Original subtitles

I see you've already sold some of my toys.

That was naughty of you.

I thought you were beautiful when I drew that.

The impossible acme of perfection.

I must have been mad.

What did madness come on me afterward?

We may never know.

We may never know.

Through too much love of living, through hope and fear set free, we thank with

brief thanksgiving whatever gods may be, that no life lives forever, that dead

men rise up never, that even the weariest river winds somewhere to the

sea.

Oh, my famous Borgia ring.

Containing, so you testified, some rare poison.

Nearly tasteless, impossible of detection.

Well, dear wife, shall we drink together in farewell to the past?

Thomas Edward Griffith, the man who made this lovely picture and then destroyed

it, really lived.

He was a writer, a painter, and a critic.

Now, in each of these arts, he displayed talent, but his real genius lay

elsewhere. We have the testimony of Charles Lamb, Charles Dickens, Oscar

Wilde, and other famous witnesses that Griffith was the master of the gentle

art of murder.

a dabbler in the occult and a connoisseur of the exotic, Griffith was

far ahead of the medical men of his time in the lethal science of

intoxication. In simpler terms, Griffith was a poisoner. That's the name

of our play, The Poisoner. And among those threatened by this sinister

gentleman played by Mr. Murray Matheson were his wife, played by...

Miss Sarah Marshall, her mother, played by Miss Brenda Forbes, her sister,

played by Miss Jennifer Rayne, and his uncle, played by Mr. Maurice Dalyville.

Oh, by the way, if in the course of our story someone brings you a cup of

tea or a spot of brandy,

I suggest you let them take the first seat.

Ladies and gentlemen, may I present my bride.

That is, as I see her with my heart.

Thank you for disagreeing with those who say that Thomas Edward Griffith lacks

only one attribute of genius, and that is talent.

I agree with them.

Perhaps I haven't until now.

I am a very conceited man.

Or rather, I have been until today.

Now I feel forced to confess that this portrait does not even begin to do

justice to its subject.

To that matchless pearl of loveliness without flaw, my wife.

Toast.

To the perfect pair.

May their marriage be perfection.

Well,

dear wife, shall we drink together to the endless future?

Can't get this chair through the door. It's so narrow.

Well, looks as if everyone's here before us.

Didn't even invite us to the wedding.

You ought to be ashamed.

So you're the bridegroom.

Who are these people?

Oh.

This is my mother.

And this is my sister Helen.

Your mother?

And your sister?

I think we should be going.

Thank you, Mr. Larrymore.

at my stomach.

I didn't expect them until tomorrow.

I didn't expect them at all.

I should have told you they were coming.

Yes, you should have told me.

They have nowhere else to live.

Mother sold her house. That was all she had. And that and a small income and...

and debts.

Helen's illness has taken a terrible burden on Mother.

You're not even rich.

I never said I was.

You only pretended until you caught a husband.

Get that animal out of here.

It belongs to me.

And so do they.

Or rather, you belong to them.

My perfect...

Where are you going?

Don't! Don't you dare touch Mama!

Did you see that?

He was going to strike me. His own mother-in-law on his wedding day.

What kind of a man did you marry anyhow?

I don't know.

I don't know.

He's a murderer.

Helen! He's a murderer.

I saw it in his eyes.

Oh, I'm going to faint.

Take your sister upstairs and put her to bed.

Take Hermione, too, so she won't be underfoot.

I'll wait for Mr. Thomas Edward Griffith, Iron Mighty Esquire. What

if he doesn't come back?

He'll come back.

He wouldn't walk out and leave all this.

Neither will we.

Neither will we.

Who is it?

I'm sorry I startled you, Mother.

Don't call me Mother.

You and your smarmy-parmy talk.

I suppose that's how you landed Francis.

I suppose you think you can get me drunk.

Well, you can't. I only want you to feel at home.

Mrs. Abercrombie, I feel that I can be honest with you.

It isn't every widowed mother who can provide so well for her orphaned

daughters. What do you know about that?

I understand you've sold your home.

And I intend to keep the money. You won't get your hands on it. Not while

I'm alive.

I don't expect to.

But I think I must tell you that in spite of appearances and from what you

may have heard, I am not wealthy.

Not at all.

My only income comes from a trust fund left by my father in charge of my uncle,

Mr. George Griffith. So you lied to her.

I never lie.

No liar can possibly be perfect.

And as you will learn, I idolize perfection.

Talk, talk, talk.

Words, words, words.

Words are my stock in trade.

Here is a book I published.

The Academy of Good Taste for Young Gentlemen, or the Infant Connoisseur's

Go-Kart.

Amusing, full of witty epigrams which are quoted throughout London.

But it earned me nothing.

The time will come, however, when I can begin to profit from the reputation I am

building.

You could make life happier for your daughter, Mrs. Abercrombie, for your

daughters, by helping me to reach that goal.

I wouldn't help you get anywhere.

This was my house, and I was master in it until I married.

Well, I'm in it now, and I intend to stay as long as I please and live like I

please, or I'll tear your precious reputation down to nothing.

Mrs. Abercrombie, I... Don't try any of your tricks with me.

I'm sorry, Mrs. Abercrombie.

I had hoped against hope.

Well, you can just quit hoping.

I have.

Are you sure you want that?

You just try to take it away from me.

I won't.

Good night, Mrs Evercroft.

Good riddance to bad rubbish.

Yes, good riddance.

I should have told you about Mother and Helen.

The moving finger writes that having writ moves on, nor all your piety nor

wit can change or alter one half-line of it.

Does that mean it's all right?

Everything will be all right soon.

She's dead.

My mother is dead.

She was perfectly well.

We never know.

One moment, health.

The next, oblivion.

As Leonardo said, the moment we are born, we begin to die.

I won't say anything about

this to anyone.

People would talk.

Won't people talk anyway?

I'm afraid so.

Then they'll forget.

As you must forget, my dear.

Be thankful she died without suffering.

How do you know she didn't suffer?

He knows because he killed her. I saw him do it.

Murderer!

I was with you when she died. He murdered her!

This is my husband, Mr. Griffith. This is Mr. Proctor.

He was my mother's attorney.

Very kind of you to bring Mrs. Griffith home.

I have some business to discuss with you, Mr. Griffith.

Well, come in. Come in.

Quite a good likeness.

A poor thing, but mine own.

You say you have some business with me, Mr. Proctor?

As Mrs. Abercrombie's executor and Miss Abercrombie's legal representative, yes.

Does Miss Abercrombie need a legal representative?

Her mother thought so.

Tell him.

I'm afraid this is going to be very disappointing to you, Mr. Griffith.

Why, Mr. Proctor? I know a good deal about your financial affairs.

Do you?

As it happens, our law firm has had business dealings with your uncle, Mr.

George Griffith.

And my uncle talked of his black sheep nephew, as he always does, not

favorably, I'm sure.

I take it you've already quoted my uncle in extenso to my wife and Miss

Abercrombie? I considered that to be my duty.

You're a very dutiful young man.

I try to be.

The late Mrs. Abercrombie was a wise and forethinking mother.

Demortuus nihil nisi bonum.

What? Oh, I thought all good lawyers knew Latin.

Of the dead, speak nothing but the best.

I would scarcely expect even you to speak slightingly, especially under the

circumstances.

In any case, Mrs. Abercrombie placed her estate in trust with the proviso that it

should go entire, free of any claims by creditors, to whichever of her daughters

remained unmarried at the time of her death.

She did this in the belief that her married daughter would be amply provided

for by her husband.

And you doubt my ability to support my wife in the manner to which I had just

begun to accustom her?

I'm only saying, Mr. Griffith, that I shall do everything in my power to see

that no claims by your creditors deprive Miss Abercrombie of the estate which now

belongs solely to her.

Have I made myself clear?

You have, indeed.

I feel faint.

I'll take you upstairs.

I didn't know. I really didn't know.

My perfect wife.

I've been watching for you.

Why?

Your uncle is here.

Why?

I thought perhaps if we could talk to him.

We?

I am your wife.

My perfect wife.

Mr. Stevens, the moneylender, was here about the notes you signed.

Three tradesmen came together.

They refuse to deliver any more bread, coal, or meat unless you pay something

on account.

They heard about... about my mother's death.

They thought perhaps you were her heir.

That is, that I... That my wife brought me a fortune.

Of course you told them the truth. No.

I asked them to be patient.

Then I sent your uncle a note.

That was kind of you.

I asked him to come here to visit us. I had no idea he'd come immediately.

My uncle wouldn't miss an opportunity to see me crawl. Crawl? Kneel, plead,

employ him to cast me a crumb, feed his fat conceit by begging for what belongs

to me.

Where is he?

I gave him my mother's room.

Oh, so the stage is set.

Now you expect me to go up to him and whimper, please, so that he can rant and

rave, avenging your mother by humiliating me.

Does my mother need avenging?

Your charming sister thinks so.

Come in.

So you finally decided to come home, eh?

Well, Uncle George, I didn't expect to find you here as my guest.

What did you expect?

Creditors on your doorstep?

Bailiffs in your drawing room?

As you know, that would be nothing new.

However, the present situation is quite different from the past. You mean it's

worse?

Why did she marry you?

She thought I was rich. I thought she was rich.

We were both mistaken.

So you added another pretty piece to your collection that you can't afford to

pay for.

Uncle George.

You hold 5,200 pounds that actually belongs to me.

You have only to sign a piece of paper, and there'll be no more creditors

howling at my doorstep.

I shall be able to work, think, and write, as I cannot do now.

When you forged my signature, that was a sample of your writing ability, I

assume?

I'm on to you, and I won't stand for any more of it.

How much is that thing worth?

More than you could... possibly understand.

Then get someone to buy it.

Sell off the fancy-dancy this and that that you've filled your house with.

There must be some fools who can afford their foolishness, which you can't.

Nothing in this house is for sale.

Since when did beggars get to be choosers?

Since when did you get to be God, with the right to judge condemned to doom?

This is the last time I shall ask you to help me.

I've told you what to do.

If you don't want to do it, it's your bad luck and not mine.

Are you sure, Uncle George?

Are you sure?

You'd better not threaten me.

Otherwise, you'll never get a penny.

Never is a very long time.

He's to drink that, all of it, when he wakes.

He'll be right as rain in a day or so.

Probably outlive all of us.

Constitutionally, he's sound as English oak.

And, as I imagine you've noticed, as hard to bend or break.

He's going to die, isn't he?

Isn't he? No, dear.

It's a little trouble with his heart.

I'm sorry to disappoint you, Helen.

Good night, Doctor. Thank you.

Quite all right, Mrs. Griffith. Happy to be of service.

I'll show you out, Doctor.

Make sure your uncle takes his medicine.

Better add a few drops of bread to disguise the taste.

Anything you say, Doctor.

He's the one that's disappointed.

Did you see him? He tried to murder his uncle. I know he did. I don't care what

that doctor said. He tried to murder his uncle.

Uncle George.

Uncle George, wake up.

It's all right, Uncle George.

The doctor's been here.

He mixed this for you. It's mostly brandy.

You ought to drink all of it. Doctor's orders.

I must have dozed off. I thought I heard a noise.

Wait!

Helen should have been more careful, shouldn't she?

She called you a murderer.

It would be very wrong of me to hold her accountable for things said under the

stress of shock and sorrow.

The money comes to me now. You know that, of course.

This is hardly the time to talk about such matters with your poor sister lying

there.

I believe you heard the doctor.

Tell me to add brandy to his medicine to disguise its taste.

Yes, I heard.

Uncle George must have waked just now while I was dozing and smelled the

brandy. He loved brandy.

Strange, in the same night, in almost the same moment, my uncle and your

sister. But first, my mother.

She loved Brandy, too.

You hated her.

You hated Helen.

You hated your uncle.

Hate is a small and ugly word for a smaller and uglier emotion.

You even hated my cat!

A few drops of spilled Brandy lapped up from the floor wouldn't kill a cat.

wasn't there?

More than medicine, wasn't there?

Move along there! Move along!

Wherever he's run to, they'll find him. You're safe from him, I promise you.

Are you... Are you Mr. Griffith?

I am Thomas Edward Griffith.

I am here to arrest you, Mr. Griffith.

And I must warn you, sir, that anything you may say may be used in evidence

against you.

The charge, I presume, is murder?

Mr. Justin, I point out to you that he is the first to mention murder.

Thus proving, to Mr. Proctor's satisfaction, that a guilty conscience

doth betray me.

Your name is Mustin?

Justin. Oh.

Of the Bow Bells Flying Squadron.

Well, you hardly flew coming here.

In fact, you kept me waiting.

I sent my dear wife to fetch you hours ago.

That's not true.

Now, why do you suppose did I do that?

She is no longer answerable to you.

I believe she is still my wife, and that under English law, a wife cannot take

the witness stand against her husband.

There is also the fact, Mr. Proctor, that choice of an advisor and protector

for my wife rests entirely with me.

And I'm afraid you're not exactly the Galahad, Saint-Pere, Saint-Raproche I

choose to guard my loving, loyal wife.

Her neck is broken.

Mr. Proctor was her protector.

You can see why I lack faith in you.

Come along, sir.

My business with Mr. Justin's employers will soon be settled, and then nothing

will stand between us, my dear.

Nothing.

Carry those carefully, please.

Good day, Mr. Proctor.

Au revoir, my dear.

My friend Mr. Griffith needn't be locked up in the midst of all this.

If he confess and throw himself on Her Majesty's mercy, he can be moved to

better quarters.

And from there to execution, Doc?

And what else can a murderer expect?

He's in there.

Well, Mr. Larimore?

I... I came as soon as I heard.

You needn't have hurried.

I thought I would find you in deep distress.

No interesting experience, distress as an artist or a writer.

And since I am both, or neither, depending on the point of view, my

enemies or mine.

As a matter of fact, I am much respected here.

Not because I am called a poisoner, but because the other prisoners think my

crimes earned me 10,000 pounds. That makes me their hero, since their own

sins were so much less profitable.

I came hoping you might let me help.

In hanging me or saving me? I don't know what can save you.

They say you've even threatened to kill your wife.

No painting is finished, Mr. Larrimore, until the last brushstroke is applied.

I don't understand.

No, of course you don't.

Good night, Mr. Larrimore.

Oh, Mr. Larimore, be so kind as to give my wife a message.

Say to her that I'm sure it will be only a few days before I can come to her, and

we can resume settlement of matters which remained unresolved when she and

Mr. Proctor brought Mr. Justin to arrest me.

I'm still laughing, Mr. Justin.

This man is a murderer.

He doesn't even trouble to deny his own guilt.

He rests his defense on mockery, and on a crooked game of confusion and

obfuscation, and on a claim of reasonable doubt.

What doubt can there be?

When an innocent man is accused, he reacts with anger and indignation. You,

Mr. Griffith, manifest only contempt and cynicism.

Your attitude alone convicts you.

I beg your pardon, Sir John.

My lord, may I speak?

You may speak.

The prosecutor demands your ruling that I must stand trial for my life. But it

seems to me, although perhaps I'm a little prejudiced, that he destroys his

own case by his summary of it.

I have been told the corpses of my departed uncle and my wife's lamented

mother have been exhumed, examined for some trace of deadly poison.

Yet the prosecutor offers no testimony that these autopsies were rewarded.

As far as he can prove, both my generous Uncle George and our beloved Mother

Abercrombie died of natural causes.

Is that not true?

So Sir John must content himself with the claim that I possess some deadly,

unknown drug.

really now do you believe a jury will credit me with such satanic mastery of

the fine art of murder i submit the record shows me as arch

defender of the true and the beautiful these gentlemen describe me as arch

poisoner but they cannot name the poison they pile suspicion on suspicion that

they cannot produce plain facts deny it sir john As sworn servant of her majesty

and upholder of the laws of England, deny there is reasonable doubt.

That is for the jury to decide.

But do you dare to face a jury with ramshackle, paste and scissors,

circumstantial evidence, that and nothing more?

My lord, I submit that...

The prisoner is remanded in custody pending further disposition of the issue

here before us.

You think, Mr. Griffith, that you've won a great victory over English law?

Being free and clear of our Lord Danforth's decision is hardly a defeat.

It isn't over, Mr. Griffith.

It can't be over.

I beg to differ.

There's a statute concerning double jeopardy.

Having been arraigned and charged, and Her Majesty's Chief Justice having

ruled, there was not even sufficient evidence to place me on trial.

I cannot be charged again for the same alleged crimes.

All London is up in arms against you, Mr Griffith, and I shan't consider my duty

as done until you are penned and punished.

The baffled bloodhound baying at the unreachable moon.

What's that?

A draft on my uncle's bankers, payable when I come into my inheritance.

I would like you to divide it among my fellow prisoners, so that they shall

have pocket money for their long voyage to the prison camp in Australia.

Goodbye, Mr. Justice.

Mr. Griffith!

Well, Mr. Larimore, I didn't expect to see you again.

I owe you a debt, and I'm trying to pay it. Please, Mr. Griffith, don't stand

talking.

The news of your release is being shouted in the streets.

A mob is forming, armed with clubs and stones.

Here's money.

All I have. I've paid the coachman.

Hurry, Mr. Griffith.

So a lamb becomes a lion, and for the sake of a serpent, you've paid the

coachman. You've paid me a thousand times over for favors that cost me no

more than a few well-chosen words.

But still, I must disappoint you, Mr. Larry Moore. I cannot run off and hide.

I have a rendezvous to keep.

I beg you, Mr. Griffith, do not go to your wife.

Did she send you here to plead her cause?

I'm thinking only of you.

You were on a pedestal. Now you've fallen as Lucifer fell.

But still, something might be staved.

I beg you, Mr. Griffith.

The mob is coming.

They'll stone you, Mr. Griffith. They'll hang you if they can. Go before it's too

late.

Gods.

You are very rude to refuse to drink a farewell toast with me, my dear.

They will cry, you killed her.

I will say, she chose a quick death by her own hand in preference to life with

a husband she ruined when she called him Griffith the Poisoner.

And another case of reasonable doubt.

You have no other choice, my dear.

This...

or unbearable agony infinitely prolonged.

I'm up here!

Up here in the bedroom!

In here, please, quickly!

I am here to arrest you, Mr. Griffith.

There can be no charge against me now.

Oh, you're quite wrong, Mr. Griffith.

In October 1828, you completed a certain financial transaction.

Monies were held for you in trust to the order of Mr.

George Griffith.

That's past history and buried with my uncle.

No, Mr. Griffith.

I have here a bank draft which bears your uncle's signature and which you

presented for payment.

Your uncle did not sign this, Mr. Griffith.

It has been compared with his true signature and yours on the draft you

gave me in Newgate.

You forged this draft, Mr. Griffith.

I robbed no one.

The money was mine.

If that is, I... I anticipated time a little.

You confess to forgery in the presence of these witnesses?

No matter if I do, I'm not under oath or on trial.

But you will be, Mr. Griffith.

You will be.

And the penalty for uttering false paper under the law at which Mr. Griffith has

laughed until this moment is transportation to Australia as a

prisoner at hard labor in the penal colonies for life with no possibility of

parole.

Of course, it's not the same thing as hanging an execution dog for murder, but

for such a perfectionist as Mr. Griffith, it may be worse.

It may be worse.

that no life lives forever, that dead men rise up never,

that even the weirdest

driller bites.