All language subtitles for Upstart Crow s02e04 Food of Love.eng

I want to be a gentleman, I
want to be posh. You promised!

All right, Dad. I'll petition
the College of Heralds again.

He's been on about that
coat of arms for years.

As if they'd give one to him,
who's been before the courts

and shamed us all.

It was only a bit of fiddling.

They should go after the real criminals,

the dodgy financial dealers.

Dad, it is a matter of public record
that you manipulated wool prices,

fixed interest rates and
reneged on personal debt.

Exactly what part of "dodgy
financial dealer" is it

that you are not?

He's a common thief.

Which, I admit, is not normally
considered an impediment

to ennoblement in England.

But in this case, it is,
because Robert Greene,

who doth hate my gutlings,
is made Master Herald

and Robert Greene would
rather be personal hairdresser

to a snake-headed Gorgon
than do me a good turn.

I want a coat of arms!

And I'll do my best, Dad, but
I am quite busy, you know.

The public's demand for
new plays is insatiable

and I have not a single
solitary second to spare.

I be like the springtime lark
who must needs build her nest,

feed her young, tend her delicate
plumage, whilst all the while

singing merry songs that the fairies
may dance in the greenwood glades.

Is that you making the point that
you haven't got a second to spare?

Yes, absolutely,
underlining it, so to speak.

I-I-I'm so pushed that I barely
have a moment to illustrate

my observations with extended
metaphor and fantastical whimsy.

Theatre is booming and its
demands are insatiable.

My Two Gentlemen Of Verona filled a gap

but already Burbage needs another

and out is it stressing me most vexingly.

Well, I know you're busy, love,

but you absolutely cannot miss
Hamnet's school Latin recitation.

Latin, still, at 11? Huh! In my
day, we were onto Greek by then.

The whole curriculum's been
completely dumbled down.

The other dads come.

"Where's your Bill?", the other
mums say, and I have to make excuses.

What, like I have a life?

That I exist independently of my children?

How weird, how selfish.

What is it with modern youth
that they canst not kick

an inflated pig's bladder the
wrong way up a sporting field,

but that both parents must be
a-standing on the sidelines,

shouting, "Goodling, job,
poppet. Goodling job."

- A father should take an interest in
his children. - Why? Mine never did.

That wicked old bastarble
didn't so much as glance at me

till I was 14 and he could put me to work.

I wasn't bloody interested.

He wasn't interested.

"Look to your son," I'd say.

And he'd say, "Who?"

"Who?" I'd say. Wasn't interested.

All I'm asking is for you
to get involved sometimes.

- It's healthy for their emotional development.
- I don't think it is.

I think it's corrupting.

A whole generation is growing up,
who, on reaching adult estate,

will scarce be able to let loose
a fartlebarthel without their

parents shouting encouragement and
promising to bottle it for Grandma.

? April is in my mistress' face

? And July in her eyes hath place... ?

Susanna, will you please stop singing

April Is In My Mistress' Face?

Sing something else.

? Now is the month of Maying
When merry lads are playing... ?

But not Now Is The Month Of Maying

or any other madrigal
by Thomas bloody Morley.

Uh, Thomas Morley is
THE best madrigal writer

of the English Renaissance.

He is God, I would die
for him, I'm a Thomatic.

He is not God, daughter --

he is a sugar-coated ditty guffer

whose every song be
two-thirds "Fa la la la la",

and the other third some arsing porridge

about merry maids in May,

naughty nymphs in November

or juicy jugs in July.

Never mind Thomas bloomin' Morley,
what about my coat of arms?

I'm working on it!

Establishing a noble
lineage is a process --

you can't fake 400 years
of family history overnight.

Mr Shakespeare, heraldry
is a complex discipline.

You can't fake 400 years
of family history overnight.

- Well, how long might it
take, do you think? - How long?

Well, now, let me see.

In your case?

Hmm, well, give or take
a week or two, I'd say...

Eternity.

The Shakespeares will never be gentlemen.

But we-we could be tomorrow,
if you'd just grant us

that family coat of arms.

Yes, IF.

Such a tiny, mewling word

and ever the lament of the
turnip-chewing country bumshank.

"If only I were higher-born.

"If only I'd been to Cambridge University

"instead of leaving the
town duncing school at 14

"to work in my dad's glove shop."

There is no terror in your threats,
Greene, for I am armed so strong

in honesty that they pass
by me like the idle wind.

Of a small, somewhat constipated squirrel.

Hm, tails off a bit at
the end, don't you think?

It'll get there. Probably just needs
a couple of hundred more syllables.

Bottom, bring ale and pie...

Ah, I see 'tis laid.
Hello, Kit, are you here?

I heard you were back, thought I'd
drop in for a quaff and a gorge.

'Tis apple season, Mr
Shakespeare. Have a little fruit.

Allez-oup, allez-hazzah.
Allez-diddley-doo.

Juggling and such tricks are,
as I'm sure you are aware,

key skills for any theatre professional.

Kate, please.

I know you want to be an actor,

but I'm not in the mood to watch juggling.

In fact, I'm never in the mood to
watch juggling, an activity which

I consider to be second only to
mime in its somnambulistic tedium.

I love mime.

You do not love it, Kate.

You merely tell yourself you
love it because you are kind

and have a natural sympathy

for the terminally deluded and
the pathologically talentless.

I, however, are made of sterner
stuff and would lock every mime

in Christendom up in
his imaginary glass box

and throw away the notional key.

Good journey was it, master?

Well, Botsky, it was
dirty, overcrowded and late.

On the other hand, it wasn't
diverted via Aberystwyth

or cancelled due to unusually wet leaves.

So, I suppose within
the very limited context

of my minimal expectations,

you could say that, in a
purely comparative sense,

yes, I had a good journey.

And I expect your family
were pleased to see you?

Not really, Kate. 'Twas all too brief

and they complain I neglect them.

I'm just so overworked, I need more time.

I wrote a history on the coach --
The Tragical History Of Edward II.

It's a quite brilliant first
draft, but it needs a lot more work.

Hang on, hang on. Here's a thought.

I know how you can save
yourself all that work.

Really, Kit? That'd be great.

Give the play to me and
I'll just chuck it on as is.

I'm not proud. And be fair
-- you've had loads of hits.

Through talent and hard work!
What I have, I have by merit.

- You say that as if it's
a good thing! - Isn't it?

Well, of course not! I mean,
if all men advance by merit,

what becomes of us stupid posh boys?

Or do we not count?

Never had you down as an elitist, Will.

Stop being such a snob. Give us a play.

No, Kit, I am resolved and even
an insanely convoluted argument

such as that cannot sway me.

I've sent my Titus
Andronicus round to Burbage,

but I'm really not sure about it.

What do you think, Kate?

You read it. Too gory?

Be absolutely honest, I can take it.

Well, since you ask... yes, it was.

Well, thank you very much(!)
That's very helpful(!)

Nice to have your
support, I don't think(!)

Well, I'm sorry,

but Titus Andronicus is a
degrading orgy of abusive sex

and unspeakable violence.

Sounds brilliant! I'd go.

Me too, love all that.

People's lives are filled with
abuse and violence, Mr Shakespeare.

Surely, as an artist, you should be
offering them something inspiring,

uplifting, which brings joy and
lightness to their existence.

What about that comedy of mistakes,

misunderstandings and
coincidences I was working on?

I thought it was contrived.

Contrived?! How can you say that?

Two identical twins, separated at birth

and who happen to have
been given the same name,

with servants who are
also identical twins,

also separated at birth

and also happen to have
been given the same name,

end up in the same town

and mistakenly hook up with
each other's girlfriends.

That could easily happen.

I just don't think it's
a play, Mr Shakespeare.

- But it's not entirely irredeemable.
- Irredeemable?

It's the most deemable thing
I've written all week!

Deemable is not a word.

It is if I bloody say it is,

because in case you've
forgotten, that's what I do.

It's got some nice madness about it,

but the drama exposes its limitations.

You need to come up with a
new art form which allows

for such exuberant absurdity.

Some extra element which takes
us to a heightened world,

where we can accept such joyful nonsense.

A new style which defies dramatic logic

and appeals directly to the
senses, the emotions, the soul.

Gosh, Kate. If I could do that,

then all my problems would be solved.

I could get away with really stupid plots,

while still delighting the
crowds and running for years.

Yes!

But no such extra element exists.

Theatres put on plays,
there is no new form.

Meanwhile, I have bills to pay and
a family to feed. I need a show.

Well, when I'm really stuck on something,

I find it helps to sing a happy song.

Yes, thank you, Bottom,
I'm trying to concentrate.

? Now is the month of Maying
When merry lads are playing

- ? Fa la la la la la la la la... ?
- I'm trying to think!

? Fa la la la la la lah. ?

I love Thomas Morley, he is a God!

Oh, how does he do it? I
mean, they're just so catchy!

I mean, so many hits. April
Is In My Mistress' Face.

- My Bonny Lass She Smileth.
- Flora Wilt Thou Torment Me?

I mean, hit after hit after hit.
Appealing directly to the senses.

- Oh, the emotions! - The soul! - Oh!

Hang on.

Hang the futtock on!

That's it! By Neptune's
salty nipples, that's it!

- What's it, Mr Shakespeare?
- The new form!

The key to getting away
with really silly stories,

while providing joyful,
uplifting popular entertainment.

I must to the theatre -- a
cultural revolution begins.

What is to be done?

This Titus Andronicus be
little better than pornography.

Titus kills Tamora's eldest sons.
Tamora has Titus's sons beheaded.

Tamora's sons gang-rape Titus's daughter

and Titus cooks Tamora's sons
in a pie and makes her eat it!

I certainly shan't be
recommending it to Mother.

I'm telling you, make it a comedy,

like we should have done with his Richard.

Problem solved.

- I suppose it might work as a kind of
dark pantomime. - Except no laughter.

I thought you said play it for laughs.

I said comedy, mate. Not
laughs. Laughing is anti-comedy.

I don't want to be told when to laugh.

Other people's laughter
isn't telling you anything.

It's just an innocent expression
of collective jollity.

Collective jollity?

What's collective jollity
got to do with comedy?

Comedy should be exclusive and elitist.

If everybody gets it, then what's to get?

- The joke. - And there's your
problem right there, Burbage.

In comedy, jokes are worse than laughter.

Mr Burbage, halt rehearsals,
I've had the most brilliant idea.

A way to uplift and inspire,
to fill our theatre with joy,

to move people so much that
they tell their friends

and perhaps even return
a second time themselves.

Oh, do not jest, Will.

For word of mouth and repeat business

are the Holy Grail of the theatre owner.

For such things, we would sell our souls.

Then pop your soul in a bag,
mate, and I'll take it with me,

cos I've got the answer -- music.

Music? Oh, dear, Will, you
really have lost your touch.

We already use music, had you not noticed?

We strum our lutes at the beginning
and we blow our pipes at the end.

And from what I've heard, Condell,

you blow a few pipes at the interval too!

Phobic, or brave and edgy? You decide.

Oh, God, he's doing his laugh again.

I thought you said you
didn't like laughter, Kempe?

Group laughter, mate -- everyone
laughing together, that's never right.

But solo laughter? Ooh, me laughing?

Very loudly and intrusively

at something that nobody else finds funny?

That's the mark of a comic genius.

Excuse me, I'm trying to
tell you my brilliant idea.

I didn't just mean music at the
start and the finish, Burbage --

I meant throughout.

For add music to theatre
and what do you have?

- Theatrical music.
- Yes.

No, no. Musical theatre.

Oh, my God. I love it.

Love what, Condell? Mr Shakespeare's
scarcely begun to explain himself.

I don't care, I love it anyway.

Just those two words, "musical theatre"...

They speak to my soul.

Of course they do, but I'm
talking about a play with songs.

- What's not to love? - Um, everything.
- Let me think this through, Will.

Are you suggesting that we find somebody

to write songs to fit your plays?

- Well, I thought that at first. - Mm.

You know, work with a
composer on an original score.

But then I thought, "No -- we need
guaranteed hits, lots of them."

And how do we get those?

By using songs that are hits already!

Yes! By St Bernard's
buttered barm cakes, yes!

I'm on fire today.

First, I invent the
original stage musical,

and then instantly make it obsolete

by inventing the greatest hits musical.

Talk me through the detail.

Well, how does my Henry VI
Part One open, for example?

At the funeral of Henry V,
Bedford, Gloucester, Exeter,

Warwick, Winchester, Somerset
are gathered to mourn the King.

Each speaks at length. A soldier
brings news that France is lost.

Further extended monologues
ensue. It's a very long scene.

- Very long.
- Like, mad long.

It is not long at all.

25 minutes at most, and it flies by.

But... I admit that you don't
exactly go home humming it.

But imagine if instead of opening
with 15 pages of blank verse,

we opened with Now Is The Month Of Maying.

- My God. 'Tis a thought.
- A brilliant, magical thought.

I love, love, love it. I can see it now...

Act one, scene one, London, 1422.

The street is filled with
lovable Cockney characters.

Cheeky street urchins, costermongers.

Pretty flower girls.

A perambulating toff or two.

- Enter the new king!
- Strike up the players.

And the whole company sing
Now Is The Month Of Maying!

Two minutes later, the entire
audience will be on their feet

with their arms swinging in the air.

? La la la la la la la la
la la la la la la lah. ?

I must say how very kind
it was of you to invite us

to your beautiful home, Mr Morley.

Technical point -- it's
not actually my home.

It belongs to a subsidiary branch

of an offshore holding company
incorporated in Liechtenstein.

Which is, I must stress, an
entirely legal tax arrangement

entered into on the
advice of my accountants.

Yes, of course. No doubt.

I just want to make music, man.

Absolutely. And if you
allow us to use your songs,

then you might also make
a great deal of money.

Yeah, technical point,
not actually my songs.

The copyrights are owned
by a subsidiary branch

of an offshore holding company,
incorporated in Baden-Eisenbach.

An entirely legal tax arrangement

entered into on the
advice of my accountants.

I just want to make music, man.
And I'm loving this new direction.

- Morley The Musical. Very cool.
- Yes, it does have a certain ring.

- Sorry, Morley The Musical?
- Or Tom. Tommo. Tomster.

- Tomster The Musical.
- You think the show should be called after you?

Too on the nose? Could be.
What about Norwich Boy?

- The story of a one-man
hit factory. - Yes...

Yes, I can see the groundlings
flooding to see that.

I was just wondering if the
show should be about you at all.

- Why not? It's my musical.
- Our musical -- I provide the script.

- Yeah, you or some other geezer.
- What other geezer?

I don't know, anyone.

- I've got people.
- People?

Yeah, people who sort stuff.

- Like creating original stories
and sparkling dialogue? - Could be.

They're my people, they
sort what I tell 'em.

Organise a few parties,
drum up a few grouping slaps.

Write an original story
with some sparkling dialogue.

That's why you have people
-- to get stuff sorted.

You want the gig or not? Have a word.

Have a care, Will.

Mr Morley has created the
most valuable back catalogue

in Christendom.

And I've written three
hits called Henry VI

and a fourth called Richard III.

I admit that my Verona
piece wasn't as big,

but it's that difficult fifth play

that isn't named after a
numbered monarch, isn't it?

The point is, I'm not going to
write some tawdry hagiography

designed to massage the ego
of Thomas bloody Morley.

Then, with deepest sadness,

I must needs commission some other geezer

and you will have no play, no
income and be at further from buying

the coat of arms on which
you've set your heart, so...

- Right, so... Norwich Boy it is.
- I just want to make music, man.

Fellow poets, brother scholars,

we meet today in the face of
perhaps the most heinous attack

on the high culture since the first
clown showed his bottom to the mob.

I speak of Mr Shakespeare's
plans to produce in London

a greatest hits musical

based on the smasheroo madrigals

of that loathsome ditty
guffer Thomas Morley.

We must stop this aberration.

Madrigals are popular music.

The theatre is no place
for popular entertainment.

Quite so.

Mine own sublime Friar
Bacon And Friar Bungay

is well known as the most
impenetrably obscure drama

in all of literature.

We must destroy this heinous
assault on our pre-eminence.

- But how?
- How, sir?

Why, in the manner by which an
English pamperloin always gets

what he wants -- abuse
of privilege, gentlemen.

Abuse of privilege.

So, Norwich Boy -- The Tommy Morley Story

told through his greatest hits.

Sounds brilliant -- I'd go.

You're going to make it a
biography? Sounds a bit cheesy.

Well, strangely, Kate, I have a
feeling that in musical theatre,

being cheesy might turn
out to be a bit of a plus.

But the whole idea was that music
would provide the extra element

for your comedy of mistakes,
misunderstandings and coincidences.

But Morley insists that it be about him.

Thus must I chronicle the inspiring
life struggle of the Norwich Boy,

a mixed-up, wild-eyed loner

with a crazy dream, a
cute smile and a lute.

His thrill-packed journey
from humble Norfolk chorister

to chief organist at St Paul's.

Ooh. It's not very thrill-packed.

During which Tommy, and
his identical twin Tommy,

plus their identical twin
servants, turn up in the same city

and mistakenly hook up with
each other's girlfriends.

Oh, my goodness, Mr
Shakespeare. That's incredible!

- Well, I think it'll fit.
- Fit?! It's uncanny!

You said such a thing could
happen and it turns out it has,

and not only that, it's
happened to the very person

you are supposed to write a musical about.

I mean, that's just spooky!

Tommy didn't actually
have an identical twin,

- I'm just going to say that he did.
- Well, that's dishonest.

Kate, I'm writing a celebrity biography.

What has honesty got to do with it?

Well... A dishonest and
self-serving celebrity biog...

I hope you're not setting
some kind of precedent?

Ain't Mr Morley going to mind you
giving him an identical twin?

Of course not. He gets double Tommy,
he'll love it. Now, where to start?

Well, since Tommy's a composer,
why don't you give him

that line you showed me?

The one about music and love.

If music be the food of love, play on.

Wonderful, that's perfect.

Yeah, that is quite good.

Give me excess of it that surfeiting
the appetite may sicken and so die.

That strain again, it had a dying fall.

Oh, it came o'er my ear like the
sweet sound that breathes upon

a bank of violets,
stealing and giving odour.

Oh... Maybe just use the first bit.

- See, you always do that.
- What?

Well, you come up with
a brilliant one-liner

and then ruin it by
going on and on and on.

Speeches should be two
lines, tops. Make it a rule.

Anyway, let's get on.

In your comedy you have Adriana,
wife of Antipholus of Ephesus...

Now Tommy of Norwich.

.. mistake his identical twin,
Antipholus of Syracuse...

Now Tommy of Lowestoft.

.. for her husband, Tommy of Norwich.

Cue for a song -- Tommy of Lowestoft

sings Good Morrow, Fair Ladies Of The May.

- That's brilliant. Fits perfectly.
- Oh! Is it May?

- It is now.
- Very well.

- Next in your comedy, you have
the Syracuse... - Lowestoft.

- .. twin falling for the Ephesus...
- Norwich.

.. twin's wife's sister,
which shocks the wife

because she thinks he's her husband.

Exactly. She punches out the wrong Tommy

and, on realising her mistake,

- tries to revive him by singing
Arise, Get Up My Dear. - Oh!

Brilliant. That's one of me favourites.

I couldn't think how you were
going to get it into the plot.

Well, that's the job, Bottom --
grab the hits and crowbar them in

with a wafer-thin pretence at relevance.

Then reprise the lot at the end
in a great, big sing-along.

Can't wait to see how you fit
in Flora Wilt Thou Torment Me?

Well, I thought about having
a character called Flora

whose love torments him.

Or I could just make it
a song about hay fever.

Alone... Cut off...

No friends, no shelter.

Do you think I have your voice, Mr Morley?

Brilliant, geezer.

It's all so true. I was down, I was out...

I mean, my parents were
supporting me, obviously,

but I had to take a summer
job to buy my first lute.

Perhaps we could get
to the end of the scene?

Sorry, geezer, just loving it.

Enter Mr Condell as Flora,
Tommy's childhood sweetheart.

My first bird was called Gladys.

In which case you might have
thought to write a madrigal called

"Gladys, Wilt Thou Torment Me?".

But since you didn't, we'll
just stick to the script, eh?

All right, geezer. Just loving your work.

And music...

Two, three, four...

? Arise, get up, my deere, arise

? My deere Make hast to be gone thee

? Lo where the bride Lo where the bride

? Faire Daphne, bright

? Where the bride faire Daphne
bright tarries on thee. ?

I am loving this!

Come on, London, one more time!

? Fa la la la la la la la
la Fa la la la la la la lah

? Fa la la la la la la la la
Fa la la la la la la lah. ?

More ale, Miss Lucy!

The first preview was
a smash, they loved it.

They certainly did, Mr Burbage.

Everyone says they are going
to go again and again.

Ah-ah, eh-eh! You should do
an Africa musical next. Hey?

My people have wonderful music
using polyphonic ostinato.

Also, call and response choral rhythms.

Or... you could do a story about a
lion cub who can't wait to be king.

I can't really see people wanting
to watch a story like that, Lucy.

Besides which, the theatre is
full. Norwich Boy will run forever!

Hooray!

Its run is already over, Mr Burbage.

Today's preview was the
first and last performance.

And just how do you intend
to stop us, Master Greene?

Why, by abusing my power
and my position, of course.

All men crave social status,
particularly lowly artists.

Oh, I get it. I'll handle this, Burbage.

So, Master Greene, you
see that I have a hit

and in your jealousy are
come as Master of Heralds

to offer noble rank in
exchange for pulling the show.

Well, 'tis certain a GENTLEMAN
could ne'er be associated

with such an endeavour as this.

Sorry, Greene. But it won't work.

I would love for my father to
gain his family coat of arms,

which is his dearest wish of all.

But sod him.

I will not cancel my
greatest hits musical.

Hurrah!

But, Mr Shakespeare, you misunderstand me.

This is not about you.

Sorry, geezer, I'm pulling the gig.

You can't use my songs.

But, Tomster, we have a hit.

Surely there is nothing that
a rocking and a roistering

popular music star wants more than a hit?

Well, there is one thing, Mr Burbage.

And fortunately, I was able
to recommend to the Queen

that he gets it.

Was I not, SIR Tommy?

Very nice. Very tasteful. Lovely man.

Knighted? Him?! But the bloke's
a shameless tax avoider.

I've done a lot of work for charity.

Yes, the knighthood is principally
for Sir Tommy's charity work.

Which I have done a lot of.

What? What bloody charity
work? We never get told, do we?

A couple of posh galas for the orphans,

the occasional sumptuous
dinner for the starving.

So you've been knighted for
avoiding tax and showing off?

Yes, I think that is
generally considered to be

the proper heraldic process.

God, I hate this sceptred bloody isle!

Sir Tommy understands the way
of the world, Mr Shakespeare,

because, you see, he is a gentleman --

something nor you nor
your father will ever be.

Good day.

I just want to make music, man.

Will, we canst not let the
theatre go dark. We'll be ruined.

Well, we could just do the play straight

with lengthy monologues instead of songs.

I suppose we have no choice.
But what would you call it?

A Comedy Of Mistakes,
Misunderstandings And Coincidences.

Basically, it's just a comedy of errors.

Errors? Oh, I like that!

That's good. I'll use that.

A Comedy Of...

.. Mistakes, Misunderstandings,
Coincidences And Errors.

Brilliant.

God, it's good to be home!

Home to the gentle welcoming
bosom of my family.

You missed Hamnet's Latin.

You didn't get my coat of arms.

Guilty as charged, but I did
get something for Susanna.

It's an undershirt signed by Tommy Morley.

Don't like him any more. He sold out.

How so, my love?

He did a musical.

Well, we've put on A Comedy
Of Errors without songs,

and, despite everyone's doubts,
it's actually a big hit.

That's nice. Maybe you were
just a bit ahead of your time

trying to invent the musical.

You're probably right, wife.
Still, it was fun for a night.

People gathered together,
singing, laughing,

waving their arms in the air,
just having a joyful night out.

- What's wrong with that?
- What indeed?

I hope that one day, in some future age,

London will be full of theatres and
they'll all have musicals in them.

'Tis a joyful dream.

Or a living nightmare.

Yes. I suppose opinion will
always be divided on that one.

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