The Ray Bradbury Theater (1985–1992): Season 1, Episode 6 - Banshee - full transcript
An American visiting a remote Irish manor hears an eerie moan from the grounds. Braving the dark night, the man sees a beautiful woman flitting across the moor. When he returns to the house, his host, an inveterate practical joker, informs him the woman is really a banshee and dares him to confront her.
[music playing]
[theme music]
RAY BRADBURY
(VOICEOVER): People ask
where do you get your ideas?
Well, right here.
All this is my
martian landscape.
Somewhere in this room
is an African veldt.
Just beyond, perhaps, is a small
Illinois town where I grew up.
And I'm surrounded on every
side by my magician's toy shop.
I'll never starve here.
I just look around.
Find what I need and begin.
I'm Ray Bradbury.
And this is-- well
then, right now.
What shall it be?
Out of all this.
What do I choose
to make the story?
I never know where the
next one will take me.
And the trip, exactly
one half exhilaration.
Exactly one half terror.
[irish music playing]
So it's a screen
cinema writer you are.
You'll find plenty to
write about in Ireland.
All of it bad.
But don't let on I told you.
And will you be working
for the great man himself?
You will.
And him out here,
far from Dublin.
Lord of the manor,
riding to hounds.
Leaving one wife
but to take another.
Aye.
We know all about him.
And could tell far
more than we know.
Well, here you are.
There he is.
God help you.
God be with you.
For He must be with someone.
Might as well be you.
[sigh]
Did I scare you, kid?
Get in out of that night
before it grabs you.
John.
Get this in you, kid.
So you finished the screenplay.
This is it.
So you say.
God, you've got me curious.
I'm glad you telephoned.
The house is empty.
Clara's in Dublin.
Damned rehearsals.
You'll meet her tomorrow.
We'll have a good go at this.
I--
[eerie noise]
Do you know what that is?
- What?
- Never mind.
Uh-huh.
Uh-huh.
Mhm.
Let's see if your bright
genius holds up to the end.
I'll be damned.
Damn you to hell.
I think I hate you.
It's good.
It needs some cutting of course.
Of course.
How do you do it, kid?
You live with your
nose stuck in books.
Have no idea of
what real horror is.
Yet you've captured it.
Imagination
Some day, you must
teach me to write.
Some day, John, you
must teach me to direct.
Fair enough.
"The Beast" will be our film.
Won't it?
What a team.
How are the wife and daughters?
Oh, fine.
They're in Dublin
waiting for me.
Well, now, it's back.
Is it?
That sound.
The Banshee.
The what?
The Banshee.
The spirits of women who roam
the woods the night someone
is to die.
[distant moaning]
Maybe it means us.
Come on, John.
JOHN HAMPTON: No, kid.
No.
It goes back centuries.
The moaning of the
Banshee betokens
certain death
whenever it is heard
in the silence of the night.
The Banshee appeared at
Clontarf warning King Brian
he would meet his death in
the great battle to come.
And he did.
The Banshee knows.
Where were we?
Oh yes.
Did you ever figure, Doug,
how much the beast is like me?
Hm?
The hero plowing the seas,
plowing women right and left,
'round the world and no stop.
Do you ever wonder how
many women I've had, Doug?
Hundreds.
Brilliant.
Thank you.
Oh, no.
Not your script.
This.
A brilliant review
of your new book
of stories in the London Times.
- Oh yeah.
- No.
No.
No.
No.
No.
Sit down.
Let me read this aloud.
You'll love it.
Terrific.
Ready?
"Douglas Rogers may
well be the huge success
in recent American literature."
How do you like it so far, kid?
"But here in London we ask
more from our tellers of tales.
Attempting to emulate
the ideas of Kipling,
the style of Maugham,
the wit of war,
Douglas Rogers drowned
somewhere in mid-Atlantic.
This is ramshackle stuff.
Douglas Rogers, go home."
Let me see that.
Well, now, what's wrong, kid?
You feeling poorly?
John, for God's sake.
Oh, Doug.
I didn't think that you'd be--
Oh, like hell you didn't.
What's wrong with you?
Hell.
Nothing, kid.
It was a fine review.
I just added a few
lines to get your goat.
What?
You can buy a copy
tomorrow in Dublin.
You'll see.
The fact is they love you.
They relish you.
But I just didn't want
you to get a big head.
So the joke's over.
Isn't it enough you've just
written the finest scenes
you have ever written in
your life for your truly
great screenplay?
I just don't like
your sense of humor.
You know what your
problem is, Doug.
Eh?
Eh?
Eh?
Well?
What?
You don't love me half
as much as I love you.
Come on, John.
No, kid.
I mean it.
God, son.
I'd kill for you.
You're the finest living
author in the world,
and I love you heart,
soul, and mind.
Because of that I
thought, well, maybe you
could stand a little leg pull.
I see that I was wrong.
- It's all right.
- No.
I'm sorry.
Really sorry.
It's OK.
Shut up.
Let's just forget
the whole thing.
Well, that's the boy.
Now, let's spend an hour
cutting brilliant, superb scenes
of yours.
Shh.
[wind gusting]
Hear it?
The moaning.
So mournful.
Yet beautiful.
It's only the wind.
The Banshee
won't go away, kid.
I bet it wants company.
Why don't you just run out
into the woods and see?
John, I write these
kinds of stories.
I don't believe them.
- No.
Go on out.
This has been a night
of misconceptions, kid.
You doubt me, and you doubt it.
Let's get my overcoat in
the hall and put it on you.
Here.
Toro.
Charge.
John.
Or are you coward, kid?
Are you yellow?
It's waiting.
Get out there.
Run for the team.
What time is it?
11:00.
That's when she comes.
I've changed my mind.
Don't go out there, kid.
John, you want
me to go out there.
You've probably
got your caretaker
out there right now making
noises for this little joke.
Well, I could use
some fresh air.
So long.
[locks bolt]
JOHN HAMPTON: Don't
be yellow, kid!
A little stroll in the woods.
I should think up some
story to tell John.
Think something crazy,
and then go back.
Right.
Right.
Banshee, where are you?
[bird cawing]
This is far enough.
Let's go get a drink.
[moaning]
Is he in there now?
The great animal that
walks on two legs.
He stays.
All others go.
He wipes his hands on flesh.
Girls are his napkins.
Women his midnight feast.
Not bad.
Improvised?
Or did he write it?
Is that him?
Him who lives there.
And loved me.
And now does not.
But I love him still.
So much I'd kill for it.
And myself lost at the end.
Who do you love?
Why, Will, of course.
Willy.
William.
You've got the wrong house.
There's only a
Johnny up there now.
John.
Why do you lie?
Maybe that was another time.
BANSHEE: No.
There is only now.
I feel him there.
His name's changed,
but it's him.
Look.
Feel.
There.
It's him.
It's a friend of mine.
No friend of anyone ever.
If he be your friend,
then you are my enemy.
Let's say that
is your William.
What then?
Send him out to me.
What would you do with him?
Lie down with him.
And ne'er get up again.
He would be kept like a
stone in a cold stream.
[moaning]
I'll stay here then.
The rest of the night.
Surely, he'll feel me here.
I should go back.
Yes, go.
Get in.
You'll catch your death.
And what about you?
I've long since caught mine.
Will you ask him
then to be sent?
Hurry.
Tell him he's needed.
[knocking]
Come on, John.
[locks unlatching]
Oh, Doug.
It's you.
Who else would it be?
The Banshee, of course.
Did you see it?
Yes.
Get this in you.
You look awful.
No.
Oh, you must learn to
pay no mind to my jokes.
Is that what it was?
A joke.
JOHN HAMPTON: Get in here, kid.
We have work to do.
Drink your drink, and I'll read
you that review of your book
from the London Times again.
You burned it, John.
Remember?
Did that book
review really exist?
Or were you--
Lying?
I wouldn't lie to you, son.
Pull your leg maybe.
Fact is I wrote that
review of your book myself.
You?
JOHN HAMPTON: God's truth, son.
The Times knew my
great love for you.
Asked me to do the job.
Yes, I said.
And I wrote it fair and
square as any man could
about a loving friend.
Told what was good.
What was awful bad.
Just the way I do when you
hand in a lousy script,
and I make you do it over.
Good's good.
Bad's bad.
Fair is fair.
I don't believe you.
Buy a copy tomorrow.
Check it out.
Drink up, son.
I won't poison you.
You already have.
God.
If you're not upset.
It was joke, Doug.
A joke.
I wish it was.
I wish--
[distant moaning]
The Banshee.
It's out there.
That was a joke too.
DOUGLAS ROGERS: No.
She's there.
A young and lovely woman
in a long white shawl.
And the whitest skin.
And sad, dark eyes.
Sound like anyone you know?
Thousands.
Well, she's waiting for you.
Out in the woods.
She described you,
or somebody like you.
Called you Will, Willy, William.
But I knew it was you.
Young, you say.
And beautiful and
out there right now.
The most beautiful
woman I've ever seen.
I think you should go out
and have a chat with her.
Don't you?
I do indeed.
Put your coat on.
It's a cold night.
[distant moaning]
God.
She's really there.
Wait.
There's one thing I
forgot to tell you.
The woman is out
there all right.
She's walking.
But she's dead.
I'm not afraid.
No, but I am.
And as much as I
hate you right now,
I can't let you go out there.
Shut the door.
Kid, you're good,
almost as good as me.
What an actor.
What an act.
[moaning]
[frantic footsteps]
[knocking]
Doug!
BANSHEE: (GHOSTLY
SINGING) William.
William.
William.
[banging on the door]
JOHN HAMPTON (VOICEOVER):
The Banshee knows.
[theme music]
[music playing]
[theme music]
RAY BRADBURY
(VOICEOVER): People ask
where do you get your ideas?
Well, right here.
All this is my
martian landscape.
Somewhere in this room
is an African veldt.
Just beyond, perhaps, is a small
Illinois town where I grew up.
And I'm surrounded on every
side by my magician's toy shop.
I'll never starve here.
I just look around.
Find what I need and begin.
I'm Ray Bradbury.
And this is-- well
then, right now.
What shall it be?
Out of all this.
What do I choose
to make the story?
I never know where the
next one will take me.
And the trip, exactly
one half exhilaration.
Exactly one half terror.
[irish music playing]
So it's a screen
cinema writer you are.
You'll find plenty to
write about in Ireland.
All of it bad.
But don't let on I told you.
And will you be working
for the great man himself?
You will.
And him out here,
far from Dublin.
Lord of the manor,
riding to hounds.
Leaving one wife
but to take another.
Aye.
We know all about him.
And could tell far
more than we know.
Well, here you are.
There he is.
God help you.
God be with you.
For He must be with someone.
Might as well be you.
[sigh]
Did I scare you, kid?
Get in out of that night
before it grabs you.
John.
Get this in you, kid.
So you finished the screenplay.
This is it.
So you say.
God, you've got me curious.
I'm glad you telephoned.
The house is empty.
Clara's in Dublin.
Damned rehearsals.
You'll meet her tomorrow.
We'll have a good go at this.
I--
[eerie noise]
Do you know what that is?
- What?
- Never mind.
Uh-huh.
Uh-huh.
Mhm.
Let's see if your bright
genius holds up to the end.
I'll be damned.
Damn you to hell.
I think I hate you.
It's good.
It needs some cutting of course.
Of course.
How do you do it, kid?
You live with your
nose stuck in books.
Have no idea of
what real horror is.
Yet you've captured it.
Imagination
Some day, you must
teach me to write.
Some day, John, you
must teach me to direct.
Fair enough.
"The Beast" will be our film.
Won't it?
What a team.
How are the wife and daughters?
Oh, fine.
They're in Dublin
waiting for me.
Well, now, it's back.
Is it?
That sound.
The Banshee.
The what?
The Banshee.
The spirits of women who roam
the woods the night someone
is to die.
[distant moaning]
Maybe it means us.
Come on, John.
JOHN HAMPTON: No, kid.
No.
It goes back centuries.
The moaning of the
Banshee betokens
certain death
whenever it is heard
in the silence of the night.
The Banshee appeared at
Clontarf warning King Brian
he would meet his death in
the great battle to come.
And he did.
The Banshee knows.
Where were we?
Oh yes.
Did you ever figure, Doug,
how much the beast is like me?
Hm?
The hero plowing the seas,
plowing women right and left,
'round the world and no stop.
Do you ever wonder how
many women I've had, Doug?
Hundreds.
Brilliant.
Thank you.
Oh, no.
Not your script.
This.
A brilliant review
of your new book
of stories in the London Times.
- Oh yeah.
- No.
No.
No.
No.
No.
Sit down.
Let me read this aloud.
You'll love it.
Terrific.
Ready?
"Douglas Rogers may
well be the huge success
in recent American literature."
How do you like it so far, kid?
"But here in London we ask
more from our tellers of tales.
Attempting to emulate
the ideas of Kipling,
the style of Maugham,
the wit of war,
Douglas Rogers drowned
somewhere in mid-Atlantic.
This is ramshackle stuff.
Douglas Rogers, go home."
Let me see that.
Well, now, what's wrong, kid?
You feeling poorly?
John, for God's sake.
Oh, Doug.
I didn't think that you'd be--
Oh, like hell you didn't.
What's wrong with you?
Hell.
Nothing, kid.
It was a fine review.
I just added a few
lines to get your goat.
What?
You can buy a copy
tomorrow in Dublin.
You'll see.
The fact is they love you.
They relish you.
But I just didn't want
you to get a big head.
So the joke's over.
Isn't it enough you've just
written the finest scenes
you have ever written in
your life for your truly
great screenplay?
I just don't like
your sense of humor.
You know what your
problem is, Doug.
Eh?
Eh?
Eh?
Well?
What?
You don't love me half
as much as I love you.
Come on, John.
No, kid.
I mean it.
God, son.
I'd kill for you.
You're the finest living
author in the world,
and I love you heart,
soul, and mind.
Because of that I
thought, well, maybe you
could stand a little leg pull.
I see that I was wrong.
- It's all right.
- No.
I'm sorry.
Really sorry.
It's OK.
Shut up.
Let's just forget
the whole thing.
Well, that's the boy.
Now, let's spend an hour
cutting brilliant, superb scenes
of yours.
Shh.
[wind gusting]
Hear it?
The moaning.
So mournful.
Yet beautiful.
It's only the wind.
The Banshee
won't go away, kid.
I bet it wants company.
Why don't you just run out
into the woods and see?
John, I write these
kinds of stories.
I don't believe them.
- No.
Go on out.
This has been a night
of misconceptions, kid.
You doubt me, and you doubt it.
Let's get my overcoat in
the hall and put it on you.
Here.
Toro.
Charge.
John.
Or are you coward, kid?
Are you yellow?
It's waiting.
Get out there.
Run for the team.
What time is it?
11:00.
That's when she comes.
I've changed my mind.
Don't go out there, kid.
John, you want
me to go out there.
You've probably
got your caretaker
out there right now making
noises for this little joke.
Well, I could use
some fresh air.
So long.
[locks bolt]
JOHN HAMPTON: Don't
be yellow, kid!
A little stroll in the woods.
I should think up some
story to tell John.
Think something crazy,
and then go back.
Right.
Right.
Banshee, where are you?
[bird cawing]
This is far enough.
Let's go get a drink.
[moaning]
Is he in there now?
The great animal that
walks on two legs.
He stays.
All others go.
He wipes his hands on flesh.
Girls are his napkins.
Women his midnight feast.
Not bad.
Improvised?
Or did he write it?
Is that him?
Him who lives there.
And loved me.
And now does not.
But I love him still.
So much I'd kill for it.
And myself lost at the end.
Who do you love?
Why, Will, of course.
Willy.
William.
You've got the wrong house.
There's only a
Johnny up there now.
John.
Why do you lie?
Maybe that was another time.
BANSHEE: No.
There is only now.
I feel him there.
His name's changed,
but it's him.
Look.
Feel.
There.
It's him.
It's a friend of mine.
No friend of anyone ever.
If he be your friend,
then you are my enemy.
Let's say that
is your William.
What then?
Send him out to me.
What would you do with him?
Lie down with him.
And ne'er get up again.
He would be kept like a
stone in a cold stream.
[moaning]
I'll stay here then.
The rest of the night.
Surely, he'll feel me here.
I should go back.
Yes, go.
Get in.
You'll catch your death.
And what about you?
I've long since caught mine.
Will you ask him
then to be sent?
Hurry.
Tell him he's needed.
[knocking]
Come on, John.
[locks unlatching]
Oh, Doug.
It's you.
Who else would it be?
The Banshee, of course.
Did you see it?
Yes.
Get this in you.
You look awful.
No.
Oh, you must learn to
pay no mind to my jokes.
Is that what it was?
A joke.
JOHN HAMPTON: Get in here, kid.
We have work to do.
Drink your drink, and I'll read
you that review of your book
from the London Times again.
You burned it, John.
Remember?
Did that book
review really exist?
Or were you--
Lying?
I wouldn't lie to you, son.
Pull your leg maybe.
Fact is I wrote that
review of your book myself.
You?
JOHN HAMPTON: God's truth, son.
The Times knew my
great love for you.
Asked me to do the job.
Yes, I said.
And I wrote it fair and
square as any man could
about a loving friend.
Told what was good.
What was awful bad.
Just the way I do when you
hand in a lousy script,
and I make you do it over.
Good's good.
Bad's bad.
Fair is fair.
I don't believe you.
Buy a copy tomorrow.
Check it out.
Drink up, son.
I won't poison you.
You already have.
God.
If you're not upset.
It was joke, Doug.
A joke.
I wish it was.
I wish--
[distant moaning]
The Banshee.
It's out there.
That was a joke too.
DOUGLAS ROGERS: No.
She's there.
A young and lovely woman
in a long white shawl.
And the whitest skin.
And sad, dark eyes.
Sound like anyone you know?
Thousands.
Well, she's waiting for you.
Out in the woods.
She described you,
or somebody like you.
Called you Will, Willy, William.
But I knew it was you.
Young, you say.
And beautiful and
out there right now.
The most beautiful
woman I've ever seen.
I think you should go out
and have a chat with her.
Don't you?
I do indeed.
Put your coat on.
It's a cold night.
[distant moaning]
God.
She's really there.
Wait.
There's one thing I
forgot to tell you.
The woman is out
there all right.
She's walking.
But she's dead.
I'm not afraid.
No, but I am.
And as much as I
hate you right now,
I can't let you go out there.
Shut the door.
Kid, you're good,
almost as good as me.
What an actor.
What an act.
[moaning]
[frantic footsteps]
[knocking]
Doug!
BANSHEE: (GHOSTLY
SINGING) William.
William.
William.
[banging on the door]
JOHN HAMPTON (VOICEOVER):
The Banshee knows.
[theme music]
[music playing]