Live from the National Theatre: 50 Years on Stage

This programme contains strong language.

So we have got two hours to show the vast range of work that the National

has done over the last 50 years by staging short scenes from some of

the most memorable shows and there are more than 800 choose from. We

have got an unbelievable array of great actors, all of them at some

point members of the National Theatre company. And six of them

were in the first National Theatre company that started at The Old Vic

in 1963. A small part of the show is from the archive recently discovered

and we do not think ever seen before. But most of it is going to

be absolutely live, live on stage and live on television and we're not

sure anybody has ever done anything quite like this before.

Olivier Theatre 50 Years On Stage company. Ladies and gentlemen, this

is your beginners call, your calls please, Miss Maxwell-Martin, Mr

Barker, Mr Jacobi, Mr Lester and Mr Townsend. Thank you.

We are starting this evening the same way the National Theatre

started in 1963, with the opening scene of Hamlet where the sentries

on the battlements see the ghost of Hamlet's father. Playing the ghost

this evening will be Sir Derek Jacobi, who played Laertes in the

original production 50 years ago. The first voice you will hear is

live archive recording of Richard Hampton. Richard spoke the first

lines in the performance ever given by the National Theatre. The rest of

the scene will be played by members of this year's company. I am one of

them. Who is there? Nay, answer me. Stand

and unfold yourself. Long live the King! Barnardo? He. You come most

carefully upon your hour. 'Tis now struck twelve. Get thee to bed,

Francisco. For this relief much thanks. 'Tis bitter cold, And I am

sick at heart. Have you had quiet guard? Not a mouse stirring. Well,

good night. If you do meet Horatio and Marcellus, The rivals of my

watch, bid them make haste. I think I hear them. Stand, ho! Who is

there? Friends to this ground. And liegemen to the Dane. Give you good

night. O, farewell honest soldier, who hath reliev'd you? Say, what, is

Horatio there? A piece of him. Welcome, Horatio. Welcome, good

Marcellus. Tush, tush, 'twill not appear. So let us once again assail

your ears, That are so fortified against our story, What we have two

nights seen... Peace, break thee off. Look where it comes again. In

the same figure like the King that's dead. Thou art a scholar. Speak to

it, Horatio. Looks he not like the King? Mark it, Horatio. Most like.

It harrows me with fear and wonder. It would be spoke to. Question it,

Horatio. What art thou that usurp'st this time of night, Together with

that fair and warlike form In which the majesty of buried Denmark did

sometimes march. By heaven, I charge thee speak. It is offended. See, it

stalks away. Stay, speak, speak, I charge thee speak.

It was announced that he was to be the director of the National

Theatre. He was very excited by it. He was also very frightened. Larry

kind of works, he has an area around him which is quite difficult to

penetrate. It got easier. It got easier and more relaxed.

Now look here, gentlemen, he that bids the fairest shall have me! My

dear, I'd prefer you, I'd make you a corporal this minute! Corporal? I'll

make you my companion. You shall eat with me! You shall drink with me!

You shall lie with me, you young rogue. You shall receive your pay

and do no duty. Then you must make me a field officer! I'll do more

than all this - I'll make you a Corporal and give you brevet for

sergeant. Can you read and write, sir? Yes. Then your business is

done. I'll make you chaplain to the regiment.

It was an actors' theatre in that it was run by the greatest actor we

had. Joan was very important because she was Mrs Olivier, and she sort of

kept us all in check really. Now tell me Mikhail Lvovich, if I

had a friend, or a younger sister, and if you found out that she, well

- suppose she loved you, how would you take that? I don't know. No how

I expect. I should give her to understand that I could not care for

her, my mind was taken up with other things. Anyway if I'm going, I

really must get off. Goodbye, my dear girl or we shall not finish

till morning. I'll go out through this way if you don't mind, I don't

want your uncle to detain me. No, no don't trouble please.

My voices were right, they told me you were fools and that I was not to

listen to your fine words...or trust to your charity. You promised me my

life but you lied. You think that life is nothing but not being stone

dead. It is not the bread and water I fear. I can live on bread, when I

have asked for more? 'Tis no hardship to drink water if the water

be clean. Bread hath no sorrow for me, nor water no affliction. But to

shut me from the light of the sky, and the sight of the fields and

flowers, to chain my feet so that I can never again ride with the

soldiers or climb the hills; to make me breathe foul damp darkness, and

keep me from everything that brings me back to the love of God when your

wickedness and foolishness tempt me to hate Him. All this is worse than

the furnace in the Bible that was heated seven times. I could do

without my warhorse, I could drag about in a skirt. I could let the

banners and the trumpets and the knights and the soldiers pass me and

leave me behind as they leave the other women, if only I could still

hear the wind in the trees, the larks in the sunshine, the young

lambs crying through the healthy frost, and the blessed blessed

church bells that send my angel voices floating to me on the wind.

But without these things I cannot live, and by your wanting to take

them away from me, or from any human creature, I know that your counsel

is of the devil, and that mine is of God.

In 1966 Kenneth Tynan, who was the literary manager of the National

Theatre came back from the Edinburgh Fringe Festival with a dazzling new

play which focused on two very peripheral characters from Hamlet.

It was Tom Stoppard's first play at the National, Rosencrantz And

Guildenstern Are Dead, in which Hamlet's two doomed school friends

ponder The Mysteries of eternity, chance and death.

Heads.Heads (and again). Heads. Heads.

Yes, one must think of the future. It's the normal thing. To have one.

One is, after all, having it all the time. Now. And now. And now. It

could go on for ever. Well, not for ever, I suppose. Do you ever think

of yourself as actually dead, lying in a box with a lid on it? No. Nor

do I, really. It's silly to be depressed by it. I mean one thinks

of it like being alive in a box, one keeps forgetting to take into

account the fact that one is dead, which should make a

difference,shouldn't it? I mean, you'd never know you were in a box,

would you? It would be just like being asleep in a box. Not that I'd

like to sleep in a box, mind you, not without any air. You'd wake up

dead, for a start and then where would you be? Apart from inside a

box. That's the bit I don't like, frankly. That's why I don't think of

it. Because you'd be helpless, wouldn't you? Stuffed in a box like

that, I mean you'd be in there for ever. Even taking into account the

fact you're dead, really - ask yourself, if I asked you straight

off - I'm going to stuff you in this box now, would you rather be alive

or dead? Naturally, you'd prefer to be alive. Life in a box is better

than no life at all. I expect. You'd have a chance at least. You could

lie there thinking - well, at least I'm not dead! In a minute someone's

going to bang on the lid and tell me to come out. "Hey you, whatsyername!

Come out of there"! You don't have to flog it to death! I wouldn't

think about it, if I were you. You'd only get depressed. Eternity is a

terrible thought. I mean, where's it going to end?

I don't think you're being very kind. Oh, what makes you think that?

You being the cynical author laughing up his sleeve at a gushing

admirer. I think you're a very interesting woman, and extremely

nice-looking. Oh, do you? Yes. Would you like me to make love to you? Oh,

now really, David - I wish you wouldn't say things like that. I

know I've knocked you off your plate - I'll look away for a minute while

you. Climb on to it again. Oh, really this is wonderful! That's

right. Now then... Now then, what? You're adorable - you're magnificent

- you're tawny. I'm not in the least tawny. Now, don't argue. This is

sheer affectation. Now affectation's very nice. No, it isn't - it's

odious. Oh, you mustn't be cross. I'm not in the least cross. Yes, you

are - but you're very alluring. Alluring? Terribly. How sweet of

you. I can hear your brain clicking - it's really very funny. Yes well

that was rather rude. You've been consistently rude to me for hours.

Never mind. Why have you? I'm always rude to people I like. Do you like

me? Enormously. Oh, how sweet of you! But I don't like your methods.

Methods? What methods? You're far too pleasant to occupy yourself with

the commonplace. And you spoil yourself by trying to be too clever.

Oh you're so inscrutable and quizzical, just exactly what a

feminine psychologist should be. Yes, aren't I? You frighten me

dreadfully. Oh darling! Oh, don't call me darling. Well that's

unreasonable. You've been trying to make me the whole evening. Your

conceit is outrageous! It's not conceit at all! You've been firmly

buttering me up because you want a nice little intrigue. Oh how dare

you! It's perfectly true. If it weren't you wouldn't be so cross. I

think you are insufferable! Oh Myra - dear Myra... Ah! Don't touch me!

Oh, come along let's have that nice little intrigue. The only reason

I've been so annoying is that I love to see things as they are first, and

then pretend they're what they're not. Yes words, words. Masses and

masses of words! Yes, well, they're great fun to play with. Oh, I'm glad

you think so. Personally, they bore me stiff. They're great fun to play

with. I'm glad you think so. Personally, they bore me stiff. Myra

- don't be statuesque. Yes, let go of my hand! Oh! Oh, I am so sorry.

APPLAUSE AND CHEERING Wedlock, we own ordained by heaven's

decree, But such as heaven ordained it first to be: Concurring tempers

in the man and wife. As mutual helps to draw the load of life. View all

the works of Providence above. The stars with harmony and concord move.

View all the works of Providence below. The fire, the water, earth,

and air we know. All in one plant agree to make it grow. Must man, the

chiefest work of art divine, be doomed in endless discord to repine?

No, we should injure heaven by that surmise. Omnipotence is just, were

man but wise. APPLAUSE

Peter Nichols' The National Health was the first in a long of

illustrious line of what came to be known as State of the Nation plays

at the National Theatre. A funny but merciless parody of a sentimental TV

hospital soap is intercut with a very realistic portrayal of a

shabby, underfunded hospital and a hospital staff that seems intent on

doing anything but serving their patients properly. In the second bed

from the right is Charles Kay, who played the same role 44 years ago.

Good morning, how are you today? GROANS. Keep smiling. You'll soon by

out of here. Good morning, how are you today? Morning, Matron, not so

dusty, thank you. That's the style. When you consider half my tummy's

been? Keep it up. Taken away. GROANS. Good morning. How are you

getting along? Eh? Are they treating you well? Not too bad. That's right.

Though I'd like to go to a toilet... Sister. You know - toilet with a

decent chain. Get this patient a bedpan. Bedpan for Mr Flagg. Good

morning how are you today? Lovely, Matron. That's what we like to hear,

isn't it, Sister? Get well soon. We need the beds.

LAUGHTER You could have waited. What's he

brought me this for? You said you wanted to go to the toilet. I said I

would like a toilet with a decent chain like I have at home. Mr Flagg

don't said he was looking forward to a toilet with a decent chain. The

Matron says do this, it's a Royal command. I don't want the bedpan.

Come along, Mr Flagg. I have been on duty for 29 hours.

LAUGHTER Where's Her Majesty? On the balcony.

Who do you feel? Nurse, this patient should have the screens round.

They're all being used. Get them in. Coming! Shall I take you off, Mr

Flagg. I never wanted to come on here. Now I am on, you better leave

me. Oh. Doctor. Doctor! We will aspirate a pleural effusion. Thank

you, nurse. He should be on the terminal ward. Ask Strr to arrange

it. I will be with the almoner if you want me. Other way if you want

to go out. Mr Mackie to the terminal ward. Go for a nice long ride now,

Mr Mackie. Chuff-chuff-chuff. Those chairs are anyhow. Put them straight

Those chairs are anyhow. Put them straight. The whole ward block is in

for a face-lift which I am sure you will agree is long overdue. The

walls will be in washable avocado pear, curtains and counterpanes in

Cotswold stone. High level louvres on the windows. King's Fund beds

with slimline mattresses. Into the jet-age with one big jump.

APPLAUSE No Man's Land by Harold Pinter. I

remember seeing it with Gielgud and Richardson at the Vic. Then it moved

to the South Bank. I can't remember knowing what it was about. But it

didn't really matter. You are not supposed to really know. It's Harold

Pinter, you just watch it. And when they pause, is it intended? Just

long pauses, weren't there? Long pauses. I've done many plays by

Harold. If you asked Harold what his plays were about he wouldn't reply.

He wouldn't say, I don't know or wouldn't say anything. Just wouldn't

speak to you. So you just get on with it and do it. That's all. I

don't quite know what Spooner and Hirst represent. I mean, they seem

to... Um... Be sort of kaleidoscopic. They can be many,

many things at any time you want them to be. One is very rich and one

is very poor. And one is a kind of parasitic hanger-on type person. The

other is a man who is sitting there drunk. I wish I was playing that

part! He never stops talking, your man, does he? Unfortunately, not! I

am enraptured. Tell me more. Tell me more about the quaint little

perversions of your life and times. Tell me more, with all the authority

and brilliance you can muster, about the socio-political-economic

structure of the environment in which you attained to the age of

reason. Tell me more. There is no more. Tell me then about your wife.

What wife? How beautiful she was, how tender and how true. Tell me

with what speed she swung in the air, with what velocity she came off

the wicket. Whether she was responsive to finger spin, whether

you could bowl a shooter with her, or an off break with a legbreak

action. In other words, did she google?

You will not say. I will tell you then, that my wife had everything.

Eyes, a mouth, hair, teeth, buttocks, breasts, absolutely

everything. And legs. Which carried her away. Carried who away? Yours or

mine? Is she here now, your wife? Cowering in a locked room, perhaps?

Was she ever here? Was she ever there, in your cottage? It is my

duty to tell you you have failed to convince. I am an honest and

intelligent man. You pay me less than my due. Are you, equally, being

fair to the lady? I begin to wonder whether truly accurate and therefore

essentially poetic definition means anything to you at all. I begin to

wonder whether you do in fact truly remember her, whether you truly did

love her, truly caressed her, truly did cradle her, truly did husband

her, falsely dreamed or did truly adore her. I have seriously

questioned these propositions and find them threadbare. Her eyes, I

take it, were hazel? Hazel shit. Good lord, good lord, do

I detect a touch of the maudlin? Hazel shit. I ask myself: Have I

ever seen hazel shit? Or hazel eyes, for that matter? Do I detect a touch

of the hostile? Do I detect, with respect, a touch of too many glasses

of ale followed by the great malt which wounds? Which wounds? Tonight,

my friend, you find me in the last lap of a race I had long forgotten

to run. A metaphor. LAUGHTER

Things are looking up. APPLAUSE AND CHEERING

The next playwright is Alan Ackybourn, one of the most prolific

playwright for the National Theatre. I can remember many, among them

Sisterly Feelings which I was in, Way Upstream, A Chorus of

Disapproval, Small Family Business and Bedroom Farce. He started it on

a Wednesday and finished on a Friday. He typed it up on the

Saturday. He went into rehearsal on the Monday. Peter asked me to write

a play specifically, I said, are you sure you want me to write for The

National? He did a Peter-ism, he lent forward as we were having

dinner and he said, Alan, ask yourself, can I do without The

National Theatre? The answer is yes, but I'll ask you another question.

Can The National Theatre do without you? Bedroom Farce takes place in

three suburban bedrooms over 24 hours and I think probably that's

all you need to know. A damp patch. Definitely. It's

getting in from somewhere. I've just been standing on the spare bed in

there feeling the ceiling. The verdict is, very very damp. Grub up.

Just a minute. It'll get cold. I've just got to take this off. You can

do that afterwards. I'm not getting into bed with my make-up on,

darling. It may look beautiful in the films but they don't have to

worry about the laundry bills. Oh well. Spot of bad news, anyway. Bad

news? Sardines were not in evidence. I had to settle for pilchards.

Pilchards? Oh. Don't you like pilchards? Well, not as much.

Similar. Both fish, anyway. Yes. You had them in stock. I assumed you

liked them. I don't necessarily like everything I buy. Those were just

stores. For an emergency. Ah, the old siege stores, eh? I bought a

little of everything. I think there's even some tinned red cabbage

and I certainly don't intend to eat that. Oh well, I'll wolf the lot

then, shall I? No, no, leave me a little. Right. Aaah. Didn't put the

blanket on, did we? Nor did we. Ah. Down you go.

Ah, this is nice. What better way to end the day? Listening to the rain

gushing through our roof. It's not raining surely? Metaphorical. These

aren't bad at all. You know, I think I could become a pilchard man. I

think we're in imminent need of a hot water bottle here, you know. Oh

yes. Bearing in mind the normal running temperature of your feet.

Not my fault. Most women have cold feet. It's circulation. I wouldn't

know about that. I haven't sampled that many. The girls at school did.

Well, not the younger ones. Younger girls have very hot feet. Like

little boys. But when we got to the sixth form, we all found we had cold

feet. I think it's something to do with - maturing. Very curious. Chaps

I shared a hut with in the army all had overwhelmingly hot feet. I can

imagine. Yes, I pronounce these pilchards a success. Jolly good.

Right, here I come. Stand by for cold feet.

Darling, you're getting fish on the sheet. Oh, sorry. Now we're going to

reek of fish all night. I don't think this was a terribly bright

idea of someone's. Oh well. You only live once. What

the hell. Well, it's on your side. You have to put up with it. Oh yes,

they're quite pleasant, aren't they? Not up to sardines but not bad. They

got my vote. At least we're in for a reasonably early night. Yes. Sunday

tomorrow, we can lie in. Go for a walk later on if you like. That'd be

nice. If unwet. Rather. Otherwise we'll both be crouching in the

rafters with buckets. God forbid. That night I heard Mozart's music

for the first time. Some serenade for wind instruments, only vaguely

at first, too horrified to attend. But presently the sounds insisted, a

solemn Adagio in E flat. It started simply enough... Just a pulse in the

lowest register, bassoon and basset horn, like a rusty squeeze-box. It

would have been comic except for the slowness which gave it instead, a

sort of serenity. And then suddenly, high above it, sounded a single note

on the oboe. It hung there unwavering, piercing me through,

'till breath could hold it no longer, and a clarinet withdrew it

out of me, and softened it, and sweetened it to a phrase of such

delight it had me trembling. The lights flickered in the room. My

eyes clouded! The squeeze-box groaned louder, and over it the

higher instruments wailed and warbled, throwing lines of sound

around me, long lines of pain around and through me, ah, the pain! Pain

as I had never known it. I called up to my sharp old God, "What is this?

What?!" But the squeeze-box went on and on, and the pain cut deeper into

my shaking head and suddenly I was running, downstairs through the

side-door, out into the street, out into the dark night, gasping for

life "What?! What is this Signore! What is this pain? What is the need

in the sound? Forever unfulfillable yet fulfilling him who hears it,

utterly. Is it Your need? Can it be Yours?" Dimly the music sounded from

the salon above. Dimly the stars shone on the empty street. I was

suddenly frightened. It seemed to me that I had heard a voice of God, and

that it issued from a creature whose voice I had also heard, and it was

the voice of an obscene child. APPLAUSE Would any of you gentlemen

like to testify? Detroit. We'll hear testimony from? Brother

Nicely-Nicely Johnson. Brother Nicely-Nicely Johnson. Get up you

fat water buffalo. Well it er, happened to me kinda funny, like in

a dream. Tell us in your own words. I dreamed last night I got on the

boat to Heaven,.And by some chance I had brought my dice along. And there

I stood, and I hollered, "Someone fade me". But the passengers they

knew right from wrong. For the people all said, Sit down, sit down

you're rockin' the boat. People all said, Sit down, sit down you're

rockin' the boat. And the devil will drag you under By the sharp lapel of

your checkered coat; Sit down, sit down, sit down, sit down. Sit down

you're rocking the boat. I sailed. Away on that little boat to Heaven.

And by some chance found a bottle in my fist,.And there I stood, Nicely

passin' out the whiskey, But the passengers were bound to resist For

the people all said, "Beware!" People all said, "beware, beware!

You're on a heavenly trip". People all said, "beware"! Beware you'll

scuttle the ship; And the devil will drag you under By the fancy tie

'round your wicked throat; Sit down. Sit down, sit down, sit down, Sit

down you're rockin' the boat. And as? I laughed at those passengers to

Heaven. Ah, ah, ah, ah! A great big wave came and washed me

overboard,.And as I sank, and I hollered, "Someone save me," That's

the moment I woke up, thank the Lord! Thank the Lord, thank the

Lord! And I said to myself, "Sit down". "Sit down you're rocking the

boat." Said to myself, "Sit down". And the devil will drag you under.

With a soul so heavy you'd never float. Sit down, sit down, sit down,

sit down, Sit down you're rockin' the boat. Sit down you're rockin'.

Sit down sit down sit down you're rockin' the boat. Sit down.

And I said to myself, "Sit down". "Sit down you're rocking the boat."

And the devil will drag you under. Sit down, sit down, sit down, sit

down, Sit down you're rockin' the boat. Sit down you're rockin'. Sit

down. You're rockin'. The boat! I never saw Pravda at the National

Theatre but I remember it was Anthony Hopkins at the centre of

this new play. Everybody was talking about this extraordinary

performance. I suppose if I had seen it I would not be comfortable about

putting myself in the firing line for this! The play is about a

newspaper magnate from South Africa who comes to England and starts to

take over various important British newspapers. It is supposedly based

on a famous newspaper magnate, we can all guess who. He runs, takes

over like a beast takes over the rather genteel and slightly

ineffectual British press. You are born into a tragic culture.

Tragedy is bred in your bones. A country of almost impossible beauty.

From the very moment you are born, the sadness infects you. Like a mist

hanging over the veldt. Jackal, giraffe, hyena, lion - the well-nigh

unimaginable richness of creation is presented to you every day from the

window of your speeding car in scenes of almost post-card-like

glamour. Nature is there. In front of you. Childhood, boyhood, manhood.

These are special things in South Africa. The hardening of muscle, the

sprouting of hair. The coming realisation you are born into a

divided culture. No one has tried harder than I through my

organisations to untie the knots of the cultural contradictions. Black,

white, rich, poor, us, them, but people who come from Europe bearing

si police -- simplistic solutions ignore the scale of what we have

inherited from Mother Nature herself.

What I do is a natural thing. There is nothing unnatural about making

money. When you are born where I was born you do have a feeling for

nature. What I admire about nature is animals, birds, plants, they f

ucking get on with it and don't stand about complaining all the

time. We are greatly interested in your mother's share holdings in the

Victory. The Daily Victory? Acquiring it. I know what you will

tell me. The Daily Victory is one small part of your country you all

say will never be for sale. An Everest of probity, unscaleable. An

institution like Buckingham Palace, the Tower of London and your two

Houses of Parliament and as dismal and dreary a read as it is possible

for humanity to contrive It's true, it isn't very good. Your mother owns

21% of the shares. I don't understand, if you want to acquire

stock talk to her. It's often hard to speak clearly with Dame Elsa.

She's often inaccessible. Her mind is often inaccessible. Her mind is

often drifting between one thing and another. Incoherent. Senile. I

gather from what you are saying you have already offered for her shares?

Dame Elsa seems not to realise the potential of her shareholdings. God,

is there nowhere to sit down? Dame Elsa's stock and we own 53% of the

shares. Control. Can you just buy a piece of England? You are South

African. We have the England cricket Captain. There are trustees with a

veto, do you suppose they will let you in What if they did and you are

the man that helped me. You are a Member of Parliament. Some backbench

lobbying. The right word here and there. You've not much to lose. If

we are to succeed a friendly victory will assist your career. I see. As a

politician. Not even a politician, no longer a politician. With The

Daily Victory behind you, a statesman. Get him a seat. The press

and politicians, it's a delicate relationship.

LAUGHTER Too close and danger ensues and too

far apart, democracy itself cannot function. There must be an essential

exchange of information. Creative leaks, a discreet lunch. Interchange

in the lobby, the art of the unattributable telephone call late

at night, a source close to the Prime Minister, meaning the Prime

Minister. Yes. This mutual relationship is a good thing, and if

it can be made concrete, formalised by an actual commercial arrangement,

if I, for instance, were to offer you my private skill and influence,

and in return you were to guarantee me access to your newspapers, if the

channels of free expression were to be... Channelled in my direction, if

Man Of Steel were to be a regular feature, a column, written by

myself, by me, then democracy would be safeguarded. And we would have a

very satisfactory deal. What the lock is happening? What is

going on here? Christ, I never met such a load of locking shit. It's

shit! It's locking rubbish! What do you do? Home affairs, Sir. Where are

you? How much have we spent? 150,000 How much does that leave in the

fund? 350,000. You're fired. Who wrote this article on Central

American politics? Who is it? Is it anybody here. Put your hand up. Sack

yourself, please. Spare me the embarrassment no gringo should have

to read this kind of stuff. Where are you going? I am going to the

lavatory. Use the public toilet. You're fired. Where are you? Have I

fired you? No, Sir. Then get over there. Get over that side. All the

ones I haven't fired are over that side. Don't confuse me. Where is

marketing? They are the worst. Who is this communistic propaganda? All

the advertising people must go. Don't even let them take a pencil

with them. Search them. I am deputy editor. I have been holding the

fort. I trust you find everything to your satisfaction. What is your

name? Cliveden Whicker-Baskett. In South Africa there are no men called

Whicker-Baskett. The name is totally unknown. Who is this? That's Mack

Wellington, the drama critic. Whipper Wellington, he has just been

to a lunchtime theatre. What sort of criteria do you use in your reviews?

Is it more important the play flatters your personal prejudices or

do you make a genuine attempt at objectivity? Oh, God! Did I sack

you? No Doesn't make any difference I am sacking you now. Everyone,

let's get the news on the street. APPLAUSE

I feel very stubborn. I am going to sit it out until that bloody

building is alive. I do enjoy a good fight, if I believe it's worth

fighting and I am sure I am an adrenalin addict. I like that.

APPLAUSE I dream'd there was an Emperor

Antony: O, such another sleep, that I might see but such another man! If

it might please ye,- His face was as the heavens; and therein stuck a sun

and moon, which kept their course, and lighted the little O, the earth.

Most sovereign creature... His legs bestrid the ocean: his rear'd arm

crested the world: his voice was propertied as all the tuned spheres,

and that to friends; But when he meant to quail and shake the orb, he

was as rattling thunder. For his bounty, there was no winter in't; an

autumn 'twas that grew the more by reaping: his delights were

dolphin-like; they show'd his back above the element they lived in: in

his livery walk'd crowns and crownets; realms and islands were As

plates dropp'd from his pocket. Cleopatra! Think you there was, or

might be, such a man as this I dream'd of? Gentle madam, no. You

lie, up to the hearing of the gods. But if there be, nor ever were one

such, It's past the size of dreaming.

APPLAUSE The luckiest thing that happened to

me when I was running The National Theatre, that I received a play from

an American friend and it was a play that had never been performed in

America and I started to read it. After I got to page three I realised

I had to put this play on. It was a play about living with Aids, about

American politics, about religion. It was about sex, love, and death.

Which, after all, is the stuff of all good drama. It was called Angels

In America. Poor Louis. I'm sorry your grandma

is dead. Tiny little coffin, huh? Sorry I didn't introduce you to - I

always get so closety at these family things. Butch. You get butch.

"Hi Cousin. Doris, you don't remember me I'm Lou, Rachel's boy."

Lou, not Louis, because if you say Louis they'll hear the sibillant S.

I don't have a... I don't blame you, hiding. Bloodlines. Jewish curses

are the worst. I personally would dissolve if anyone ever looked me in

the eye and said "Feh." Fortunately WASPS don't say "Feh." Oh and by the

way, darling, cousin Doris is a dyke. No. Really? You don't notice

anything. If I hadn't spent the last four years fellating you I'd swear

you were straight. You're in a pissy mood. Cat still missing? Not a

furball in sight. It's your fault. It is? I warned you, Louis. Names

are important. Call an animal Little Sheba and you can't expect it to

stick around. Besides, it's a dog's name. I wanted a dog in the first

place, not a cat. He sprayed my books. He was a female cat. Cats are

stupid, high-strung predators. Babylonians sealed them up in

bricks. Dogs have brains. Cats have intuition. A sharp dog is as smart

as a really dull two-year-old child. Cats know when something's wrong.

Only if you stop feeding them. They know. That's why Sheba left. Because

she knew. Knew what? I did my best Shirley Booth this morning, floppy

slippers, housecoat. Curlers, can of Little Friskies; Come back, Little

Sheba, come back - to no avail. Le chat, elle ne reviendra jamais,

jamais... See. That's just a burst blood

vessel. Not according to the best medical authorities. What? Tell me.

KS, baby. Lesion number one. The wine-dark kiss of the angel of

death. Oh please... I'm a lesionnaire. The Foreign Lesion. The

American Lesion. Lesionnaire's disease. Stop. My troubles are

lesion. Will you stop. Don't you think I'm handling this well? I'm

going to die. Bullshit. Let go of my arm. No. I can't find a way to spare

you baby. No wall like the wall of hard scientific fact. K.S. Wham.

Bang your head on that. Lock you. Lock you, lock you, lock you. Now

that's what I like to hear. A mature reaction. Let's go see if the cat's

come home. Louis? When did you find this? I couldn't tell you. Why? I

was scared, Lou. Of what? That you'll leave me. Oh.

Bad timing, funeral and all, but I figured as long as we're on the

subject of death... I have to go bury my grandma. Lou? Then you'll

come home? Then I'll come home. I do the wrong, and first begin to

brawl. The secret mischiefs that I set abroach I lay unto the grievous

charge of others. Clarence, whom I have indeed cast in darkness, I do

beweep to many simple gulls. Namely, to Stanley, Hastings, Buckingham.

And tell them this the queen and her allies that stir the king against

the Duke my brother. Now, they believe it; and withal whet me To be

revenged on Rivers, Dorset, Grey: But then I sigh; and, with a piece

of scripture, tell them God bids us do good for evil: And thus I clothe

my naked villany in old odd ends stolen forth of holy writ; And seem

a saint, when most I play the devil. My first job at the National was

selling ice creams and caring tickets as a 19-year-old usher. But

I was in the audience when David Hare wrote his great trilogy in

which he examines Britain through the prism of three of its great

institutions: The church, the law and Westminster. Absence Of War

examines the Labour Party as its volatile leader fights are doomed

campaign. Now, let's change the subject

entirely, Mr Jones. The policies themselves. And how they change.

Let's look at mortgage tax relief. Ah yes. Yes, of course. There is no

mention in your manifesto of any plan to abolish this concession. No.

No we have none. And yet my understanding is, until very

recently you were determined to abolish it. Abolish it? No, that is

absolutely not true. You see I've been told, on very good authority,

plans to abolish it were there. They were in the draft manifesto. Then at

the last minute they were removed. I don't think so. On November 14th, on

your instructions, a whole paragraph was specifically removed. No, I

don't think you'll find that is so. You mean you're denying it? You're

denying this proposition was removed? On mortgage tax relief, it

was never my intention-.you ask me, I tell you, I want to be clear?. The

truth now, Mr Jones-. This proposal was never to appear in the final

manifesto. Ah good yes, now, now we're making some headway, so now

you admit it was there for a time. Well? So who took it out? That is my

question. Did you or did you not take it out? I did not. Really?

Really? That's not what I've been told. Are you calling me a liar? I'm

calling you nothing. That is for the public to decide. Thank you, Mr

Jones. Walk me away, just walk me away from

him - All right, George. What the hell's going on? How did he know?

Somebody told him. You tell me, who told him? Who bloody told him? Wait,

wait a moment. Whoever told him is going to have to face me. George, Mr

Frank would like to say goodnight to you. George, no, George, you're not

making this worse. George, oh George, I don't believe it. It's

already started, the phones are ringing out there. How could you? He

rattled me! How could you do that? I know. You've handed them their

issue. LABOUR'S SECRET PLAN TO RAISE TAX. You've handed them their

headlines. I know that. Are you calling me a liar? They're all going

to use it. Every one! They're going to go for you. He sets the trap and

you walk right in. Oliver. Now everyone hold on, let's stop for a

moment. I gave you the cards, it was on the cards I bloody gave you, be

careful, it said, watch for it, watch for mortgage tax relief. All

right. But oh no! You're too vain to do your bloody homework. Oliver. Of

course you're standing round wasting time with these bloody girls. You,

you're listening to goo-eyed bloody Mary, all these women surrounding

you telling you how marvellous you are. Do you not get it? Will you

never get it? Giggling with girls who are in love with you. That isn't

the job. That's not the bloody job, you idiot. Come on, George, come on,

get off him! Get off him! Come on, gentlemen, let's calm this thing

down. Feel my belly. It humbles, sir. I

had a pair at supper. Two pairs, sir. I will try a Fat.

It is hopeless. Lady Townsend came to see me this evening. She wanted

to know if she could sit during the drawing room. Sit, what for? She is

about to give birth. It is only for two hours. If everybody who is

having a baby wants to sit, then it will be everybody with gout and

before long the place will look like a Turkish harem.

Arcadia is widely regarded as Tom Stoppard's masterpiece. It explores

things like maths, physics, literary criticism, the nature of truth, the

impossibility of knowledge, horticulture, the cosmos, the

behavioural patterns of tortoises. We probably cannot get that into

three minutes but here Hannah, a best selling novelist, a

mathematician and Bernard, literary critic, determined to find traces of

Lord Byron wherever he looks, crossed swords over the nature of

truth. Last paragraph, if we seek the

occasion of Ezra Chater's early and recorded death, do we need to look

far? Without question, Lord Byron in the early season as a literary

figure, quit the country and stayed abroad for two years at a time when

continental travel was unusual and dangerous. If we seek his reason, do

we need to look far? Bollocks. I think it is true. Byron had been

banging on about leaving. He was talking back living in February.

Geller macro everything moved more slowly than. He was two weeks in

Falmouth waiting for wind. Bernard, as a scientist, your theory is

incomplete. I am not a scientist. But as a scientist. Nobody would

kill a man and then pan his book. I mean, not in that order. It is all

trivial. What is? Who wrote what went. Did you say trivial? It is

eight technical term. Not where I come from. The questions you ask are

not important. It does not matter. What matters is the calculus,

scientific progress, knowledge. Really? Why? Why what is? Why does

scientific progress matter more than personality? Remap is he serious?

No, it is trivial. You're going to zap me with penicillin. Spare me

that. Do not confuse progress with respectability. A great poet is

always timely. A great philosopher is an urgent need. There is no rush

for Isaac Newton. We were perfectly happy with Aristotle's cosmos and

personally, I preferred it. 55 years linked to God's crankshaft is a

satisfying universe. I cannot think of anything more trivial than the

speed of light. Black holes, who gives a shit? Why did these people

con us out of money will stop are you against penicillin? I would push

the lot of you over a cliff, except the one in the wheelchair will start

that would lose the sympathy vote before you had a chance to think it

through. This unwieldy sceptre from my hand.

With mine own tears are awash away my balm. With mine own hands, I give

away my crown. With mine own tongue, deny my secret.

The reason why the seven stars are in reason. Monster ingratitude. If

you were not my uncle I would have the beaten.

Isn't it rich? Are we a pair?

Me here at last on the ground, You in mid-air.

Send in the clowns. Isn't it bliss?

Don't you approve? One who keeps tearing around.

One who can't move. Where are the clowns? Send in the

clowns. Just when I'd stopped opening doors.

Finally knowing the one that I wanted was yours. Making my entrance

again with my usual flair. Sure of my lines, no one is there.

Don't you love farce? My fault I fear.

I thought that you'd want what I want.

Sorry, my dear. But where are the clowns?

There ought to be clowns. Don't bother, they're here.

Desiree, I'm sorry. I should never have come. To flirt with rescue when

one has no intention of being saved. Do try to forgive me.

Isn't it rich? Isn't it queer?

Losing my timing this late in my career.

And where are the clowns? There ought to be clowns.

Well, maybe next year. The medieval Mystery Plays were

written over 500 years ago and they were created by ordinary men and

women and the plays basically tell the story of the creation, the fall

and the redemption of man. Thou must be slayed... The poet Tony Harrison

adapted The Mysteries. Bill Bryden's original production took all of the

seats out of the Cottesloe Theatre and his actors playing Yorkshire

working people were able to mix with the audience and it was a profoundly

religious experience, whether you were a believer or not.

Lully lullay thou little tiny child Bye, bye lully lullay. Lully lullay

thou little tiny child Bye, bye lully lullay.

Hail, comely and clean! Hail, young child! Hail, maker, as I mean, of

maiden so mild! Thou has confounded, I ween, the Warlock so wild: The

false bringer of teen, now goes he beguiled. Lo, merry he is! Lo, he

laughs, my sweeting! Ah! A very fair meeting! I have held to my telling:

Have a bob of cherries. Hail, sovereign saviour, for thou hast us

sought! Hail, nurseling and flower, that all thing has wrought! Hail,

full of favour, that make all out of nought! Hail! I kneel and I cower. A

bird have I brought To my bairn. Hail, little tiny mop! Of our creed

thou art crop: I would drink of thy cup, Little day-starne. Hail, little

darling dear, full of Godhead! I pray thee be near when that I have

need. Hail, sweet in thy cheer! My heart will bleed To see thee sit

here in so poor a weed, With no pennies. Hail! Put forth thy dall. I

bring thee but a ball: Have and play thee withall, And go to the tennis.

The father of heaven, God omnipotent, That set all in days

seven, his son has he sent. My name could he namen, and on me his light

spent! I conceived him full even by God's might as he meant; And now is

he born. May he keep you from woe! I shall pray him so. Tell forth as ye

go, And mind on this morn. I hope without dread today To see

that child and his array. But, methinks, lords, by my fay The star

it standeth still. Whom seek ye, sirs, by ways so wild, With talking,

travelling to and fro? Here dwells a woman with her child And her

husband; here are no mo. We seek a bairn that all shall shield; His

certain sign has said us so; And his mother, a maiden mild, Here hope we

now to find them two. Come near, good sirs, and see. Your way to an

end is brought. Me beseemeth by this place That little treasure his

mother has. Therefore to help her in this case Gold present shall I. And

I will offer through God's grace Incense that noble savour has. Stink

of the stable it shall make pass Where they both lie. And myrrh is

best my offering to be To anoint him, as thinks me, The baby's

members, head and knee, Yea, all his bright body.

Shepherds arise be not afraid, With hasty steps prepare.

To David's city, sing on earth. With our blessed infant there.

With our blessed infant there. With our blessed infant there.

Sing, sing all earth. Sing, sing all earth Eternal praises sing. To our

redeemer. To our redeemer. And our heavenly king.

Sing, sing all earth. Sing, sing all earth. Eternal praises sing. To our

redeemer. To our redeemer, And our heavenly

king. APPLAUSE AND CHEERING

I have of late - but wherefore I know not - lost all my mirth,

forgone all custom of exercises. And indeed it goes so heavily with my

disposition that this goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile

promontory. This most excellent canopy, the air. Look you, this

brave o'erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden

fire, why, it appears no other thing to me than a foul and pestilent

congregation of vapours. What a piece of work is a man! How noble in

reason! How infinite in faculty! In form and moving how express and

admirable! In action, how like an angel! In apprehension, how like a

god! And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust? Man delights

not me. APPLAUSE AND CHEERING

The Allied troops were closing in; there was nothing more we could do.

Elisabeth and the children had taken refuge in a village in Bavaria, so I

went to see them before I was captured. Out of Wurttemberg, down

through the Swabian Jura and the first foothills of the Alps. Across

my ruined homeland. Was this what I'd chosen for it? This endless

rubble? This perpetual smoke in the sky? These hungry faces? Was this my

doing? And all the desperate people on the roads. The most desperate of

all were the SS. Bands of fanatics with nothing left to lose, roaming

around shooting deserters out of hand, hanging them from roadside

trees. The second night, and suddenly there

it is - the terrible familiar black tunic emerging from the twilight in

front of me. On his lips as I stop - the one terrible familiar word.

"Deserter," he says. He sounds as exhausted as I am. I give him the

travel order I've written for myself. But there's hardly enough

light in the sky to read by, and he's too weary to bother. He begins

to open his holster instead. He's going to shoot me because it's

simply less labour. And suddenly I'm thinking very

quickly and clearly. What comes into my mind this time is the pack of

American cigarettes I've got in my pocket. And already it's in my hand

- I'm holding it out to him. The most desperate solution to a problem

yet. I wait while he stands there looking at it, trying to make it

out. Trying to think. His left hand holding my useless piece of paper,

his right on the fastening of the holster. There are two simple words

in large print on the pack: Lucky Strike. He closes the holster, and

takes the cigarettes instead. It had worked, it had worked! Like all the

other solutions to all the other problems. For 20 cigarettes he let

me live. And on I went. Three days and three nights. Past the weeping

children, the lost and hungry children, drafted to fight, then

abandoned by their commanders. Past the starving slave-labourers walking

home to France, to Poland, to Estonia. Through Gammertingen and

Biberach and Memmingen. Mindelheim, Kaufbeuren, and Schingau. Across my

beloved homeland. My ruined and dishonoured and beloved homeland.

APPLAUSE AND CHEERING A kind of artificial barrier had

grown up that musical theatre is something where you kind of check in

your brain at the cloakroom, and I do not think that is the case. I

have never thought that is the case. I have never seen that there should

be any particular division. I think the National Theatre is very well

served by doing the whole spectrum. The rain in Spain stays mainly in

the plain. I can't. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. Oh, for God's sake,

Higgins. It must be three o'clock in the morning. Do be reasonable. I am

always reasonable. Eliza, if I can go on with a blistering headache,

you can. I've got a headache, an'all. Here. Eliza, I know you're

tired. I know your head aches. I know your nerves are as raw as meat

in a butcher's window. But think what you're trying to accomplish.

Think what you're dealing with. The majesty and grandeur of the English

language. It's the greatest possession we have. The noblest

sentiments that ever flowed in the hearts of men are contained in its

extraordinary, imaginative, and musical mixtures of sounds. That's

what you've set yourself to conquer, Eliza. And conquer it you will. Now,

try it again. The rain in Spain stays mainly in

the plain. What was that? The rain in Spain stays mainly in the plain.

Again. The rain in Spain stays mainly in the plain. I think she's

got it! I think she's got it! # The rain in Spain stays mainly in the

plain. By George, she's got it! By George, she's got it! Now once

again, where does it rain? On the plain! On the plain! And where's the

soggy plain? In Spain! In Spain! The rain in Spain stays mainly in the

plain! # The rain in Spain stays mainly in

the plain! In Hertford, Hereford, and Hampshire? Hurricanes hardly

happen. How kind of you to let me come!

Now once again, where does it rain? On the plain! On the plain! And

where's that blasted plain? In Spain! In Spain! The rain in Spain

stays mainly in the plain! # The rain in Spain stays mainly in

the plain! You were a wonderful lover. Such a

wonderful person to go to bed with, and I think mostly because you were

really indifferent to it, isn't that right?

Never had any anxiety about it. Did it naturally, easily, slowly, with

absolute confidence and perfect calm, more like opening a door for a

lady or seating her at a table than giving expression to any longing for

her. Your indifference made you wonderful at lovemaking, strange,

but true. You know, if I thought you would never, never, never make love

to me again, I would go downstairs to the kitchen and pick out the

longest and sharpest knife I could find and stick it straight into my

heart. I swear that I would. But one thing I don't have is the charm of

the defeated, my hat is still in the ring, and I am determined to win!

What is the victory of a Cat On A Hot Tin Roof? I wish I knew. Just

staying on it, I guess, as long as she can.

Christine. Yes. Must be near daybreak, isn't it? Yes. It is

beginning to get grey. What made you jump when I spoke? Is my voice so

strange to you? I thought you were asleep. I haven't been able to

sleep. I've been lying here thinking. What makes you so uneasy?

I haven't been able to sleep either. You crept out of bed so quietly. I

didn't want to wake you. Couldn't you bear it - lying close to me? I

didn't want to disturb you by tossing. We'd better light the light

and talk a while. I don't want to talk! I prefer the dark. I want to

see you. You like the dark where you can't see your old man of a husband,

is that it? I wish you wouldn't talk like that, Ezra. If you are going to

say stupid things, I'll go in my own room. Wait! Don't go. I don't want

to be alone. You have always been bitter. Before we married? I don't

remember. You don't want to remember you ever loved me! I don't want to

talk of the past! I feel strange, Christine. You mean...your heart?

You don't think you're going to be taken ill, do you? No! Is that what

you're waiting for? Is that why you were so willing to give yourself

tonight? Were you hoping? Ezra! Stop talking like that! Wait! I'm sorry I

said that. It isn't my heart. It's something uneasy troubling my mind -

as if something in me was listening, watching, waiting for something to

happen. Waiting for what to happen? I don't know. This house is not my

house. This is not my room nor my bed. They are empty - waiting for

someone to move in! And you are not my wife! You are waiting for

something. What would I be waiting for? For death - to set you free!

Leave me alone! Stop nagging at me with your crazy suspicions! Not your

wife! You acted as if I were your wife - your property - not so long

ago! Your body? What are bodies to me? I've seen too many rotting in

the sun to make grass greener! Ashes to ashes, dirt to dirt! Is that your

notion of love? Do you think I married a body? Look out, Ezra! I

won't stand - And I had hoped my homecoming would mark a new

beginning - new love between us! By God, I'm an old fool! Did you think

you could make me weak - make me forget all the years? Oh no, Ezra!

It's too late! You want the truth? You've guessed it! You've used me,

you've given me children, but I've never once been yours! I never could

be! And whose fault is it? I loved you when I married you! I wanted to

give myself! But you made me so I couldn't give! You filled me with

disgust! You say that to me! You wanted the truth and you're going to

hear it now! Be quiet, Christine! I've lied about everything! I lied

about Adam! It was I he came to see! I made him come! You dared! You!

Yes, I dared! And all my trips to New York weren't to visit Father but

to be with Adam! He's gentle and tender, he's everything you're never

been. He's what I've longed for all these years with you - a lover! I

love him! So now you know the truth! You - you whore. I'll kill you! Ah!

Quick, medicine! Where is your medicine? On the stand! Hurry! Wait.

I have it now. Here. Now drink. This street is what the media have

dubbed murder mile due to the high number of shootings. It is the world

I have decided to set my playing, Elmina's Kitchen. Ash, do you read?

They make all the good books into films. You are reading self-help

manuals. Reading is for whites? I try to open my mind to different

things, what is wrong with that? What you are saying is there is

nothing wrong with education? Happy birthday, old man. Thank you. Why

did I find all your college books in the rubbish? Why are your books in

the bin, Ashley? I put them there. Don't be rude. I do not have time

for college. What do you have time for? Garage raise? You wanted to --

you wanted me to take days off to help with locking food. Yellow macro

don't swear at me. You want to keep serving plantain burgers, good luck

to you. You would like me to punch your lights out so you could walk

the streets and say, I told you my dad were in no punk. Why would I say

that? I could take you the hell out. You are joking, you cannot touch

me. How do you think you are going to live good? Man lives how he can.

Put your hand on me now! Put your hand on the! Get off! You know I

read one of those white books the other day. The true -- truth is man

is a product of his environment. I am trying to change shit around

here. It is a dark place which goes nowhere.

This is my Jerry Springer moment. Jerry Springer. Jerry Springer. I

don't want this moment to die.So dip me in Choclate and Throw me to the

Lesbians. I don't want this moment to die. Die, die, die die, die, die.

Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to the show. Jerry,

Jerry! Go Jerry go! Jerry Jerry! Jerry Jerry! Go Jerry go!

Jerry Jerry! Jerry Jerry!

Please give a special welcome to my guests tonight. They've come a long

way to be with us, so please show some respect. Bring on the losers.

Bring 'em on, bring 'em on. Bring on the losers. Tonight all my guests

have guilty secrets. So, Dwight, what's your story? I been seein'

someone else. I been seein' Someone else. I been seein' Seein' someone.

I been seein' Your best friend. What the lock? What the lock? What the

locking locking lock? Peaches, you seem surprised. Lock. Okay, so next

up is Chucky. It says here your wife wants to be a

pole dancer. What ya got to say to that? All

women are whores. Whores or sluts or prostitutes. He don't know shit. He

just a piece of... Shut it. Shut it. Slut! Whatever. Well, let's see her

dance. We got a pole, we got some music. So Shawntel, let's see your

moves. Dance dance dance dance. I don't give a lock no more. If people

think I am a whore. I just wanna dance. Oh, I just wanna dance.

Things are going bad for me. I am feeling sad for me. So I just wanna

dance. Oh, I just wanna dance. I'm tired of laughing and I'm tired

of crying. I'm tired of failing and I'm tired of all this trying. I

wanna do some living cause I've done enough dying.

I just wanna dance. I just wanna locking dance.

Tired of laughing. She's tired of crying. She's tired of failing and

she's tired of all this trying. She wants to do some living 'cos she's

done enough dying. She just wants to dance. She just wants to locking

dance. Dance. Dance, dance, dance. Seeing someone else All women are

whores! Dance! Dance! Take care of yourselves and each other. Dance!

APPLAUSE AND CHEERING Baghdad tonight, the 19th evening of

air strikes. Very shortly after the invasion of Iraq in 2003 I asked

David Hare to come up with a response and Stuff Happens was the

play he wrote. Freedom's untidy and free people are free to make

mistakes and commit crimes and do bad things. Stuff happens. It was

based on public records and eyewitness accounts and only moved

into areas of speculation when the conversations that it was

reconstructing were necessarily secret. It included nothing that was

known to be untrue, it blamed nobody, and it mocked nobody. And it

left the audience to make up its own mind, which it doubtless did.

My concern is this, Tony. At this moment, just at this very moment, I

am finding the subject of Iraq seems to be moving up the agenda. That's

clear. It's moving up all the time. Since 9/11 I am getting a strong

feeling this is something we can't leave alone. Saddam has to be dealt

with. My view is we're moving into a second phase. We did Afghanistan.

Now we move on. The second phase. How do you feel about that, Tony?

How do you feel about a second phase? I agree with the idea. Good,

good. There's no question of leaving him alone. He's been left alone for

far too long. This is a guy who gassed his own people. Quite. Quite.

You and I want the same things. I am sure we do. The only discussion is

going to be about method. Back at home, you probably know, you

probably heard, you've been taking soundings of your own? Yes. I am

going through one of those periods. You haven't had one yet when

political problems come together. Can you give me an example? Well,

for example, it sounds silly, but fox-hunting.

LAUGHTER Also something called Railtrack. Is

that a company... You really don't want to know. My point is this, I am

in rough water. There is an accumulation, foreign and domestic,

first term is easy, George. 146 MPs have already signed what we call an

early day motion. It's a kind of warning. And 130 of them are in my

own party. They're expressing their opposition to British support for a

US-led war on Iraq. The phrase they're using is deep unease. Deep

unease. Now, you and I know we're way ahead of ourselves. Way ahead.

Any war, any conceivable war is a long way off. It isn't going to

happen tomorrow. Not tomorrow, no. It's an option. That's what it is,

an option. To I have to give you my judgment. Please, I welcome your

judgment. In the event of considering armed action against

Iraq, the British Parliament and I would say still more the British

people won't go along without UN support. From the British point of

view this has to be approached in a certain way. On Afghanistan you had

a coalition, there were tensions, definite tensions, but we agreed on

the aim. So it is here. Say more. I have an Attorney skaf General who is

advising me that any invasion of Iraq without UN support is going to

be in breach of international law. Is that what he says? That's it.

That's what he says. In fact, he says more than that. Do I know this

guy? You don't. Tell me what he says. What he says is this - even

with UN support, any invasion may still be illegal unless we can

demonstrate that the threat to British national security from Iraq

is what he calls real and imminent. I see. I see. That's putting the bar

quite high. Yes, it's high. APPLAUSE AND CHEERING

Ou voudriez-vous travailler cet apres-midi? Dans un garage. Non,

non. Pas encore. Ayez pitie de nous. Dakin. Ou voudriez-vous travailler

aujourd'hui? Je voudrais travailler?dans une maison de passe.

Oo-la-la. Qu'est ce que c'est? Qu'est ce qu'une maison de passe? A

brothel. He would like to work in a brothel. Tres bien. Mais une maison

de passe ou tous les clients utilisent le subjonctif ou le

conditionnel, oui? Voila. Deja un client! Qui est la femme de chambre?

Moi. Je suis la femme de chambre. Comment appelez vous? Je m'appelle

Simone. Simone, le monsieur ne peut pas attendre. Bonjour, monsieur.

Bonjour, cherie. Entrez, s'il vous plait. Voila votre lit et voici

votre prostituee. Oh. Ici on appelle un chat un chat. Merci, madame.

Madmoiselle. Je veux m'etendre sur le lit. Je voudrais...I would like

to stretch out on the bed in the conditional or the subjunctive.

Continuez mes enfants. Mais les chaussures, monsieur, pas sur le

lit. Excusez-moi, Madmoiselle. Et votre pantalons, s'il vous plait.

Oh! Quelles belles jambes! Watch it. Et maintenant...Claudine Oui, la

prostituee, s'il vous plait. Monsieur, je pensais que vous

voudriez des preliminaires? Quels preliminaires? Claudine. Quel

preliminaires sont sur le menu? A quel prix? Dix francs. Dix francs?

Pour dix francs je peux vous montrer ma prodigieuse poitrine. Et

maintenant, pourrais-je caresser la poitrine? ca vous couterait quinze

francs. Pour vingt francs vous pouvez poser votre bouche sur ma

poitrine en agitant? En agitant quoi? Un autre client.

Ah, cher Monsieur le Directeur, Mr Hector what on earth is happening?

L'Anglais, c'est interdit. Ici on ne parle que Francais, en accordant une

importance particuliere au subjonctif. Oh, ah. Et qu'est ce-que

se passe ici? Pourquoi cet garcon?.. Dakin, isn't it?...est sans ses?.

Trousers? Quelqu'un? Ne soit pas timide. Dites a cher Monsieur le

Directeur ce que nous faisons. Dakin? Je suis un homme qui? Vous

n'etes pas un homme. Vous etes un soldat?un soldat blesse, vous

comprenez, cher Monsieur le Directeur?soldat blesse? Wounded

soldier, of course, yes. Ici c'est un hopital en Belgique. Beligique?

Pourquoi Belgique? ? Ypres, sir. Ypres. Pendant la Guerre Mondiale

Numero Un. C'est ca. Dakin est un soldat blesse, un mutile de guerre

et les autres sont des medecins, infirmieres et tout le personnel

d'un grand etablissement medical et therapeutique. Continuez, mes

enfants. Il est commotionne, peut etre?

Comment? Commotionne. Shell-shocked. C'est possible. Commotionne. Oui,

c'est le mot juste. Permettez-moi d'introduire M. Irwin, notre nouveau

professeur. Enough of this silliness. Not silliness, no?but?Mr

Hector you are aware that these pupils are Oxbridge candidates. Are

they? Nobody has told me. Mr Irwin will be coaching them but it's a

question of time. I have found him three lessons a week and I was

wondering? No, Headmaster. Purely on a temporary basis. It will be the

last time, I promise. Last time was the last time also. I am thinking of

the boys. I, too. Non. Absolument non. Non. Non. Non. C'est hors de

question. Et puis, si vous voulez m'excuser, je dois continuer le

lecon. A tout a l'heures. Lock. And I'll wager a hat full of guineas

against all of the songs you can sing; that some day you'll love and

the next day you'll lose and winter will turn into spring And the snow

falls the wind calls. And the year turns round again. And

like Barleycorn who rose from the grave, a new year will rise up

again. But there will come a time of great

plenty. A time of good harvest and sun. Till then put your trust in

tomorrow, my friend for yesterday's over and done. Ploughed, sown,

reaped and mown. And the year turns round again. Get

off. You silly donkey. And like Barleycorn who rose from

the grave a new year will rise up again.

Which one? Which hand? Which hand is it? There! Good boy. Good boy.

Hello? What's that? What's that, then? Do that again! Whey up, boy!

And whey up, boy! Yes! Yes! And whey up, boy!

Phoebe arise. A gleam in her eyes. And the year turns round again.

And like Barleycorn who rose from the grave, a new year will rise up

again. Good boy, Joe. I am going to find out who killed

Wellington. Someone killed her dog? With a fork. Jesus Christ! A garden

fork. Ah. I like maths and also I like outer space and I like being on

my own. I can create...people. You make

sport with my life! In the cause of science! This is your universe,

Frankenstein! You need to love! Oh! Oh?! You need

to understand what it is to love! You carry on about the future and

the great bright world, but you are scared to love. You are horrified by

people in all their failings and this, this purity that you seek is a

fear of life! What? What is she saying? You are not higher than

love, you are not higher than love! You are retarded! That's not a beard

it's fungus! Is there hair down there? Or is it all shrunken like a

mossy statue of some baby man? Is there anything male about you? This

is horrible! Is there a man down there at all? How old are you and

not to have had a lover? This is horrible! I can't...I will leave!

You're a virgin at your age?! Oh sweet Susie you'll see what

you've done, you played in Maddy's arms sweet game and now you've won.

I've got two jobs, how did that happen? You got to concentrate ain't

ya, with two jobs. I can do it, long as I don't get confused. But I get

confused easily. I don't get confused that easily. Yes I do. I'm

my own worst enemy. Stop being negative. I'm not being negative.

I'm being realistic. I'll screw it up. I always do. Who screws it up?

You, you're the role model for village idiots everywhere. Me?!

You're nothing without me. You're the cock up! Don't call me a cock

up, you cock up! You slapped me!? Yeah, I did. And I'm glad I did.

That hurt. Good. You started it. Get off! Come here! Get off! Come

here! Get off! Get off! No, you wouldn't dare! Wouldn't I? !

London Road is about a real community in Ipswich that came

together and healed itself after a series of murders. It was created

from a series of interviews that I did with real people from that

community, and Adam Cork set some of those interviews to music by

following the real speech patterns of those people. I've got nearly 17

hanging baskets, in this back garden.

I've got nearly 17 hanging baskets, in this back garden.

And it was a bit of a crazy experiment.

I've got nearly 17 hanging baskets in this back garden. Believe it or

not. Begonias and petunias and inpatients and things. Marigolds,

petunias. We've got busy Lizzie 's and geraniums. There's all sorts in

that basket anyway. Petunias in a basket. Hanging basket. And some

fuchsia. There is a special name. I just called them lilies. They are a

lily type, there is a special name, and for the first time this year

I've got a couple of... Baskets. Begonias and petunias and inpatients

and things. The going ears and petunias... We've got busy Lizzie

's. Hanging baskets, variegated ivy in

there which makes a nice show. And then you've got these... Sky-blue

whatever they are. That's a little... Purple one. Rhubarb. The

old-fashioned Margarets. The daisies. The roses have done pretty

well this year. She gave us an extra point for having basil on the

windowsill, didn't she? Hanging baskets. Variegated ivy in their

makes a nice show. The old-fashioned Margarets, the daisies. I've got

nearly 17 hanging baskets. Begonias and petunias and things.

Begonias. And petunias. And things. Inpatients and things.

O monstrous! Monstrous! Nay, this was but his dream. But this denoted

a foregone conclusion. 'Tis a shrewd suspicion, though it be but a dream.

And this may help to thicken other proofs that do demonstrate thinly.

I'll tear her all to pieces. Nay, but be wise: yet we see nothing

done; She may be honest yet. Tell me but this, have you not

sometimes seen a handkerchief spotted with strawberries in your

wife's hand? I gave her such a one; 'twas my first gift. I know not

that; but such a handkerchief - I am sure it was your wife's - did I

today see Cassio wipe his beard with. If it be that... If it be

that, or any that was hers, it speaks against her with the other

proofs. O, that the slave had 40,000 lives! One is too poor, too weak for

my revenge. Now do I see 'tis true. Look here, Iago; all my fond love

thus do I blow to heaven. 'Tis gone. Arise, black vengeance, from thy

hollow cell! Yield up, O love, thy crown and hearted throne to

tyrannous hate! Swell, bosom, with thy fraught, For 'tis of aspics'

tongues! Yet be content. O, blood, blood, blood! Patience, I say; your

mind perhaps may change. Never, Iago: Like to the Pontic sea, whose

icy current and compulsive course ne'er feels retiring ebb, but keeps

due on to the Propontic and the Hellespont. Even so my bloody

thoughts, with violent pace, shall ne'er look back, ne'er ebb to humble

love, till that a capable and wide revenge swallow them up. Now, by

yond marble heaven, in the due reverence of a sacred vow I here

engage my words. Do not rise yet. Witness, you ever-burning lights

above, you elements that clip us round about, witness that here Iago

doth give up the execution of his wit, hands, heart, to wrong'd

Othello's service! Let him command. And to obey shall be in me remorse,

what bloody business ever. I greet thy love, not with vain thanks, but

with acceptance bounteous. And will upon the instant put thee to't:

Within these three days let me hear thee say That Cassio's not alive. My

friend is dead; 'tis done at your request: But let her live. Damn her,

lewd minx! O, damn her! Come, go with me apart; I will withdraw, to

furnish me with some swift means of death for the fair devil. Now art

thou my lieutenant. I am your own forever.

Actors. I never get used to them. They are frightened. But then

everybody is frightened. To act is to be frightened. When I used to do

it I was always frightened. Throw up before every performance. White --

you were an actor? What happened? Nothing, that is the trouble. Actors

are like soldiers. The soldiers fear the enemy, the actors fear the

audience. Fear of failing. Fear of forgetting. Fear of art. Olivier

ended up terrified. If you sat on the front row you could see him

trembling. And besides all that, there is the fear of this building.

I worked once or twice with Ronald Eyre, Ron, not Richard. A difficult

man but like all the best directors and ex-schoolmaster. He was here not

long after it opened. The opening was, of course, disastrous. Ron said

they should have moved out straightaway, gone back to the old

Vic and rented the place out. Made the Olivier into a skating rink. The

Cottesloe billiard hall and the Lyttelton, boxing. Then after 20 odd

years of ordinary unpretentious entertainment, when it is shabby and

rundown and being purged of culture, and all the pretension had

long since been beaten out of it, then with no fanfare at all, they

should sneak back with the occasional play. And nobody need be

frightened any more. Except, of course, the actors. He was wrong

though, Ron. Because what's has knocked the corners of the place,

taken the shine off it, made it dingy and unintimidating our plays.

Plays plump, plays paltry, plays preposterous, plays purgatorial.

Plays radiant, plays rotten, but plays assistant. -- persistent.

Plays, plays, plays. A word or two before you go, I have done the

stakes on service... Tonight I heard Mozart's music for the first time,

some Serenade for wind it instruments. When he met at Quail

and shake... Pretend they are what they are not. Words, words, words,

masses of words. APPLAUSE. CHEERING AND APPLAUSE.