I wonder that you're still talking, Signor Benedick.
Nobody marks you.
What, my dear Lady Disdain!
Are you yet living?
I had rather hear my dog bark at a crow than a man swear he loves me.
Mr Condell is going down like a lead inflated pig's bladder.
I know.
The groundlings don't like him as they did.
Aye, cos he's got old and ugly.
‘Tis true. His face, once soft and plumpsome as a pixie's bumble-butt,
be now craggy, hard and hairy,
like a goblin's scroting satchel.
See how Burbage hogs the bows.
Wrong, so wrong.
His head is grown so large,
this hollow O that is our theatre will soon be fit to be his crown!
I must be rid of Burbage.
I must be rid of Condell.
You seem a bit low, Kate. Why?
I am fearful for my future, Mr Marlowe.
Well, don't think about it. Live for today.
Easy to say if you're a man, Mr Marlowe, but a woman has not that luxury.
My mother is ageing and like to die, although, quite frankly,
with the amount of slap and tickling she does with her bits of saucy ruffington,
she's more like to die of exhaustion than old age.
But when she does, what of me?
As a widow, she has legal rights, but I will be a spinster, a non-person.
I will have this property and my mother's money but no legal status,
prey to every exploitative, opportunist, gold-digging rogue.
Kate, this could be the perfect fit!
I mean, you have property and money, and I...
Am an exploitative, opportunist, gold-digging rogue?
Exactly.
Better the exploitative, opportunist, gold-digging rogue you know.
I must be rid of Condell.
He can play the totty no longer.
Tonight, his Beatrice was about as charming and coquettish
as Henry VIII trying to get his rotting and ulcerated left leg
over his sweet and fragrant sixth wife.
I cannot bear the idea that Condell will give my Calpurnia.
Calpurnia? Is your next play going to be about Julius Caesar?
That's the plan. Exciting, don't you think? Ancient Rome. So cool, so sexy.
Can't imagine why I didn't think of doing a Caesar play before.
Possibly because Thomas North has only very recently published his translation
of Plutarch's Lives Of The Noble Romans,
so you had no source from which to pinch it.
Plutarch's Lives Of The Noble Romans?
Not sure I've heard of it.
I bought it last week and have been reading it in the privy.
Well, I may have glanced at it while...
while awaiting the appearance of that shy turtle who doth dwell
betwixt the twin boulders
and who emerges into the light
only to hurl himself straightway into the dark abyss.
Stealing plots again, eh, master?
Look, I've got to base my plays on something.
They can't all be about amusingly confused cross-dressers.
Can they?
Definitely not. And I must say, a Roman play does sound good.
I mean, those guys were crazy.
Murdering, gorging, puking...
And, of course, creating a united Europe
with a single currency, no trade barriers, free movement of labour
and a unified legal system.
Hmm.
Yeah... Might leave that out.
Not sure how well it would play to us Brits.
Well, I think you're onto a winner, mate. I don't know much history,
but I do know that Caesar's life was absolutely action packed.
Goodness, wasn't it just?!
Three marriages,
numerous mistresses, including - excuse me - Cleo-flipping-patra,
conquered half the known world, crossed the Rubicon, became dictator for life,
stabbed to death by his best mates!
I mean, goodness, so many amazing events!
Absolutely.
So, I thought I'd focus on the short weekend break he took to Kent in 55 BC.
Mr Shakespeare, Caesar's attempt to invade Britain was an absolute nonstarter.
His forces scarcely got off the beach.
Exactly. I thought I'd play the whole thing as a light comedy
about a trip to the seaside.
He came, he saw, he had a little paddle.
Surely the play should be about Caesar's murder.
Such an exciting story of assassination, regicide and betrayal.
Yes, Kate.
Assassination, regicide and betrayal.
Any thoughts on who might object to such themes?
Balding, ginger, owns a large axe?
Oh, goodness, I didn't think about that.
There was a mysterious hooded figure at the door - left this note.
Zounds!
Condell plots against Burbage.
He has summoned the company and will betray him on the steps of the stage.
Condell invites me to join the conspirators.
This is terrible.
If Condell becomes chief luvvie-kissie,
he'll be playing the teenage totty until his seventh age.
Enter the gorgeous Calpurnia...
sans eyes, sans teeth, sans everything.
Ouch. You're going to have to stop him, mate.
But how? He writes that the company are on his side.
He has the mob behind him.
Well, it strikes me that, rather coincidentally,
this is all somewhat reminiscent of the death of Caesar.
I can't be worrying about my Roman play now, Kate.
I have to deal with Mr Condell.
In Plutarch's story, it all goes wrong for the conspirators
because Mark Antony turns up after the murder and sways the mob.
My goodness, Kate, you're right.
I will go to the steps of the stage and play Mark Antony to Condell's Brutus.
Yes. And getting back to your play,
don't forget that after Mark Antony's intervention,
Caesar is avenged and all the conspirators end up dead.
It seems to me, if you put that part of the story,
Her Majesty might rather approve it.
Actually, that's a very good point.
- Thanks. - Glad I thought of it.
Mr Shakespeare promises us a Roman play, and all is in readiness.
We have the costumes, wigs and props.
We await only the script. And mark me!
My Caesar will be a triumph greater even than the man himself!
Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world like a Colossus,
and we petty men walk under his huge legs
and peep about to find ourselves
getting upstaged at the final bows.
Hm. Or... put better - he ain't all that, and it's time he got shafted.
But do we have the numbers?
Ah, Longinus approaches.
The musicians are with you, sir.
Mr Burbage is a foul tyrant who did once take a pee in the kettledrum.
And the mob players?
With you also.
Though beg that when you be chief luvvie-kissie,
you make Mr Shakespeare shorten his soliloquies
through which we must stand for many hours
pretending to understand.
And the thunder-board wobbler?
The front-of-house prostitutes?
Then all is ready. Come, Kempe.
Brothers, Burbage is a tyrant.
‘Tis time to end this tyranny.
Strike him down.
What means this outrage?!
You hog the final bows, which is totally unprofessional.
You get your own dressing place, which is just so wrong.
And you farted when my Beatrice kissed your Benedick.
We need a new chief luvvie-kissie!
Et tu, Mr Condell?
Et tu, Kempe?
Then fall, Burbage! Betrayed!
Liberty! Freedom! Tyranny is dead!
Ambition's debt is paid.
I am chief luvvie-kissie now!
What's this? Be Burbage usurped?
Yes. And it's no good you trying to object,
because the musicians, the mob players,
the man who wobbles the thunder-sheet
and the front-of-house prostitutes are all with me.
Hail, Kempe! Hail, Condell!
Object? Why would I object?
Friends, prostitutes, strutty, shouty boys,
pin back your lugholes.
I come to bury Burbage, not to praise him.
Betrayed!
Burbage was my friend, faithful and just to me.
But Condell says he was ambitious,
- and Condell is an honourable man. - Yes!
Condell has said that Burbage doth hog the final bows
and will ever parp the loud and boisterous trouser trumpet
during other actors' quiet bits.
- And Condell is an honourable man. - Hooray!
Yet Burbage will always get his round in at the pub
and will keep us enthralled for many... many hours
with but a single theatrical anecdote.
Does this in Burbage seem ambitious?
Yet Condell says he is ambitious,
and Condell is an honourable man.
Yeah...
When all the company do venture forth for a celebratory supper
and the reckoning is brought, and some glutton or other doth cry,
"Why don't we just spit it equally?"
ne'er will Burbage quibble that he only had a starter.
Does this in Burbage seem ambitious?
Yet Condell says he is ambitious.
And Condell is an honourable man.
Yeah... See what he's doing here, mate?
He's using the brilliant oratorical device of ironic repetition to turn the mob.
You've been shafted.
But if we stand together, we can face down the mob.
Yeah, right, gonna do that!
Burbage is wronged!
Condell be the traitor!
Burbage is chief luvvie-kissie.
Hail, Burbage!
Will, your brilliant oratorical device of ironic repetition has saved me.
Is there anything I can do for you?
A drink? A lengthy theatrical anecdote?
Oh, well, that would be lovely, of course,
but what I'd really like to discuss is the casting of my teenage totty roles.
I have come to see you once again, Miss Lucy,
because you are a strong woman who is both a woman and strong.
Ah-ah-eh-eh. I am very strong.
If the angry hippo charges, do not whisper sweet words.
Whack it with your assegai and make it your bitch.
Right.
The thing is, my mother is shortly like to bonk herself off this mortal coil
with her insatiable appetite for bits of saucy ruffington.
And you are fearful, lest men circle like hyenas,
steal your monies and feed on your soft flesh?
Well, I'm not sure I'd mind them feeding on my soft flesh so much,
you know, as long as it was done creatively and sensitively
with due consideration for my needs.
Ha! Good luck with that!
It's my cash I'm concerned about, and my property.
That's why I have come to you.
You have no man who claims to own you.
At least, not since you cut off the penis
of the man who stole you from your village.
How do you avoid falling prey to exploitation?
Hm! Men are scared of me.
They think I'm a sorceress, and I do not deny it.
I tell them to beware, lest I shrink their privy parts.
Hm!
Look at these tiny testicle earrings.
I say that I tore them from a man and shrunk them, but it is a lie.
In fact, I just castrated a well-endowed gerbil.
Would you like to borrow them?
Oh! Thanks awfully, but I don't think I'd be very convincing trying to be scary.
Hm! But you must learn to be scary if you want to live alone.
But I don't want to live alone.
I just want to find a man who isn't a selfish, entitled bastable.
So, as I said, you must learn to be scary if you want to live alone.
"Glories of this happy day."
Finished!
Julius Caesar.
Best afternoon's work I ever did.
And it won't surprise you to learn that it's brilliant.
I'm sure it is.
Such an earth-shattering event - the death of Caesar.
Yes. Hard to believe that you thought I should set the play
around his abortive British invasion of 55 BC.
Thank goodness I didn't listen to you!
Botsky, get this manuscript round to Greene's.
I hope he doesn't try and find a way to deny it licence.
Oh, he'll license it, all right. I've made sure of that.
And I must to the theatre.
Time to use the favour Burbage owes me
to be rid of the ageing dragsome queenie-preenie
who thinks the key to playing teenage girls is having pubic eyebrows.
Well?
What do you think?
Pretty saucy?
Pretty sexy?
Did it myself using gunpowder and lemon juice.
But why?
Isn't it obvious? I'm dead, remember. I'm going to start life anew!
Kit Marlowe was known as an utterly ravishing strawberry brunette,
not the drop-dead gorgeous human daffodil you see before you.
This is the new me.
Being blond, I'll be able to show my more sensitive, caring, non-gold-digging side.
- I'm not going to marry you, Mr Marlowe. - Oh, come on, Kate!
It's perfect! You need a husband, I need a new life and identity.
You have a decent inheritance, an impressive property portfolio.
I've got... - A cod-dangle. - Exactly.
- You and half the people on the planet! - Yes, but not like mine.
We're talking a Marlowe massive here.
If I marry, Mr Marlowe, it will not be for rumpy-pumpington, but for security,
and you are the last man on earth I would go to for that!
I am sorry, Mr Condell, but you can't play the totty any more.
Time to hang up your coconuts.
Betrayed!
Et tu, Mr Shakespeare!
Et tu, Mr Burbage!
Look, we're not saying you have to give up the boards completely.
Never. I am an actor. The boards are in my blood!
Oh, is that why your performances are so wooden?
Who said that? I did, so...
It's just that you will no longer play the ingenue.
You shall now take the male second leads.
Er, hello?
I take the second leads, cos I'm big in Italy.
In which case, I suggest you go and perform there.
Betrayed. So betrayed. Like, mad betrayed.
There are loads of great parts, enough for all
For you, I thought Brutus, Mr Condell.
And Mark Antony for Kempe.
Both are pivotal. Wait till you read them.
It's not us that must needs read the play, though, Will, but Robert Greene.
And I must confess, I'm slightly worried on that score.
A play that includes assassination, regicide and betrayal
must prove contentious, with Her Majesty's life ever threatened.
Greene could use just such an excuse to ban us.
Way ahead of you, Mr Burbage, way ahead of you.
The Crow is in my clutches at last!
This extremely short Roman play be clearly seditious.
It celebrates the murder of a ruler.
Well, I will grant his application.
And when the play is performed...
then cry, "Havoc," and let slip the dogs of war.
You see, I've only sent him half the play.
He thinks it ends with the death of Caesar,
but, in fact, Caesar dies at the beginning of Act III.
Oh, I see.
Oh, yes, that is rather... What?!
Caesar dies halfway through the play?!
Well, a bit less than half, in fact. About 40%.
But it's the title role!
Well, you know, they talk about him quite a lot in the second half.
Talk about him?!
You write a title role and kill him off at the beginning of Act III?
Betrayed!
A second time betrayed!
Et tu, Mr Shakespeare!
I shall not present this play!
We shall give Greene's Bungay And Bacon instead.
No, no, wait. Mr Burbage...
What about if I brought Caesar back in Act IV... as a ghost?
A ghost? You'd do that? No tricks?
Well, you know, if I have to.
I suppose it might work. I... could use my... deathly howl.
Ooooooh! Ooooh!
Ooooooooh-oh-oh.
Yes, absolutely. Or... Or else not.
Very well. Reluctantly, I agree.
And when Greene tries to close us down for presenting a play that ends with regicide,
we will disgrace him by showing how the conspirators all get their just deserts.
Yes, by being haunted and tormented
by Caesar's omniscient, ever-present,
avenging, constantly hoooooowling ghost
in every single scene!
Absolutely.
Or maybe just briefly in Act IV, Scene III.
16 words should do it, I think.
Right, I'm ready.
- Ready for what? - The auditions, of course.
You're choosing a new principal boy, aren't you?
And since you've always admitted that I play a girl better than any boy,
and also ‘twas I who pointed out the Roman strategy that did for Mr Condell,
plus I left Plutarch's Lives in the privy,
plus I pointed out how to make the play Queen-friendly,
I naturally presumed you'd let me try again to get into the company
because I really, really want to, and it's my dream!
Look, I'm sorry, Kate, really I am, but it's the law,
and the law has zero respect for women.
Because the law was made by men!
I'm sorry, Kate.
Your heart and mind are of the finest,
and yet, for want of a cod-dangle,
you be lowlier than any base and stupid rogue in Albion.
Your only hope for comfort and security is to marry.
He's right, Kate.
Are we looking dreamy and hot?
Look, reading poetry.
So sensitive!
It's upside down.
Thy lips are warm.
Yea, noise?
Then I'll be brief.
0 happy dagger!
This is thy sheath.
There rust, and let me die.
Oh!
I also have dance, intermediary stage fighting and some tumbling.
Impressive.
My accents are West Country - ooh arr! - And Scottish - och aye!
And those are the hard ones.
Gentlemen, we have found our boy.
Girl, Burbage. I'm sure of it.
It's happened again.
Another nasty little bitchington trying to lie her way into the theatre.
I demand that the Master of Revels be called to study this person's credentials.
Well, Mr Burbage, I have studied this person's credentials,
and, while small and lacking in maturity, all is present and correct.
But he's got boobingtons.
Oh, yes, I forgot to mention that.
I have dance, stage fighting, various accents and can supply own breasts.
Ridiculous!
Where would he put the coconuts?
How can this be, Mr Greene?
Toby is a hermaphrodite, Mr Burbage.
But such folk are a myth.
On the contrary - to be born with some of the physical attributes of both sexes
is a recognised medical condition.
Some societies embrace such differences.
Ours does not.
Sirrah, what sex be you?
D'you know, I'm quite conflicted about that, actually.
How be you described in the records at your parish church?
- Boy, sir. - In that case, you are a boy by law.
And, Mr Shakespeare, do hurry along with your Julius Caesar play.
I am so looking forward to the first night.
Good day.
Well, funny old world, eh? Welcome to the company, Toby.
I' faith, if this Toby joins us, I will ne'er play the totty again.
Thus must I plot against him.
Mr Kempe, you're big in Italy.
Hast thou the address of the Milano Commedia Dell'Arte?
Ooh, ha-ha! Hoping to get a new gig with my Italian mates?
- Oh... - Not gonna happen.
They don't want some washed-up, bog-standard, old mincing slap like you.
They're only interested in the fascinating and unique,
the different and the intriguing.
You've got no chance.
Well, you won't mind giving me the address, then, will you?
Brilliant news.
We've found our new principal girl, and 'tis a very miracle,
for, though he be legally a boy, he has his own boobingtons!
‘Tis a very gift to the theatre,
for what possible type of person could be better to play a girl
than a boy with boobingtons?
I just can't think, Mr Shakespeare.
It's a mystery!
I don't make the law, Kate.
Now, meet my new ingenue.
Hello, everybody. I'm Toby.
He has natural talent, but it is unrefined and lacks technique.
So I was hoping that perhaps you might give him a few acting lessons, Kate.
I'd be ever so grateful, Miss Kate.
God, talk about twisting the knife!
All right.
Hang on. I should teach him. I used to show Kate how to act.
Not quite how I remember it.
You teach Toby to act, Botsky?
And from what fantastical world of vanity and self-delusion
comes this outrageous claim?
I've seen all your actors acting your stuff right back to Henry IV, Part 1.
I know the tricks.
Basically, to do Shakespeare...
you have to shout a bit!
Then go quiet and tense a bit... before...
shouting again!
Then you have to make a sudden pause
right in the middle of a word for no rea...
son at all.
Also, you have to randomly em-pfa-sise certain syll-ables
also for no appa...
rent rea-son.
And... that... is how you... act...
Shake-speare/
Actually, Toby, that is basically it.
And then you have to get pisslingtoned over a nice little supper
and tell everyone you were awful
and they have to say, "No, no, you were brilliant, darling."
Yes, that bit's very important, too.
Anyway, acting lesson or not, Toby is going to stay with us for a few days
till Burbage can sort him out some pay and lodgings.
Just so I know, is he above or below me in the pecking order?
Botsky, you're not even inthe pecking order.
Betrayed.
So, Toby, tell me a bit about yourself.
There's not that much to tell, Miss Kate.
I'm just like any other 16-year-old.
Apart from having been born with both male and female sexual characteristics?
Yeah, apart from that.
And what about your family?
Oh, lost to me now.
I ran away from home when I started growing bosoms.
Were you bullied and abused most horribly
for the innocent crime of being born different?
Oh, no, my parents were really, really understanding,
giving me the choice of whether I wanted to live as a boy or a girl.
Oh, that's wonderful!
Yeah. People in my village were great, too.
Offering me the use of either the male or female groaning ditches.
Or, if I preferred, they were prepared to declare both ditches non-sex defined.
In fact, after a unanimous vote at the parish council,
the whole village decided to declare itself gender neutral.
Oh! That is incredible. I mean, amazing!
Never did I think such tolerance possible in our cruel, cruel times.
Except that was just in my dream.
In fact, I was bullied horribly
and shunned by all. My mum had herself exorcised
after the priest told her that the devil had visited her in the night
and implanted the seed of a monster in her womb.
- Oh, Toby, I'm so sorry. - Yeah.
But then I heard that the village of my dreams really did exist,
that there was a place I'd be welcomed and accepted,
a world where people didn't judge you for your gender or sexual preference,
a place where everyone rejoiced in the rich and varied tapestry
of the human rainbow.
- The theatre! - Yes. The theatre!
You'd found your home.
I like it here, Kate.
With you.
When beggars die, there are no comets seen.
The heavens themselves blaze forth the death of princes.
Cowards die many times before their deaths.
The valiant never taste of death but once.
Oh, do not go forth today!
He's so good. Well done, Kate!
Thanks, Mr Shakespeare.
I enjoyed teaching him.
Toby is such a sweet, sweet boy.
Too showy, lacks depth.
And also, curiously, I don't find his breasts convincing.
Look, though. See, Greene hovers in the wings.
He is come to cock my snook
but, verily, ‘tis I who will snook his cock!
Oh! Oh! Argh!
Arrghh!
Et... tu, Bru...
te/
Incredible talent. He got a shout, a whisper, a pause and a random emphasis
into four syllables.
A very masterclass in Shakespearean acting.
Ehhh!
I am closing this theatre!
All involved will be taken to the Tower.
This play is naught but a traitorous incitement to regicide.
It isn't finished yet.
- What? - Didn't you read the rest?
I'm sure I sent it you.
The rest?
Look, here. Sorry - spoiler alert - don't listen.
Caesar's murderers are first rejected by the mob,
then hounded in battle and finally fall upon their own swords in penance,
which, I think you'll agree, is not very traitorous at all.
Betray-ed... Betray-ed.
Et tu, Shakespeare!
The play may proceed! Pah!
A hit! Verily a hit!
The box office goeth bonkers.
Ahem. Hello, everybody.
Um, I just wanted to say... I couldn't be happier.
Not just cos I've found my true home in the theatre...
Well said!
But also because Miss Kate has asked me to be her husband.
Oh... Blimey.
Oh-ho! You did it, Kate.
You actually found a man in touch with his female side.
Congratulations to you both.
Toby, might I have a word?
There's an Italian gentleman outside I'd like you to meet.
Oh. I shan't be a moment, my love.
Katie, are you sure about this, considering...?
Toby is a man by law, Mr Shakespeare.
A very sweet and gentle man.
I need a husband, Toby needs kindness and protection.
But, Kate, what of love?
In our exclusively patriarchal society,
a woman is lucky indeed if she is able to marry for love.
I am happy to marry for friendship.
Kate!
Kate! You won't believe it!
Mr Condell arranged for a casting scout from the Commedia Dell'Arte
to attend the play, and they want me!
I leave for Italy tonight!
Toby... What of our engagement?
Oh...
Um... Oh, I guess that's... sort of off.
Kate, I'm... going to be big in Italy.
I need to pack.
Lesson learned, Miss Kate.
Toby may be a boy, or he may be a girl,
and he may choose to be neither,
but, above all, he js an actor.
And an actor will always, always take the better offer.
Betrayed.
Et tu, Toby.
It really is outrageous that women be not allowed to act.
Kate would be brilliant, if only it were legal.
Well, it wouldn't do her much good in julius Caesar, would it?
What do you mean, my sweet?
Well, there are only two women's parts in it and both of them are absolute crappage.
Particularly Calpurnia.
Oh, you noticed that, did you?
Oh, just a bit!
She gets one tiny scene and all she does is talk about her husband.
Well, give it time, my love.
One day there'll be as many decent parts for women as there are for men.
Then perhaps will finally come a script in which women get the last word.
Kind of doubt it.