Rosencrantz & Guildenstern Are Dead

Um...

- (horse whinnies) - Rosencrantz: Whoa!

Whoa, whoa.

Hmm.

Heads.

Heads.

Heads.

Heads.

Heads.

Heads.

Heads.

Heads.

Heads.

Heads.

Heads.

Heads.

Heads.

Heads.

Heads.

Heads.

Heads.

Heads.

Heads.

Bet.

Heads I win.

Again...

Heads.

Heads.

Heads.

Heads.

Heads.

Whoops!

It must be indicative of something

besides the redistribution of wealth.

Heads.

A weaker man might be moved to re-examine his faith,

for nothing else at least in the law of probability.

Heads.

Consider.

One,

probability is a factor which operates within natural forces.

Two, probability is not operating as a factor.

Three, we are now held within

un-, sub-, or supernatural forces.

Discuss.

What?

Look at it this way.

If six monkeys...

If six monkeys...

The law of averages, if I have got this right, means

that if six monkeys were thrown up in the air long enough

they would land on their tails about as often

as they would land on their...

Heads.

Getting a bit of a bore, isn't it?

A bore?

Well...

What about the suspense?

What suspense?

It must be the law of diminishing returns.

I feel the spell about to be broken.

Well, it was an even chance.

Seventy eight in a row.

A new record, I imagine.

Is that what you imagine?

A new record?

Well...

No questions, not a flicker of doubt?

I could be wrong.

No fear?

Fear?

Fear.

Seventy nine.

I think I have it.

Time has stopped dead.

The single experience of one coin being spun once

has been repeated... 156 times.

On the whole, doubtful.

Or, a spectacular vindication of the principle

that each individual coin spun individually is

as likely to come down heads as tails

and therefore should cause no surprise

each individual time it does.

Rosencrantz: Heads.

I've never known anything like it.

He's never known anything like it.

But he has never known anything to write home about

and therefore it is nothing to write home about.

What's the first thing you remember?

Oh, let's see, hm...

The first thing that comes into my head, you mean?

No, the first thing you remember.

Ah.

No, it's no good.

It's gone. It was a long time ago.

You don't get my meaning.

What's the first thing after

all the things you've forgotten?

Oh, I see.

I've forgotten the question.

Are you happy?

What?

Guildenstern: Content? At ease?

Well, I suppose so.

What are you going to do now?

I don't know. What do you want to do?

Look.

What about it?

Well.

We have been spinning coins together since...

I don't know when,

and in all that time, if it is all that time,

157 coins spun consecutively have come down heads,

157 consecutive times,

and all you can do is play with your food.

Wait a minute.

There was a messenger.

Man: Rosencrantz! Guildenstern!

We were sent for.

Rosencrantz: Another curious scientific phenomenon

is the fact that the fingernails grow after death

as does the beard.

Guildenstern: What?

Rosencrantz: Beard.

Guildenstern: But you're not dead!

Rosencrantz: I didn't say they only started

to grow after death.

The fingernails also grow before birth.

Though not the beard.

Guildenstern: What?

Rosencrantz: Beard! What's the matter with you?

The toenails on the other hand never grow at all.

The toenails on the other foot never grow at all.

No.

Do you remember the first thing that happened today?

Oh, I woke up, I suppose.

- (banging) - (shouting)

I've got it now...

That man, he woke us up.

A messenger.

Rosencrantz: That's it.

Pale sky before dawn,

a man standing on his saddle to bang on the shutters.

But then he called our names.

You remember, that man woke us up.

We were sent for.

That's why we're here.

Traveling, a matter of extreme urgency.

"A royal summons" was his very words.

Official business no questions asked.

Up, we get and off at the gallop

fearful lest we come too late!

Too late for what?

How would I know?

We haven't got there yet.

What's that?

The Player: Halt!

An audience!

Don't move!

Perfect. Well met, in fact, and just in time.

Why's that?

Why, we grow rusty.

And you catch us at the very point of decadence.

This time tomorrow we might have forgotten

everything we ever knew.

We'd be back where we started, improvising.

Tumblers, are you?

We can give you a tumble, if that's your taste,

and times being what they are.

Otherwise, for a jingle of coin we can do you a selection

of gory romances pirated from the Italian.

And it doesn't take much to make a jingle.

Even a single coin has music in it, should it be gold.

Tragedians!

At your command.

My name is Guildenstern, and this is Rosencrantz.

I'm sorry, his name's Guildenstern,

and I'm Rosencrantz.

We've played to bigger, but quality counts for something.

Tragedians. What exactly do you do?

The Player: Tragedy, sir.

Deaths and disclosures, universal and particular.

Denouements.

Transvestite melodrama.

We transport you back into a world of intrigue and illusion.

Clowns if you like.

Murders.

We can do you ghosts.

And battles.

On the skirmish level.

Heroes, villains,

tormented lovers.

Set pieces in the poetic vein.

We can do you rapiers,

or rape,

or both.

By all means, faithless wives and ravished virgins,

flagrant delicto at a price

for which there are special terms.

It costs little to watch,