King Lear (1970) - full transcript

LENFILM

First Artistic Association

KING LEAR

Based on the tragedy by Shakespeare

Written and directed by
Grigory KOZINTSEV

Director of Photography
Ionas GRITSIUS

Production Designers - Ye. YENEJ
V. ULITKO, S. VIRSALADZE

Music by Dmitri SHOSTAKOVICH

Sound by E. VANUNTS

Cast:

King Lear - Jyuri JYARVET



Goneril - E. RADZINYR
Regan - G. VOLCHEK

Cordelia - V. SHENDRIKOVA

Fool - O. DAL
Gloster - K. SEBRIS

Edgar - L. MERZIN
Edmund - R. ADOMAITIS

Kent - V. YEMELYANOV

Duke of Cornwall - A. VOKACH

Duke of Albany - D. BANIONIS

Oswald - A. PETRENKO

King of France - I. BUDRAITIS

I thought the king had more affected

the Duke of Albany
than Cornwall.

It did always seem so to us.

But now,
in the division of the kingdom,

it appears not which of the dukes
he values most.



For equalities are so weighed,

that curiosity in neither
can make choice

of either's moiety.

Is not this your son, my lord?

I have so often blushed
to acknowledge him,

that now I am brazed to it.

I cannot conceive you.

This young fellow's mother could:

She had a son for her cradle before
she had a husband for her bed.

Do you smell a fault?

I cannot wish the fault undone,

the issue of it
being so proper.

But I have a son, sir,
by order of law,

some year elder than this.

Attend the Lords of France

and Burgundy, Gloster.

I shall, my liege.

Meantime we shall express

our darker purpose.

Know all.

Know all:

We have divided
in three our kingdom.

Tis our intent to shake all cares
from our age,

conferring them on younger strengths,

while we unburdened crawl
toward death.

Our son of Cornwall,

and you, our son of Albany, we have
this hour a constant will to publish

our daughters' several dowers,

that future strife
may be prevented now.

The princes,
France and Burgundy,

great rivals in our youngest
daughter's love,

long here are to be answered.

Tell me, my daughters...

which of you
doth love us most?

That we our largest bounty may extend

where nature doth with merit
challenge.

Goneril, our eldest born,
speak first.

I love you more than
words can wield the matter.

Dearer than eyesight,
space and liberty,

beyond what can be valued,
rich or rare.

No less than life, with grace,
health, beauty, honour.

As much as child e'er loved,

or father found.

A love that makes my speech unable,
beyond all manner so much I love you.

What shall Cordelia do?

Of all these bounds, even from this
line to this,

we make thee lady: To thine and
Albany's issue be this perpetual.

What says our second daughter,
our dearest Regan,

wife to Cornwall? Speak.

I am made of that self metal
as my sister,

and prize me at her worth.

In my true heart

I find she names my very deed
of love,

only she comes too short.

And find am alone felicitate
in your dear highness' love.

In your dear highness' love.

To thee and thine hereditary ever

remain this ample third of our fair
kingdom.

Then poor Cordelia!

And yet not so,

since my love's more richer
than my tongue.

Now, ourjoy,

what can you say to draw a third
more opulent than your sisters'?

Nothing, my lord.

Nothing?

Nothing.

Nothing will come of nothing.

Speak again.

Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave
my heart into my mouth.

I love your majesty
according to my bond,

nor more nor less.

Cordelia, mend your speech a little,

lest it may mar your fortunes.

Good my lord,
you have begot me,

bred me, loved me.

I return those duties back
as are right fit:

Obey you, love you,
and most honour you.

Why have my sisters husbands,
if they say they love you all?

Haply, when I shall wed,

that lord shall carry half my love
with him, half my care and duty.

Sure, I shall never marry
like my sisters,

to love my father all.

But goes thy heart with this?

Ay, good my lord.

So young, and so untender?

So young, my lord, and true.

Let it be so, -
thy truth, then, be your dower!

For, by the sacred
radiance of the sun,

here I disclaim all my paternal care,

propinquity and property of blood,
and as a stranger to my heart and me

hold thee, from this, for ever!

Peace, Kent!

I loved her most,

and thought to set my rest
on her kind nursery.

Hence, and avoid my sight!

Call France!
Call Burgundy!

Cornwall and Albany, with my two
daughters' dowers digest this third.

Let pride, which she calls plainness,
marry her.

Ourself, by monthly course, with
reservation of an hundred knights,

shall our abode make with you
by due turns.

We still retain the name, and all
the additions to a king,

the sway, revenue, execution
of the rest be yours.

Royal Lear, whom I have ever honoured
as my king,

as my great patron thought on
in my prayers...

The bow is bent and drawn!

Make from the shaft!

Let it fall rather, though the fork
invade the region of my heart.

Be Kent unmannerly,
when Lear is mad.

What wouldst thou want?

That duty shall have dread to speak,
when power to flattery bows?

Answer my life my judgement,

thy youngest daughter
does not love thee least.

Nor are those empty-hearted

whose low sound
reverbs no hollowness.

Kent, on thy life, no more.

My life I never held but as a pawn
to wage against thy enemies.

No fear to lose it,
thy safety being the motive.

- Out of my sight!
- See better, Lear.

Now, by Apollo!

Now, by Apollo, king,
thou swear'st thy gods in vain.

O, vassal! Miscreant!

Dear sir, forbear.

Hear me, recreant!
On thine allegiance, hear me!

If tomorrow thy banished trunk
be found in our dominions,

the moment is thy death!

Fare thee well, king!

Sith thus thou wilt appear,

freedom leaves hence,
and banishment is here.

Here's France and Burgundy,
my noble lord.

My Lord of Burgundy,
we first address towards you,

who with this king
have rivalled for our daughter.

When she was dear to us,
we did hold her so,

but now her price is fallen.

Will you, with those infirmities she
owes, dowered with our curse,

and stranger'd with our oath,
take her or leave her?

I tell you all her wealth.

Pardon me, royal sir.

For you, great king,
I would not from your love

make such a stray,
to match you where I hate.

Must be a faith that reason without
miracle should never plant in me.

I yet beseech your majesty,

if for I want that glib and oily art,
to speak and purpose not,

that you make known

it is no vicious blot, murder,

or foulness that hath deprived me
of your grace and favour,

but even for want of that
for which I an richer, -

a still-soliciting eye, and such
a tongue as I am glad I have not.

Thou hast her, France:
Let her be thine!

For we have no such daughter!

Time shall unfold what pleated
cunning hides:

Who covers faults, at last
shame them derides.

An hundred knights to add to retinue!

A hundred knights to add to retinue!

Saddle the horses!
Call the train together!

Saddle the horses!
Call the train together!

The barbarian that makes his genera-
tion messes to gorge his appetite,

shall to my bosom be as well relieved,
as thou my sometime daughter.

Thou, nature, art my goddess!

To thy law my services are bound.

Wherefore should I permit deprive me,
if I'm 12 moonshines lag of a brother?

Why bastard?

Wherefore base?

Why brand they us with base?

Who, in the lusty stealth of nature,
take more composition and quality

than doth, within a dull, stale,
tired bed,

go to th'creating a whole tribe
of fobs?

Well, my legitimate!

Kent banished thus!

And the king gone tonight!

Subscribed his power!

All this done upon the gad!

Edmund, how now!
What news?

So please your lordship, none.

Why so earnestly seek you
to put up that letter?

I know no news,
my lord.

What paper were you reading?

Nothing, my lord.

Why, then, that terrible dispatch of
it into your pocket? Let's see.

Sir, pardon me.
It is a letter from my brother.

I find it not fit for your
o'er-Iooking.

Give me the letter.

I shall offend,
either to detain or give it.

I hope, for my brother's
justification, he wrote this

but as a taste of my virtue.

.

Hum... Conspiracy!

O villain!
Abhorred villain!

Unnatural, detested,
brutish villain!

Where is he?

Suspend your indignation

till you can derive from him
better testimony of his intent.

Edmund, seek him out,

wind me into him.

These late eclipses
in the sun and moon

portend no good to us:

Brothers divide,

in cities, mutinies,
in countries, discord,

in palaces, treason.

And the bond cracked
twixt son and father.

We have seen the best of our time.

- When saw you my father last?
- The night gone by.

- Spake you with him?
- Ay, two hours together.

Parted you in good terms?
Found you no displeasure in him?

None at all.

Bethink yourself wherein you may
have offended him.

And at my entreaty
forbear his presence

till some little time hath qualified
the heat of his displeasure.

Some villain
hath done me wrong.

Have a continent forbearance till
the speed of his rage goes slower.

Retire with me to my lodging.
There's my key.

If you do stir abroad, go armed.

Armed, brother!

He hath no good meaning toward you.

What I have told you is nothing
like the image and horror of it.

By the surfeit of our own
behaviour,

we make guilty of our disasters
the sun, the moon, and the stars.

As if we were fools
by heavenly compulsion,

by an enforced obedience
of planetary influence.

And admirable evasion
of whore-master man,

to lay his goatish disposition
to the charge of a star!

Fut, I should have been
what I am,

had the maidenliest star
in the firmament

twinkled on my bastardizing.

Let me not stay a jot for dinner!
Go get it ready!

Dinner, ho, dinner!

Where's my fool?
Go you, and call my fool hither.

You, you sirrah, where's my daughter?

So please you...

What says the fellow there?
Call the clotpoll back!

Where's my fool?
I think the world's asleep.

Where's that mongrel?

He says,
your daughter is not well.

Why came not the slave back to me?

He answered me,
he would not.

He would not!

My lord, to my judgement,
your highness is not entertained

with that ceremonious affection
as you were wont.

But where's my fool?

I have not seen him this two days.

Since my young lady's going into
France, the fool hath much pined away.

No more of that. Go you,

and tell my daughter
I would speak with her.

Go you, call hither my fool!

O, you sir,
you, come you hither, sir.

Who am I, sir?

My lady's father.