The Critic

"Critic".

From the Latin "criticus".

And the Greek " kritikós".

"Via krités", a judge.

- Your seats, Mr Erskine. - Tom.

- Curtain? - 10:40

- Oh. - Provided we go up on time.

Well, ensure it, hmm? I have a deadline!

The drama critic is feared

and reviled for the judgement he must bring.

But the truth

is imperative.

A critic must be cold and perfectly alone.

Only the greats are remembered.

I must tell you,

when you go to the theatre,

in the dramas presented,

you'll find many a murderer with cold blood.

But do take notice of the occasional killer

with a conscience.

I shall need two more sessions.

Can you find the time?

For immortality, who wouldn't?

You vicious old bastard.

My father enjoyed indulging this newspaper.

But times are harder now.

We're going to have to economise

across all departments, I'm afraid.

However, if we trim the fat,

we can restore The Chronicle to its rightful place

as the most read family newspaper in the country.

So...

let's resume our mission with renewed vigour, eh?

No more inexplicable expenses.

No more long lunches.

No late copy.

He's dragging the paper into the 20th century.

How dare he.

Be warned. Hmm?

Watch your backs.

He won't come after the old guard.

We are the bloody paper!

He won't have pirates on board.

We must all show loyalty to the cause.

The sole historical cause of The Chronicle

is to compete for readers with the Daily fucking Mail.

Mm-hmm. - Fascists.

Loyalty!

I've been with this festering organ 40 years!

Forty-three.

Hmm.

Mm.

He should show loyalty to us.

He's Robespierre in a top hat.

Madame la Guillotine, salut!

Nh, don't, Jim. Don't, you're plastered.

- Stephen. - Good afternoon.

Oh.

David.

Viscount Brooke, I should say.

My condolences again.

We all adored your father.

Thank you.

I remember when mine passed away.

He was an insignificant man, but his absence was profound.

You know, your father gave me the job

right here in the club.

Over, er, lunch... No, dinner.

And he squeezed my young cheeks,

and, "Jimmy,

"I hereby anoint you my chief drama critic."

Hmm.

Working tonight?

The White Devil.

Best seen sober, I suspect.

Not necessarily.

That is the half, Mr Cooper.

That is the half. Thirty minutes.

Half an hour, ladies and gents.

Half an hour, Mrs Reverly.

- Half an hour. Half an hour. - All right, Lennie.

Tell him half. Half an hour, Miss Land.

- Fuck off, Lennie. - I'll do my best.

Excuse me.

I'm too old for this.

From your secret admirer.

- Who is he, Miss? - Oh, it's a mystery.

I could travel to the Orkneys and act in a stable,

two dozen white roses would appear on the first night.

Have them.

"Unto my lord the duke, The best of welcome.

"More lights! Attend the duke."

I'm in the mood for Jacobean tragedy.

Not often I say that.

Done badly, this play could drive a nun to arson.

Mr Erskine? Mr Erskine?

Five minutes, White Devil company.

That's the five.

You will be a sensation.

Don't expect a good notice in The Chronicle.

At least, not for my performance.

Jimmy Erskine's never liked me.

Well, tonight, the beast will experience

a Damascene conversion.

Ready? Have courage.

"Unto my lord the duke,

"The best of welcome. More lights."

Where's Mr Erskine?

Over there.

How's his portrait coming along?

Quite well.

His face is more interesting than his opinions.

I love him.

He's gutsy.

Viscount at one o'clock.

Shame his lady wife never attends.

Perhaps she's got a prior engagement

with a keg of lithium.

Your best of rest.

Unto my lord the duke, The best of welcome.

Attend the duke.

More lights!

- Flamineo. My lord.

Quite lost, Flamineo.

Now to the act of blood.

There's but three Furies found in spacious hell...

I think I prefer this play to his other one.

- His other one? - Well, his other famous one.

Duchess of Malta.

- Malfi. - Oh, yes!

Duchess of Malfi.

Jew of Malta. Duchess of Malfi.

Same era, though.

Webster is Jacobean. Marlowe, Elizabethan.

Oh, a slightly pedantic distinction.

It's the correct one.

Well, I'm sure we can agree on tonight's performance

thus far.

I... I just adore Nina Land.

She's such a mercurial actress.

I'm... I'm... I'm sure you'll be

dipping that famous nib in nectar tonight.

No need for the prussic acid.

Excuse me.

Meadows!

Will you remove that lunatic baggage?

I'm so sorry, Mr Erskine. What seems to be the problem?

Ah, no, not "seems".

She invaded my table,

she besieged me with her opinions,

and stole my nuts!

I must have silence!

I must be protected from the general public!

Move her, move her.

Run!

O, happy they who never saw the court,

Nor ever knew great man but by report.

I recover,

like a spent taper...

...for a flash.

But instantly go out.

The rack, the gallows,

and the torturing wheel...

...shall be but sound sleeps to me.

Here's my rest,

I limb'd this night-piece and it was my best.

Remove the bodies.

See my honoured lord.

Let guilty men remember their black deeds

Do lean on crutches made of slender reeds.

No...

Replace with, er, "succubus".

Cut all that shit.

- This shit? - No, that shit.

Oh.

There is no "e" in "somnambulant".

There never has been, God help us, never will be.

Change "damp squib" to...

"wet blanket". No, no. Help?

- Er, "sopping"? - Perfect, yes.

No, "sodden". Yes.

All right, get typing.

"Sodden".

That was the longest play in the world.

Longer than life itself.

How long is life? - Endless.

As long as you eat your vegetables.

Wasn't Nina Land the greatest?

She's magical.

You should paint her.

Mm.

I think you've got secrets.

You're very direct. You raised me to be.

True.

But I don't.

I wouldn't mind if you did.

Not if she makes you happy.

I love your mother.

Said unconvincingly.

Your father seemed to enjoy it.