Rosencrantz & Guildenstern Are Dead (1990) Movie Script

(horse whinnies)

Um...

(horse whinnies)

- (horse whinnies)

- Rosencrantz: Whoa!

Whoa, whoa.

Hmm.

Heads.

Bet.

Heads I win.

Again...

Heads.

Whoops!

(horse whinnies)

(coin pings)

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.

(bird caws)

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...

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?

(coin bangs loudly)

Fear.

Seventy nine.

(sighs)

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.

(banging)

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.

(clanging)

What's that?

The Player: Halt!

An audience!

Don't move!

(tambourine beating)

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!

(dramatic musical intro)

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.

(groaning)

Murders.

We can do you ghosts.

(ghostly moaning)

And battles.

(swords clashing)

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,

and a little more to get

caught up in the action.

If that's your taste, and

times being what they are.

What are they?

Indifferent.

Bad?

Wicked.

See anything you like?

Lucky thing we came along.

For us?

Also for you.

For some it is performance,

for others patronage.

They are two sides

of the same coin.

Or being as there

are so many of us,

the same side of two coins.

It was luck, then?

Or fate.

Yours or ours?

It could hardly be

one without the other.

Fate then.

You said,

caught up in the action?

I did. I did.

You're quicker than your friend.

For a handful of

coin, I happen to have

a private and uncut performance

of The Rape of the Sabine Women.

Or rather woman.

Or rather Alfred.

And for eight you

can participate.

It could have been...

It didn't have to be obscene.

I was prepared.

But it's this, is it?

No enigma, no dignity,

nothing classical or poetic.

Only this.

A comic pornographer and

a rabble of prostitutes.

The Player: You should have

caught us in better times.

We were purists then.

Excuse me.

Alfred.

Rosencrantz: You're not,

exclusively players, then?

We're inclusively

players, sir.

- I had no idea.

- The Player: No.

I mean, I've heard, but

I've never actually seen.

The Player: No.

I mean, what

exactly do you do?

We keep to our usual stuff,

more or less, only inside out.

We do on stage the things that

are supposed to happen off.

Which is a kind of integrity,

if you look on every exit as

an entrance somewhere else.

Wait a minute.

What will you do for that?

(coin pings and drops)

Do you know any good plays?

Plays? Oh, yes.

One of the Greeks, perhaps?

You're familiar with the

tragedies of antiquity, are you?

The great homicidal classics?

Maidens aspiring to

godheads, or vice versa?

That's your kind

of thing, is it?

I can't say it is, really.

We're more of the love,

blood and rhetoric school.

Well, we can do you blood

and love without the rhetoric

and we can do you blood and

rhetoric without the love

and we can do you all three

concurrent or consecutive.

But we can't give you love and

rhetoric without the blood.

Blood is compulsory.

They're all blood, you see.

Is that what people want?

It's what we do.

Would you like a bet?

Double or nothing.

Heads.

Double or nothing.

Come on.

I say that was

lucky. It was tails.

(woman moaning)

Ah!

(door opens)

(indistinct chatter)

(trumpet fanfare plays)

Welcome, dear Rosencrantz

and Guildenstern.

(dog barks)

Moreover that we much

did long to see you.

The need we have to use you

did provoke our hasty sending.

Something have you heard

of Hamlet's transformation.

So call it.

Sith nor the exterior

nor the inward men

resembles that it was.

What it should be,

more than his father's

death, that thus hath put him

so far from the

understanding of himself.

I cannot dream of.

I entreat you both,

that being of so young

days brought up with him,

and sith so neighbored

to his youth and haviour,

that you vouchsafe your rest

here in our court

some little time.

So by your companies to

draw him on to pleasures

and to gather so much as

from occasion you may glean

whether aught to us

unknown afflicts him thus

that opened lies

within our remedy.

Good.

Gentleman, he hath

much talked of you.

And sure I am, two men

there are not living

to whom he more adheres.

If it will please you to

show us so much gentry

and good will as to extend

your time with us awhile

for the supply and

profit of our hope,

your visitation shall

receive such thanks

as fits a king's remembrance.

Both your majesties might

by the sovereign

power you have of us,

put your dread pleasures more

into command than to entreaty.

But we both obey, and

here give up ourselves

in the full bent to lay our

service freely at your feet,

to be commanded.

Thanks, Rosencrantz.

And gentle Guildenstern.

Thanks Guildenstern

and gentle Rosencrantz.

And I beseech you

instantly to visit

my too much changed son.

Heaven make our

presence and our practices

pleasant and helpful to him!

Aye, amen.

I want to go home.

Don't let them confuse you.

(dog barks loudly)

(indistinct chatter)

We're in over our steps,

heading out of depth.

Stepping out of our heads,

so heading to a dead stop!

There!

(echoes)

Hasn't it ever happened to

you that all of a sudden

and for no reason at all you

haven't the faintest idea

how to spell the word "which"

or "house"

because when you write it down

you just can't remember

ever having seen

those letters in

that order before?

- I remember.

- What?

I remember when there

were no questions.

There were always questions.

Answers, yes. There were

answers to everything.

- You've forgotten.

- I haven't forgotten!

How I used to remember my

own name! And yours. Oh, yes!

There were answers

everywhere you looked.

There was no question about it.

People knew who we were and

if they didn't they asked,

we told them out names.

We did. The trouble is,

each of them is plausible,

without being instinctive.

Instinctive?

All your life you

live so close to truth,

it becomes a permanent blur

in the corner of your eye,

and when something

nudges it into outline,

it's like being

ambushed by a grotesque.

A man standing in his saddle in

the half-lit, half-alive dawn

banged in the shutters

and called two names.

And when he called we came.

That much is certain, we came.

Rosencrantz:

Well, I can tell you

I'm sick to death of it.

I don't care which one I am.

So why don't you

make up your mind?

Guildenstern:

We didn't come all this way

for a christening.

But we have been

comparatively fortunate.

We might have been left to sift

the whole field of

human nomenclature

like two blind men looting a

bazaar for their own portraits.

At least we are presented

with alternatives.

Well, as from

now my name is--

But not choice.

Your smallest action sets

off another somewhere else,

and is set off by it.

Polonius: And I do think

or else this brain of mine...

Rosencrantz: We're

going round in circles.

Polonius: ...so sure as it

hath use to do that I have found

the very cause of

Hamlet's lunacy.

Oh, speak of that!

That do I long to hear.

Give first admittance

to the ambassadors.

He tells me, my dear Gertrude,

he hath found the head

and source of all your

son's distemper.

I doubt it is no

other but the main.

His father's death

and our o'er hasty marriage.

Well.

We shall sift him.

It's all right.

There's a logic at work.

It's all done for

you, don't worry.

Enjoy it. Relax.

Relax.

Rosencrantz:

We have been briefed.

Rosencrantz: Have we?

Hamlet's transformation,

what do you recollect?

Well, he's changed, hasn't he?

The exterior and inward

man falls to resemble.

Draw him onto pleasures,

glean what afflicts him.

Something more than

his father's death.

He's always talking about us.

There aren't two people living

whom he dotes on more than us.

We cheer him up,

find out what's the matter.

Exactly.

It's just a matter of

asking the right questions

and giving away as

little as we can.

And then we can go?

And receive such thanks as

fits as king's remembrance.

Oh, I like the

sound of that...

What do you think she

meant by remembrance?

He doesn't forget his friends.

Would you care to estimate?

Some kings tend

to be amnesiac,

others the opposite, I

suppose, whatever that is.

How much?

- Elephantine.

- How much?

Retentive. He's a

very retentive king.

A royal retainer.

- What are you playing at?

- Words.

Words. They're all

we have to go on.

Rosencrantz: Look at this.

Leave things alone.

Sorry.

This is interesting.

You would think

this would fall faster

than this, wouldn't you?

(thud)

And you'd be absolutely right.

Fancy a game?

We're spectators.

Do you want to play questions?

- How do you play that?

- You have to ask questions.

Statement, one love.

- Cheating!

- How?

- I hadn't started yet.

- Statement, two love.

- Are you counting that?

- What?

Are you counting that?

Foul! No repetition.

Three love and game.

I'm not going to play if

you're going to be like that.

(sighing)

Whose serve?

- Uh...

- Hesitation! Love one.

- Whose go?

- Why?

- Why not?

- What for?

Foul! No synonyms! One all.

What in God's

name is going on?

Foul! No rhetoric! Two - one.

What does it all add up to?

- Can't you guess?

- Were you addressing me?

Is there anyone else?

- Who?

- How would I know?

- Why do you ask?

- Are you serious?

- Was that rhetoric?

- No.

Statement!

Two all. Game point.

What's the matter

with you today?

- When?

- What?

- Are you deaf?

- Am I dead?

Yes or no?

- Is there a choice?

- Is there a God?

Foul! No non-sequiturs!

Three - two, one game all.

- What's your name?

- What's yours?

- You first.

- Statement! One love.

What's your name

when you're at home?

- What's yours?

- When I'm at home?

Is it different at home?

- What home?

- Haven't you got one?

- Why do you ask?

- What are you driving at?

What's your name?

Repetition! Two love.

Match point.

Who do you think you are?

Rhetoric! Game and match!

(bells chime in distance)

- Rosencrantz!

- What?

There.

How was that?

- Clever.

- Natural?

Instinctive!

Now I'll try you. Guil--

Not yet!

Catch me unawares.

Right... Guil--

No, me, unawares.

(whistles)

Ready?

Guildenstern: Never mind.

Polonius:

...for I will use no art,

mad let us grant him

then and now remains

that we find out the

cause of this effect,

or rather say, the

cause of this defect.

For this effect

defective, comes by cause.

Thus it remains, and

the remainder thus.

Perpend.

I have a daughter.

Have, while she is mine.

Who in her duty and

obedience, mark,

hath given me this.

Now gather, and surmise.

"To the celestial,

and my soul's idol,

the most beautified Ophelia."

That's an ill phrase,

a vile phrase.

Beautified is a vile phrase.

But that you shall hear, thus,

"In her excellent

white bosom..."

Gertrude: Came this

from Hamlet to her?

Polonius: Good Madam,

stay awhile, I will be faithful.

"Doubt thou,

the stars are fire.

Doubt that the sun doth move,

doubt truths to be a lie,

but never doubt I love."

(bird cawing)

(cow lowing)

(dog barking)

(bird cawing)

(whistling)

(squeaking)

(quacking)

(imitates horn blaring)

Polonius: ...his hot love on

the wing, as I perceived it,

I must tell you that

before my daughter told me,

what might you, or my dear

Majesty, your queen here, think,

if I had played the

desk or table-book.

- Or given my heart...

- (door slamming)

...dumb, or looked upon

this love, with idle sight,

what might you think?

No, I went round to work,

and my young mistress

thus I did bespeak,

Lord Hamlet is a

Prince out of thy star.

This must not be.

(harp chord plays)

How does my good Lord Hamlet?

Well, God have mercy.

Do you know me, my lord?

Hamlet: Excellent.

Excellent well.

- You are a fishmonger.

- Not I, my lord.

Hamlet: Then I would

you were so honest a man.

Polonius: Honest, my lord?

What do you read, my lord?

Words, words, words.

Polonius: What is

the matter, my lord?

Hamlet: Between who?

Polonius: I mean the

matter that you read, my lord.

Statement.

Hamlet: Slander, sir.

For the satirical

rogue says here

that old man have grey beards...

Rosencrantz: Who was that?

Guildenstern:

Didn't you know him?

Rosencrantz:

He didn't know me.

Guildenstern:

He didn't see you.

Rosencrantz:

I didn't see him.

Guildenstern: We shall see.

I hardly knew him, he's changed.

- You could see that?

- Transformed.

- How do you know?

- Inside and out.

- I see.

- He's not himself, you know.

- He's changed.

- I could see that.

Glean what afflicts him!

- Me?

- Him.

- How?

- Question and answer.

He's afflicted.

You question, I answer.

He's not himself, you know.

- I'm him, you see.

- Who am I?

You're yourself.

- And he's you?

- Not a bit of it.

Are you afflicted?

That's the idea.

Are you ready?

Let's go back a bit.

- I'm afflicted.

- I see.

Glean what afflicts me.

Right.

Question and answer.

How should I begin?

Address me.

My dear Guildenstern!

You've forgotten, haven't you?

My dear Rosencrantz!

I don't think you

quite understand.

What we are attempting

is a hypothesis

in which I answer for him

while you ask me questions.

Ah. Ready?

- You know what to do?

- What?

- Are you stupid?

- Pardon?

- Are you deaf?

- Did you speak?

- Not now.

- Statement!

Not now!

(echoes)

I say.

- What?

- Well, uh, uh...

Would you like a bite?

No.

Thank you.

Oh, you mean you

pretend to be him.

And I ask you questions.

Very good.

You had me confused.

I could see I had.

How should I begin?

Address me.

My honored lord!

My dear Rosencrantz!

Am I pretending

to be you, then?

Certainly not. Well,

if you like, shall we continue?

- My honored lord!

- My dear fellow!

- How are you?

- Afflicted!

- Really? In what way?

- Transformed.

- Inside or out?

- Both.

I see. Not much new there.

Look go into details! Delve!

(echoes)

Probe the background.

Establish the situation.

So your uncle's

the king of Denmark?

That's right.

And my father before him.

His father before him?

No, my father before him.

- But surely...

- You may well ask.

Let me get it straight.

Your father was king.

You were his only son.

Your father dies. You are of

age. Your uncle becomes king.

- Yes.

- Unusual.

- Undid me.

- Undeniably.

- He slipped in.

- Which reminds me.

- Well, it would.

- I don't want to be personal.

It's common knowledge.

- Your mother's marriage.

- He slipped in.

- His body was still warm.

- So was hers.

- Extraordinary.

- Indecent.

- Hasty.

- Suspicious.

- It makes you think.

- Don't think I haven't.

- And with her husband's brother.

- They were close.

- She went to him.

- Too close.

- For comfort.

- It looks bad.

- It adds up.

- Incest to adultery.

- Would you go so far?

- Never!

To sum up!

Your father, whom

you love, dies.

You are his heir.

You come back

to find that hardly

was the corpse cold

before his young brother

popped onto his throne

and into his sheets,

thereby offending

both legal and natural practice.

Now, why exactly

are you behaving

in this extraordinary manner?

I can't imagine!

And yet we were sent for.

And we did come.

Rosencrantz.

- What?

- Guildenstern.

What?

Don't you discriminate at all?

What?

Nothing.

Look at this.

Watch closely.

Interesting.

(clucking)

Will you walk out

of the air, my lord?

Into my grave?

Indeed, that is out of the air.

(clucking)

Polonius: My honorable lord.

I would, most humbly,

take my leave of you.

You cannot, sir,

take from me anything

that I will more

willingly part with all.

Except my life.

Fare you well, my lord.

These tedious old fools.

You go to seek

the Lord Hamlet?

There he is.

What's he doing?

Talking.

To himself.

- Guildenstern: My honored lord!

- My most dear lord!

My excellent good friends!

How dost thou, Guildenstern?

- Ah, Rosencrantz!

- Pleased, sir!

Oh, good lads, how do you both?

As the indifferent

children of the earth.

Happy that we are

not over-happy.

On fortune's cap we are

not the very button.

- Nor the soles of her shoes.

- Neither, my lord.

Then you live about her waist,

or in the middle of her favors?

Faith, her privates we.

In the secret

parts of fortune?

O, most true! She is a strumpet.

Well, what news?

None, my lord, but that

the world's grown honest.

Then is doomsday near.

But your news is not true.

Let me question

more in particular.

What have you, my good friends,

deserved at the hands of

fortune that she sends you

to prison hither?

Prison, my lord?

Denmark's a prison.

Then is the world one?

Hamlet: A goodly one,

in which there are many

confines, wards and dungeons,

Denmark being one of the worst.

We think not so, my lord.

Why, then 'tis none to you,

for there is nothing either

good or bad but

thinking makes it so.

To me it is a prison.

Why then your

ambition makes it one.

'Tis too narrow for your mind.

Oh, God, I could be

bounded in a nutshell

and count myself a

king of infinite space

were it not that

I have bad dreams.

But in the beaten

way of friendship,

what make you at Elsinore?

To visit you, my lord.

No other occasion.

Beggar that I am,

I am even poor in thanks,

but I thank you.

Were you not sent for?

Is it your own inclining?

Is it a free visitation?

Well, come, come, nay, speak.

What should we say, my lord?

Why, anything

but to the purpose.

You were sent for.

And there is a kind of

confession in your looks

which your modesties have

not craft enough to color.

I know the good king and

queen have sent for you.

To what end, my lord?

That you must teach me.

Be even and direct with me,

whether you were sent for or no.

My lord, we were sent for.

Aha.

I will tell you why.

I know he finds it striking

too short at Greeks.

His antique sword

rebellious to his arm

lies where it falls,

repugnant to command.

I have of late,

but wherefore I know not,

lost all my mirth,

foregone all custom

of exercises,

and indeed, it goes so

heavily with my disposition

that this goodly

frame, the earth,

seems to me a

sterile promontory.

This most excellent

canopy, the air,

look you, this brave

o'er hanging firmament

this majestical roof

fretted with golden fire...

Why,

it appeareth nothing to me

but a foul and pestilent

congregation of vapors.

What piece of work is man?

How noble in reason,

how infinite in faculties,

in form and moving how

express and admirable,

in action how like an angel,

in apprehension how like a god.

The beauty of the world.

The paragon of animals,

and yet to me,

what is this

quintessence of dust?

Man delights not me.

Nor woman neither, though by

your smiling you seem to say so.

My lord, there was no

such stuff in my thoughts.

Why did you laugh then,

when I said "Man

delights not me"?

To think, my lord, if

you delight not in man,

what Lenten

entertainment the players

shall receive from you.

We coted them on the way,

and hither are they coming

to offer you service.

He that plays

the king shall be welcome.

Gentleman, you are

welcome to Elsinore.

Your hands, come then.

You are welcome.

But my uncle-father and

my aunt-mother are deceived.

In what, my dear lord?

I am but mad north-northwest.

When the wind is southerly

I know a hawk from a handsaw.

Well be with you, gentleman.

Hark you, Guildenstern.

And you too,

at each ear a hearer.

That great baby you see there

is not yet out of

his swaddling clouts.

I will prophesy he comes

to tell me of the players.

Polonius: My lord,

I have news to tell you.

My lord, I have

news to tell you!

When Roscius was

an actor in Rome--

The actors are

come hither, my lord.

Buzz, buzz.

Upon my honor.

Then came each

actor on his ass.

Polonius: The best

actors in the world,

either for tragedy, comedy,

history, pastoral,

pastoral-comical,

historical-pastoral...

- I thought you...

- No.

I say, look at this!

I think we can say

we made some progress.

- You think so?

- I think we can say that.

I think we can say he

made us look ridiculous.

We played it close

to the chest of course.

Question and answer!

He was scoring off

us all down the line.

He caught us on the

wrong foot once or twice,

but I think we

gained some ground.

- He murdered us.

- He might have had the edge.

27-3, and you think

he might have had the edge?

- He murdered us.

- What about our evasions?

Oh, our evasions were lovely.

"You were sent for?" he says.

"My lord, we were sent for."

I didn't know

where to put myself.

He had six rhetoricals.

It was question

and answer, all right?

And two repetitions.

27 questions he got

out and answered three.

I was waiting for you to delve.

When is he going to start

delving, I asked myself.

We got his symptoms, didn't we?

Rosencrantz: Half of what

he said meant something else,

and the other half didn't

mean anything at all.

Thwarted ambition,

a sense of grievance,

that's my diagnosis.

Six rhetorical

and two repetition,

leaving nineteen of which

we answered fifteen.

And what did we get in

return? He's depressed!

Denmark's a prison and he'd

rather live in a nutshell.

Some shadow play about

the nature of ambition

and finally one direct question

which might've led somewhere

and led in fact to

his illuminating claim

to tell a hawk from a handbag.

- Handsaw.

- When the wind is southerly.

- And the weather's clear.

And when it isn't he can't.

He's at the mercy

of the elements.

- (wind blows)

- (doors bang)

Is that southerly?

We came from roughly south.

Which way is that?

In the morning the

sun would be easterly.

I think we can assume that.

That it's morning?

If it is,

and the sun is over there,

for instance,

that would be northerly.

On the other hand,

if it is not morning

and the sun is over there,

that would still be northerly.

To put it another way,

if we came from down there,

and it's morning,

the sun would be up there.

But if is actually over there,

and it's still morning,

we must have come

from back there.

And if that is southerly,

and the sun is

really over there,

then it's the afternoon.

However, if none of

these is the case--

Why don't you go

and have a look?

Pragmatism.

Is that all you have to offer?

I merely suggest the position

of the sun, if it is out,

would give you a rough

idea of the time.

Alternatively, the clock,

if it is going,

would give you a rough idea

of the position of the sun.

I forget which you are

trying to establish.

I am trying to establish

the direction of the wind.

There isn't any wind.

(wind blows)

Draft, yes.

(bangs)

(indistinct voice in distance)

The Player: Pyrrhus at Priam

drives, in rage strikes wide.

But with the whiff and

wind of his fell sword,

the unnerved father falls.

Then senseless Ilium,

seeming to feel his blow,

with flaming top,

stoops to his base,

and with a hideous crash

takes prisoner Pyrrhus' ear.

For lo, his sword

which was declining

on the milky head

of reverend Priam...

Mind the bottom...

step.

Sorry.

(thunderous rumbling)

The Player: Aroused

vengeance sets him new awork,

and never did the Cyclops'

hammers fall on Mars's armor,

forged for proof eterne,

with less remorse than

Pyrrhus bleeding sword

now falls on Priam.

Out! Out, thou

strumpet Fortune!

All you gods, in general Synod

take away her power,

break all the spokes and

fellies from her wheel,

and bowl the round knave

down the hill of Heaven,

as low as to the fiends.

This is too long.

It shall to the barber's,

with your beard.

Prithee say on:

he's for a speech,

or a tale of bawdry,

or he sleeps.

Say on, come to Hecuba.

The Player: But who, oh, who,

had seen the mobled queen,

The mobled queen?

That's good,

mobled queen is good.

- This is interesting.

- Shh.

Hamlet: 'Tis well.

Good, my lord, will you see

the players well bestowed?

Do you hear?

Let them be well used,

for they are the abstract and

brief chronicles of the time.

After your death, you were

better have a bad epitaph

than their ill report

while you live.

Polonius: My lord,

I will use them

according to their desert.

Hamlet: God's bodkin,

man, much better!

Use every man after his desert,

and who shall scape whipping?

Use them after your

own honor and dignity.

The less they deserve, the

more merit is in your bounty.

Take them in.

Polonius: Come, sirs.

Hamlet: Follow him, friends,

we'll hear a play tomorrow.

Can you play the

Murder of Gonzago?

Ay, my lord.

Hamlet: We'll have

it tomorrow night.

You could for a need study a

speech of some 12 or 16 lines

which I would set

down and insert in it.

Follow that lord and

look you, mock him not.

My good friends, I'll

leave you till night.

You are welcome to Elsinore.

Good, my lord.

(water running)

(water splashing)

So you've caught up.

Not yet, sir.

Now mind your tongue,

or we'll have it out

and throw the rest of you away

like a nightingale

at a Roman feast.

Took the words

out of my mouth.

- You'd be lost for words.

- You'd be tongue tied.

Like a mute in a monologue.

Like a nightingale

at a Roman feast.

You left us.

Yes, on the road.

You don't understand

the humiliation of it,

to be tricked out of

the single assumption

that makes our

existence bearable.

That somebody is watching.

We are actors, we are

the opposite of people.

- So?

- We need an audience.

- We--

- Had an appointment.

That is true.

The Player: Do you know

why you're here?

We only know what we're told

and for all we know,

it isn't even true.

One acts on assumptions.

What do you assume?

Hamlet is not himself

outside or in.

We have to glean

what afflicts him.

- His melancholy.

- Melancholy?

- Mad.

- The Player: How is he mad?

Ah! How's he mad?

More morose than mad perhaps.

- Melancholy.

- Moody.

- He has moods.

- The Player: Of moroseness?

- Madness and yet.

- Quite.

For instance.

He talks to himself

which might be madness.

If he didn't talk sense,

which he does.

Rosencrantz: Which

suggests the opposite.

Of what?

Guildenstern:

I think I have it.

A man talking sense to himself

is no madder than a man talking

nonsense not to himself.

- Orjust as mad.

- And he does both.

- So there you are.

Stark raving sane.

The Player: Why?

Ah. Why?

Exactly.

Exactly what?

- Exactly why?

- Exactly why what?

- What?

- Why?

- Why what, exactly?

- Why is he mad?

- I don't know!

- The old man thinks

he's in love with his daughter.

Good God, we're out

of our depth here!

No, no, no,

he hasn't got a daughter,

The old man thinks

he's in love with his daughter.

The old man is?

Hamlet, in love,

with the old man's daughter.

The old man thinks.

Rosencrantz: It's

beginning to make sense.

Unrequited passion.

Where are you going?

I can come and go as I please.

You know your way around.

I've been here before.

Guildenstern: We're

still finding our feet.

I should concentrate

on not losing your heads.

Do you speak from knowledge?

The Player: Precedent.

You've been here before.

And I know which way

the wind is blowing.

Man: Wait! Back!

(indistinct chatter)

This place is a mad house.

(crowd laughing)

(flute music plays)

(dog barking)

(crowd laughing)

(baby crying)

(crowd laughing loudly)

(flute music plays)

(drumming)

(dog barking)

(actor shrieks)

Man: He's behind you!

(crowd groans)

Man: Bravo!

(applause)

(wind blows)

(ocean waves crashing)

(applause)

(suspenseful music plays)

(bell tolls)

(swords swooshing)

(clang)

(swords clashing)

(applause)

(audience gasps)

(swords clashing)

(sniffs)

(swords clashing)

(dramatic music plays)

- (applause)

- (cheering)

The Player: Are you

familiar with this play?

No.

A slaughterhouse,

eight corpses, all told.

Six.

Eight.

What are they?

They're dead.

- (applause)

- (cheering)

Guildenstern: Actors!

What do you know about death?

The mechanics of

cheap melodrama!

Cheap melodrama!

It doesn't bring

death home to anyone!

It's not at home to anyone!

- Shut up!

You can't do death!

On the contrary,

it's what we do best.

We have to exploit whatever

talent is given to us

and our talent is for dying.

We can die heroically,

comically, ironically,

sadly, suddenly, slowly,

disgustingly, charmingly,

or from a great height.

Audiences know what to expect,

and that is all they are

prepared to believe in.

(musical tones chime)

Next!

Claudius: Can you by

no drift of conference

get from him why he

puts on his confusion?

Rosencrantz: He does confess

he feels himself distracted.

But from what cause he

will by no means speak.

That is the question.

Did he receive you well?

Most like a gentleman.

But with much forcing

of his disposition.

Niggard of question

but of our demands,

most free in his reply.

Gertrude: Did you

assay him to any pastime?

Rosencrantz: Madam, it so

fell out that certain players

we o'er-raught on the

way, of these we told him,

and there did seem in him a

kind of joy to hear of it.

They are here about the court,

this night to play before him.

Polonius: 'Tis most true,

and he beseeched me to

entreat your Majesties

to hear and see the matter.

Good gentlemen,

give him a further edge

and drive his purpose

into these delights.

We shall, my lord.

Sweet Gertrude, leave us too.

For we have closely

sent for Hamlet hither,

that he, as 'twere by accident,

may here affront Ophelia.

Do you ever think of

yourself as actually dead

lying in a box with a lid on it?

No.

Nor do I really.

It's silly to be

depressed by it.

I mean, one thinks of it

like being alive in a box,

and one keeps forgetting to

take into account the fact

that one is dead, which should

make all the difference,

shouldn't it?

I mean, you'd never know you

were in a box, would you?

It would be just like

you were asleep in a box.

Not that I'd like to

sleep in a box, mind you.

Not without any air.

You'd wake up dead for a start,

and then where would you be?

In a box. That's the bit

I don't like frankly.

That's why don't think of it.

Because you'd be

helpless, wouldn't you?

Stuffed in a box like that.

I mean, you'd be

in there forever.

Even taking into account

the fact that you're dead,

it isn't a pleasant thought.

Especially if

you're dead, really.

Ask yourself,

if I asked you straight off,

I'm going to stuff

you in this box now,

would you rather

be alive or dead?

Naturally, you

prefer to be alive.

Life in a box is better

than no life at all,

I expect.

You'd have a chance at least.

You could lie there

thinking, well,

at least I'm not dead!

In a minute somebody is

going to bang on the lid

and tell me to come out.

(knocking)

Hey, you! What's your name!

Come out of there!

I think I'm going to kill you.

Nymph, in thy orisons

be all my sins remembered.

I wouldn't think

about it, if I were you.

You'd only get depressed.

My lord,

I have remembrances of yours

that I have long had

long to redeliver.

I pray you now receive them.

No, not I. I never

gave you ought.

My honored lord, you

know right well you did.

And with them words

of so sweet breath

composed as made the

things more rich.

Rosencrantz: Whatever

became of the moment

when one first knew about death?

There must have been one,

a moment,

in childhood,

when it first occurred to you

that you don't go on forever.

It must have been shattering,

stamped into one's memory.

And yet I can't remember it.

It never occurred to me at all.

We must be born

with an intuition of mortality.

Before we know the word for it,

before we know that

there are words,

out we come, bloodied

and squalling,

with the knowledge that for

all the points of the compass,

there's only one direction,

and time is its only measure.

(indistinct voices in distance)

(somber flute music plays)

What is the dumb show for?

The Player: it's

a device, really.

It makes the action that follows

more or less comprehensible.

You understand,

we are tied down to a language

which makes up in obscurity

what it lacks in style.

Is this the

'Murder of Gonzago?

That's the least of it.

Guildenstern: Who was that?

The Player: The king's

brother and uncle to the prince.

Not exactly fraternal.

Not exactly avuncular

as time goes on.

Hamlet: Go to,

I'll no more on't!

It hath made me mad!

I say we will have

no more marriages!

Those that are married already,

all but one shall live.

The rest shall keep as they are.

To a nunnery, go!

That didn't look

like love to me.

Claudius: Love!

His affections do

not that way tend,

Nor what he spake, though

it lacked form a little,

was not like madness.

Polonius How now Ophelia.

You need not tell us what Lord

Hamlet said, we heard it all.

There's something in his soul

o'er which his

melancholy sits on brood.

And I do doubt the

hatch and the disclose

will be some danger,

which for to prevent,

I have in quick determination.

Thus set it down, he shall

with speed to England.

Gentlemen! Gentlemen, it

doesn't seem to be coming.

We are not getting it at all,

what did you think?

What was I supposed to think?

Wasn't that the end?

Do you call that an ending?

With practically everyone

still on his feet?

My goodness, no,

over your dead body.

There's a design at work in

all art, surely you know that?

Events must play themselves

out to an aesthetic,

moral, and logical conclusion.

What's that in this case?

It never varies.

We aim for the

point where everyone

who is marked for death dies.

Marked?

Generally speaking,

things have gone

about as far as

they can possibly go

when things have

got about as bad

as they can reasonably get.

Who decides?

Decides? It is written.

We're tragedians, you see.

We follow directions,

there is no choice involved.

The bad end unhappily,

the good unluckily.

That is what tragedy means.

Next!

Having murdered his brother

and wooed his widow,

the poisoner mounts the throne!

(dramatic fanfare chimes)

Here we see him and his queen

give rein to their

unbridled passion!

(violin music plays)

Enter Lucianus,

nephew to the king!

Usurped by his

uncle and shattered

by his mother's

incestuous marriage,

he loses his reason.

(imitates bird cawing)

Throwing the court into turmoil

and disarray,

staggering from the suicidal

to the merely idle.

He has a plan to catch the

conscience of the king.

(soft, dramatic music plays)

(loud dramatic music plays)

The king rises!

What!

Frighted with false fire!

Gertrude: How fares my lord?

Polonius: Give o'er the play!

Give me some light!

Away!

A-ha! Thou must watch

while some must sleep,

thus runs the world away!

It wasn't that bad!

There's something

they're not telling us.

Guildenstern: What?

There's something

they're not telling us!

(flute music plays)

Polonius: My lord.

My lord.

The queen would speak

with you, and presently.

Do you see yonder cloud

that's almost

in the shape of a camel?

Polonius: By the mass,

and 'tis like a camel, indeed.

Me thinks it is like a weasel.

It is backed like a weasel.

- Hamlet: Or like a whale?

- Very like a whale.

Then I will come to

my mother by and by.

I will say so.

Hamlet: A "by and by"

is easily said.

Leave me, friends.

I like him not,

nor stand it safe with us

to let his madness range.

Therefore prepare you.

I your commission will

forthwith will dispatch,

and he to England

shall along with you.

Hamlet: No, by the rood, not so.

You are the queen,

your husband's brother's wife,

but would you were not so,

you are my mother.

Gertrude: Nay, then I'll set

those to you that can speak.

Hamlet: Come, come and sit

you down, you shall not budge.

You go not till

I sent you up a glass,

where you may see

the in most part of you.

Gertrude: What wilt thou do,

thou wilt not murder me.

Help! Help!

Polonius: Oh! Help! Help!

How now! A rat?

Dead, for a ducat dead!

Oh, I am slain!

Gertrude: Oh, me,

what hast thou done?

Nay, I know not!

Is it the king?

Oh, what a rash

and bloody deed is this!

A bloody deed almost

as bad, good mother,

as kill a king and

marry with his brother.

- As kill a king?

- Ay, lady, it was my word.

Thou wretched, rash,

intruding fool, farewell!

Guildenstern: Is that you?

Rosencrantz: I don't know.

Guildenstern: It's you.

Rosencrantz: We're

not dead yet then?

Guildenstern: Well,

we're here, aren't we?

Rosencrantz: Are we?

I can't see a thing.

- (water sloshing)

- (indistinct voices)

(flute music plays)

Rosencrantz: We're on a boat.

I know.

(waves crashing)

Dark, isn't it?

Not for night.

No, not for night.

It's dark for day.

Oh, yes, it's dark for day.

(sea gulls cawing)

Do you think death could

possibly be a boat?

No, no, no, death is not.

Death isn't.

You take my meaning?

Death is the ultimate negative,

not being.

You can't not be on a boat.

I've frequently

not been on boats.

No, no, what you've

been is not on boats.

Rosencrantz: I wish

I was dead.

I could jump over the side.

That would put a spoke

in their wheel.

Unless they're counting on it.

I shall remain on board.

That will put a spoke

in their wheel.

(clattering)

You all right?

Rosencrantz: Yes, why?

Would you like to come up now?

Rosencrantz: All right,

thank you.

Try to be more careful.

Sorry.

Nice bit of planking that.

- Yes.

- Lovely bilges.

- Yes.

- Beautiful bottom.

Yes. I'm very fond

of boats myself.

I like the way

they're contained.

You don't have to worry

about which way to go,

or whether to go at all.

The question doesn't arise,

does it?

Because you're on a boat,

aren't you?

I think I'll spend

the rest of my life on boats.

Very healthy.

One is free on a boat.

For a time, relatively.

I think I'm going to be sick.

He's there!

What's he doing?

Sleeping.

It's all right for him.

- Rosencrantz: What is?

- He can sleep.

It's all right for him.

He's got us now.

- He can sleep.

- It's all done for him.

- He's got us.

- And we've got nothing.

And we've got nothing.

Why don't you say

something original!

You don't take me

up on anything.

You just repeat everything

I say in a different order.

I can't think of

anything original.

I am only good in support.

I'm sick of

making the running.

There, it's all right,

I'll see we're all right.

But we've got nothing

to go on.

We're out on our own.

We're on our way to England.

We're taking Hamlet

to the English king.

- What for?

- Where have you been?

- When?

We've got a letter.

You remember the letter.

Do I?

Everything is

explained in the letter.

- Is that it, then?

- What?

We take Hamlet to

the English king,

we hand over the letter,

what then?

That's it, we're finished.

Who is the English king?

That depends on

when we get there.

So we've got a letter

which explains everything.

You've got it.

- I thought you had it.

- I do have it.

- You have it.

- You've got it.

I don't get it.

You haven't got it.

- I just said that.

- I've got it.

- Oh, I've got it.

- Shut up.

Right.

(bell tolls)

What a shambles!

We're just not getting anywhere!

Not even England!

And I don't believe

in it anyway.

- In what?

- England.

Just a conspiracy of

cartographers, you mean?

I mean I don't believe it.

And even if it's true,

the king of England

won't know what

we're taking about.

What are we going to say?

We say, "Your Majesty,

we have arrived."

And who are you?

We are Rosencrantz

and Guildenstern.

Rosencrantz:

Never heard of you!

- Well, we're nobody special.

- What's your game?

- We have our instructions,

- First I've heard of it.

Let me finish!

We've come from Denmark.

What do you want?

Nothing.

We're delivering Hamlet.

Who's he?

You've heard of him.

Oh, I've heard of him,

all right.

Now, I want nothing

to do with it.

You march in here without

so much as a by your leave

and expect me to

take in every lunatic

you try to pass off with

a lot of unsubstantiated--

We've got a letter!

I see, I see.

Well, this seems to support

your story, such as it is.

It is an exact command

from the king of Denmark.

For several different reasons,

importing Denmark's

health and England's too,

that on the reading of

this letter, without delay,

I should have

Hamlet's head cut off!

We're his friends.

How do you know?

From our young days,

brought up with him.

You've only got

their word for it.

But that's what we depend on.

Well, yes,

and then again no.

Let us keep things

in proportion.

Assume, if you like, that

they're going to kill him.

Well, he is a man, he is mortal.

Death comes to us

all, et cetera.

And consequently he would have

died anyway, sooner or later.

And then again, what is

so terrible about death?

As Socrates so

philosophically put it,

since we don't

know what death is,

it is illogical to fear it.

It might be

very nice.

Or to look at it another way,

we are little men,

we don't know the ins

and outs of the matter,

there are wheels within

wheels, et cetera...

All in all, I think

we'd be well advised

to leave well alone.

It's awful.

But it could have been worse.

I was beginning to think it was.

Night.

- (distant explosions)

- (screaming)

(explosion)

- (shouting)

- (swords clashing)

Ah, all in the

same boat, then!

What do you make of it so far?

What's happening?

Pirates.

Everybody on stage!

(man screaming)

Hamlet!

Where's Hamlet?

Gone.

Guildenstern: Gone where?

The pirates took him.

But they can't.

We're supposed to be,

we've got a letter which says,

the whole thing's

pointless without him,

we need Hamlet for our release!

I'll pretend to be,

you pretend to be him and...

Right.

I suppose we just go on.

Go where?

England?

England! I don't believe it!

Or just a conspiracy of

cartographers, you mean.

I mean I don't believe it

and even if it's true

- what do we say?

- We say we've arrived!

The Player: Who are you?

We are Guildenstern

and Rosencrantz.

- Which is which?

- Well, I'm Guildenstern--

- And he's Rosencrantz.

- Exactly.

What does this have to do

with me?

You turn up out of the blue

with some cock and bull story.

We have a letter.

A letter?

(chuckles)

"As England is Denmark's

faithful tributary,

as love between them

like the palm

might flourish, et cetera.

That on the knowing

of this contents,

without delay of any kind,

should those bearers,

Rosencrantz and Guildenstern,

put to sudden death."

Not that letter,

give him the other one.

I haven't got another one.

They're gone!

It's all over!

Where we went wrong,

was getting on a boat.

They had it in

for us, didn't they?

Right from the beginning.

Who'd have thought that

we were so important?

But why?

Was it all for this?

Who are we that so much should

converge on our little deaths?

The Player: You are

Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.

That is enough.

No, it is not enough.

To be told so little to

such an end and still,

finally, to be denied

an explanation.

In our experience, almost

everything ends in death.

Your experience? Actors?

I'm talking about death.

You've never experienced that.

You die a thousand casual deaths

and come back in

a different hat.

But nobody gets up after death.

There's no applause,

only silence and some

secondhand clothes.

That's death!

If we have a destiny,

then so had he,

and if this is ours,

then that was his

and if there are no

explanations for us,

then let there be none for him.

(applause)

Oh, come, come, gentlemen.

No flattery,

it was merely competent.

You see, it is the

kind you do believe in.

It's what is expected.

Death's for all ages

and occasions!

Deaths of kings

and princes and...

nobodies.

(bell tolls in distance)

That's it then, is it?

We've done nothing wrong.

We didn't harm anyone, did we?

I can't remember.

(sighs)

All right, then.

I don't care.

I've had enough.

To tell you the truth,

I'm relieved.

There must have been a moment

at the beginning where

we could have said no.

But somehow we missed it.

Well, we'll know

better next time.

'Til then.

The sight is dismal.

And our affairs from

England come too late.

The ears are senseless that

should give us hearing.

To tell him his

commandment is fulfilled.

That Rosencrantz and

Guildenstern are dead.

Rosencrantz & Guildenstern Are Dead (1990) - full transcript