Original subtitles

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Good evening.

This is called a rack.

A kind of medieval chaise longue.

The victim lies down,

and his limbs are fastened to the rollers at each end.

The body is then gradually stretched

to and past the breaking point.

They were quite droll in those days.

You see a Latin inscription,

placed so the victim can't read it.

"Nunc potes altior quam illam."

Meaning, "Now you can be taller than she is."

Tonight we are presenting a play entitled, "The Waxwork."

First, however,

we have the 20th century equivalent of the rack.

Now, please, no screams.

After all, this hurts me more than it does you.

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A guide book, please.

It is a shilling, isn't it?

-She's wax, sir. -She's what?

Of course, wax.

It happens all the time.

That's a comfort.

Would you care for our souvenir booklet?

Ah, yes.

They're two shillings.

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I, uh...

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I'm looking for Mr. Marriner.

His office is over there.

Uh, hold on.

I believe you'll find him next door.

Oh, thank you.

Now, don't move!

Please, please!

Watch what you're doing!

Albert, Albert!

He shouldn't have been left here.

Albert, he shouldn't have been left here,

it isn't safe.

Take him out, will you, please?

Yes.

You really must be more careful...

Wait.

What are you doing here, young man?

The public isn't allowed in this part of the building.

My name is Raymond Houston.

I'm from the illustrated weekly, This World.

I wrote you about doing a feature story.

Oh, yes.

Yes, I remember.

Well...

Shall we have another look at this?

Come.

May I?

(clearing throat)

I'm afraid that's rather out of drawing.

Yes, I turned your letter over to Mr. Roberts,

our public relations man, he, uh--

I spoke to Mr. Roberts yesterday, but--

Well, I simply had to see you,

so I took the liberty of finding my way up here.

Yes, that's a liberty you hadn't ought to have taken.

I wanted to persuade you to let me spend the night

in the Murderer's Den.

Oh, I'm sure Mr. Roberts has told you that that would be

quite impossible.

I have an idea for a very interesting layout

with photographs.

It'd be good publicity for you.

Well, I mean, not that your famous museum

needs it, of course.

You know, in order to become an artisan in wax,

one must turn oneself

into a combination artist and surgeon.

One must...

One must learn the relation

between bone and muscle,

the--the precise strain which movement

places upon tendons and joints.

You see?

I'd call my article,

"A Night with Marriner's Murderers."

Ah, would you now?

Yeah, a heading like that'd--

Well, it'd attract a lot of readers.

I'm sure it'd cause a lot of interest.

I'll take that.

Herbert?

I want you to see this.

She is removing the lines and bubbles

that the mold leaves on a cast.

Well, everybody knows that a Marriner waxwork is perfect.

Wrong.

It's the imperfection,

the blemish, the wrinkle,

the thousand signs by which nature writes

the diary of a human life.

May I?

Vile botchery!

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Botchery.

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Mr. Houston...

Why is it so important to you

to spend the night in my Murderer's Den?

Well, I...

Perhaps I better give you the real reason.

You see...

Well, I like to gamble.

Ah.

Cards or horses?

Cards.

Well, the other night I lost a good deal of money

to an Englishman I know very slightly,

a man called Dicky Morrison.

Well, to cut the story short,

I gave him a check which I knew would bounce.

That is a criminal offense, you know.

He notified me yesterday that he intends to prosecute,

unless I can pay.

Now, my editor wants this story very badly.

I know that if you'll let me spend the night here

and write my article,

I can earn enough to pay the debt.

Mr. Houston, you put me in a very difficult position...

Her Majesty looks rather well today, don't you think?

What's that, sir?

Each one of our wax figures

gets a beauty treatment every four months.

And the Virgin Queen has just returned from hers.

Good day, Mrs. Nobbs.

How is your rheumatism?

Much better.

Thank you, sir.

It's quite all right.

You'll notice that hair is put into a wax head

one strand at a time.

Look, Mr. Marriner, my job, my future,

everything depends on this--

Now, look, young man,

I can't be made to feel responsible

for your predicament.

Haven't you any friends?

You mean, friends I can borrow from?

Is that your definition of friendship?

Well, the answer's no.

Actually, you see,

I've only been in London for a few months.

This is the young man

that you had an encounter with a little while ago.

His name is Bourdette.

Or was.

Yes, I'm afraid he'll be the last star boarder

in my Den of Murderers.

Oh, why?

Well, any day now,

Parliament will pass a law

putting an end to capital punishment.

This fellow was executed this morning

and so obliged us in the nick of time.

He was a barber by day.

By night, a murderer ten times over.

And always...

...with a razor.

I know, I--

I covered his trial.

I lost a bet on him, too.

I bet he wouldn't be convicted.

Oh, why do you think that?

Oh, I don't know.

He used to practice mesmerism.

I see.

And you thought he might mesmerize the jury

or the witnesses or perhaps even the judge?

I know it sounds ridiculous, but...

He had extraordinary eyes.

Yes, a fact the prosecution brought out.

And according to the evidence developed at the trial,

he was said to have hypnotized his victims

before dispatching them.

Really quite humane of him, I think.

His eyes are extraordinarily life-like.

Well, in a wax figure,

the eyes are of the utmost importance.

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There.

As you can see, Mr. Houston, this eye is definitely blue.

But you have no idea how difficult it is

to get the exact shade of blue.

Yes, we take a great deal of trouble with the eyes.

Look, Mr. Marriner, I don't seem to be able

to get through to you, I've got to write this article.

For the last time, please,

may I spend the night with Bourdette and the others?

(sighs)

I shall have to think about it.

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It's 8:00, we're closed.

On the house.

Oh, the writer fellow.

*

Good luck, sir.

Thank you.

Harry's been with us for over 50 years,

before we had the fire in 1925.

Oh, that reminds me, sir,

Mr. Marriner said to be sure, no smoking.

The wax, you know.

It's gloomy enough down here.

Just right for these beauties.

I guess I'll find

all the information I need in this guide.

Well, if there's anything special you want to know,

I'd be glad to tell you.

Ah, here's an interesting chap.

Jack Sheppard, in the cell of Newgate Prison,

from whence he made his escape.

(footsteps)

Good evening, Mr. Houston.

I trust that everything is to your liking.

And I hope that you will be comfortable,

locked in here with my little creatures.

Locked in?

What do you mean?

Who said anything about being locked?

But my dear Houston,

you could hardly expect me

to leave these valuable creatures of mine unlocked.

Well, of course, I'll be here.

Oh, but I'm afraid that--

I--I know it sounds silly,

but I have a kind of funny feeling about being closed in.

-Once when I was... -Claustrophobia?

Yeah.

Yeah, I...

Something like that, I guess.

The morbid fear of being in confined places.

(tongue clicking)

That's too bad.

Well, I suppose we'd best forget the whole thing.

No, no, no.

No, I can't do that.

All right, I'll stay.

Locked in?

Locked in.

Good night, Mr. Houston.

(door locking)

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(heavy breathing)

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"Torture was widely used in medieval times

as a judicial instrument for the extraction

of evidence from unwilling witnesses.

It was also employed as a form of trial

to determine guilt or innocence."

"Fifty-seven, Petiot, Marcel.

Guillotined in Paris, 20th of May, 1946."

(thudding)

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(groaning)

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(heavy breathing)

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(clattering)

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(panting)

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Landru.

Morrison.

Armstrong.

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Seddon.

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Bourdette.

Why, of course, you're the new boarder.

You only arrived just yesterday.

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(typewriter clicking)

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(typewriter clicking)

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"The figure of Bourdette appears to be moving

menacingly toward me."

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Good evening.

You cannot move

or speak without my bidding.

But you can hear me

perfectly well.

Something tells me that you are, shall we say, nervous?

My dear sir, have no illusions.

I am not one of these contemptible effigies.

I am the barber,

Bourdette himself.

They did not execute me this morning.

I escaped.

I was walking past this building

when I saw a policeman eyeing me with curiosity.

And I did not know whether he would recognize me or not.

So I decided to mingle with the crowd in here.

And once inside,

I realized I had an ideal means of escape.

As you may understand,

this has been a tiring evening for me.

But fortunately,

your attention was drawn elsewhere.

And you were not looking at me,

so I could occasionally draw a breath and ease my pose.

And now I'm looking at your throat.

You have a skinny neck, sir.

If you will forgive the personal remark.

I like thick necks.

Thick, red necks.

This is a little French razor.

They are not much used in England.

One strops them on wood.

The blade, you notice, is very narrow.

It doesn't cut very deep,

but deep enough.

And now, I must ask you the usual question

all the barbers ask the customers.

Does this razor suit you, sir?

Would you please lift your chin a little?

*

A little more.

Ah, perfect.

Thank you, thank you.

*

I never heard a sound all night.

But when I opened the gates at 6:00 this morning,

like he told me to,

there he was, sitting in that chair.

He's dead, all right.

What do you suppose caused him

to be sitting like that, sir?

You mean, as if awaiting the attention of a barber?

Well, yes, he looks like he was waiting to be shaved.

"The figure of Bourdette appears to be moving

menacingly toward me.

Power of imagination amazingly strong."

I'm afraid we must credit

another victim to Bourdette.

Bourdette, sir?

Bourdette and an overactive imagination.

But it couldn't have been Bourdette, sir.

He ain't never been here!

Well, you know as well as I do,

he was only hanged yesterday, sir.

Well, look for yourself, sir.

They're just bringing him down now.

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So much for our museum memories.

In the earlier part of this program,

I referred to the commercial

as the 20th century rack.

Unfortunately, our sensitive sponsor

mistakenly interpreted this as a veiled insult.

I certainly want to apologize.

Furthermore, I'm going to turn over a new leaf.

There, I feel much better.

Now, ladies and gentlemen,

before I return...

A moment ago, I apologized

for comparing the rack and the commercial.

But I neglected to mention to whom I was apologizing.

I think I shall leave it that way.

As for this charming device,

it is being returned to the athletic department

of Arcadia University.

I especially wish to thank the Arcadia basketball coach,

Stretch Mulligan, for his generosity.

Good night.

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