The Nightmare Worlds of H.G. Wells (2016–…): Season 1, Episode 3 - The Moth - full transcript
Entymologist Paul Hapley delights in discrediting the findings of his rival Professor Pawkins and when Pawkins dies, after Hapley has rubbished his paper on the Death's Head moth, Hapley finds that, with no adversary, his work has deteriorated. Then he discovers a unique moth, which only he can see, but it has Pawkins' face and Hapley fears that his old rival has returned from the dead to punish him - and he is right.
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Nothing enrages
a scientific mind
more than an opinion
that is slightly
different from its own.
Professor Matthew Pawkins,a respected entomologist--
-- Professor Paul Hapley, alsoa respected entomologist.
In the, um,specific grouping of leaf miner
moths, a grouping
of microlepidoptera,
which I believe should
be expanded to include
the Nepticuloidea or--
or pygmy eyecap moth.
And--
Many would expectthe world of research
to be some happy
family in which all men
work together peacefully.
It is just not.
It had started as a seriesof minor disagreements.
And the more one
reads of Professor
Pawkins' ill-conceiveddocument, the more one is led
to the conclusion that hismicroscope is as defective
as his powers of observation.
Whilst his cataloging
system would appear
to be a miracle of ineptitude.
With Pawkins andHapley, it was all out war.
Gentlemen.
Professor Pawkins.
May I compliment you on youraddress, Professor Hapley,
so refreshing to
hear a man completely
unconstrained by the facts.
As I was talking
about your work, Sir,
an element of fantasy
is perhaps inevitable.
Well, much as I'd happily stayhere and correct you all day,
I--
I must return to working
on my next paper.
Good day.
I look forward to reading it.
Nothing so invigorates
a man as laughter.
When in 1891Pawkins published a study
on the mesoblast of thedeath's-head moth, his health
had been bad for some time.
Consequently, the work was farbelow his usual high standards.
Yeah.
He also
said the next dimension
that the caterpillar willmolt a total of four times
before it is able to pupate.
And it would seem thisblundering... would
have us believe that whenthe death's-head hawkmoth
covered himself with this
slime-like secretions--
Hapleypublished a truly damning
indictment of Pawkins' study.
Hapley left no
loophole, rather he
left Pawkins covered in shame.
There was naturally
a great curiosity
at the Royal EntomologicalSociety as to how
Pawkins would respond.
With
Pawkins dead, Hapley
was now the unquestioned
authority in his field.
There was no one
of equal stature.
He could research
and publish his work
completely uncontested.
Privately, he simply couldnot forgive Pawkins for dying.
His work would not flow easily.
Reading or walking
would not engage him.
Check.
I don't mind admitting thatthe whole affair has thrown
me out of gear, so to speak.
Naturally.
Not
that I feel guilt.
Guilt?
About Pawkins, I
don't feel guilt.
Why would you feel guilt?
Exactly.
I-- I don't.
But I do feel--
I feel unableto apply myself to my work.
Surely, there have beenperiods like this before.
Never.
For 20 years, I've
worked seven days
a week with microscope, scalpel,collecting net, and pen.
I know withyou, it is a vocation.
Quite.
But I've begun to entertainthe thought that it wasn't
entomology which drove
me but the desire
to prove Pawkins wrong.
And now, Pawkins is gone.
I see.
Well, properly managed,
rivalry can spurn
men on to achieve great things.
Yes, well--
My worry is that I'm no longercapable of great things.
One
must rest on occasion--
both the body and the mind.
What
about you, Morton?
Are you-- do you everconsider yourself off duty?
Yes, yes.
Now, for instance.
Checkmate.
There's time for another
game, if you'd like.
To keep
his mind occupied,
Hapley decided he would
catalog some old slides.
New genus.
Professor,
may I be of assistance?
Close the door, damn you!
Hapley searchedthe entire house,
but he could not
relocate the moth.
New genus, byheaven, and in England too,
within this very house.
If anything could reignitemy passion for my subject,
it's this.
Well, you do seem
more your old self.
It's only a pity you weren'table to apprehend it.
True, true.
But I've seen one example.
Therefore, I'm reasonablyconfident I shall see another.
If only Pawkins were
alive to see my triumph.
Check.
I'll have you this time.
Blast!
Pawkins?
Within one week,
Professor Hapley
saw the strange grey mothon five separate occasions.
Yet, he was unable to catch it.
He gave up trying.
He knew it would not be caught.
All Hapley wanted now wasfor it to leave him in peace.
What happened to your head?
Accident.
I, um, tripped.
Rug, was it?
The rug, yet.
We must be careful.
We only have one body.
Unlike your
butterflies an moths,
we cannot shuffle
out of a chrysalis
and begin life afresh.
Speakinga fresh life, I wonder,
have you ever given much thoughtto the topic of reincarnation?
No, I haven't.
But might it be possiblethat a man might live his life,
pass away, and then returnas a different being?
No, I think not.
I think it most unlikely.
More unlikely than
Christ's resurrection?
Yes,
far more unlikely.
What's the matter?
That damn moth.
Where?
There?
Where?
Don't
you see the moth?
On the edge of the table there.
Certainly not.
The eye of faith is nobetter than the eye of sex.
I don't understand.
Hapley came to welcomethe idea that the moth was
simply an
hallucination resulting
from temporary mental stress.
This was something
he could understand,
something he could fight.
And so he resolutely
determined to erase
the moth from his mind.
You arean insubstantial phantom that
brought about a chemical
imbalance in the brain,
or the side effect of someperverse kind of grief,
but you are not real.
Hapley was
wholly successful
with expunging thecreature, until, that is,
he felt the moth's touch--
a touch that was
cold, clammy, tainted.
Father Mortonto see you, Professor.
Would you like me
to bring some tea?
Do as you wish.
Sir?
My dear fellow, Ihope you'll forgive my arriving
without an appointment,but I couldn't believe it
when I heard of your
misfortune, and so soon
after your previous accident.
Quite.
Sounds like youtook quite a serious tumble.
yes, infuriating.
How did it happen?
It was-- that-- that rug.
Rug?
Rug.
You
could have been killed.
That's what he wanted.
Pardon?
Look, I'm fine.
My-- my-- my leg will
heal soon enough.
Please don't let me takeup any more of your time.
Could easily have
been the end of your.
Perhaps that would
have been preferable.
Preferable to what?
To being haunted.
Haunted?
Haunted,
taunted, played with.
I don't follow you.
It's him.
He's here.
Who?
Professor Pawkins.
Pawkins?!
But surely you said he died.
He wants to punish me.
He won't rest until
he has destroyed me.
Listen, I--
I have no idea what
you're alluding to.
But it sounds to me like
a matter for the police.
Would you like me to call--
No, no,
no, no, no, no, no.
Just please go!
Well.
I hope you feel better soon.
If there's anything that I can--
Go!
Dame thing.
You're not there.
You don't exist.
You're not real.
No!
No!
No!
No!
You're dead!
Gaw, gaw
Leave me alone!
Maid, please, please, no, no.
This is unnecessary.
We need you
to be safe, Professor.
Open your eyes!
No, no!
No!
No, you can't do this!
Can't do this?
The doctor was
a blockhead, a recently
qualified general
practitioner, quite
ignorant of mental science.
He simply told Hapley there wasno moth and left it at that.
It's Pawkins' ghost,
but only a specimen.
You ought to catch him.
Hello.
Professor.
What
is is, Professor?
Is there
anything I can do?
Moth, get away from me!
Please, Professor--
-- tell me what
I can do for you.
Professor, no, please.
Please--
Dr. Paul
Hapley graduated
from Oxford with a first.
He was a member of theRoyal Entomological Society,
enjoyed an
international reputation
as a pioneer inresearcher, and published
three highly regarded volumes.
But in the end,
the asylum director
classified him aspotentially dangerous to both
himself and others.
It was a very small
room, certainly
not big enough for two.
www.mytotal.tv THE BEST TV APP
Nothing enrages
a scientific mind
more than an opinion
that is slightly
different from its own.
Professor Matthew Pawkins,a respected entomologist--
-- Professor Paul Hapley, alsoa respected entomologist.
In the, um,specific grouping of leaf miner
moths, a grouping
of microlepidoptera,
which I believe should
be expanded to include
the Nepticuloidea or--
or pygmy eyecap moth.
And--
Many would expectthe world of research
to be some happy
family in which all men
work together peacefully.
It is just not.
It had started as a seriesof minor disagreements.
And the more one
reads of Professor
Pawkins' ill-conceiveddocument, the more one is led
to the conclusion that hismicroscope is as defective
as his powers of observation.
Whilst his cataloging
system would appear
to be a miracle of ineptitude.
With Pawkins andHapley, it was all out war.
Gentlemen.
Professor Pawkins.
May I compliment you on youraddress, Professor Hapley,
so refreshing to
hear a man completely
unconstrained by the facts.
As I was talking
about your work, Sir,
an element of fantasy
is perhaps inevitable.
Well, much as I'd happily stayhere and correct you all day,
I--
I must return to working
on my next paper.
Good day.
I look forward to reading it.
Nothing so invigorates
a man as laughter.
When in 1891Pawkins published a study
on the mesoblast of thedeath's-head moth, his health
had been bad for some time.
Consequently, the work was farbelow his usual high standards.
Yeah.
He also
said the next dimension
that the caterpillar willmolt a total of four times
before it is able to pupate.
And it would seem thisblundering... would
have us believe that whenthe death's-head hawkmoth
covered himself with this
slime-like secretions--
Hapleypublished a truly damning
indictment of Pawkins' study.
Hapley left no
loophole, rather he
left Pawkins covered in shame.
There was naturally
a great curiosity
at the Royal EntomologicalSociety as to how
Pawkins would respond.
With
Pawkins dead, Hapley
was now the unquestioned
authority in his field.
There was no one
of equal stature.
He could research
and publish his work
completely uncontested.
Privately, he simply couldnot forgive Pawkins for dying.
His work would not flow easily.
Reading or walking
would not engage him.
Check.
I don't mind admitting thatthe whole affair has thrown
me out of gear, so to speak.
Naturally.
Not
that I feel guilt.
Guilt?
About Pawkins, I
don't feel guilt.
Why would you feel guilt?
Exactly.
I-- I don't.
But I do feel--
I feel unableto apply myself to my work.
Surely, there have beenperiods like this before.
Never.
For 20 years, I've
worked seven days
a week with microscope, scalpel,collecting net, and pen.
I know withyou, it is a vocation.
Quite.
But I've begun to entertainthe thought that it wasn't
entomology which drove
me but the desire
to prove Pawkins wrong.
And now, Pawkins is gone.
I see.
Well, properly managed,
rivalry can spurn
men on to achieve great things.
Yes, well--
My worry is that I'm no longercapable of great things.
One
must rest on occasion--
both the body and the mind.
What
about you, Morton?
Are you-- do you everconsider yourself off duty?
Yes, yes.
Now, for instance.
Checkmate.
There's time for another
game, if you'd like.
To keep
his mind occupied,
Hapley decided he would
catalog some old slides.
New genus.
Professor,
may I be of assistance?
Close the door, damn you!
Hapley searchedthe entire house,
but he could not
relocate the moth.
New genus, byheaven, and in England too,
within this very house.
If anything could reignitemy passion for my subject,
it's this.
Well, you do seem
more your old self.
It's only a pity you weren'table to apprehend it.
True, true.
But I've seen one example.
Therefore, I'm reasonablyconfident I shall see another.
If only Pawkins were
alive to see my triumph.
Check.
I'll have you this time.
Blast!
Pawkins?
Within one week,
Professor Hapley
saw the strange grey mothon five separate occasions.
Yet, he was unable to catch it.
He gave up trying.
He knew it would not be caught.
All Hapley wanted now wasfor it to leave him in peace.
What happened to your head?
Accident.
I, um, tripped.
Rug, was it?
The rug, yet.
We must be careful.
We only have one body.
Unlike your
butterflies an moths,
we cannot shuffle
out of a chrysalis
and begin life afresh.
Speakinga fresh life, I wonder,
have you ever given much thoughtto the topic of reincarnation?
No, I haven't.
But might it be possiblethat a man might live his life,
pass away, and then returnas a different being?
No, I think not.
I think it most unlikely.
More unlikely than
Christ's resurrection?
Yes,
far more unlikely.
What's the matter?
That damn moth.
Where?
There?
Where?
Don't
you see the moth?
On the edge of the table there.
Certainly not.
The eye of faith is nobetter than the eye of sex.
I don't understand.
Hapley came to welcomethe idea that the moth was
simply an
hallucination resulting
from temporary mental stress.
This was something
he could understand,
something he could fight.
And so he resolutely
determined to erase
the moth from his mind.
You arean insubstantial phantom that
brought about a chemical
imbalance in the brain,
or the side effect of someperverse kind of grief,
but you are not real.
Hapley was
wholly successful
with expunging thecreature, until, that is,
he felt the moth's touch--
a touch that was
cold, clammy, tainted.
Father Mortonto see you, Professor.
Would you like me
to bring some tea?
Do as you wish.
Sir?
My dear fellow, Ihope you'll forgive my arriving
without an appointment,but I couldn't believe it
when I heard of your
misfortune, and so soon
after your previous accident.
Quite.
Sounds like youtook quite a serious tumble.
yes, infuriating.
How did it happen?
It was-- that-- that rug.
Rug?
Rug.
You
could have been killed.
That's what he wanted.
Pardon?
Look, I'm fine.
My-- my-- my leg will
heal soon enough.
Please don't let me takeup any more of your time.
Could easily have
been the end of your.
Perhaps that would
have been preferable.
Preferable to what?
To being haunted.
Haunted?
Haunted,
taunted, played with.
I don't follow you.
It's him.
He's here.
Who?
Professor Pawkins.
Pawkins?!
But surely you said he died.
He wants to punish me.
He won't rest until
he has destroyed me.
Listen, I--
I have no idea what
you're alluding to.
But it sounds to me like
a matter for the police.
Would you like me to call--
No, no,
no, no, no, no, no.
Just please go!
Well.
I hope you feel better soon.
If there's anything that I can--
Go!
Dame thing.
You're not there.
You don't exist.
You're not real.
No!
No!
No!
No!
You're dead!
Gaw, gaw
Leave me alone!
Maid, please, please, no, no.
This is unnecessary.
We need you
to be safe, Professor.
Open your eyes!
No, no!
No!
No, you can't do this!
Can't do this?
The doctor was
a blockhead, a recently
qualified general
practitioner, quite
ignorant of mental science.
He simply told Hapley there wasno moth and left it at that.
It's Pawkins' ghost,
but only a specimen.
You ought to catch him.
Hello.
Professor.
What
is is, Professor?
Is there
anything I can do?
Moth, get away from me!
Please, Professor--
-- tell me what
I can do for you.
Professor, no, please.
Please--
Dr. Paul
Hapley graduated
from Oxford with a first.
He was a member of theRoyal Entomological Society,
enjoyed an
international reputation
as a pioneer inresearcher, and published
three highly regarded volumes.
But in the end,
the asylum director
classified him aspotentially dangerous to both
himself and others.
It was a very small
room, certainly
not big enough for two.