All language subtitles for The Killing of Sister George 1968 720p BluRay AVC-mfcorrea

- Something wrong with the phone, is there?
- No, there's still no reply.

Give me another gin and tonic,
will you, Mike?

Sure.

Come on.

Say when.

- Come on.
- Better say when.

I'm terribly sorry.

Never mind. You haven't paid for it yet,
that makes it the landlord's worry.

- I'll get you another one.
- Jolly kind of you. Thank you.

I'm certainly going to stay off the horses
for the time being.

I'm nothing but bloody losing.

Where have you been?
Do you know what time it is?

I'm coming round straight away.

Of course you must wait for me.

Hey, George. You forgot your change.

- Hello.
- Where the hell were you?

I told you. Katz kept us late.

Did he, indeed? Us, or just you?

George, don't start all that again.

- Did you have a good day?
- I had a bloody awful day.

What on earth is the matter
with you, George?

You look awful. What's been happening?

- They're going to murder me.
- They're going to what?

- I've suspected it for some time.
- I don't know what you're talking about.

No, you never bloody well have.

That Australian bitch, that Mildred, let it out.

Mildred?

They'll drain the last drop out of me,
then they're going to kill me.

- Don't be silly, they couldn't possibly.
- You think they're too civilized, don't you?

You think the people at the top
wouldn't do such a thing.

Just remember what they did to Jessie.

Jessie?

- But Jessie Hawthorne is...
- Never mind what Jessie Hawthorne is.

- Just remember what they're capable of.
- It's ridiculous. They can't possibly.

George, they can't, really they can't.

Never mind, I'll think of something.

I never thought I'd see the day.
Mrs. Prescott.

I can recall the day she was wed to...

Cue camera one.

Number three, flip out.

Must be nigh on 20 years
since he passed away.

- Poor old Meg.
- How's that, Freddie?

It just seems that she waited long enough.

There was no medical reason for it,
none whatsoever.

I've nursed sicker than her back to health.

It just seemed...

that she wanted to be with Arthur.

Anyroad, that's the way it looked to me.

You're right, Sister George.

Some people just seem to know
when their time has come.

12 seconds.

Here comes the Reverend now.

My friends, this is the house of the lord.

Let us pray.

"The Lord is my shepherd."

- And, cut! Tell them tea is up.
- "I shall not want."

Cut.

"He maketh me to lie down
in green pastures."

Over here, ladies and gents.

Tea's up.

That was lovely, darlings.

Absolutely lovely.

- These scripts are getting better.
- Do hurry!

They've got to keep their jobs.
My usual, love.

- The usual, ducks?
- Yes, please.

That was quite the most moving installment
we've done so far, don't you think?

- So moving it'll make you vomit.
- Here you are, love.

Tell me, Mildred,
did he use that close-up on my line?

- Yes, he did, darling. It was marvelous.
- Yes, it would be.

Hey, George, how does all this grab you?

- I beg your pardon.
- Come on, George, you know what I mean.

These functions are getting
to be quite the fashion in Applehurst lately.

- What functions?
- Don't argue with her.

Funerals, darling. Death and funerals.

Last week it was Jessie Turner...

and now we've given Mrs. Prescott
a fair old sendoff.

Makes you wonder who's next, doesn't it?

Listen, you miserable-looking cow...

if you want to say something,
why don't you get on with it?

- Darling, I was just trying to...
- I know what you were trying to do.

Why don't you shut
your great big Australian mouth?

- You have no right to talk to me like that.
- Go to hell.

- Did you hear what she said?
- Yes, I certainly did.

Temper, temper, girls. With lemon, please.

With lemon?

Miss Bennett: Please report to Studio B.

Miss Bennett, you're wanted in...

All right, children, back to school.
Playtime's over.

Gather around the table.
Bring your tea with you.

Here's your tea.

We'll run through tomorrow's script
before we break.

Thank you, dear.

- Where's George?
- Afraid you're too late. She just left.

What do you mean, just left?
Didn't she say anything?

Not a word. Just upped and walked out.

Damn it. I didn't give anyone permission
to leave.

Run and fetch her back.

- Now.
- All right.

Poor Freddie,
you do have your problems, don't you?

Freddie wants you back on the set.

If Freddie wants me,
he can bloody well come and get me.

You pommy cow!

Frank.

- Hello, George. Gin and tonic, is it?
- Make it a large one.

Last order, please.

Haven't you got any homes to go to,
you two?

Give us another drink, will you?

George, don't you think
you've had enough?

Go on, don't be so rotten.

- All right, just a small one.
- In that case, make it two.

There's not enough kindness in the world.
There really isn't.

That's right, George. Here's your drink.

Do you know,
I heard a fellow say that in a film once.

I remember,
he was this great big fat bastard...

and he said... He kept on saying:

"There's not enough...

"kindness in the world, sir."

That's what he said.

- Sydney Greenstreet.
- Ten out of ten.

There we are, Frank.

Thank you, George.
See you tomorrow, then?

Yeah.

Come along, ladies and gentlemen.
Drink up, please.

You're a marvelous actress,
that's what you are. A marvelous actress!

Sister George, playing the part...

of Sister George.

What a way to spend Easter.

Taxi.

Hold on there. Wait a minute.

Hello, girls.

Out on a mission, are we?

How do you ladies pass your time?

How can I? She should never have...

- Is that what you girls really wear?
- We'll report you, won't we?

- We'll report her to the most Superior...
- Not in my cab, you don't!

Oh, my. Stop it.

What's the idea, getting in my cab?

I'm afraid you've got the wrong room, sir.

Come on, you.

Get a move on.

Good night, girls. See you in church.

He's a rotten bloody driver, I'll tell you that.

Come on.

Watch your language.
I've got two religious ladies in there.

Bye, Jean. Bye, Rosie.

Tell your dad to mind his gammy leg.

Our shelter...

from the stormy blast

Now it's my turn.

- Sister George.
- Come see, it's Sister George.

- Hello, Sister George.
- Hello, children.

Hello, my dears.

Hello, Sister George.

Hello, my dears.
How are you, then? All right?

Hello, Sister George.

Next time you're doing any praying...

don't forget to put a word in
for your grandmother.

We've done that, Mrs. George,
but it don't seem to do a bit of good.

It will, my dear. It will.

- What did you do?
- I left.

- You walked out?
- Of course.

I wasn't going
to let some illiterate bitch make fun of me.

I've given four years' devoted service
to that series.

But you said yourself they don't like
contract artists having tantrums.

They've no right to treat me like this.
I'm a senior member of the cast.

If they wanted to write me out,
they should have asked me...

to come to the office,
and told me in the proper manner.

Don't be ridiculous.
Nobody wants to write you out.

- Applehurst couldn't survive without you.
- Don't you be too sure.

Applehurst is more than a village.
It's a way of life.

It doesn't depend on individuals.

Belt up, George. You talk as if it was real.

It is real, to millions of people.

Much more real than you, or I, or any of us.

There's many a stone in that churchyard.

Maybe to some people. I don't know.

- Who have you been drinking with?
- Drinking?

- Miss Whiplash came in from over the road.
- I thought you didn't like her?

- I don't. She was looking for you.
- Was she?

Anyway, don't call her Miss Whiplash.
Her name is Thaxter. Betty Thaxter.

Bet that's not what she calls herself
in those crummy little paper shops.

"Miss Whiplash, Corrective Therapy."
Probably more like it.

Too rich for your blood, eh?
You're a prude, you know.

And what's more, you're a hypocrite.

That's what you are. A hypocrite.

Because I don't happen to get on
with a common prostitute?

I would say that Betty Thaxter
was an exceedingly uncommon prostitute.

- She enjoys her work, does she?
- I've never discussed it with her.

But anyone who succeeds in being kept
in the manner that Betty's accustomed to...

and manages to have a bit on the side...

could hardly be described
as a common prostitute.

A bit on the side?

- I believe that's the expression, yes.
- I think it's rotten.

If she's got someone to pay
for a place like that...

the least she could do is be faithful to him.

I'm delighted to hear you say so.

Where were you
when I phoned you at the office?

Told you. Mr. Katz gave us the day off.
It's a Jewish holiday.

Really? What holiday?

I don't know.
Feast of the contamination or something.

He hasn't been having another go at you,
old Mr. Katz, has he?

No, I never said he'd had a go at me
in the first place.

- Yes, you did.
- I didn't.

I may have said he fancied his chances.

How do you know he fancied his chances
if he hadn't had a go at you?

I meant he's that sort of person, that's all.

You mean the suave,
ladykiller type, do you?

That's what the other girls tell me.

If that's what he's like,
why hasn't he had a go at you?

He just hasn't, that's all.
If he had, I'd tell you.

I wonder.

Nobody ever tells me anything.

That's because you always make
such a stupid fuss about things.

All right, then, I won't make a fuss.
I promise.

- But tell me.
- Tell you what?

About Emmanuel bloody Katz, of course.

We're not talking
about your other boyfriends, are we?

How would I have any other boyfriends
with you breathing down my neck?

Thank you.

We all know what happened when
I wasn't there to look after you, don't we?

That's not fair.

- All right, but tell me about Mr. Katz.
- There's nothing to tell!

I thought he was promoting you
to the showroom? That'll be some show.

Modelling all that rubbish
they turn out down there.

But he is.

Don't tell me he's doing that for nothing.

Don't tell me he doesn't want anything
in return.

- Like what?
- You know bloody well like what.

I can just see him sitting there...

squirming, twirling his little moustache.

You've never even seen him.

Anyway, what's so unusual
about a moustache?

Men do have them, you know.

What's that supposed to mean?

Nothing.

Don't tell me he hasn't touched you.

- No, he hasn't.
- Don't lie to me, Childie.

- I'm not lying.
- Then why are you avoiding my eyes?

Because...

George, you're impossible.

Don't throw tantrums with me, young lady.
Come out this instant.

I can't.

- Can you hear me, Childie?
- No.

I have Emmeline here.

And if you don't
come out of the bathroom at once...

I'm going
to pull Emmeline's precious little head off.

Monster.

That's better. Now apologize.

- What for?
- For causing me unnecessary aggravation.

- I'm sorry.
- You don't sound sorry.

George, I know you're worried
and everything, but...

Don't be cheeky. Don't answer back.

- George.
- Has Mr. Katz had a go at you?

- No.
- Don't you screech at me.

Why shouldn't I? It's not my fault
you're going to lose your bloody stupid job!

- I'm sorry.
- Are you?

Are you really?

This time an apology
isn't going to be quite enough, is it?

What do you want me to do?

You know very well what I want you to do.

Down.

Sit.

Stay.

You know the drill.

- What do we do now?
- I show my contrition.

- How?
- I eat the butt of your cigar.

That's right.

- Must I?
- You know the rules.

Come on.

You're spoiling it for me.

You're trying to spoil it.

What? Stop eating this delicious cigar?

You're deliberately trying to spoil it.

Stop it.

Alice.

You know, once you've spoilt something...

you can never make it work again.

You know that, don't you?

I don't have to do anything I don't want to?

No, you don't.

- I'm going out.
- George.

I thought you... Don't you want to...

I mean...

I don't need you, Childie.

Just remember that.

I don't really need you.

I told her, didn't I?

If she goes with blokes like that,
she's going to end up a right old scrubber.

Do you know what that stupid cow
turned around and done?

- I know, you told me.
- She gave him the keys.

Yeah.

Is Betty at home?

- She's in.
- Thanks.

She's free. At the moment.

Up and down the stairs every five minutes.

Come in.

- Hello.
- Hello, June.

I'm awfully sorry.
I didn't know you had anyone with you.

You look just like you do on the telly.

- You know Marlene, don't you?
- No. I don't.

She's what you might call my understudy.

I see. How do you do?

She's always talking about you,
Miss Buckridge.

- Nothing detrimental, I hope.
- No, honest.

We're both regular viewers, aren't we, Betty?

It's jolly nice to hear.
You never know these days.

I was just telling Betty the other day
how you were my favorite.

When she told me
you were a friend of hers...

you could've put me on me back
with a feather.

It doesn't take much more than that
at the best of times, does it?

Do you want a cup of tea,
or would you rather have a drink?

A drink, please.

- Tonic?
- No, not today.

It's ever so real, that program.

That girl, Rosie, she doesn't half carry on.

Like last week,
when you tore her off a strip...

for carrying on with those soldiers
from the army camp.

Yes.

She's a real handful. Thanks.

She's a real handful, Rosie.

Mind you, she's not a bad girl.
It's just that she's irresponsible.

Absolutely irresponsible.

That's just how she seems.

As a matter of fact...

I think I can let you in to a little secret
about next Thursday's program.

I find Rosie...

behind her dad's barn...

with one of those gypsy chaps
who's been camping on the common.

Rotten little scrubber.

You do get fierce sometimes
when you're telling people off.

Like when Dr. Williams came
to perform an operation...

and he'd been drinking again.

I really thought
you was going to make him cry.

But then he told you about
the trouble he'd been having with his wife...

and you were ever so sympathetic,
weren't you?

Don't you think you'll be a little late
for your appointment for cocktails?

- At the Hilton.
- Hilton?

Yes, the Hilton.

Yes.

All right, then. I've got to run, Miss B.

- It was nice to have met you.
- Cheerio.

I'll talk to you later, Betty. Ta-ta, Maude.

See you tomorrow.

Had a row with Alice, have you?

- What makes you think that?
- Come on, June.

- We know each other better than that.
- It was nothing. Nothing at all, really.

Certainly not enough
to send your friend rushing off like that.

What, Marlene?

You fancy her, then?

I know you've never been interested
in business girls.

It's not a question of being interested.

It just depends
on what one's looking for, doesn't it?

What's one looking for, then?
Love and affection?

I suppose you could put it like that. Yes.

I think I need a drink now.

And you think you're getting that
from Alice?

- Love and affection?
- We've been together for a long time.

Yes, I know. That wasn't what I asked you.

- You don't like her much, do you?
- I never said that.

Things haven't always been easy for her,
you know.

I expect you're right.

- Can I get myself another drink?
- Yes, of course you can.

Come in.

- Let him in, shall I?
- Who?

- You never said anyone was coming.
- That was him on the phone earlier.

It is 4:00.

Why didn't you tell me?

I mean...

Don't be daft.

Tell him I'll be there in a minute.

- Righto.
- You don't need to hurry.

Make yourself a drink,
and then let yourself out later.

- It won't be long, will it?
- Impatient, are we?

You want to wait in there?

If it's all the same to you,
I think I'll have my drink at home.

All right.

- See you tomorrow, perhaps?
- I hope so.

- Thanks for the drink.
- It's all right.

- Bye.
- Bye.

Childie.

I'm sorry.

It wasn't your fault.

I am sorry.

I really am.

There you are, Mr. Robinson.
This one's on the house!

That's very kind of you, Ginger.

I reckon an expectant father deserves
a free drink, don't you, Sister George?

I do, indeed.
You make the best of it, my dear.

It's not often you get a free drink
from Ginger.

You are a card, George, and no mistake.

I'd better be off to the hospital
to see the wife.

- Give her my regards, would you?
- And mine.

I'll do that. We're hoping for a boy.
Thanks for the drink, Ginger.

- Cheerio!
- Cheerio.

Cheers.

- He's a lovely lad, isn't he?
- Yes, he's lovely.

I hope everything turns out
to be all right for him.

Why shouldn't it?

Mrs. Robinson's got complications.

Very serious complications.

You mean...

she might lose the baby?

As I see it,
losing the baby might be a blessing.

Dearie me. That's terrible!

That's just terrible.

That's terrible.

- Who the hell is that?
- That's probably Mrs. Croft.

- Mrs. Croft? The Assistant Head?
- That's what I've been trying to tell you.

She rang and said
she wanted to come around and see you.

- But why here? Why not the office?
- How do I know?

Is she the one who used to answer
listener's questions on Woman's Hour?

Yes, that's her.
But what's that got to do with it?

- I thought she sounded very nice.
- She is nice.

Mrs. Croft is a very nice woman.

- My God, I'm for it.
- Shall I let her in?

No. Put the hammer away.

- Put your slippers on. Move that shoe.
- My scones.

Never mind your scones.
Put the Daily Mirror award on the table.

Miss Humanity. Where she can see it. And...

Childie. Be nice to her, please. Be nice.

I'll be nice.

And close that bloody hatch.

Okay.

Mrs. Croft. Hello.

What a lovely surprise.

You got my message, then?

Yes, of course.

Won't you come in?

Sorry.

I'm sorry to have kept you waiting.
I rather thought you might've come by taxi.

I walked.

What, all the way from Shepherd's Bush?

I had a meeting in town.

Even so, you must be absolutely exhausted.

Not at all. I quite enjoyed it.

My late husband and I
used to spend our holidays mountaineering.

Really?

Yes. In point of fact, that's how we first met.

We were both really very keen.

We had a wonderful life together.

He was a very sporting man.

He loved the outdoor life.

This is Miss McNaught. This is Mercy Croft.

- How do you do?
- How do you do?

Won't you come in? Make yourself at home.

On you go.

Yes, I always say
we get far too little exercise these days.

Unless I'm in a terrible rush,
I try to make do without taxis.

If we all did that,
those extra inches would soon disappear.

I often walk.

I'm sure you don't need
to take any exercise, my dear.

- Alice was just preparing tea. Weren't you?
- Yes.

I do hope I haven't put you to any trouble,
inviting myself out of the blue.

- Not at all.
- No, that's rubbish.

I'm so sorry. Won't be a minute.

- May I look around?
- Of course.

I adore looking at other people's flats.

They do reflect their owner's personality...

in an incredibly accurate way.

But you know, to be perfectly honest,
I imagined your home to be different.

- Really?
- Yes.

These charming dolls,
for instance, somehow...

They're Miss McNaught's.

Of course, that would explain it.
They're just not quite you, are they?

- Now, I didn't know...
- Yes, I have a flatmate.

How nice.
It's so important to have companionship.

Especially when one is an artist.

These are mine. I collect horse brasses.

How useful.

Personally, I try to avoid collecting things.

I find one's home
gets into such a terrible clutter.

But I do think you've been sensible
to avoid falling into the trap...

that so many of our television performers
have stumbled into.

- Trap?
- You know how it is with some of them.

As soon as money starts coming in,
they go quite wild.

Houses, motor cars, swimming pools.
All kinds of extravagances.

But this place is really...

quite modest.

Won't be long now.

Good.

Kindly close that hatch.

Sometimes I have the insuperable desire
to strangle that girl.

You obviously haven't let fame and riches
go to your head.

You never know what the future holds,
do you, my dear?

Exactly. That was Sister George talking,
wasn't it?

One can't help slipping occasionally.

But you are Sister George,
and far more so than June Buckridge...

to all of us at Television Center.

Jolly nice of you to say so.

I say, would you rather have had a drink?

No. No, thank you.

You know, you've made the part
completely your own.

But that was obvious
even at the first auditions.

And that motor bike.
It really completes the image.

A stroke of sheer brilliance.

People are always telling me
how wonderfully cheerful you look...

buzzing around on your bike.

You'd look cheerful too...

with 50 cubic centimeters
throbbing away between your legs.

No doubt.

Now, Miss Buckridge...

or may I call you Sister George
like everyone else does?

Please do.

In point of fact, there's rather
a serious matter I wish to discuss with you.

I see.

Here we are.

Sorry I took so long.

Lovely.

We'll continue our little chat after tea.

- If you'd rather...
- No, sit down.

You can speak quite freely, you know.

Miss McNaught and I have no secrets
from each other.

That's nice.

None at all. None whatsoever.

Let's all have tea first, shall we?

- Milk?
- Thank you.

- Sugar?
- No, thank you.

I say, what delicious-looking scones.

They're scotch scones.

About this little talk
you wanted to have with me...

A specialty of mine.
Copied from a recipe of my grandmother's.

You're quite a little housewife, aren't you?

Something of a literary figure, too.

She fancies herself as a poetess,
goes to evening classes...

to learn about meter and all that rubbish.

- Really?
- George.

- They look quite delicious. May I try one?
- Help yourself.

They're what we used to call girdle scones.

Or drop scones.

It's awfully important
not to let the oven get too hot...

otherwise the outsides will be brown
before the insides are cooked.

These are a lovely even color.

- I always cool them in a towel.
- Do you?

Yes, and I wait
until the bubbles rise to the surface...

- before I turn them over.
- They're very successful.

I use a half a level teaspoon
of bicarbonate of soda...

Now you're giving away trade secrets.

...and one level teaspoonful
of cream of tartar...

Shut up.

...and one egg.
- Shut up.

Some people prefer two eggs,
but I think one's enough.

Shut up!

Now. Then. Girls.

She hates me to talk about food.
She's a wee bit overwrought.

Bullshit.

- Cheerio.
- Bless you two.

Don't they make a lovely couple?

They do. They really do.

I'm surprised you haven't taken the plunge.

Still waiting for Mr. Right
to come along, are you?

There was a young man once.
You know, wartime it was.

He was in the RAF...

killed over Berlin.

There were lots of good boys went that way.
Lovely boys, all of them.

- That they were.
- They certainly were.

- Cheerio.
- Bye-bye.

She does get furious sometimes.

Actually, I wrote a poem about it once.

Now then, my dear, Mrs. Croft doesn't come
all this way to listen to you...

blathering on about your poetry and such.

There is Sister George talking again.

It's wonderful how the character
has evolved over the years.

One does learn from experience.

One does, indeed.

But, on the other hand,
experience isn't everything.

We don't want Applehurst
falling behind the times, do we?

No. Of course not.

One must constantly examine criticism...

and if it's constructive, we must act on it.

Ruthlessly, if need be.

Criticism? What sort of criticism?

- I wasn't thinking of anything in particular.
- But what?

That, I'm afraid, brings me...

to the unpleasant part of my business.

But first, would you show me
to the little girls' room?

Alice, show Mrs. Croft to the...

This way, Mrs. Croft.

..."little girl's room."

- It's that door up there, beneath the landing.
- Thank you.

George. What are you doing?

- Keep a lookout.
- Don't. You can't. You mustn't.

- My own personal file, isn't it?
- Put it back.

Look.

"Sister George, Applehurst Series.
Confidential."

There you are.

She's coming. Watch out.

She's coming.

And Emmeline said, "I don't think
I want another drop scone today."

"But you must have one,
because they're good for you"...

said the old lady with the apple-red cheeks.

This is Emmeline, my favorite doll.

- Say "How do you do," Emmeline.
- How do you do?

How do you do?

Are those bathroom scales accurate?

Yes, I think so.

Good.

Now, then...

I'll just make myself scarce.

Please, sit down.

Thank you.

You won't hold it against me
if I speak quite plainly?

Please do.

It's my unpleasant duty
to haul you over the coals...

and administer a severe reprimand.

Really?

Believe me, Sister George...

I would much rather let bygones
be bygones.

Let sleeping dogs lie, eh?

This morning I received this letter
from the Director of Religious Broadcasting.

I should like to have your comments.

It's a lie.

It's an utter, bloody lie.

Please, Miss Buckridge, calm yourself.

- Kindly hand me back the letter.
- It's preposterous.

You're not going to deny
that you were, in fact, drinking?

I had a few drinks, yes, with some friends.

But I certainly wasn't drunk.

In point of fact, I gather you walked out
on a rehearsal.

Yes, I did, but that was a matter of principle.

Not because I was going
to hunt down nuns.

No, I trust not.

Nevertheless, this memo is quite specific.

Childie, was I drunk on Wednesday?

Wednesday? No, I don't think so.

No, not on Wednesday.

There you are. Of course I wasn't drunk.

I can remember everything that happened.
Everything I did.

Miss Buckridge, I'm sure your memory
of subsequent events is excellent.

But the fact remains that...

according to the Mother Superior of
the Convent of the Sacred Heart of Jesus...

you boarded a taxi...

I thought it was empty.

...a taxi bearing as passengers
two novitiate nuns from Ireland...

who had just arrived
at King's Cross Station.

How was I to know they were novitiates?

Their status in the hierarchy of the church
is totally irrelevant.

You boarded this taxi
in a state of advanced inebriation...

and proceeded to assault the two nuns...

subjecting them to actual physical violence.

Shut up. It wasn't a bit like that.

In the first place, I certainly wasn't drunk.

I saw this taxi draw up at a traffic light.
So, naturally, I got in.

And there were these two black things
screaming blue murder.

Why didn't you immediately get out again?

I would have, but the taxi started off.

Anyway, I'd had a very nasty shock myself...

what with their screaming
and flapping about.

I thought they were bats. Vampire bats.

It was they who attacked me.
I can remember now...

getting all entangled in their skirts
and petticoats and things.

If the taxi driver hadn't pulled me free...

they might have done me a serious injury.

A deplorable anecdote.

According to the Mother Superior...

one of the nuns required medical treatment
for shock.

She appears to have thought it
some kind of diabolical visitation.

George, how could you?

Don't you start on me.
It was all a ghastly mistake.

No doubt, but it will take some explaining.

Fancy reporting it
to the Director of Religious Broadcasting.

What a nasty thing for a holy woman to do.

The Mother Superior is responsible
for the nuns in her charge.

Then she should jolly well make sure
they know how to behave in public.

I got the fright of my life in there.

They were like mice. Albino mice.

With tiny little white faces
and weeny little red eyes, and...

They were vicious.

They scratched and bit.
I still have the tooth marks. Look. There.

I've a jolly good mind to put in
a counter-complaint to the Mother Superior.

They deserve to be scourged in their cells.

I can hardly put through a report
to the controller...

informing him of your allegation
that you were bitten...

by two nuns.

Why not?
For all we know they might have had rabies.

Please, Miss Buckridge, let's be practical.

We are all concerned with retaining the trust
and respect of the public.

Now, we do all we can
to gloss over minor disciplinary offenses.

But we simply cannot tolerate
this sort of behavior.

What do you want me to do?

You must write a letter of apology
to the Mother Superior.

You mean, humbling myself?

Don't worry, Mrs. Croft, I'll see she does it.

And I'll also see she doesn't get
into any more of that kind of mischief.

Now there speaks a true friend.

You're very lucky to have someone
like Miss McNaught to rely on.

Treasure her.

I'll treasure her all right.

But what about Applehurst?

That's another
rather more complex problem.

I mean, have they decided anything
for the future?

Are they planning any changes?

I'm afraid I can't say anything about that
at the moment.

I say, I'm sorry, you know...

if I've been a bad boy.

Goodbye, dear Sister George.

Keep your chin up. Because things
are never as bad as they seem.

But, remember,
no more walkouts at rehearsals.

And if things get difficult,
just give me a call.

It's the creaking gate that gets oiled.

A somewhat unfortunate simile.

So nice to have met you.

- I'll see you out.
- Thank you.

Cheerio!

Goodbye.

Bye.

There you go.

- Bye, then. Very nice to meet you.
- Nice to have met you.

The dirty, rotten little sneak.

The crummy little swine.

Did she say anything?

Did she drop any hints behind my back?

No, just general comments, you know.

She asked me about my poetry.

Made one or two passing references
to nuns in taxis.

What do you mean?

Nuns. You know.

N- U-N-S.

Brides of Christ.

I knew you'd bring that up again.

Whatever happens, it's always my fault.

How could you?

How could you make such an exhibition
of yourself?

Don't you start on me as well.

I think you owe me
some sort of explanation.

Come off it.

You want a graphic description, do you?
A blow-by-blow account?

I say, when I think of all those skirts
and petticoats and things...

it's the sort of thing you used to do
when I first met you.

In that club in Notting Hill Gate.

And I remember how you used
to go clomping around without a bra.

Hitting girls over the head.

Lovely.

Kindly keep your foul-mouthed recollections
to yourself.

And remember who pays the rent here.

Not for much longer, perhaps.

Did she say something, then?

No, I don't think so. Nothing in particular.

No, she doesn't bloody well have to.
Not with this.

Why? What does it say?

None of the other characters have ever come
near me in the popularity ratings.

And now this idiot Leo Lockhart...

who got the sack from Stratford-on-Avon
after six months of carrying a spear about...

and creeps around saying to everybody:

"I gave up my career in the theatre,
you know...

"because I found the television medium
so very interesting."

- What's he done now?
- Now?

Now he's succeeded. Look.

"Sister George: 64.5."

"Ginger Hodgkins: 68."

Bastard.

But you remember this:

- Two wrongs don't make a right.
- You're right.

- Where there's a will, there's a way.
- I know.

As long as I am the chairman
of the darts committee...

you won't be dropped from the team
without a fair hearing.

Now off you get home,
and we'll talk about it tonight.

- Cue end titles.
- You're a pal.

- Don't mention it.
- All right, cut.

We're rehearsing, ladies and gentlemen.
Move about quietly, please.

That was wonderful, children.
A thing of beauty.

If you'll gather around the table
we'll read through the next installments...

while we've got our worthy scriptwriters
with us.

Mildred, hand the scripts out, will you?
There's a dear.

- Have a cigar, old chap. You deserve it.
- Thank you.

Ernest Hemingway, I presume.

May I say
how much I've enjoyed reading your work?

As a matter of fact,
I think you'll find most serious critics...

feel that Hemingway is a little pass�.

Really? How rotten for him.

They're very touchy, you know,
these literary gents.

All right, children,
let's settle down now, shall we?

George, I think you'll find
the first part of this is all you and Ginger.

So I gather.

The old double act again, eh, George?

This episode opens in the saloon bar
of the Rose and Crown.

It's just on opening time,
and Ginger is polishing some glasses.

- Just read this through.
- Yes.

You're not going to do it that way, are you?

"What'll it be, then?
A bottle of the old malt stout?"

"No, not today. I think I'll have a whiskey.

"A large one."

"Going on the hard stuff, eh?
Been one of those days, has it?"

"It's always one of those days for me.

"Never get a minute to myself, I don't.

"The fact is, my dear,
I think I'm getting a bit of a cold."

"Whiskey, is it, then?"

"Have a drop of honey in it,
that's what I always do.

"Can't beat it for stopping a cold.

"Take some more when you get home
with a drop of hot water and some sugar...

"and you'll be as right as rain
in the morning."

"I don't know about that.

"It could be the flu.
Last time I had a bout of the flu...

"I was off for a fortnight."

Am I to understand
I'm being written out of this episode?

Well?

Really, George...

just because you appear
to have a nasty cold coming on...

I don't think you should start jumping
to conclusions.

Why not?

Ginger's jumped to the conclusion
that I'm to be struck down by anything...

from the common cold
to the bubonic plague.

That is a slight exaggeration, you know.

After all, he's merely offering
a layman's opinion.

Nonsense!
Everybody in Applehurst knows...

that Ginger
is one of nature's own diagnosticians.

He can often put his finger on the trouble...

when old Dr. Williams is still groping
in the dark, can't he?

Yes, but at this point he's merely
suggesting you wrap up well and go to bed.

And evidently I'm to remain between
the sheets for the next two installments.

Is that right, Jack?

The rest is taken up with Rosie's reaction
when she finds out the tests are positive.

Initially, she's contemplating suicide.
Then, at the last minute...

Ginger saves her.

If there was anything wrong with Rosie,
I'd be the first person she consulted.

Yes, she's right.

Yes, normally she would...

but that's the whole point, you see.
You've got flu.

I know I've got the bloody flu.

Rosie just doesn't know who to turn to.

But who decided
she was going to have the flu?

It was all thrashed out
at the script conference.

Come along, George,
it's only a passing cold.

It's not the passing cold I'm concerned with.

I want to know when, if ever,
I'm expected to arise again?

Fair enough.

What about it, Jack?

I couldn't tell you, old chap. Peter and Eddie
are writing the next three installments.

We'll contact them after rehearsals.
Now, do let's get on with it, shall we?

Let's go back to Ginger's...

Since I'm to be mute for the rest
of this enthralling installment...

I hope you'll excuse me.

Now, if you could make an exit like that,
you'd really be an actor.

"BBC Television Center...

"Shepherd's Bush, London W12.

"Dear sirs.

"We are greatly concerned...

"about last Thursday's episode...

"which seems to indicate that Sister George
is about to be laid up...

"by influenza."

"If this indeed should be the case...

"we would both like
to wish her a speedy recovery...

"as any extended absence of hers...

"would be unwelcome."

All right.

"Indeed, my wife and I feel...

"a deep, personal sense of loss."

"Sincerely yours..."

"Colonel...

"and Mrs. Bucknell Smith."

What's the time?

5:00, of course.

You must be absolutely stone bonkers.

Why aren't you in bed?

I couldn't sleep.

Anyway, you asked me to call you,
didn't you?

What are you doing?

I had some letters to write.
What time do you got to be there?

There's no rush.

- The gang doesn't get there until...
- What did you say?

The gang doesn't get there until about 5:30.

I thought that's what you said.

You made up your mind
what you want tickets for?

No.

You're more than useless.

- Should I try for Swan Lake?
- No.

Why not?

Because I can't bear the sight
of those bloody little cygnets...

cavorting about in their tutus.

What shall I try for, then?

I don't know. You're getting the tickets,
try for whatever you like.

I've got an idea.
Why don't you come with me?

- I wouldn't be found dead with that mob.
- It'd be jolly good fun.

We could have breakfast
in one of those workmen's cafes.

- You're hysterical.
- Come on, why not?

Because I've got to wait here
for the post to arrive, and the scripts...

to see if I've still got a bloody job.
That's why not.

Listen, love, I think they're being beastly.

It would serve them right
if you just decided to resign.

But you can't just worry yourself silly
about those stupid scripts.

Anyway, the post doesn't come
for another four hours. You know it doesn't.

- Even so.
- So what?

I've got work to do.

Sure you won't come?

Yes, I'm sure.

I'll just get my clothes.

"Dear Friends, all of us...

"including me mom and me dad...

"was very worried in case Sister George...

"was going to be made redundant.

"I missed the show last Thursday,
personally.

"They saw it and was riveted
when she was took bad."

Your legs are unusually white.

Luminous white.

You know, I don't think
I've ever seen such white legs.

They don't get much sun.

That reminds me.

A toast to absent friends.

Here's to those albino mice.

You are naughty.

Say it again.

- What?
- What you just said.

You are naughty.

That's it.

Same inflection.
Do you know, that takes me back years...

when we first met.

That awful boarding house.

For weeks I watched you come and go
and I never spoke a word to you.

Every morning you used
to set off for work punctually.

9:10. You were always in such a rush.

I had no idea you were watching me.

And then one night I went into the bathroom
just after you'd had a bath.

And the mirror was all steamed up...

and the bathmat
was all wet and glistening...

where you'd been standing on it...

and there was a smell of bath crystals
and talcum powder.

It was like an enchanted wood.

I stood quite still on the bathmat,
in your footprints.

And then I noticed
that you'd left your comb behind.

It was a pink plastic comb,
and it had your hairs in it.

And I kept that comb as a souvenir.

And all that time,
I'd never spoken a word to you.

You soon made up for it.

Tell you what. Forget about the ballet.

It's ridiculous queuing up for tickets
in the middle of the night.

- Stay here and have breakfast with me.
- I can't.

Better still, listen, you go back to bed...

and I'll bring your breakfast on a tray,
like I used to when we first got together.

Don't be silly. I can't. You know I can't.

They'll all be waiting for me.

Who'll be waiting for you?

I told you. The whole gang.

Including that slimy
young English teacher...

Jonathan, I suppose,
who brought you home last time?

I expect so.

You fancy him, don't you?

Don't you?

He seems perfectly agreeable.

Agreeable?

What's that supposed to mean?

It means, yes. Yes, I fancy him! He's a dish!

- Is that so?
- Don't, George. You've no right.

I've got every right.

I'm not married to you, George.

I don't want to.

But you make me.

You'd better get along.
You're going to be late.

All right.

- See you later.
- Childie.

I'm sorry.

It's not your fault.

It's just, there's too much going on.

And I'm afraid.

It's all right. Honestly. It'll be all right.

I'll be back at 5:00 and we'll be going
to that club party.

Been looking forward to that, haven't you?

- Yes.
- You'll be fine.

You will.

See you later.

Bye, George.

There we are. There's my beautiful bike.

Morning, old friend.

We'll have you started up in next to no time.

Bye, Jean. Bye, Rosie.

Tell your dad to mind his gammy leg.

O God, our help in ages past...

and our eternal...

Don't be cruel, Ollie.
You know I can't tell time.

Come on, pack it up.

I give them 10 more minutes.

What's the point? The taxi will be here soon.

If the script didn't come this morning,
it's not going to come now.

It might come by special delivery.

Stop worrying.

If you're going to spend the whole evening
worrying about it, you'll have a rotten party.

Give me your hat.

What for, Stan?

I just want to look at something.

Okay, Stan.

What's that supposed to be?

I don't know, just an idea, you know.
Horseplay.

No need to go raving bloody mad,
you know.

I thought it was funny.

You thought it was funny.

Stan.

- Stan?
- Yes, Ollie?

Give me your hat.

What for, Ollie?

I just want to look at something.

What's up there, Stan?

See it?

There's nothing up there, Ollie.

There is now, Stan.

You are rotten.

You ruined my hair, I'm all wet!
I've been ages.

I hate you. What was the point of it?

It's just like it used to be! Horseplay.

You are rotten. I'm all wet.
Now I have to go to change my clothes.

Don't be so soppy, woman.
A drop of water never hurt anybody.

All right.

Get off. Help.

Take your punishment like a man.

No. All right, come on, then.

See if I care. Go on.

That was most refreshing.

God. What's that?

You are jumpy. It's probably our taxi.

It might be the script.

My God, it's the postman.

- Go on, see what he's got for you.
- No! You go. Please, Childie.

Just sign there, ma'am.

- Thank you.
- You're very welcome, ma'am.

He did look at me strangely.

First there's a lot of rubbish
about the old folks' outing...

and Ginger getting into the finals
of the darts tournament.

"'Nonsense, my dear, I'm as right as rain!'
She adjusts her nurse's cap...

"and goes outside and starts her bike."

And we're in!

That's marvelous.

- I know!
- I told you so, didn't I?

All right, don't be so smug.

- Okay.
- Listen.

What?

Maybe you ought to ring Mrs. Croft
and apologize for all those dramatics.

- Apologize?
- Apologize.

- What for?
- You've got the job back, haven't you?

Come on. It won't take a minute.

All right. I shall be lovely when I ring up,
I shall be charming.

You might not recognize me.

I shall say all the things
that come into my head first.

Extension 1634, please.

You don't half look a mess.
I thought you were well groomed.

I wouldn't have gone out with you.

That bloody toffee-nosed Geraldine.
I'm not talking to her. Go on.

Good afternoon.
Yes, I'd like to talk to Mrs. Croft, please.

On behalf of Miss June Buckridge, yes.

Shut up.

Is Mrs. Croft in? Shut up.

One minute, please.

- Shut up. She's in conference.
- I'll go get it.

Hello. Yes, this is June Buckridge.

No, it's no good her calling me back.

As a matter of fact,
we're going out to celebrate.

Yes, we're going to the Gateways Club.

It's a fascinating little spot
in Bramerton Street...

off the King's Road.

And if Mrs. Croft feels like having a drink...

tell her to nip along and I'll buy her one.

Cheerio.

You shouldn't have done that,
asked her to the Gateways.

Somebody's got to broaden her horizons.

- Yes, but...
- Come on, transfer the calls.

- Flaxman 0-118, please.
- Come on.

Hurry up.

- It's an awful dent.
- I know.

- Give me that.
- We must be going bonkers.

Come on.

Taxi! I've got a taxi, George.

Hello, Betty. Can we take your taxi?

Help yourself.

- We're going to a fancy-dress party.
- You could've fooled me.

Come on, get in. Gateways Club, please.

Abbott and Costello?

Bravo.

More!

Super, June.

Wonderful.

- Marvelous.
- 2,3,4,1.

More!

That concludes the entertainment portion
of our program.

Now back to dancing.

June, you're a rotten advertisement
for Arthur Murray.

I think you look marvelous
in that wig, Leslie.

That's more than I can say for you
in that suit.

It's a disguise, isn't it?

No, darling, it doesn't disguise a thing.

Whose side are you on, anyway?

- Now, that depends, doesn't it?
- I see.

- You can do this, can't you?
- Yes, darling, I can do everything.

All by yourself? How nice for you.

- Come on, you'd better take over.
- Anything to oblige a friend.

Will you take my hat, George?

Don't go dancing with any strange men.

Gangway! Watch out, there.

- Get us a large gin, Smitty, will you?
- Righto.

I could teach you how to do that,
if you want.

Later, dear, later. I'm exhausted.

Thanks.

Better make that two. Chalk it up.

Thank you.

They look like something
out of Edgar Allan Poe.

Edgar who?

Never mind.

- Good evening.
- Good evening.

- Would you like us to take your coat?
- No, thank you.

Excuse me.

Excuse me.

Excuse me, dear.

- Good evening, may I help you?
- Good evening.

- You're looking for someone?
- Yes.

- Are they members?
- Yes, I think so. They are expecting me.

"June," they said to me. "Do it this way."
I said, "Do what?"

George! She's here.

- Who?
- Mrs. Croft.

Mrs. Croft. Don't just stand there.
Go and ask her to come and have a drink.

- I couldn't.
- Rubbish.

George, you come.

Excuse us, we've just seen our old friend.

Hello, Crofters.

Hat.

Come to help us celebrate?

I do hope I'm not interrupting,
but I really felt it my duty to come and...

Lovely. Come on, come and have a drink.

- Nice of you to come.
- Absolutely smashing.

Thank you. Excuse me. Thanks awfully.

Quite an amusing little club.

- Yes, we think so.
- Do you mind getting out of my way?

Does one always dress up?

No, it's absolutely optional.
It's entirely optional.

Only this is a fancy dress party.

Yes, of course.

Now, then, Crofters, what will you drink?

- A sherry, I think.
- Righto. A sherry, Smitty, please.

Sherry coming up.

Two more large gins.

Jolly nice, really, isn't it?

It seems it's most entertaining.

We love it, we come here often.

It's a bit crowded tonight, I'm afraid.

Here's to the lightning recovery
of Sister George.

You have had the new script, then?

Yes, rather. I've received it special delivery.

You are awful.

The marvelous script.

I've just come straight from a meeting.

It's rather remiss of me
to intrude on you like this...

but I really felt
I should break the news to you personally.

But the old script department
beat you to it, eh?

No, I'm afraid that's not quite it.

There's nothing wrong, is there?

Isn't there somewhere we could talk?

Yes, I suppose so.
Can we go in the billiard room for a minute?

Yes, make yourself at home.

Bring the drink.

- What did you think of Laurel?
- I think I prefer Hardy.

Watch out, lads.

Excuse me.

Some of the members are awfully good
at this. Do you play?

No, I'm afraid not.

I think I should let you have it straight
from the shoulder.

Your recovery, I mean,
Sister George's recovery...

isn't so much a reprieve as a postponement.

A postponement?

What on earth do you mean
by a postponement?

- Postponement of what?
- Shut up, Childie.

I'm sorry, Miss Buckridge,
it is the end of Sister George.

But why? I mean, why?

The end of Sister George?

Believe me, Miss Buckridge...

this decision is no reflection
on your ability as an actress.

You helped to create a character
that has become a nationwide favorite.

So why kill her?

Why do some of our nearest and dearest
have to leave us?

Because that's life.

And in Applehurst we try
to recreate the flavor of life as it's lived...

in hundreds of English villages.

But she's the most popular character
in Applehurst!

Not quite.
Anyway, there are other considerations.

I don't think this is quite the place
to discuss these matters at length.

How is it going to happen?

It's not for another week.
It's scheduled for the twelfth.

But how?

It's just an ordinary morning in Applehurst.

Sister George is off
to see young Jimmy Bromley.

He is feeling poorly, and his mother
has kept him home from school.

She sets off for Larkspur Farm
on her motor bike...

and then moments later...

collision with a 10-ton-truck.

That's ridiculous.

It's instantaneous.

- You mean, I never even...
- You never even regain consciousness.

That's terrible.

It so happens your death
will coincide with Road Safety Week.

A cause which we know is very close
to your heart.

I think you'll find it serves the purpose.

I protest.

I've never ridden my bike carelessly.

I know, and we're doing everything we can...

to establish it's the lorry driver's fault.

Even so, I refuse to die
in such a ridiculous manner.

I'm sorry, but there it is.

- I shall take it to a higher authority.
- I'm afraid that will be of no avail.

This is a policy decision
taken at the highest level.

There has, in fact, already been some talk
of utilizing your talents in other ways.

In due course I hope to be able
to discuss ideas for a new series.

Mrs. Croft, I would like to thank you...

for coming here personally
to tell me of this decision.

I don't feel quite up to discussing ideas
for a new series at the moment.

Of course you don't.

- If you'll excuse me.
- Where are you going?

I thought I might go to the little girls' room,
if you don't mind.

- Are you all right?
- What did you say?

I said, are you all right?

You called me George then, didn't you?

You'll have to get out of that habit.

No need to shove.

I must say, it's been a long time...

since I had to perform a less desirable task.

I'm sure George realizes it's not your fault.

Yes, I'm sure she does.

By the way, my dear,
I received your poems yesterday.

Did you like them?

I mean...

I've been meaning to find time
to go over them again...

so that we could have a nice long chat
about them.

But I can tell you now that for a girl
of your age, I find them extremely mature.

Some of them are really very good.

I'm so glad you liked them.

You poor child.

Things haven't been easy for you lately,
have they?

Life's been impossible. She's been hell.
You've no idea.

I thought as much.

When she gets angry or nervous,
she has to take it out on someone.

Who do you think gets the brunt?
Yours truly.

Has she been drinking a lot recently?

Some nights it's terrible.
I just don't know what to do with her.

I'm surprised you put up with it.

We have been together for a very long time.
Besides...

I don't really have anywhere else to go.
I mean, nothing else to do.

Come, now.

Surely there must be lots of openings
for a girl with your qualifications.

We shall have to have another talk
about that.

Why don't you give me a call at the BBC?

May I?

Really?

Yes, of course, my dear.

Speak to my secretary.
She'll make an appointment.

I'm frightened.

No, I really am.

Don't worry, my dear.
We won't let anything happen to you.

If things get difficult just give me a call.

Goodbye, my dear. Must run. Have fun.

- Goodbye.
- Good night.

"Must run"? "Have fun"?

Excuse me, please.

Are you all right, dear?

Me? Yeah, I'm fine.

Just a bit tired, you know.

- Are you sure you're okay?
- Yeah, fine.

You look a bit off to me.

It's the...

All right, suit yourself.

George?

What do you want?

It's me, Alice. Are you all right?

Of course I'm all right.

She's gone. Mrs. Croft's gone.

I think she's really quite upset
about the whole thing.

She couldn't say so, of course...

but I know she thinks
they've treated you rottenly.

I think it stinks.

You should've heard
what I said to her on the way out.

- Are you all right?
- Of course I'm all right.

What are you doing?

I'm writing something very obscene...

about the British Broadcasting Corporation.

We're up against something
far bigger than that.

Six of the programs have been written.
Another 12 are in preparation.

Replacements have been engaged.

Replacements?

Naturally we've got
to spread the program a bit.

Youth! New blood!

After all, you're going to leave
a pretty big gap.

It seems like a good idea to me.

I know it seems hard on you, George.

You must think we're being pretty callous
about it all.

As a matter of fact, when the subject
of your death first came up...

I pushed for an idea
very much like the one you proposed.

- Did you?
- He really did, George.

And it was no dice.
There's nothing we can do about it.

It was a good try.

See you later in the club for a drink?

I don't know, I may have an appointment.

Some people just don't know
when to give up.

You can be damn cold-blooded
when you like, can't you?

George has been with this program longer
than any of us.

What sort of job do you think
she's gonna get when she leaves?

Can I speak to Miss McNaught, please?

Just a minute.

Alice, for you.

I'm coming.

Where's the material for them dresses?

Coming up with them, love.

- Hello.
- Hi, it's me.

Yeah.

You know they don't like people
phoning me here.

I don't see why not.

All right, I'm sorry.

Can we have lunch together
before I do this recording?

I know it's going to be awful, I dread it.

Let's meet at the trattoria at 1:00.

I can't possibly. Not today, not at 1:00.

You've got to have lunch.

- Mr. Katz is...
- What's it got to do with Mr. Katz?

We're having sandwiches sent in.

A whole new batch of stuff has just come
from the factory.

- He wants me to sort it out or something.
- But it's my last show.

I'll be back tonight
and we'll talk about it then. Okay?

All right. See you tonight.

That was fine, kids.
We have 45 seconds of film...

to cover Sister George leaving the village
on her bike.

Then we cut to the interior
of the saloon bar of The Rose and Crown.

Cue telecine.

- Cue music.
- Right.

Fade up.

On film now.

Mind this for me, will you?
I'm going up to the club for another drink.

- What?
- I've got 20 minutes before I'm on again.

George, come back here.

Are the principles in position
for the close shot?

George is as drunk as a coot.

She wouldn't dare.

Yes, she would, and she is.

Coming up on crash.

All things bright and beautiful

Ten seconds to crash.

All creatures great and small

By God, now you've done it!

Five, four, three, two, one.

Cue camera three.

Cue driver.

Cue driver.

You look. I'm afraid.

Is she all right?

She's...

"She's dead, mate," Mr. Anderson.
"She's dead, mate."

Do please try and remember your lines.
There are only two of them.

How the hell can I say she's dead...

when Miss Buckridge
is lying there making faces at me?

But I'm not even on camera.

I know you're a novice in this medium,
Mr. Anderson...

but I would have thought
you'd have mastered...

the rudimentary technicalities by now.

- But, Freddie, she...
- Never mind.

Never mind, we've wasted enough time
and money already.

- Miss Buckridge.
- Yes, darling?

We all know that your knowledge
of television technique is encyclopedic.

Encyclopedic?

However, on this occasion, will you please
do us the favor of allowing me...

to decide when you are on camera
and when you are not?

Thank you.

We'll go back to the beginning of this scene.
This time, will all of our artists behave...

- as if they were on camera all the time?
- Places, everybody.

That's right, keep it up.

All right, quiet, please.
Let's get it right this time.

Cue, driver.

You look. I'm afraid.

But I promise you,
next weekend we are going to Brighton...

and nobody will stop us,
I promise you. Nobody.

Yes.

But of course I care, if you'll just let me.

Darling.

Yes, but, darling...

I do care.

If you'd just let me...

Are you looking for someone?

Hold on.

Yes, what is it?

- Are you Mr. Katz?
- Yes.

- Emmanuel Katz.
- That's right. What can I do for you?

I was looking for Alice...

Alice McNaught.
She does work here, doesn't she?

Yes, usually.

But today... Excuse me.

Look, I've got somebody in the office,
I told you.

Hello. I didn't think you'd be in yet.

Why not? It's after 10:00.

Had a good day?

The usual sort of thing, you know.

What does that mean?

Typing, running around the showroom.

- Want another drink?
- No, thank you. Not for me.

I think I'll just have a night cap.

How was the show?

"How did you enjoy the play, Mrs. Lincoln?"
How do you suppose it was?

I don't know.

I wondered.

How's Mr. Katz?

What do you mean?

Just a perfectly simple question.
I just wanted to know how Mr. Katz was.

Lunch. I'm sorry about that.

I just couldn't have got away.

Really kept you at it, did he?

Right through the lunch hour.

Honestly, that man.

Just because he sends out
for a couple of moldy sandwiches...

he thinks he's entitled to bore you to death.

- What does he talk about?
- I don't know.

Everything. His wife,
where they're going on holiday.

How brilliantly his son plays the violin.

- Something of an infant prodigy, is he?
- Mr. Katz seems to think so.

Do they know that you share a flat with me?

At the office? I think so. Why?

I just wondered if you thought
it was more discreet not to let on...

or perhaps you didn't want people to know
that you weren't available.

Available? For Mr. Katz?

No, not exactly for Mr. Katz.

But perhaps he isn't as harmful
as you've led me to believe.

What is this? I tell you I can't make lunch...

and you make a whole stupid thing about it.

Why do you always have
to be so hysterically suspicious?

Because you're a bloody little liar.
That's why.

You didn't have sandwiches with Mr. Katz.
You didn't have lunch with Mr. Katz.

You weren't in the office at lunchtime.

What do you mean, I wasn't in the office?
Did you ring me up again?

No, I didn't. But I just happen to know
that you weren't in the office, that's all.

All right, so I went out.

- I don't see what that's got to do with you.
- Don't you?

Considering you've lied to me...

considering it was my last day
in the studio...

and you couldn't have lunch with me,
I think it's got quite a lot to do with me.

I said I was sorry about lunch...

but it so happens
I had a previous appointment.

- Did you? Who with?
- It's none of your business.

I don't see why
I should tell you everything.

Really?

That was a pretty silly answer.

If you must know,
it was a perfectly innocent lunch.

With one of the girls
who used to work in the office.

Is that so?

- Yes, that's so.
- One of the girls.

Not all girls are raving bloody lesbians,
you know.

That is a misfortune
that I'm perfectly well aware of.

You must have had an exhausting lunch.

You don't usually creep into bed
at this time.

- Well, I'm tired.
- I can see that.

I take it you're going
to sleep in here tonight?

It is my bedroom.

As you say, it is your bedroom.

What did you do
for the rest of the afternoon?

My God.

- I went back.
- No, you didn't go back to the office.

Who were you with?

- I wasn't with anyone.
- Don't lie to me.

I've just come back
from seeing your Mr. Katz.

And he is a harmless old man.

But for some reason, you wanted me
to believe he is a sex maniac...

who chased you around the office all day.

Now why would you do a thing like that?

Are you mad? That was your idea.
That was what you chose to believe.

Perhaps I did. But you encouraged it.

You've been with that little bastard
Jonathan again, haven't you?

- No, I haven't.
- Who was it, then?

One of those men
that you're always talking to on the phone?

No.

It must've been.

- It wasn't.
- Who was it, then?

How do you know I didn't go out by myself?

By yourself?

You couldn't cross the road by yourself!

You think I can't even exist on my own,
don't you?

You think I'm too dim, too stupid,
to have any interests of my own.

Exactly.

You're too bloody stupid!

Now tell me who you were with.

- I wasn't with anyone.
- Do you think I'm an idiot? Tell me.

Tell me.

If you must know, I met Mrs. Croft.

Mrs. Croft.

Yes, I ran into her in Regent Street.

You what?

I was coming back from lunch,
and I bumped into her in Regent Street.

Accidentally, I suppose?

If you make a very big effort...

you may just remember
that Mrs. Croft wanted to see my poems.

She had an appointment
in Broadcasting House this afternoon.

So I went with her
and we talked about my poems.

She made you go all the way
to Broadcasting House to talk about poetry?

Is that what you're trying to tell me?

- What else?
- What else indeed.

I don't know what else.

But since what you know about poetry...

wouldn't cover one towel
in a public lavatory...

it is reasonable to suppose...

that Mrs. Mercy bloody Croft's
overpowering interest in you...

is other than poetic.

- Don't be stupid.
- Shut up, you little bitch.

George, where are you going?

It's none of your business.
Go screw yourself.

Or better still...

why don't you try Mrs. Croft?

- Can I come in?
- Yes, of course you can.

What is it? What's the matter?

I'm sorry.

I don't want to,
but I think I need somewhere to cry.

Come in.

- If you need anything, just shout.
- Okay.

Ladies and gentlemen, and my dears.

As you know,
I'm a woman of very few words...

and I don't believe in voices from the grave.

But there are lots of people here...

who think Sister George has talked
much too much and for much too long.

So before I say thank you,
and leave it at that...

I would like to point out that I think...

the DMC has been altogether too hasty...

in burying me.

I've been talking to my agent.

So, if you don't mind,
I would like to postpone...

the final goodbyes to another occasion.

And stop before I turn this little party
into a wake.

Thank you.

Sounds wonderful, June.
What job is your agent talking about?

You've got to tell this lot something,
haven't you?

Miss Buckridge, since you refused
to speak to us at any great length...

I'm sure you'll at least accept a drink.

As a matter of fact, I've ordered one,
but it hasn't come yet.

- A pint of bitter.
- A pint of bitter.

I'm sure that we can...
Do we have such a thing as a pint of bitter?

Yes, sir. I'll get you one.

Cinderella.

You shall go to the ball.

I knew I'd find you here, so I came along.

I did look for you at the house.

- You must have looked very hard.
- But you said...

We'll talk about that later.

Miss Buckridge.

What exactly are your plans for the future?

In point of fact, that was something
I was hoping to be able...

to discuss with Miss Buckridge myself.

I've had an absolutely marvelous idea.

I'm going to join the opposition.

- There you are, love.
- Thanks.

Yes, none of this soap opera stuff,
mind you. No.

I'm going to give the people
what they really want to watch:

commercials.

Sounds fascinating.

It is. It really is.

I've thought about this very seriously,
you know...

and I've sold the advertising people
a really revolutionary idea.

None of these subdued, feeble commercials.

I'm going to give them something really
with some punch.

I'm afraid that I don't quite understand
what is...

No, how could you?

Take false teeth, for instance.

It's low tide on the Thames Estuary.

There are four white-coated scientists...

trudging through the mud
in their gum boots.

Burying dentures to test brand x!

And then, flash. Cut!

There's blood and guts all over the place.

One of the scientists turns and says:

"If you've got false teeth...

"why don't you do what my old mom does.

"Don't bother
with all this scientific nonsense.

"Just scrub them with Johnson's Carbolic."

"There's nothing like it."

Sounds most exciting.
Excuse me a moment.

- Really, I think we might slip away now.
- Yes, I think now is the time.

- Good night.
- Good night, sir.

I say, you've forgotten your briefcase.

- Thanks.
- That's the best commercial I've ever seen.

You will have your little joke,
won't you, Miss Buckridge?

I'm not sure
you pick your moments very wisely, though.

Never mind.

I want you to come and meet Mrs. Coote.

Mrs. Coote.

You do know Mrs. Coote, don't you?

- She's in charge of Toddler Time.
- How do you do?

Splendid. Absolutely splendid.

What we are telling you now
is strictly confidential...

with everything still in the planning stage.

But I did want you to see
there is a ray of sunshine on the horizon.

Margaret.

As you probably know,
Toddler Time has been...

what shall we say, a wee bit disappointing.

Audience research figures
have shown a slight but perceptible slide.

I don't mind telling you,
we've been terribly worried about it.

To cut a long story short...

a completely new approach
to Toddler Time has been decided on.

We're preparing
an absolutely super new adventure series...

in which we've all got loads of confidence.

Something really contemporary
and "with it."

Don't tell me, Snow White's having it off
with the Seven Dwarfs?

Please, Miss Buckridge,
do try to be serious for a moment.

Both Mrs. Coote and I are anxious
that you should have first crack of the whip.

When they get down to casting the title role.

Sorry. What's it called?

The World of Clarabelle Cow.

Am I to understand...

that this character is a cow?

A very human one, I assure you.

Full of little foibles and prejudices.

A flawed, credible cow.

Credible in human terms, certainly.

Otherwise the children wouldn't
believe in her.

Our children are very discerning.

You mean you want me
to play the part of a cow?

You do understand
that this is an animated series?

I mean, animated marionettes.

You wouldn't be expected to portray...
I mean, it's just your voice.

Mrs. Coote, I have no intention
of playing the part of a cow...

in any manner, shape or form!

Is that absolutely crystal bloody clear?

Yes, of course.

Good.

I didn't mean to upset her.

She's overwrought, Margaret.
We'll talk about this some other time.

Yes, I think that would be best.

I want to talk to you.

George, don't make a scene.
Not now, not here.

- You're drunk.
- Drunk?

Appearing to be drunk happens to be one
of the easier ways of getting through...

some of life's most embarrassing situations.

You should know that.

I am afraid Miss Buckridge
is going to do something quite dreadful.

You've simply got to help me get
that poor girl away from her.

I shouldn't worry too much.

I gather she's really quite fond
of that poor girl.

Everybody has to lie occasionally.

There you are, Miss Buckridge.
I was afraid we'd lost you.

Listen, you mealy-mouthed old boot.

Are you totally incapable of saying
what you mean?

- Really.
- George, stop it. You are drunk.

"I was afraid we'd lost you."

You were afraid
I was doing something obscene...

to our lady poetess here, weren't you?

For Pete's sake, George!

Would you like to examine her?
She's all there.

Not exactly untouched,
as we might say, by human hands...

but quite serviceable.

Miss Buckridge, restrain yourself.

I have no intention of restraining myself.

And when we've had a couple of gins...

there're one or two things I'd like to discuss
with Miss McNaught...

in detail.

- And you'd better be there, too!
- Miss Buckridge, please.

Why don't you piss off?

Come along, my dear.

I really cannot allow you
to put up with this sort of thing anymore.

- You all right, George?
- Of course I'm all right.

I think you find your bird has flown.

Leo.

I never suspected you of taking such
a sympathetic interest in my little problems.

I don't know. Think nothing of it.

No, you're a really true friend, Leo.

One of those rare human beings...

who can always smile
in the face of adversity.

Just don't sit there,
get me a tissue, you stupid nit!

Do you think we should
do something about George?

Yes, we might get her another large gin
before she runs out of steam.

You know, funerals are barbaric.

- Your soda.
- Thank you.

Wouldn't it be absolutely super?

Wouldn't what be super, dear?

If I could really work for you in some way.

Writing or something, I mean.

We shall see. There's no great rush.

I told you I'd keep the other job open
for a few weeks.

But just for now, I simply cannot allow you
to spend another night here.

We shall have to go to my little pied-a-terre.

Tomorrow we can decide what's to be done.

Yes, of course.

Run along, my dear.

Fetch whatever you need for the night
and we'll be off.

Won't be a second.

Horse brasses.

"The English Village Preservation Society."

Preserved in alcohol, I imagine.

How vulgar.

How are you getting on?

I can't decide what to take.

I would just take what you really need
for now.

My dolls. I nearly forgot my dolls.

But surely you don't need to take them all?

Not for one night.

I always take them with me everywhere.

Emmeline, anyway. And Jane.

Then I get scared
the others will get lost or stolen.

Sometimes George hides them.

It's her idea of a joke.

It's a very cruel joke.

Shall I get Emmeline for you?

Would you? She's on the couch.

I wouldn't go without you, Jane.
You know that.

Don't cry, then.

You and Emmy and me are going away
for a little journey.

Don't cry.

I wouldn't go without you.

What a shame.

Are you really so lonely?

We shall have to look after you better,
won't we?

Dress you up.

Keep your hair nice...

and soft.

Why don't you lie down for a little bit?

Just have a rest. Just for a little bit.
Go to sleep.

I wonder where we're going to.

I don't know.

It will be a beautiful white house...

with sunshine.

Sunny rooms.

We'll have new dresses to wear.

You'll have rings on your fingers.

Bells on your toes.

Why don't you just go to sleep?
Dream a little.

Because Mommy is going to pack.

Emmeline!

You're going with Jane.

You're going on a very long journey.

And you're going to be very tired.

I think you should go to sleep.

Now, be a big girl and close your eyes.

Why don't you rest?

Go to sleep.

Close your eyes.

What a perfect little gem
for the Sunday press.

Did it have to be here?

I'm sorry about the circumstances...

but I don't think
it makes any real difference.

No, of course you don't, because you
planned it like this in the beginning!

In point of fact, I merely intended
to let the poor girl spend the night...

in some place where she would be free
from your drunken spite.

You think you're so bloody powerful,
don't you?

What will your precious employers say
when they find you had me sacked...

so that you could creep into bed with my...
With someone I...

With someone you what?

You stupid woman.
I didn't have you sacked.

If you'd taken the trouble to read
the confidential material...

you stole from my briefcase...

you'd know you were dismissed
because you're a fat, boring actress.

And people are sick to death of you.

We'll just take this for now.
You can get the rest later.

Alice.

Please, you're not really going?

I have to, George.

I didn't want to hurt you, I really didn't.

But I can't stay, not now.

But you can't just...

I mean, after all this time.

What's going to happen?

Do you think you can live with her?

I mean, you know, together,
like we've been?

We can't just throw everything away
because you...

Do come along.

Don't go, Childie.

It's all right, George.

Thanks for everything.

You cruel little bitch.

You might have saved yourself
the humiliation of resorting to violence!

Why don't you save your lectures
for the office, you sanctimonious slut?

If you'd only stop to think, you'd realize
another very good reason...

for your being dismissed
from the Applehurst series...

was your complete inability...

to conduct yourself
in a decent and civilized fashion!

You don't even...

And, furthermore,
if you lose your little girl...

it's because you're a dreary,
inadequate, drunken old bag!

Look at yourself, you pathetic old dyke.

You don't seriously imagine
you're any young girl's dream of bliss.

Do you?

And after what you just saw?

What a ridiculous woman you really are.

Come along, my dear.

You don't think
I'm going to let you walk out like this?

Do you?

Without me saying a word?

Come on,
what have you got to say for yourself?

George, you can't...

Really. Can't you see
you're just torturing the poor child?

"Torturing the poor child?"

George, please don't.

The poor child...

likes us to pretend that she's a baby.

But have a look at her.

Have a close look at her.

You know she's not a baby.

But I'll tell you something you don't know.

I don't want to hear another word.

That so-called child you've got there
is a woman.

She's 32.

She's damn near old enough
to be a grandmother.

Yes...

you've got yourself a prize packet here,
and no mistake.

She had an illegitimate child
when she was 15.

She's got an abandoned daughter...

who's almost old enough
to be of interest to you, Mercy, dear.

Haven't you?

You two are going
to be very happy together.

Very happy.

Even the bloody coffin is a fake.