Topsy-Turvy

One, two. Two, two.

- -

- Sir Arthur, what are you doing? - I'm going to the theater, Louis.

- No. It is not possible. - I have no choice.

- You must get back... - Louis!

- Hot coffee. Very strong, please. - D'accord.

- Louis. - Don't move.

- Schnell! - Please.

Clothilde, encore du cafe. Vite.

- Sir Arthur, la tasse, s'il vous plait. - D'accord.

- Bonne chance, Sir Arthur. - Merci.

Louis...

I'll be fine. Now go and fetch the cab.

- Manton. - Good evening, sir.

- Arthur! - Good God, Arthur. Is this entirely wise?

- No, it's entirely foolish, Frank. - Do you intend to go on?

I certainly do, Helen. I've never missed one yet.

- Very well. I'll let everybody know. - Here. Take a drink.

Thank you.

- Oh, that's better, Frank. Thank you. - Your gloves, sir.

Very good, Louis.

This is a surprise, sir.

- Permission, Mr. Cook? - Permission, Shrimp.

- Come. - Four minutes, Mr. Grossmith.

Bonsoir.

You're going to have a definite success, sir.

- Merci. - Au revoir.

What do you expect me to do, kiss the carpenters?

Arthur!

Get him up. Please, sir.

- Let's get him up. Come on, Sir Arthur. -

Arthur, take some brandy.

- What happened? What happened? - One moment. He will be fine.

- - Is Dr. Lynch in the house?

Listen to this. Today's Times.

"Princess Ida will probably run for a year..."

Keeping the Savoy treasury agreeably replete all the while.

All London will flock to hear it.

So will our provincial and American cousins and Continental visitors.

Copies of its words and music will be sold by tens of thousands.

Everybody connected with its performance...

will have a good time for at least a twelvemonth to come.

"So mote it be."

How splendid, Willie.

Sugared words, Lucy.

Listen.

"The opera is above the level of all other entertainments..."

Before the London public.

Still, I cannot pronounce it to be in any way...

an improvement upon its predecessors.

To me, words and music alike reveal symptoms of fatigue...

in their respective composer and author.

Arthur Sullivan cannot write other than in pleasing manner...

but more than one number in Princess lda...

is lacking in the freshness and spontaneity...

of The Pirates of Penzance, Patience, lolanthe...

"or The Sorcerer, his best operatic work."

Oh? Is it?

"Or H.M.S. Pinafore, the most popular.

W.S. Gilbert abundantly proves he is still the legitimate monarch...

of the realm of topsy-turvydom."

Thank you very much.

"But his incongruities are more elaborately worked up than of yore...

and therefore less funny.

Moreover, the story is a dull one."

- Burn it, Pidgeon! - Sir.

Willie!

Your kidneys are getting cold!

The show's doing splendidly, Arthur. Full houses and a healthy advance.

Capital.

Three tours on the road... Pirates, Patience and lolanthe.

- And four in rehearsal. - Merveilleux.

- New York can't wait for Ida. - Ah, New York. How splendid.

- Helen has us booked up to the end of the year. - Tireless as ever.

All part of my day's work.

- Tea, Miss Lenoir? - No, thank you, Louis.

Very well.

I do hope your confinement hasn't made you restless, Arthur.

How have you been passing the time?

I've made some resolutions, Helen.

- A little late in the New Year, perhaps, but... - Better late than never.

May we know what they are, Arthur?

Why not?

One:

To travel to the Continent, as soon as my health permits.

- Very wise. - I think so.

Two: To look for a country house where I may repair each summer...

without having to cross the channel.

- Three: To take more exercise. - Excellent, Arthur. And about time too.

A leaf out of your book, D'Oyly. I must walk more.

And is there a number four?

Yes.

To write no more operas for the Savoy.

- And what is number five? - To fly to the moon with his bed socks on.

No, I'm serious. I have to write a grand opera.

People expect it of me. I must not disappoint them.

I cannot waste any more time on these trivial souffles.

Do you know I haven't written a symphony for over 20 years?

Not an unprofitable 20 years, if I may say so.

Arthur, if you would only learn to organize your time more efficiently...

you could do everything you wished.

My time is finite, Helen. I must fill it with that which is important to me.

Is not the Savoy Theatre important to you?

This work with Gilbert is quite simply killing me.

Working with Gilbert would kill anybody.

Is your contract with D'Oyly and Mr. Gilbert not important to you?

But our present concern is your health.

You must go to the south of France and recover.

We can discuss this on your return.

I shall recover, D'Oyly. And I shall return.

But there will be nothing to discuss.

- Did you dine at the Beefsteak Club? - Yes.

Somewhat unsatisfactory.

Oh.

Well, you missed Mrs. Judd's rabbit curry.

One gets the impression that everyone is snickering behind one's back.

Perhaps you could have some for tomorrow's lunch.

"The king of topsy-turvydom."

Humiliating.

You look a little uncomfortable.

I'm comfortable enough.

- I watched a bit from the wings. - Oh, did you?

First act. Seemed to be going rather well, surprisingly.

There. You see?

- Would you like me to read to you? - No, thank you.

I'll leave you. You must be tired.

- No, I'm not in the slightest. - It's wrong of me to unburden myself on you.

Don't be silly. That's why I'm here.

Come and talk to your Kitty.

Sometimes one wonders why one bothers.

They say jump, you jump.

- Good night, my dear. - Good night.

Lady Colin is endeavoring to persuade us to take up smoking.

She's writing an article for The Saturday Review.

She proposes that nicotine is a gift from the gods...

and if men may benefit from its soothing qualities...

why then may women not also?

My poor daughter now believes that smoking is an extension...

of the communion between a woman and her husband.

Will she be smoking a cigarette on her wedding day?

Heaven forfend.

- - Lady Colin is irresistible.

She cannot conceive why the Irish are starving...

when there's lots of good fish in the sea.

She most probably has a point.

- Oh, there's good news from Dublin. - Hmm?

The Churchills are to return to London.

Forgiven but not forgotten.

I do hope so.

Jenny says Winston is 11...

covered in freckles and has a total disdain for authority.

Mmm.

I shall miss this fragrance.

Sicilian lemons.

Have you chosen your Beethoven for the Philharmonic Society?

As a matter of fact, I have. Yes.

- No. 2? - The seventh.

- Ah. - More dramatic.

And that is to be your work whilst you're away?

That... and only that.

Will there be room for Mr. Gilbert in your baggage?

Certainly not. He's far too large.

Food for thought.

It's not for me to say.

Indeed not.

Which train will you catch?

The tidal train.

Up at 7:00.