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.
Tody, we opened up a new seem.
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.
-
Oscar 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 seem?
I should have preferred gold.
Purple aand gold.
But we live in silver age, alas.
So much that is exquisitely beautiful
is wrought from suffering, from pin, 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 RenMissance 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 MMiss Lloyd connected to Lloyd's Bnk?
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 CCount-Temple.
Don't Americans talk the most wonderful slang?
I did her one lady say,
"After the heel-lick, I shifted my day goods."
What on erath did she mean?
She'd changed her clothes after an afternoon dance.
Connie, my love,
Lady Count-Temple is so anxious to meet you.
I knew your father, Miss Lloyd.
She's delightful. And not stupid.
Relly, not stupid at all.
Is that quite a reson 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 attendnce 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 sympthetic.
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.
Ada! Ernest proposed to me under that statue.
Oscar! The things that go on in front of works of art
are quite applling. The police should interfere.
We were made not to marry.
Wheres 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 naturl 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.
Cab driver 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.
-
He's so beautiful.
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 revel 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 20 years.
Suddenly the gates are thrown open and...
the citizens come pouring out.
To brethe 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 12 peach trees
that burst into blossoms of pink and peral in springtime
and bear rich fruit in the autumn?
Are there?
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 sit on the trees and sing 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.
Wheres the giant whose garden it was,
had been staying for seven years with an oagre in Cornwall.
After seven years, when he'd said all he had to say
because his converstion was very limited,
he decided to return home to his own castle.
When he arrived and found the children plying 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 Gry.
Heavens. I must fly.
The horses of Apollo are pawing impatiently at the gates.
I beg your pardon?
Pap must go.
You will come back and finish the story?
Of course I will.
Constance 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 apprecition 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.
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 alwys 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?
Constance "'My own garden is my own garden, said the giant.
"So he built a high wall all around it
"and put up a noticebord.
"'Trespassers will be prosecuted.'
"He was a very selfish giant.
"The poor children had now nowhere to play.
"They tried to play on the raod
"but the raod 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 tharshed me from the ge...
My dear boy!
Of course, he's practically illiterate.
He probably won't understand the letters, anywy.
By an unforgivable oversight,
I've never been blackmiled myself,
but all my friends assure me
that a hundred pounds will usullay suffice.
Relly? God, I... You promise?
Leave it to Lewis.
George Lewis, my solicitor.
He knows what he's doing.
He acts for the Prince of Wales.
Bosie # 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 roundely
# He loves me
# He is here
-
# He loves me
# He is here
-
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.
Bosie 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.
Plese 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, Joknan."
Joknan 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, Joknan.
"Thy body is white
"like the snows that lie on the mountains.
"Like the snows that lie on the mountains of Judea
"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 alwys 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 Vayvyn 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 avriety 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 Tylor, this is Oscar.
Delighted to make your acquintance, 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 Tylor.
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 arrest hue.
Bosie never told me that you were a botanist, Mr Tylor.
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 conservtory
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.
-
Robbie 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 18?
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, Pap, can't we stay?
Oh, Pap's got to work.
He's got to finish his play.
Yes. Poor dear Pap.
Poor Pap!
Poor, poor, poor, poor, poor Pap.
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.
Relly? 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 alwys 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 cigrette 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, other.
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 loaylly, 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, my 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 gin.
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 acur again.
He's not vile, or a acur.
He's utterly delightful. Come and see.
How do you know what he's like
when you've never met him?
Come on, Pap. 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 40 to 1.
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 chraming hunting lodge
on an island in a lake.
D'you know the west of Ireland?
Not really.
Whereabouts, exctly?
The Christians go around pretending they know
who God is and how he works.
I've no time for that atomfoolery.
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 sins 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 exctly like.
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?
Becuse 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.
Becuse 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 my even have money.
The world is at my commnd.
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 cot 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
becuse 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
becuse you fuck the occsional 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 awaiting 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 bertes 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 gin.
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 stying 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 £60 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 lugh at us.
Here.
Thank you.
He can be very careless, Lord Alfred.
What wonderfully wicked life you led.
You boys! You boys!
Where is he?
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-consummtion?
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 agrgoyle?
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 lesat 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 say you did, sir,
but you're not going to.
He's a cur!
A sod!
And a BUGGER!
You remember that!
-
I alwys told you, Gwendolen,
my name was Ernest, didn't I?
Well, it is Ernest after all.
I mean, it naturlly 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 cna, for I see
you are sure to change.
My own one!
Letitia!
Frederick! At last!
Cecily! At last!
Gwendolen! At last!
My nephew, you seem to be displaying
signs of triviality.
On the contrary, Aunt August.
I've now realised for the first time in my life,
the vital Importance of Being Earnest.
Bravo!
-
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 sodomite."
"Posing as a sodomite."
He's illiterate.
Illiterate, ignorant...
It's hideous.
We've got him now, Robbie.
He wrote it down, the porter red 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 justifiction.
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.
-
- 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 acused 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 Torquy 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 extrordinary 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 whtever.
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."
-
Taht 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 amoral or immoral?
There is no such thing
as amorality 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 Tylor?
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 Tylor
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 occuptions?
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 avlet.
-
You met his brother there too, I believe.
- Yes. - He is a groom.
I didn't cre tuppence what they were.
I liked them.
I have a passion to civilise the community.
I recognise no socail 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-exmined 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!
Ceratinly not.
Certainly not.
You withdraw your libel action
aginst 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 600 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 abraod.
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.
You'll fight these English Philistines.
And you will win.
And even if you lose,
if you go to prison,
you'll alwys 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.
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.
Lady Count-Temple 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 her 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.
Tht'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 my 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 acceptble
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.
-
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
refers to natural and unatural 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 Palto made the very basis of his philosophy
and such as you my find
in the sonnets of Michelngelo... and Shakespeare.
It is in this century misunderstood.
So much misunderstood
that it my 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.
-
Hera, 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 inadequte
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-hired 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 cught 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 alwys hated me, Robbie.
Becuse 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 alredy.
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.
Oscar 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 Germny.
I can't manage them on my own.
Your back isn't better, then?
No. Not really.
I my have to have an opertion.
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 sid, "Who hath dread 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 dread to wound thee?"
cried the giant.
"Tell me, that I my take my big sword
"and sly him."
"Ny," answered the child.
"But these are the wounds of love."
Bosie thinks I'm jelous.
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.
Unfortuntely.
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 abraod 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.
-
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.
Oscar 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 yaer
A yaer 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
Becuse the dead so soon grow cold.
Robbie 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!
Instructions in Italian
Life cheats us with shadows.
We ask it for pleasure,
it gives it to us,
with bitterness and disppointment 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.