. I'm sorry.

No, I'm sorry.

I'm just so on edge.

I'm just so on edge,
I--

Oh, God,
it's all my fault.
It's all my fault.

It's all my fault.

All I could think about
is what would happen

if somebody took
him away from me.

You see, if you fear
something enough

it can make it happen.

That woman--

I conjured her.

- Ma'am?
- I invented her.
Do you understand?

No, I'm sorry.
I don't.

( sobbing )
Oh, my God.

It's just
that I'm so tired.

I'm so tired,
I'm--

if I could just
sleep a little bit,
just a little bit.

I'm just so exhausted.

Perhaps we could get
somebody to look after
your children.

Oh, my God!
I left them upstairs!

No, no, don't go.
I'll go and check,

see if they're all right.
Would you like me to do that?

You stay there.

You're a very
nice man.

No.

You remind me a little
of my father.

( bell rings )

Yes, hello, Kate,
it's Sylvia.

I'm all right, I--

I was wondering if I could
come 'round and see you.

I see.

Dr. Hawkins,
it's Sylvia.

I-- oh.

( sobs )

I need help. I--

I don't think
I can...

manage.

You look...

very nice.

You'd better come in.

Would you like
a drink?

Please.

What do you want,
Sylvia?

I wanted
to see you.

I thought that you...

might like to see us.

I thought there was
something wrong.

Alvarez said
you tried to make
a pass at him.

And I've been told
you've been taking pills.

No.

God, I missed you.

I almost went mad.

We're not even
two people.

Even before we met,
we were just...

these two halves...

walking around
with big...

gaping holes in us
shaped like the other person.

And then we found each other,
we were finally whole.

Then it's as if we couldn't
stand being happy,

so we ripped--
we ripped ourselves
in half again.

In the spring,
we should go back to Devon.

We'll go back to Devon
and it'll just be us...

and the children
and our work.

It'll be
like this whole thing
never happened.

And the summer
and the fall,

and this awful winter.

It'll all fade by the time
the leaves come out.

And it will just seem
like some nightmare

that was never real.

You don't love her
like you love me.

You'll never have with her
what you have with me,

you know that.

I know.

Leave her.

I can't.

She's pregnant.

Oh.
Everything all right?

Do you have
any stamps?

It's silly, I know,

but I've got
to post some letters
to America tonight

and I-- airmail,
and I don't have any stamps.

Well, can't you post
them in the morning?

No.

No, I've got--
I've got a nurse
coming in the morning.

You see, there's
a nurse coming.

And anyway, I won't
be here in the morning.

Oh, I see.
Yes, I think I have some.

- Here we are.
- Thank you.

Stamps.
Thanks.

Thank you.

- Well, good night.
- Good night.

Look, do you want me
to call someone?

No.

No, I was
just having--

I just had the most
beautiful dream.

I love you,
sweetheart.

Sylvia's voice:
"The box is locked.
It is dangerous.

There are no windows,

so I can't see
what is in there.

There is only
a little grid.

No exit."

( sniffs )

( theme music playing )