The Canterbury Tales

When April's soft showers have cracked the March drought.

when the warm west wind has breathed his sweet breeze through tender buds...

Hold up there!

..that's when people get the itch to go on pilgrimages.

We've got to get to Canterbury. see? Get blessed at the shrine of St Thomas.

That's the excuse. anyway.

Listen all. ladies and gents. Let me remind you what we all agreed on last night.

This is Harry Bailey. the innkeeper. Not the type to hide his light.

To speed the journey. each of you will tell two stories on the way to Canterbury

and another two on the way back.

Whoever tells the best - I'll be judge - wins a slap-up supper back here.

His inn. We pay.

- Sir... - Do you mind?

Now. who'll kick us off with a story?

Er... Now. what about...?

- Oh. my Lady Prioress. - Oui, monsieur?

I wouldn't want to cause you a moment's distress. Would you condescend to start?

Oh, c'est impossible.

She really only likes to speak French. you know. like they do in Stratford.

So much more refined. And her table manners...

Bless your kecks and balls. have I got a pertect story! Bloody funny!

- Look out - (FARTS LOUDLY)

What can I say? If any of you are too delicate... This is what people are like.

Right. John Priest. tell us something to make us smile.

Too right. It's a sin not to keep a smile on your face.

Must be hard when you're the only man in a priory full of nuns.

Imagine this poor widow. She leads a simple life.

Doesn't own much. Can't hardly pay rent.

Three cows, three sows, two daughters and a sheep called Moll.

Baa-aa!

But at least she were never took sick with overeating.

And she had this one cock called Chanticleer.

He were top o' heap when it come to crowing.

He were better than abbey clock.

He could measure equinoctial ascent, on the nose, 15 degrees per hour.

This aristocrat amongst cocks was sultan of seven hens, a harem of amorous sisters.

But the brightest of the throat feathers belonged to Mam'selle Pertelote.

She were polite, she were discreet and she were downright gracious.

Since the day she was seven nights old,

Pertelote had Chanticleer's heart safely slammed in her lock-box.

What's wrong now? I never thought!

Mam'selle. don't take on so. I was dreaming.

There was this beast in our yard.

like some hound-dog with blood on his mind.

Mine!

He was sort of yellowy-reddy-yellow.

but with black tail. black ears. short snout and coal-glowing eyes!

How can you even suggest you're scared of something?

Dreams are nothing but nonsense. It's overeating.

- It's vapours from the gut. - (BELCHES)

Just listen to what Dionysius Cato has to say on the subject.

"Attach no import to dreams."

Too much red in you - dreams of arrows. flames. biting beasts.

Too much black - bears. bulls. demons.

But I won't dwell on this. What you need is a laxative.

Two days of worms will stop this nonsense.

Cato. Yes. he commands a certain respect.

but many greater authorities posit quite a contrary stance.

Daniel - did he think dreams were illusions? Joseph? Pharaoh? His butler?

Andromache? Croesus? St Kenelm? Scipio Africanus?

Suffice to say. this dream of mine spells adversity.

No laxatives. All I need is your soft feathers nustling beside me.

The perch is too narrow for anything else.

Oh!

There's corn in the yard!

He were a lion, a royal prince striding his hall.

But worldy joys...

they're soonest gone.

Did I scare you? Silly. silly me.

I only came - truly. truly - to hear you sing.

Oh.

Just like your father.

He graced my house and I'd be honoured to show you the same.

I never heard a singer like your father.

- Oh. - It was from the heart.

His eyes squeezed tight. his neck stretched thin.

Come. sir. I'm sure you're a chip off the same block.

Just for me?

- (CLUCKING) - Help! Help! The fox!

It were worse than when the Greeks sacked Troy.

Why, oh why did he ever come down from that perch?

Why did his wife dismiss his dreams?

Sir. forgive me. but if I were you. as God's my witness.

I'd shout out. "Black plague on you all!

"I'm at the woods. Tonight this cock'll be au vin."

Damn good ide...

- Now. inasmuch as I... - Don't! We've both been cretins.

"Attach no importance to dreams"?

Dionysius Cato? Laxatives?

There's something to learn in everything. You just have to know what.

Women's advice! Didn't it start all our trouble?

This is the cock's opinion. you understand. not me. Me. I love women.

Ha! I bet you're some cock stallion yourself. eh?

You and your seven hens back at the cloister.

Drink?

If I was Pope. I'd let all you shave-heads marry.

This one's the Miller.

He breaks doors with his head. creams off the best of the corn and tells jokes.

You know the sort of joke.

Ooh!

I've been married for 58 days now.

Make me a free man. you wouldn't slip my head back in that noose.

- A wise man makes a virtue of necessity. - Don't marry and you won't get deceived.

Are we going to spend all day sermonising?

He's a merchant.

If he's not complaining about Dutch pirates. it's his latest killing at the exchange.

- You'd never guess he's near bankruptcy. - Who'll tell us another tale?

- It's seven and we're only at Greenwich. - And you know the lowlife you get there.

- Shut it. Oi. Listen up. - Hold on. Robin. Hold on.

Listen up. everyone!

I'm drunk.

Every one take a straw. Shortest tells the next tale.

I don't think I can remember a decent story.

That man. what's he called?

I read all his books. He already tell every story. Chaucer.

- He leave no stories for us to tell. - He's got no sense of rhythm.

Sir knight?

Lord... Draw if you will.

Oh. Well...

In God's name. I'll make a virtue. that's what I say.

A knight. A man of chivalry and truth and honour.

He besieged Alexandria. recaptured Algeciras.

No Christian man has done as much.

Ahem! Some men die in bed.

some deep at sea. some on the battlegrounds.

But there's nothing to be done. We all go.

The gods are cruel and what's man to them?

Anything more than a sheep cowering in the fold.

King of the Gods is Jupiter, the prime cause and mover of all above.

There's Venus, Goddess of Love.

Mars, the God of War.

But Saturn, he's the grandfather of them all.

Theseus, Lord of Athens, had ridden against Thebes

Arcite, protected by Mars, and Palamon, protected and loved by Venus.

Now to be perpetual prisoners in Athens. No ransom acceptable.

It's some trick of Saturn's.

It's an evil conjunction of planets.

But in this wretched world, we're duty bound to dig out a bit of happiness,

and one merry May morning...

Emily, younger sister of the queen.

- Oh! - Cousin. what's wrong?

Is she woman or goddess?

If I don't win her favour. I am dead.

Is this a joke? I loved her first. You're bound as a knight to help me.

I love her as a woman. You said. "Is she human or divine?"

Anyway. love is the supreme law. It's each man for himself.

Until, one day, petitioned by a Theban comrade, Theseus released Arcite.

On this condition - if he was ever spotted in Athens, death.

He was free, but denied the one thing he wanted - the sight of Emily.

Sleep, meat, wine - he couldn't face any of it.

His old chums wouldn't have known him.

In fact, he was so different, he realised he could safely return to Athens.

He landed himself a job as Emily's page. Worked there for years.

Palamon spent six years in utter torment.

In the seventh, he escaped...and ran.

Hid in a grove all day. Come night, away to Thebes.

But destiny is powerful.

# ..And greenery

# Come welcome fair... #

Die! Or admit you do not love Emily.

If you weren't sick with love. I'd...

I shall return here tomorrow with armour. Slay me and you shall have her.

Who are you that dare to fight here? Who?

Palamon. sir. Your prisoner...who loves Emily.

- Arcite. sir. banished from this land. - Who also loves Emily.

You shall both pay the penalty in full.

Have mercy. Lord. for all women's sake.

There's no fool like...a fool in love.

But Emily can't marry both of you even if you fought forever.

This is my judgement.

Each of you shall go now and a year to the day return with 100 knights.

The winner shall have Emily. I might build the arena right here.

Hm!

The morning before the tournament, Palamon made his devotions to Venus.

If you will it. I shall have my love tomorrow.

If not. then I pray you.

have Arcite's spear pierce my heart.

- Which. blessed lady? Which? - (RUMBLING)