The 20th Century (2019) - full transcript

Well, go ahead
and open it, Little Charlotte.

Mr. King,
you shouldn't have.

Happy birthday,
sweetheart.

It's the most beautiful ribbon

I've ever seen.

Oh, but it must have
cost a fortune.

Oh no, no, no. They were
a bargain, Little Charlotte.

I had them mass produced.

I'll cherish it always.

Here. Why don't I pin it
right next to your heart.

Would you tell me about
all the sweet, cheerful things



we could do together if I wasn't
so wretched and sick?

Well, first,
we'd stroke the pelicans

down at Pallister's Knob.

You'll stroke the men pelicans
and I'll stroke...

- The lady pelicans.
- That's right.

And then I'll take you
to Mr. McConkey's for...

Maple walnut ice cream.

Exactly.

Mr. King,

when you become
the prime minister,

will you make
tuberculosis against

the law?

You know, I'll try
my best, sweetheart.

But you're going to pull
through, I just know you will.



Dr. Wakefield says
I'm going to die in agony

and nobody will come
to my funeral.

That's a bit extreme,

- don't you think?
- Mr. King,

every night, I pray you're gonna
win the competition.

Please, won't you win it?

Promise me you will.

Sure as a winter's day
in springtime,

Little Charlotte,
I'm going to win

that competition for you

and for all the defective
Canadians everywhere.

I'm going to...

What is that strange noise,
Little Charlotte?

Isn't it such a gladness?
It's called music.

Ruby makes it
on her machine.

See?

Oh, my heavens!

You found me.

Just when I'd given up all hope

of you ever finding me,
there you are.

Mother, give me strength.

Make me equal to this moment.

Mr. King...

I can't breathe.

Good night, children.

Pardon me, Miss.

- Citizen.
- I just wanted to express

to you how deeply moved I was
by your skill on the trumpet.

It's a harp.

I beg your pardon?

The instrument,
it's called a harp.

- I can't play the trumpet.
- Oh!

I'm sorry, I've just never
heard music before.

- Never once in your life?
- No, no, but I've read

all about it
in books about England.

But what about the birds?
Have you no songbirds

- in this country?
- No, our puffins are mute,

though the albatross is known
to shriek in rutting season.

Have you been to the zoo
to see our pelicans?

They warble sometimes.
Might that count?

Your story makes me
sad, citizen.

Good night then.

Uh, good night.

I have an ear
for accents.

You must be English, right?

Are you following me?

Please allow me
to just introduce myself.

My name is William Lyon
Mackenzie King.

My friends like
to call me Rex.

Happy to greet you, Mr. King.
My name is Elliott,

- Ruby Elliott.
- Ms. Elliott,

what would you say if I told you
that by New Winter's Day,

I will be
prime minister of Canada?

I should think it
to be most arrogant.

Well, there can be
no question of my victory.

My mother has been grooming me
for leadership since birth.

Well, then I suppose
I need not you wish any luck.

- Good night to you, Mr. King.
- If I win the candidacy,

Ms. Elliott, would you attend
my victory rally?

Oh, it's going to be
the grandest affair.

You could stand next to me
as I deliver my speech

to the nation. I'm sure
my mother would allow it.

I'm afraid that's
quite impossible.

We'll be serving
maple walnut ice cream!

Double rations!

- Good night.
- But, Ms. Elliott,

- you must be lost.
- No.

- This is where I live.
- But these are the gates

that lead to the governor
general's house. There's

- no civilian access.
- That's right.

Lord Muto is my father.

Your Excellency...

I am deeply ashamed
to have spoken so freely.

Please allow me to express my
most unquestioning inferiority.

We're all subjects
of the same queen,

are we not,
Mr. King?

Good night.

Good night.

Ms. Cramp, I believe
I have politely requested

that you not leave
insanitary articles

- in the hallway.
- But, Mr. King,

- there's just been so much slush.
- Thank you, Ms. Cramp.

Mr. King...

...you will put this
in your room.

What is it, Doctor?

It is a warning.

I knew you would find me.

Why, those are
perfectly charming.

I'll have them giftwrapped.

- Keeping busy, are we, Father?
- Hmm... Willy!

I wasn't expecting you
this early.

The competition is
tomorrow night, Father.

What have you been
doing in here?

Well, now I paid
for the advert

in the Mail and Empire
just as you instructed.

Full page in
the morning edition.

And what about
the maple walnut ice cream?

- 400 gallons.
- Good!

I expect all Toronto will be
here to cheer me on.

Would you hold this a moment?
It's a gift for Mother.

Son, um, if...

you can afford to buy
gifts for your mother,

perhaps you could also
find a few dollars for me.

Oh? Last time
you got lonely, Father,

I had to change
the locks on Mother's door.

Cost me quite a hefty sum
as I recall.

I told you that won't
happen again. I have

a bird now.

Yes, and who paid
for the bird?

I know and I'm grateful.

But those gilded banners
you wanted cost a fortune,

and you wouldn't believe
the price of puffin cream!

And then there's
that woman up there.

You think it's easy
to provide for her?

Father, as soon
as my candidacy is confirmed,

you'll have your reward.

The Senate, the Supreme Court,
president of the Dominion Bank?

Canadian ambassador
in the Bahamas.

You know how I love sunbathing.

Yes, I'm aware of that.
And I do believe I indicated

to banner was to read,
"Congratulations, Mr. King."

- Yes, yes, I'll fix it.
- And I dare say

this cartographic diagram
with the Quebec City ice vortex

is most handsomely drafted.

Did Mother do that?

No. No, that was
Nurse Lapointe.

- Nurse Lapointe?
- She's quite committed.

She even taught Giggles
how to say

congratulations in French.
Isn't that

- right, sweetie?
- Félicitations, Monsieur King.

Thank you, Giggles.

Can you see your reflection?

Non, Madame King.

Then keep scrubbing.

Mother darling, Willy's here.

Willy, ah! My prince!

Lock the door at once
and come to me.

- Hello, Nurse Lapointe.
- Bonjour, Monsieur King.

Mother, I've brought you
some new underthings:

- Diefenbaker's French lace.
- How delightful!

I can't wait

to model them for you.

Come. Give your mother a kiss.

Mother darling, your hands.
You're chilled and nervous.

Nurse Lapointe,
Mother needs her puffin cream.

Oh, I'm sorry, Monsieur King,

but your father said
he needed it.

- I beg your pardon!
- Your husband, Mme King.

- Willy, make her stop.
- I'll fix it, Mother.

How dare she speak
of that gormless worm

- in my presence!
- Nurse Lapointe,

we put Mother's solitude
above all other concerns.

There is a reason we must
keep her door locked,

- you understand?
- Oui, Monsieur King.

Fetch a fresh jug from
the icebox and, Nurse Lapointe,

I should like to thank you,
your cartographic skill

- is most astonishing.
- Thank you, Monsieur King.

I grew up in Québec City.

I can show you the way.
If I could help you train,

- it would be the joy of my life.
- Appreciate your support,

Nurse Lapointe.
Thank you. Thank you.

That idiot girl
can't do anything right.

Mother, listen to me.
I have wonderful news.

How happy can a mother be!

She's real.

She's here in Toronto.

The girl with
the garland-wreath braids?

Oh, Mother, she's every bit
as beautiful

as you imagined. She played
the most glorious music

on her trumpet, just like

- in your dream.
- Who is she?

From whose loins?

It's miraculous.
Her father is Lord Muto,

the new governor general.

I think my bowels may explode.

You know how unaccustomed I am
to happiness.

Shall I fetch you
a horse tranquiliser?

Last night as I slept,
for the first time

in 25 winters,
I could feel the migraine

loosening its grip on me. Look!

My mother!

- It's uncanny.
- Never has the dream

been more vivid.

I could see you both.

She held you tightly
in her arms.

Just as I do when you feed

at my bosoms.
And in that moment,

I knew that all the torments

and humiliations

would finally be vindicated.

My dear son, the angel

has descended.

You shall govern
this dominion!

Look, spinster nurse,

this is the woman
my son is going

to marry.

- Oh!
- You clumsy little peasant!

Oh, Mother, please,
it was an accident.

I'm so sorry, Mme King.

Clean it up this instant
and then get out of my sight!

You're fired.

Please, distant star.
Please, oh, please,

let dear Mr. King
win the competition tomorrow.

He has such as big heart

and he deserves it
more than the others.

Please, North star,

please let him win.

Well,

if it isn't
Bonny Prince Rexy himself.

- You made the papers, Rex.
- "All new members

"at tonight's victory rally
will receive one serving

"of maple walnut ice cream

"courtesy of your
future prime minister,

"William Lyon Mackenzie...

King."

Rex, how cute.

- Too bad no one will be there.
- Stop by my victory rally, Rex.

I've got a member, serves you
all the cream you can swallow.

You can stuff the field

with your band of scoundrels,
Mr. Meighen,

but only the righteous
shall prevail.

- Oooh...
- Give up now, Grandma,

and I won't ruin you.

I'll let you become my minister
of maple walnut affairs.

How about that?

Those who aspire to
the dignity of public office

are expected to show
upstanding Canadian manhood

of the very highest order, and I
have yet to see any of that from you.

And what about your upstanding
Canadian manhood?

May I see that?

Ever the consummate vulgarian.

May the best man win.

All rise.

The Right Honourable Mister
Justice Richardson presiding.

33 years ago,

our most glittering sovereign,

her majesty the queen,
christened this dominion

with a national sentiment.

"Canadians," did she proclaim,

"in happy days as in sad...

"Disappointed shall you be.

"Always and forever more.

"May
the Disappointment keep us safe

from the foolish aspirations
and unreasonable longing."

My dear young sirs,

today's examination
shall establish

who among you is best equipped
with those essential

talents, aptitudes
and bodily functions to lead

our fledgling nationality
into the 20th century.

In the name
of the Sovereign,

do more than is your duty.

Expect less
than is your right.

Wrong.

Wrong.

Wrong.

Wrong!

Very statesmanlike,
Mr. King.

That was sublime,

Mr. Harper.

Utterly sublime.

One! Two!

Three!

Excuse me, I believe
my wife and I were ahead of you.

No.

Spruce.

Birch.

Pine.

Cabbage.

Commence urination.

Stop!

Superb, Mr. Meighen.

Good God, man!

Ahem!

Very
passive-aggressive, Mr. King.

Good job, Rex.

Ready, set,

churn!

Churn!

Faster.

Churn!

Bingo! Bingo!

Yes!

On New Winter's Eve,
as the clock strikes midnight

upon the new century,
today's candidates

shall face
the final test.

By royal proclamation,

whosoever shall raise the banner
of our national disappointment

above the Quebec City ice

shall ascend to the office

of dominion
prime minister.

Sargent-at-Arms,
have we a candidate?

Yes, Your Honour.

In second place,

I must announce
we have a tie.

Exaequo for second best:

"Arthur Meighen
and William Lyon

Mackenzie King."

Come on, Grandma.

In the event that the candidate
cannot fulfill his mission,

one of these runners-up
shall take his place.

And in the name
of His Excellency,

the vicount of Muto,
the viceregal candidate

for dominion prime minister:

"Henry Albert Harper."

Now hold on just a minute!

That isn't fair!

I beat him at baby seal clubbing

and you all saw me!
He didn't win, I did!

Mr. King, control yourself.

And not only that, I scored
much higher than Meighen

- here at ribbon cutting.
- Well, I beat you

at leg wrestling, you little
bitch princess. We're even.

- Oh, why, you...
- Gentlemen, please.

There's no sense in bickering
over trifles.

Let's consider

the greater good. Shall we?

Your Honour...

I would like to cede
my candidacy to Mr. King.

He's right:

he clubbed more
baby seals than I.

He's a better man for it.

Well, the record will show

my score was higher, so...

Mr. King,

the number of baby seals clubbed
is quite beside the point.

Take one look at Bert Harper,
what do you see?

All that could be

desired in charm, intellect

and masculine beauty.

In his hands,
clubbing baby seals

isn't the vulgar blood sport
of demented inbreds,

but the very noblest expression
of Canadian manhood.

What, on the other hand,

can be said
about you, Mr. King?

Squealing like
a petulant titmouse.

Mr. King, you will do
more than is your duty.

Expect less than
is your right.

Congratulations, Mr. Harper.

may you bring pride
to a disappointed race.

Oh, come on, Rex,
don't be a sour puss.

Come! Get drunk with us!

I'll buy you
a maple walnut schnapps, hmm?

Go ahead and waste yourselves.
Not a single drop

of intoxicating liquor
has ever passed my lips.

What about upstanding manhood,

has that ever passed
through your lips?

Ugh!

- Monsieur King!
- Oh, good evening,

- Nurse Lapointe.
- I know I am not welcome

in your mother's house,
but I made a cake.

To congratulate you.

Why don't you give it
to Bert Harper, he's the one

- who should be celebrating.
- You mean you didn't win?

Haven't you seen
the evening edition?

Mackenzie King tied
for second best with

- Arthur Meighen of all people.
- Second best is still

very good, Monsieur King.

Why don't we eat
the cake together.

I wish to be alone
now, Nurse Lapointe. I'm sorry.

Dear Mr. King,

every night, I pray you're gonna
win the competition.

You shall
govern this dominion.

Promise me you will.

Félicitations, Monsieur King.

Hey, buddy!

Would you mind
tossing up my shoe?

- What?
- My shoe. My shoe.

That's my shoe!

It slipped clean
out of my hand.

Stop, Mr. King.

Don't do it.

Run away.

Run away.

Just get it.

Toss it up.

Of course.

Come on, buddy!

I'm late for my shift
at the mines.

Just a minute.

That asbestos won't

drill itself.

Hey, hey! Hey! That's my shoe!

Stop that!

You will now avert your glance

from His Excellency Lord Muto,
governor general of Canada.

Canadians,

listen.

Canada. Canada.

A voice cries out to you.

- Canada. Canada.
- Can't you hear?

From across the world,

a voice is calling your name.

Canada,

help me, please. Help me.

Help Mother England.

In the jungles

of darkest Africa,
a vulgarian army

has dared to point its cannon
at our imperial mother.

Boers,

the scum race

of the Transvaal,

half-man, half-elephant...

...commanded
by a fanatical psychopath,

Field Marshall
Cornelius Von Kruger.

Kruger, the drunk.

Kruger, the glutton.

Kruger waging
a perverse crusade

- against the cause of good.
- AAAAH!

I will not stop!
The Queen of England will die!

Now I ask you,

Canadians,

will you let
the atrocities continue?

No!

Will you allow the Boer filth

to contaminate
the virgin snow?

No!

Must the Disappointment
last forever?

- Never, Papa!
- Not on my life,

Your Excellency!

We shall fight
for all that is right,

and we will not stop
until the world is perfect.

Sweetheart,
I'm looking for Lady Ruby.

She was just here, Mr. King.

She came to say goodbye to us.

Do you know where
she went, Little Charlotte?

She said she was leaving
on a steamboat.

She's leaving Canada?

Whatever for?
Did she say?

There's a mean man
doing mean things far away.

She said she was
going to stop him.

Oh, Mr. King,

will you take me
on a steamboat

- one day?
- Yes, yes, of course, but right now, Mr. King

- has to go.
- Wait! You didn't tell me.

Did you win?

Of course I did,
Little Charlotte.

Sure as a winter's day
in springtime.

Even as we speak,
an evil tumour

spreads in our midst.

In the mirrored ice
of Quebec City,

a mutinous French Canadian
has dared

to beat the drum
of Krugerism:

the fanatical ornithologist

Jay Israel Tarte.

Blasphemy!

Treason!

Tarte must be stopped

lest this great dominion

- fall to the wrath of Kruger.
- Lady Ruby!

- Lady Ruby!
- This nation has let

a poisonous viper nurse
at its very bosom.

- Lady Ruby!
- Mr. King,

isn't it?
what can I do for you?

I had no idea
you were leaving Canada.

I shall return
when the Boer is defeated.

Please! Don't go!

It is our duty to fight
for what is right, Mr. King.

But I'm supposed to be the
prime minister of this dominion.

You can serve your country
in other ways. You could enlist.

I don't understand,
Lady Ruby. Look.

Look! This hangs

above my bed.

I kiss it 100 times every night
before I turn out my gas.

- Mr. King...
- My mother painted it.

All my life she's told me
that one day you would come

and fall in love with me
and make me the ruler

- of Canada.
- Mr. King, what is the meaning of this?

I know it sounds mad,
I, myself, started to doubt,

but then there you were in the
quarantine playing your trumpet

- exactly as my mother said.
- It's a harp,

- Mr. King.
- Girl with the garland-wreath braid,

holy vision
of female divinity,

righteous hand
to guide my sacred purpose

for the salvation
of the 20th century,

redeem my mother's sacrifice

and restore the dignity
to this nation.

I believe you know

- my fiancé, Mr. King.
- Yeah.

What?!

Rex, jolly good of you
to see us off.

I find a place for you
in my government, Rex.

Come cheer me on
in Québec City.

- Excuse me. Pardon me.
- Canadians,

long have you smoldered

in disappointment.

The time has come

to unleash your fury

upon the Earth.

We pledge eternal hatred

of the Boerish race.
By the points of our bayonets,

shall we slash our way to
the despot's trembling throat.

And by the extermination
of Johannesburg

shall Canada astonish the world.

What time are you leaving?

As soon as we load
all this toxic waste.

Sick, sick stuff,
Mr. Meighen.

Fine. I'll wait.

Maybe you shouldn't go
to Winnipeg so much,

a good man like you.

That's none of your concern,
garbage man O'Malley.

Psst!

Hey!

Hey, Mister!
Welcome to Winnipeg.

You want some heroin?
Bare-naked ladies?

- Reasonably priced furniture?
- I want nothing from you.

- Well, fuck you then!
- Yeah, fuck you.

- And your nice fucking shoes.
- Fucking asshole!

Fuck you too!

Ah, Mr. Meighen.

- Just can't get enough, can you?
- Let me in the heel.

I'm sorry. It happens, got it
all booked up for the night.

But you're in luck,
new shipments arrived.

Those are royal jelly.

You know she would have had this
on her foot all the way

through the battle
of Bloemfontein.

You're absolutely certain that
it's Ruby's? I mean, you're 100% sure?

My man in Johannesburg snatched
it right out of her tent.

- Still very ripe.
- Please, I...

I'm sorry. $400, please.

What?!

Put it in a bag.

- Mr. King?!
- Dr. Wakefield!

Why am I seeing you
in this place?

- You'll explain yourself immediately.
- It's not

what it appears,
Dr. Wakefield.

- I'm on a charitable mission...
- Lies! Mr. King...

- ...you intend to fornicate with this garment.
- No, I don't.

- Look me in the eye.
- Been a shortage of ladies' footwear at the Daughters

of the Empire Temperance League,
and I was asked...

You're a disgusting
backslider.

Mr. King, you will report
to my sanitarium;

otherwise, I will
have no choice

but to formally charge you
with crimes

against national dignity.

And believe me,
it would be my pleasure

to ruin you.

Do your worst.

WHAT

did you say?

I'm already ruined.

So trash me about all you like,
everybody else does.

I'm warning you, Mr. King!
I shall

expose you to Lord Muto himself.

I want him followed.

Yes, Doctor.

Who could that be?

Mr. Schultz!

I want my money,

Johnny Boy.

"Cher Monsieur King,

"if you think you could
love me, meet me

"in Québec City
beneath the Tarte Monument.

"I will wait for you there

"every day.

"Je t'aime.

Nurse Lapointe.

You are
a disgusting backslider.

You have
disgraced yourself

and your nation, Mr. King.

Shame on you.

- Nurse Lapointe!
- Monsieur King!

You've come.

I brought you a fresh log
from High Park.

Ah, thank you.

What is this place?

This is the holiest
site in all of Québec.

The place where Monsieur
Joseph-Israël Tarte was born.

If you listen closely
into the shell,

you will hear
a word of tenderness.

You see?

Nurse Lapointe, I'm...

I'm so sorry for the way
I spoke to you before.

It was so nice of you
to bake me that cake.

I've just been...

I've been ill.

I know. The disappointment
can sometimes be

too great to bear.

Come with me, Monsieur King.

I wish to show you
something.

The Disappointment.

I thought I should never see it
from such close a vantage.

One day, la Tendresse
will hang above this ice,

and Québec shall be free
of the Disappointment forever.

Won't you and I
be there together

on that wondrous day?

Nurse Lapointe,
I feel as though

every minute of my life
has been wasted.

Worse than wasted. Like
everything I've ever believed

has been a monstrous lie.

Politics, Canada,
everything.

La tendresse saved my life, Monsieur King.
And it can save yours.

There's a sweet tubercular
child that I visit

in the Defective Children
quarantine.

- La petite Charlotte?
- Yes!

We could adopt her
as our own.

What are you saying?

I'm saying, Nurse Lapointe,
that we could start a new life together.

We could conjugate
French verbs together

and build
a modest home together

and go on guided tours
at the discount family rate.

I love guided tours.

- Oh, Nurse Lapointe!
- Please call me Ernestine.

Ernestine...

...would you be
my goodly wife?

Oui.

Oui, mon tendre amour.

William,

how thoughtful of you to visit.

Good God, Father,
what happened?

Shh! You want that woman
up there to hear you?

Mother's room
is completely untouched;

- he only took my belongings.
- Who took your belongings?

- Mr. Schultz.
- Who the devil

- is Schultz?
- A Winnipeg moneylender.

Oh, Father, how could you be
so irresponsible?

Honestly! You laze about here
like a gentleman of leisure,

and Mother is the one
to suffer for it.

Plums need to be picked, Father,
they just don't fall into your lap!

My dear young man...

...I bankrupted

this house

to fund your campaign,

and you promised me the most

dignified political
favouritism

in all of Canada.

And what I am now?

Less than a pauper!

Yes, well, things have not
gone according to plan.

But I will find a solution.

$400 by New Winter's Day

or he will be
back for Mother.

What?

He already
murdered Giggles!

Mother darling?

Willy?

Where have you been, son?

You know the migraine

tightens around me

whenever you're out of view.

I know, Mother.

I've brought you a bouquet
of precious sticks

from the Cabbagetown Ravine.

Ah,

sticks brighten up a room,

but not as much as a dear

and loving son.

Mother darling,
I have wonderful news.

Bert Harper has been killed?

- No, no.
- I dreamt it.

Mother, it's much
better than that.

How happy can a mother be?

I'm to be married.

But Lady Ruby is not yet
returned from the war.

No. No, Mother, she hasn't.

It's Nurse Lapointe.

She's agreed to be my wife.

She is a sweet and kind

and gentle soul, Mother,
just like you.

I know you've had

a displeasure with her
as a nurse,

but I know you'll come
to cherish her

- as a daughter-in-law.
- I will do no such thing.

We're going to live
in Quebec City, Mother.

Have you heard of
J. Israël Tarte?

It's amusing, we used
to collect copies

of his manifesto
for the Rosedale book burnings,

but really,
he's no terrorist at all.

Ever since the horrible night
of your conception,

from the very instant that
repulsive weakling downstairs

filled me with his semen,

I have been confined
to this bed.

- I know, Mother.
- 25 winters gripped

- by a never-ending migraine.
- Yes, Mother.

And you suppose
I've endured

all this agony
for nothing?

I have built castles
without number for you,

and now you would
tear them all down

to build an outhouse?

- Mother, I've been so lonely.
- Shut up!

You sound just like your father,
is that you want to be? A fool

an idiot, a failure?

Without Lady Ruby, you'll be all
that and 10 times worse!

Ruby doesn't love me, Mother.
She never will.

Then you will be a man
and improve yourself

until she does.
Bert Harper has been killed.

I dreamed it.

I'm to plant
the matrimonial sapling

on the winter's equinox at Berrington
ice floe. We are betrothed!

- Betrothal is not marriage!
- Mother!

Take that stupid girl out
on the ice floe

- and leave her there.
- Mother! Don't say that.

She will not
destroy my son.

And you will not
destroy our happiness.

You will do as I say.

Never!

Your dreams are all wrong.

I will love Nurse Lapointe
until the day I die,

and you will live to see and
to know that our love is real.

Mr. King.

Mr. Justice Richardson.

We've been looking for you.

Uh...

I take it you've read
the evening edition?

Uh, no, I haven't.

Bert Harper is dead.

Dead?

Executed by the Boer.
The Disappointment flies at high mast.

But from the depths
of a nation's sorrow

comes an opportunity for
our dear young Mackenzie King.

His Excellency requires
a new candidate,

and so I must call
upon you and Mr. Meighen

to break the tie.
If you still

wish to be prime minister of
Canada, I hasten to advise you

to prepare yourself.
I presume you are still fit

for public office, Mr. King?

No shameful secrets?

Hmm?

Next stop, Vancouver.

You will stand up straighter.

You will remove your disguise.

Mr. King...

enter.

You will guess
the age of this man.

80.

90?

He's in fact

only 14 years of age.

A compulsive onanist
since he entered manhood.

It is a miracle of science
that he's even alive.

This is what we refer to

as a class-9 defective:

incurable,

hopeless.

And do you know what you are,
Mr. King?

A class 8.

Ah!

The vivifying froth of man,
Mr. King,

must be controlled
and contained.

With every nihilistic discharge,
you release

more lonesomeness
into this nation's psyche.

If not swiftly blighted,

this solitary fornication

shall bankrupt
this spermatic economy...

...leaving rise

to a defective race...

...of giggling...

sniveling, hesitating

slump-shouldered, feeble-minded

weaklings!

Ah!

Release the valves.

Clench, Mr. King.

The puffin milk must be retained
for the next 36 hours.

I have devised this apparatus

for unbridled onanists
such as you.

Its electrical circuits

can detect even the slightest
disturbance in your loins.

Look.

While asleep, the sirens
will awake you

to prevent
nocturnal pollutions.

While awake,

it will interrupt and extinguish
any abnormal thoughts.

Do you understand, Mr. King?

Yes, Dr. Wakefield.
Thank you.

Strap him in.

I promise, I will not
let you down, Dr. Wakefield.

Remember, Mr. King,

one mistake, and you will
destroy this nation.

Get out here, goddammit!

Alright, that's enough,

Mr. Meighen. Mr. King...

I underestimated you, Mr. King.

- Congratulations.
- Well done, Rex. I think

- you'll make a fine candidate.
- Thank you, Mr. Meighen.

I know we've had
our differences in the past,

but I'd just like to say that
it would be an honour to serve

- as your second in command.
- I'm sure it would.

Your convoy
is waiting, Mr. King.

The hour has grown late.
His Excellency wishes

to see you at once.

Good luck, buddy.

You will stand in the centre,
Mr. King.

Mr. Candidate King.

Your Excellency,
the lambent glow

of your viceregal authority
brings

- intense jubilation...
- Mr. King, do you see that red button?

Oh! Yes.

Mr. King,

I want you to press
that button.

Can you do that for me?

By all means, Your Excellency.

Uh, what... what does it do?

MR. KING, I AM COMMANDING YOU
TO PRESS THAT BUTTON!

- YOU WILL PRESS IT IMMEDIATELY!
- OK.

Mr. King,

you have just exterminated

all human life
in the South African

Transvaal.

What?!

This was only a joke there.

I certainly got you, didn't I?
I had you going

- for a second there.
- Haha! Yes.

Yes, you did have me there
for a second, Your Excellency.

But seriously,
my State scientist

is in the process
of building a machine

that will do exactly that.

A brilliant chap!

Goes by the name
of Dr. Milton Wakefield.

I believe you know him.
Don't you, Mr King?

Uh... I am familiar
with his work, yes.

Hmm...

Dr. Wakefield's machine will

perfect human civilization.

One press of the button,

and the Boerish race will be
wiped out of existence!

Seems a little extreme,
don't you think?

I didn't push the button,
King,

you did! And it's
a very good thing too.

The prime minister of Canada
must have the courage

to press a button
when he is called to press it.

Bert Harper would have
zealously pressed

that button.
He wouldn't have hesitated.

And you seem to be fitting

very snuggly into his shoes.

Hmm-hmm... Mmmm...

Mmmm...

Is there a woman
in your life, Mr. King?

- A woman?
- Yes, a woman!

There's a lonesomeness
about you that I find

- quite undignified.
- Aaah!

Aaah... as you may have heard,

my eldest daughter
is returning to Toronto.

I would like very much

if you and she would spend

some time together.

You would?

Yes, I would.

On the evening of
the winter equinox, you shall be

my honoured guest
at a viceregal ball.

A bit of pomp
before we launch you off

onto your campaign.

Here is my plan:

I would have you offer yourself
to my daughter

as a companion

and an escort.

Does that agree with you?

May the matrimonial sapling

guide you safely
across the ice.

Tender nostrils,

guide me to my true love.

Forgive me.

True love,

I found you.

Monsieur King?

Monsieur King?

Right this way, Mr. Candidate.

His Excellency is waiting.

His Excellency's candidate
for prime minister,

Mr. William Lyon Mackenzie King.

Ah, Mr. Candidate.
Happy equinox.

And same to you,
Your Honour.

Have you met my wife,
the giantess of Strathcona?

- Ah.
- Charmed, I'm sure.

- Ah, ah.
- We're all very proud

of your accomplishment,
Mr. King. I'm quite certain

you shall astonish us
in the ice maze.

Thank you, Your Honour.
I promise I won't let you down.

Hmm...

True love,

I have found you.

Monsieur King...

Take that stupid girl

out on the ice floe
and leave her there.

Je t'aime.

Mackenzie King,

at last, you're guided
by the hand of destiny.

Oh, Mother, give me strength.

Make me equal to this moment.

Reach out to Lady Ruby

and allow her to behold
all of my worthiness.

Mr. King,

you're crying!
Did someone insult you?

Oh, Your Excellency, no.
I-I-I'm just so happy.

Lady Ruby plays
the trumpet so marvellously.

The instrument is
called a harp, King.

I did want to say
that I will exceed

all expectations
where Ruby is concerned.

You can count on my most earnest
and everlasting devotion.

Well, you're
a very loyal subject, Mr. King.

Now if you're ready,
we'll go and meet Violet.

Uh, Violet?

Yes, Lady Violet,

my eldest daughter.

I'm confused, Your Excellency.

I do believe you accepted
the invitation

to escort Lady Violet
this evening,

or am I to believe that
this is the sort of thing

- that you might forget?
- Well, well, well.

Mr. "Meighen", isn't it?

No, darling,

this is Mackenzie King.

Viceregal candidate,

may I present my daughter,
the Lady Violet,

baroness of Mississauga.

Charmed, Mr. King. Charmed.

Your Excellency.

Toronto's so stupid, Bill.

Look at all these normals.

I hate normals.

- It's why I live in Winnipeg.
- You have a strange loyalty

for the daughter
of our viceroy, Lady Violet.

Please, Bill,
you sound like my sister.

I'm sure she would be quite
astonished to learn the truth

- of your obscene vocation.
- If you happened to know

that Ruby crossed
the Battenhurt jungle

wearing only one boot,

she might also be astonished
to find out why.

I am worth more
than the sum of my mistakes.

Perhaps Muto should be
the judge of that.

Please don't ruin
this for me.

I've been preparing
my entire life for this.

But it's all hogwash, Bill.

Canada is just one failed orgasm
after another.

Look at all these normals,
they're so clueless.

I happen to think
it is sacred, Lady Violet,

- I was born to serve this nation.
- I thought you were born

for boot sucking. Would you like
to try on Ruby's underwear?

I could get that for you.

Please, Your Excellency,
I'm begging you.

I like it when you beg.

You want my trap shut,
don't you, Bill?

Well then, just do
what I say.

After dinner, Muto will
sing patriotic hymns

in the parlour,
but you won't be there.

You'll sneak away
to the viceregal bedroom,

and I'm going to do very,

very weird things
to you in there.

You can call me Ruby
if you like. Boy!

A few more

of those little mothers
over here pronto.

Of course,
Lady Violet.

I have French champagne
and vodka martinis.

That will do just fine.

- There you go, Bill.
- Oh, uh, I...

Down the hatch.

Good evening, Mr. King.

Ah... Your Excellency.

How are the children?

- I'm sorry?
- In the quarantine,

- how is Little Charlotte?
- Oh, oh, oh, fine,

she's fine, yes.
Cured in fact.

Oh, that's wonderful news.
Please say hello to her for me.

- Hmmm...
- This one's mine, sis...

...so back off.

Please, please,
please, please.

Have a seat, everyone.

Be seated, everyone.
I said, "Be seated."

We are here today
to introduce

a young man in whom
I've taken a great deal

of interest.

A young man of State
who by his own excellence

has risen to the rank
of viceregal candidate

for dominion prime minister.

A leader of tomorrow

who will guide this country to

its rightful glory
in the new century.

A young man

whom I would gladly welcome

into my family

as a son.

Ladies and gentlemen,
please welcome...

...lieutenant Bert Harper!

Please, please,
please, everyone.

Madame...
Ha! Ha! Ha!

- Don't you dare.
- Hello, Rex.

So you're not dead.

We have much
to discuss, Rex.

As you can all see
with your own eyes,

our national hero
is alive and well.

Captured, taken prisoner

in the battle of Battenhurst,

our national hero withstood

unspeakable tortures

in a Boerish slave camp.

And there, he might
have perished

were it not
for the valiant exploits

of none other than

Lady Ruby Elliott.
I'm delighted

to announce that once the Fury
has been proclaimed,

these two ought to be
conjoined in wedlock.

Practically barefoot,
my beloved Ruby

crossed a savage jungle
fighting Boer,

cactus and wildebeest

to save Bert Harper.

for the glory
of the greatest race.

What the devil is that?

What the devil?

Mr. King, are you unwell?

Terminate that sound.

Mr. King, this is
a State dinner!

- Do not vomit!
- Easy, Rex.

Soldierly vice!
An unmanly, yes, detestable dog!

Little Charlotte?

Did they move you?

Sorry, I haven't been to visit
in so long. I've been ill.

Charlotte, please answer!

She's dead.

What?!

She died last night.

Mr. King,

His Excellency
wishes to speak with you.

Immediately.

Can I have
your jacket, Mister?

- King.
- Excellency.

Your spectacle last night
was most repulsive

Lady Violet finds you
utterly disgusting.

Forgive me, Your Excellency.
The memory of it

shall bring me
everlasting shame.

As well it should.

But, believe it or not,

yours was by far
the lesser outrage.

I'm sorry?

Bert Harper,

he has gone over
to the other side.

And he has taken my beloved Ruby
down with him.

Ladies and gentlemen...

...this man is a liar!

The Boer is not your enemy.
The Boer yearns only to be free.

Free from this...

vile empire that would seek to
enslave and destroy the world.

My dear young man,
have you lost your mind?!

And I would sooner go to hell

than hang this sick banner
above Québec City.

God! That inveterate scumbag

has brainwashed both of them.

They have sworn to carry
Tarte's wretched banner

into the Quebec City ice.

And so, the Fury falls back

to you, Mr. Candidate King.

You want me to race
against Ruby and Bert?

I've taken the liberty
of choosing Mr. Meighen

as your second in command.

Meighen?!

Yeah. Who else, Mr. King?

I only ever meant
to be moderate and inoffensive,

Your Excellency. I am not meant
to carry a banner of war.

Perfectly why you are
the perfect Trojan horse,

Mr. King.

Tarte has turned
all of French Canada against us.

Who better to lead them
into the Fury

than a spineless milksop? Hmm?

And what if Tarte is right?

Ha ha!

Please, Mr. King.
Give the people hope,

and there will be
endless disappointment,

but fill them with nightmares,

and they will follow you
straight into hell.

I happen to believe
that politics

is about building
a better world.

"A better world"?

There is no better world,
Mr. King.

Ah, you really don't
get it, do you?

This Fury is
your last chance.

You will not be
given another one.

I will make sure
that you rot

in Dr. Wakefield's
sanitarium forever,

and your mother's pathetic
little plans for you will be

CRUSHED like insects underfoot.

YOU'LL EITHER CARRY THE FURY
OF THIS COUNTRY

OR YOU WILL BE CONSUMED

BY IT!

So you think
I'm that weak?

You think I'm such
a scurvy bat that I would

throw away all my principles
for some loathsome place

in the sun?

Yes. Yes,

- I do.
- Do you?

- Yes, I do.
- You do?

- Yes, I do.
- Do you really?

Yes!

Hmm.

Tonight,

we proclaim a new era

for the new century

between the green planet of hope

and the scarlet falcon
of imperial fury.

Only one thing is certain:

the Disappointment,
our dear old flag,

shall tonight
be lowered forever.

Get out of my way, please.

Thank you.

His viceregal
excellence Lord Muto

has magnanimously allowed
a fair contest

between two extreme visions
of the future.

A century of absolute war

versus absolute love.

The fate of our dominion

hangs in the balance.

Will the Zamboni please clear

the ice immediately.

Don't worry, old boy,
we'll beat those traitors.

You're late.

I have to sharpen my skates.

Skating for
the opposition banner

on behalf of J-Israël Tarte

and his tendresse nationale:

Bert Harper

and Ruby Elliott.

And representing the Fury,

His Excellency's
viceregal candidate,

William Lyon Mackenzie King

and second in command
Arthur Meighen.

Whosoever shall first raise
his flag

above Disappointment Square
shall be proclaimed

prime minister of Canada.

Candidates...

assume the position.

Ten,

nine,

eight, seven,

six,

five,

four,

three, two,

one.

Which way now, Champ?

It must be back this way.

I could have sworn it was a left
to Stanfield Impass.

It's dead end after dead end.

It's nothing but dead end
with you.

Not so easy to lead
the way, is it, Rex?

Listen. When you wake up,
you'll tell the world that

you simply couldn't go through
with it, that you didn't have

the nerve, bowed down
in favour of me.

Understand? This is
how Muto wants it.

Monsieur King...

- Nurse Lapointe?
- Follow me.

The Disappointment
is being lowered.

For the first moment
in our nation's history,

the status quo has at last

- been broken.
- How the fuck you get across

Franklin's Pass?

We know a shortcut.

Who are you?
What are you doing here?

I am an angel of Fury.

Hail, Muto.

Nurse Lapointe,
you have to let me fail.

- M. King, there isn't time.
- But I dishonoured you.

I sacrificed my most cherished beliefs, I don't
deserve another chance. I should be punished!

Monsieur King,
it isn't about you;

it's about humanity.

You don't realize it yet,
but you are a puppet

in a terrible game
to destroy the future.

I know there is
goodness inside you,

so take all your goodness

by both hands and follow me.

Flags will hang
by the fucking neck!

And so will you,
fucking traitors!

Par ici.

God save mayhem!

Long live the Fury!

Help! Help!

- Rex?
- Bert!

Rex!

- Nurse Lapointe.
- What?

- She's still under.
- Got it, Rex.

You fucking traitor!

Bert!

Comfort him, Ruby.

I'm going back
to save the nurse.

I spotted her writhing
in a forest

- of plankton
- Bert, she's doomed.

What else can I do?

Please hold me.

Everything is gonna be
already, Mr. King.

You've made a terrible mistake
joining Muto,

but it's not too late.

There's still time.

Please, Nurse Lapointe.

Play, play a song for me
on the harp.

I'm sorry for all I've done.

Don't leave me here.

Be quiet.

Willy darling...

...did you win, my son?

Yes, Mother.

Sure as a winter's day
in springtime.