A Christmas Carol

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You skinflint old bastard.

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Oh, can they not read?

The inscription clearly states

"rest in peace".

Why am I not allowed any peace?

Well, if I don't see you before Christmas,

do have a very merry one.

And you, too. Oh, we may call after dinner.

Oh, please do. Bring everyone.

You know you're more than welcome.

- Merry Christmas. - Mr. Cratchit?

Mr. Bob?

Will you come tomorrow?

I'm afraid I can't tomorrow... work.

Work, my love?

- Tomorrow? - Dad.

- You forgot this. - I'm not a "this," silly.

No, I didn't forget old Timmy. I saw he was offering

an extra prayer and I let him be.

For our poor cat that died.

Rest in peace.

Rest in peace, my eye.

- He's chasing mice around St. Peter's feet. - (LAUGHS)

Tomorrow's Christmas Eve.

You promised this year you'd stand up to him.

Come on, Cratchit, it'll be a fine do tomorrow.

Children in charge...

blind man's buff and all that.

Bring the whole tribe.

- I'm sorry. I'm afraid... I'm afraid

my husband works for a man with an ice pick for a heart.

Ah, of course, you toil for Old Scratch, don't you?

Huh. My condolences.

Oh, well. So be it. Merry Christmas,

- Cratchit tribe. - (CHILDREN CLAMORING)

- Excuse me. - So be it.

Year after year.

Belinda?

Come on, you'll get wet and catch your death.

Ooh.

It's nearly Christmas, Mama.

Yes.

Rag!

Rag bone!

Any old iron or rag!

Rag bone!

Any old iron and rag!

Late.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

There.

Beyond reasonable.

Oh.

The smudge is from the fourth lump.

I have no doubt.

The smudge is from kindness.

Morning, Mr. Scrooge.

And Merry Christmas to you, too, Mr. Scrooge.

I have left an important document

to be copied three times before day's end.

One for London, one for Birmingham, one for Manchester.

Three, not four, sir?

What?

Today appears to be a day for four, not three.

Ah, you mean the extra lump of coal I gave you.

Well, curse the fourth.

Curse gestures.

Just make three copies of the ledger.

And should there be no blots,

no smudges, no stains, you may go home.

At 4:00.

Mr. Scrooge, I-I thought we had agreed that today,

on account of the day it is, I could go home

at 3:00.

I give you an extra lump of coal...

... then straightaway you want to snip an extra hour

off the day... three becomes four,

four becomes three.

I don't care for your revolutionary mathematics.

This is not Paris.

It's frozen, sir.

What is?

My ink.

I'll have to thaw it on the fire.

No, that will waste time.

You can use mine.

Ah, lovely.

A sort of Christmas present, is it, sir?

Oh, please.

If it were a Christmas present I would have wrapped it

in ribbons and bows to artificially

increase your anticipation.

And you would tear it open and gasp

and say, "Oh, my lord, a bottle of ink.

This is exactly what I've always wanted."

And I would shrug and smile and tell you that

of all the ink bottles in all the world,

this is the one ink bottle

I wanted you to have on this

most holy and sacred of days.

- (INDISTINCT CHATTER) - Behold.

One day of the year.

They all grin and greet each other when every other day

they walk by with their faces in their collars.

You know, it makes me very sad

to see all the lies

that come as surely as the snow

at this time of year.

How many Merry Christmases are meant

and how many are lies?

To pretend on one day of the year

that the human beast

is not the human beast.

That it is possible

we can all be transformed.

But if it were so...

if it were possible

for so many mortals

to look at the calendar and transform

from wolf to lamb...

then why not every day?

Instead of one day good, the rest bad,

why not have everyone grinning at each other all year

and have one day in the year when we're all beasts

and we pass each other by?

Why not turn it around?

Yes, sir.

Yes, you could call that day of beastliness

Scrooge Day.

In honor of its inventor.

Yes. Why not?

It would be the one day where everyone is free

to tell all those around them

exactly what they really think of them.

Well, I think every clerk in England

would report for work on that day, sir.

In order that they could tell their employer

the awful truth of what is in their hearts.

- Yes. - Ah.

The truth without ribbons and bows.

What do you say?

I say, sir,

in all my ten years of working here you've never

bothered to explain your philosophy before.

I'm quite flattered, sir, that today

of all days you should share the machinery

of your great logic

with a mere clerk.

It isn't logic, Cratchit.

Well, then, sir, what is it?

Mind out for the word "litigation."

You have a habit of spelling it wrongly.

I spelt it wrongly once.

Five years ago.

MAN (IN DISTANCE): Any old iron and rag!

Rag bone!

Any old iron and rag!

Rag bone!

Rag bone!

Any old iron and rag!

- Every third day. - Rag bone!

Punctual at ten minutes past 7:00 for the past

199 days, with a seven-day hiatus

July 4 to 11, when, no doubt,

he and his horse were in Margate

- or somewhere atrocious. - Rag bone!

- Any old iron and rag! - Two...

Oh, no ink.

- Any old iron or rag! - Three calls,

15 steps of the horse, five turns of the wheel.

I need a pencil.

WOMAN (IN DISTANCE): Chestnuts!

Roasted chestnuts!

Oh, what?

A new voice?

Any old iron and rag!

Four calls, 21 steps of the hoof,

- nine turns of the wheels. - Chestnuts!

Hot off the coals!

Two from the chestnut woman.

Oh, damn it.

Any old iron and rag!

Five calls.

Chestnuts! - 27 steps of the horse,

11 turns of the wheel.

Fresh, new, fresh from Regents Park!

- Any old iron or rag! - Three from chestnut woman.

- Five and 27... - (BOTH CONTINUE CLAMORING)

eleven...

rag and bone. Now please pass by.