Oscar Wilde About America

Oh, there she is, the toast of the West End.

Harriet, darling, don't mention toast.

You know I'm off carbs.

I have already called the half, which is utterly redundant

as the only person in the production

is gallivanting around the streets of London

-in his fucking costume. -I needed fags.

Story of my life.

Do not smoke in your costume. I have to take it back to the--

-The higher company-- -On Monday.

And there are a bunch of fucking twats.

They're breaking me out in hives.

Oh, they suit you, darling.

That you think almost as highly of this play

as I do myself.

Hello? Hi. Sorry, who's this?

It's Oscar. Oscar Conlon-Morrey.

Oh, right, sorry, I thought you were the Ethiopian boy

I met at Jersey Boys.

Okay, so Oscar Wilde wrote, right?

Yeah, he was a playwright.

-Yes. -Right. So I mean,

I didn't get that until like, 15 minutes into the thing.

I mean, that wasn't clear to me, and I work in the business, so.

I-- I think most people know who Oscar Wilde is.

Most gay people do, at least.

Well, I'm gay, and I didn't get that.

- So - Did, uh...

Did you manage to speak to any of the investors

that Carol invited yet?

Look, your show's a tough sell.

Investors know that. We all get that.

-We all agree. Right? -That was the whole point

of doing the showcase last night.

It was why I blew 3/4 of my life savings

on hiring the Haymarket Theatre, Oscar's Theatre,

in order to raise funds for my showcase.

It's why Carol currently

on Ryan Murphy's plane to Thessaloniki.

The private jet. His private jet.

It even has a name.

Look, let me find out

and I'll get back to you, okay?

Look, we're here for you if you need anything.

Are you good?

- Um, I actually wouldn't-- - You're good. Okay.

Look, we'll talk soon. Okay? Bye.

Sorry, Tim, I was actually wondering...

Hello?

Shitty, darling. Very shitty.

Just been on with my agent.

Oh, Oscar, do you remember what you told me the day we met?

Never wear Bermuda shorts in central London.

-No. -Green is a difficult color?

- No. - Chunky jewelry--

Oscar, no. Be yourself.

Everyone else is already taken.

I never said that.

Oscar said it.

All right, well, I knew one of the two of you said it.

I'm always confusing you two, anyway.

Tell me about it.

Ooh. Are you naked?

As the day I was born, darling.

-Gotta go. -Love-- love you, mate.

Love you more.

Bye.

The basis of character is willpower.

Coffee in your costume again?

Relax, darling. It's decaf.

-A fan. -Thank you.

More pube brownies.

Be sure to save me one.

Is there anything I have to do whilst I'm here?

Yes, it's beautiful sceneries.

-Yes. -You can have the pizza.

-The pizza? -Yeah.

They're the best pizza in New York City.

-Oh, and local delicacies. -Of course. Yes.

I have nothing to declare but my genius.

Where can I find that pizza?

I came to America the first time in 1882,

to promote Gilbert and Sullivan's

comic opera Patience.

I lectured for one year in 30 states

from New York to California.

By the time I returned to England,

I was a celebrity.

The world's second most famous queen.

And I haven't written anything. Well, nothing you'd know.

Anyway, I was famous just for being famous.

May I continue with the tour now, Mr. Wilde?

Oh, my dear fellow. Well, yes, of course.

The suspense is terrible. I do hope it lasts.

Madison Square park.

An epicenter of Wilde's time in New York.

The Fifth Avenue Hotel, where he would meet

actresses for his plays.

And Delmonico's, his favorite restaurant.

And on this side of the square, Mansions,

where Oscar was fated by society.

Oh, and Oscar's bank, where he had to go one day,

embarrassed to stop some checks

because he had been conned in a card game.

Well, anybody who lives within their means

suffers from a lack of imagination.

Oh, so wonderful.

-What's your name? -Carlos.

-Carlos. -And this is Luca.

-Hello. Luca. -Luca, say hi.

-Hey, baby. -Say hello to Oscar Wilde.

He's a famous person.

It's wonderful to meet you, Carlos.

-Have a wonderful day. -You look amazing.

-It's a pleasure. Ciao. -What a pleasure.

Love Carlos.

I am pleased to see this building

of neoclassical structure has survived.

Well, I'm afraid to have to tell you this,

Mr. Wilde, but Stern Brothers is now a Home Depot.

A Home De--

What in Christendom is a Home Depot?

Well, a DIY.

DIY?

Do it yourself.

Do what myself?

Hm, your bedroom, your bathroom.

Or-- or perhaps your kitchen.

Oh, well, let us see

if they have anything that can live up to my blue China. Hm?

Here we are on Irving Place,

on two houses, Oscar, that you may recognize.

Number 47 and number 49.

At number 47 was a house that Oscar Wilde

actually stayed at when he started taking rooms

in rented accommodation

after staying in hotels most of the year.

Your friend, Bessie Marbury, also lived here.

She became your literary agent in America.

And she lived here with Elsie de Wolfe.

Um, for a period of 30 years

in what was known then as a "Boston marriage."

But we know now they had a relationship,

and they were one of America's leading gay icons

of the late 19th century.

Bessie Marbury was Wilde's literary agent,

probably one of the first female literary agents of her day.

And her partner, Elsie de Wolfe, almost certainly

the first female interior designer in America.

And now, my dear Mr. Cooper,

I must take my leave of you,

for this promenade through my past

has bored me so wretchedly

that I've nearly lost all interest in life.

Good day. Taxi.

- Thank you, driver. - How are you?

- Thank you. - All right.

All right. Thank you very much. All right, then.

Oscar.

You're back.

This is Wonderful.

Oscar.

Good afternoon, dear Oscar.

I hope you are behaving very well.

I'm feeling very well, thank you.

Well, that is not quite the same thing.

In fact, the two things rarely go together.

Oscar, I feel bound to tell you

that you are not on my list of eligible young men.

-Do you smoke? -It's--

-Yes, I must admit I do smoke. -No, I'm glad to hear it.

A man should always have some occupation of some kind.

There are far too many idle men in New York as it is.

How old are you?

I'm 29.

A good age to get married at.

Tell the boys that.

Boys?

Oh, well, yes, Lady Bracknell.

Uh, do you mean you couldn't tell?

The love that dare not speak its name

has always been a deep spiritual affection

is as pure as it is perfect.

I've always been of the opinion that a man

who decides to get married,

Should always know either everything or nothing.

Which do you know?

I am too old to know everything.

-I know nothing, Lady Bracknell. -Well, I'm glad to hear it.

I do not approve of anything

that tampers with natural ignorance.

Indeed, ignorance is like a delicate exotic fruit.

Touch it and the bloom is gone.

Hmm.

Dishes will not be necessary, Luis.

We will not be eating this cucumber sandwiches,

just admiring them.

And now to minor matters, Mr. Worthing.

Are your parents living?

Mr. Worth--