Voila! Finally, the Sylvia
script is here for all you quotes spouting fans of the Sylvia Plath movie
with Gwyneth Paltrow and Daniel Craig. This script is a transcript that was painstakingly
transcribed using the screenplay and/or viewings of Sylvia. I know, I know, I still need to get the cast names in there and I'll be eternally
tweaking it, so if you have any corrections, feel free to
drop me a line. You won't
hurt my feelings. Honest.
[ Woman Narrating ]
Dying is an art.
Like everything else,
I do it exceptionally well.
I do it so it feels like hell.
I do it so it feels real.
I guess you could say I have a call.
New edition
of The Saint Botolph's Review.
New edition
of The Saint Botolph's Review.
New edition
ofThe Saint Botolph's Review.
[ Woman ]
Tom.
Tom.
Excuse me.
Tom.
Tom, where are the magazines?
They got held up at the printers.
I saw you selling them.
Oh, that's right.
[ Chuckles ]
They didn't review me, did they?
No, they...
reviewed you all right.
It's Poetry, page .
''Essentially commercial.''
''Bourgeois poetic.''
''Nakedly ambitious.''
It's not very flattering.
Who the hell
do they think they are?
Well, you can ask them yourself
if you want.
There's a launch party
at the Women's Union tonight.
: .
Where is he?
Who?
The one who wrote it.
What, that stuff about you?
No. The one who wrote
''Fallgrief s Girlfriend.''
This Edward Hughes.
Ted. He's over there.
- I read your poems.
- What?
As soon as I saw them,
I knew they were the real thing.
Great, big, crashing poems.
Not blubbering baby stuff
like the others.
They're colossal.
Magnificent.
Great blowing winds
on steel girders.
You like?
I like.
''Oh, most dear,
unscratchable diamond.''
Who the hell are you?
Sylvia Plath.
Sylvia Plath.
The one whose poem--
You tore to shreds.
No. No.
Yes.
It was the editor.
He must have known
you were very beautiful.
You're all there, aren't you?
Yes,
I am.
I have an obligation
in the other room.
Oh,Jesus Christ!
This I'll keep.
[ Sylvia Thinking ]
Black marauder.
One day I'll have my death ofhim.
''One day I'll have
my death of him''?
It's a bit morbid, isn't it?
He's my black marauder.
Well, don't get your hopes up.
Why? What have you heard?
Him and his crowd,
all they care about is poetry.
Anything else is a distraction.
Including steady girlfriends.
Even pretty American ones...
with Fulbright scholarships
and red bicycles.
[ Sylvia ]
Ted Hughes.
Ted Hughes.
Edward Hughes. Edward Hughes.
Sylvia Plath.
Ted Hughes.
Mrs. Sylvia Hughes.
[ Tom ]
Get over.
[ Chuckling ]
Quiet!
Oh, shit!
- Wh-Which one?
- That one.
How the bloody hell do you know?
The light's on.
What are you doing?
Stand back.
[ Ted ]
Oh, bugger.
Give us a shot.
Here. Ooh!
What are you trying to do?
Bloody hell!
[ Chuckles ]
Oh, shit. Shit!
[ Both Chuckling ]
Shh!
Who is it?
Who's there?
I'm looking
for Miss Sylvia Plath.
Well, she's not here,
so just bugger off.
Excuse me.
Please, could you tell her
that Edward Hughes--
Ted Hughes called for her.
You're late.
He was here.
Who?
Your black marauder.
Him and his little playmate, legless,
chucking clods at my window.
- Thought it was yours apparently.
- What did he say?
[ Chuckles ]
Nothing comprehensible.
Sylvia, he left an address.
''The chief defect of Henry King
was chewing little bits of string.
''At last he swallowed some
which tied itself in ugly knots inside.
Physicians of the utmost fame
were called at once--''
[ Ted ]
No, no, no. It's-- It's magic.
It's not about magic.
It's not like magic.
- It is magic.
- ''When Henry with his latest breath,
cried, 'Oh, my friends--'''
It's real magic.
It's not conjuring tricks...
- or pulling rabbits
out ofbloody hats.
- Bugger!
Incantations,
spells, ceremonies, rituals--
wh-what are they?
[ Ted ]
They're poems.
''But if it comes to slaughter--''
So what's a poet?
He's a shaman,
that's what he is.
Or she.
- ''Now in Injia's sunny clime,
where I used to spend my time--''
- A fucking good poem is a weapon.
It's-- and not like a--
a popgun or something.
- ''It was 'Din! Din! Din!'''
- It's a bomb.
It's like a bloody big bomb.
That's why they make children
learn them in school.
''Hitherao!
Water, get it.! Panee lao! ''
They don't want them messing about
with them on their own.
I mean,just imagine
if a sonnet went off accidentally.
Boom.
Drink.! Drink.!
Bollocks.
[ Laughing ]
Sylvia.
Come on, Sylvia.
Go on.Just get up.
[ Laughing ]
Give us some of your American poetry.
Go on.
''If it be you that stir
these daughters' hearts...
''against their father,
''let not women's weapons,
water-drops,
stain my cheeks.!
- ''No, you unnatural hags,
I will have such revenges on you both...
- Faster!
''that all the world shall--
I will do such things--
- ''What they are, yet I know not,
but they shall be the terrors of the earth.
- Faster!
''You think I'll weep.
No, I'll not weep:
I'll have full cause of weeping:
but this heart shall break
into a hundred thousand flaws,
or ere I'll weep. O fool, I shall go mad!''
[ All Cheering ]
[ Tom ]
Come on, Ted.
''I know you all,
and will awhile uphold
the unyok'd humor of your idleness:
''Yet herein will I imitate the sun
who doth permit the base contagious clouds
to smother up his beauty from the world.
''That, when he please again to be himself,
being wanted, he may be more wondered at...
''by breaking through the foul and ugly mists
of vapors that did seem to strangle him.
Faster.
''If all the years were playing holiday,
to sport would be as tedious as to work:
''And when they seldom come,
they wish'd-for come,
and nothing pleaseth but rare accidents.
''So, when this loose behavior I throw off
and pay the debt I never promised,
''by how much better than my word I am,
by so much shall I falsify men's hopes:
''And, like bright metal on a sullen ground,
my reformation, glitt'ring o'er my fault,
Faster.
''shall show more goodly
and attract more eyes
than that which hath no foil to set it off.
''I'll so offend to make offense a skill,
redeeming time
when men think least I will.''
[ Ted ]
You buggers.
-[ Tom ]
Morecambe, again.
- Okay.
''Ah, dearJuliet,
why art thou yet so fair?
''Shall I believe
that unsubstantial death is amorous,
and that the lean abhorred monster keeps
thee here in dark to be his paramour?''
''For fear of that
I still will stay with thee,
''and never from this palace
of dim night depart again.
''Here.
Here will I remain
with worms that are thy chambermaids.''
''O you...
''the doors of breath,
seal with a righteous kiss...
a dateless bargain to engrossing death!''
''Here's to my love.''
''Thus with a kiss...
I die.''
How did you get the scar?
I tried to kill myself three years ago.
I broke into the box
where my mother kept
the sleeping pills.
Went down to the basement,
into the crawl space
underneath the house.
And I took them,
and I went to sleep.
Did you ever have something
that you wanted to erase?
No.
And?
And I took too many
of the damn things,
and I puked them up.
Then three days later
my mother and brother found me
and pulled me out.
And what about the scar?
I ripped my cheek on the concrete
when they pulled me out.
A memento mori.
[ Chuckles ]
Yes.
Because I was dead.
Only I rose up again.
Like Lazarus-- Lady Lazarus.
That's me.
You wouldn't do that if you knew.
What?
What was down there.
-Jesus Christ! What's that?
- [ Screams, Chuckles ]
Look.
Very intelligent, cows.
Did you know that?
Really?
Not a lot of people give them credit.
[ Sylvia ]
What do you think they'd prefer?
Milton or Chaucer?
Chaucer. Obviously.
Ladies, I give you
The Wife of Bath.
[ With Middle English Accent ]
''Experience,
''though noon auctoritee
were in this world,
''were right ynogh for me
to speke of wo that is in mariage.
''For, lordinges,
sith I twelve yeer was of age,
''thonked be God,
that were eterne on live.
Oh, that's beautiful.
[ Chuckles ]
''Housbondes at chirche dore...
I have had five.''
[ Ted's Voice ]
''Twenty-third of August, .
''We thank you for the manuscript
you submitted recently,
''but we cannot use this at present.
''It is herewith returned
with our compliments.
Yours faithfully--''
blah, blah, blah.
How many today?
[ Sylvia ]
Two.
They went straight back out.
And I typed up four more copies
of your manuscript,
so now there are seven in circulation.
Sylvia!
Come on. Wake up.
Mmm. What time is it?
It doesn't matter about
the bloody time.
Look at this. Look, look, look.
''Our congratulations that
Hawk in the Rain...
judged winning volume
Poetry Center first prize publica--''
You won!
I've fucking won.
You won.
I've fucking won.
[ Moaning ]
I didn't even know I'd entered.
[ Laughs ]
You know what this means,
don't you?
You're going to be a published poet.
And?
We're going to America?
And?
[ Man ]
Those whom God hath joined together,
let no man put asunder.
Oh, no, Daniel, don't--
Not there, dear.
Put it over there.
That looks much better. Yes.
Great.
I'd like to tie this back if I could.
Goodness.
Mommy!
Oh, darling.
Welcome home, my darling.
Oh! God.
Oh, you look beautiful.
Oh, my sweet.
So this is the übermensch?
Hmm?
Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Plath.
Sylvia's told me a lot about you.
Mmm. Well, let's hope
for both our sakes
that some of it's true.
Leave the bags.
I'll have Sam and Daniel get them.
Sam, Daniel.
What do you think?
Still too runny.
About Ted.
He's very--
What?
I don't know.
Different.
Why can't you ever
just be pleased for me?
[ Sighs ]
How is he going to support you?
I don't want to be supported.
He's gonna be a great poet.
He just won this poetry prize
that was judged by W.H. Auden.
Really?
And I've got money saved up.
And when that runs out?
Mother, I just got this teaching job.
And I could always sell stories
to those stupid magazines.
It doesn't matter.
Darling, you know I've only wanted
what's best for you.
Well, he is the best for me.
Then what do you want me to say?
That you like him.
Do you love him?
I love him.
Then I like him.
[ Man ]
Hey, Bob.
Hey.
- Oh, Mrs. Bergstrom. Hello.
How are you?
- Sylvia.
It's so lovely to see you.
And you. You're looking beautiful.
Thank you.
This is my husband, Ted.
Hello.
Pleased to meet you.
We've heard a lot about you.
Likewise.
How are you enjoying yourselves?
Hello. Oh, we're having
such a nice time.
Good.
Thank you.
You've made us feel so at home.
Hasn't she?
If I close my eyes,
I could be back in Mytholmroyd.
Your hem's up in the front, darling.
Oh.
Elizabeth, meet Ted.
Ted, Elizabeth Brooks.
How do you do?
My, aren't you
the catch of the day.
Ted is going to be a great poet.
His last book won--
What was that?
The New York Center Poetry Prize.
It's rather good.
It's the, uh,
Hawk in the Rain.
Really wonderful.
You read it?
Yes. Of course.
What did you think
of the poem about the giraffe?
Oh, listen
to that accent.
There wasn't a poem
about a giraffe.
Say something else.
I need a drink.
Uh, excuse me, ladies.
This Sylvia's father?
Mm-hmm. Yes.
Bumblebees were his specialty.
It's all he ever thought about.
Before the war,
back in Germany,
his colleagues always called him
der Bienenkönig.
That means--
King of the Bees.
Yes, that's right.
That was Otto.
King of the Bees.
You must forgive my friends, Ted.
They, uh, haven't had
the advantages you have.
And what might they be?
Having to fight for what you want.
That's why she's in love
with you, you know.
Sylvia, I mean.
Oh, my God. There were--
Oh, there were--
I don't--
I don't mean to sound disloyal,
but there were...
a lot of other boys,
but they didn't scare her.
She rather frightened them, I think.
You're--
You're very different.
But I think you frightened her,
and that's why she likes you.
You think I'd hurt her.
No, I wouldn't hurt her.
Do you know that we found her
right where you're standing?
Right under there, near the boards.
We thought she was dead,
she was so pale, so white.
Some people want to be found.
Sylvia didn't.
She just...
crawled into a hole
and waited to die.
Be good to her.
Always.
Hi.
Hope you like fish.
Wow, look at those.
My God.
Did you have fun?
Uh-huh.
It finally cooled down.
It was so hot earlier, wasn't it?
You tell me.
I look a bit... messy because
I started baking, and I made--
Baking?
I made one real cream cake,
but it went a bit funny in the center.
I just decided to throw it out
and start over.
But the funny thing is,
the second one looks nicer than
the first one anyway.
I thought you were gonna write.
Do you know, some husbands
would be happy that their wives...
stayed home
and baked them some nice cakes.
I am happy.
I'd just be happier
if you were writing.
I've got the whole summer to write.
How was your walk?
Good.
Got a poem. A good one.
You?
I'm dried up.
That's 'cause you've got nothing to say.
I'm not a real writer.
Never will be.
I'm no good.
You make great cakes.
You know what your trouble is?
I have a husband who thinks
he can tell me how to write poetry?
There's no secret to it.
You've just gotta
pick a subject and...
stick your head into it.
You've got to write.
That's what poets do.
Yes, well, that's easy for you to say.
You go out for a bike ride
and come back with
an epic in hexameters.
I sit down to write,
I get a bake sale.
Do you know what--
Do you know what my trouble is?
Is that I don't have a subject.
The novel, Falcon Yard,
what's that about?
It's... about a girl who meets a boy.
No. What's it really about?
You and me.
What's it really about?
Me.
A girl who spends her summer
at the beach?
No, see--
No, that's not really me.
Yes, it is.
You told me it was about you.
What I'm trying to say is
that you've already got your subject.
It's you.
And you keep skirting
round the issue.
- You keep flowering it up. You keep--
- All right, all right, all right.
Shit.
- Jesus Christ.
- What?
The tide's dragging us out.
I'm not gonna get us back in.
People drown like this.
I tried to drown myself once.
I swam out in the sea
as far as I could,
but it just spat me out like a cork.
I guess it didn't want me.
You know, it's funny,
I was always happy
until I was nine years old.
I was always in one piece.
Then my father died.
''Full fathom five my father lies:
Of his bones were coral made:
Those were pearls that were his eyes.''
[ Sylvia ]
'''Destroy.! Destroy.! Destroy.!'
''hums the underconsciousness.
'''Love and produce.!
Love and produce.!'
''cackles the upper consciousness.
''And the world hears only
the 'love and produce' cackle.
''Refuses to hear the hum
of destruction underneath...
''until such time as it
will have to hear.
''The American has got to destroy!
It is his destiny. ''
And finally, this...
poem by Yeats, I think...
illustrates...
that point rather well.
Well, at least I hope it does.
[ Clears Throat ]
Excuse me.
''The Sorrow of Love.''
''The quarrel of the sparrows in the eaves,
''the full round moon
and the star-laden sky,
''and the loud song
of the ever-singing leaves,
''had hid away earth's old and weary cry.
''And then you came...
''with those red mournful lips,
''and with you came
the whole of the world's tears,
''and all the sorrows ofher laboring ships,
''and all the burden ofher myriad years.
''And now the sparrows warring in the eaves,
''the crumbling moon,
the white stars in the sky,
''and the loud chanting of the unquiet leaves,
are shaken with earth's old and weary cry.''
Thank you.
Thank you.
Thank you very much.
That's very kind. Take care.
I was so impressed.
Bye.
Yeah. Bye-bye. Thank you.
Mr. Hughes, uh, your voice--
so powerful.
But, uh, what did you think
of the words?
The words?
So when is your next book
coming out?
Well, when I've written it.
[ All Laugh ]
Oh, it must be wonderful
to be married to such a great poet.
Yes, it is. It is.
Would you excuse us
for just a moment?
Sure.
Excuse me.
I'm sorry. I just--
I'm so exhausted,
and I've got a stack of papers
this high to get through.
Do you mind
if we go now or in a minute?
I'm gonna have to say thanks
to Merwin for that review.
And Len Baskin's here, so I--
Who's Len Baskin?
Len Baskin. He organized all this.
Oh, right. Right.
So-- Look, take the car.
All right.
I'll see you later.
Right.
Is Mr. Hughes in?
No.
He said he'd look at my poetry.
He said it would be okay.
I'm sorry if I disturbed you.
Yeah.
Who is she?
She's nobody.
A student. She was...
in that creative writing class I--
I talked to.
She'd written all these poems.
I took pity on her.
- You think I'm fucking her.
- Are you?
Oh, for Christ's sake!
This place is really
getting to you, isn't it?
This bunch of dried up,
malicious old women...
who think their men
are gonna get a taste for fresh meat.
As a matter of fact,
I'm not fucking her.
But if I do start fucking the students,
you'll be the first to know.
Last night--
I--
I was very tired. I--
I've organized everything so I won't--
I won't be quite so tired, um--
I'm sorry.
It's not just you.
It's me as well.
I can't write here.
We should go back to England.
And live on what?
We'll survive, lovely.
Do you see that?
[ Murmurs ]
That's the world.
[ Sylvia ]
Page
on line--line .
Yes. Page line .
[ Knocking On Door ]
There is an ''E''-- Yes.
No, two. Two ''P'''s.
Will you get that?
Uh, page .
Yes. Next--
Line eight.
''Next the new moon's curve.''
[ Man ]
Oh, those guys are all the same.
I mean, I wouldn't have thought--
Right.
Right.
I mean, after Hawk in the Rain,
they, uh--
No.
the literary establishment were all hoping
your next book would be an...
anticlimax.
But I'm pleased to say you've
confounded them and outdone yourself.
- It's really quite wonderful.
- On the back page.
In the back jacket.
Uh, I've just made some coffee.
Would you like a cup?
Well, I think you can speak
to the agent about that.
All right?
- Hello.
- Hello.
You must be Mr. Alvarez.
Yes, indeed.
And you must be Mrs. Hughes?
''Night Shift''?
Uh--
''Night Shift.'' It's a poem
you printed in the Observer.
Oh, yes.
''Night Shift.'' Yes.
It was a good poem.
Well, yes, I know. I wrote it.
Oh, you're Sylvia Plath.
I am.
[ Chuckles ]
Oh. Nice to meet you.
And you.
Uh, tell me, have you written
any others or--
Yes, I have.
Actually, I have a, uh,
book of poems coming out
very shortly called The Colossus.
I'd love to read them.
Thank you. It would be an honor.
[ Man ]
I spoke to George about it last week
and, uh, he was quite optimistic.
It might take another six months.
[ Man # ]
The whole thing,
it's about putting a face to a name.
For them to put, you know,
your name to duh, duh, duh,
and likewise.
I mean, we've got Charlie Hetheringham
here from the T.L.S.
There's Robinson
from the Critical Quarterly.
That one there?
Yeah. And, um, there's, uh,
the Telegraph there and the Times.
And, uh--
Oh,yes,you see that chap with
the big ears?
He's easy. He's from the Listener.
[ Man ]
So, it's a good turnout,you know.
That's a good sign, isn't it,
that they all came?
Well, yes, of course.
I mean, don't get your hopes up too high,
but, yes it is. It really is.
They're all bloody
civil servants moonlighting
as journalists.
It's their job to protect
the status quo.
[ Man ]
That's the toughest.
Mr. Robinson.
Mr. Robinson.
You forgot this.
Oh, uh, thanks.
Do you think
you might be reviewing it?
This? I shouldn't think so.
We just got the new Pasternak.
Then Betjeman's out next week,
and there's an e.e. cummings
in the pipeline.
Not in the same league,
really, is she, this Sylvia--
Plath.
[ Women Laughing ]
[ Chuckles ]
Poor thing. Can't be easy for her,
being married to that.
Still, good party.
Thank the boss.
This is good.
What?
By Alvarez.
Very good.
Listen.
''Her poems rest secure
in a mass of experience...
that is never quite brought out
into daylight.''
Then there's a quote, and it says,
''It is this sense of threat,
as though she were
continually menaced...
''by something she could see
only out of the corner of her eye...
that gives her work its distinction.''
What about the rest?
It's a good review.
One review?
But it's a good review.
Look, it's hard.
You know it's gonna be hard.
My first book--
Won prizes.
I'll get it.
[ Crying Continues ]
Hello.
No, no.
No, no. No problem.
[ Crying Continues ]
Yes.
Yeah. Oh, no, certainly. Certainly.
Um--
Yes. No, no.
That's no problem. I'll--
Good. All right.
Good-bye. Bye.
That was Moira Doolan,
the lady from the BBC I told you about.
I sent her that idea
for the children's radio series.
You remember?
No.
Well, she wants to
have lunch.
I think she's interested.
A bit short notice, isn't it?
I'll see you later.
Bye.
Yes, is that the BBC?
May I-- May I speak to a Moira Doolan
in children's radio, please?
Do you have any idea
what time she left?
Did you happen to notice
if she left by herself?
Well, have you any idea
if she plans on coming back there
this evening?
I understand. It--
I-- I'm looking for someone
who might have been with her.
His name is Edward Hughes.
My name is Sylvia Plath Hughes, and I--
Don't take that
tone of voice with me.
- What the fuck is going on?
- Where have you been?
What is going on?
I've been sitting here for hours!
Where have you been?
- I was at a meeting!
- That was hours ago!
It was a lunch meeting.
It went into dinner!
I called the BBC,
and they said Moira Doolan left!
- She had another meeting!
We met later!
- Fiction really isn't your gift, is it?
- We had dinner!
- Why don't you tell me where you were?
- She's a middle-aged woman.
- Fucking liar!
I love you.
Do you?
[ Ted ]
A month in advance,
that'll do as a deposit.
You've got, uh, a bedroom, kitchen,
uh, another bedroom or a study,
or whatever you want to use it for.
And this is the living room,
which you've seen already.
That's it.
Not much to it, I'm afraid.
No, it's fantastic.
It would be great for David.
Why? What is it that you do?
I'm a poet.
Ah. So are we.
You're--
Ted Hughes.
I'll get some wine.
- I'm Sylvia Plath.
- Oh, my God. That's--
I gave Assia a copy
of your book, The Colossus.
That's amazing.
Yes, I love your poems.
Mmm.
They're very beautiful.
They're frightening.
Mmm.
They have this--
this haunting quality.
What?
No, it's just...
that's the best review
I've ever gotten.
[ David Chuckles ]
I'm looking forward
to moving to the country.
Yes, I'm sure.
I think the fresh air
will help with the writing.
You think it will be isolated? Devon, I mean?
You know, you should come down
and spend a weekend with us.
Thank you.
Shouldn't they?
Shouldn't they what?
Come down to Devon
and spend a weekend.
They should.
Get out of the city.
Would be nice.
I'd love to.
Do you want to go higher?
Whoa.
Oopsy.
[ Ted ]
I'll get it.
Hello.
Hello.
No, I'm fine.
We're both fine.
How are you?
How's David?
Oh, he has?
Oh, that's good.
[ Chuckles ]
No, that would be great,yes.
Well, Saturday's fine.
Yes, yes. Yes.
I'll look forward to it.
Cheerio. Bye-bye. Bye.
That was Assia and David.
They wanna come down this Saturday.
That'll be nice, no?
[ Assia ]
God, it's so inspiring up here.
It's good to see you
and Ted again.
- Here, take my hand. It's muddy.
- Oh, my God. Would you mind?
- There you go.
- Thank you.
Thank you, Ted.
Oh, this country air.
Well, this soup is extraordinary.
Mm.
Have some more.
- No, I couldn't. Thank you.
- Please. Here, let me help you.
Ah, there's plenty.
[ Assia ]
Oh.Just a little, please.
- There you go.
- Whoops. Thanks. Always loved my food.
Ted says you have
the new Robert Lowell recording.
What?
The new Robert Lowell... recording.
What about it?
Well, perhaps we could
listen to it later?
Fine.
Thank you. Thank you.
Thank you.
Excuse me.
Do you mind telling me
what's going on?
I see you.
You see what?
Why do you insist on
humiliating me?
Sylvia, nobody's humiliating you.
I mean, why bother?
You do such a bloody
good job of it yourself.
Can I give you a top-up?
Please.
Oh, my God. Look at this.
Well,you shouldn't
have gone to all this trouble.
- I'm beginning to think the same thing myself.
- Oh,Jesus Christ.
Thank you.
That's enough for me. Thank you.
[ Ted ]
Thank you.
- You're not eating.
- No, I'm waiting for you.
I shall be very insulted
if you don't eat.
Would you like some?
No, you help yourself.
- [ David ]
Thanks.
- [ Clicks Teeth ]
So, are you managing to write
at all, with the baby?
Me? Oh, no.
No. But Ted is.
And that's really all
that matters, isn't it?
I mean, he's the real poet
in the house.
[ Robert Lowell Over Record Player ]
The sea was still breaking violently
and night had steamed...
into our North Atlantic fleet
when the drowned sailor
clutched the dragnet.
Light flashed from his matted head
and marble feet.
He grappled at the net with the coiled,
hurdling muscles of his thighs.
The corpse was bloodless--
a botch of reds and whites--
I'm gonna do the washing up.
I'll help.
No, I'm fine.
No, I insist.
[ Lowell ]
...on a stranded hulk
heavy with sand.
I'll wash, you dry.
Yes.
...and heave it seaward
whence it came...
where the heel-headed dogfish barks...
its nose on Ahab's void and forehead...
and the name is blocked
in yellow chalk.
What is going on?
Nothing's going on.
Assia was just telling me
about a dream she'd had.
Can I help with anything?
I'd like you and Assia to leave
first thing in the morning.
It's just that I'm tired.
I'm so tired, and I--
You don't know what I've been through.
I've got two small children.
If you had children of your own,
you would understand.
I'm sorry.
Of course.
When will you be back?
I don't know.
A couple of days, maybe three.
Depends how long it takes.
What number will you be at?
I haven't decided
who I'm gonna stay with yet.
I think people are getting pretty sick
of me sleeping on their floors.
So, I'll probably just
check into a bed-and-breakfast.
You don't have to go,
you know.
Yes, I do.
Sylvia?
The truth comes to me.
The truth loves me.
Hello?
I know who you are.
Hello.
Get out.
[ Sylvia Thinking ]
This is the light of the mind.
If the moon smiled,
she would resemble you.
Their redness talks to my wound.
[ Thinking Continues ]
She would drag me, cruelly,
being barren.
Thick, red and slipping--
Your nakedness shadows our safety.
Whose is that long white box
on the grove?
They can die, I need feed them nothing.
I sizzled in his blue--
Our cheesecloth gauntlets
neat and sweet--
Bare-handed I hand the combs.
The man in white smiles--
So I can't see what is in there.
Some god got hold of me--
Lightly, through their white swaddlings,
like an awful baby--
A world of bald white days
in a shadeless socket.
I cannot undo myself,
and the train is steaming--
The upflight of the murderess--
''And the villagers never liked you.
They are dancing and stamping on you.
''They always knew it was you.
Daddy, Daddy, you bastard, I'm through.''
It's, uh--
It's what? What is it?
Is it any good?
Good?
Oh, God, yes.
That ''Daddy'' poem,
the use of metaphor,
the way it builds at the end...
out of the blackness
into an explosion of fury,
it's just stunning.
I'm thinking of moving back
to London.
I'll send you some more
as soon as I'm settled.
I'd like that.
Sylvia.
I know this must
have been hard on you.
No.
Really, I've never been happier.
And I've never written more.
It's as if...
now he's gone, I'm free.
I can finally write.
I wake up between : and :
'cause that's the worst time,
and I write till dawn.
I really feel like
God is speaking through me.
And now we need
the little purple star.
Go up here.
Put all of them on.
[ Kissing ]
We've got the snowflake.
All right.
Where's he gonna live?
Mm, there.
[ Sighs ]
She looks beautiful.
Hello?
Hello?
All right.
I'm very sorry to bother you.
I'm-I'm-I'm--
I live upstairs and my lights have gone out.
I've got no hot water.
I've got my children up there and I'm--
There's been a power cut.
The moment you need heat
and light to sustain life itself,
the government cuts the electricity.
[ Chuckles ]
Why?
To build the national character.
Now, leave your stove on for heat
and to boil water for washing.
Here's some spare candles,
yeah, and some-- and some matches.
There you are.
Thank you.
You must think
I'm some stupid American bitch.
Oh, no, not at all.
I assumed you were Canadian.
Yes. Well, thank you.
Pleasure.
Thank you very much.
Bye-bye.
[ Ted ]
Hello, sweetheart.
This one's for you.
Happy Christmas, darling.
I didn't just come to see them.
I wanted to see you.
Wanted to see how you are.
I've missed you.
I've missed you all.
Christmas is bloody hard.
Can we-- Can we talk?
Can we sit down?
Are you still fucking her?
[ Thinking ]
I have fallen a long way.
The moon sees nothing of this.
[ Thinking Continues ]
And the message of the yew tree
is blackness--
blackness and silence.
I don't know what else to do.
I can't--
I can't go back to her,
but I love her so much it's--
Do you want another one?
Mm.
Thank you.
[ Alvarez ]
This one is extraordinary.
And, uh, ''Lady Lazarus, ''
the one about the, uh--
the failed suicides--
the despair,
the overpowering sense of foreboding,
and yet without a trace...
of anger or hysteria...
or any appeal for sympathy.
The-- The wealth of imagery.
Such horrors,
but expressed with, um--
with a coolness,
like a--
like a murderer's confession.
So--
[ Clears Throat ]
have you got a title
for your novel yet?
The Bell Jar.
When's it coming out?
The New Year.
Are you gonna let me read it?
It's a potboiler.
Could you get me an ashtray?
Sure.
I didn't know you smoked.
I don't.
But I'm starting.
I'm thinking of trying
some new things.
Really? Like what?
I'm thinking of taking a lover.
Oh, how glamorous.
[ Whispering ]
Who is he?
Look, I know how you feel.
No, you don't.
I do.
We have-- We share in common a--
[ Exhales ]
I--
I tried to-- I tried to--
How?
Uh, same as you. Sleeping pills.
I, uh-- I took too many.
Everybody does, don't they?
Sometimes I feel like I'm not... solid.
I'm hollow.
There's...
nothing behind my eyes.
I'm a negative of a person.
It's as if I never--
I never thought anything.
I never wrote... anything,
I never felt anything.
All I want is blackness--
blackness and silence.
Look,
one thing I do know about death...
is it is not a--
a reunion or a homecoming.
There's-- There's no--
Your life doesn't flash before you and
the missing piece of you clicks into place.
It's just-- There's just fuck all.
There's nothing.
So what do you do when your life...
gets as bad as it can...
and just keeps getting worse?
You just keep going.
Look.
Listen.
You are so beautiful.
And you've--you've
a wonderful mind.
And you are a great--
a great poet.
And you and Ted,
you understand each other
in ways that--
that other people
can only dream about.
So, for God's sakes, don't throw
it all away just because--
I don't want to hear her name.
I was gonna say
just because of an affair.
Are you all right? Come in.
Sit here.
I'm gonna die. I'm gonna die soon.
Who's gonna take care of my babies?
Mrs. Hughes, I don't understand.
What do you mean, you're going to die?
Are you ill?
Have you been ill or--
No, I'm not ill.
I think I really
should call the doctor.
No, no, don't call a doctor.
Don't you know what they do?
They hook you up to the eastern grid
and fill you full of sparks.
Yeah. I'm sorry.
No, I'm sorry.
I'm just so on edge, I--
I'm just so on edge, I--
Oh, God, it's all my fault,
it's all my fault, it's all my fault.
All I could think about is
what would happen if...
somebody took him away from me.
You see, if you fear
something enough,
you can make it happen.
That woman,
I conjured her.
I invented her.
Do you understand?
No, I'm sorry. I don't.
It's just that I'm so tired,
I'm so tired, I'm--
If I could just sleep a little bit,
just a little bit--
I'm just so exhausted.
Perhaps we could get someone
to look after your children.
Oh, my God! I left them upstairs!
No, don't go. I'll go and check,
see if they're all right.
Would you like me to do that?
You stay there.
You're a very nice man.
Mm, no.
You remind me a little of my father.
Yes, hello, Kate. It's Sylvia.
I'm all right. I'm--
I was wondering if I could
come round and see you.
I see. Okay.
Dr. Hawkins, it's Sylvia.
I--
[ Sobs ]
I need help. I--
I don't think I can...
manage:
You look... very nice.
You'd better come in.
Would you like a drink?
Please.
What do you want, Sylvia?
I wanted to see you.
I thought that you...
might like to see us.
I thought there was
something wrong.
Alvarez said you tried
to make a pass at him.
And I've been told
you've been taking pills.
No.
God, I missed you.
[ Chuckles ]
I almost went mad.
We're not even two people.
Even before we met,
we were just...
these two halves...
walking around with big...
gaping holes in us
shaped like the other person.
And then we found each other
and we were finally a whole.
But then it's as if we couldn't
stand being happy,
so we ripped-- we ripped
ourselves in half again.
In the spring,
we should go back to Devon.
We'll go back to Devon
and it'll just be us...
and the children and our work.
It'll be like this
whole thing never happened.
And the summer and the fall
and this awful winter--
it'll all fade by the time
the leaves come out.
And it'll just seem like some nightmare
that was never real.
You don't love her
like you love me.
You'll never have with her
what you have with me.
You know that.
I know.
Leave her.
I can't.
She's pregnant.
Oh. Everything all right?
Do you have any stamps?
It's silly, I know, but I've got, uh--
I've gotta post some letters
to America tonight and I--
airmail, and I don't have any stamps.
Well, can't you post them
in the morning?
No. No, I've got-- I've got
a nurse coming in the morning.
You see, there's a nurse coming.
And, anyway, I won't
be here in the morning.
Oh, I see.
Yes, I think I've got some.
Here we are.
Thank you.
Stamps. Thanks.
Thank you.
Well, good night.
Good night.
Look, do you want me
to call someone?
No.
[ Chuckles ]
No, I was just having--
I just had the most beautiful... dream.
I love you, sweetheart.
[ Sylvia Narrating ]
The box is locked.
It is dangerous.
There are no windows,
so I can't see what is in there.
There is only a little grid.
No exit.