All language subtitles for The.Naked.Civil.Servant.1975.720p.BluRay.x264.AAC-[YTS.MX]

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When these people came to me
and said,

"We should like to make a
film of your life,"

I said, "Yes, do. Films are fantasies.

"Films are magical illusions.

"You can make my life a fantasy,
as I have tried, but failed to make it."

But then they said,
"We want the film to be real.

"You know, real life."

So I said, "Any film, even the worst,
is at least better than real life."

Then they said, "Though, of course, we
should have to have an actor to play you."

I said, "I have spent 66 years
on this Earth,

"painfully attempting to play the part
of Quentin Crisp.

"L have not succeeded.

"Yes, of course you must have an actor
to play me.

"He will do it far better than
I have done."

And then they said, "We shall want
to show you when you were young."

And I said, "If I might suggest
one image for your film..."

Quentin! Breakfast!

Do you intend to spend your entire life
admiring yourself?

If I possibly can.

Are you keen on this girl, then,
Quentin?

- Keen?
- Yes.

Good God, no! She's a friend.

I mean, friendship exists.
I don't think anything else does.

I think all this thing between men and
women is something invented by novelists.

- Love?
- Because that's what people want to believe.

Have you ever felt love? Honestly?

- I haven't.
- Your son's not one of those, is he, Hilda?

- One of what?
- One of those who don't love women.

That's just my point.
I don't think anyone does.

- I've been over him. Perfectly normal.
- It's just that he's so terribly listless.

What he wants is a good boot
up the bottom.

- No.
- If you ask my advice,

what he needs is a practical lesson
in the facts of life.

I had already discovered for myself
one fact of life,

the only fact I've ever fully understood.

I have a message for those who, like me,
inhabit a world of make-believe.

- What did you do this morning?
- A poster.

- What of'?
- Cows Ashes of Roses.

I always make my posters madly exotic,
even if it's only to annoy Mr Barker.

Did it?

Crisp, why do you suppose
you are an art student'?

And you said?

Because it is the last door
through which

my parents think they can push me
into the outer world.

The outer world is a club I do
not wish to join.

Hello, ducky!

Hello, there.

And then I stumbled on the very truth
that was just what the doctor had ordered.

Could l... trouble you for a light?

Oh...

Thank you... so much.

'Dilly's dead tonight, isn't it?
Been here an hour now, not a thing.

Except two policemen,
disguised as human beings.

Well, you're not going to be much
good to me, now, are you?

No.

Oh, well...
c'est la vie, I suppose.

- Shall we have a cup of coffee?
- Yes.

I learned that I was not the
only one in the world.

No roughs in tonight, thank heavens.
They get on my tits.

- Hello, girls.
- Hello.

- May I introduce Quentin?
- Quentin? That's something new.

Gloria Swanson, and hasn't she
got a nerve?

How do you do?

- And Bermondsey Liz.
- How do you do?

How do you do?

Albert, ducky, two of your
dreadful coffees.

Two coffees. Right.

- Any luck tonight?
- Three, so far.

- Must be foggy in Dean Street.
- Ooh, you are a bitch. Really!

Trust me, I got a thrasher.
My dear!

- Funny how they find you.
- Ooh!

- Are you on the game?
- I...

- Am l...?
- Well, if you don't know what it means,

you can't be.

Is he, urn... so?

Oh, he's so, all right.

Like to try it?

Thank you.

So I learned yet another fact of life.

Quentin! Breakfast!

- Morning.
- Mm.

Don't put so much butter
on your toast.

So sorry.

Well, are you going out to look
for a job?

I suppose I might.

Your trouble is you look
like a male whore.

It was the first acknowledgment

my father had ever made of any
part of my problem.

My heart throbbed with gratitude.

- Well, I'm off, then.
- Father?

- Mm?
- I shall be leaving here soon.

And I promise you faithfully
that I shall try not to come back.

Sorry, darling, he wants someone
more my age.

- And what's that?
- 18.

- Ooh!
- You're 21 if you're a day.

- You're past it now.
- No, honestly.

Ooh, that hurt.

- How do you know? It's only a wig.
- It's not, it's all my own.

Wait till they touch you with
hair like that.

- You'd get years, dear. You'd get years!
- I am 18 last March.

- ALL: Oooh!
- All right...

Come on, out, the lot of you. Out.

- Oh, dear, aren't we behaving?
- Two hours here and one cup of coffee!

What do you think this is,
a four-course banquet?

Now, come on.
Either you order again or out.

Oh, well, I suppose
we'd better go where we're wanted.

The great thing about following
an obvious homosexual

is that you can't possibly be wrong.

He will certainly do whatever you want,

and he will certainly not run screaming
to the police.

Courtship in such cases
consists of the words...

How much?

- Seven and six.
- All right.

And the only words of tenderness
ever uttered to me...

This'll do.

They give me a lot.
I give them very little.

Is it very little?

The briefest possible moment.
They're much too scared of the police.

And seven and six.
Sometimes ten shillings.

Once or twice, an actual pound note.

What do you really give them,
these men?

I give them the opportunity
to vent their contempt on other people.

- To defile someone else.
- Yes.

I suppose it's logical.
I abuse them, they defile me.

I am an effeminate homosexual.

I want to win the admiration,

I want to be found desirable
by a great, dark man.

- Yes.
- But what proof have I that I'm desired?

No great, dark man is going to come up
to me and say, "Quentin, I adore you.

"Your eyes are like stars
and your lips are like roses."

- No.
- A ten-shilling note is proof.

A proof I understand.

I think that everything that
happens to us is our fault.

But that's not our fault.

Just a minute.

Advice to my friends.

- We've been watching you.
- Oh, yes?

May we ask what you're doing
in this street?

I'm on my way to the Black Cat Cafe
to have a light supper with friends.

- Where are you from?
- High Wycombe.

That's a long way to come to the
Black Cat, isn't it?

Oh, Mr Bremner of the Black Cat
serves a very good light supper.

High Wycombe, eh?

I'd be delighted to give you the address.
My father's a solicitor.

- Does he know you're a pansy?
- A dirty, stinking little pansy?

You're a pansy, aren't you?

Pansy? What's that, apart from
being a flower?

- Listen, can I give you a word of advice?
- Yes, Constable.

The only men who would go with
young chaps like you...

Yes, Constable?

Are men suffering from
what is known as venereal disease.

- You know what that is, do you?
- I've heard of it, Constable.

Because they would be ashamed
to give it to a woman.

They say they're trying to stop it.

They should see what I've seen
at reform school.

- I bet you reformed a lot of boys.
- I certainly did.

Why can't they leave us alone?
Do we do any harm?

We provide a very special
public service.

I think it's simply because
they don't understand.

And people hate what they
don't understand.

- The roughs are coming!
- Oh, my gawd!

- Quick!
- Come on, out.

- Hello, girls.
- You're not leaving, are yer?

- We come here special to see yer.
- Now look, I don't want no trouble.

We ain't making any trouble.

- We come for a cup of tea, didn't we?
- Yeah.

They're gonna buy us a cup of tea.

You're gonna buy us a
cup of tea, in't yer?

Ain't yer... darlin'?

I thought it was for the gentlemen
to buy the drinks.

Vvah-hey-hey!

Well, we're not gentlemen, see?
We come from Hoxton.

I thought even in Hoxton
they knew how to treat a lady.

- ALL: Whoooh!
- You're pretty, in't yer?

- Eh?
- Yes, I am.

- Give us your hand, then.
- What for?

I want to hold your hand.

Ah... what a little one, eh?

- Lovely little hand!
- Yes.

I'd like to squeeze it.

Do you like that?
You like it, don't yer?

Do you love me?

I said, don't you love me?

- Are you gonna buy me a cup of tea?
- I...

'Ere, he's gonna buy me a cup of tea.

All right, then, whisper in me ear.
Tell me you love me.

Why don't you sod off back to Hoxton
before they find out you're queer?

You...!

Well, I seemed to have hit on a
home truth.

And of course...

On a relatively quiet night in
the Black Cat,

I met Thumbnails.

As a result, at the age of 22, in 1930,

I kept my promise to my father.

I left home. Forever.

What did you say his name was?

Thumbnails.

I just call him Thumbnails.
They are appalling.

- Dirty?
- No.

The wrong shape.

Why? I mean, why him?

- He has a flat.
- No other reason?

No. We're not lovers.

- I doubt if we're even friends.
- He's not the great, dark man?

He is most absolutely, definitely,

positively NOT the great, dark man.

Well, you might at least do some
tidying up during the day.

You're here all day.

I said, you might at least do some
tidying up.

What did you get for supper?

Quentin?
What did you buy for supper?

I couldn't see anything in the kitchen.

Quentin, what...?

You'd look a lot better if you didn't
put all that stuff on your face.

You don't need to,
it can't be good for your skin.

Now, look at actresses. They get these
terrible rough skins with all the stuff

they have to put on.

You ought to get out during the day
and get some exercise.

You'll be flabby by the time you're
30, you know that.

You'll look terrible when you're old,
the life you lead.

Really terrible.

Now, what are you going to do today
while I'm out at work?

I shall...
experiment with a new eye shadow.

You don't have to look like a woman.
Now, why do you try?

- I'm rather glad...
- Please.

I'm rather glad you couldn't get a taxi.
I've never been in a bus before.

Isn't it fun?

- Fares, please.
- Two to Piccadilly Circus.

Does one tip the conductor?

Nothing happened.

I'm not a woman.
I don't want to be a woman.

I happen to be a fully formed
male person

who happens to be attracted to
other men. That's all.

Do you wish you weren't?

I regard all heterosexuals, however low,

as infinitely superior to any
homosexual, however noble.

- You don't mean that.
- Well, as infinitely luckier.

It's always better to be
a member of the majority.

- Can we go to the zoo?
- Yes.

Do you think a homosexual elephant
has a terrible time of it?

I know what happens to animals
who have a leg like mine.

Oh, your problem can be seen with
the naked eye. Mine cannot.

The world is full of aborigines who don't
even realise that homosexuality exists.

I shall go about the routine of
daily living

making this particular fact
abundantly clear to them.

♪ Hip hip hooray

Ooh!

Come in.

I have an appointment with
Mr Dunsmore.

My name is Crisp. Quentin Crisp.

Erm...

I erm... I take it that you have had
some erm... experience?

Well, I attended Battersea Art School,
though without actually learning anything.

And I worked for some time in a
drawing office as a tracer.

Yes, well, erm...

I gather that your mother...

is the friend of the wife of one of our
erm... directors.

Yes, that's right.

May I... May I ask
how you got the job as a tracer?

- Well, my mother was...
- Ah, yes. Yes.

Well...

I became a commercial artist.

This enabled me to leave Thumbnails
and take a room of my own.

My existence blossomed.

My darling, a lioness
would be proud of those nails!

A little drink.

Hello, my darling!

Liberated in my new flat,

I could invite my friends.

The nice art student, of course.

And a Polish gentleman with an
unpronounceable name.

And his wife, who'd once sat
for Epstein.

Or was it Augustus John?

I should explain that Poland is not
so much a country,

as a disturbed state of mind.

Ah, Quentin!

What do you think this extraordinary
wife of mine says to me yesterday?

- He pawned my gramophone.
- Oh, I pawned her gramophone.

- Without telling me.
- Oh, she's mad.

If I had told her, she would have
prevented me.

Of course I would!

I pawned the gramophone to buy
meat, to bring to my friend Quentin.

I shall now go into my friend
Quentin's kitchen,

and make a famous Polish national dish.

Does he know anything about cooking?

Not a thing.

I'll give him a hand.

- Can I help you?
- But you are not Polish!

I think you and he invented the
vie de boheme.

You're happy tonight.

This week, I earned
two pounds ten shillings.

And I have, for some time now,
completely and absolutely

given up sex.

You've no idea of the energy you feel.

I don't want... energy.

Sex is the last refuge of the miserable.

Oh, balls, Quentin!

Well, you live in a secure world
of normality.

I live hanging on a rotten rope
over an abyss.

On an actuarial basis, the expectation
of happiness in an effeminate queer...

Darling, see if he's got my cigarettes,
would you?

Of course.

Until now, I had regarded other people
only as reflections of my own existence,

as an audience for my own problem.

Now I saw two of them
in violent relation to each other.

For the first time, I was forced to admit
that other people existed.

- Yeah, I have.
- You have?

Oh, thank you, darling.
How's the Polish national dish?

Oh... Corning along nicely.

The trouble with living in Clerkenwell
was getting back to my room at night.

When you're being followed,
there are a number of rules to obey.

Oi!

Who the hell do you think you are?

No one, really... sir.

May l...?

Then you're unlucky.

However, you can be even unluckier.

- Here, have a look at him!
- Oi, oi!

That's somethin' else!

Oi, come here.
Let's have a look at yer.

Lovely, eh!

- Come on.
- Here, you.

- Evening, gentlemen.
- Look at the barnet!

- Yeah, it's dyed.
- It is dyed, innit?

- He's got make-up on.
- 'Ere, what you got make-up on for, eh?

- Look at his nails. He's a woman.
- No, he ain't.

- He's a geezer.
- Have a feel!

I felt it! I found it!

Whooh!

Gentlemen, if I may speak for a moment,
allow me to reassure you that...

Taxi!

17 Morton Street, please.

17 Morton Street, please.

Could you please take me to
17 Morton Street?

I'd be very grateful if you could take me
to my home, which is 17 Morton Street.

Out.

Out!

Out.

'Ere. Come here, you. We want you.

- Come on!
- Get him, lads!

I seem to have annoyed you gentlemen
in some way.

Come in.

- You wanted to see me, sir?
- Yes, I think I made the right choice.

Sha... Shall we er...
Shall we make it this one?

Yes, er... This one, I think.

- Don't you?
- Yes.

Well, there's something to be said
for the English.

What other nation would look at my
face and not utter a single word?

The English, huh!
They are all concealed homosexuals.

- Well, you're certainly not English.
- Thank God!

Why don't you go and live in Paris
where nobody cares?

There you can dress as you like,
do your face as you like.

I don't believe in abroad.
They're such cheats

How, cheats?

I believe they speak English behind our
backs when we're not listening.

I don't believe in abroad, either.

The English will never cease to believe
that sex is disgusting.

Unlike the Poles, who...

And that your kind of sex
is the most disgusting of all.

But it's my crusade. It's the reason for
my existence, to make them understand.

You are exhibitionist, my friend.

An exhibitionist has no friends.

No friends at all.

Certainly no friends among
my own kind.

♪ And when I told them

♪ How beautiful you are

♪ They didn't believe me

♪ They didn't believe me... ♪

- God, it's Quentin.
- You don't want to be seen with her, dear.

She's a dead giveaway.

♪ ...or change your hair

♪ You're in a class beyond compare... ♪

A small Guinness, please.

♪ ...the loveliest girl that one could see

♪ And when I tell them... ♪

- Quentin.
- Hello.

May I ask, did anyone see you
coming in here?

Not so far as I'm aware.

Would you make sure
that no one sees you leaving?

If you wish.

You mean you'd like me to go?

Look, ducky, you're spoiling it
for the others.

You mean like a consumptive with a
cough spoils the fun of tuberculosis?

Quentin, ducky, if the police come in,
we're all normal.

With you here, everyone in court
and me, six months in jail.

And you don't want to be a
martyr to the cause.

Quentin, may I see
your membership card, please?

I think I have it.

What cause?

We're normal.

I had a number of normal friends.

But what is normal?

Cocoa.

Quentin... I love you.

- Oh, my darling, you do realise...
- I don't care.

Yes, well, I...

All I can possibly offer any woman
is a beautiful friendship.

That's what I want.

Well, that's all right, then.

I don't care about sex.

It doesn't matter, does it?

It doesn't matter
to those to whom it doesn't matter.

I just want to be near you.
All the time.

- In a world of non-sexual bliss.
- Yes.

And we'll hold hands and read poetry,

and you-know-what
will never rear its ugly head.

- Mmm.
- That is your dream.

Shall I tell you mine?

I dream of a great, dark man,
a real man,

enormously strong, enormously virile,
whose love I shall win.

I know that my dream
is doomed to disappointment.

If I succeed, I fail.

If I win the love of a man,
he cannot be a real man,

and the more feminine I make
myself to attract a real man,

the less will a real man be
attracted by me.

The dream is only a dream.

There is no great, dark man.

I don't care.

- I love you, Quentin.
- And your dream is as hopeless as mine.

And if you go on like this you'll finish up
with yoga, or vegetarianism, or religion,

or God knows what.

Yes, well, I er...

I'm afraid...

Skipping lightly over the fact
that I'd lost my job,

not because I was queer, simply
because it was those bleak 1930s,

we arrive at the time when I lodged
with, of all things, a teacher of ballet.

Make your movements bold.
Make your chest alive.

Let your arms flow, boldly, boldly.

I myself contributed to the school
by teaching tap-dancing.

This I managed by taking lessons myself
and keeping one jump ahead.

No, no. More like this.

There!

It was at this time, I'm sorry to say,

that sex re-entered my life.

Cold, tonight.

Yes.

I see the forecast's good, though.

Oh, is it?

Well...

Well?

I must be getting home.

I do understand.

Would you like a cup of tea?

It's very nice of you, but my
mother will be expecting me.

Oh, yes. Well...

Shall we meet again?

Oh, God, what for?

If you like.

Thereby condemning myself
to three or four years of dismalness.

There!

Mm-hm?

- Quentin, two people to see you.
- Oh, yes?

I'm afraid they're the police.

Thank you, madam.

Mr Crisp?

Yes?

We've called, sir,
in consequence of complaints.

- Oh, yes?
- From your neighbours.

Who say they can see in through
your window.

I expect they can.
It's a big window.

At night.

Apparently,
you don't always close your curtains.

- I very rarely close my curtains.
- Why is that, sir?

Well, it never occurs to me that
the neighbours would want to look in.

- Well, I gather, sir, they can see your bed.
- Quite easily.

Well, I mean, they wouldn't
need a telescope.

And sometimes, people on your bed.

Oh, yes?

Are you aware of the laws in this country
relating to what goes on in private?

- To which particular law do you refer?
- You know as well as I do.

The neighbours aren't willing to give
evidence or he'd have arrested me already.

Things go on in this house for which
the penalty is seven years' imprisonment.

In that case, whatever they are,
I must make quite sure that

they never happen again.

You'd bloody better!

Oh, my God! Draw the curtains.

What do you think they saw?

Possibly, you kissing me.

- Oh, no!
- Now they can't see a thing.

Neither can I.

- No chinks?
- Not even a Japanese gentleman.

I hope you look pained.
That was one of my most terrible jokes.

- You see, I'm a civil servant.
- I had imagined you were.

- In the Ministry of...
- No, please don't tell me. I have no curiosity.

But you see, my job does depend on...

Of course.
And the King wouldn't like it.

Not to speak of the little princesses.

If you decide
not to come and see me anymore,

I shall quite understand.

Life was not all dreariness.

Quentin, champagne! It is a party.

To celebrate our divorce.

Marvelous!

We come straight from the court, where
your wonderful British justice was done.

Congratulations.
Congratulations, darling.

- Thank you, darling.
- I'm an adulterer.

So my wife is taken from me!
Marvelous!

Do I congratulate everyone?

Oh, I think so, don't you?

- Congratulations, dear.
- Thank you.

Everyone must drink to divorce,

the noblest of institutions!

To divorce!

And then, we go in the school room
with the music, and we dance.

- A ballet.
- Aha! A beautiful ballet.

♪ La da da, da daa da daaa!

- Darling, I want you to meet...
- How do you do?

- How do you do?
- One of my dearest, absolute dearest...

- Delighted to meet you.
- We're going to be married.

- Well, once again! More...
- More champagne.

He's terribly sweet, and terribly rich.

I'm so glad. You can buy yourself
a new gramophone.

Quentin! You must not embrace her.

She is my ex-wife, not yours.

Darling, come and dance,
for the lovely, lovely last time.

An English dance, not Polish.

I've finished with Poles.

Will you marry?

Just go on living with him.

Quite right. Marriage is for those
who've given up the struggle.

- Quick, what's his name?
- Lord Alcohol.

- What?
- More champagne?

- Marvelous!
- Good party, eh?

- I hope the neighbours can see.
- Oh, why?

A divorce celebration.
What could be more normal than that?

- Cheers!
- Cheers!

For all I knew,
we might be in for a very thin time.

- Quentin, dear.
- Hello.

Did you hear that funny wailing sound
this morning? What on earth was it?

Quentin, I think I'll be leaving here.

In fact, I shall. I am going to leave.

Yes, of course.

The men must learn a different dance.

But what about you?

I shall find a new landlady,
not half as angelic as you.

Would you like...

- Er, would it help...
- Darling, your mime is marvelous.

I know exactly what you mean,
but do you really mean...?

Well, I got them for you,
and I can't take them with me.

And it is terribly expensive,
putting things in store.

- Angel!
- You could be an unfurnished tenant.

Bliss!

Complete and utter bliss!

In the lower depths of Chelsea,
I became unfurnished and immoveable,

and alone.

Crisp!

- Yes, sir.
- Get in there.

Come on, move!

Crisp, sir.

Sit down.

Your hair's dyed.

Yes, sir.

A man dying his hair
is a sign of sexual perversion.

- Do you know what that means?
- Yes, sir.

Do you know what the word
"homosexual" means?

Yes, I am homosexual.

Wait here.

- How old are you?
- 31.

It says here, 25.

I said 25 because I thought
that would get me into the Army sooner.

Why did you want to get in
the Army?

In order to avoid starvation.

Right, take those off.

Let's have a look at you.

Bend over.

I think I ought to explain
that I've very rarely gone in for sodomy.

Not for some years now.

I mean, if that's what you're looking for.

Stand up.

Put those things on again.

What use do you think you'd be
to the Army?

Anyone can get killed.

Wait here.

Sit down.

- I am a psychiatrist.
- Oh, yes... sir?

You say you are homosexual.

I am homosexual, irretrievably.

But you want to join the Army?

Yes.

Then why did you come here,
looking as you do?

Well...

I didn't put on any of my
usual make-up.

I thought,
"I mustn't blind them with it."

But there's my hair and my fingernails.
I won't do anything about those.

I mustn't make it seem I'm trying to
disguise the fact that I'm homosexual.

It wouldn't be fair.

And in any case,
I couldn't possibly get rid of the dye.

You have to grow it out,
and that can take quite a long time.

I could have cut it.

But I thought, "When I join the
Army, they'll cut it for me."

And apart from saving me
the expense,

then it would provide me with a
permanent excuse.

"My hair is short because
they've cut it.

"The way you see me now
is because they've done it to me."

The burden of responsibility
will pass from my shoulders.

Does that answer your question?

In all seriousness, have you a fantasy
vision of yourself as a fighting man?

In all seriousness, the only soldiers
I know

spend their time loading
petrol cans onto lorries in Banbury.

I'm sure even I can do that.

I must admit that I'm more likely to be
killed by the English than by the Germans,

but I've taken that risk for years now.

- Do you read your Bible?
- Not constantly.

"Male and female created He them."

Male and female created He me.

Armed with a certificate saying,
"Exempt, suffering from sexual perversion,"

I had a happy War.

In the blackout,
the whole of London was my playground.

And when the Americans came,

I discovered, like many a good girl,

that sex could be fun.

Hey, ma'am.

Can I walk you home?

You think I'm a woman, don't you?

Well, you sure wiggle your fanny
like a woman.

Frankly, I'm not a woman.

Frankly, do I care?

Never in the history of sex was
so much offered to so many by so few.

- Hiya, Red.
- Hi.

- Well, you sure are pretty.
- Am I?

Yeah. You wanna go someplace?

- What place?
- Your place.

Hey, uh... what say we have another
piece of gum and then do it again?

All right.

Shucks...

this is more fun than watching a long-tailed
cat in a room full of rocking chairs.

Yeah.

Quentin, are you in?

- Hello.
- Darling, you've got to do it for me.

- Oh, yes?
- Tonight. I simply can't, I shall be in Brighton.

I've telephoned everyone.
They're all booked, so it must be you.

- Me?
- You've always said how nice it must be.

- Jeez, Quent! Do you know what time it is?
- No, I'm afraid I don't.

They really want me?

You are practically the only person left
in London with two arms and two legs.

Pardon me, ma'am. I'll just
get my clothes here.

But, what do I wear?

Oh, roughly as you are.

Oh.

I suppose you couldn't stand
with your arms stretched out?

Yes.

In a sort of crucifixion pose?

Christ!

Being a model requires no education,
no references and no previous experience.

You have only to say, "I do"
and you're stuck with it for life.

Like marriage.

Quentin...

could you erm...

sort of stand as if you were
waiting for a bus?

Waiting for a bus?

A number 11, to be precise.

Do you think you could be
more natural?

Natural? Me?

He's been standing like that for
two hours now.

Why?

In case "they" come.

Last night, he stood there all night.

Who are "they"?

Who are "they"?
They who might come?

They might.

- Who? The Germans?
- No.

Scotland Yard?

Secret Service? Spies?

Spies, perhaps.

To spy on whom?
To find out what?

Who would want to spy on you?

They.

Who do you think "they" are?

They... are ideas in my head.

Then let's all sit down,

and we'll have a drink
and we'll talk about something else.

Are there microphones in the room?

Who would want to put
microphones here?

They would.

My problem was minor in comparison.

After years of quite phenomenal luck...

Excuse me, sir.

- We are police officers.
- Oh, yes?

Have you some evidence of
your identity?

Are you exempted from the
forces, sir?

Exempted...

suffering from sexual perversion.

That's right.

Thank you.

Move along.

20 minutes later,
in another part of the forest...

- Quentin, how are you, love?
- Hello.

Must get to the theater.
Be good.

I'm depressingly good.

Just a minute, you.

- Oh, hello. You, again.
- We're taking you in for soliciting.

- For what?
- Soliciting for an immoral purpose.

Quick march.

It was an eventuality that I had
expected for many a long year.

I can't think why I acted surprised.

USHER: Quentin Crisp.

I was assailed by two contrary feelings.

The first was that
here was the long awaited situation

which would need all my powers
of survival.

The second was that I might
easily fall in a dead faint,

and it would be just as well if I did.

Quentin Crisp...

you are charged with soliciting for an
immoral purpose on September 28th,

in Catherine Street,
Russell Street and Tavistock Street.

Do you plead guilty or not guilty?

- Not guilty.
- Speak up. I can't hear you.

Not guilty.

- Sit down, Mr Crisp.
- Thank you, sir.

I swear by Almighty God,

the evidence I shall give shall
be the truth,

the whole truth and nothing
but the truth.

So help him, God.

On September 28th, I was on plain clothes
patrol duty in the West End,

together with
Detective Constable J Robinson.

At approximately 6pm, in Catherine
Street, I saw the accused.

He approached and spoke to a man,
who turned away from him,

as if offended, and walked rapidly away.

I then, with Detective Constable Robinson,
kept the accused under observation,

at a distance of approximately 15 yards,

while he proceeded from
Catherine Street into Tavistock Street,

Drury Lane,
and then into Russell Street.

This was from approximately 6pm
until approximately 6:20.

During this time,
he approached three other male persons,

and spoke or attempted to
speak to them.

In each case, after a few words
had been spoken on both sides,

the person to whom the accused
had been speaking

turned and walked away from him,

looking as if disgusted and horrified.

The final occasion I saw this happen

was immediately outside the
Fortune Theatre in Russell Street at

approximately 6:20.

I went up to the accused, informed him
of the charge and took him into custody

at Bow Street Police Station.

One must never say that
the police are liars.

Do you wish to ask the officer
any questions about his evidence?

Stand up.

Er... No.

Why don't I wish to question him?

Because you must never say
that the police are liars.

At approximately 6pm in Catherine Street,
I saw the accused.

He approached and spoke to a man,
who turned away from him as if offended.

14 years ago
I ceased to be a homosexual prostitute.

Of my own accord
I threw off the burden of homosexuality

by transforming it into a cause.

I decided to make the problem clear
by making it evident.

I must now do something publicly
to fight for that cause.

Looking disgusted and horrified.

The final occasion on which I saw
this happen was immediately

outside the Fortune Theater in
Russell Street at approximately 6:20pm.

I then went up to the accused,

informed him of the charge and
took him into custody.

Have you anything to say, Mr Crisp?

Yes.

You may say what you have to say
from where you are.

Or if you wish,
you may go into the witness box,

in which case, you will be put to oath.

Now, which do you prefer?

Well, I can't possibly play my big scene
with my back to the audience.

The witness box, please.

Take the book in your right hand and...

I swear by Almighty God, the evidence
I shall give shall be the truth,

the whole truth,
and nothing but the truth.

- Full name?
- Quentin Crisp.

Quentin. You are a male person,
I presume?

- Yes.
- Your address? Full address?

97 Bewley Street, London SW3,
England.

Do you deny the facts, as given in
evidence by the two police officers?

- Yes.
- Are you saying that the police are liars?

- No.
- What are you saying, then?

I am saying that I think they
were mistaken.

Do you deny that you were in the places
mentioned, at the times mentioned?

Oh, not at all, no. I was definitely
in Catherine Street at six o'clock.

I remember this particularly,

because it was then that the two
gentlemen who later arrested me

came up and spoke to me for
the first time.

- They what?
- They asked to see my papers.

I showed them my exemption
papers,

which say that I am suffering from
sexual perversion.

- Is this true?
- Yes, sir.

It is certainly true that I am
a sexual pervert,

but I've never been quite sure
about the word "suffering".

You are a sexual pervert?

- Yes.
- You are attracted to men and not to women?

- Yes.
- You go to bed with men?

I have done, sometimes, yes.

Do you deny
that you spoke to men in the street?

I deny that I approached anyone or that
I spoke to anyone before he spoke to me.

- But you spoke to men?
- Only if they demanded some reply.

In Catherine Street?

I don't think I said anything
in Catherine Street.

It was there that a man came up to me
and said, forgive me,

"You effing pansy,
you ought to be locked up."

And I didn't reply, because this really
didn't seem to demand any reply.

And in Tavistock Street?

I think it was in Tavistock Street

that a man came up to me and
pushed me in the chest,

but I can't be absolutely sure.

- Why not?
- That sort of thing happens to me all the time.

Mr Crisp, are you saying that the police
officers misinterpreted what they saw?

I am saying
that they made a very natural mistake.

They had seen from my papers
that I was homosexual.

Good heavens, they could have told
from my appearance, as you can now.

They were watching me from
15 yards or so,

when I had these brief exchanges
with various men.

And it may well have seemed,
from a distance...

But you are saying, on oath, that in no
case did you make the first approach.

- My Lord...
- No.

I beg your pardon, sir.

Sir, look at me.

I wear lipstick, I wear rouge,
I wear mascara on my eyelashes.

I dye my hair,
I wear flamboyant clothes,

far more outre than those I'm
wearing now.

I am a self-evident, self-professed,
effeminate homosexual,

for all the world to see.

How could I hope to solicit anybody in
broad daylight, in a crowded London

street, looking as I do?

What would I expect, but a
curse and a blow?

No, my appearance sets me apart
from the rest of humanity.

It is not easy for me to make
human contacts.

With strangers, it is almost impossible.

I learned, many years ago,
the golden rule of my life.

In public places I do not speak to
anyone unless they speak to me.

I do not look at anyone
unless they demand that I look at them.

It is the only way I know
of getting safely to my destination.

- Have you anything else to say, Mr Crisp?
- Yes.

I have never refrained
from any course of action

on the ground that it was illegal
or immoral.

But I no longer ask strange men for money
because I do not think that I would get it.

Perhaps... Perhaps my very existence
is a form of importuning.

Otherwise, I am not guilty as charged.

Thank you.

Please return to the dock.

Well, I flatter myself London
has not seen a performance like that

since Sybil Thorndike's St Joan.

Do you know he is a homosexual?

Yes.

- Yet you say he is a friend of yours?
- Yes.

- Do you know he is a homosexual?
- Yes.

- And yet you describe him as "respectable"?
- Yes.

- Do you know he is a homosexual?
- Yes.

And yet you call him "a good man"?

- Yes.
- Thank you.

- Mr Crisp.
- Stand up.

Have you any other witnesses
to character?

About ten, I think.

I am tired of this recital
of your praises.

There is insufficient evidence to convict.

By which he means the police are liars.

Case dismissed.

You look terrible.

Exhibitionism is indeed a drug.

Hooked in adolescence,
I was now taking doses so massive

they would have killed a beginner.

Darling, are you coming to the party?

- I suppose so.
- Come in, Ricky.

I brought him for you. He's a bit small,
but they are getting difficult to find.

Oh, it's very sweet of you, darling, but...

I do think, not at the moment.

Fate held something worse in store.

Into the Cuzco of the layabout civilization
came a man the size of a barn door,

and as easily pushed to and fro.

- Is this taken?
- No.

Mind if I...?

Please do.

He was a great, dark thing
from outer space.

Breakfast?

- What?
- Would you like some breakfast?

Oh, right.

- Thanks.
- Right.

I put him up for a night,
which lasted a weekend,

for three long, dark years.

Oh, that's nice. That's very nice.

- I'm glad.
- Yeah, they do a nice job at that laundry.

- You tell 'em.
- Yes, I will.

What are you making for
supper, then?

- Stew?
- Irish?

It's sort of Hibernian.

You put them vegetables in I brought?

My only notion of cooking
is to put everything in and stir it.

Hah! I don't know...
you do all right.

Thank you.

Do you like this shirt?

Think the colour suits me?
Do you think it makes me look nice?

Yes. Yes, it makes you look very nice.

- Did I show you what I bought today?
- No, you didn't.

French beret.
Makes a change from the old cap, eh?

- Do I look like a Frenchman?
- Yes.

Yes, you do, somewhat.

♪ Every little breeze seems to
whisper Louise

♪ The birds in the trees
just whisper Louise

♪ I love you, love you ♪

- I ought to go on the stage.
- Why not?

'Ere. Quent!

- Hmm?
- You ought to clean up. This place is filthy.

I have discovered a great
labour-saving secret.

After the first four years,
the dust doesn't get any worse.

Yeah? Well, I reckon you ought to
clean up. It's not nice.

- Perhaps I'm not nice.
- I want our neighbours to respect you.

The job is done. They're terrified.

As far as I know, this is ready.

- Hey, Quent?
- Mm-hm?

I've been thinking about it.
I don't like you sleeping on the floor.

- I don't mind it.
- Well, I think you ought to sleep in the bed.

With me.

Know what I mean?

If you like.

Yeah.

The sex was all right,
in a domestic sort of way.

But never share a narrow double bed
with a wide single man.

♪ Do de dah-ah,
eh, dah dee dee..

♪ Dee dee dee, Columbina

♪ Ree dee, Pagliaccio

♪ Dee dee, dee dee, dee dee ♪

- I ought to have been in opera.
- I think you could have done very well.

Hey, do you think
I ought to have been in opera?

Do you think I've got a good voice?

Mr Crisp does.

Give us your hand.

Mr Crisp and me
have been together for two years now.

Fact

- Hey, Quent?
- Mm-hm?

This going to bed together.

Yes?

Let's pack it in.

If you like.

How marvelous for you to be
here again!

I shall...

No, I shan't. I can't do it any longer.

Quentin, I am worried about you.

All my friends are constantly
in that state.

But I don't understand
your relationship with him.

He is a poor, wee thing.

I fed him because he was
hungry, and I

housed him because he had
nowhere to go.

But that's compassion.

- Oh, I see. ls it?
- Isn't it?

I've yet to be informed.

Because all the love that I have ever
known is that I wish people well,

and that occasionally,
I actually give them half a crown.

Or what they need - advice,
a bath, a bed.

And he, poor, wee thing,
needed a kingdom.

He'd never known a world
in which he had the upper hand.

- I gave him a kingdom.
- But your relationship?

He wanted sex, I obeyed.

He wanted to stop, I obeyed.

But does he love you?

You are a woman. You speak a
language that I do not understand.

If love exists, which is
something that I wouldn't know,

then love is never closing my hand,
not even to the unlovable.

I thought perhaps he was
your great, dark man.

There is no great, dark man.

May I utter that universal truth
more loudly here,

where the echoes are so marvelous?

I leave for France on Tuesday.

- I always thought you'd become a nun.
- Why?

Because you hate the world.

I have never been a member of it.

Will you go and see him?

If you like.

I've been every Sunday.
You needn't go incessantly.

But you must go.

If I can't come every weekend,
that's it, isn't it?

I shall be delighted to see you
whenever it's possible.

- No, you won't.
- I told you, I have to see a friend.

An old friend.

Yeah, that's what you say.
But that's not the truth.

Alas, that when you bite into a soft
centre, you can't put it back in the box.

Please do come again,
though it can't be so often.

No!

Just as you wish.

Going to see a madman.

You're not well, Quent. You're not
right. You're a bit sick, you know.

Hell consists of having the same
diseases as one's neighbours.

Thank you.

What am I doing here?

In loving mummery of a woman
who is a nun,

and therefore is as if already dead.

I never liked him much,
even when he was sane.

Perhaps he is... unlovable.

Quentin! My dear friend, Quentin!

Hello.

You have come. At last,
you have come.

- Yes.
- Tea. You will have tea with me.

- Yes, shall I get it'?
- Oh, no, no. Here you are chez moi.

It will be my treat, as in the
good old days.

Beautiful sandwiches.
They make them with fresh bread.

He looks better, you know.
He looks better since he's been here.

There. Help yourself.

Did she say that I'd be coming?

Oh, yes. If it was she.

- If?
- She put me here, you know.

- Yes.
- That was unforgivable.

- We all thought it would be for the best.
- The woman I loved.

She betrayed me.

- She came to see you every weekend.
- If it was she.

Who's the third cup for?

This place is an absolute madhouse.

Two hours to get here,
two hours of this.

Two hours to get back.

I have a present for you.

Oh, you shouldn't have.

Yes, for you! Open it.

I took them from the orchard here,

when, for a moment, they were
not watching.

- Why, that's very kind of you.
- They will do you good.

You must take care of yourself,
Quentin.

You are looking old.

My dentist, a dear friend, said,

"lt's not your teeth that are
decaying, it's you."

It was 1948. I was 40.

MR POLE: "You're looking old."

Looking old, because growing old.

Loyally, my students didn't mind,
red, white or blue.

Quentin, my friend!

But you look marvelous!

Thank you.

You like it? It makes me
look young, eh?

I am more desirable.

Erm... Yes. How do you...

Cod liver oil. I rub it into my scalp
all day long.

Tea. You will have tea.

I went on visiting him for eight years.

After eight years, he was allowed
to visit me.

[KNOCK AT DOOR]
Come in.

- Quentin!
- Hello. How lovely to see you.

Take your coat off. I'm just
making the tea.

- How are you?
- I have brought you presents.

- Many presents.
- You shouldn't have.

Oh, I've brought you... You cannot
guess what I have brought you.

I have brought you some apples...

some chocolate...

a meat pie...

and a bottle of British sherry.

How lovely.

For you, Quentin,

because I love you.

You are the only person
in the world that I love.

The kettle!

I'm nearly 50.

He must be 70.

I must remain perfectly calm.

Why don't you sit down and
have a cup of tea?

Quentin, my love!

My darling.

He was not sexless, but
he was impotent.

There was little he could do.

He did what little he could.

This was the measure of his loneliness.

I was the limit of his degradation.

The nun returned to us
for one last glimpse of the past.

- Cheers, darling.
- Cheers.

- How is it there?
- Every moment has been agony.

But I couldn't have done otherwise.

The story of our lives.

Some of our lives.

She, at least, was safe
in the loving bosom of Lord Alcohol.

She was still seeking
mad, passionate, romantic love.

In vain.

It was one of the Pole's last
visits to London.

He hanged himself in his mental
home when, for a moment,

"they" were not watching.

As for myself...

Well, even a marriage with oneself
may not last forever.

I am not merely a stopped clock.

I am a stopped grandfather clock.

The symbols I adopted 40 years ago
to express my sexual type

have become the uniform
of all young people.

I have survived.
I have had some happy times.

There was one night
when I was totally happy.

For some reason,
I had to spend the night in Portsmouth.

I went for a walk on the front and I was
immediately surrounded by sailors.

- Hello!
- Where are you going?

Here, come with us and have a drink.
We're going to the Queen's Arms.

- Very sweet of you.
- Well, we are sweet, aren't we?

- Oh, I should say so!
- Yes, you are.

- I think you're all terribly sweet.
- Ooh!

He doesn't want the Queen's Arms.
He wants the Jolly Jack Tar!

The old Jack Tar, eh!

- Oh, is that a nicer place?
- You wait!

Well, when you get in the
Jolly Jack Tar...

you'll have the time of your life!

And when he gets in you...!

Oh, it's not a pub.

You meant something else.

It was the first, last and only time
that I have ever been in a crowd of people

where I was the centre of attention

without feeling that I was in danger.

- Do you fancy one of us, then?
- Which one of us do you fancy?

Oh, I think you're all
so incredibly attractive.

Oh, go on!

Nothing sexual happened.
Nothing was going to happen.

It was what I have always longed for
and never elsewhere found.

A flirtation; an evening's entertainment.

Hey, mister! Me and my mates, we been
watching you. You're a poof, ain't ya?

Queer baiters are getting younger
these days.

See that copper over there?
If you don't give us a quid each, right,

I'm gonna tell him
you've been fiddling with these two.

I defy you to do your worst.

It can hardly be my worst. Mine has
already and often happened to me.

You cannot touch me now.

I am one of the stately homos
of England.

Never looking at anyone
unless they demand that I look.

Never speaking unless spoken to.