Critic, The (2023)

[bunniefuu]

[man] Critic,

from the Latin "criticus"

and the Greek "kritikos",

via "krites", a judge.

-Your seats, Mr Erskine.

-Tom.

-Curtain?

-10:40.

-Oh!

-Provided we go up on time.

Well, ensure it, eh?

I have a deadline!

The drama critic

is feared and reviled,

for the judgement

he must bring.

But the truth is imperative.

The critic must be cold,

and perfectly alone.

Only the great are remembered.

[ship's horn]

I must tell you,

when you go to the theatre,

in the dramas presented,

you'll find many a m*rder*r

with cold blood.

But to take notice

of the occasional k*ller

with a conscience...

I shall need two more sessions.

Can you find the time?

For immortality, who wouldn't?

[chuckles]

You vicious old b*stard.

[man 2] My father enjoyed

indulging this newspaper.

But times are harder now.

We're going to have to

economise

across all departments,

I'm afraid.

However, if we trim the fat,

we can restore The Chronicle

to its rightful place

as the most-read family

newspaper in the country.

So, let's resume our mission

with renewed vigour, hey?

No more inexplicable expenses,

no more long lunches,

no late copy.

He's dragging the paper

into the 20th century.

-How dare he?

-[they laugh]

Be warned, watch your backs.

He won't come after

the old guard.

We are the bloody paper!

He won't have pirates on board.

We must all show loyalty

to the cause.

The sole historical cause

of The Chronicle

is to compete for readers

with The Daily f*cking Mail.

Fascists.

Loyalty! I've been with this

festering organ 40 years.

Forty-three.

Hmm!

He should show loyalty to us.

He's Robespierre in a top hat.

[laughs]

Madame la Guillotine, salut!

Oh, don't, Jim.

Don't, you're plastered.

-Stephen.

-Good afternoon.

David. Viscount Brooke,

I should say.

My condolences again.

We all adored your father.

Thank you.

I remember

when mine passed away.

He was an insignificant man,

but...

his absence was profound.

[chuckles]

You know,

your father gave me the job

right here in the club.

[laughs]

Over, uh, lunch. No, dinner!

And he squeezed my young cheeks

and...

"Jimmy, I hereby anoint you

my chief drama critic."

-[chuckles]

-Hmm.

Working tonight?

Oh. The White Devil.

Best seen sober, I suspect.

Not necessarily.

[man] That is the half.

Mr Cooper, that is the half.

Thirty minutes, half an hour,

ladies and gents.

Half an hour, Mrs Reverly,

half an hour.

Half an hour.

Half an hour, Miss Land.

-f*ck off, Lennie.

-[Lennie] I'll do my best.

[woman] Excuse me.

[sighs] I'm too old for this.

From your secret admirer.

-Who is he, miss?

-Oh, it's a mystery.

I could travel to the Orkneys

and act in a stable,

and two dozen white roses would

appear on the first night.

Have them.

Unto my lord the Duke,

the best of welcome.

More lights! [mutters]

[man] I'm in the mood

for Jacobean tragedy.

Not often I say that.

[Jim] Done badly, this play

could drive a nun to arson.

[man 2] Mr Erskine? Mr Erskine?

[Lennie] Five minutes,

White Devil company!

That's the five!

You will be a sensation.

Don't expect a good notice

in The Chronicle.

At least not for my

performance.

Jimmy Erskine's never liked me.

Well, tonight,

the beast will experience

a Damascene conversion.

Ready? Have courage.

Unto my lord the Duke, the best

of welcome. More lights.

Where's Mr Erskine?

Over there.

How's his portrait

coming along?

Quite well.

His face is more interesting

than his opinions.

I love him. He's gutsy.

Viscount at one o'clock.

[Jim] Shame his lady wife

never attends.

Perhaps she's got

a prior engagement

with a keg of lithium, hmm?

[chuckles]

Your best of rest.

Unto my lord the Duke,

the best of welcome.

Attend the Duke! More lights!

-Flamineo!

-My lord.

Quite lost, Flamineo.

[sighs]

Now to the act of blood.

There's but three Furies

found in spacious hell...

[sighs]

[clears throat]

I think I prefer this play

to his other one.

-His other one?

-Well, his other famous one.

Duchess of Malta.

Malfi.

Oh, yes! [laughs]

The Duchess of Malfi.

Jew of Malta. Duchess of Malfi.

Same era, though.

Webster is Jacobean.

Marlowe, Elizabethan.

A slightly...

pedantic distinction.

It's the correct one.

Well, I'm sure we can agree

on tonight's performance,

thus far.

I... I just adore Nina Land.

Such a mercurial actress.

I'm... I'm sure you'll be

dipping that famous nib

in nectar tonight.

No need for the prussic acid.

-Excuse me.

-[chuckles]

Meadows! Come here.

Will you remove

that lunatic baggage?

I'm so sorry, Mr Erskine.

What seems to be the problem?

Oh, no, not seems.

She invaded my table.

She besieged me

with her opinions.

And stole my nuts!

I must have silence!

I must be protected

from the general public!

Yes, sir. Move her, move her.

[Jim] Run!

Oh, happy they

who never saw the court!

Nor ever knew great man

but by report.

-Oh!

-I recover like a spent taper,

for a flash.

But instantly go out.

The rack, the gallows

and the torturing wheel

shall be but sound

sleeps to me.

Here's my rest.

I limbed this night-piece,

and it was my best.

Remove the body.

See my honoured lord,

let guilty men

remember their black deeds,

do lean on crutches

made of slender reeds.

[applause]

No.

Replace with, uh, "succubus".

-Oh... cut all that sh*t.

-This sh*t?

-No, that sh*t.

-Oh.

There is no "e"

in "somnambulant".

There never has been.

God help us, never will be.

[hums]

Change "damp squib"

to... "wet blanket".

-No, no. Help?

-Uh, "sopping"?

Perfect, yes. No, "sodden".

Yes. [chuckles]

All right, get typing.

Sodden!

[boy] That was the longest

play in the world.

[woman] Longer than

life itself.

[boy] How long is life?

Endless. As long as

you eat your vegetables.

[woman] Wasn't Nina Land

the greatest?

She's magical.

You should paint her.

Hm.

I think you've got secrets.

-[man] You're very direct.

-[woman] You raised me to be.

[man] True. But I don't.

[woman]

I wouldn't mind if you did.

-What if she makes you happy?

-I love your mother.

Said unconvincingly.

[man] Your father

seemed to enjoy it.

Hmm.

Brutal play.

-Hmm.

-Extraordinary.

All that wailing and gnashing.

You are aware it was written

in the early 17th century?

I had gleaned it.

People don't wail and gnash

nowadays.

-[woman] Well, we don't.

-No, we don't.

I mean, we are representative

of everyone.

Oh, must you?

Tom, hurry up.

Oh, thank you.

"The Duke of Brachiano's...

steatopygous form"?

From the Greek.

Excessive flesh on

the buttocks.

I doubt our readers

are familiar with the word.

I doubt our readers can read.

Change it, please.

Replace with "fat-arsed".

[loud chatter]

You can't leave

the bloody party.

Sorry, exhausted.

The producers tell me

the vibrations

are extremely positive.

-It's opening night.

-We're a hit!

Even the beast gave me the nod.

Caught my eye

as he scarpered up the aisle.

Hmm. He's probably thinking

of all the vile things

he'll say about me.

Well, if you can't enjoy

the moment,

you'd best f*ck off.

Love you!

[man] A word of advice.

Brooke told me it's the best

thing he's seen all season.

But he's not the paper's

drama critic.

Not yet.

What do you know?

He's begun culling

the old lags.

And he's not so keen on you.

Nor does he like your...

proclivities.

Family paper.

Be careful.

["Midnight

With the Stars and You"]

Midnight with the stars

and you

-Midnight and a rendezvous

-[whistles]

Your eyes

held a message tender

Saying "I surrender

All my love to you"

-[bell rings]

-Raid. Get down.

[men shouting, police whistles,

dog barks]

[man] Get off me! Get off me!

[officer] Stand still,

you p*nsy! Come here!

I'll be remembering you

Whatever else I do

Midnight with the stars

and you

-[knocking at door]

-No baths after ten!

[Nina] Sorry.

Well, turn the taps off before

you wake the whole house!

[dog barking,

car horns blaring outside]

-[distant shouting]

-[baby crying]

[sighs]

Thank you.

[Jim] The vamping and shrieking

Miss Nina Land

attempts Vittoria with all

the grace of a startled mule.

There's not a single moment

of stillness or subtlety.

After three long hours,

when Miss Land finally

and blessedly expires,

her death is akin

to a deflated dirigible.

[phone rings]

[knocking at door]

[landlady] Miss Land?

Visitor.

Oh, it's a disaster.

He's so important.

-[Nina] I know.

-[sighs]

What did you think? Last night?

Well, I... I told you, I raved.

[Nina] But?

I'm your most ardent supporter,

-it's irrelevant.

-Mum.

Well, I thought you were

a touch too florid with

your hands.

You know.

And... and you pushed a bit.

Bit too hard at times.

But you looked striking.

And...

you were very audible.

I mean, every syllable

clear as a bell.

Nina, you're 30... oomph

years old,

you're a spinster,

you're living in a squalid one

little room.

I mean, life is passing you by.

-I'm perfectly content.

-Well, you're patently not.

You should talk to him.

We don't talk to critics.

It's not the done thing.

[mum] Confront him

and have it out.

You're bloody mad.

Deal with the odious man

before he insults you again.

You've got ten days before

you open Twelfth Night.

Do it now.

I wish you'd stop meddling.

I'm not meddling.

I'm mothering.

[sighs]

No, no.

What do you require from me?

I have a very important

meeting. Please make it brief.

[Nina] I want an apology.

[scoffs] For expressing

my opinion?

[Nina] For the manner

of its expression.

The rudeness, the disrespect.

One of my many solemn duties

is to entertain the reader.

[Nina] At my expense?

Well, it's not just you, is it?

I write, what,

half a million words a year.

Oh, mea culpa

if 12 of them offended you.

Over the last ten years, you've

compared me to livestock,

creatures of the sea,

and an extinct bird.

You've said my voice is

fluting, grating,

girlish and manly.

You've described me

as plump and emaciated.

Which is it, damn you?

Last season. "Her Mrs Elvsted

is glamorous but ungainly."

"She doesn't seem to know

how to walk." How to walk?!

You've been dishing it

out to me for a decade,

and now it's going to stop.

Oh, are you retiring?

I'm tight enough

to scratch your eyes out.

Oh, I wouldn't try. You stand

before the junior vice captain

of the Wigan Boxing Club.

You all right, miss?

He's a bit weird, this one.

-This is a private

conversation.

-[Nina] Weird?

Oh, be a good chap

and bugger off.

-The lady's perfectly safe.

-Oh, tell.

-[man] He likes it rough.

-[Nina] Does he now?

Apologise.

I won't, Miss Land.

I will fight to the death

for freedom of thought

and its public expression.

Erskine of The Chronicle

pays trade for rough sex.

[sighs]

Why do you like that?

[Jim] I daresay you

can imagine.

You spoke it. Last night.

"My soul, like a ship

in a black storm,

is driven I know not whither."

Humiliation. Danger.

I think you understand.

Don't take what I write

to heart.

There were other critics,

albeit lesser ones,

who think you're spectacular.

I'm not interested in them.

-I follow you.

-Me?

I'm a monster. I'm weird.

You most certainly are.

But I grew up reading you.

I wanted to act because of you.

You're mocking me.

You formed me.

Well... that's a terribly

flattering thing to say.

You write so tenderly

and passionately

about the plays

and the actors who move you.

And yet you dismiss those who

disappoint you so ruthlessly.

As if you've been betrayed.

This little England lowers

its standards every day.

In my footling way, I'm

attempting to maintain them.

I so wanted to meet

your standards.

But you think I'm appalling.

I am afraid so.

I might dissolve.

There is art in you, Miss Land.

My disappointment is in your

failure to access it.

You know where I live.

You may visit, miss,

if you wish.

[phones ringing, chatter]

Dorothy.

-Joan! Good afternoon.

-Jimmy.

Yes.

[sighs, sniffs]

La commedia e finita.

[door opens]

Jimmy.

[sighs]

Tone it down.

Uh, what exactly?

The unpleasantness.

The extravagance.

Less.

Could you be more specific,

in order that I may obey?

"Warning, hold your breath

as you pass the Duke's Theatre,

for here is untreated

theatrical sewage."

"A play of elemental passion

has been reduced to the scale

of a sodden sock."

Well, it's my responsibility

to discourage our readers

from... wasting their wages

on tripe.

Never mind all that.

We're discussing

the extremity of your style.

But that's why people read me,

you know.

I wither and I effuse.

And the proud tradition

of this paper,

established

by your dear father...

Yes, I know he was fond of you.

He was also fond of

Sir Oswald Mosley.

You can't compare me with him.

Anyone who threatens

the reputation of this

newspaper

is an undesirable.

Oh, so... it's a witch hunt.

Jim.

Don't break the law.

Don't cause a stink.

Be kinder.

More Beauty, less Beast.

Final warning.

[Nina] Stay! If I think so,

I think the same of you.

Think thou right.

I am not what I am.

I... I would you...

-Yes.

-Were as I would have...

Were as... I would you were

as I would have you be.

[man] Break now?

[woman] Lunch, everyone.

Lunch, please.

Back in an hour. Thank you.

We must all get over that

review and focus on this show.

-I know my lines.

-I know you know them.

-Why can't you say them?

-I am.

Heavily. Where's the lightness?

Where's the wit?

[chatter]

[bird squawks]

[church bell tolls]

I'm going mad without you.

Hello.

Could you tell her I miss her?

Could you tell him he's married

with two children?

Please.

Thank you.

-Nina...

-I'm in rehearsals.

I'm being dreadful

and we open in two days.

As we discussed, at length,

I won't be

your mistress anymore.

We were lovers.

You were my lover.

Go home to your family.

[jazz music]

[men shouting] More!

He wants less?

Well, I say more!

[men] More!

[Jim shouts drunkenly]

[laughs]

If I can't write freely,

I can't write at all!

-[Tom] Don't resign.

-Well, no need. [chuckles]

He'll be rid of me as soon

as he finds an excuse. Oh!

I am on the scaffold,

black cloth bag over my head,

and the frigid fart's

just fumbling for the lever.

[Tom] We should turn back.

[Jim] They don't own

the streets. Not yet.

We have the right to walk here.

Come on.

Well, I'm turning back.

-Let go.

-No.

-All right?

-Oh, yes. And you?

-I'm all right.

-I'm so glad.

Who's your friend, then?

I'll tell you about mine

if you tell me about yours.

[men chuckle]

Tell your friend to go home.

Oh, but I'm taking him home.

He lives in this environ.

You're a cheeky old q*eer,

ain't ya?

May I return the compliment

and say how splendid you look

with your badges and crests

and crisp black shirt?

Did you iron it yourself?

-Getcha! Go on!

-[laughter]

Stop it! [laughs]

I'm... I'm going to die.

[laughs]

-You could have got us k*lled.

-Oh, don't be silly.

They could have k*lled us.

Nobody gets m*rder*d

in Bloomsbury. [laughs]

You're a maniac

with a death wish.

It's true!

Stop that now.

He who lives in fear

dies of shame.

-Who said that?

-Me. Just now.

Just scribble it down

for the memoirs.

I will never let anything bad

happen to you.

-[man] Oi!

-There's police on the way.

-Oh, sod the law!

-Quiet!

Home's this way! Oh. Oh!

-[police whistles]

-[laughs]

Please get up. We have to move.

-Give me a kiss and I will.

-Oh, get up!

Kiss me, you gorgeous b*stard.

-And then you'll get up?

-Yes.

[police whistles blow,

shouting]

Here!

Filthy q*eers!

Get up, you dirty old sod.

[groans]

[officer] Round.

[officer 2]

I'll check him for lipstick.

Are you a h*m*?

No.

Have you ever engaged

in unnatural practices?

No.

Your young friend,

Thomas Turner,

claims he's your secretary.

What are his duties?

Typing, filing, research.

-And does he do shorthand?

-[laughs]

Is he a proficient secretary?

-He's first rate.

-First rate.

You seem surprised

by his competence.

Is it due to

the colour of his skin?

Is it correct that you co-habit

with your secretary?

He's my lodger.

-Do you share a bedroom?

-No.

He sleeps on the sofa.

For how long has he been

sleeping on your sofa?

Six years.

-How's his back bearing up?

-[sniggers]

Where'd you find him,

Mr Erskine?

-Was he trade?

-No.

I understand

you enjoy the theatre.

I do not enjoy the theatre.

I am the chief drama critic

of The Daily Chronicle.

[door opens]

His lawyer's here, sir.

[door closes]

Lambert. Thank you.

Police are in the mood

to charge you.

I had to tell Brooke.

I needed him to pull strings.

[groans] Oh.

-I had to, Jim.

-Yeah.

Can't have you two

going to prison.

[phones ring,

typewriters click]

Dorothy.

Terms. And one month's notice.

What did you expect?

You were found committing an

indecent act in a public place.

You resisted arrest

and assaulted a police officer.

You're in full breach

of your contract.

The terms

are significantly more generous

than those I advised

Viscount Brooke to offer.

[clock chimes]

Oh, Tom!

No first nights.

No dinners. No life.

I'm walking dead.

[Tom] Now, come on.

Enough self-pity.

You know my debts.

I live like a king

on a pauper's wage.

When the fall comes,

it'll sweep me under.

Where's your spirit?

Where's your fight?

f*ck 'em!

-[Tom] That's the spirit!

-[chuckles]

Stephen.

I'm here for my sitting.

Oh. I have got the right day?

Yes.

Perhaps you should contact

Viscount Brooke's office.

[chatter, laughter]

Are you going to eat that chop?

Oh.

How's unemployment?

Wake at noon, hunk of bread,

mug of sherry,

back to bed.

Still go to the opera?

Can't afford it.

You must have something on him.

Ethos of the club,

we don't machinate

against fellow members.

Yes, we do!

Brooke is known

as a very decent fellow.

Look how he's cared for his

bonkers bride all these years.

The man's a saint.

Don't be sloppy.

No one is a saint.

Literature teaches us that.

Romeo?

Betrays entire Montague dynasty

for his own selfish lust.

Oliver Twist?

Class traitor.

Causes death of Nancy.

You're deranged.

All men have secrets.

I'll find his.

[actor] Come, boy.

My thoughts are ripe

in mischief.

I'll sacrifice the lamb

that I do love

to spite a raven's heart

within a dove.

And I, most jocund, apt,

and willingly,

to do you rest

a thousand deaths would die.

-[bell rings]

-[woman] Fifteen minutes.

Fifteen minutes, please.

Back at 4:20.

[doorbell rings]

Nina Land.

-[Jim] What does she want?

-Sounds weepy.

Let her in.

Do a good deed for once, huh?

[Jim] Welcome!

Um, I was just passing.

Sorry if it's too late.

Oh, we receive at all hours.

This is Tom.

-Hello.

-Hello.

Oh. Thank you.

-You were an actor?

-Hm-hmm. For two years.

My zenith was Laertes.

In Dundee.

Oscar Wilde, of course.

I saw him once.

When I was young.

I made a pilgrimage to the

stage door of the Theatre Royal

and waited for hours.

And then... he appeared.

Rolling up Suffolk Street.

Quite alone.

In the clear, bright sunshine.

A king.

Were he to command me

to give him my body and soul

right there,

I would have done it.

Gratefully.

But he swept by.

I wasn't pretty enough

to engage his eye.

Henry James.

[Jim] Well, attributed.

His last words.

[Nina] "So here it as at last,

the distinguished thing."

Death.

Oh, forgive me. Come on.

Now do sit down.

Has something happened?

[sighs] I've got the fear.

Ah.

[Nina]

And we open tomorrow night.

You're the last person

in the world I should tell.

Hmm.

Or the only one that you can,

huh?

Drink?

[sighs]

Another, hmm?

You're too keen to please.

Now, when an actor

tries too hard,

it sends mustard gas

through the house.

You have to trust,

and it's very difficult

to trust, but...

the courage to give

of the self entirely

is what all great actors share.

I mean, those with the capacity

to conjure the sublime.

You have to trust

that we are present to you.

That we're sensitive

to your deepest sufferings,

your gentlest feelings,

your most intimate thoughts.

But you must trust

that we can perceive all this

without your help.

Less.

[chuckles]

It's a dagger to the soul,

but... less is the only note.

[Nina] What is your parentage?

Above my fortunes,

yet my state is well.

I'm a gentleman.

I'll be sworn thou art.

[laughter]

Thy tongue, thy face,

thy limbs, actions and spirit

do give thee five-fold

blazon... [chuckles]

-Whoo!

-[laughter]

Not too fast. Soft... soft.

[sighs]

Unless the master were the man.

How now?

Even so quickly

may one catch the plague?

Methinks I feel

this youth's perfections

with an invisible

and subtle stealth

to creep in at mine eyes.

[Tom] He's crying.

[Nina] Well... let it be.

Uh, Mr Erskine,

I've reserved a private room

for you through here.

I do hope it will suit.

Oh, thank you, Graham.

That's really very thoughtful

of you.

Um, I didn't catch your name.

-Ivan.

-Ivan.

Would you invite the Viscount

to join us in the private room?

We should throw a dinner

for you.

A celebration

for your retirement.

I would be honoured.

-Will you continue to write?

-Oh, no.

I couldn't work

for another paper, no.

Though I might start

my memoirs. Hmm.

Well... break a leg.

Enjoying the show?

Very much.

[Jim] Some fine acting

on display.

Yes, I particularly...

Sorry?

-[David] No, I, uh...

-Hmm?

I was going to say I thought,

uh, the Olivia and Viola

were both excellent.

[Jim] Oh, Miss Nina Land.

Uh, which one?

Olivia.

[David] Olivia, is she?

She has

a very particular talent.

-Do you think?

-Oh, yes. And she's beloved.

Whenever I've been

a touch harsh about her,

sacks of angry mail arrive

from her devoted supporters.

Are you a devotee?

I... I don't think

I've ever seen her before.

[Jim] Oh, but you have,

you know. Here.

In The White Devil.

Twice, I believe.

-Yes, of course.

-And I seem to recall

you attended Hedda Gabler

at the Globe last season.

"Nina Land was an indecently

fetching Mrs Elvsted."

[laughs]

Well, I... I'm quoting

your father. [laughs]

Well, that doesn't

make me a devotee.

Oh. Oh, no. [chuckles softly]

Of course not.

Final para.

[hums]

[Tom] "Miss Nina Land's

magnificent Olivia"?

Really?

I move mysteriously.

In my valedictory weeks,

why not be generous?

Huh? [chuckles]

[Jim] Attention.

To those who have heeded

my recent warning

regarding a foul stench

emanating from the Aldwych,

I am most pleasantly surprised

to report good news.

I must stand and applaud

Miss Nina Land's

magnificent Olivia.

She now offers a performance

of such astonishing, delightful

nuance and depths of feeling

that I fear...

[woman] Miss Land!

-[door closes]

-Hello?

[Jim] Good morning,

Miss Land.

Oh, hello.

Oh, and thank you

for what you said.

Did you really mean it,

or did you take pity?

Oh, I never lie.

And this is only the beginning.

Great success awaits you.

And, Nina...

Yes... Jimmy?

I have something...

a little delicate to discuss.

-One could say it's a part.

-[Nina] In a play?

No, no, no, no. A performance.

Consider a man of about 60.

Powerful, rich,

but catastrophically married.

And it transpires...

that he's secretly obsessed

with a vivacious younger woman.

Which part do I play?

[they laugh]

Who is he?

Viscount Brooke.

-Your proprietor?

-Hmm. Do you know him?

Decent chap. Handsome.

Wife, barking.

-In the aristocratic mode.

-And?

[Jim] I want you to please him.

Coyness doesn't suit you.

You want me to f*ck him.

[laughs]

That's my girl, there.

I'm afraid I must

decline the role.

I don't want

to play a prost*tute.

Oh, dearest Nina, there's

no vulgar cash involved.

I'm asking you to do me

a little service.

And in return... you will gain

my unyielding favour.

Stunning reviews.

Acclaim.

"The actress of her

generation."

And we might start

with an interview

for my Backstage Whispers

column.

And my chum Cecil

will photograph you.

Only the best for Nina.

And there'll be...

parties, gatherings,

entres, dinners, all that's

required to make you a star.

Everything you crave...

and deserve.

An immortal

of the stage and screen.

I can't do it. It's not me.

[Jim] It's a part.

It's not you.

Your cruel profession

bestows glory on its young,

and time has no pity.

It will define you,

or cast you out.

[sighs]

[Jim] I blame the writers.

Repertoire so lacking in parts

for the mature actress,

and between playing

the soubrette and the old maid

lie decades of waste.

Except for the select.

[Jim] You said you yearned

to meet my standards.

Well, here they are.

-[woman] Miss Land.

-Hello.

[Nina] Thank you.

Congratulations.

You're the hit of the season.

Oh. Thank you so much.

-[door opens]

-[woman] Miss Land.

-Welcome.

-[Nina] Hello.

-Have a seat.

-Thank you.

It's so kind of you to see me.

Not at all.

[Nina] I-I've come here

to beg a favour.

I don't suppose

you've seen my photograph

in your paper today.

My rather demanding mother

has requested a print

for her birthday next week.

[David] I see.

Perhaps I could offer you some

tickets for these plays I'm in.

Well, to be honest, I've...

I've seen both of them.

And you were... excellent.

[Nina] Oh! [chuckles softly]

I might blush.

[David] Well, we mustn't

disappoint your mother.

How can I possibly thank you?

[David] Perhaps you could

have supper with me.

I could give you

the photograph?

A very reasonable exchange.

Right. Well, if, uh,

you give Joan your details,

she can organise us.

[Nina] She has the most

spectacular flowers

on her desk.

Yes. Her... sister's a florist.

I have a secret admirer

who's been sending me

two dozen white roses

every opening night since 1928.

And he's never

made himself known?

Isn't it mysterious?

[man] Thank you.

Thank you so much.

[David] Thank you.

Shall I, um...

fetch the photograph?

You go. I'll follow.

[sighs]

-May I take your coat?

-Hmm.

For you.

Would you like a drink?

Later.

[clock ticks]

[exhales]

[door clicks]

[sighs]

[sighs]

-[click]

-Too... too bright.

Uh, I have to get home.

[David]

Well, shall I send for the car?

No, thank you.

Here.

Thank you.

Where did you put my coat?

-The coat is here.

-Oh.

[clears throat]

You've forgotten something.

Oh. [chuckles]

Look, I'm old, I'm married.

I'm very grateful.

But don't see me again

if it's not something you want.

Are you saying

you don't want to?

You know I'm besotted.

Then... see you tomorrow.

I won't do it again.

Not tonight, not ever.

You'll play as cast, as agreed.

As contracted.

You told me to please him.

I did. He's very grateful.

He doesn't need more.

Our great partnership

is in its infancy.

Brooke expects you tonight.

Don't let me down.

Or what?

Well, if you don't

do my bidding,

I'll be obliged

to withdraw my favour.

And you'd suffer its opposite.

It's not just wrong, it's evil.

I'm fighting for my life, here.

She's done enough.

Once is never enough!

You're the help.

You're my squire.

If you're not with me,

you're against me.

-Nina?

-Go away.

I can't.

You're a good egg,

more or less.

And I'm vain, selfish

and madly ambitious.

And this is news?

I'm driven in ways

I don't understand.

I need things it doesn't

occur to you to want.

I'm trouble. Stay away.

[knocking at door]

Apologies for the lateness

of the hour.

But it is a matter

of some importance.

Well, it'll have to wait.

I'm busy.

No, you're not.

-I can assure you I am.

-She is not coming.

-Who?

-Oh! Let's not, hmm?

I can confirm she arrived

downstairs, but then...

the flighty little thing

departed.

What?

[Jim]

The vulnerable young actress

you lured to this room

last night.

The poor, innocent woman

that you took advantage of.

The sweet girl you assaulted.

Or... so she will say.

In court.

-That's not true.

-True or false,

it's the same scandal.

But please, don't despair,

good Viscount.

I'm here to help.

[David] Your employment,

a reprieve

with a modest pay rise...

is acceptable?

Reinstate Hugh Morris

as opera critic? No.

He was drowning,

and you know it.

Your re-inclusion

in the portrait is impossible.

We've selected another man.

Get rid of him.

Twelve distinguished gentlemen

of the club.

Are you sure you qualify?

Most certainly.

How on earth do you live

with yourself?

Well, it's a struggle.

Now, returning

to the, uh, portrait,

I have a number of... letters,

stamped and addressed

to your wife, your daughter,

the club secretary,

the editor of The Daily Mail.

And other assorted ghouls.

Now, please... [sighs]

Don't oblige me to slip them

into the post box downstairs.

I suppose I...

I should assume...

Miss Land doesn't even like me.

Do you know,

we've never discussed it.

Shall I ask her?

Who is he?

Don't ask.

If you ever loved me,

don't ask.

[sighs]

[whispers] I miss you.

What?

I miss you.

[sighs]

[door opens]

Where were you?

I slept at the studio.

[woman] Alone?

No.

So your affair has resumed?

[Stephen] I think so.

Who is she?

I can't say.

Then pack.

[David] He'll be back.

He won't survive poverty.

He'll make a virtue of it.

He's always resented

our wealth.

Our name. Our standing.

I should never have married

a Jew.

Cora!

Spare me your disapproval.

What?

[David] I'd be most grateful

if you'd now include him.

Why?

My father would have wanted it.

He loved a character.

Though he never much cared

for mine.

I'll step down.

It'll be a clean dozen.

You can paint me out

and... stick him in.

I don't mean

to diminish your art.

Fine.

But I don't approve.

Well, I don't deserve

immortality.

All my achievements

have been due to nepotism.

Item two.

Cora.

I know my daughter can be...

tricky, she has her ways,

but the thing of it is...

it's really not her fault.

David. I can't go back.

May I know who she is?

If she's going to be stepmother

to my grandchildren,

I'd like to know something

about her.

But, uh, don't feel obliged.

I... I really shouldn't pry.

-Always the gent.

-[chuckles]

It's a curse.

-She's an actress.

-Oh?

We met last year. She happened

to come to my opening.

Actually, you saw her in those

productions at the Duke's.

Who?

[Stephen] Nina Land.

[chuckles softly]

She was... very fine.

[Stephen]

I have to admit, I am...

Well, I'm head over heels.

David?

I really shouldn't say this,

but, uh...

I wish you good fortune.

[door closes]

-For you.

-You open it.

It's personal, miss.

We're intimates.

You see me at my worst

every day.

"Dear Miss Land,

late last night,

I received a visit

from your co-conspirator."

[David] "I daresay you can

imagine my disappointment."

"My personal feelings aside,

"I'm writing to tell you

that I fear no good will come

from your association

with this man."

"I urge you to end it."

[birdsong]

Tom!

I've been used.

We all get used, darling.

Use him back.

You've done his bidding,

now get what you want from him.

The whole thing's disgusting.

I'm disgusting,

he's disgusting,

and you're disgusting

for letting him do it.

Sleep on it.

[sighs]

[birdsong]

[g*nsh*t]

[clock ticks]

[sniffing]

[phone rings]

-[phone rings]

-[snoring]

[phone clicks]

[snoring continues]

[Tom] Jim?

[Stephen] Nina Land.

She was... very fine.

My father-in-law

committed suicide.

I know. I'm so sorry.

You knew?

I mean, I...

I didn't know he...

I... I just knew he was dead.

When did you find out?

This afternoon.

His secretary sent a message

to stage door.

And why would Joan do that?

Why would she inform you

of his death?

[church bell tolls]

Did you... [exhales]

Were you in love with him?

I didn't know him.

Then why?

I'm too ashamed.

Let me explain.

There's no need.

Why be so predictable?

Why be so cheap?

[door slams]

[breathes shakily]

[chatter]

You and I are cursed.

Drawn to weak men.

Let him have the children.

You can have more

with a man who's worthy of you.

Dear Jimmy.

We met in this room.

Oh, and what an occasion,

that was.

You're absolutely full of sh*t.

You are absolutely right.

[laughs]

Rattle the old memory box.

It was my tenth birthday.

[sighs] Of course.

You should know

I intend to oversee the paper.

Excellent.

The new Chronicle will be

a platform for common sense

and measured debate.

A source tells me that a few

weeks after you were fired,

my late father reinstated you

with a new contract

on improved terms.

I will honour your contract.

But no more fisticuffs

with the law.

And if you must practise

your perversion...

behind closed doors.

I gratefully accept...

your generous terms.

[car engine roars]

[Jim hums]

Must you hum?

The man k*lled himself.

Don't you read the newspapers?

It was a sh**ting accident.

You drove him to it.

He pulled the f*cking trigger!

Have you no shame?

I merely fought for my job,

as all working men must do

in these dark days.

I'm handing in my notice.

-Four weeks and I'm off.

-Oh, for God's sake.

You've got the second-best job

in London.

-What?!

-Well, in theatrical London.

You write for a...

a right-wing rag!

With readers. Our loathsome

paper has millions of readers.

We are forming the aesthetic

taste of generations.

Fascists may come and go,

but theatre is eternal.

It matters more than politics.

[sighs]

Or the society.

It's life itself!

[yells]

[laughs]

-Whoa!

-[Jim] Oh, Christ.

-[banging]

-Hey!

[Jim] Darling,

what a lovely surprise.

I wanna talk to you, Jim.

-Splendid.

-Here's good!

No, no, no. Up here.

Come on. Step. Here.

-[Nina] Oh.

-[Jim] Oops. Yes.

Step here. There you go.

Yes, yes. It's a bit slippery

here. Yes. Good.

[giggles]

Excuse me,

is Nina Land still inside?

She was indisposed tonight,

sir. The understudy went on.

Yes, that's right.

You help yourself.

[sighs]

You do know we k*lled him?

No, we didn't.

Do you even care that

he's dead?

Of course I do.

It's terribly sad.

It really is.

And our indirect involvement

in the matter

is all terribly secret.

He was quite a nice chap.

Sweet, in a way.

He was so excited,

it was all over in a minute.

[Jim]

Have you come here to grieve?

You see, I have been

at the funeral.

And I've done a considerable

amount of grieving already.

-[Nina] Was Stephen there?

-Hmm?

His son-in-law.

Stephen Wyley?

But... do you know him?

I know him very well.

He found out

about me and Brooke.

You tell him?

No. Why would I?

Cos you're The Beast.

Stop that.

-Don't!

-[clattering]

[Jim] I'm going to run you

a cold bath.

And you're going to remove your

makeup, as... professionals do,

and then you're going to lie in

that bath until you sober up.

And then we will have

a constructive conversation

about your wonderful

new career.

It won't be long.

[Nina, softly]

I'm going to the police.

[shouts]

I'm going to the police!

What? You what?

I'm gonna tell them everything

about the case.

Might help with the case.

There is no case.

The man's in the ground.

But it's important.

People need to know the truth.

I'll go to the papers!

That's better.

Stop. Think.

It's over.

He's dead.

-The distinguished thing.

-Precisely.

And what will it say

when we meet it?

How will it judge us?

There's no judgement day.

Here is life.

No God, no justice.

Just... two people and a room.

We did what we did.

And now we have

to live with it.

-[water splashes]

-[Nina] It's f*cking freezing!

[Jim] It'll do you good.

[Nina] Do you share your baths

with Tom?

-Not for years.

-[Nina laughs]

[Nina] Where is he?

He'll be back soon.

[groans]

[Nina] You've got

a little boat. [chuckles]

And you're welcome

to play with it.

[sighs]

[Nina] Can I add some

hot water, please?

-You're not sober yet.

-[Nina] Oh, come on!

-[Jim] Fine.

-[Nina] Mmm!

[Nina] Did you really

love my Olivia,

or did you just rave

to enlist me?

I thought you were magnificent.

-I always will.

-[Nina] Really?

Oh, yes. [groans]

Maybe I should tell

Stephen's wife

about her father and me.

And you.

And why would you do that?

[Nina]

Because you've driven me mad!

-You've broken my heart.

-[groans]

[Nina] Yes, I'm going to

confess everything to Cora.

How'd you like that, Jimmy?

[Jim sighs]

[keys rattle]

[door closes]

Jimmy?

[Jim] We're here.

[Tom]

I should call for the police.

[Jim] Oh, no, wait.

Um, think.

-No one knows she's here.

-No. No.

I owe you my life.

But I won't.

Oh. You think

you won't be implicated?

Think the law

won't assume foul play?

A couple of q*eers

with a corpse?

Well, I don't matter, but you?

Oh, no, no.

Think about your future.

Just one final task,

and then I promise...

I will set you free.

[grunts]

[distant sound

of splashing water]

[footsteps approach]

[dog barks]

Are you here to visit Nina?

I'm a friend. Stephen Wyley.

I'm, um... Annabel Land,

her mother.

Well, hello.

Hello. Good to meet you.

The dragon says

that she's not here,

so I've been waiting all night.

[baby cries]

Are you a close friend?

She... hasn't mentioned me?

Well, we... we've had

a sort of a... falling-out.

But, uh...

I'm completely mad about her.

I've come to beg

her forgiveness.

[dog barks]

She was found on a beach

last night in Kent.

The police said her alcohol

levels were really high.

Yeah, she...

She took her own life.

She'd attempted it before

when she was 16.

[Cora] This drowned actress...

Is her passing a great loss

to the British theatre?

An ordinary girl

from ordinary stock.

A girl like our readers who,

I don't know, lost her way.

Write it up, then.

An appreciation.

[typewriter clicks]

[stops typing]

[resumes typing]

[bell tolls]

["Midnight With the Stars

and You"]

[laughter]

[Jim] The death

of any promising young actress

is always a shock.

Regarding Miss Nina Land's

recent passing,

it's tantamount to tragedy.

I raved about her,

and all too briefly,

she tasted glory.

Who knows what demons drove

poor Nina to her lonely grave?

Perhaps the same demons with

which she summoned greatness

in her final performances

on the London stage.

Midnight

with the stars and you

Midnight and a rendezvous

[typing]

Your eyes

held a message tender

Saying, "I surrender

All my love to you"

Midnight brought us

sweet romance

I know

-[knocking at door]

-All my whole life through

[music stops abruptly]

I'm sorry

if my letter upset you.

Why have you stayed silent

so long?

I was his accomplice.

In telling you,

I risk imprisonment.

And yet, here you are.

I have a conscience.

You seem surprised.

A man with a conscience

would have stopped Mr Erskine

a long time ago.

He was my friend.

I greatly admired him

and he was kind to me.

So...

The letters he used

to blackmail your father.

I assume

you'll be wanting compensation.

[distant voices echo]

No.

Justice.

[heavy knocking at door]

[heavy knocking at door]

[door shuts]

[phone rings]

[door slams]

[Jim]

Tom, did you follow the trial?

Did you see

how I protected you?

"No, Your Honour,

I acted alone."

I do regret the unpleasantness

with Miss Land.

But, you see,

she couldn't be trusted.

I had no choice.

In fact, I rather liked her.

Despite her crimes

against the theatre,

she was sensationally gorgeous

when drunk.

As for Mr Wyley

and his oily little brush,

glad to be out of

his awful painting.

Immortality in their company?

No, thanks!

To the matter.

I've left you my entire estate.

It's not much. Furnishings,

minor works of art, books.

And I've appointed you

my literary executive.

Notoriety

might inspire publication

of my uncollected essays.

You'll find them in the file

you labelled

"miscellaneous sh*t".

I encourage you to continue

your education in the theatre.

I believe you have

a talent for the trade.

I once thought you were

too kind to plunge the dagger.

Events have revealed

you're made of stronger stuff

than I knew.

Tom, you know where I am.

Do visit.

Please.

I won't be here forever.