Original subtitles

It's been raining, you cretin. And what are we painting?

The Sistine Chapel.

Oh, that's in Rome.

I've got a very long brush.

I'm painting that new gardener, the Portuguese boy.

Oh, Antonio?

Mm -hm. Oh, let me see.

Well, most trees are naked.

No, I mean, it looks like a naked man.

Jane, has it ever crossed your mind that you have severe psychological problems?

But where is Antonio?

Well, he's behind the tree.

What? Yes, you see, you can't see him. All you can see is his rake leaning

against the tree. Oh, that's a rake. Oh, that's a rake.

The rake symbolises the presence of Antonio. The painting is not a

representational actuality of Antonio.

Oh, you mean you can't do people?

I mean nothing of the kind.

What do you want?

Well, I've come to see what you'd like for lunch.

There's a choice.

Then field cutlets. Or?

Or not field cutlets.

Why do you come on these futile excursions?

Mr Baines wants the residents to feel they have a say in how things are run at

Bayview. Pure tokenism, Jane.

Harvey Baines doesn't give a damn how things are run here, just so long as

are run profitably.

Oh, you're so negative. I certainly am.

If there's one thing I'm positive about, it's being negative.

Try Tom. He loves that sort of nonsense.

Yes, where is Tom today?

Isn't this his day for driving the mobile library woman up the wall?

Oh, no, that's Tuesdays. Wednesdays is Save the Whale's day.

Is his blow -up whale in the dining room?

That's the point.

No, it isn't. He can't have been in for breakfast.

Well, we'd better investigate.

I'll go alone.

It's policy.

What is it?

Well, you know, just opposing... Well, you mean if Tom has fallen off the

Oh, please, Diana.

Jane, as a one -time photojournalist with a penchant for war zones, I've seen

hundreds of dead bodies.

But they were foreign.

Oh, Jane.

Come on.

I'll come with you.

Oh, dear.

These were probably just slept in.

Doesn't smell as if someone snuffed it in the night. Oh, damn.

Well, usually the old valves open, it gets a bit whiffy. Oh, OK.

Oh!

Call an ambulance.

Tom?

Tom, can you hear me?

Tom, can you hear me?

Of course I can hear you, I'm not deaf.

Oh, what's the matter?

I think I'm dying.

Don't you bloody dare.

Where's the doctor?

All set up at the hospital. There's nothing to worry about, Diana. Jane

contacted family.

No, don't. He can't stand them. Please leave this to us, Diana.

He is my friend. Then why are you shouting? Because I am going with him.

ma 'am, can't do that. Yes, of course I can. Diana, please.

No, he's in good hands. Tom!

Now, just calm down, Diana. Oh, bugger off!

Excuse me.

How is he?

You'll have to talk to the doctor. I just want to know how he is.

Look, why don't you go and get a nice cup of tea?

I have had 16 cups of tea.

I want to know how he is.

He's comfortable.

Yes, well, I know he's comfortable. He's in bed. I want to know what is wrong

with him. I'm sorry, you really will have to talk to the doctor. Oh, where is

the sodding doctor?

Oh.

Oh, Tom, you're great.

What do you think you're playing at?

Oh, Doctor.

Yes? How is he?

He's comfortable.

Oh, my God. Watch my lips. How is he?

What is his state of health?

Is he about to snuff it or does he want to go skiing?

Are you the wife?

The wife? What do you mean, the wife? Do you mean am I his wife?

Yes. No, I am not his wife. I am his friend.

I'm sorry. I think I'd better speak to his wife before his friend.

Then you'd better take a shovel. She's been dead 15 years.

In the circumstances, I think that's a rather tasteless remark.

Do you mean he's about to join her?

I believe his son and daughter -in -law are on their way.

Oh, God, he's as thick as a plank and she's something out of Twilight Zone.

Tell me. I'm sorry, I can only speak to family.

that we should wait here.

He's a cynic, isn't he?

One night out in the years, he has to go and mess it up.

Marianne. Oh, God, look, a bag lady.

If he joined Bupa, he wouldn't be here with the down -and -ups.

Shut it down.

Do you want me to get you some coffee?

Thanks, I might sober up. I doubt it.

Smashing party.

Yes, dear.

That diamond person squeezed my bottom.

Yes, dear.

Wicked.

Squeezed. Ooh!

Geoffrey.

Yes, ma 'am.

Supposing. What?

You know.

I mean, we know.

I don't know.

Your dad.

Yes?

He's had a good run, hasn't he?

What?

We've got to face up to all possibilities.

Not now, dear.

I mean, we've been very good to him. Well, of course, he's my father.

A right family.

Yes. We're all family.

Yes. What's ours is his.

That's very nice of you, Marion.

What his is ours.

Sorry?

Like the insurance, the little bits of silver and that nice Persian rug.

It's her.

Miss Trent.

So nice of you to come, eventually.

What are you doing here?

I'm trying to find out how Tom is.

He's fine. It's not too serious.

Not a proper heart attack at all.

He can never get anything right.

The doctor called it a minor occlusion.

It's a sort of warning.

The doctor spoke to you?

Of course.

He didn't speak to me.

Probably didn't like the look of you.

I thought you were a bad lady.

Dad.

Hello, Geoffrey.

Marion.

We've been so worried about you, haven't we, Geoffrey?

Absolutely, and we really think that when you get out of here, you ought to

home and stay with us.

Only if you want to, of course.

No, thank you. I'll go back to Bayview if it's all the same to you.

But why?

Well, you know how it is. Want to keep an eye on things like my little bits of

silver and my nice Persian rug?

Got the Porsche old thing? Certainly have.

Then let's go.

Dad.

Tom, should I be looking just like this? No. Well, then maybe you shouldn't.

Of course I shouldn't. Well, then why are you? Oh, God, woman.

Don't you ever listen to your own lectures?

To stay alive, one must be bloody -minded and contrary at all times. Maybe

just theorising.

Oh, hold this bag and shut up.

A little weary.

Please, Tom, go back.

Oh, no, I've got to get out of here.

I could feel the clammy hand of something or other crawling along the

Oh, I've been there, you know, I've been there.

We must get out of here.

Oh, dear.

Do you think the part is still going?

Well, he's had a good long sleep, and despite discharging himself in such a

cavalier fashion, he seems to be recovering quite well.

Physically, that is.

More than I am.

Do you do head transplants?

Yes,

it's the state of his mind that gives us most cause for concern.

You see, when he was in the hospital, he asked us to pull the plug on him.

You should have listened to him.

It's not an uncommon request.

He went on to say that most of his chums had died and he wanted to be able to

join them.

Yes, just a lot of them. around here.

Death seems to come in waves.

One goes and the others all pop off in sympathy.

Not that we encourage it, of course.

Oh, no, it's not policy, is it?

It would appear that there is one person that he likes.

Yes, that's me. He likes me.

I'm his son.

Someone called Diana Trent.

Tom and Midclint do spend a lot of time together.

More of the pity?

Well, maybe she could help to get his head sorted out.

She couldn't get her underwear sorted out. Marianne, how do you mean, Doctor?

Well, is this Miss Trent, by any chance, a kind, considerate, caring sort of

person?

No.

He's what?

He's in shock.

Well, of course he's in shock. He thought he was going to die.

Apparently, with Tom, it goes much deeper.

What do you mean?

Well, you know, Dad's a bit odd. A bit of a fantasy dreamer. Aren't we all?

We've got to have a dream.

To make a dream come true.

What?

South Pacific.

Mr Gaynor.

Happy talking, talking, happy talk.

Talking about things you'd like to do.

Who did you say was disturbed?

Apparently Tom has gone into a bit of a depression.

Well, it won't do him any harm. He's always been far too cheerful.

The doctor feels you're the one to get him out of it.

Me? He seems to think that Tom has developed some sort of psychological

dependence on you.

What am I supposed to do about that?

Well, we were hoping you could cheer him up.

Cheer him up? Me?

I spend my lifetime to depress people.

Well, it is rather important.

What if I don't succeed?

Well, he isn't very stable right now.

Cheer him up.

Cheerful, cheerful, cheerful.

I haven't been cheerful since 1975.

That was only because I got typhoid.

Oh, God.

What a wonderful day.

What a splendid day.

Hello, Tom.

What a wonderful day.

What's wrong with your face?

I'm sliding.

Then don't. But I can't help it. I feel wonderful. I'm full of... full of

inner... joy.

Have you been putting gin on your cornflakes again?

happy. You've no reason to be. You look like a giant clam.

Only older.

Don't you call me old.

That's better. More like your usual foul self.

What makes you happy?

I like the way my painting is going.

Oh.

Do you want to see it? No, thank you.

I wouldn't want to see something that is still going to grow after I've gone.

Gone where, Tom?

Gone across the Fijian waters to the other side of the Black River.

You mean Battersea?

The empty beyond.

How do you know that the beyond is empty?

I went there yesterday at the hospital.

I left my body, you know. I was looking down at me. Then I was out in the

corridor looking down and listening to you all.

That's how I knew what that dreadful Marion was up to.

Cold.

And did you see the tunnel of light and the heavenly choirs and all those

ghastly relatives you thought you got rid of?

No.

I was alone.

Oh, well, then it was a shock reaction, Tom.

If it had been a near -death reaction, you would have had all the other jazz.

But you don't believe in the afterlife.

Well, I keep an open mind.

I think you probably get what you believe in.

And you've got your faith.

So for you, death should just be the beginning of another big adventure.

But suppose I'm wrong and you're right.

Suppose they do just rot in a box, or even worse, suppose heaven is really

some sort of, what did you call it, Albanian Disneyland, where everyone is

nice you just want to throw up.

I'm just talking, Tom. I'm sure heaven is fine.

There's different things to different people.

But to you, heaven would be some sort of Shangri -La, full of heroes and...

Optimists and people shoving flowers in their ears.

And to you?

To me?

To me, heaven would be a noisy New York bar full of cynical, drunken,

loudmouthed journalists all pretending to be Hemingway, all telling huge lies

one another.

Then again, maybe this is it here.

Maybe the Bayview retirement village is the afterlife.

Maybe we died at the pearly gates at the bottom of the drive.

I'll be going to St. Peter.

The thing I really hate about death is the lack of a timetable.

You can't look up when your last train is leaving.

The Bayview to Heaven Express.

Then again... Wait a minute.

Maybe I can look it up.

If I write my own timetable, then I can decide when the last train leaves. No,

Tom, not suicide.

Yes, that's it.

Then I'll know when it's going to happen and I can put it in my diary. Yes,

that's it.

Wonderful.

See you later.

Or not, as the case may be.

He what?

He wants to kill himself.

Oh, dear.

What did you say to him?

I asked you to cheer him up, not push him over the edge. Well, I failed,

I? We've never had a suicide at Bayview.

Plenty of death, but never a do -it -yourself job.

Maybe I should have a word with him.

I don't think he's in that much of a hurry, Jane.

We'd better get his family back.

Oh, don't be so thick.

Spending all those years with that gormless troglodyte of a son and his

screeching parrot of a wife that has made him into the unbalanced old bat he

today.

Leave it to me, I think.

What do you know about anything?

Diana, I'll have you know, I trained for over three weeks to run this place.

And people management were the very important part of that training.

I should be able to sort this out.

I am a man of action.

Aren't I, Jane?

Oh, yes, you are.

Jane, you're touching me.

Tuesday, heart attack.

It wasn't a heart attack, Tom.

Wednesday, disgust, life and death.

With Diana.

Well, you mustn't listen to Diana, Tom.

Thursday, died.

Which day am I going to be buried? I don't want to leave an untidy diary

Well, Monday costs too much in overtime at the weekend.

Monday, buried.

You're not going to be buried at all, Tom. I do not wish to be cremated.

You're not going to be cremated either.

What are you going to do then?

Throw me over the back fence?

You're not going to die, Tom.

Not ever. Not tomorrow.

What's wrong with tomorrow?

Well, it... What's wrong with tomorrow, Jane?

Well, it's Thursday.

It's Thursday.

Is it against Bayview policy to die on a Thursday? It is against Bayview policy

for residents to die before their due time.

But it is my due time. How do you know that?

It's in my diary. Die Thursday.

If I die on the Friday, I'll be a day late and I hate unpunctuality.

It's for me.

It's for us. What for Bayview?

I mean, if people think that every time they leave their elderly relatives here,

they're going to top themselves on a Thursday, well, people won't send anyone

here and we'll go broke.

I'd have to clone.

Then my passing will not have been in vain.

That's not funny.

I'd miss you, Tom.

That's very nice of you, but if you don't mind, it's time for my sleep now.

I have a long day before me tomorrow.

Well, not as long as usual, if you know what I mean.

Good night.

Oh, no. It's awfully good, yes.

I'd like you to have that, you see.

Yes, I want you to have it.

Thank you very much.

Right, we'll see about that, Mr Ballard.

So

you're OK,

Dad? Well, I'm fine, Geoffrey, thank you.

Mr. Bain said he was worried about you. Oh, probably mixing me up with somebody

else.

Said you were feeling a bit suicidal.

Well, I was, but not any longer.

Especially since you didn't bring Mary.

She didn't mean to say that about the silver and the Persian rug.

She was just exercising the words.

She means well, Dad.

Geoffrey, suppose you never saw me again.

Dad. No, no, not that you won't, of course, but just in case, I'd like to

you one piece of parley advice.

Yes, Dad.

Marion does not mean well.

She's an evil little harpy.

Dad, I really must object.

Take her down to the old quarry pond, tie a rope round her neck and shove her

in.

Dad, this is not like you.

You've always been such a kind and gentle person.

The kind and gentle people of this world sometimes just don't have the courage

to be as bloody as they'd really like to be.

I don't know what to say. I'm shocked.

And I blame myself about you too, Geoffrey.

What's wrong with me?

You're wet, Geoffrey.

Desperately wet and fine, look.

You're hell -bent on being as big a wishy -washy nobody as your dad.

I think I'm going. You're obviously not yourself today. And the first thing you

must do to regain a smidgen of self -respect... is to get rid of that woman.

Wire her up to the national grid or something.

Goodbye, Dad.

This is all your fault.

He was a nice old man till he met you.

Go away.

Don't you go away.

I want you to have these.

No, thank you.

But they're all I've got. My most treasured possessions.

Well, no good to me.

Why not?

Well, because I'm coming with you.

You're what?

Yes, you're right. What is the point any longer?

We're just a waste of space.

I'm bored rigid most of the time.

Might just as well join you on the last great adventure.

So, how are we going to do it?

Do what?

We'll croak ourselves.

Pills? I haven't really thought that far.

I think pills are a bit namby -pamby myself.

But you don't feel anything.

What a waste of time if you don't feel anything. What do you gain from it? Pain

is experience, Tom.

Experience for what? For its own sake.

Now, if we were to shoot ourselves, there would be a moment when we would

what it felt like to be shot.

We would be more complete human beings.

Metaphysically, that is.

Physically, of course, we'd be slightly less complete human beings.

No, I don't think I could fit myself in.

What about the old necktie party, then?

We could string ourselves up outside the dining room at lunchtime. I don't

curdle their custard.

I don't think so. No, no, you're probably right. All that gurgling and

and your eyeballs popping out all over the place. I am.

Blackened tongues flapping in the breeze.

Still mine.

Wrist flashing.

My niece is always trying that. Every Wednesday.

Save herself a lot of trouble if she had zippers put in her wrist.

Please, Diana.

I hear drowning's quite nice. You get to see the whole of your life pass before

your eyes.

No. No. I know you're probably right. Who'd want a rerun of your boring life?

Oh, no. What else is there? Ah.

Poison? Exhaust fumes?

I don't know.

Well, you'd better think of something. I haven't put us down for tea.

Do you think you're starving to death?

Look, it's none of your business.

It's my death, my idea, my little moment.

The only reason you want to join me is because you can't stand not being the

centre of attention.

You've ruined everything.

to do it.

No, I'm not. You never were.

I might have done.

Might.

Felt like it. Not you.

You think I haven't got the guts?

No. I think you've got more sense.

I mean, I wouldn't have done it because I... Well, I might be a late developer

in something.

In the art world.

This painting?

It could be a great painting.

The first of many.

Ah.

See, while you're still breathing, there is still something that you can do with

your life.

Well, who knows? You could still be a famous bullfighter or astronaut.

Not very likely.

All right, you could be a famous mediocrity, then.

So will you be.

Beg your pardon?

That's the worst painting ever seen.

It's a very good painting.

No, it's not.

It's terrible.

Look at that tree. It looks like a naked man.

Oh, dear, oh, dear, oh, dear.

Yes, you've got no talent at all.

I have got talent. No, you're hopeless.

I am not. Really, really useless. You're as much useless as I am. Quite the

worst painting I've ever seen. Oh, dear, oh, dear, oh, dear. Oh, dreadful.

Thank you, Diana.

You cheer me up immensely.

That's a terrible painting.

gave it to me. It was just a loan.

I want it back. You can't have it.

I am grateful, Diana. How did you do it? I deliberately painted a terrible

picture so that you'd think he wasn't the only one with problems.

It doesn't look that terrible to me.

Really? And again, when it comes to art appreciation, I'm a complete moron.

See you later.

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.