Brideshead Revisited Script - Dialogue Transcript

Brideshead Revisited Script

  

  
If you asked me now who I am,

  
the only answer I could give
with any certainty

  
would be my name,
Charles Ryder.

  
For the rest,
my loves, my hates,

  
down even to my deepest desires,

  
I can no longer say whether
these emotions are my own

  
or stolen from those
I once so desperately wished to be.

  
On second thoughts,
one emotion remains my own,

  
alone among the borrowed
and the second-hand,

  
as pure as that faith
from which I am still in flight.

  
Guilt.

  
Been away, sir? Anywhere interesting?

  
- Jungle.
- Jungle.

  
Explorer, are we?

  
- Painter.
- Painter?

  
So, bye-bye beardy, hello smooth.

  
Famous for his impressive
architectural portraits,

  
British artist Charles Ryder
has taken New York by storm

  
with a series of gripping jungle studies.

  
To own a Ryder is currently the dream

  
of every self-respecting
East Coast millionaire.

  
You must be so proud of him.

  
- Was he away long?
- Two years,

  
- and it doesn't feel like a day.
- You must feel positively bridal.

  
I can't paint
to save my life.

  
Thank you.

  
I can't even hold a buggering brush!

  
But I know what I like. Lots of color.
Nice and bright.

  
I see the jungle in your work
as a metaphor.

  
Not least, the metaphysical semblance
of the chaos at the heart of civilization.

  
Make an effort, Charles.

  
You're not in South America now.
You're amongst civilized people.

  
- Mr. Ryder, I wonder if I could...
- I'm so sorry. Excuse me.

  
- Excuse me. Thank you very much.
...just have a conversation...

  
Hello, Charles.

  
- You're wearing a coat!
- Yes, Father, I am.

  
Why?

  
- I'm going up to Oxford.
- Ah. Yes.

  
- Remind me. What are you taking?
- History.

  
- And what allowance have I given you?
- A hundred pounds.

  
How very indulgent of me.
Mind you, it all comes out of capital.

  
Oh, I suppose this is the time
I should give you advice.

  
Your mother was always
so good at that.

  
Who's meeting you?

  
Cousin Jasper offered
to show me around.

  
Cousin Jasper!

  
Most entertaining.

  
Out of the way,
you silly fool.

  
There you are, Charles.

  
This way, please.

  
Come along. As an only child,
you will, of course, have much to learn.

  
Though I am only your cousin, Charles,
you must look upon me as a brother.

  
Older, wiser,
but a brother nevertheless.

  
Now, it is no secret that our families
are not rich in material wealth.

  
Keep off the grass.

  
But I like to think that we Ryders are,
all of us, rich in the striving of minds.

  
Now, then... Not that way.

  
Clothes. Dress as you do
in a country house.

  
Never wear a tweed coat
and a flannel trousers, always a suit.

  
And go to a London tailor.
You'll get a better cut.

  
Protocol. First and foremost,
behaving with restraint...

  
Nine adulteries, 12 liaisons,
64 fornications,

  
and something approaching a rape

  
rest nightly upon the soul
of our delicate friend Florialis,

  
and yet the man is so
quiet and reserved in demeanor

  
that he passes
for both bloodless and sexless.

  
Sodomites, all of them. Steer well clear.

  
Treat all dons
as you would the local vicar.

  
With indifference.

  
Oh, dear, oh, dear. This won't do at all.
You must change your rooms.

  
I've seen many a man ruined

  
through having ground floor rooms
in the front quad.

  
People start dropping in.

  
They leave their gowns here
and come and collect them before hall.

  
You start giving them sherry
and before you know it they're...

  
Sebastian, come along.
Look at the state of him.

  
Come on, you're nearly clean.

  
Oh, no, no, no, sir, stop.

  
You don't clear up after yourself.
That's my job.

  
Sorry, Lunt. What's all this?

  
From the gentleman last night, sir.
He just called. Left a note for you.

  
"I am very contrite.

  
"Please come to luncheon today.
Sebastian Flyte."

  
The Lord Sebastian Flyte,
don't you know?

  
I'm sure it's quite a pleasure
to clear up after him.

  
I take it
you'll be out to lunch today, then, sir.

  
Yes, Lunt. I think I shall be.

  
I've just counted them.

  
There's five each and two over,
so I'm having the two.

  
I'm unaccountably hungry today.

  
I put myself unreservedly
in the hands of Dolbear and Goodall

  
and feel so drugged
I've begun to believe

  
the whole of yesterday evening
was a dream.

  
Please don't wake me.

  
- Do try one.
- Thank you.

  
- What are they?
- Plover's eggs. The first this year.

  
Mummy sends them from Brideshead.
They always lay early for her.

  
You would, too, if you knew my mother.

  
Are you terribly angry with me
about last night?

  
No, not at all.
Thank you for the flowers.

  
Aloysius, you can't go there.
Do sit down.

  
- Tell me about you.
- Me?

  
I'm in my first year, reading history,

  
but really what I most want to be
is a painter.

  
Would you like to paint me?

  
Well, yes. Yes, if you like.

  
It's so clever of you,
knowing what you want.

  
I've no idea what I want.

  
Except to be happy.

  
If I can.

  
Let's have some champagne.

  
A glass each before the rowdies arrive.

  
You don't want to join the Old Boys.

  
They're all bloody drugged bogs
or collegers.

  
Top me up,
will you, old man?

  
- I don't remember you from Eton.
- I didn't go to Eton.

  
Oh, really. Where then?
Harrow or Winchester?

  
Rugby? Oh, not Charterhouse, I hope?

  
You wouldn't have heard of it.

  
There are other schools,
you know, Boy.

  
Yes, I suppose there must be.

  
- My dears.
- Hello, Blanche.

  
Hello, Blanche.

  
I couldn't get away before.

  
I was lunching
with my preposterous tutor.

  
I told him I had to change for footer.

  
Anthony, you remember Charles.
From last night?

  
Charles is reading history,
but he wants to be an artist.

  
- No!
- Why ever not?

  
- Either you are an artist or you are not.
- Hear, hear.

  
- Then I am.
- Interesting.

  
You have about you
a distinct hint of the pragmatic.

  
What do you want to be an artist for?
I mean, what's the point of it?

  
Why don't you just
buy a bloody camera

  
and take a bloody photograph
and stop giving yourself airs?

  
- That's what I want to know!
- That's it, go it, Boy!

  
- I don't give myself airs.
- Yes, you do.

  
And, anyway,
you haven't answered my question.

  
Come on! Answer!

  
- Answer, answer, answer, answer...
- Yes.

  
Answer, answer, answer, answer...

  
Because a camera
is a mechanical device

  
which records a moment in time,

  
but not what that moment means
or the emotions that it evokes.

  
Whereas a painting,
however imperfect it may be,

  
is an expression of feeling.

  
An expression of love.

  
Not just a copy of something.

  
And who on earth do you think
cares about your feelings?

  
I do.

  
Boy, you're an oaf. Behave yourself.

  
To art and love.

  
To art and love!

  
We'd just arrived in his rooms, then,
without even a, "By your leave,"

  
the Lord Flyte pokes his head
through the window and vomits.

  
Ground floor rooms, you see.
Poor Charles may never recover.

  
- Morning, Jasper.
- Morning.

  
Two tries out of you today...

  
Charles. You're to come away at once!

  
I've got a basket of strawberries
and a bottle of Chateau Peyraguey,

  
which isn't a wine you've ever tasted,
so don't pretend.

  
It's heaven with strawberries.

  
Just the place to bury a crock of gold.

  
I should like to bury
something precious

  
in every place where I've been happy.

  
And, then,
when I was old and ugly and miserable,

  
I could come back
and dig it up and remember.

  
Come along, Charles.
There's someone I want you to meet.

  
- Is this where you live?
- It's where my family live.

  
Don't worry,
you won't have to meet them.

  
- Oh, but I should like to.
- You can't. They're away.

  
Everything's shut up.
We better go this way.

  
Keep up.

  
Charles. Charles.

  
Well, this is a surprise!
How lovely to see you.

  
Meet my new chum, Charles.

  
Charles, this is Nanny Hawkins.
This is who I wanted you to meet.

  
- I don't think I know you, do I?
- How do you do?

  
Your friend has charming manners.
What family are you from, Charles?

  
- No family. I mean, no one important.
- Charles is an artist.

  
- He's going to paint me.
- How jolly.

  
You've come at just the right time.

  
Lady Marchmain's
on her way up from London.

  
It's the Conservative Women's Tea.

  
They always turn out for Brideshead.

  
I'm afraid we may have
to miss them, Nanny.

  
Your mother will be disappointed.

  
I'm sure Her Ladyship
would want to meet...

  
Can't be done, I'm afraid.
Got to get back or we'll be gated.

  
I pray for my dear Sebastian every day.

  
- Charles!
- It was very nice to meet you.

  
- Come along, Charles.
- Couldn't we just have a quick look?

  
We've seen who we came for.
We can go.

  
Just a little look.

  
Don't be such a tourist, Charles.

  
If you're that keen,

  
you can see it all for a shilling
on Queen Alexandra's Day.

  
God, I loathe that painting!

  
I could show you the chapel, I suppose,
if we're quick.

  
What did you do that for?

  
- You're not Catholic, are you?
- No.

  
- I was just trying to fit in.
- Well, don't.

  
Come on, come on!

  
Sorry, I'm afraid I don't have the knack.

  
Charles, what are you doing?

  
Car. Now.

  
Who was that in the car
with your mother?

  
- My sister.
- What's she like?

  
For goodness sake, Charles,

  
I don't keep asking you questions
about your family.

  
But I've never
asked you anything before.

  
You're so inquisitive.

  
Well, you're so mysterious about them.

  
I hoped I was mysterious
about everything.

  
Why don't you want me
to meet your family?

  
Who are you ashamed of, them or me?

  
Don't be so vulgar, Charles.

  
I'm not having you mixed up
with my family. You're my friend.

  
I don't have a family.

  
You have me.

  
Sebastian and Charles,
contra mundum.

  
Contra mundum.

  
Father?

  
Father?

  
- Back already?
- Term's over.

  
So soon?

  
Thank you.

  
- Father, I have to leave at once!
- Oh, yes?

  
A great friend of mine
has had a terrible accident.

  
- I must go to him.
- May I?

  
"Gravely injured.
Come at once. Sebastian."

  
I'm sorry you're upset.

  
Reading this message,

  
I would say that the accident was not
as serious as you seem to suggest

  
or it would not have been signed
by the victim himself.

  
Still, of course, he may well be
fully conscious, but horribly paralyzed.

  
Remind me.
Why is your presence necessary?

  
I told you, he's a great friend.

  
Well, I shall miss you, my boy,
but don't hurry back on my account.

  
Take your bag, sir?

  
Excuse me!

  
Are you Charles Ryder?

  
Yes. Sorry. Hello.

  
I'm Julia, Sebastian's sister.
I've been sent to pick you up.

  
Hop in, Mr. Ryder.

  
- Case in the back.
- Sorry, yes.

  
How's Sebastian?

  
- He's fine.
- Fine?

  
Did he tell you he was dying?

  
Well, I thought... His message said...

  
I expect he thought
you wouldn't come if you knew.

  
He's not badly hurt, then?

  
He cracked a bone in his foot
so small it hasn't even got a name.

  
- How did it happen?
- Playing croquet.

  
I must admit,
I did think it was a little queer,

  
you traveling all this way
for a croquet injury.

  
I don't mind.
It's wonderful to be here again.

  
Is it? Why?

  
Well, it's such a beautiful house,
for one thing.

  
I can't stand the place.

  
Be an angel and light me one.

  
There you are, at last!

  
- I thought you were dying.
- I thought I was, too.

  
The pain was excruciating.

  
Julia, ask Wilcox
to fetch us some champagne.

  
- I hate champagne.
- For our guest.

  
Well, take your coat off. You'll boil.

  
Come along, Charles.

  
I thought you hated champagne.

  
I do.

  
I suppose Sebastian's told you
all about us?

  
No. No, nothing at all,
as a matter of fact.

  
And nor should I.

  
What?

  
- I take it you're not one of us?
- Don't answer.

  
I don't live like this,
if that's what you mean.

  
She means you're not a Catholic.

  
Sorry, no. No, nothing at all.

  
- You mean you're an atheist?
- Well, yes, I suppose.

  
Strictly speaking, we're C of E,

  
but Father only ever goes
for Christmas and funerals.

  
He likes those.

  
- What about your mother?
- She's dead.

  
I was very young.

  
She died working for the Red Cross.

  
Which, given her devotion to good,

  
does rather point up
the arbitrariness of it all.

  
I see. So, you're here arbitrarily?

  
He's here as my friend.

  
Given Mr. Ryder's
staunch position on religion,

  
don't you think he ought to know
what he's getting into?

  
Leave Charles out of it.

  
- Tell me.
- Oh, God.

  
Mummy takes her faith
very seriously, indeed.

  
So seriously, in fact,
that our fat little priest, Father Mackay,

  
called her a living saint.

  
Mind you, he drinks.

  
Sebastian and I
are a couple of heathens.

  
I'm not a heathen, I'm a sinner.
Cast out from God's love.

  
As for you,
you're not a heathen at all, not really.

  
Why do we always end up
talking about family?

  
It's time for my bath.

  
Good evening, Mr. Ryder.
Look after my brother.

  
I don't think your sister
likes me very much.

  
I don't think
she cares for anyone much.

  
I love her.

  
She's like me.

  
Drink in remembrance of me.

  
Hang on.

  
In fact, I know that that's checkmate.

  
Come here.

  
If only it could be
like this always.

  
Always summer.

  
Always alone.

  
Fruit always ripe.

  
Cheers.

  
Now,

  
try this.

  
- No?
- It's a shy little wine. Like a gazelle.

  
- Like a leprechaun.
- Dappled in a tapestry meadow.

  
A flute by still water.

  
This is a wise old wine.

  
A prophet in a cave.

  
And this

  
is a string of pearls on a white neck.

  
- A swan.
- The last unicorn.

  
Who's that?

  
- Is that your brother?
- Yes, that's Bridey.

  
- He seems all right to me.
- Wait till you meet him.

  
Mother.

  
Hello, there.

  
Go away,
we're not decent!

  
- Mummy's here.
- We know.

  
She's invited Charles to dinner.

  
It's not what we
agreed upon, Sebastian,

  
when we talked about this
at Christmas, when you came down.

  
It's no use crying, darling.
That's just childish.

  
That's not going to help, is it?

  
You see, darling,
whatever yesterday's sins,

  
we must all pray for God's forgiveness.

  
So now, you try and try again now.

  
Be a good boy.
For God and for Mummy.

  
Now, just put your shirt on now.

  
Dining room's this way.

  
Is Sebastian all right?
He seemed upset.

  
Oh.

  
He and Mummy often have these talks.

  
Flannels for dinner?
Very bold, Mr. Ryder.

  
- Will your mother mind?
- Yes, she'll be appalled.

  
No, don't worry.
She'll be understanding.

  
- Do you often do that?
- What?

  
- Say one thing, mean another?
- Yes and no.

  
Thank you.

  
- Amen.
- Amen.

  
Welcome to Brideshead, Mr. Ryder.
I've been hearing all about you.

  
I do hope you didn't let Sebastian
call you away in too much of a rush.

  
I'm afraid I didn't quite have time
to pack the right things.

  
Sebastian must lend you some clothes
while you're here.

  
Or perhaps Bridey's a better fit.

  
Are you a Bridey
or a Sebastian, Mr. Ryder?

  
He can't borrow Bridey's clothes.
Bridey dresses like a bank clerk.

  
Don't be vulgar, Cordelia.
Vulgar is not the same as funny.

  
I hope you've been
looked after properly, Ryder.

  
Has Sebastian
been seeing to the wine?

  
Yes. Sebastian's been
seeing to the wine.

  
Delighted to hear it.

  
- You're fond of wine?
- Yes, very.

  
I wish I were.
It's such a bond with other men.

  
At Christ Church, I tried to get drunk
more than once, but I didn't enjoy it.

  
What do you enjoy, Bridey?

  
Hunting, shooting,

  
fishing.

  
And what form do your pleasures take,
Mr. Ryder?

  
- Sorry, pleasures?
- Your hobbies.

  
- What do you do to relax?
- He drinks.

  
Drinking is not a hobby, Sebastian.

  
- You live in London, is that correct?
- Yes.

  
- Whereabouts?
- Paddington.

  
You live in a railway station?

  
No, no. Sorry. No, I live nearby.

  
I see.

  
And has this led
to an interest in trains?

  
No.

  
So, are you close
with Sebastian's crowd?

  
Not really.

  
- With Anthony Blanche?
- We're acquainted.

  
Charles is a painter, Mummy.

  
How charming.

  
We must get you
to paint something for us.

  
- Would you do that, Mr. Ryder?
- I'd be delighted.

  
I think Brideshead's the most
beautiful house I've ever seen.

  
- It's utterly magical.
- How kind you are.

  
Summer at Brideshead.

  
Mr. Ryder must stay with us
for the rest of the vacation.

  
As a matter of fact,
I've just heard from Papa.

  
He wants me to go and see him
in Venice. And Julia.

  
I see.

  
And do you intend
to accept this invitation?

  
Yes. Why not?

  
What about you, Julia?
Will you be going?

  
I'd like to.

  
Wouldn't you rather
stay at Brideshead?

  
Well, yes, if you want me to.

  
- You must not neglect your duty.
- No, Mother.

  
I think we might spend a little time
in the chapel after dinner.

  
- Would you join us, Mr. Ryder?
- Thank you.

  
You do know Charles is an atheist?

  
An agnostic, surely.

  
Actually, no.

  
But you'll join us, anyway,
out of curiosity.

  
Thank you.

  
- No Sebastian?
- No, Mummy.

  
Charles, are you really an atheist?

  
- Yes, I am.
- How awful for you.

  
I'll put you on my prayer list.

  
I have a long list of people I pray for,
including six black Cordelias in Africa.

  
It's a new thing. You send five bob
to some nuns in Africa,

  
and they christen a baby after you.

  
Right.

  
Thy will be done,
on earth as it is in heaven.

  
Give us this day our daily bread,

  
and forgive us our trespasses

  
as we forgive
those who trespass against us.

  
And lead us not into temptation,
but deliver us from evil.

  
Amen.

  
Have you ever
been to Venice, Mr. Ryder?

  
No. No, I haven't.

  
Every ambitious young man
should visit Venice.

  
It makes one sound more complete.

  
I was thinking, if Sebastian were to go,

  
it might be a good thing
if you were to accompany him.

  
He needs someone plausible
by his side.

  
I gather last time he was there, he was
befriending some very odd types.

  
It's youthful high spirits, I understand,

  
but in the end,
we must all accept God's limits.

  
Atheist, or no.

  
I know I can rely on you.

  
You seem to me
a very reliable young man.

  
- San Giovanni e Paolo.
- Oh, dear.

  
I can see
you're going to be impossibly curious.

  
By the way, I should warn you.
Our lovely father is rather a scoundrel.

  
He lives
in one of the palazzos with Cara.

  
- Who's Cara?
- His mistress.

  
Poor Papa's rather shunned by society.

  
Not the Italians, of course.
They adore him.

  
- Santa Maria dei Miracoli.
- I know. I've seen the postcard.

  
- My dear boy!
- Darling, Papa.

  
- You look so young!
- Do you think so?

  
I've taken to playing tennis
at the Lido with a professional.

  
Cara thinks I'm getting far too fat.

  
Julia, come here.

  
- Father.
- My child.

  
- I wasn't sure if you'd come.
- Mummy gave me her blessing.

  
Blessed by your mother.
What a saint that woman is.

  
You know, I used to try everything
to please her.

  
Julia, this is your friend, Mr. Ryder?

  
- Charles is my friend, Papa.
- I see.

  
- Delighted.
- How do you do, sir?

  
- Welcome to Venice.
- Here's Cara. Now we can eat.

  
Come along now. This way.

  
Don't look so greedy. It won't go away.

  
Sorry.

  
I wasn't sure you'd come to Venice.

  
Your father seemed
pleased to see you.

  
I'm not sure Father
cares much if I come.

  
He'd probably be just as happy
if it was only Sebastian.

  
They adore each other.
They're alike in so many ways.

  
- Who are you like?
- Me?

  
Oh.

  
Nobody.

  
I'm the family shadow.

  
Drinks.

  
- Julia.
- Cara.

  
Mr. Ryder, Sebastian tells me
you are a painter.

  
- Charles is an artist.
- Good.

  
Well, then I will show you all the
great art of Canaletto and Veronese.

  
He never goes anywhere.
Such a philistine.

  
I don't mind the art.
It's religion I can't stand.

  
The Italians seem unable
to paint anything half decent

  
without putting Christ dying in it.

  
Of course, your mother loved Italy.

  
- A pietà on every street corner.
- Don't be cruel.

  
On the contrary, she'd be flattered.
God was always her first love.

  
- Mummy loves all of us equally.
- Come now, Julia.

  
You were the one who walked away!

  
What must you think of us, Mr. Ryder?

  
- A family of monsters, are we not?
- No, not at all.

  
I lost my mother when I was young.

  
Tell me, Mr. Ryder, as an artist,
what did you make of Brideshead?

  
I thought it was magnificent.

  
You think that? Really?

  
And now, here you are in Venice.

  
What a lot of temptations.

  
He walks for two hours
every day. He wants to be immortal.

  
But he's quite fragile, you know, inside.

  
That woman nearly suffocated him.

  
- She's been very kind to me.
- Oh, yes. I'm sure. But you will see.

  
Well, just look at her children.

  
Even when they were tiny,
in the nursery,

  
they must do
what she want them to do,

  
be what she want them to be.

  
Only then, would she love them.

  
It's not Lady Marchmain's fault.
Her God has done that to her.

  
But surely you're Catholic, too?

  
Yes, but a different sort.

  
It's different in Italy. Not so much guilt.

  
We do what the heart tell us,
and then we go to confession.

  
Sebastian loves you very much, I think.

  
There you are.

  
They're very good,
these romantic English friendships,

  
if they don't go on too long.

  
For you, it's just a,
how do you say, "a phase"?

  
But I think it's more than that
for poor Sebastian.

  
Tread carefully, Mr. Ryder.

  
Come on.

  
- Hello.
- No! No!

  
Come on.

  
Got you.

  
- Can't sleep.
- Try pajamas.

  
I enjoyed the beach today.
I hope I wasn't too rough.

  
You were very sweet.

  
Charles?

  
There you are.

  
Sorry.

  
Lots to drink.

  
I'm so glad you're here.

  
- I'm glad you're here.
- I'm glad I came.

  
- Did I say I'm glad you're here?
- You're really glad I'm here?

  
Let's get plastered.
- If you want.

  
Oh, yes, I do. I want. I want.

  
There's a wonderful chapel
near here!

  
You will see a masterpiece, I tell you.

  
The devil's got his eye on you!

  
Well, then you must protect me.

  
Julia!

  
Julia.

  
I got lost. All those people.

  
What are you doing?

  
What's the matter?

  
No!

  
Funny old religion, isn't it?

  
Sebastian,

  
what happened just now...
I never meant you to...

  
If I'd known it was going to happen,

  
I'd never have...

  
I don't know what I'm supposed to...

  
Checkmate.

  
I'm boring you.
Perhaps it is dull for you here.

  
You've been enjoying yourself?

  
- I've been in Venice.
- Oh, yes, yes, I suppose so.

  
The friend you were
so much concerned about, did he die?

  
- No.
- I'm very thankful.

  
You should have written to tell me.
I worried about him so much.

  
Watch out, Flyte!
- Sebastian!

  
- Sebastian!
- Leave me alone!

  
- Damn. Where is he? The bastard.
- Who?

  
- Mr. Samgrass.
- Who's Mr. Samgrass?

  
One of Mummy's gang.
Fat little Catholic from All Souls.

  
Bastard's been set up to follow me.

  
I wouldn't mind
if he wasn't so infernally ugly.

  
God, I feel a hundred years old.

  
Why haven't you called round?
I've been worried.

  
I was beginning to think
they hadn't sent you up.

  
- Since Venice.
- Yes.

  
- Damn! There he is again.
- Who? What are you talking about?

  
- Mr. Samgrass! There!
- Do you mind?

  
Mummy's hired him to watch me.

  
- What does he want?
- My head on a plate.

  
Look, if he's bothering you,
I can stop him.

  
Dear Charles, always so certain.

  
- I'm not certain of anything.
- Aren't you?

  
By the way, Mummy's here.

  
She has to talk to you.

  
Probably wants you
to spy on me as well.

  
Don't be like that.

  
Why don't I come round
to your rooms later?

  
I'm not sure I want to see you anymore.

  
I'm so sorry.

  
So, Charles,

  
- how was Venice?
- Venice was fine.

  
- A strange way to put it.
- It was beautiful.

  
Speaking as an artist or a man?

  
I want a word with you
about Sebastian.

  
I'm concerned about him.

  
- Tea?
- No, thank you.

  
- Why? Should I be?
- He's drinking too much.

  
You must have noticed.
After all, I sent you to look after him.

  
Yes, I suppose
we both drink too much, really.

  
No, not at all. You drink to get drunk,

  
Sebastian drinks to escape
the claims of his conscience.

  
I do wish I could understand
why he's so particularly upset.

  
Ever since he came back from Venice,
he's been unreachable.

  
- Did something happen there?
- No.

  
- You all had a good time?
- Yes.

  
I wonder what it could have been.

  
I hope you didn't let Julia mislead you.

  
- I don't understand.
- I think you do.

  
Please understand,

  
I would not want you
to make yourself look foolish, Charles.

  
Her future is not a question of choice.
It is a matter of faith.

  
Were it simply
a difference in upbringing,

  
this I might overlook.

  
But you are a self-proclaimed atheist,

  
and my daughter
is destined to marry a Catholic.

  
God commands and we obey.

  
However, we're forgetting ourselves.

  
We're here to talk
about your friendship with my son.

  
I'm not sure Sebastian
wants to be my friend anymore.

  
Because of Julia?

  
But that is all cleared up now.

  
We're giving a ball for Julia's 21 st.

  
I'd like you
to keep Sebastian company.

  
You came to Brideshead
as my son's friend.

  
If you have
unaccountably offended him,

  
it is surely not too much to ask
that you revisit your responsibilities.

  
- To him or to you?
- To the family.

  
And, of course,

  
Brideshead does look particularly
beautiful at this time of year.

  
Tell me, I'm curious.

  
Since, as you claim,
you have no religion,

  
what do you imagine
you are doing on this earth?

  
Living my life, the same as you.

  
But without faith,
what could your purpose possibly be?

  
I want to look back and say that I was

  
alive.

  
That I didn't turn my back. That I tried.

  
That I was happy.

  
Happiness in this life is irrelevant.

  
All that matters,

  
the only thing of consequence,
is the life hereafter.

  
Ready for the off.

  
A beautiful day for it, isn't it? Come on.

  
Funny, isn't it?
It's my little present to the family.

  
- Rex Mottram. How do you do?
- Charles Ryder.

  
Good to meet you, Charles.
Heard all about you.

  
We should compare notes some time.

  
- Going on the hunt?
- I don't think so.

  
Wise man. Load of English
blue bloods on horseback.

  
Got to fit in, though!

  
Who is it?

  
It's me.

  
You could have knocked.
I nearly spilt my drink.

  
I did.

  
Sit down.

  
If only it could be like this always.

  
- Always summer.
- Ancient history.

  
Pass me a towel.

  
Where's that damn shirt?

  
You're shaking. What is it?
What's the matter?

  
Don't you know, Charles?

  
"Why this is hell, nor am I out of it."

  
- Sebastian, if I've ever done anything...
- It's not you.

  
It's me.

  
For God's sake, do stop mooning at me
like a great big cow!

  
I'm fine.

  
I'm fine so long
as I've got plenty of this.

  
I want you to know that
whatever happened in Venice,

  
I'm not in your mother's gang,
if that's what you think.

  
I'm on your side.

  
Contra mundum.

  
Dear Charles,

  
you're not in anybody's gang.

  
That's always been your problem.

  
Why are you going on the hunt?
I thought you detested hunting.

  
I do.

  
I'm going to leave Bridey
at the first covert,

  
hack over to the nearest pub,
and spend the whole day drinking.

  
If they treat me like a dipsomaniac,

  
they can bloody well
have a dipsomaniac.

  
Well, they can't stop you.

  
They can, as a matter of fact,

  
by not giving me any money.
They've stopped my bank account.

  
I've pawned my watch
and cigarette case.

  
That lasted for a bit,

  
but that's all gone now.

  
So, regretfully...

  
Sebastian, I can't do that.

  
- I thought you were on my side.
- I am.

  
Well, then.

  
Look, why don't I come with you?

  
It's miserable drinking alone.

  
We could get drunk together,
like we used to.

  
No.

  
I'm past all that.

  
Thanks for the offer.

  
Well?

  
Are you with me or against me?

  
Little bit further up
on the shoulder, though.

  
Sarah, look.

  
Sort of up here.

  
Ladies and gentlemen,
it gives me great pleasure to announce,

  
on top of the birthday festivities,

  
the engagement of my eldest daughter,
the Lady Julia Flyte

  
to Mr. Rex Mottram.

  
Yes, it's marvelous, isn't it.

  
- Thank you, Charles. I'd love to dance.
- Cordelia.

  
- Cordelia, I'm...
- Come along!

  
- Charles?
- Hmm?

  
I hope you don't mind me asking,
but modern art,

  
- it is all bosh, isn't it?
- Yes, it's all bosh.

  
Good. I thought so.

  
Get a grip, Charles!

  
Rex! Rex, I need a better dancer.

  
Yours for five minutes and no more.

  
- Come along.
- Okay.

  
You're rather tall, aren't you?

  
Is that a handicap?

  
Why didn't you tell me?

  
It's not Sebastian. I don't believe that.

  
Charles, I can't do this.

  
- When we kissed...
- Please, stop!

  
Why? It was wonderful.

  
I know.

  
I think about it all the time.

  
I have no choice.

  
- Oh, Sebastian.
- Never mind.

  
- Oh, Charles.
- Don't!

  
- Come along, old boy.
- I don't want your help.

  
You're in tweed, Sebastian.
This is a ball.

  
Bugger off, Bridey.
You're worse than wet.

  
You see... What it is...

  
I hate you all so very much!

  
- Sebastian.
- Get off me!

  
You don't care about me!

  
All you ever wanted
was to sleep with my sister!

  
Okay, Sebastian, that's enough.

  
All right. I'm going.

  
Charles,

  
did you give Sebastian money today?

  
Yes, I did.

  
Knowing how he was likely to spend it?

  
Yes.

  
I don't understand.

  
How could you be so nice
in so many ways,

  
and then do something
so wantonly cruel?

  
We all liked you so much.
I don't understand how we deserved it.

  
Do you think it's better
to make him feel like a criminal?

  
Having him watched
every second of the day?

  
But you deliberately
helped him to drink.

  
You're the reason he drinks,

  
not me.

  
All I did was

  
try to give him a little freedom.

  
No, you just wanted him to like you.
You're so desperate to be liked.

  
I think you should leave now, Charles.

  
Hello, there.
Would you like me to hold the ladder?

  
Yes, thanks.

  
I'm Celia Mulcaster, by the way.

  
Charles Ryder.

  
I saw your paintings in the brochure
and thought how charming they looked.

  
No need to look so gloomy.

  
If I had half your talent, I'd be delirious.

  
You can thank me, if you want.

  
Thank you.

  
Would you like me
to buy something now?

  
Silent and grave,
and then "pop," mouse is dead.

  
- Charles.
- Lady Marchmain.

  
Thank you, Father.

  
I'm so glad your son
didn't die of his injuries.

  
Please, sit down.

  
I'm fine, thank you.

  
How did you know where I lived?

  
My driver found you.

  
The Ryders of Paddington
are limited in number.

  
I hear you have your first exhibition
at the Royal Academy.

  
Congratulations.

  
I'm sure you're not here
to ask me how I am.

  
No. The last time we saw each other,
it's true I spoke rather harshly.

  
I'm not here to apologize.
What I said, I meant.

  
I took you into my confidence,
and you betrayed me.

  
I do hope you're not asking me
to agree with you.

  
- I act only as God directs.
- Rubbish.

  
God's your best invention.
Whatever you want, he does.

  
- I am not here to argue with you.
- Good. I'm glad to hear it.

  
The reason I called
was to ask you a favor.

  
A favor?

  
Sebastian's gone missing.
He's in a house in Morocco.

  
I'm worried about him.
I need you to bring him back.

  
You banish me from your house,

  
you poison my friendship
with both your children

  
and now you expect me
to go begging on your behalf?

  
There's no one else I can ask.

  
Even if I were to agree,

  
what makes you think Sebastian
would take any notice of me?

  
Because he cared for you more
than he ever cared for anyone else.

  
All I ever wanted was to see them safe.

  
And all they do is hate me.

  
I'll be at Brideshead.

  
You may send word to me there.

  
Driver!

  
Driver!

  
I'm looking for Sebastian Flyte.

  
This is his house.

  
- Who are you?
- I'm his friend.

  
In the local hospital.

  
When you see him,

  
tell him I'm still here.

  
Your friend
has got the grippe.

  
One of his lungs is full of fluid.

  
He will recover. But travel with you?
Not a chance.

  
He's very weak. No resistance.

  
What do you expect?
He is an alcoholic.

  
Here is your friend.

  
What the hell are you doing here?

  
Your mother asked me to come.

  
She wants me to bring you back home,

  
but the doctor said
it's out of the question for you to travel.

  
I wouldn't, even if I could.

  
I think...

  
I think she's dying.

  
Walk with me. I'm meant to exercise.

  
Did you go to my house?

  
Did you meet Kurt?

  
Yes.

  
He wanted you to know
he was waiting for you.

  
It's rather a pleasant change,

  
when all your life
you've had people looking after you,

  
to have someone to look after, yourself.

  
I thought you'd want to go back
to Brideshead one day.

  
Brideshead?

  
Are you mad?

  
The place would still be full of her.

  
I wouldn't go within
a hundred miles of the place.

  
I need to sit.

  
I'm sorry.

  
Whatever for?

  
Everything.

  
It's all right.

  
Truly.

  
I asked too much of you.

  
I knew it all along, really.

  
Only God can give you that sort of love.

  
Come home, Sebastian.

  
When you're well enough.

  
Don't finish it like this.

  
This is my life now.

  
I'm happy here.

  
I miss you.

  
How sweet of you to say that.

  
Dear Charles,

  
it was my fault for
bringing you to Brideshead.

  
Run away.

  
Run far away and don't ever look back.

  
I'm sorry.

  
You must be so proud of him.

  
- Was he away long?
- Two years,

  
and it doesn't feel like a day.

  
Hello, Charles.

  
Did you know I was on the boat?

  
If I said no, you wouldn't believe me.

  
You're married now.

  
Yes.

  
- You haven't changed at all.
- Neither have you.

  
- How ridiculous.
- Yes, isn't it?

  
Tell me this is fate.

  
- What?
- Nothing.

  
Tell me.

  
I was thinking about Sebastian.

  
Mummy died without
ever seeing him again.

  
I know.

  
Let's go up on deck.

  
- Are you sure?
- They're all asleep! Come on!

  
Come on!

  
Sorry.

  
- So where's Rex?
- I drowned him.

  
Forgive me, Rex!

  
Lady Julia, fancy meeting you here.

  
- Mr. Ryder.
- Could I possibly get you a drink?

  
Dry martini, please.

  
One dry Martini,
one whiskey with water.

  
Please, allow me.

  
So, why did you marry Rex?

  
I don't know. Because he wasn't you.

  
- Because he was rich.
- Because he was Catholic.

  
Because Mummy approved,
God rest her soul.

  
I thought he was my painted savage.

  
It turns out he was
thoroughly up to date.

  
Thank you.

  
Now, no more talk about Rex.
He's in England.

  
- Do you have children?
- No.

  
No.

  
- What will you tell your wife?
- Wait until London.

  
I have a viewing to arrange.
I'll sort it out. It'll be fine.

  
- Where shall we go?
- Somewhere abroad, like Daddy.

  
- What about Italy? Capri?
- Antibes.

  
- Seville.
- Verona.

  
- Paris.
- Brideshead.

  
- No!
- Why not?

  
- It's the loveliest place on earth.
- I can't go back there.

  
- Not after this.
- Nonsense.

  
- We've nothing to apologize for.
- No.

  
Besides, Rex is there.

  
Leave it to me.
I'll settle things with Rex.

  
I'll settle everything.

  
Trust me.

  
I do.

  
- And stop worrying!
- I will.

  
Good afternoon, ma'am.
- Lovely day.

  
Mr. and Mrs. Ryder.

  
Look, that's the Duke
and Duchess of Clarence.

  
- They want to buy one!
- How very gracious of them.

  
Make an effort, Charles.
I've got you the cream of Mayfair.

  
Mrs. Ryder, good day.

  
Charles, how charming you look.

  
Anthony.

  
I heard, quite by chance, at a luncheon,
that you were having an exhibition.

  
So, of course, I dashed impetuously
to the shrine to pay homage.

  
Where are the pictures?

  
Let me explain them to you.

  
This is simply charm.

  
Simple, creamy, English charm,
playing tigers.

  
But enough of art.

  
They tell me you are happy in love
and that is everything, isn't it?

  
Or nearly everything.

  
Everyone's talking about it.

  
So, it's Julia now.
And it used to be Sebastian.

  
Do you think I should warn her?

  
Warn her about what?

  
How apropos that you'd have
chosen jungles for your canvas.

  
I always thought you
were the lamb to be slaughtered,

  
when all along it is they
who are hunted.

  
There really is no end to your hunger,
is there, Charles?

  
Why do I feel so nervous?
- Don't be.

  
- Who are all these people?
- Politicians, money men.

  
Rex thinks there's a war
coming with Hitler.

  
He wants to do well out of it.

  
- It's all he talks about.
- Hello, Julia.

  
- Hello, Rex.
- Good evening, Rex.

  
Mr. Ryder,
welcome back to Brideshead.

  
I hear you're making
quite a name for yourself.

  
- Could I have a word with you?
- Later, I have guests.

  
It's cold.

  
Not here!

  
- Sorry.
- Let's go back to London.

  
- Let me settle everything with Rex.
- And then we'll leave?

  
- Yes? Charles?
- Yes.

  
If that's what you want.

  
Hello, Bridey.

  
- Hello, Julia. Just up from London?
- Yes.

  
Welcome back to Brideshead, Charles.

  
- How's your family?
- Fine, thank you.

  
- Rex still entertaining?
- He's got business.

  
I'm sorry he's not here.
I have a little announcement to make.

  
Well, come on. Out with it.

  
- I'm engaged to be married.
- Congratulations, Bridey.

  
Well, who is she?

  
- No one you know.
- Is she pretty?

  
I don't think you could
exactly call her pretty.

  
"Comely" is the word
I think of in her connection.

  
She is a big woman.

  
- Fat?
- No, big.

  
She's called Mrs. Muspratt.
Her Christian name is Beryl.

  
But, Bridey, where did you find her?

  
Her late husband, Admiral Muspratt,
collected matchboxes.

  
You're not marrying her
for her matchboxes, are you, Bridey?

  
No, no.

  
Matchboxes were left
to Falmouth Town Library.

  
I'm just holding them for collection.
Why are you laughing?

  
- I hope you'll be very happy.
- Thank you.

  
- I think I'm very fortunate.
- You sly, old thing.

  
When are we going to meet her?
You must bring her here.

  
- I couldn't do that.
- Why not?

  
Well, you must understand,

  
Beryl is a woman
of strict Catholic principle,

  
fortified by the prejudices
of the middle classes.

  
I couldn't possibly bring her here.

  
I don't understand.

  
It may be a matter of indifference
to you,

  
whether or not you choose
to live in sin with Charles,

  
but on no account would Beryl
consent to be your guest.

  
How dare you talk to her like that?

  
Bloody offensive thing to say!

  
Really, there was nothing
she could object to.

  
I was merely stating
a fact well known to her.

  
Take no notice of him, my darling.

  
So,

  
got you. Sorry about the delay.

  
I'll be outside.

  
The door? Door's made
from all the works of Dickens.

  
I had it installed especially. Want one?

  
No, thank you.

  
I know what you're thinking.

  
How vulgar can it get?
You wanna know the secret?

  
I do it on purpose.

  
It amuses me to offend
their delicate sensibilities.

  
So, you wanna take my wife off me?

  
You know she can't marry
a divorcé, right?

  
- Against the rules.
- Well, at least she'll be free of you.

  
She'll never be free.

  
Don't pretend
you've been faithful to her.

  
Who said anything about faith?

  
I bet you'd love to get your hands
on the house, though, wouldn't you?

  
All those pretty paintings.
All those pretty views.

  
Let her go, Rex. You never loved her.

  
The only thing you ever had
in common was religion.

  
Wrong. When I decided to marry Julia,
I wasn't a Catholic.

  
I converted before the wedding.

  
Bet she didn't tell you that.

  
- I guessed.
- Oh, yeah?

  
You're the type.

  
You people,

  
you never learn.

  
You could have had it all
if you'd been a little more flexible.

  
I did what I had to do.

  
They want a Catholic,
I'll convert to Catholicism.

  
It's a great religion.

  
You sin all you want, then you confess.
Problem solved.

  
You gotta woo these people.

  
This family don't live in the real world.

  
- They're mortgaged up to the hilt.
- Get to the point.

  
You want my wife? Make me an offer.

  
- I'm not just giving her away.
- Don't do this. It's demeaning.

  
Try a little harder.

  
You're a rich man, Rex,
you've already got what you wanted.

  
You can never have enough
of what you want.

  
No, you're right.

  
You're taking her off my hands.
That's a favor.

  
I'll tell you what I'll do.

  
You give me a couple of your jungle
pics, and I'll give you an annulment.

  
I hear you're worth collecting.

  
Come on, Charlie boy, say yes.
You know you want to.

  
You don't have to speak.

  
Just nod.

  
I'll have my driver take me to London.

  
He can pick up the paintings
in the morning.

  
You know she's mad.
Can't even give you children.

  
Lost the only one we had.

  
Julia?

  
I'm so sorry. I didn't know.

  
- It's just a shock.
- Shh.

  
Shh. Don't.

  
I've always known, ever since nursery.

  
I tried to be good, I really did.
I tried. I married Rex.

  
All through the backgammon
and cigars, I tried.

  
But it's not enough. It's never enough.

  
God had to punish me.

  
So he took my little stillborn...

  
My child. My girl.

  
With you, I thought I could
really and truly be free.

  
But coming back here, it's like a thread,

  
an invisible thread drawing you back,
inch by inch,

  
until all of a sudden,
you're a child again.

  
And that voice inside your head,

  
the one that Mummy planted
all those years ago in the nursery,

  
every night in the nursery,
filling your head with it.

  
And the voice is telling you,
whispering,

  
"Wicked little Julia,
bad little girl, living in sin."

  
And here I am again with you,
living in sin.

  
It's over. It's over now.

  
- Everything set?
- That's everything, sir.

  
- Thank you, Wilcox.
- Best of luck, sir.

  
Who's that?

  
Go back. Turn around.
I have to go back.

  
- Staff, immediately!
- Yes, sir.

  
Come on, quickly now!

  
I'll help with that.

  
Come on, hurry!
- Yes, sir.

  
Shall I help, Tompkins?
- Hurry!

  
The sedan chair.
- Right, very gently. Very gently.

  
Hurry.
- Get a move with the chair.

  
Come along, come along.

  
Somebody got the rug?

  
Up. Gently.

  
Clear the stairs, please.
- Could I have the medical bag?

  
- Father!
- Dear Julia.

  
Come on, please. Come on!

  
I'm sorry, I was to call,

  
but we have been traveling
without a stop for three days.

  
It was Cordelia,
she was visiting us in Venice...

  
What happened?
- We want the bed ready

  
as soon as possible.

  
His heart. Some long word at the heart.

  
Hurry up.

  
He's dying.

  
He has come home to die.

  
Come on, everybody, that's it.
Chop-chop.

  
Come along.

  
We must get Lord Marchmain
to the great dining room.

  
Thank you.

  
He's sleeping.

  
Do you think we should
let Sebastian know?

  
You could, but I doubt he'd come.

  
The last I heard of him,
he was still struggling rather.

  
The monks have him as a porter
in the hospital in Morocco.

  
He seems to like it.

  
I think they've rather taken him
under their wing, dear old thing.

  
Still, salvation of a sort.

  
Bridey, you need to call for a priest.

  
I'll have a word with Father Mackay
about dropping in this evening.

  
Julia, your father doesn't want a priest.

  
All he wants is to die in his old home.

  
Our father's soul, all sinners' souls,
face mortal danger.

  
It is our duty as Catholics
to see that we do all in our power

  
to save those we love from themselves.

  
Hateful woman.

  
She wants me dead.

  
What about you?

  
- Do you want me dead?
- No.

  
You know the family
are sending for a priest.

  
They seem determined
to drag God into it.

  
Why should you care?

  
You don't believe in God.

  
You said so yourself.

  
Have you suddenly
become my conscience?

  
I've already seen Sebastian
ruined by God.

  
I don't see why I should watch it
happen again with your daughter.

  
How very caring of you.

  
You forget, I was there.

  
I watched that woman crucify my son,

  
little by little, and I was silent.

  
What does that say about me?

  
You're not responsible
for what she did.

  
But are we not also
our brother's keeper?

  
You, Charles, and me?

  
I let Sebastian down.

  
I let everyone down.

  
This way, sir.

  
Dear, no, that's too many!

  
- Papa...
- Your father needs to rest!

  
- Get him away.
- I've brought Father Mackay to see you.

  
- Get him away! Get him away!
- Out!

  
Everybody out! Out! Out!

  
- I'm so sorry, Father.
- Not at all. Give him time.

  
I've known worse cases
make beautiful deaths.

  
What were you talking
to my father about?

  
He doesn't want a priest.

  
Please, Charles.

  
Please don't interfere with matters
that don't concern you.

  
Julia...

  
Let's get out of here.

  
We'll go to Italy.

  
- Capri.
- I can't leave now, my father's dying.

  
When this is over,
I can make you happy.

  
- Why should I believe you?
- Believe me.

  
You just bought me from Rex.

  
What are you talking about?

  
According to you,
I'm worth two pictures.

  
I thought I'd fetch at least three.

  
Don't be ridiculous.

  
- That was Rex.
- You agreed to it, Charles.

  
- I had no choice!
- You agreed!

  
I thought I was doing the right thing.

  
I thought I was doing what you wanted.

  
No, you thought you were getting me
and the house, together.

  
- Is that really what you think?
- You tell me. Please, tell me.

  
What does Charles Ryder really want?

  
Can you imagine what it was like
for me to be invited into Brideshead?

  
Me,

  
Charles Ryder,

  
"the painter from Paddington,"
as your mother so sweetly put it.

  
There was no humiliation
I would not have endured

  
just to be part of that dream.

  
And your mother, that woman is more
alive now than she ever was.

  
She's in every brick,
every stone, every slate.

  
Sebastian was right.

  
We should run away.

  
- Why did you bring me here?
- We can still leave.

  
- Bridey...
- Don't interfere, Charles.

  
Now, try and remember your sins
and tell God you're sorry.

  
I'm going to give you absolution now.

  
And while I'm giving it,

  
I want you to tell God you're sorry
you offended him,

  
and then I want you
to make a sign, if you can.

  
- Amen.
- Amen.

  
Amen.

  
Please, God,
please, if you're there, forgive him.

  
Forgive me. Oh, God, forgive me.
Let him have a sign.

  
Sebastian used to loathe this painting.

  
Daddy gave it to Mummy
as a wedding present.

  
Tell me.

  
I wanted too much.

  
It's nobody's fault.

  
But you're not coming with me.

  
I can't shut myself off from His mercy.

  
Can you understand that?

  
I don't want to make it easier for you.

  
I hope your heart

  
breaks.

  
But I do understand.

  
I have to let you go.

  
Whether by fate or the
divine ironies of some higher power,

  
I find myself returned once more
to Brideshead.

  
Let it go.

  
Did I want too much?

  
Get him out of my sight!

  
Did my own hunger blind me to
the ties that bound them to their faith?

  
Am I only now, shadowed by war,
all moorings gone,

  
alone enough to see the light?

  
Worst place we've struck yet.

  
No facilities, no amenities,

  
and the nearest village
is a five-mile walk.

  
Mind you, there's a rumor
of a big push coming.

  
They'll be shipping
us off to France soon.

  
Yes, very soon.

  
Where are the family now?
Does anyone know?

  
Some Lady Flyte lives
on her own here, normally.

  
She's overseas
with the women's service.

  
Her elder brother died in the Blitz.
They're all Roman Catholic.

  
- I take it you're not religious, Hooper.
- Me? God, no. Can't see the point in it.

  
You're born, you live, then you die.

  
Do you have any hopes
for the future, Hooper?

  
Hopes? Oh, aye, plenty.

  
It's our time now. You watch.
The old ways, all this, they're gone.

  
Future belongs to us,
so long as we don't get shot.

  
How about you, sir?

  
You got someone
special waiting for you?

  
Me? No.

  
I've loved and lost
for more than one lifetime.

  
Would you like me
to drive you back, sir?

  
No, not yet. Carry on, Hooper.

  
Very good, sir.

  
Sergeant!