Brideshead Revisited (1981): Season 1, Episode 7 - The Unseen Hook - full transcript

I returned to London in the Spring of 1926
for the General Strike.

It had been the topic of Paris.

The French, exultant as always at the
discomfiture of their former friends,

foretold revolution and civil war,

until I and several friends
in circumstances like my own

came seriously to believe
that our country was in danger

and our duty lay there.

We were joined by a Belgian futurist

who lived under the, I think, assumed name
of Jean de Brissac la Motte,

and claimed the right to bear arms in any
battle anywhere against the lower classes.

Good morning, father.



Oh dear.

Well, it’s delightful
to see you back so soon.

How long have you been away?

Fifteen months, father.

Really?

Well, you come at a very
awkward time, you know.

They’re having another
of those strikes in two days –

such a lot of nonsense –

I don’t know
when you’ll be able to get away.

I wasn’t proposing to get away, father.

I don’t think you understand –
that’s the reason I’m here, the strike.

I see.

I know you’ve been living abroad.
Have you now become a revolutionary?

No, father.



I was thinking of delivering food
to places where they might need it,

that sort of thing.

Well. Mrs Able has reported
no shortage in Bayswater.

Are you quite suited to this operation?

You have no military training, you have
no experience of mass provisioning,

you seem to be bent on a most
headstrong course.

That’s it, gents.

You and you, sir?

Move forward, please,
and report inside.

My deputy’s just round the door
taking particulars.

That’s it, gents. No more needed today.
Thank you very much.

Is there absolutely nothing else?

I’ve come all the way from France.

You could try Clapham and Southwark.

And I did hear yesterday
they were short down at Rotherhithe.

We’re choc-a-block here.
You can come back tomorrow.

Come back tomorrow.
Thank you very much.

Thank you.

Mulcaster!

My God!

Excellent indeed.
That sorted them.

- Hello, Boy.
- Charles!

Charles Ryder!
Good Lord!

What are you doing here?
Did you see that?

Damn close shave out there.

Bloody Reds!

- What are you in, Charles?
- Nothing yet. Can’t get in.

- They’re full up here.
- Oh, rubbish.

Come and join our lot, Bill Meadows’ show.
Damn fine crowd.

They’re all good chaps
in the Defence Corps.

We do the milk run.

Can I join?

Of course you can.
Dear fellow, absolutely delighted.

Come and get kitted out.

Come to the office.

So I was enrolled in the Defence Corps.

I took my oath of loyalty
and was given a truncheon.

I’ll come up again this afternoon
and sit with her.

I don’t mind staying with her
right through. I’d like to.

Why don’t you have a break?

Well, we’ll see.
I’ll look in anyway.

How’s she been?

She’s slept for an hour and a half.

She’s had another injection.

Did she seem in much pain?

Yes.

But I think she’d rather be conscious.

Have you heard from Charles?

He’s definitely back in England.
He was out. I left a message.

Good.

I’ll see you later.

- Mr Mottram’s here, my lady.
- Thank you, Albert.

I’ve got the Minister outside, I can’t stay.
We’re off to the Gas Depot.

How is she?
Can I go up and see her for a minute?

She’s too ill to see anyone
at the moment, Rex.

Oh, I’m sorry.

I don’t know when I’m gonna get
the chance to call in again.

Things are getting a bit rough.

I’m on call all night.

Well, if there’s any change
in your mother’s condition,

telephone me at the Home Office.

What about Sebastian?

I’ve got someone at the Foreign Office
and they’ve begun to make enquiries.

And?

Don’t worry, darling.
It’s a busy time.

Give it a day or two.
They’ll find him.

Say hello to your mother.
Bye.

Two teas, my dear.

Thank you.

That’ll help you through, Charles.

Cup of tea, love.

If I were you, you’d take my advice
and avoid the Commercial Road.

From all reports, they’re having
a bit of a fracas down there.

I say, did you hear that, chaps?

They’re having a bit of a fracas
down the Commercial Road.

Come on! All aboard!

What are you doing tonight?

Nothing in particular, why?

My sister says that Nancy Tallboy’s
giving a bloody great party.

- Yes, I heard. Are you going?
- Rather.

Everyone says it’ll be an absolute riot.

Aren’t they d-divine?

Aren’t they the m-most sensational thing
you’ve ever seen?

Antoine!
Good God!

That rather pale one, my dear,
playing the piano,

is having a raving affair
with Mrs Arnold Frinkheimer.

He conked her on the nut with a bottle
of milk, only the other morning.

It’s wonderful to see you again.
It’s been a long time.

Oh, I know, Charles. There you are,
the lonely old artist man,

hidden away from us
in your Parisian garret.

But Charles, look. Do you see that
b-b-bovine spectre that I see?

No, they are not animals in a zoo,
Mulcaster, to be goggled at.

They are artists, my dear,
very great artists, to be revered.

Charles!

Thank God there’s somebody here I know.

Girl brought me, but I’ve lost her.
Looked everywhere.

She’s given you the slip, my dear,
and do you know why?

Because you look ridiculously
out of place, Mulcaster.

This isn’t your kind of party at all;
you ought not to be here;

you ought to go away, you know,
to the Old Hundredth,

or some lugubrious dance
in Belgrave Square.

I’ve just come from one.

And it’s too early for the Old Hundredth.

I think I’ll stick around for a bit.
Things may jolly up, you know.

I spit on you.

Let me talk to you, Charles.

Don’t be ridiculous!
Take your hands off me!

Oh, my dear, what pugilists!

It’s such a surprise
seeing you here, Anthony.

I thought you’d still be wandering
in the Middle East.

I seem to remember seeing
some gruesome photos

of you and Sebastian
in Constantinople.

Ah! Sebastian.

Inevitably we will talk of Sebastian.

Someone’s been sick. Clear it up.

You’ll be perfectly safe.

- I want a drink.
- Yes, there’s plenty to drink at my house.

Yes, sure, but I want a drink here.

No, I haven’t heard anything of Sebastian
for over a year.

- Do you see him?
- Oh, my dear, he’s such a sot.

You know he came to live with me in Marseilles
last year when you threw him over,

and really it was as much
as I could stand.

Sip, sip, sip
like a dowager all day long.

And so sly.

I was always missing
little things, my dear,

things I rather liked,
including two very pretty suits.

Of course, I didn’t know it
was Sebastian at first –

there were some rather queer fish, my dear,
in and out of my little apartment.

But who knows better than you
my taste for queer fish?

Well, eventually I found out that Sebastian
had been p-p-popping them at the pawnshop,

and then, my dear,
that he had sold the tickets at the bistro.

It’s never much of a success when
Sebastian stays with you, is it, Anthony?

Now, Charles, I know that puritanical
disapproving look in your eye.

You would think I lead
the poor boy on, don’t you?

You did in Athens, by all accounts.

That’s one of Sebastian’s
less lovable qualities.

He always gives the impression
of being led on –

like a little horse at the circus.

So there’s still no stopping him?

My dear, I did everything I could.

I said to him again and again,
“Why drink?

If you want to be intoxicated, there are
so many much more delicious things to do.”

Never seen you before.
Never asked you.

Who are all these white trash anyway?

Seems to me I must have come
to the wrong house.

It’s a time of national emergency, my dear.
Anything may happen.

I think Africa must be deserted.

Never mind.

You and I, Charles,
had a good innings today,

defending the old country.

That’s the great pity of it, you know

You and I were too young
to fight in the war.

Other chaps fought.

Millions of them dead.

Not us.

We showed them today, though.

We showed those dead chaps
we can fight, too.

And you came all the way from Paris.

Damn good.
Damn good.

Came from overseas,

rallying round the country
in her hour of need.

Like the Australians.

Like the poor dead Australians.

Is the party going well?

Do you think Florence Mills
would sing again?

I know you. We’ve met before.

Often, my dear,
but you never asked me tonight.

Perhaps I don’t like you.

I thought I liked everyone.

Do you think it might be witty
to give the fire alarm?

Oh yes, Boy,
do run away and ring it.

Might cheer things up.

Exactly.

You are a very naughty girl
and you are going to be smacked!

So then we left Marseilles
and went to Tangier,

and there, my dear,
Sebastian took up with his new friend.

Who’s that?

Well, how can I describe him?

He’s like the footman
in Warning Shadows –

a great clod of a German
who’d been in the Foreign Legion.

He got out by shooting off his big toe.

It still hadn’t healed.

Where did they meet?

Sebastian found him starving,
touting for one of the houses in the Kasbah,

and brought him back to stay with us.

It was too macabre.

So, back I came
to dear old England, my dear.

So where’s Sebastian now?

I think he and his lame chum
went to French Morocco.

They were in trouble with the
Tangier police when I left.

Lady Marchmain has been a positive pest
ever since I got back to London,

trying to make me get in touch with them.

What a time that poor woman’s
going through!

Well, it only shows
there’s some justice in life.

I’ve done it.

You see that girl
with that black fellow?

That’s the girl who brought me.

She seems to have
forgotten you now.

Come on, Charles.
I’ve had enough of all this.

If you’ll be good enough
to wait in here, sir.

I’ll tell Lady Julia you’ve arrived.

Thank you, Wilcox.

I went to Marchmain House
on the first morning of peace.

Julia had telephoned to say that
her mother was anxious to see me.

I waited for her in the library
overlooking Green Park.

Charles.
It’s sweet of you to come.

Mummy’s kept asking for you,

but I’m afraid she won’t be able
to see you now after all.

She’s just said “good-bye” to
Sir Adrian Porson and it’s tired her.

Good-bye?

Yes, she’s dying.

She may live a week or two
or she may go at any minute.

She’s very frail.

I can tell you what she wanted.

Let’s go somewhere else.
I hate this room.

First, I know, mummy wanted
to say how sorry she is

she was so beastly to you
last time you met.

She’s spoken of it often.

She knows now she was wrong about you.

I’m quite sure you put it out of your mind
immediately and understood,

but it’s the sort of thing
mummy can never forgive herself.

It’s the sort of thing she so seldom did.

Please tell her I do understand.

The other thing, of course,
you’ve guessed –

Sebastian.

She wants him.

I don’t know if that’s possible.
Is it?

Well, I hear he’s in a pretty bad way.

We heard that too.

We sent a cable to the last address we had,
but there was no answer.

There still may be time for him to see her.

I thought of you as the only hope,
as soon as I heard you were in England.

Will you try and get him?

It’s an awful lot to ask,
I know, but...

I think Sebastian would
want it too, if he knew.

I’ll try.

I’ll certainly try.

There’s no one else
we could ask.

Rex is so busy.

Yes.

I heard reports of all he’s been doing –
organizing the gas works.

Oh yes, he’s made a lot of kudos
out of the strike.

Needless to say Bridey has stayed
very aloof from it all.

You can guess, can’t you?

He says he’s not satisfied
with the justice of the cause.

Thank you.

I’m very sorry to have missed Cordelia.

I sent her up to bed.
She was up all night with mummy.

Will you give her my love?

- Good-bye, Charles.
- Good-bye, Julia.

And thank you.

I’ll telegraph if I have any news.

Air France ran a service
of a kind to Casablanca;

there, starting at dawn,
I had taken the bus to Fez.

I had telephoned to the British Consul
and arranged to have lunch on my arrival.

There’s a war going on
not thirty miles from this house,

though you might not think it.

Yes, I had heard, but it’s
difficult to believe, sitting here.

We had some young fools
on bicycles only last week,

who’d come to volunteer
for the Abdul’s army.

It sounds as if you’ve got
a pretty tricky situation.

The Moors are a tricky lot;

they don’t hold with drink
and our young friend, as you may know,

spends most of his day drinking.

Sign there, will you?

Of course.

Why did he come here for?

Plenty of room for him at Rabat or Tangier,
where they cater for tourists.

He’s taken a house
in the native town, you know.

I tried to stop him, but he got it
from a Frenchman in the Department of Arts.

I don’t say there’s any harm in him,
but he’s an anxiety.

The French don’t understand him at all.

They think that everyone
who’s not engaged in trade is a spy.

It’s not as though he lives like a Milord.

Did you know there is someone living with him?
Someone sponging on him?

Yes, I had heard about someone –
whether it is the same person...

This is an awful fellow –
a German out of the Foreign Legion.

A thoroughly bad lot by all accounts.
Bound to be trouble.

Mind you, I like Flyte.

I don’t see much of him.

He used to come here for baths twice a week
before he got fixed up at his house.

He was always perfectly charming,
my wife took a great fancy to him.

What he needs is an occupation.

Well, if I can persuade him
to come back to England,

I will get him off your hands.

In fact, sir, I think I should really
be getting along now.

Oh yes, of course.
You’ll probably find him at home now.

Goodness knows no one goes out
much in the siesta.

Look, if you like,
I’ll send the porter to show you the way.

Morocco was a new
and strange country to me.

Now, in the walled city, where the dust
lay thick among the smooth paving stones,

where the air was scented with cloves
and incense and wood smoke,

I knew what had drawn Sebastian here

and held him so long.

My guide was from the Sudan Police

and regarded this ancient centre
of his culture

as a New Zealander might regard Rome.

Very dirty people.

No education.

French leave them dirty.

Not like British people.

My people British people.

Me in Sudan Police.

House of British Lord.

Sha hai rida.

You go with this native fellow.

Thank you very much.

Excuse me.

I’m looking for Sebastian Flyte.

This is his house, is it not?

Yes.

But he’s not here.

There’s no one but me.

I’ve come from England to see him
on rather important business.

I wonder, could you tell me
when he’ll be back?

Sebastian’s sick.

The brothers took him away
to the Infirmary.

Maybe they’ll let you see him,
maybe not.

I got to go there myself one day soon
to have my foot dressed.

I’ll ask them.

When he’s better
maybe they’ll let you see him.

Beer?

Thank you.

You’re not Sebastian’s brother?

His cousin maybe?

I think maybe you married his sister.

No. We’re just friends.

We were at University together.

I had a friend at the University.

He studied History.

My friend was cleverer as I;

a little weak fellow –

I would pick him up and shake him
when I was angry –

but so clever.

Then one day we said,
“What the hell!

There’s no work in Germany.
Germany is down the drain,

we must be soldiers.”

So we joined the Legion.

My friend died of dysentery last year,

campaigning in the Atlas.

When he was dead,
I said, “What the hell!”

So I shot my foot!

It is now full of pus,

though I have done it one year.

Yes, that’s very interesting.

But my immediate concern is with Sebastian.

I wonder if you could tell me
something about him?

Well, he’s a very good fellow, Sebastian.

He is all right for me.

Tangier was a stinking place.

He brought me here –

nice house, nice food,
nice servant –

everything is all right
for me here, I reckon.

I like it all right.

Sebastian...

His mother is very ill.

That’s what I’ve come to tell him.

She rich?

She is.

Then why don’t she give him more money?

Then we would live at Casablanca, maybe,
in a nice flat.

You know her well?
You could make her give him more money?

What exactly’s the matter with Sebastian?

I don’t know.

I reckon maybe he drink too much.

The brothers will look after him.

It’s all right for him there.

The brothers are good fellows.
Very cheap there.

Encore de bière!

You see?

A nice servant to look after me.

It is all right.

I think I’d better see
Sebastian straight away.

Could you tell me where I can find him?
Which hospital is he at?

It’s the little one
between the old and new town.

It’s called Saint-Sulpice.

Tell Sebastian...

I’m still here and all right.

I reckon he’s worrying about me, maybe.

- Good evening.
- Bonsoir.

Your friend, Lord Flyte,
is much better.

- Parlons en français.
- Ah, merci.

Votre ami n’est pas en danger,

mais il n’est absolument pas
en état de voyager.

We spoke in French,

and he told me that Sebastian was in
no danger, but quite unfit to travel.

He had the grippe,
with one lung slightly affected;

he was very weak;
he lacked resistance;

what could one expect?
He was an alcoholic.

Qu’est-ce que vous voulez dire, Docteur?

C’est un alcoolique.

Un grand alcoolique.

Je vais vous trouver quelqu’un
pour vous amener près de lui.

The doctor spoke dispassionately,
almost brutally,

with the relish men of science
sometimes have

for limiting themselves to inessentials,

For pruning back their work
to the point of sterility.

Merci, Docteur.

The bearded, barefooted brother,
in whose charge I was put,

the man of no scientific pretensions,
who bit the dirty jobs of the ward,

had a different story.

He’s so patient.
Not like a young man at all.

He lies there and never complains –
and there is much to complain of.

As you see, we have no facilities.

The government gives us
what they can spare from the soldiers.

And he is so kind.

There is a poor German boy

with a foot that won’t heal
and secondary syphilis.

He comes for treatment.

Lord Flyte...

Lord Flyte found him
starving in Tangier

and took him in and gave him a home.

A true Samaritan.

"Poor simple monk", I thought,
“poor booby.”

God forgive me!

Your friend.

Thank you.

Oh...

I thought he meant Kurt.

What are you doing here, Charles?

I’ve come to find you.

Well, I’ll leave you to talk.

I’ll come back in a little while.

I saw the doctor.

I must say you’re not looking as bad
as I thought you might.

Over the worst –

I was out of my mind for a day or so.

Pneumonia, so they say.

I kept thinking I was back in Oxford,

which is strange, don’t you think?

Since I couldn’t really be further away,
could I, Charles?

- You’ve been to the house?
- Yes.

Like it?

Yes.

Yes, I’ve liked everything I’ve seen.

I do understand what keeps you here.

Kurt still there?

I won’t ask you if you like Kurt;
nobody does.

It’s funny –

I couldn’t go on without him, you know.

Sebastian, I’m afraid
your mother is not very well.

In fact, that’s the main reason
that I’m here.

I think she’d like to see you.

Poor mummy.

She really was a femme fatale,
wasn’t she?

She killed at a touch.

What do you want to do?

I don’t know.

Let me think about it.

I obviously can’t travel at the moment.

No.

Charles, do you think
you could do something for me?

Of course.

Well, if you’re going to come
and see me again,

do you think you could smuggle in
a bottle of brandy?

I telegraphed to Julia
that Sebastian was unable to travel

and I stayed on in Fez,
visiting the hospital daily.

Thank you.

On my third day
a telegram arrived from Julia –

Lady Marchmain was dead.

I stayed on, in case Sebastian wanted help

getting back to England
for his mother’s funeral.

Monsieur Ryder...

Monsieur Ryder...

Monsieur Ryder!

S’il vous plaît...

Es-ce que je peux vous parler?

Your friend is drinking again.

An ounce of cognac
will not hurt him too much,

maybe it will make him weaker
the next time he is ill,

then one day some little thing
will carry him away, pouff.

This is not a home for inebriates.

He must go home at the end of the week.

If you’re going to discharge him,
I’ll try and stay a few more days.

He’ll need someone to see him home.

Your friend is much happier today.

It is like one transfigured.

You know why?

He has a bottle of cognac in bed with him.

It is the second I have found.

No sooner do I take one away from him
than he gets another.

He is so naughty.

It is the Arab boys who fetch it for him.

Still, it is good to see him happy
when he was so sad.

Hello! How are you feeling?

Better.
Feeling much better.

Good.

May I?

Sebastian, now your mother’s dead,

do you think of going back to England?

It would be lovely!

Do you think Kurt would like it?

For God’s sake, you don’t mean to spend
the rest of your life with Kurt, do you?

He means to spend it with me.

It’th all right for him, I reckon, maybe.

I’ve been to the bank for you
and straighten things out a little.

The bank manager was very helpful.

He says that if I can arrange
with your lawyers

for a quarterly allowance
to be sent out from England,

you can draw weekly pocket money.

Now, in an emergency
you can draw...

You know, Charles.
it’s really a very pleasant change

when all your life you’ve been
looked after by people,

to have someone to look after yourself.

Of course, it does have to be
someone pretty hopeless

to need looking after by me.

As I was saying, in an emergency
you can draw reserves from the larger funds.

Now...

You’ve got to convince him
it is an emergency.

And you’ve got to collect
the money personally.

Oh, good!

Otherwise Kurt will have me sign a cheque
for the whole amount when I’m tight,

and then he’ll go off
and get into all sorts of trouble.

Where shall I put your case, Sebastian?

Shall I unpack it for you?

No, the boy will do it.

It was time you came back.

I need you.

Do you, Kurt?

Yes, I reckon so.

It’s not so good being alone
when you’re sick.

That boy’s a lazy fellow –
always slipping off when I want him.

Once he stayed out all night

and there was no one to make
my coffee when I woke up.

It’s no good having a foot full of pus.

Times I can’t sleep good.

Maybe another time I shall slip off, too,
and go where I can be looked after.

You see?

What do you want?

Cigarettes.

There are some in the bag under my bed.

I’ll get them for you.

No!

That’s my job.

Yes.

I think that’s Sebastian’s job.

So I left him with his friend

in the little enclosed house
at the end of the alley.

There was nothing more
I could do for Sebastian.

His mother was buried
that same afternoon

at Brideshead.