Upstart Crow (2016–…): Season 2, Episode 5 - Beware My Sting! - full transcript

Bottom, bring me a hammer
and a cold chisel.

This pie crust be so tough,
pixie cobblers could use the crumbs

to fashion
the fairies' dancing shoes.

Could always try cooking a pie
yourself, of course. Yes, Bottom.

Or a third way would be for me to
employ a servant whose skill set

comes slightly closer to matching
their job description.

Let me bring you a sharper knife,
Mr Shakespeare.

Hold, sirrah! Parry!
Advance! Hold!

Stage fighting is a key skill
in the actor's armoury.

Hmm. Yes. For "skill",

read "two mincing preeners
slowly circling each other

"while occasionally hitting their
swords together with a big clang."

So exciting!

I know you long to play the ingenue

in my still unfinished
teen romance,

but girls be banned from acting.

But it's so obvious that real girls
would be better at playing girls.

Yeah, cos that's just really
logical, isn't it? Um, yes.

Maybe you think we should get
real kings to play the kings,

or real ancient Romans
to play the ancient Romans.

That's not quite the same.
Or real witches to play the witches.

I get what you are trying...
A real St George

for St George and the dragon.

And a real dragon.

Real armies for the battles.

Real fairies for
the enchanted woods.

Theseus and the Minotaur...

Where are we going to find
a Minotaur?

Yes, all right, Bottom, I get it.

And you know I'm right, too.

Besides which, a girl on stage

would be nothing but a proslington
and a whoreslap.

Ha! Another brilliant argument,
Bottom.

Because delivering blank verse
in the character of a dead queen

is obviously just code for,

"Hello, ducks, I'll fondle
your fandangles for a farthing."

Dirty talk won't win your argument.

Finish your great teen romance,
Mr Shakespeare.

Let me be your Juliet.

No, Kate.
Quite apart from anything else,

I just don't think the public
wants to see a love story.

Certainly not one like your
Two Gentlemen Of Verona,

where the hero brazenly
cheats on the heroine

and yet you have her marry
the hornsome bastable anyway.

I needed a happy ending.

Well, it might have been nice

if it had developed out of plot
and character

instead of simply
being nailed on at the end.

I' faith, the maid is right.
I did just nail it on at the end.

I canst only hope that the verse
with which I nailed it

be so obscure
that future generations,

trusting in my genius,

will just think they're being
stupid and have missed something.

Look, I'm sorry, Kate. I know you
want to play Julian. Juliet.

As I said, Juliet.

And I would love to see
the play performed,

but, as you know,
it's a work in progress.

I've got my double-death ending,
but much else remains unwrit.

For instance, I need a lot more
lines for the amusing nurse.

No! Don't do it, master.

Less lines, trust me.
Kate read me a bit.

The nurse really gets on my nerves.

She could be getting
a teeny bit irritating

with her endless clucky-duckiness,
Mr Shakespeare.

Which is why she needs more lines.

You know my rule. If you're
in a comedy hole, keep digging.

I'm not going to do it now.

It's a romance, and I can't risk

a kissy-wissy, gropey-pokey load of
soply old mushington right now.

My next play must be a smasheroo.
You know my dream.

To be recognised now
and for all time

as indisputably the greatest writer
that ever lived,

and to buy the second-biggest house
in Stratford.

Exactly. That's it in a nutshell.

In a nutshell? What does that mean?

Oh, 'tis one of the numerous
inspired phrases

which I am wont to coin

and which I'm confident
will enter the common idiom.

Well, good luck with
"in a nutshell",

cos I think it's stupid.

I mean, you couldn't really get
anything at all inside a nutshell,

cos they are very, very small -

and also full of nut.

The clue is in the name.

Your observations, Bottom,
are...neither here nor there.

Is that another one?
Yes, just invented it.

When it comes to language,
the world's mine oyster.

In fact, I'm so clever, I could end
up with...too much of a good thing.

Maybe you should stop now. Can't.

They just pop up all of a sudden,

but give the devil his due,

there's method in my madness.

Really, stop it. Why?

'Tis a foregone conclusion that
they'll leave you bedazzled

and in stitches

and before long you'll be
demanding more with bated breath.

The world's your oyster?

Why would that be a good thing?

Tad obscure. What the dickens?
I'll spoil my spotless reputation.

Must be tired.
I didn't...sleep one wink.

If I'm not careful, you'll send
me packing on a wild goose chase

and I'll vanish into thin air
or be dead as a doornail.

Stop it!

I really mean it.

You're very clever, Mr Shakespeare,
but you can be an awful show-off.

But with...a heart of gold.

No! Just a show-off!

Aye, there's the rub.

Stop it!

And actually, I happen to know
you didn't originate the phrase

"dead as a doornail".
I bloomin' did.

You bloomin' didn't.
William Langland did

in his Middle English allegorical
narrative poem Piers Plowman.

I' faith, the bothersome girl
is right.

Filched have I some of my finest
phrases from prior sources

and common usage.

I can only hope that as years go by,

the original derivation
will fade from memory...

..and I'll get all the credit.

But never mind Langland.

We were talking about you
writing a new play.

Yes, well, I'm sorry, but it's not
going to be my teen romance.

I need to design a hit.

Women love theatre,

so of course I must write
a heroine that will appeal to them.

Gutsy. I like that.

Tough and independent. Love that.

Witty and headstrong. Feisty!

Feisty, Kate? I know not what
you mean. Be it a foreign term?

No.

I'm doing what you do,
creating a new word - feisty -

to refer to a gutsy, independent,
headstrong woman.

Hmm. Not sure.

It's brilliant.

In fact, I'm a bit worried
it'll end up overused

to the point of banality,

eventually being appropriated by
any loudmouth harridan who seeks

to lend an empowering gloss
to being a gobby bitchslap.

Hmm. Perhaps best leave new words
to me, Kate,

because "feisty" just ain't
going to fly.

However she is referred to,
you are going to create

a strong woman who is both strong
and a woman - bravo!

Yes. And then I'm going to crush,
abuse and humiliate her.

Crush, abuse? But why?

Because while women may love the
theatre, 'tis men who pay for entry.

And thus have I in mind
a sort of battle of the sexes,

where a strong woman
is tamed by a man.

I have no words.

Yes, well, luckily, Kate,
that's my job.

I have come to see you,
Mistress Lucy,

because you are a strong woman.

You have independence,
your own business.

How did you do it?

I cut off the penis of the cur
who enslaved me,

stole his gold, jumped ship
at Tilbury and bought a pub.

I'm not sure any of that will
help me get onto the stage.

Pah! Lady acting is against the law,
Kate, because the law hates women.

Your only hope is to do as I did -
use a man to get what you need.

Oh, ho! Will Shakespeare
is your friend.

Why, you think I should cut off
Mr Shakespeare's penis? No, no, no.

Just get him to help you.

Persuade him to write a sublime
female lead and convince him

that only you can play it.

Oh, yes. But how?

Ah, ah, eh, eh, Kate.

You are a woman. A woman has
special skills to move a man.

Wait, you think I should
embroider him a cushion cover?

I suppose it might work.

Home am I, wife.

Let joy be unbounded.
Father is returned.

Good journey, love?

Well, it's funny
you should say that, Anne,

because you know how up until now I
have never, ever had a good journey?

Yes.

Well, amazingly...

..I still haven't.

I had to stand the whole way.

Two days with my face in the armpit
of a man

who appeared to be
actually sweating urine.

I am knackmangled.

Susanna, bring ale and pie.

Get it yourself! Leave me alone.
I want to die. Shut up!

Don't mind her, Will. She is a bit
more sensitive than usual.

She hath taken up that burden
which every woman must carry

at the journey of each moon.

Oh, I see.

Mum says you've started
your periods, Sue. Shut up!

What? What did I say?

God's bouncing boobingtons,
husband!

For a bloke who reckons himself
to be the world's greatest poet,

you've got about as much tact
and sensitivity

as Mrs Moo-Moo's
flatumungous arsington!

She's not talking about Susanna's
women's business, anyway.

It's her character.
The girl is totally out of control.

She is so gutsy and headstrong.

Feisty.

Oh, that's a really good word.
A new one of yours?

Yes.

Just trying it out.

Well, she is feisty all right.

And 'tis is not a goodling look
for a maid.

You should never have
taught her to read.

Women aren't supposed to be
all sophisticated like us men.

HE GROANS
PLOP!

And the thing is

our Judith be so sweet and kind
that all do love her,

and it would be awful if Judith were
married and Sue left an old maid.

Life is dangerous
for a single woman,

particularly a clever one.

They be suspected of being witches.

Because most of them are witches.

Sue will need a husband.

But who will have
the feisty little bitchington?

I am still here, you know!

Well, what about this for an idea?

If Judith be so pretty and popular

and Sue such
a feisty little bitchington...

Arghhh!

..then why do not I, a stern father,

announce that any young knave
who doth tip his cap to our Judy

must first find another
who will take our Sue?

Will, all the world
is not a stage

and all the men and women
ain't merely players.

Bit of a tortured image, my love.

Setting Sue up through Judy
might work in one of your comedies,

but it won't work in the real world.

You're right. You are absolutely
right. And it's brilliant.

Brilliant? I've just said
your stupid plan

won't stop Sue ending up
isolated, pitied, despised

and endangered for life.

Yes, but you also said
that it would work in a comedy,

and it absolutely would.

I am sorry, Mr Greene.

I know you are anxious to see staged

a revival of your
Bungay And Bacon.

Bacon And Bungay.

But we await a new play
by Mr Shakespeare.

Shakespeare? Shakespeare!

Ever doth the upstart Crow
peck at my botty buttocks.

Curse him for his feverish
fertility,

but I will finish him yet.

Remember, sir,
but I am Master of Revels.

Perchance when the oafish bum-snot
delivers his play,

I will find excuse
to deny it licence.

You overstep yourself, Mr Greene.

I am London's leading actor-manager
and not without friends.

Unless William's new play
be actual treason,

I will see you hanged before
'tis denied licence!

Oh, you actors think yourself
so special, do you not, Mr Burbage?

You likewise, Mr Condell!

And me. I'm mad special.

You flatter yourself that you have
social and political influence.

Well, ha!

You would do better to remember
that you are naught

but preening lovey-kissies,

puffed-up, strutty, shouty boys

who people actually find
quite irritating.

Do not make an enemy of me, sirrah.
Good day.

Puffed-up, strutty, shouty boys?!

Preening lovey-kissies?
Outrageous slur!

Well, you two are a bit.

Shut up, Kempe. Of course actors
are special and influential.

Hugely special and influential.

Mad special and influential.
Yes, it's a great burden,

a deep responsibility.

I feel it very deeply.

Yes. We have a duty to
use our influence for good.

To point out, for instance,
that poverty is horrid.

And that cruelty is cruel.

Absolutely.

Actors have an enormous
responsibility to point out

that poverty is horrid
and cruelty is cruel.

Cos otherwise, who'd know?

I doubt it would occur to people.
Of course it wouldn't.

So, we are in Padua, right?
Where's that? Dunno.

Italy, I think, but I may have made
it up. I left school at 14.

I don't do geographical detail.

You should watch that, Will.
Centuries after you're gone,

people may use it to claim
you were too thick

to have written your own plays.

Don't be absurd, Kit.

The idea that I never wrote my plays
could only appeal

to the sort of naive fact-adverse
fantasist who claims

that the monks sacked their own
monasteries

to make Henry VIII look bad and that
man never walked on the New World.

I don't believe he did.

I think Raleigh faked the potato in
a garden shed in Catford

by crossing...

..by crossing a turnip
with a radish.

Then you are an insane,
conspiracy-mad coatspotter

and I can only thank
benign Providence

that ignoramuses like you will never
wield political influence.

So, we are in Padua
and Lucentio wants to marry Bianca -

beautiful, sweet, obedient
and, of course,

as hot and steaming as a fresh
cowpat in a frosty meadow.

I must say, I like her.
My kind of girl.

You don't think it might be nice to
give her a few tiny extra elements?

What elements did you have
in mind, Kate? I don't know.

A character, maybe? A personality.

Kate, you weren't listening.

I told you. She is mild, sweet,
obedient and hot.

How much character
and personality do you want?

I must say,
you are on to a winner here, mate.

Cool Lucentio falls
for hot Bianca and marries her.

Perfect plot, job done.
Let's go to the pub.

Oh, but I'm not finished.
That's not all of it.

You've got enough. Quit while you're
ahead. That's what I keep saying.

You do this all the time.
Overcomplicate things.

You've come up with a perfectly
nice plot of boy meets girl,

boy gets girl,

and then you ruin it with
all your usual rubbish

of mistaken identities,
absurd coincidences,

supernatural interventions.

People not recognising
their own lovers

cos they are wearing
tiny, tiny masks.

It's just daft.

Actually, I think Mr Shakespeare's
plot be already too complex.

Really, Kate?
How so? I've scarce begun it.

Well, boy meets girl, boy gets girl.

Why not just say boy owns girl
and leave it at that?

Perhaps displaying your leading lady
alluringly clad and in a cage?

Actually, that's not a bad idea.

Look, I don't need a new idea,
or a new plot, complex or otherwise.

I've got a plot and it's brilliant.
Lucentio loves Bianca.

But Bianca has a sister, Katherine,
who be all that Bianca is not.

She be bold, assertive,
opinionated, feisty.

Can I play her?!

No, Kate.

So, of course, no-one would dream
of marrying her.

Well, obviously.
You'd have to be insane.

Thus, Bianca and Katherine's dad
declares

that none may marry sweet Bianca

until he has off-loaded
bolingbroke-busting Katherine.

Now this is good.

Enter Lucentio's pal Petruchio,

a charming but feckless fellow.

Loving him already.

He needs a fortune and he doesn't
care who he marries to get it.

What a rogue. My kind of guy.

He offers to take Katherine

and commences to break her spirit
by starving her,

refusing her clothing and depriving
her of sleep for days on end.

That's perfect!

And does Katherine cut this
pervert's throat in the night

with a rusty knife?

No. She allows herself
to be happily broken

and is soon hilariously agreeing
with everything her husband says.

I have a lot of fun with that.

Driven to a compliance
bordering on dementia,

Katherine accepts that the sun
is the moon

and that an old man
is a beautiful young maiden.

That's going to get a big laugh,
that.

Bossy bird goes raving tonto.
Love it!

I'm chuckling already.

Anyway, Lucentio marries Bianca
and Katherine marries Petruchio,

and at the wedding,
the reformed harridan

delivers a lengthy monologue
about women being obedient to men.

What, there's even a moral?
I don't know how you do it, Will.

Yeah, I've got to say,
it's a winner.

It'll be your most popular comedy
yet.

Mr Shakespeare, please, do not
write this appalling story.

Too late.

Did it on the coach from Stratters.
Burbage has it now.

It's called The Taming Of The Shrew.

Oh! Best title ever. End of!

I have invented a new phrase,
Mr Shakespeare, especially for you.

Really, Kate?
That's very flattering. Yes, it is.

For you are strong,
as if made from chain,

exciting, like a pageant.

You have risen up from nowhere,
as if a city on water.

You are a guiding light
and the very heart of a man.

Your words move me, sweet Kate,
but I would fain know their meaning.

Why, mail is made from chain,
a pageant is a show.

The city on water
be naught but Venice.

The light that guides is a star
and the heart of a man is his soul.

Put them all together
and you get...

Male chau-venist...ar-se...hole.

I'll leave it with you.

Come, come, you wasp.
I' faith, you are too angry.

If I be waspish,
best beware my sting.

Who knows not where a wasp
does wear his sting?

In his tail!

In his tongue!

Oh, I do think this is good. Yes.

It's his funniest thing yet.

Which is an insult
to the person of Her Majesty!

An insult to the Queen?
How be insulting, sirrah?

Why, by speaking ill of her sex,
'tis very treason.

I shall not even offer it up
for her consideration.

This be not fair, Mr Greene.

The piece is a harmless comedy,
and you know it.

You overstep your authority, sirrah.

Er, nuh!

I think you know what to do.

MUFFLED: Bacon And Bungay.

Good day.

Ah, morrow, Kate. Will home? He has
gone back to Stratford, Mr Marlowe.

Oh, shame. Now his Shrew is in
rehearsal,

I was going to have another stab
at persuading him

to give me his Edward II?

He may need it himself.

Mr Greene refuses to show his awful,
abusive play to Her Majesty

for fear of offending her
with its dreadful attitude to women.

That bastable will use any excuse.

It seems to me that Mr Greene has
done Mr Shakespeare a favour,

for Gloriana is a proud member
of her sex,

and her wrath to see women so
offended might have been terrible.

You think? Not sure.

Perchance you don't know much
about women, Mr Marlowe.

Er, kind of do.
Particularly queens.

Especially Ginger Liz.

Well, my love, all is not lost.

It occurred to me that
I could at least use the work

I've done on my play to help
our Sue. How so, husband?

Why, to tame her, wife,
as Petruchio does tame the shrew.

I can't see how it can fail.

Tomorrow we begin
the taming of the Sue.

Did you see what I did there?

I just came round to thank you
for saving Will's life.

I mean, I know you hate his
gutlings, so it was big of you.

Saving Shakespeare's life,
Mr Marlowe?

I know not what you mean.

Why, by refusing to show the Queen
his traitorous, seditious new play.

Traitorous? Seditious?

It be but a foolish sex comedy.
Yeah.

About a strong, clever, determined
woman who refuses to marry,

whilst all around would see her wed.

Remind you of anyone?

God's boobikins.

I catch your thought.

How did I not spot this?

I thought only to set
aside his play for mine,

but now I see the Crow
is truly in my clutches.

I will be done with him for ever.

Can I have another bit of bacon?

Mark me, wife -
let the taming begin.

Bacon? Never.
I will see thee starve.

What? You're so weird. Shut up.
Give me bacon.

Why, sweet Susanna,

this bacon be not good enough
for one so charming.

Is he pisslingtoned?

You are such an arse-mungel.

Arse-mungel, am I?

Kind Sue doth dub me arse-mungel.

Oh, that all the world would call me
arse-mungel.

You're an arse-mungel.

It's going brilliantly.

The girl be all confused
by my hilariously contrary manner.

Why has Dad gone all weird?
Tell him to stop.

Why, daughter,
look through the window.

Is it not the most beautiful moon
you ever saw?

It's the sun, Dad. It's morning.
Are you all right?

'Tis the moon, daughter,
because I am your lord and father

and I say 'tis the moon!

All right, it's the moon. Who cares?
Whatever! Why are you being weird?!

See, wife, it's working.

She doth own the sun to be the moon.

Was ever a girl so tamed?

Now, to trick her once again
with my sparkling wit.

Susanna, spy you that pretty
maid sat next to Granny?

Be she not a fragrant beauty?

You're right, husband.
Our son be pisslingtoned.

You mean Grandad?
Not Grandad, child.

For Grandad is a wrinkly old man

with a face like
a slapped scroting sac.

'Tis a fresh-faced maid.

All right, it's a maid.
Have it your way!

I don't care! Stop being weird!

A-ha! And so the shrew be tamed.

Shrew?

You no doubt all thought
it passing strange that I be

so contrary with Susanna?

Shrew?

But now must own
that by such tricks have

I cured her of her feistiness and
made of her a sweet and pliant maid.

Shrew?!

A girl who will agree with
everything her father says

and thus also the husband who will
one day replace me as her master.

Job done. God, I'm good.

You are the worst person
in the whole world!

I know everyone else thinks
I'm a gobby bitchington.

But I thought at least
you respected me,

and now you're calling me a shrew?!

I hate you! I hate you!
Don't ever talk to me ever again!

Well, that went well.

Yes, well...

It may be that the taming
will require one or two more

witty contradictions
before it takes full effect.

KNOCK ON DOOR

Morning, Mrs S, Mr and Mrs S Senior.
Any ale and pie?

I've ridden overnight from London.
Of course, Mr Marlowe.

Kit! What in the name of Titania's
tiny toenails brings you here?

To tell you to get
your sweet country arsington

back to the theatre.

I tricked Greene into showing
the Queen your Shrew. Really?

How? He swore it would offend her.

Aye, coz, but I told him
it would do worse than that.

I pointed out it could even
be construed

as a call for Gloriana herself
to be tamed and forced to marry.

Oh, my God!

That never even occurred to me.
Well... You've condemned me.

Oh, don't get your puffling
pants in such a twist.

She loved the play,
as I knew she would.

But how could you be so sure?

William, Liz has been
on the throne for 33 years,

daily making laws on everything

from what language can be used
in prayer books

to what colour clothing people of
different classes should wear.

And in all that time,

has she done one single thing
to improve the lot of women?

Well...

I can't think of anything offhand.

A bit disappointing,
when you put it like that.

Far from feeling solidarity
with other birds,

Gloriana clearly loves being
quite literally

the only woman in the country
that matters.

She likes keeping the rest of
her sex in their place.

I knew she would adore The Taming
Of The Shrew, and she did.

She adored it? Really? Oh, yes.

And, in fact, I confidently expect
history to record it was

one of her favourite comedies.

Can we get this pie to go, Mrs S?
Wouldn't want to miss opening night.

Thy husband is thy lord, thy life,
thy keeper,

Thy head, thy sovereign.

Such duty as the subject
owes the prince

Even such
a woman oweth to her husband.

Hear, hear. It's brilliant.
I think I'm going to be sick.

And when she is forward,
peevish sullen, sour

And not obedient
to his honest will,

What is she
but a foul contending rebel

And graceless traitor to
her loving lord?

APPLAUSE AND CHEERING

Well, my Shrew is a huge hit,
but I take little pleasure in it,

for it has cost me the good opinion
of two women whose respect I value.

Yours, for one.

I still respect you, Mr Shakespeare,

for, although I think your play
doth sorely insult women,

you are a creature of your times,
and, in truth,

even now your misogyny
be less offensive than most.

At least you take trouble to
write your women some fine verse.

And you do realise that
the last big speech in the play,

the one where Katherine
calls on women to worship

and obey their husbands,
it's supposed to be ironic?

I mean...

I mean, that-that's clear,
isn't it?

Mr Shakespeare, please.

Did you really write it ironically?

Or are you hoping that in later,
more enlightened ages,

scholars will try to get you
off the hook

by pretending that's what you
intended?

Well, you know...

..either way.

But intrigued am I.

Who is the other woman whose
respect you fear you've lost?

Why, my lovely Sue.

She knows 'twas her who inspired
my shrew and is hurt most mortally.

I would fain make amends,
but I know not how.

Well, just because a girl is feisty
and full of spirit, like your Sue,

doesn't mean she values not romance.

You should write another play,

one featuring a sensitive,

articulate, headstrong, tragic,
beautiful, captivating,

feisty maid of Susanna's age.

All right, Kate, you win.

I'll finish Romeo And Julian.

Juliet. Juliet, yes.

I didn't find your Shrew play
too offensive when I saw it.

I thought it was quite funny,
actually,

if you just see it as
a load of illogical, stupid,

potty old bolingbrokes.

Thank you, wife.
That's a lovely thing to say.

And it's nice to have a stonking
great hit raking in the cash.

Dad! Juliet's beautiful.

Really, daughter? I remember you
once saying nobody talked like that.

I was 13, you know.
I'm 14 now. I'm mature.

And I just love it!

The end not too sad?
Of course it's too sad.

It's endlessly sad.
Heartbreakingly, eternally sad!

I love it!

And you really based Juliet on me?

Well, yes, absolutely.

You know, you're a girl
and Juliet is a girl, so...

Direct lift, really.