Voila! Finally, the Wilde
script is here for all you quotes spouting fans of the Oscar Wilde movie
with Stephen Fry and Jude Law. This script is a transcript that was painstakingly
transcribed using the screenplay and/or viewings of Wilde. 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.
He's coming! He's coming!
All right, now.
Let's give a good
Colorado welcome here.
Sir, you're most welcome.
Thank you.
Everybody, listen up.
I want to introduce you
to Oscar Wilde.
Welcome to
the Matchless Silver Mine.
Today, we opened up a new seam.
We're gonna name it after you.
How very kind.
I look forward to collecting
the royalties.
Now, why don't you
follow me over here?
Great lecture
you gave last night.
We're truly honoured
to have you visit us.
If you'd like to step in here.
There you go, sir.
I thought
I was descending into hell.
But with these angel faces
to greet me,
it must be paradise.
Is this the way
to my personal seam?
I should have preferred gold.
Purple and gold.
But we live
in a silver age, alas.
So much that is
exquisitely beautiful
is wrought from suffering,
from pain, from toil.
Broken bones
and blistered skin.
Benvenuto Cellini
understood silver.
He took the metal
that you mine so nobly down here
and transformed it
into works of art
for popes and princes.
Cellini, is he a wop?
A Renaissance man.
In every sense.
The greatest silversmith
the world has ever seen.
But a genius in life
as well as art.
He experimented
with every vice known to man.
He committed murder...
He killed a man?
More than one.
Thank you.
I'd like to meet this Cellini.
Why didn't you bring him?
I'm afraid he's dead.
Who shot him?
Is Miss Lloyd connected
to Lloyd's Bank?
No. No.
Pity.
But she's comfortable, Ada.
A thousand a year.
Then I congratulate you,
Lady Wilde.
Now that Oscar's been to America
and sown his Wildean oats,
it's time he settled down.
But weren't they very rough?
No. Charming.
Well, charming to me.
With each other,
they were a little brusque.
They hanged two men in a theatre
just before I gave a lecture.
I felt like the sorbet
after a side of beef.
I know your friend
is famous, Ada.
Notorious, at least.
But I don't understand for what.
For being himself,
Lady Mount-Temple.
Don't Americans talk
the most wonderful slang?
I did hear one lady say,
"After the heel-lick,
I shifted my day goods. "
What on earth did she mean?
She'd changed her clothes
after an afternoon dance.
Connie, my love,
Lady Mount-Temple
is so anxious to meet you.
I knew your father, Miss Lloyd.
She's delightful.
And not stupid.
Really, not stupid at all.
Is that quite a reason
to marry her?
Well, I must marry someone.
My mother has our future
planned out in every detail.
I'm to go into Parliament.
We're going to have a nice house
and live a proper settled life.
Literature, lectures,
the House of Commons.
Receptions for the world
in general at five o'clock.
How dreary.
Your attendance will not
be required at those.
But your sphinxiness
will be essential
for our dinners at eight.
'Twill be
a grand life, a charming life.
I see Constance will be busy
preparing the dinners.
What will she contribute to
the literature and lectures?
She'll correct the proofs
of my articles.
What a little sunbeam!
I do love her, Ada.
She's...
Silent.
I find her very silent.
But so sympathetic.
And I do need an audience.
I don't see how you can
possibly take it all in,
reading at that speed.
Try me.
I know better.
Where are we dining tonight?
At the Leversons'.
Then you must
show your true colours
as a propagandist
for Dress Reform.
The cinnamon cashmere
trousers, I think.
And the cape with the ends
that turn up into sleeves.
I... don't think I can wear
those trousers any more.
A new Wilde for the world!
Another genius for Ireland!
We shall have to buy you
a whole new wardrobe.
Ernest proposed to me
under that statue.
The things that go on
in front of works of art
are quite appalling.
The police should interfere.
We were made not to marry.
Whereas you and Constance
are so happy.
Everyone says so.
It's perfectly monstrous
how people say things
behind one's back
that are absolutely true.
Your audience has proved
as responsive as you hoped?
Receptive, yes.
Responsive?
I always wonder
what she's thinking.
I expect
it's about the baby.
Yes.
Constance is such
a natural mother,
she's invited Robbie
into the nest
while his parents are abroad.
Robbie is Canadian.
You can tell by his youth.
Have you been brought
to England to mature, Mr Ross?
That was the idea.
But it doesn't seem
to be working.
I've lived here
since I was three
and you see
the pitiful result.
Robbie comes from a long line
of imperial governors.
His grandfather was
Prime Minister of Upper Canada.
Or was it Lower Canada?
The British take their
class system wherever they go.
They apply it
even to continents.
Are you planning
to govern a continent?
Oh, no.
I don't even plan
to govern myself.
All look the same to me.
Hello! Hello, sir!
If I give you these, my love,
I'll see if I can find a cab.
Coming through!
Mind your backs!
Looking for someone?
Cab!
Bed time.
Just one more cigarette.
Oscar?
No. No thanks, Robbie.
Don't stay up
too late, Robbie.
Goodnight.
Goodnight, Oscar.
Goodnight, Robbie.
Almost as beautiful
as his mother.
I don't know
what I'd do without you,
my constant Constance.
Goodnight, my dear.
Goodnight.
A university education
is an admirable thing,
so long as you remember
that nothing that is worth
knowing can ever be taught,
least of all at Cambridge.
But you told me, in Greece...
in ancient Greece, the
older men taught the younger.
They drew them out.
I look forward to being
drawn out immensely.
Yes, well, em...
Greek love, Platonic love,
is the highest form
of affection known to man,
of course.
You also told me
the Greeks put statues
of Apollo in the bride's chamber
so she would have
beautiful sons.
I can't help noticing
that here,
the statue is in your bedroom.
Constance prefers a bath.
She was so beautiful
when I married her, Robbie.
Slim...
White as a lily.
Such dancing eyes.
I've never seen such love
in a pair of eyes.
She was...
Nothing should
reveal the body...
but the body.
Didn't you say?
There has to be a first time
for everything, Oscar.
Even for you.
There's a good boy.
Come on now.
There, there.
Now come on, Cyril,
it's time for your bath.
Be a good boy.
Don't make such a fuss.
Ssh.
No, you've got
to get undressed.
I know you hate it.
Boys, Mrs Wilde,
they never do
what they're told.
We're going to have
a girl next time.
Aren't we, Oscar?
I must go.
Goodnight, my dear.
Behave, Cyril.
A gentleman
should take a bath
at least once a year.
Goodnight!
Come on, Cyril.
I shan't be back till late.
I'm dining
with the Asquiths.
Come on, now.
Do you love me?
I feel...
like a city that's been...
under siege for years.
Suddenly the gates
are thrown open and...
the citizens come pouring out.
To breathe the air
and walk the fields
and pluck the wild flowers.
I feel...
relieved.
You don't worry
about Constance?
Every afternoon,
on their way home from school,
the children used to play
in the garden
of the Selfish Giant.
The garden where we play?
No. This one's
much larger and lovelier
with soft green grass.
There's grass where we go.
Yes, but are there
peach trees
that burst into blossoms
of pink and pearl in springtime
and bear rich fruit
in the autumn?
Are there, Mama?
I don't think there are,
Cyril, no.
Could you hand me
a matchstick, darling?
I'll put this hussar's
head back on. Thank you.
The birds sat on the trees
and sang so sweetly
that the children used to stop
their games to listen.
"How happy we are here,"
they said to each other.
How could they be happy
if there was a giant?
There wasn't. Not yet.
He was away visiting a friend.
You're always away.
I only go away
for a night or two
and I always come back.
Whereas the giant
whose garden it was,
had been staying for seven years
with an ogre in Cornwall.
After seven years,
when he'd said all he had to say
because his conversation
was very limited,
he decided to return home
to his own castle.
When he arrived and found the
children playing in his garden,
he was very angry.
"What are you doing here?"
he cried.
And all the children ran away.
"My own garden is my own
garden!" said the giant.
"And I won't allow anyone
to play in it except myself. "
So he built a high wall
all around.
And put up a large noticeboard
on which was written,
in capital letters,
"Trespassers
will be prosecuted. "
Arthur, you're trespassing.
Cyril will now eat you.
It's Mr Ross, sir,
with Mr Gray.
Heavens. I must fly.
The horses of Apollo are pawing
impatiently at the gates.
I beg your pardon?
Papa must go.
You will come back
and finish the story?
Of course I will.
Come on, Cyril.
It's almost tea-time.
I really don't know
why people bother
painting portraits any more.
You can get a much better
likeness with a photograph.
But a photograph's
just one moment in time.
One gesture,
one turn of the head.
Yes. Portraits
are not likenesses, Mr Gray.
Painters show the soul
of the subject.
The essence.
The essence
of the sitter's vanity,
you mean.
Well, this is a portrait
of Lady Battersby
as a young woman.
She's over there
as a matter of fact.
I must go and console her.
How nice to see you.
Poor thing.
I expect in her heart
she thinks she still
looks like this.
If we could look young
and innocent forever.
D'you think we'd want to?
If our souls were ugly, yes.
Give a man a mask
and he'll tell you the truth.
Have we had enough of this?
Shall we go and have
dinner somewhere?
"Dorian Gray"
is the most wonderful book
I've ever read!
And the end,
when the servants break in,
and they find him
wizened, old and dead
and the picture young again.
I fainted!
My family say
it's dull and wicked.
Dull!
Oh!
It's sublime!
It's about the masks
we wear as faces.
And the faces we wear as masks.
That my son should have
written a work of such...
People say it's full
of dangerous paradoxes.
Hardly anyone will speak
to us any more.
We're ceasing
to be respectable.
Artists care nothing
about respectability!
Oh, it's only jealousy.
It's the spite of the untalented
for the man of genius.
Where is Oscar?
He's in the Lake District.
Writing a play.
A drama?
A comedy.
Oh!
Robbie Ross has gone
to keep him company.
I do like Robbie.
And they both love you.
It'll be a great success.
Oscar's made for the stage.
- Author!
- Author!
Oscar, please.
Magnificent!
Well done, everybody.
Bravo!
Ladies and gentlemen,
I have enjoyed
this evening immensely.
The actors have given us
a charming rendering
of a delightful play
and your appreciation
has been most intelligent.
I congratulate you
on the great success
of your performance,
which persuades me
that you think
almost as highly of this play
as I do myself.
Absolutely splendid, Oscar!
An absolute triumph!
Thank you so much.
How sweet of you to say so.
It went so well, Oscar.
Even better than I'd...
They loved it.
They absolutely loved it!
And I, dear boy, love you.
Congratulations, Oscar!
Thank you.
It's good to see you.
Mr Wilde - wondrous.
Really wonderful.
- Oscar!
- Sphinx!
You really must be careful.
You're in grave danger
of becoming rich!
It was wonderful,
as I knew it would be.
Thank you, Robbie.
Everyone's dying to know
who the real Lady Windermere is.
Every woman in this room,
and most of the men.
- Oscar!
- Lionel!
It's a wonderful play.
My cousin,
Lord Alfred Douglas, is here.
He would very much like
to congratulate you.
Wonderful!
Oscar, this is Bosie Douglas.
We met last year.
Lionel brought me to tea
at Tite Street.
How could I possibly forget?
I love your play.
The audience didn't know whether
you meant your jokes or not.
You shocked them -
especially with your speech.
But the more
frivolous you seem,
the more serious
you are, aren't you?
I love that.
Thank you. I always say,
the young are the only critics
with enough experience
to judge my work.
We need shocking.
People are so banal.
And you use your wit
like a foil -
you cut through all those
starched shirt-fronts.
You draw blood.
It's magnificent.
I wish you'd draw some blood
down in Oxford.
Though you'd need a miracle.
All the dons at my college
have dust in their veins!
At which college
do you educate the fellows?
Magdalen.
My own college.
Well, I shall claim
the privilege of a graduate
and come and take
tutorials with you.
Come soon, then.
They're threatening
to send me down.
How could they be so cruel
to one so beautiful?
Dons.
They're so middle-class.
My dear Oscar,
you've shocked London,
smoking on stage like that.
Excellent!
We shall run for a year.
You must say something
to Marion Terry.
She was good, wasn't she?
So good, she wrote
most of the lines herself.
Excuse me, Lord Alfred.
Bosie, please.
Bosie.
You must
be so thrilled, Oscar.
I know!
Isn't that humiliating?
"'My own garden is
my own garden, said the giant.
"So he built a high wall
all round it
"and put up a noticeboard.
"'Trespassers
will be prosecuted. '
"He was a very selfish giant.
"The poor children
had now nowhere to play.
"They tried to play
on the road
"but the road was very dusty
and full of hard stones
"and they did not like it.
"They used to wander
round the high wall
"when their lessons were over
"and talk about
the beautiful garden inside.
"'How happy we were there! '
"they said to each other. "
I hope he was a very
beautiful boy.
Well, pretty.
You know - in a street Arab
sort of way.
There's no point being
blackmailed by an ugly one.
What's tiresome is,
he's threatening to show
my letters to my father.
Who will show them
to all his friends,
for the excellence
of their style.
No.
No, you don't know him.
He's a brute.
Really.
He carries a whip
wherever he goes.
He used to beat my mother.
He beat my brothers.
He thrashed me from the age...
My dear boy!
Of course,
he's practically illiterate.
He probably won't understand
the letters, anyway.
By an unforgivable oversight,
I've never been
blackmailed myself,
but all my friends assure me
that a hundred pounds
will usually suffice.
Really? God, I...
You promise?
Mm. Leave it to Lewis.
George Lewis, my solicitor.
He knows what he's doing.
He acts for
the Prince of Wales.
# Ah, leave me not to pine
# Alone and desolate
# No fate seemed fair as mine
# No happiness so great
Isn't he killing, Mr Wilde?
He's perfect.
He's perfect in every way.
#... And sung in accents clear
# This joyous roundelay
# He loves me
# He is here
# Fa-la-la-la
# Fa-la-la-la
# He loves me
# He is here
# Fa-la-la-la, fa-la #
That was lovely.
Well done, Bosie.
Yes, absolutely enchanting.
More tea, anyone?
I think so, yes.
I don't want to sit here.
I want to sit there.
You heard what Lord Alfred said.
I want everyone
to look at us.
I want everyone to say,
"Look - there's Oscar Wilde
with his boy. "
So, what shall we let people
see us eating?
Foie gras and lobster.
And champagne.
For two.
We do everything together.
Very good, Mr Wilde.
I think he enjoyed
thrashing me.
All my family are mad.
My uncle slit his throat
last year.
In a railway hotel.
Which station?
Euston.
Ah.
All life's really
serious journeys
involve a railway terminus.
And now I must go
to the station myself.
Sarah Bernhardt thinks
she knows better than I do
how to play Salome.
Stay.
Please stay.
At least... at least
till this evening.
Sarah is divine, as you are.
She will be wonderful
at the play's climax
when Salome kisses the lips
of the severed head
of John the Baptist.
"Ah, thou wouldst not suffer me
"to kiss thy mouth, Jokanaan. "
Jokanaan is an old
Hebrew name for John.
"Well, I will kiss it now.
"I will bite it with my teeth
"as one bites a ripe fruit.
"Yes... I will kiss
thy mouth, Jokanaan.
"Thy body is white
"like the snows that lie
on the mountains.
"Like the snows that lie
on the mountains of Judaea
"and come down into the valleys.
"The roses in the garden
of the Queen of Arabia
"are not so white as thy body. "
I'm not
good enough for him any more.
I'm just the son
of a carpenter, while Bosie...
Oscar's only ever
been smitten before.
He was smitten with me.
He was smitten with you.
I wasn't smitten!
I loved him.
Well...
now he's fallen in love.
I'm halfway to hellfire.
I'm not joking.
Someone else
was a carpenter's son.
I've given in
and become a Catholic.
I find confession...
wonderfully consoling.
I can't go to confession...
when I want to kill Bosie.
Or myself.
Oscar's furious.
He knew the Lord Chamberlain
would never allow a play
with Biblical characters.
Oscar doesn't think
there should be
censorship of plays.
Of course there
must be censorship.
Or people would say
what they meant,
and then
where should we be?
- When's he coming to join us?
- He's not.
He must stay
and look after Lord Alfred.
Those Douglases are always ill.
When they're not demented.
One of them roasted
a kitchen boy on a spit.
Bosie's father,
Lord Queensberry,
he's a dreadful man,
Constance.
Doesn't believe in God,
or marriage.
A marquis should set
a proper example,
or what are
the upper classes for?
I tell you,
I wouldn't want
a daughter of mine
to marry a Douglas.
I haven't got a daughter.
Plenty of time still, my dear.
Oh.
Oh, I see.
It's my fault.
After Vyvyan was born,
all I could think of
was the children.
Ah.
So that's why Oscar
spends so much time
with his men friends.
Oscar needs disciples.
Lord Alfred's a poet.
A very fine poet,
Oscar says.
He's studying classics.
Oscar and he talk
about Plato and so on.
There's nothing wrong.
Really, there isn't.
It's not whether
there is anything wrong.
It's whether or not
there appears to be.
That's all people care about.
The empire
was not built by men
like Bosie Douglas.
Then the Spring came.
Only in the garden
of the Selfish Giant,
it was still winter.
The birds did not care
to sing in it
as there were no children.
And the trees forgot to blossom.
The Snow covered up the grass
with her great white cloak
and the Frost painted
all the trees silver.
Let's go out.
If you like.
The thing about renters is,
you don't have to consider
their feelings.
If someone is willing
to give one pleasure,
one should show gratitude.
No. Money -
that's all they want.
What's wonderful
about going to Taylor's
is no-one pretends.
You just do it
and be done with it.
I do love you, Oscar.
But variety
is the spice of life.
You can watch me if you like.
You must attempt
to keep a grasp
upon your sobriety.
Don't be sick on your suit!
That is disgusting.
Less of that.
- Good evening.
- Lord Alfred.
Evening, Lord Alfred.
Alfred Taylor,
this is Oscar.
Delighted to make
your acquaintance, Oscar.
Charles Parker.
I remember you.
'Allo, Oscar.
Charming to see you again.
And you.
- Do you smoke?
- Oh, I do everything.
- Everything that pays!
- Expertly, I might add.
Mr Wilde, some wine.
Thank you.
That's a nice case.
I want you to keep it.
Thank you.
So, this is a den of vice.
I should call it
more of a garden.
Such pretty flowers,
Mr Taylor.
Wise of you to keep
the curtains closed.
They'd never grow
in the common light of day.
Who are you calling common?
Certainly not you,
dear boy.
You seem to be a flower
of the rarest hue.
Bosie never told me that
you were a botanist, Mr Taylor.
That you roam the earth
climbing the highest peaks
of the Himalayas
and plunging into the darkest
forests of Borneo
to return triumphant
to this delightful conservatory
in the shadow
of Westminster Abbey
to exhibit your... specimens.
The boys are all Londoners,
actually.
Impossible.
I see Londoners every day,
but never such...
exotic blooms as these.
Does he always talk like this?
Not when he's in bed.
I am discreet.
Bosie, of course,
is far too grand
and well-born for that.
He wants everyone to know.
Oscar, you must understand...
I must be with
young people, Robbie.
They're so frank and free.
They make me
feel young myself.
That's all very well.
But what would you say
if someone wanted
to go to bed with your son?
Cyril's eight!
What will you say
when he's ?
Nothing.
He must do as
his nature dictates.
As I only wish I had done.
"I do believe the Spring
has come at last,"
said the giant.
And he jumped out of bed
- and looked out of the window.
- And what did he see?
You tell me.
You tell it.
All right.
He saw the most
wonderful sight.
Through a little hole
in the wall,
the children had crept
back into the garden
and were sitting
on the branches of the trees.
In every tree
that he could see,
there was a little child.
And the trees
were so glad...
They covered themselves
with blossoms!
And were waving their arms
above the children's heads.
And the birds were twittering
and singing above them
with delight.
Oscar!
The flowers
were looking up
through the grass
- and laughing.
- It's time the boys changed
or we'll miss the train.
Ah.
Come on, boys.
Oh, Papa, can't we stay?
Oh, Papa's got to work.
He's got to finish his play.
Yes. Poor dear Papa.
Poor Papa!
Poor, poor, poor,
poor, poor Papa.
Where is Oscar?
We haven't seen him at all.
Where d'you think he is?
He's working.
He is a writer, after all.
I hear your father's threatening
to shoot Lord Rosebery.
Really? He usually
prefers the horsewhip.
Says he's been
buggering your brother.
Well, Rosebery is Secretary
of State for Foreign Affairs
and Francis
is his private secretary.
Actually, Francis
is about to get engaged.
What's your father
talking about then?
Oh...
He's obsessed with sex.
He thinks Oscar's buggering me,
as though I'd allow
anyone to do that.
I'm sick of the country.
Let's go back to London.
What's the point
of us living together
if you're always working?
I have responsibilities.
A wife...
God, not that again!
I ask my friends over
from Oxford
and you just disappear.
I'd be better off
staying at my mother's.
At least she's there.
You asked me
to take this house...
Now I'm bored with it.
And with you.
I can't give it up.
It's paid for in advance.
And until I finish my new...
Bosie, dear,
you have beauty,
you have breeding
and most glorious of all,
you have youth.
But you are very fantastical
if you don't think
that pleasures
have to be earned and paid for.
Whenever I want to do anything,
you say you can't afford it.
But you give renters
cigarette cases.
But I've lavished
presents on you!
Every penny I've earned
from my play,
- I've spent on you!
- I'm sure you've been counting.
You're so mean.
And penny-pinching
and middle-class.
All you can think about
is your bank balance!
For God's sake,
this is intolerable!
No gentleman ever has
the slightest idea
what his bank balance is!
You're absurd!
Telling everyone
how they ought to live.
You're so vulgar!
I never want to
see you again. Ever.
If that's what
you want, then go!
Go on, go! Get out!
Get out!
But in the
farthest corner of the garden,
it was still winter,
and in it was standing
a little boy.
He was so small
he could not reach up
to the branches of the tree.
"Climb up, little boy,"
said the tree.
But the little boy was too tiny.
Egypt is lovely
this time of year.
But you mustn't
idle your time away.
Oh, Mother.
And... I want you
to promise me something.
Not to write to Oscar Wilde.
I can't do that.
- Bosie...
- I love Oscar.
I love him as a disciple
loves his teacher.
But he's not fit
to teach anything.
He's evil.
Do you really think
your own son
could love someone evil?
I just wish
I could love Oscar
as loyally, devotedly,
unselfishly and purely
as he loves me.
But I'm not as good
as he is.
I probably never will be.
Goodbye, then.
I adore simple pleasures.
They are the last refuge
of the complex.
But, if you wish,
let us stay here.
Yes, let us stay here.
The Book of Life begins
with a man and a woman
in a garden.
It ends with Revelations.
Yes. Mr Tree, may I?
I'm delighted that you find
my lines funny.
But please don't try and make
the audience laugh with them.
They should sound completely
spontaneous and natural,
as though people spoke
like that all the time.
Yes, of course.
Let's try again.
You should break
with Bosie more often, Oscar.
Then we'd have more
of your spontaneous
and natural plays.
Bosie was envious.
That's why
he stopped Oscar working.
- That's not true.
- 'Course it is.
His poems aren't nearly
as good as you pretend.
And he knows it.
He's just a shallow little...
Rivulet.
Bosie's a child.
A vulnerable child.
He needs love.
We all need love.
But which of us can give it?
# We wish you a merry Christmas
# And a happy New Year
# Good tidings we bring
# To you and your kin
# We wish you a merry Christmas
# And a happy New Year! #
Cracker time!
It is cracker time.
Oh, I won this time!
And the giant's heart melted
as he looked out.
"How selfish I have been,"
he said.
"Now I know why the Spring
would not come here.
"I will put that little boy
on top of the tree
"and I will
knock down the wall
"and my garden shall be
the children's playground
"for ever and ever. "
He was really very sorry
for what he had done.
This is really nice.
So he crept downstairs
and opened the front door
quite softly
and went out into the garden.
The little boy
did not run away
for his eyes
were so full of tears
that he did not see
the giant coming.
And the giant stole up
behind him
and took him gently
by the hand
and put him up into the tree.
And the tree broke at once
into blossom
and the birds came
and sang on it
and the little boy
stretched out his two arms
and flung them round
the giant's neck
and kissed him.
Oscar?
Oh, I don't care
what people think!
I love you!
It's all that
matters to me.
It was agony
being away from you.
Just...
Well, here I am.
Bosie, you're my catastrophe!
My doom!
Everyone says so - even me!
Oh, I missed you!
I, uh, thought
you might like something
to celebrate your return.
Oscar!
When I saw them in the window,
they begged me on their knees
to make them yours.
I'll put them on now.
They're superb!
No, no, no, no.
I want a proper table.
Something wrong, my lord?
Young fool wants me to sit
by the service door.
Oh, God! My father.
He's new. He didn't know
who you were.
This way.
Bosie, you're not going to flee?
Give me the menu.
I'll have the pea soup
and then the salmon.
- Will you have it with us?
- Bosie.
I'm lunching with Oscar Wilde.
Will you join us?
I told you never to see
that vile cur again.
He's not vile, or a cur.
He's utterly delightful.
Come and see.
How do you know
what he's like
when you've
never met him?
Come on, Papa. You're
not a man to be influenced
by other people's opinions.
Oscar, you've, uh...
you've never met
my father, have you?
Lord Queensberry.
Bosie has told me so much
about your exploits
on the race track.
I've never heard
such bad luck as yours
with the Grand National.
Bosie tells me
that you would've won
but your cousin wouldn't let you
ride the horse?
Bloody fool said I was too old.
You're never too old.
Besides, I'd ridden
Old Joe on the gallops.
Came in at to .
No horse could've carried me
over the jumps, I fear.
What are you having?
Pea soup and salmon.
Then I shall join you.
Spring is the time
to lunch on salmon.
Though it tastes so much nicer
if you've caught it yourself.
You fish?
I used to, when
I lived in Ireland.
My father had the most
charming hunting lodge
on an island in a lake.
D'you know the west of Ireland?
Not really.
Whereabouts, exactly?
The Christians go around
pretending they know
who God is and how he works.
I've no time
for that tomfoolery.
If you don't know something,
you should stand up and say so,
not pretend you believe
in some mumbo-jumbo.
I can believe in anything,
provided it's incredible.
That's why I intend
to die a Catholic,
though I couldn't
possibly live as one.
Catholicism is such
a romantic religion.
It has saints and sinners.
The Church of England
only has respectable people
who believe in respectability.
You get to be a bishop
not by what you believe,
but by what you don't.
That's true enough!
It's the only church
where the sceptic
stands at the altar
and St Thomas the Doubter
is prince of the apostles.
No, I couldn't possibly die
in the Church of England.
Where do you stand
on cremation?
I'm not sure I have a position.
I'm for it.
I wrote a poem.
"When I am dead, cremate me. "
That's how it begins.
"When I am dead, cremate me. "
What do you think of that
for an opening line?
It's... challenging.
I'm a challenging sort of man.
That's why people don't like me.
I don't go along with the
ordinary ways of thinking.
Then we are exactly alike.
Another glass of brandy?
I find that alcohol,
taken in sufficient quantities,
can produce all the effects
of drunkenness.
You were there for ages.
You stayed talking
till after four.
I knew you'd like him
once you'd met him.
He's got charm, I admit that.
But that's bad.
Men shouldn't be charming.
It's disgusting.
Don't think much of his action.
Let's have a look at the bay.
Mind you,
Wilde's no fool.
Talks wonderfully.
Really wonderfully.
But that means nothing
when what he says
is such rot.
Worse than rot - evil.
Which is why I insist
you stop seeing him
forthwith.
What's that supposed to mean?
I will cut off
your allowance
if you don't do
as I say.
Trot him up and down
a bit!
Look, Father...
You wasted your time at Oxford,
pretending you were going
into the Foreign Office,
where that Jew queer Rosebery
is Foreign Secretary
and buggers the juniors,
including your brother.
That's all lies.
Spent your time
writing obscene poetry.
My poems aren't obscene.
They're in the manner
of Wilde,
that's filthy enough
for me.
Have you read any
of Oscar's poems?
I wouldn't sully my mind
with perverted trash
like that.
Tell him to
pick his feet up!
He's not straight!
Are you calling Oscar a pervert?
Because that's libellous!
I'm not saying
he IS one,
I'm saying
he's POSING as one.
Which is worse.
His wife's divorcing him,
did you know that?
For sodomy!
That's COMPLETELY untrue.
I hope it is.
Because if it were true,
I'd shoot him on sight.
You will cease
to see Wilde
or I will cut you off
without a penny.
As though I wanted your money!
What little you have left
from your tarts!
How dare you speak
to your father like that!
What a funny little man
you are.
Bosie!
Come back here,
you filthy-minded cissy!
You're absurd!
And you're nothing
but a bum-boy!
You're pathetic!
Bosie!
I'm a bloody good shot.
I'll shoot him
through the heart
if he threatens me.
Better use a silver bullet.
Here's one for the Black
Douglas!
Bosie, for God's sake!
One for his liver...
One for his lights...
And one for his stinking,
rotten soul!
Bosie!
I'll save one
for myself.
My own father!
He wants
to kill me!
My life is everything
I ever wanted.
I have fame.
I have recognition.
With two plays about
to open in London,
I may even have money.
The world is at my command.
Yet I can't command myself.
I can't command
my feelings for you.
Constance! My dear...
How nice.
Constance!
Bosie.
I-I brought you your letters.
You haven't been home
for so long.
Thank you.
So much more convenient
for Oscar
living in the West End
when he has a play
coming on.
I'm like one of those
northern businessmen
who has to keep an eye
on his factory.
The boys ask for you
all the time.
They're longing to see you.
Oscar has to make sure
the play's a success.
I'll come round
this afternoon.
For tea.
It's the dress rehearsal
this afternoon.
Tomorrow, then.
I'll... come tomorrow.
Well...
tomorrow then.
Goodbye, my dear.
Goodbye.
Goodbye, Constance.
What am I trying
to get?
Oops.
- Perhaps...
- Cod?
I've a strong
feeling
codfish prefer
it deeper.
- D'you think there'll be skate?
- Possibly.
A-choo!
I don't think
there'll be anything
for our table tonight.
A-choo!
I'd better stay.
You're getting a cold.
No, no.
I'm all right.
Let's get the boys
some ices.
Boys, stay and
look after Nanny.
Oh, all right.
We'll look
after you, Nanny.
I could take the boys
to the dentist on Thursday
on their way back to school.
The whole point
of dentistry now
is so they can stuff
themselves with sweets
for a week
before we lose them.
A-choo!
Are you quite sure?
Bosie'll look after me.
Oscar!
Get your coat on, quick!
I've got a present for you!
Oh, God. You're not
still seedy, are you?
Bosie, where have you been?
I've had no-one to talk to.
No-one to look after me.
Don't be so pathetic.
I've found you
the divinest boy.
Bosie, you promised
Constance...
Bugger Constance!
I'm not your nanny.
Come on, we're going out.
Bosie, please.
You look such an idiot
lying there.
Revolting.
Have you forgotten
how to wash?
As a matter of fact,
I'm dying for a glass of water.
Well, help yourself.
You know where the jug is.
Bosie, darling...
It stinks in here.
You'll be wanting me to empty
your chamber-pot next.
I emptied YOUR chamber-pot.
I looked after YOU.
Well, I'm not
looking after YOU.
You don't interest me,
not when you're ill.
You're just a boring,
middle-aged man
with a blocked-up nose.
Bosie, dearest boy!
Shut up!
Dearest boy,
darling Bosie.
It doesn't mean anything.
You don't love me.
The only person
you've ever loved is yourself.
You like me,
you lust after me,
you go about with me
because I've got a title,
that's all.
You like to write
about dukes and duchesses
but you know nothing
about them.
You're the biggest snob
I've ever met
and you think you're so daring
because you fuck
the occasional boy.
Bosie, please,
you're killing me.
You'll just about do
when you're at your best.
You're amusing.
But when you're not
at your best, you're no-one.
All I asked for
was a glass of water.
For Christ's sake!
There you are, then!
Now will you shut up
about the fucking water?
There are two boys
waiting out there.
If you're not coming,
I'll fuck them both myself.
I'll take them to the Grand
and fuck them in front
of the whole fucking hotel.
And I'll send you the bill.
Drink this.
It will help
your fever.
He's ashamed of loving men.
His father bullies him,
his mother spoils him
and then berates him
for being spoiled.
Neither of them gives him
any real love.
They're torturing him.
What's truly dreadful...
is that when it...
When he can't bear it
and he has one of his...
he becomes exactly
like his father.
He hates himself for that.
You're too kind
about him, Oscar.
You can't be too kind
about someone
who's been so hurt.
Yet if I go on
trying to come between Bosie
and his father...
they'll destroy me.
Bosie's quite capable
of destroying you
on his own.
Look how much you wrote
while he was away.
Two wonderful plays
which will run for years.
Back comes Bosie,
what have you
written since?
Oscar...
You know how much I...
love and admire you.
But you're throwing
your genius away.
For what?
It's highly ironic.
Queensberry thinks Bosie and I
are locked in nightly embrace.
In reality,
we've been the purest model
of Greek love since...
Bosie doesn't like
doing it with me.
I've loved him.
- I've educated him.
- But he's never grown up.
And he never will.
I'm not taking him
back, Robbie.
Not again.
I can't.
I've been very foolish,
very fond.
And, uh... now I must
grow up myself.
Oh, please
don't do that.
You're an artist.
Artists are always
children at heart.
Oh, Robbie.
I sometimes
wonder if...
My God.
Francis Douglas.
- What?
- Bosie's brother.
He's been found shot.
He's dead.
He's just got engaged.
Bosie.
Poor, poor Bosie.
He'll be utterly distraught.
He killed himself.
It was my father.
He drove him to it.
I'm sure your father's
just as upset as everyone else.
No, he's not.
He says it's a judgement
on Rosebery and my mother.
And me and you.
We've got to stop him,
Oscar.
Before he drives
my whole family to suicide!
Bosie...
Bosie, I promise you,
I won't let him hurt you
ever again.
I promise.
That's not enough.
I want him stopped.
I want...
the whole world to know
what he's done.
What an evil man he is.
Table, my lord?
Is Lord Alfred here?
And that shit and sod, Wilde?
No, my lord. Not tonight.
Bugger must be at Kettner's.
Is my son
staying here?
Is Lord Alfred Douglas
staying here?
Uh, no, sir. He's not.
What about Wilde?
No, sir.
If I find they have
been staying here,
I'll give you the biggest
whipping of your life.
Well, I expect you two
would like a drink
after your exertions.
I must ask you to leave,
Mr Wilde.
My dear man, what
are you talking about?
At once. Please.
What's the matter?
My father cracking the whip
downstairs, is he?
- My lord...
- Bosie.
You're not frightened
of what this little man thinks?
I think the pleasures
of the evening
should be resumed
elsewhere.
You're such a coward.
You say you despise convention.
But you're the most
conventional man I know!
Come on, then.
If we're going, let's go.
Until tomorrow, Tommy.
Goodbye, sir.
Oscar!
Wait a minute, Oscar!
Alfred. How nice
to see you.
And Charlie.
Looking so well.
I'm busy this evening
but we must
have dinner soon.
It's not a question
of dinner.
I got a letter of yours.
To Lord Alfred.
It's a nice letter,
Oscar.
Beautiful.
"Lips like roses.
"The madness of kisses
in Ancient Greece. "
Then I expect it's one
of my prose poems.
A gentleman's
offered me £ for it.
Then you must accept.
I've never received
so large a sum
for a prose work
of that length.
I'm delighted that someone
values my work so highly.
- He's gone away.
- To the country.
I'm sure
he'll be back soon.
Oscar!
Oscar, look...
you couldn't let us have
something, could you?
Bit short at the moment
and... you know.
Of course. Of course.
Here's half a sovereign.
Take good care
of that letter.
Lord Alfred's going to
publish it in sonnet form
in his new magazine.
For fuck's sake!
Oscar...
it's no good trying to rent you.
You just laugh at us.
Here.
Thank you.
He can be very
careless, Lord Alfred.
What a wonderfully
wicked life you lead.
You boys!
You boys!
Where is he?
Mr Wilde
is not receiving guests.
Where is he?
Excuse me, sir,
there's a gentleman...
You!
Listen to me.
You're a BUGGER!
I don't allow people
to talk to me like that
in my own house,
Lord Queensberry.
Or anywhere else.
I suppose you've come
to apologise
for the lies you've been
spreading about me.
I've come to tell you
to leave my son alone,
you sodomite!
The Marquess
appears obsessed
with other people's
sexual activities.
It is anything to do with
his new wife, I wonder,
seeking divorce
for non-consummation?
Unless you swear to have
nothing more to do with Bosie,
I shall go to Scotland Yard.
You can go to the devil!
You and your...
Who is this gargoyle?
You're a queer!
And a sham! A poseur!
If I catch you and Bosie
together again,
I'll give you such a thrashing!
I believe Lord Queensberry
once invented some rules
for boxing.
I've no idea what they are.
But the Oscar Wilde rule
is to shoot on sight.
Now kindly
leave my house.
Shut up! I shall leave
when I'm damned well ready!
It's a scandal,
what you've been doing.
All the "scandal"
is your own.
Your... your treatment
of your wives,
your neglect
of your children.
And above all, the...
the depraved insistence
that they be as tyrannical
and unloving
as you are yourself!
Arthur, this is
the Marquess of Queensberry,
the most infamous brute
and the least tender father
in London.
Never let him
into my house again.
Very well, then.
Let's get out of this... stew.
- Gangway, man!
- Sorry, sir!
- Move back!
- I'm very sorry,
but it's just not possible!
- What you doing?
- Rotten vegetables?
I want you to give that
to Oscar Wilde.
Thank you, sir.
We'll take care of it.
I wanted to give it
to him personally,
as a bouquet.
I dare say you did, sir,
but you're not going to.
He's a cur!
A sod!
And a BUGGER!
You remember that!
I always told you,
Gwendolen,
my name was Ernest,
didn't I?
Well, it is Ernest
after all.
I mean, it naturally
is Ernest!
Yes, I remember now
that the General
was called Ernest.
I knew I had some
particular reason
for disliking the name.
Ernest. My own Ernest!
I knew from the first
you could've had
no other name.
Gwendolen, it's a terrible thing
for a man to find out suddenly
that all his life,
he has been speaking
nothing but the truth.
Can you forgive me?
I can, for I see
you are sure to change.
My own one!
Laetitia!
Frederick! At last!
Cecily! At last!
Gwendolen! At last!
My nephew, you seem
to be displaying
signs of triviality.
On the contrary,
Aunt Augusta.
I've now realised
for the first time in my life,
the vital Importance
of Being Ernest.
Bravo!
Author!
Alan, you were
wonderful!
Thank you all
so much!
They're calling for you.
You must come on.
- No, please.
- Come on!
Er, Mr Wilde, sir...
Yes?
For you.
Thank you.
"For Oscar Wilde.
"Ponce... " Is it?
"Ponce and somdomite. "
"Posing as a sodomite. "
He's illiterate.
Illiterate, ignorant...
It's hideous.
We've got him now, Robbie.
He wrote it down,
the porter read it -
that makes it a public libel.
- Now we can take him to court.
- For God's sake!
Oscar!
Oscar, you mustn't
do that.
That would be...
I mean...
We've been waiting
to get him in the dock
and show the world
what a swine and shit he's been.
To me, my mother,
my brothers...
But he'll plead justification.
He'll call the renters
as witnesses for the defence.
He doesn't know
what a renter is.
No? I hear he's had
detectives following you
ever since you came back
from Egypt.
He can't prove anything.
But we can.
We can prove
he's the vilest man
that ever walked
the earth.
Tear the card up.
- Pretend you never got it.
- Are you mad?
That's our main piece
of evidence.
If Oscar went abroad
for a few months
while your father calms down...
Whose side
are you on?
If this goes to court,
Oscar will have to tell lies!
Perjure himself!
Everything will come out.
Whatever the result,
it'll be utter disaster.
You're an enemy, then.
No, no.
Bosie, please.
Robbie, you're a dear boy,
but I can't even think
of leaving the country.
As a matter of fact,
I can't even leave this hotel.
I can't pay the bill.
We can raise you money,
for heaven's sake!
Anyway, what about
your royalties?
We shall need all the money
for the libel case.
My father can't go on
making all our lives
a torment like this.
Oscar, I beg you...
I'm not going
to run away, Robbie.
I'm not going to hide.
That would be
the English thing to do.
If you take
Queensberry to court,
all hell will break loose.
All my life, I've fought
against the English vice -
hypocrisy. Not that
that's the point.
Queensberry's already
caused the death
of one of his sons.
If I don't try and stop him now,
who will he harm next?
He's avoiding me, Robbie.
I know what
everyone's saying.
But it's not true.
It's NOT true.
Is it?
Of course not.
Oh, it's so shaming.
I... I find it
easier to stand.
I'm going to Torquay
for a month,
to try to get my back right.
Oscar's been so busy...
I'm sure he'll be
terribly upset
when he knows you've been
in so much pain.
The truth is, I need some money.
I'm not even sure
where he is to ask for it.
It does seem rather hard
when he's having
extraordinary success...
I think I can find him.
I keep hearing these stories
about Bosie and his father.
- I'm sure you don't want to.
- Oh, yes!
I do.
Men think women
should be protected
by not knowing.
Not knowing only makes it worse.
Is there...
going to be trouble?
I hope not.
I believe a prosecution
would certainly succeed
provided, and I stress this,
provided there is
no truth whatever
in the accusation
made by Lord Queensberry.
Of course there's
no truth in it.
Then so long as I have
Mr Wilde's assurance
that that is indeed
the case...
There is no truth
in the accusation whatever.
Good.
Excellent.
The defence, I understand,
will be led
by Mr Edward Carson.
Old Ned?
I was at college with him
in Dublin.
No doubt he'll perform his task
with all the added bitterness
of an old friend.
In writing
a book or a play,
I'm concerned entirely
with literature -
with art.
I do not aim at doing
good or evil,
but at making a thing
that will have
some quality of beauty.
Here is one of your...
pieces of literature.
"Wickedness is a myth
invented by good people
"to account for the curious
attractiveness of others. "
D'you think that true?
I rarely think anything
I write is true.
"If one tells the truth,
"one is sure, sooner or later,
to be found out. "
That is a pleasing paradox
but I don't set very high store
by it as an axiom.
Is it good for the young?
Anything's good
that stimulates thought,
at whatever age.
Whether moral
or immoral?
There is no such thing
as morality or
immorality in thought.
What about this,
then?
"Pleasure is the only thing
one should live for. "
I think that
the realisation of oneself
is the prime aim of life,
and that to realise
through pleasure
is finer than to realise
through pain.
I am, on this point,
entirely on the side
of the Ancients. The Greeks.
How long have you known
Alfred Taylor?
About two years.
Two and a half years.
Is he an intimate
friend of yours?
I wouldn't call him
that, no.
But you went often
to his rooms.
About seven or eight
times, perhaps.
Did you know Mr Taylor
kept ladies' dresses
in his rooms?
No.
Did you know
he was notorious
for introducing young men
to older men?
I never heard it in my life.
Has he introduced
young men to you?
Yes.
How many
young men?
About five.
What were their occupations?
I really don't know.
Oh, well, let me
tell you, Mr Wilde.
You met a man
called Charles Parker there,
I believe.
Yes.
Charles Parker is...
a gentleman's valet.
You met his brother
there too, I believe.
- Yes.
- He is a groom.
I didn't care tuppence
what they were.
I liked them.
I have a passion
to civilise the community.
I recognise no social
distinctions at all,
of any kind.
To me youth,
the mere fact of youth
is so wonderful,
that I would sooner talk
to a young man for half an hour
than... well, than be
cross-examined in court.
Do I understand that...
even a young boy you might
pick up on the street
would be a pleasing companion?
I would talk to a street Arab
with pleasure.
If he would talk to me.
- And take him to your rooms?
- Yes.
And then commit
improprieties with him!
Certainly not.
Certainly not.
You withdraw your libel action
against Lord Queensberry.
Well and good.
But there remains a question
of the evidence...
Lord Queensberry's
evidence against you.
My information is
that the Crown wishes
to pursue the matter.
In which case,
an arrest and a charge
of gross indecency
are certain
to follow.
The maximum sentence
is two years'
hard labour.
Nine months' hard labour
is reckoned to be more than
a man of our... background
can survive.
Um...
The children...
The boys...?
I must go and see them.
You have no time
for that.
But my wife...
I have to say goodbye
to my wife.
Unless you wish to subject her
to the further humiliation
of seeing you arrested
and taken away
in front of the gutter press,
Mr Wilde, you must go.
Oscar, you must take that train.
Practically everyone you know
will be on it.
At least single gentlemen
all in abject terror of arrest!
No.
Where your life leads you,
you must go.
I defy society.
Tell him to go.
He must save himself.
Tell him to go abroad.
I've been telling him all day.
He won't budge.
People have never understood
the courage he needed
to be himself.
You must go abroad too.
We must all go abroad.
At once.
Oscar says will you
tell the boys goodbye?
I need to go through his papers.
I was always
too silent.
If I'd known...
Bosie.
If I'd only
spoken up.
It wouldn't have made
any difference.
Perhaps not.
But at least I wouldn't
blame myself now.
You're an Irish gentleman.
Of course you must stay.
Your father fought
when he was libelled.
I was in the courts myself.
- I fought...
- I know, Madre.
You'll fight these
English Philistines.
And you will win.
And even if you lose,
if you go to prison,
you'll always be my son.
Of course, it's too late
to change that now.
If you go, Oscar,
I'll never speak to you again.
No-one will ever speak
to me again
whatever I do.
Of course I'm your son,
Madre.
Which is why,
even if I lose,
the English will never
forget me.
Is his mother with him?
Is Lady Wilde there?
Lady Wilde!
Get out of my way!
Get out! Get out!
Take me away,
as fast as you can.
Lady Wilde!
Have you anything to say
about your son's disgrace,
Lady Wilde?
Have you
anything to say?
Come in.
Mr Wilde, I believe.
Yes, yes.
We have a warrant here
for your arrest
on a charge of committing
indecent acts.
I recommend
Switzerland as soon as possible.
You will have to change
your name, of course.
I-I can't.
My dear Constance,
the name of Wilde
will be a word of execration
for the next thousand years.
You can't let your boys grow up
with people knowing
who they are.
Think of their lives at school.
Thank you
for your advice.
I'm sorry our friendship
has to end like this.
You will always be my friend.
I am still Oscar's wife.
That must cease forthwith.
Forthwith, do you understand?
Anybody who has anything
to do with Oscar from now on
will never be received
in society again. Ever.
Oh, God, Ada.
What is going
to happen to him?
That's Oscar Wilde's boy.
You must let me
in the witness box.
If the jury could hear
what I have to say...
But Bosie, darling boy,
as soon as they see you
in all your golden youth
and me in all
my corruption...
You didn't corrupt me.
I corrupted you if anything.
That's not how
it will seem.
But I must have my say!
It's outrageous!
Everyone else
has said anything
that came into his head.
But I'm the person
all this is about.
It's ME my father
wants to get at, not YOU!
It's outrageous
that I can't have my say!
It won't help, Bosie.
It may actually
make things worse.
But my father will win!
I can't endure
my father winning.
You must go away,
dear boy.
I couldn't bear
for them to arrest you.
I can't bear what they're
saying about you in court.
Jesus Christ!
- Goodbye, love.
- Goodbye, dear.
Time's over.
Goodbye, Bosie.
Dear boy.
Don't let anyone,
anything,
ever change
your feeling for me.
Change your love.
Time's up, my lord.
Oscar, never!
They never will.
I won't let them.
I won't let them!
You've been a great deal
in the company
of Lord Alfred Douglas?
Oh, yes.
Did he... read his poems
to you?
Yes.
So you can perhaps understand
that some of his verses
um... would not be acceptable
to a reader with
an ordinary, balanced mind?
I'm not prepared to say.
It's a question of taste...
temperament...
and individuality.
I should say that
one man's poetry
is another man's poison.
Yes, I daresay.
But in this poem
by Lord Alfred Douglas,
"Two Loves"...
there is one love -
true love -
which, and I quote,
"Fills the hearts
of boy and girl
"with mutual flame. "
And...
there is another.
"I am the love...
"that dare not speak its name. "
Was that poem explained to you?
I think it's clear.
There's no question
as to what it means?
Most certainly not.
Is it not clear
that the love described
relates to natural
and unnatural love?
No.
Oh.
Then what is "the love
that dare not speak its name"?
"The love that dare not
speak its name"
in this century...
is such a great affection
of an elder...
for a younger man
as there was between
David and Jonathan.
Such as Plato made the very
basis of his philosophy
and such as you may find
in the sonnets of
Michelangelo... and Shakespeare.
It is in this century
misunderstood.
So much misunderstood
that it may be described as,
"the love that dare not
speak its name".
And on account of it,
I am placed where I am now.
It is beautiful.
It is fine.
It is the noblest
form of affection.
There is nothing
unnatural about it.
It is intellectual
and it repeatedly exists
between an elder
and a younger man,
when the elder has intellect
and the younger man...
has all the joy, hope,
and glamour of life
before him.
That it should be so,
the world does not
understand.
The world mocks at it
and sometimes...
puts one in the pillory
for it.
Hear, hear!
Oscar Wilde,
the crime of which
you have been convicted
is so bad...
that I shall pass
the severest sentence
that the law will allow.
In my judgement,
it is totally inadequate
for such a case as this.
It is the worst case
I have ever tried.
The sentence of the court
is that you be imprisoned
and held to hard labour...
for two years.
Shame.
Pervert!
Rotter!
Shame on you!
Disgusting!
A slim thing,
gold-haired like an angel,
stands always at my side.
He moves in the gloom
like a white flower.
I thought but to defend him
from his father.
I thought of nothing else.
Now my life seems to have
gone from me.
I am caught
in a terrible net.
But so long as I think
he is thinking of me -
my sweet rose,
my delicate flower,
my lily of lilies -
it is in prison
that I shall test
the power of love.
I shall see if I can't
make the bitter waters sweet
by the intensity
of the love I bear you.
He asked me not to change.
Those were his last words
to me.
"Don't change,"
Well, things are going to
have to change
when he comes out.
He'll have no money at all.
You're blaming me too,
are you?
I'm not blaming anyone.
You're not the only person
on this earth
Oscar cares about!
You've always hated me,
Robbie.
Because Oscar loved
and still loves me
when you were never more
than one of his boys.
I'm suffering just
as much as he is, you know.
My life's ruined too.
I'm much younger than he is -
I've hardly had any life
and it's ruined already.
When Oscar gets out,
we'll live together properly.
We'll take a villa
somewhere near here.
Prosilipo or... Ischia.
Or Capri.
I'll take care of him.
I'll give him
everything he wants.
I love him, Robbie.
Oscar's mine and
I'm going to have him.
Years went over,
and the giant grew very old
and very feeble.
He couldn't
play about any more
so he sat in a huge armchair
and watched the children
at their games
and admired his garden.
"I have many
beautiful flowers," he said,
"but the children are the most
beautiful flowers of all. "
I'm afraid Cyril
has got some idea
of why you're here.
I'm sending them
to school in Germany.
I can't manage them
on my own.
Your back
isn't better, then?
No. Not really.
I may have to have
an operation.
What I've done...
to you and the boys...
I can't...
I shall never
forgive myself.
If we could choose...
our natures...
If we could
only choose.
But it's no use.
Whatever
our natures are,
we must fulfil them.
Or our lives, my life,
would've been filled with...
dishonesty.
Even more dishonesty
than there actually was.
I've always loved you,
Constance.
You must believe me.
I don't see how
you can have done.
Not truly.
Not if all the time...
I didn't know.
"Know thyself",
I used to say.
I didn't know myself.
I-I didn't know.
I suppose you want a divorce.
You have every reason.
I've been thinking,
when you do come out...
When they let you out,
you can go to
Switzerland or Italy
write another play,
get yourself back.
You CAN.
You're so clever, you CAN.
Oscar...
I don't want a divorce.
Will you ever let me
see the children again?
Of course.
But there must be one condition.
Oscar, you must never
see Bosie again.
If I saw Bosie now...
I'd kill him.
The children love you, Oscar.
They'll always love you.
Did... did anyone tell you?
They've been performing Salome
in Paris.
The giant hastened
across the grass
and came near to the child.
When he came quite close,
his face grew red with anger.
And he said, "Who hath dared
to wound thee?"
For on the palms
of the child's hands
were the prints of two nails.
And the prints of two nails
were on his little feet.
"Who hath dared to wound thee?"
cried the giant.
"Tell me, that I may take
my big sword
"and slay him. "
"Nay," answered the child.
"But these are
the wounds of love. "
Bosie thinks I'm jealous.
It will come as a shock to Bosie
to realise that he is
relatively unimportant
in the scheme of things.
But no doubt,
Bosie will be remembered
as long as Oscar.
Unfortunately.
I sometimes wonder...
If I hadn't, um...
pushed him into...
Don't.
Oscar was very lucky
to meet you, Robbie.
Think who else
it might have been.
I'll have that one, thank you.
Must you go abroad
again at once?
I shouldn't
be here now.
But has he got anywhere
to go when he's released?
It'll have to be in France.
I'm going to see
what I can arrange.
But here?
When he leaves prison?
Goodbye, Mr Harris.
Goodbye, sir.
Goodbye, Mr Snow.
Thank you.
Oscar.
My dear Sphinx!
How marvellous of you
to know what hat to wear
at seven in the morning
to meet a friend
who's been away.
No, I'll keep this.
What is it?
It's a letter to Bosie,
telling him how I love him
but can never see him again.
I'm going to ask Robbie
to have it copied out
before I send it.
I rather fear Bosie
might throw it on the fire.
I call it De Profundis.
It comes from the very depths.
I know not
whether laws be right
Or whether laws be wrong
All that we know who lie in gaol
Is that the wall is strong
And that each day is like a year
A year whose days are long
Yet each man kills
the thing he loves
By each, let this be heard
Some do it with a bitter look
Some with a flattering word
The coward does it with a kiss
The brave man with a sword
Some kill their love
when they are young
And some when they are old
Some strangle
with the hands of lust
Some with the hands of gold
The kindest use a knife
Because the dead so soon
grow cold.
I'm sure we can find
an hotel near here.
Somewhere where
you can work.
I've decided to see him
again, Robbie.
Yes.
I thought you might.
I've nothing left.
I've lost my wife.
I've lost my children.
They won't allow me
to see them now.
No-one will ever read my plays
or books again.
Yes, they will.
Bosie loves me more than
he loves anyone else.
As much as he can love.
And allow himself to be loved.
I think we need
some more wine.
I find that alcohol...
taken in sufficient
quantities...
...Can bring about
all the effects of drunkenness.
Suvito!
Life cheats us with shadows.
We ask it for pleasure,
it gives it to us,
with bitterness and
disappointment in its train.
And we find ourselves looking
with dull heart of stone
at the tress
of gold-flecked hair
that we had once
so wildly worshipped
and so madly kissed.
Oscar!
In this world,
there are only two tragedies.
One is not getting
what one wants.
The other... is getting it.