The Happy Prince (2018) - full transcript

High above the city,

on a tall column,

stood the statue of
the Happy Prince.

He was gilded all over
with thin leaves of fine gold.

For eyes, he had two
bright sapphires,

and a large red ruby
glowed on his sword-hilt.

He was very much admired indeed.

One night, there flew over
the city a little swallow.

His friends had gone away
to Egypt six weeks before...

but he had stayed behind.

Where shall I...?



All the next day,

he sat on the Prince's shoulder

and told him storeys of things
he had seen in strange lands.

Of the red ibises who
stand in long rows

on the banks of the Nile...

and catch goldfish
in their beaks.

Of the King of the
Mountains of the Moon,

who is as black as ebony...

and worships a large crystal.

'Swallow, Swallow, little
Swallow', said the Happy Prince.

'You tell me of marvellous things.'

But more marvellous than this...

is the suffering

of men and women.



There is no mystery
so great as suffering.

Fly over my city,
little Swallow...

'and tell me what you see there.'

So the Swallow flew
over the great city...

and saw the rich making merry
in their beautiful houses...

while the white faces
of starving children

looked out listlessly

at the black streets.

At a table sat a broken man,

a bunch of withered
violets by his side.

He was a writer.

But he was too cold
to finish his play.

It's a dream.

I rather agree with you.

Absolutely extraordinary!

-It was very good bottle.
-Lovely place too!

I tell you what. When
we're next in London,

will you come to the club? Hmm?

I'd love to! Which one?

-Um... The Carlton.
-Oh, marvellous!

-Never seen a man eat so...
-I...

What is it, my dear?

I, I think I left my fan.

Is she all right?

Mr. Wilde!

Mr. Wilde?

Madam.

Surely you remember me.

It's Mrs. Arbuthnot.

I came to all your first nights.

Of course, madam.

One never forgets such a face.

How kind of you to speak to me.

You are well, I see.

Very well, sir.

-How are you?
-Oh...

Lydia!

Come here immediately!

I have to go.

You couldn't lend me
5 pounds, could you?

Things are a little
tight at present.

I feel ghastly asking
like this but...

-Lydia!
-I'm coming!

Mr. Wilde, I...

I...

just wish...

Never wish, madam.

It might come true.

But thank you...

for a moment's harmony
in a discordant fugue.

Go back to Jeffrey at once.

If you ever speak to my
wife again, I'll kill you.

Do you hear me?

Five pounds.

See, see,

my Christ blood streams
through the firmament.

I'm coming.

Shrouded in the symphony
of adjacent copulation.

Ow!

Thanks.

For that.

Sit down.

My dear Boudicca.

Please!

Garcon.

Very well, sir.

And for you, sirs?

Ooh, Maurice.

Maurice!

Maurice!

Maurice!

Oscar!

Brother.

Shut up.

# I'm a young girl #

# And I just come over? #

# Over from the country
Where they do things big #

# And amongst the boys
I've got a lover #

# And since I've got a lover
Well, I don't give a fig #

# The boy I love #

# Is up in the gallery #

# The boy I love is
looking down at me #

# There he is, can't you see? #

# Waving his handkerchief #

# As merry as a cricket #

# That lives on the leaf #

# Now if I were a duchess
And had a lot of money #

# I'd give it to my Johnny
Who's going to marry me #

# But I haven't got a penny
So I'll live on love and kisses #

# And be just as happy
As the birds in the tree... #

# The boy I love
Is up in the gallery #

# The boy I love is looking down at me #

# There he is, can't you see?
Waving his handkerchief #

# As merry as a cricket #

# That lives on the leaf #

# As merry as a cricket #

# That lives on the leaf #

The actors...

have given a charming
rendering of a delightful play.

Your appreciation
is most intelligent.

I congratulate you

on the success of
your performance.

Which persuades me

that you think almost
as highly of the play...

as I do myself.

Oscar Wilde.

The crime of which you have
been convicted is so bad

that one has to put
the sternest restraint

upon oneself from
describing the sentiments,

which must rise to the breast
of every man of honour.

It is no use to address you.

People who do these things must
be dead to all sense of shame.

I shall, under
such circumstances,

be expected to pass the severest
sentence that the law allows.

The sentence of the court
is that you be imprisoned

and kept to hard
labour for two years.

Robbie.

My lonely rider
of the Apocalypse.

You took me into
exile, dear boy.

Where will you take me now?

-I'm not taking you anywhere.
-What?

What ship?

Ireland, you say?

No ships, Oscar.

I'm here in Paris.

I have your allowance.

Oh, good.

I have been dinnerless.

I'm in mortal combat
with this wallpaper, Robbie.

One of us has to go.

Maurice says you made
quite a scene last night.

It's more or less impossible
to make good scenes

in such reduced
circumstances as mine.

But I believe I did my best.

Last night, I dreamt I was...

dining with the dead.

You must've been the life
and soul of the party, Oscar.

What is this?

Morphia.

I am much distracted, dear boy.

I've had a very bad time lately.

For two days, not a
penny in my pocket.

So I had to wander around,
filled with wild longings,

trapped in the
circle of boulevards.

One of the worst in the Inferno.

Jumping off tables at your age.

What do you think, doctor?

The abscess has suppurated.

If things don't improve,
I'm afraid we'll have to operate.

I shall never
forget your kindness

when I was released from prison.

What high hopes we had that day.

But I was doomed from the start.

Why does one run towards ruin?

Why does it hold
such a fascination?

Oscar!

Robbie!

-Oscar.
-Robbie!

How are you?

Where's Reggie?

He's waiting for
us at the hotel.

He wanted to make
sure there were no...

What?

Difficulties.

-Have you got everything?
-No.

I left Oscar Wilde at Newhaven.

And this is the
last thing he wrote.

The great letter I told you about.

Make three copies,
send one to Bosie Douglas,

one to me

and keep the original
under lock and key.

Understood?

Come.

If anyone asks for your papers,

just say they're in
your cabin trunk.

What?

Well, well, well.

Sebastian Melmoth.

-Reggie.
-What an absolute joy!

-Your first time in Dieppe, Sebastian?
-Sorry?

What fun.

Let me introduce you immediately

to our good friend, the manager.

Melmoth, meet Monsieur Duroc.

Look after Mr. Melmoth,
would you?

Best room, and all that.

Well, I'll leave you to it.

You lunching?

Er, yes, probably.

-My favourite blue.
-The case is from Reggie.

And here's 800 pounds we raised
while you were in prison.

No!

It'll keep you going until
you begin to work again.

Uh-uh-uh!

I'll look after this.

Reggie!

Oh, darling Oscar.

How do you like your new name?

Almost as much as I
loathe the old one.

Ah!

Letters.

And look!

No exiled fairy's
trousseau is complete

without a signed portrait
of the great widow herself.

You must dance naked before it
at the Jubilee next month.

It's from him.

Oscar?

I may as well tell you both now

that I fully intend to effect
a reconciliation with my wife.

If she will have me.

And rest assured,

I shall never see Lord
Alfred Douglas again.

That part of my
life is behind me.

No, he was absolutely furious.

Really?

Come on, Oscar, that's
simply not true.

That's the whole point.

From what you say, Oscar,

it would seem that Reading
Gaol is an enchanted castle.

With the governor as
its presiding elf.

Robbie...

I met Christ in prison.

And what was she in for?

Don't joke, Reggie.

In the cell, there
is only God and man.

After three days in hell,
Jesus rose from the dead...

broke open his tomb,

discarded his cerements

and took his place forever
in the heart of man.

After 700 days of hard labour,

my tomb is opened.

I have tiptoed to the boat
train and am born again,

through him, with
him and in France.

Very good, Oscar. We'll
make a Catholic of you yet.

Only unlike dear Jesus,
you have luggage.

And 800 pounds to spend before
your ascension into heaven.

Or purgatory.

I'm afraid a delegation
of 15 young poets

are arriving from
Paris at the weekend

-to welcome you into exile.
-Oh.

They're bringing a cheque.

Oh, good.

All I'm saying, Reggie, dear,

is I have lived in
the grip of vice...

and pleasure.

It was wrong and I have paid.

Perhaps the slate
is wiped clean,

perhaps it is not, who knows?

At any rate,

I am now ready to
return to life.

You coming down, Oscar?

I need to get my bathing things.

Constance,

my dear, good,

beautiful wife.

There is nothing I can ever say

that will undo the great
hurt I have caused you.

We both know that.

For two years,

I have lain on hard boards,

knelt on cold stone,

dined on shame

and thought of little else.

You and my sons are the only
things that tie me to life.

I don't know if...

Were it not for the
hope that one day

I would meet you all again...

I don't think I could go on.

Good God.

My desire to live, dearest
Constance, is as intense as ever.

Oh, for God's sake.

And though my heart is broken,

hearts are made to be broken.

Waiter,

more champagne, please!

That is why God sends
sorrow to the world.

Write to me as soon as you can

and tell me that I
am still your Oscar.

Speech! Speech! Speech!

Speech! Speech!

Speech! Speech!

No, to you!

You are really wonderful!

Wonderful!

Come on, boys! Let's have him!

Oh, shot!

You can't bowl!
You just simply can't bowl!

No, you can't.

Get away from me!
I don't want to catch anything.

Er, coffee.

Six cafe au lait.

Go away.

Not wearing your silk
stockings today, Oscar?

Darling boy.

Yes, my Hyacinth.

Oh, remind me to change
the sheets today, darling boy.

Your slim, gilt cheeks

have left a shit stain all the
way down your side of the bed.

You go too far, sir!

No you go too far...

madam.

Garcon, there's a piece
of shit on the pavement.

Get rid of it!

Oscar!

There you are!

We're late.

They're waiting for us.

Are you all right, Oscar?

No, not really.

Let's go back to the hotel.

Let's follow them.

Christ, they're following us.

Wait for me!

I want to cover you in
honey and lick it off again!

This is intolerable.

This way.

Oh, look! Sticks, sticks!

-This is better than hunting!
-Come on!

Quick! A church!

What's the matter, Oscar?

What more do you want?

What more do you want?

Get your hands off me!

You've taken everything,
you little shit!

Everything!

My family, my work, my freedom!
Everything!

There's nothing left to take!

What are you gonna do, kill me?

I'm already dead, you cunt!

Now, go!

The natural habitat of
the hypocrite is England.

Go back there,

leave me in peace! Go!

I didn't know you had it in you.

I don't.

I've nothing in me.

Not even fear.

With no warning,

I was transferred one afternoon

from Wandsworth to Reading Gaol.

In broad daylight, by train,

shackled to a warder
like a performing bear.

That journey was
the most exquisite

of the tortures Her
Majesty contrived for me.

At Clapham Junction,

we had to wait for a connexion.

Half an hour, my
dears, on platform two.

Sadly, my public had
not forgotten me.

At first, they simply
giggled and pointed.

And then a man began to shout.

It's Oscar bleeding Wilde!

He paced up and down,
wagging his finger...

Backs to the wall, boys!

As he catalogued my crimes

to his growing and
spellbound audience.

We don't want any of that love,

but don't speak
its moniker here!

At each twist, they moaned
and swayed as one...

spitting and screaming,

hungering for my blood.

And I...

I saw the future.

It was the end of all peace.

I shall see it on my deathbed.

Oh, dear. It's from
the Chief of Police.

You read it.

It seems he's to be deported
if his behaviour doesn't improve.

Our celebration of
young French poets

didn't go down very
well in the voisinage.

Well, for God's sake,
don't tell him now.

In his current mood,
he's likely to set fire to the hotel.

Thank Christ I'm
leaving tomorrow.

Be careful, Robbie.

He'll eat you.

Can't help it.

Goodnight, dear boy.

I read your letter from prison.

It's really rather marvellous.

You should call it De Profundis.

Well, it was written
from the depths.

Bosie will probably try to
kill you when he reads it.

I wrote some harsh
letters to you, Robbie.

I'm sorry.

You wrote harsh
letters to us all.

I know.

It's hard to explain
the feeling...

of utter impotence

and desperation in there.

One becomes a Fury.

One never speaks.
One simply weeps and has diarrhoea.

Result: lunacy.

Do you forgive me?

Who'd have thought
that afternoon we met,

fifteen years ago,
that here we'd be?

Lepers dining under a full
moon in a foreign hotel.

It's quite romantic, in a way.

Except that you, dear
boy, are not a leper.

Tomorrow morning, you will
blow away on the sea breeze,

destination Dover.

As to who would've thought...

We met in a public
lavatory, Bobby dear.

And we ended up here.

You wouldn't have to be

the Sybil of Mortimer
Street to join the dots.

I was going to a matinee.

And I was going to my club.

A different corner,

a minute later...

another play...

and who knows,

perhaps I should be the poet
laureate, but I doubt it.

Intimacy in the sewers,
followed by fantasy in the Gods.

The rest is silence.

He did not wear his scarlet coat

For blood and wine are red

And blood and wine
were on his hands

When they found
him with the dead

The poor dead
woman whom he loved

And murdered

in her bed

Superb.

As the boys' guardian, I can't
impress upon you too strongly

my alarm at your being in
contact with your husband at all.

-Mrs. Holland.
-Mrs. Wilde.

Constance.

We have been friends
for many years.

I am the executor
of your grandfather's estate.

You must trust us.

Please sign.

Cyril and Vyvyan, stop fighting!

Be extremely cautious...

when you reply to his letter.

I feel sure that if I
was to see him once,

I would forgive him everything.

Precisely, my dear,
and then you would be

stuck here in
Heidelberg forever.

We may go to Genoa
in the spring.

A surgeon there thinks
he might be able

to do something for
my wretched back.

You must wait.

Think of your children.

He must prove to you
that he will change,

that he can.

Since you left, I've
been completely alone.

Oscar, that's simply not true.

My wife has written me a revolting letter,

in which she tells
me that perhaps

she will see me at
some later date,

but not in the
foreseeable future,

and the boys probably never.

Quite frankly, Oscar,
I'm amazed you should imagine

that Constance would
want to see you at all.

You wrote her one letter full
of your usual perfumed shit

and you suppose everything
you've put her through

for the past few years
can simply be forgotten.

Robbie, if you've
come here to upset me,

I suggest you return to Dieppe

where you'll find
a train that leaves

at three minutes past
the hour, every hour.

I'm not here to
upset you, Oscar.

I just want you
to be reasonable.

Bosie, whom you all deplore,
at least offers to help me.

Oh, really?

How, Oscar?

How is Bosie gonna help you?

Bosie loves me, Robbie.

In a way that you
could never understand.

At any rate,

he's coming here next week.

Then you will never
see Constance again!

You seem to forget, Oscar,

that despite everything
you've put her through,

she still allows
you 4 pounds a week.

That 4 pounds, Oscar,

is dependant upon Bosie's
absence from your life.

But doubtless he'll settle
money on you when he gets here,

if his mother's given him any.

I'm all alone! I have no one!
Why are you being so harsh?

You have me, Oscar! I am here!

But it's not enough, is it?

Why is it not enough, Oscar?

Well, frankly, my dear...

you're not really grand enough

and you're certainly
not rough enough.

Let's get a drink,
for God's sake.

And don't be cross, Robbie.

You weren't built for rage.

I went on the most marvellous
pilgrimage yesterday

to Notre-Dame de Liesse.

Did you know liesse is the
mediaeval word for happiness?

-No, I didn't.
-Well, it is.

I go there every day.

It takes all of ten
minutes to get to it

and just as many to get back.

The priest, who is charming
and terribly attractive,

has become a great friend.

Yesterday, he showed
me all his vestments.

He looked particularly
captivating in his martyr's garb.

Rose Doree streaked with blood.

You see, Robbie.

Suffering is nothing

when there is love.

Love is everything.

Bosie.

# The boy I love #

# Is up in the gallery #

# The boy I love is
looking down at me #

# There he is, can't you see... #

-Oscar.
-# Waving his handkerchief #

# As merry as a cricket #

# That lives on the leaf #

Oh, come on, Oscar, it's not
like you to have nothing to say.

Oscar.

Oh, Bosie!

Come on.

It's all right.

Come on.

Come on, let's sit down.

-It's all right, shh.
-Oh, thank you.

Oh, how are you?

Oh, Bosie,
it is so lovely to see you!

-Oh, you too.
-Anyway, that night...

Bosie, about that letter
I sent you from prison.

I never got it. What did it say?

Oh.

Nothing much. Huh.

It was just my testament.

De Profundis.

Oh, Oscar, you silly old fairy.

Come here.

I am my own Judas.

I need a drink.

Come on.

What are your plans?

What plans can I have?

The doom of Melmoth
is to wander the earth,

seeking shelter where he can.

I may go south.

Naples.

See it and die.

If only it were that simple.

Have you written anything?

Mm-hmm.

A ballad about prison.

It's almost finished.

Rather good, actually.

Oscar, let's run away.

Somewhere no one could find us.

Naples, in fact.

Dear boy,

you don't know
what you're saying.

I'm starving. Let's
order, for God's sake.

Why do we huddle without the
city walls at a station hotel?

Because I am a ruined man...

if you came with me to Naples,

the world would become a picture

you could look at
but never touch.

Do you love me that much, Bosie?

But anyway, we have no money.

Oh, money. Oscar, for Christ's
sake, my mother's got masses.

What are you laughing at?

Nothing.

Just something Robbie said.

Robbie's been against me
since the day we met. He's...

riddled with jealousy.

Robbie loves me, Bosie.

In a way that you
could never understand.

Shall we take a room?

Hmm?

My going back to Bosie
was psychologically inevitable.

I cannot live without
the atmosphere of love.

'I must love and be loved,

whatever the price
I pay for it.'

I dare say what I
have done is fatal.

I love him as I always did.

With a sense of
tragedy and ruin.

-Oscar!
-Oh, God.

-Oscar!
-Bosie?

Listen to me, you little...

It's under my chair,
it's under my chair!

There it is! Get it!

It's behind the cupboard!
Get it!

Oscar, there are
fucking rats everywhere!

For God's sake,
Bosie, calm down.

It was in the
fucking bed, Oscar!

Kill it! Kill it!

It's only a rat,
don't worry about it.

Bosie, you're completely hysterical.

Get that fucking
thing away from me.

You keep that
fucking away from me!

This place is
fucking ridiculous!

Fucking ridiculous!

I forbid it.

I forbid him to live
with that infernal man.

There was nothing
anyone could do.

Well, I shall not
pay his allowance.

You can tell him
when you see him.

That's unlikely, madam.

I've resigned as his
literary executor.

He doesn't know you're
here, I presume.

He does not.

Why do you mind so much?

They told me to be
wary of you, Mr. Ross.

They say you can't be trusted.

But we're the same,

you and I.

He's hurt you too, hasn't he?

Oscar destroyed himself

and everyone around him.

Look at me, Mr. Ross.

Just look at me.

He's killed me.

Someone walking over my grave.

Our dear friend, the witch,

is coming back on Friday
to finish things off.

Oh, God.

But her spells and smells
appear to have worked.

-About time.
-The good news is there are no more rats.

The bad news is my
allowance is being cut off.

Do you always have to talk
about money during lunch?

Obviously, I should
prefer to discuss

serving techniques
with our waiter.

We must make some sort of plan, Bosie.

I came here at your invitation.

You said you had
funds, you do not.

I accept that.

Why should a perfectly divine
leopard change its spots?

But the fact remains we
have, what, 6 pounds?

Five.

I had to pay last
week's rent up.

Careful, his mother is watching.

Yes, and she's thrilled.

Don't be such a bore.
Oscar, what's happened to you?

We have 6 pounds a
week from my mother.

We have a 100 pounds for the
libretto you will never write.

We have studs and cuff-links,
friends and relations,

and, above all, we
still have each other.

One of us could eat the other
and make a tent of the hide.

For God's sake, stop worrying.

You always talk to boys
as though they were blood stock.

You should tell them to lift
their hoofs and open their mouths.

And then thrash 'em.

I need to make sure they
don't fall at the first fence.

Go on, dear, fuck him.

Oh.

Isn't it beautiful?

You see?

I can make you happy.

Yes.

You can.

No more anxiety.

No more ambition.

No time.

Just now.

Fisherman diving for pearls.

An old sheep with his butcher.

A bobbing boat on a silver sea.

And scandal...

just a small black dot...

against the edge of dawn.

Yet each man kills
the thing he loves

By each, let this be heard

Some do it with a bitter look

Some with a flattering word

The coward does it with a kiss

The brave man with a sword

It's finished

Some kill their love
when they are young

And some when they are old

Some strangle with
the hands of Lust

Some with the hands of Gold

The kindest use a knife, because

The dead so soon grow cold

Some love too
little, some too long

Some sell and others buy

Some do the deed with many tears

And some without a sigh

For each man kills
the thing he loves

Yet each man does not die

Oh, look, here we go. Bosie.

Is Father all alone
in the hospital?

No, of course not, darling.

At Christmas, all the
patients have a party.

# Good King Wenceslas last looked out #

# On the Feast of Stephen #

# When the snow lay round about #

# Deep and crisp and even #

# Brightly shone the moon that night... #

Felice!

Huh?

This one's from Papa.

Vyvyan doesn't know who Papa is.

Yes, I do!

What an earth is going on?

One can run up a bill for
everything in this swamp except sex,

it seems.

There's never credit where
love is concerned, Bosie.

You should know that.

No, no! Right, stop it!

Be silent! Stop!

-Oh, what bollocks.
-I said be quiet!

What the hell did you
give him that for?

A foolish question, I know.

-Why didn't you just pay him?
-With what?

Money.

I haven't got any.

What do you mean,
you haven't got any?

Well?

My mother has
stopped my allowance.

What? When did this happen?

Oh, Christ!

I was waiting for the
right moment to tell you.

But, in the meantime,

you imagined that wretched
boy would fuck you for fun.

And why not?

Oh, your vanity
is extraordinary.

The only person who ever
fucked you for fun was me,

and look where it
got me, the dock.

What?

Nothing.

So, that's it, then!

We appear to have come
to the end of the road.

We're penniless.

Well, not exactly.

Oh?

You could have 200 pounds and
I could keep my allowance.

If?

Well...

You see, what mama and the
family really can't stomach

is the fact that we live together.

She says that if we
agree to separate,

then she will
reinstate my allowance

and very generously,
I think, give you...

a substantial...

Tip!

For services rendered...

to the family.

Will I get a good reference?

Can I keep my cottage?

God, you all make me sick!

And your sanctimonious mother

thinks I can be bought
off for 200 pounds.

Your family has destroyed me,
stripped me of everything!

Not least my genius.

And all for 200 pounds!

Genius?

-You destroyed yourself, Oscar!
-Oh, fuck off!

Because underneath the pose,
there was no substance!

One good comedy,

three pot-boiling melodramas

and those ridiculous
fucking fairy storeys.

That's all you find
when you scrape away

the powder and the pancake.

Your success was interesting,

your hunger for it
perversely fascinating,

but you,

my dear...

never were.

You found me interesting when
you were faced with blackmail!

Oh, you were in your element.

You saw the green
baize door swing open

and you scuttled through it.

You are talking drivel. My father...

Was a drunken groper with dirty
fingernails, just like his son.

Whereas your father is...

an assassin at large!

Oh, come on, Oscar,
you're still alive.

Barely.

For God's sake, stop acting.

It's strange.

I've never really
looked at you before.

I gave you my whole life.

And now I see it before me,

daubed in shit.

I'll write to you
when I get to Rome.

Where will you be?

I've really no idea.

I suppose I may as well stay
here till the lease runs out.

Then I shall
probably go to Paris.

Who knows?

At any rate, we'll be in touch.

Dear boy, do you mind
awfully if I don't wait?

I'm not really built for
waving pocket handkerchiefs

at parting trains.

I'm too big!

Hello, Oscar.

Constance.

Is that you?

Where's Lord Alfred?

Has he left?

Are you quite alone now?

Where are the boys?

Must get on.

Such a long way to go.

Constance...

-We never meant...
-I loved you so much.

Always.

It's odd, isn't it?

# The boy I love is up in the gallery #

# The boy I love is looking down at me #

# There he is, can't you see #

Hey Monsiuer!

Hmm?

Hmm.

My pleasure, Mr. Melmoth.

Mmm.

Hmm...

Ah!

Robbie!

Stop a minute, please!

Oscar.

'Ill met by moonlight,
proud Titania.'

Yes, dear boy, it is I.

Why are you sitting in the rain?

I've spent all my ready
cash on youth and beauty

and I cannot pay.

Please help me.

Let's go inside.

Like dear St. Francis,
I am wedded to poverty.

Only in my case,
the marriage is not a success.

Robbie, you are naughty.
How long have you been here?

Twelve francs!

-God, Oscar.
-It's been a long day.

-Do you have 12 francs for me or not?
-Yes, of course.

Once again, I am in your debt.

Dear Robbie, I've
missed you so much.

Almost a year of punitive silence.

Naples was, as you so
accurately predicted,

a disaster.

I know I'm always
asking for it...

but do I have your forgiveness?

Forgiveness is for amateurs
and you, dear Oscar,

are a professional masochist.

Ooh!

It's stopped raining.

-I'll take you home.
-Oh, dear boy, so cruel. What?

Let us not squabble like
two disgruntled housemaids.

Let us rather black our grace

with a light-hearted
chatter about our betters.

Bosie, we hear, has
come into 20,000 pounds.

He arrives next week.

I thought I might touch
him for a tiny pourboire.

How long are you here, Robbie?

I'm joining my mother
in Menton on Tuesday.

More paraffin injections.

How lovely.

You should take Oscar.

He looks like a
rotten egg in aspic.

What happened?

I was poisoned by a moule
last week when Robbie arrived.

-I've had mysterious skin ever since.
-Leprosy, I expect.

Oh, thank you, my dear.

But let us talk about
more cheerful things.

Your father's death, for example.
How did it go?

Without a hitch,
for the most part.

In and out of consciousness.

As in life.

My brother, Percy, went to
see him just before the end.

Father opened his
eyes and spat at him.

Queensbury rules.

Well, I, at least, have
outlived my nemesis.

Although I'm more or less
starving at the moment.

Shovelling down lobster Newberg.

A magnificent treat,

and, at the moment,
sadly all too rare.

Bosie dear,

this brings me rather
neatly to an awkward point.

Oscar, do not ask me for money.

I have absolutely none spare.

Dear boy, you've just inherited
20,000 pounds, have you not?

Surely, you don't wish
to see me on the street.

As you're behaving like
an old prostitute, Oscar,

perhaps that's where you belong.

For God's sake, Bosie.

Keep out of this, Robbie.

-This has nothing to do with you.
-Unfortunately, it has.

Ever since Oscar threw in
his lot with you in Naples,

he's been cut
adrift by everyone.

Constance has died, his sons
have been taken away from him,

his so-called friends have
deserted him and now you,

who owe him everything,
turn your back.

I am sick and tired
of being blamed

for the self-inflicted wounds
of a gluttonous snob!

I'm not my lover's keeper!
If he wants to eat, he should work!

Oscar, what have you
written recently?

Ah, the pudding trolley.

I see your little eyes light up.
What shall we have?

Robbie, you'll burst a haemorrhoid.
It was only a passing thought.

-Like all your work.
-You disgust me, Bosie!

Do you suppose I care?

I asked you a question, Oscar.
Does the flame still burn?

No, it doesn't, does it?

So I'm supposed to
keep you in luxury

while you stumble about the
boulevard begging for drinks.

Christ!

Some of us have to work!

Come along.

Reggie will be here
when you wake up,

and I'll be back in no time.

Have you told Bosie?

I haven't seen him
since that lunch.

But you must.

If something happens.

It won't.

Is it really necessary,
Doctor Tucker?

I feel perfectly well, you know.

We shall be as quick as we can.

Oscar, you old fraud.

You look perfectly well.

I know.

Can you believe it?

Once poisonous moule
four months ago

and I've been in and
out of bed ever since.

Dear boy,

behind the commode, you will
find a bottle of Champagne.

Open it.

Let us drink to your arrival.
Hmm?

Shouldn't really.

Of course we shouldn't.

You've crossed the water
for a treasured friend.

There are glasses under the bed.

You poor darling.

But I hear you're
writing a new play.

Yes, in a way.

Robbie has left me
some divine notebooks

in which to scribble
beautiful thoughts.

But unfortunately...

I haven't had any this year.

Mmm.

I will tell you a terrible secret.

And don't tell Robbie, please,
Reggie, there's a dear.

I have sold the play to
three different individuals.

And I haven't written
a single word.

Rather clever, don't you think?

There's nothing
like an Irish beggar

when he gets into his stride.

What will you do when the
times comes to deliver it?

Oh.

Die.

I am...

paralysed by dark thoughts.

Sometimes I wonder.

Is it a moule?

It could be something else.

Oh, God.

Reggie,

why did Constance die?

Why have I become so mad?

My brain is crashed
and shattered.

Is this...?

Syphilis.

What?

Do you see the hell
in which I live?

Robbie wants me to write a play,

but I am wrestling with my soul.

-Reggie, I cannot write a play!
-Of course you can.

Now come on, Oscar,
pull yourself together!

The doctor says,
within a few days,

we'll be able to take
you out for a drive.

We're going to have a lovely time.

I can't think what
happened last week.

My whole life was a blur.

Very well.

Oscar!

Oh, Reggie, fuck off!

One last drink before I die.

I've been teaching
Maurice English,

but he is much more fluent
in the language of love.

-Oscar!
-Can I have a scarf, please?

Thank you very much.

Oh, it's freezing!

Get off!

-Reggie, I didn't know you cared.
-Off they come.

Oh, God, Reggie!

Careful of my ear.

Can you pull me up a
bit more, dear boy?

Who can that be at this hour?

Christ, are we to be spared nothing?

You see, Reggie,

more creditors to
add to our list.

I am dying beyond my means.

Hmm?

Reggie, turn down the
gaslight, would you?

He had just enough strength

to fly up to the Prince's
shoulder once more.

'Goodbye, dear Prince',

he murmured.

'I'm glad you're going to Egypt,'
said the Happy Prince.

The disciples sleep.

The end is nigh.

Was the cause of
death mentioned?

A severe chill, it seems!

As a man sows,

so shall he reap.

Will the...

internment take place here?

No!

He seems to have expressed the
desire to be buried in Paris.

Come home soon, Father.

Tomorrow.

And tomorrow and tomorrow.

Oscar.

Oh, Reggie.

Look.

The boys.

Which boys?

Maurice? Bosie?

I'm sorry.

I'm awfully sorry.

So many broken hearts.

And they will have to
live with it forever

and ever and ever and ever.

World without end.

Yesterday, she decided
I was a waiter.

And today?

I don't know.

Hasn't spoken. Listen.

The doctor said he can't
last more than 48 hours.

Have you called a priest?

No, should I?

Well, I will, then.

I must tell you,
Father, the dying man

has been quite a
well-known literary figure.

Oh, well, that's all one and
the same to God, Mr. Ross.

He has very little time to read,

what with all us sinners
clogging up the road to hell.

Well, what is the name of
this friend of yours who...

comes home so late, and yet...

yet is so thirsty for the
sacred blood of our Lord?

Oscar Wilde.

Oh, Jesus Christ!

Well, I...

Has Mr. Wilde expressed
a desire for...

extreme unction?

Most certainly.

While he could still speak.

Has been received?
Is he not a Protestant?

He was meant to be a Catholic.

Oh!

No...

Don't...

Don't worry, my son.

Don't worry, don't
worry, Mr. Ross.

Don't... We'll sort something out.
I've got...

everything here we'll need.

Unless, of course, um...

exorcism is required.

That's, that's my little joke.

Ah, well, we're in time.

Good evening, Mr. Dupoirier.

We missed you on Sunday.

Oscar, can you hear me?

This is Father Dunn.

Reggie, move!

Oscar...

Father Dunn is
willing to receive you

into the church and
give you absolution.

But you need to sit up

and pay attention.

Now, now, Mr. Ross.

Between the stirrup and the
ground, there's always time

for an act of contrition.

There's no need to hurry.

Thank you.

Good evening...

Mr. Wilde. My name is
Father Cuthbert Dunn.

Now, I'm going to say a few simple
things to you, but I need...

I need to know that
you understand them.

A little sign will do.

That's very good.

Let us kneel and pray.

In the name of the
Father, the Son

and the Holy Ghost. Amen.

Father...

look with pity on
your servant, Oscar.

Absolve him of his sins.

And Mr. Wilde, examine
your conscience.

There are no secrets
between God and man.

Talk to him.

Where did you lose sight

of our blessed Lord?

Clapham Junction.

Jesus Christ was nailed
to the cross in Golgotha

so that our sins
might be forgiven.

I baptise you in the
name of the Father...

and of the son

and of the Holy Ghost.

Though I walk

through the valley of death...

and raise my eyes
to the hills...

whence cometh my delight.

That was beautiful, wasn't it?

We're so grateful.

Ah, no, not at all, not at all.
But it is a...

great privilege to meet
such a distinguished...

author.

If you need me, our
friend, Mr. Dupoirier,

knows where to find me.

It's going to be
a beautiful day.

Do go on, Mr. Wilde.

So they pulled down the
statue of the Happy Prince.

'As he is no longer beautiful,

he is no longer useful,'

said the Art professor
at the University.

And they melted the
statue in a furnace.

'What a strange thing,'

said the overseer of the
workmen at the foundry.

'This broken lead
heart will not melt.

They must throw it away.'

So they threw it on a dust heap,

where the dead Swallow

was also lying.

For Christ's sake,
Bosie, shut up!

You can't understand, Robbie,
but how could you?

Understand what?

The sort of love that
Oscar and I shared.

You've never shared
anything with anybody.

You're too fucking selfish.

Robbie.

Where were you
when he was dying?

Here we go.

You could never accept the fact

that Oscar loved me and not you.

Because he didn't, did he?

However hard you tried.

And how you tried.

Bosie!

Fuck!

For Christ's sake, Bosie!

You're a second-rate prole!

You know what Oscar
thought about you?

He thought you
were a useful bore!

When history looks back,
it won't be at you!

It will be at him and me!

You'll just be a footnote,
you dreary little cunt!

'Bring me the two most
precious things in the city',

said God to one of his angels.

And the angel brought him
the leaden heart and the dead bird.

'You have rightly chosen', said God.

'For in my garden of paradise,
this little bird shall sing forever.

And in my city of gold,

the Happy Prince
shall praise me.'

Author! Author! Author! Author!

It's a dream.