Upstart Crow (2016–…): Season 3, Episode 3 - If You Prick Us, Do We Not Bleed? - full transcript

Hard at it, Will? That's the spirit.
Got to keep the cash coming in.

I mean, all this ale and pie I'm
quaffing and gorging does not buy itself.

No, Kit.

And now that thou hast
faked thine own death

and must ever crash
upon mine couch,

my household bills
soareth most steeply.

Well, establishing a
new identity takes time.

Yes, particularly if done
from a horizontal position.

What are you writing, then?
Another Henry?

You haven't churned one of those
out in at least a fortnight.

I imagine all London is gagging for
Henry XIX, Part 12.

No, not a history, Kit.

Burbage demands yet another comedy.

I think he's right,
people need escapism.

We're living in dangerous times.

Yeah, look at me.
I got killed in a fight.

And now the hungriest,
thirstiest corpse in Southwark.

Burbage also wants romance,
so I've decided to set the play in Venice,

city of carnival, city of light.

City of stink, more like.
I've been there.

They've combined the transport
system with the sewage system

and float about on a
shimmering sea of turdingtons.

That's why
they're developing opera.

Keeps them breathing
through their mouths.

Well, I certainly can't think of any
other reason for developing opera.

What's the story, master?

I like a bit of the
old soppy stuff.

Well, Portia, a noble lady,
has many suitors,

so her father devises
a brilliant test of character

to discover the right man
for his beloved child.

He hides his permission
in one of three boxes.

A gold box,
a silver box and a lead box.

Now, here's the stunner.

The permission is
contained within...

- [BOTH] The lead box.
- ...the lead bo...

How did you know that?

Well, cos it's obvious.

Why?

If you were offered a gold casket,
a silver one or a lead one,

you'd choose the gold one.

Yeah, but you didn't say,
"Choose a casket and you can keep it,"

you said it were
a test of character.

And gloriously, stunningly obviously,
the lucky note's going to be concealed

in the least showy
and ostentatious box.

Duh!

Well, I think it's brilliant,

and you're just jealous
cos you didn't think of it.

Yeah, well, nor did you,
as it happens.

I bloomin' did!

Sorry, mate, you pinched it from
a collection of medieval stories

called Gesta Romanorum,

which Kate's reading and
which she leaves in the privy.

Well, I...

I may have glanced at it

while awaiting the appearance

of that which the cockney
costermongers have,

in tribute to me and in the manner
of their amusing rhyming slang,

termed a "Richard III."

Ah!
It's cos it rhymes, is it?

I thought it was because they
thought your play was crap.

I kind of think it is.

No, definitely because it rhymes.

And yes, Kit, 'tis possible that,
as I awaited King Richard,

who was as ever late upon his hour
due to a lack of fibre in my diet,

I glanced at this Gesta Romanorum.

Yes, in fact, I do recall now.

I remember thinking,

"Goodness, some medieval fellow had
exactly the same idea for a plot as me!"

What were the odds?

So, what's this three casket business
got to do with a merchant, anyway?

Is he Portia's suitor?

No, that's Bassanio.

But Bassanio is too poor to marry Portia,
so he asks his mate,

the merchant Antonio,
to lend him some cash.

Unfortunately,
Antonio's cash is all tied up at sea,

so he has to borrow it

from a kindly old
moneylender called Timothy.

Now, Timothy's daughter Jessica is in love
with Lorenzo, a friend of Bassanio's...

Nodding off already.

Sorry, mate, it sounds like a right load
of overconvoluted puffling porridge,

if you ask me.

Yeah, I kind of know.

On the plus side,

overconvoluted puffling porridge
has never let you down before.

But people like a bit of edge,
something new.

I've got a clown called Launcelot Gobbo,
which is a very funny name.

But what else?

I need a big, important, timeless issue
to put at the heart of the new piece.

But it's not as if a big,
important, timeless issue

is just going to come
walking through the door.

Gosh, that was scary!

But also wonderful,

being part of such a big,
important, timeless issue.

Goodness, Kate,
where have you been?

At the anti-immigrant riots.

I've been on the
counterdemonstration,

defending the French and Dutch
refugees who have come here

escaping religious
persecution on the Continent.

It's worse than the Dutch
church riots of 1593.

Yes, I fear anti-European
sentiment is getting worse.

Well, they're everywhere,

talking foreign and
eating weird food.

Soft cheese?
What's all that about?!

Cheese is meant to be hard.

When I see soft,
runny cheese for sale at market...

Ugh, I feel alienated and
uncomfortable in my own city.

The other day,
I was confronted by a furious crowd

because a woman thought
I was concealing a baguette in my tights.

- Yeah.
- Laughable misunderstanding, of course.

Just pleased to see her.

The times really are turning ugly.

Our maids and matrons protest group
was continually interrupted

by groups of apprentice boys

demanding that we display
to them our boobingtons

and even threatening our honour.

Strange how some men's considered response
to a woman expressing a political view

or merely going about her business,
is sexual harassment.

I'm sure that in centuries hence

men will be sufficiently
emotionally mature

to reject such
patriarchal intimidation.

Or, if not,

women will finally begin to stand up to it
and name and shame those responsible.

Blimey, Kate, have a care.

I mean, that could go horribly,
horribly wrong.

I mean, what of jolly banter?
What of harmless japes and japey japes?

Why, if women were to set out on
such a chillingly threatening course,

I mean, men would scarce be able
to admire a pertsome bum-shank,

insist upon an overly long hug
with a junior employee

or make creepy observations
masquerading as compliments

at Christmas parties.

Strangely,
I think I could live with that.

In the meantime,
the only comfort we may take

from this awful anti-European
rioting is that,

if ever such an influx of
foreigners happens again,

Government can prepare
for it properly...

affording extra funding for
expanded community services

and not simply dumping
the incoming migrants

on the poorest areas.

Yes, at least if those
lessons are learned,

then something good
will come of this.

Meanwhile,
I can't talk about prejudice,

bigotry and intolerance
of minorities all day,

I have to find a big,
important issue

to put at the heart of my
Merchant Of Venice.

What do you think of this?

Antonio, the merchant of Venice,

wants a loan from Timothy,
the moneylender.

Antonio:
"Can I borrow 3,000 ducats?"

Timothy:
"No problem, pay me back when you can."

It's almost there, I just think it
needs a bit of edge, a bit of tension,

some issue which divides them.

Well, you can't be worrying about
divisive issues now, master,

because with all this hatred of
minorities and anti-foreigner rioting,

you're going to be
late for the theatre,

so you'd better give
yourself extra time.

Yes, you're right, Botsky.
We're auditioning a new actor.

Why not come along, Kate?

I'd value the totty viewpoint.

I'd love to, Mr Shakespeare!

And good experience for me,
since, as you know,

if ever the law be changed and
as a woman I be allowed to act,

then as a strong woman,
who is strong,

I shall straightway announce that
my real ambition is to direct.

I really admire you for that, Kate.

Got to follow your
insane delusions.

I truly believe that if you dare to
have a big enough insane delusion,

then anything is possible.

Where is Will?

This new actor is expected any moment
and Will is late upon his hour!

Sorry, the anti-immigrant protests
have closed half the town.

Some say it could
be as bad as 1517,

when the blood of butchered foreigners
did flow through London streets

and Sir Thomas More
himself faced down the mob.

You're so old you
were probably there!

Old fart phobic or bravely
challenging old fart phobia?

You decide.

Yes.
But to business!

We are assembled to consider
acquiring this new player,

who's causing quite a stir.

I've asked Kate along.

I thought it could be useful
to get a woman's perspective.

Such a privilege.

As long as she doesn't try
and get the job herself.

We've seen her
girlish tricks before.

On my honour, sir.

There's no honour when it
comes to getting a part, ducky.

I've torn the coconuts off
more convincing girls than you!

So, what are the qualities we
should be looking for in this actor?

Well, shouting, obviously.

And strutting.

Yes, we're looking for an actor
who can shout and strut.

I am the actor Wolf Hall.

But I do not shout
and I do not strut.

I have developed
a revolutionary new style.

Subtle, nuanced, emoting from within
by means of long, sad-eyed stares...

pregnant with weary wisdom

and penetrating perception.

Next!

Stay a moment, Burbage,
he may have something.

Here is my Thomas Wolsey.

And here, by way of contrast,
is my Thomas Cromwell.

Now...

[SIGHS]

...my Thomas More.

Actually, fair play,
he gives good Thomas.

I must admit,
he is subtle and nuanced.

Those eyes, so sad.

And so pregnant with weary wisdom
and penetrating perception.

I imagine audiences will happily
watch the actor Wolf Hall

stare wearily and wisely
for minutes at a time.

Blimey! If we had him in a show,
my plays would be twice as long.

Richard III would be
eight or nine hours!

How good would that be?

Book him, Mr Burbage.
Trust me.

Us brainy birds will go
totally wibbly-wobbly

for an actor like that.

This gal's already a
member of the Wolf pack.

Whoo!

Well, he does have a certain presence,
I admit.

Perhaps in smaller roles.

There are no small roles
for the actor Wolf Hall, Mr Burbage.

With a stare as weary,
penetrating and perceptive as this,

every role is a lead.

The actor Wolf Hall
bids you good day.

God's boobikins.

Shakespeare has found an actor
with eyes so sad and weary

and a stare so astute
and penetrating

that every brainy bird in London
will go wibbly-wobbly.

So, 'tis agreed,
this Wolf Hall shall join our company,

and Mr Shakespeare
will write a little part for him

in his new Venetian comedy.

Absolutely.

Curses!

Such subtle and nuanced acting
would lend wings to the Crow's verse

and increase his fame tenfold.

How can this be stopped?

Well...

If there's one thing
I know about actors,

particularly the subtle
and nuanced kind,

is that because they put on
funny voices for a living,

they be in constant fear that
people will think them thick,

thus will they loudly champion

any exotic theorem or
obscure cause that comes their way

in the mistaken belief that
it'll make them look clever.

I begin to see my way.

But first, Will,
let us to Miss Lucy's tavern,

for we actors have a radical idea
to discuss with you

to help the poor refugees.

A benefit night for the refugees,

with all London's
leading theatre stars?

I think it's a wonderful idea.
Don't you, Miss Lucy?

Oh, yes, Mr Shakespeare.

Although,
as an escaped sex worker myself,

I would say legal status,
safe sanctuary,

ruthless prosecution
of people traffickers

and, above all,
a global approach to the causes of the crisis

would be better.

But in the absence of these,

I'd say a bunch of luvvie-kissies
showing off is as good a start as any.

Then that's settled.

Yes, well,
the concert will need a title.

A day, I think.
We should name a special day.

Well, many a time and oft
during our touring days

did Condell and I perform
the big red nose gag.

Where I took my inflated pig's
bladder and whacked him on the nose,

causing it to go red.

Brilliant! That's it!
We'll call our day Inflated Pig's Bladder Day.

Ah, good!

[LAUGHTER]

Oh, it's going brilliantly!

And look! Burbage and Condell
are going to do their joke.

- Oh!
- [LAUGHTER]

Oh!

Oh, master, now I'll make
thy arse as red as thy nose!

Oh!

That's so funny!

[SERIOUS]
Now, recently,

on behalf of Inflated
Pig's Bladder Day,

we visited a refugee
area in Shoreditch.

We saw clogless Dutchmen
begging for cheese and stroopwafel.

Frenchmen so weak with hunger

they had not the strength
to cheat on their wives.

I can't deny that the moments of harsh,
documentary reality

sit rather uncomfortably

against the hilarity
of the bum-kicking gags.

Yes, it does feel like rather
a strange juxtaposition.

Still, the benefit night
is a new art form.

No doubt in future ages
they'll have found a way round that one.

You've got to hope so.

Which means that we have
raised the amazing amount of...

Four pounds, 18 shillings and tuppence!

Thank you, London!
Thank you!

Well.
Sounds like an amazing result.

I mean, I wish I wasn't in hiding
and could have been there.

Nearly ?5!
That's a hell of a lot!

[ALL] Hey!

Although, not so much

if you consider
that a full great ship of the line

cost the Exchequer about 2,000.

Well, you hear a lot of
that sort of argument

from gloomy naysayers,
Miss Lucy,

but five quid's five quid,

and without tonight's benefit,

all we'd have would be nothing.

[ALL] Hey!

Except that maybe,
without charity nights like tonight,

people wouldn't be able to think
they'd achieved something

when, really,
nothing's changed at all.

And without that comforting illusion,
they might be more minded

to agitate for genuine political change,
which could make an actual difference.

I mean, you could argue that charity
affords politicians an excuse for inaction

and exploiters the
pretence of a conscience.

Still, we raised nearly ?5!

[ALL] Hey!

But it would be wonderful
to do something more

than just raise money,
don't you think, Mr Shakespeare?

Something profound and timeless,

a lasting reflection
on the corrosive nature

of bigotry and intolerance.

Well, that is undoubtedly true,
but I'm also very busy, Kate.

I'm looking for a truly
timeless and universal issue

to elevate my
Merchant Of Venice.

Hang on...

Hang the futtock on!

Mr Hall.
If you join the Burbage company

with your extraordinarily sad
but kindly eyes

and weary, perceptive stare,

you will without a doubt
soon become

one of the greatest
Shakespearean players of your day.

That much is certain.

Hm.

This Shakespeare...

A curious thing, is he not?

I mean, who could have imagined

that a mere town-school
spotty-grotty could write such verse?

That a turnip-chewing,
country bum-shankle

could produce such
insight and such wisdom?

- 'Tis passing strange.
- Mm...

One might almost imagine

that some educated posh boy

had writ his plays in secret.

I don't know, a university man like
Sir Francis Bacon or the Earl of Oxford.

Interesting.
Fascinating.

Or Christopher Marlowe, perhaps!

They say he's dead, but is he?

The actor Wolf Hall is intrigued.

He takes the bait, and thus do I prove
one of the great truths of life and art,

that just because an actor looks intelligent
and can play intelligent

doesn't mean
that he is intelligent.

I wonder how Susanna's
getting on with her first day at work.

I'm so proud of her.

Well, I don't think it's fitting,
a maid teaching in a dame school.

Oh, she's only helping
out with the younger ones,

reading and writing.

The responsibility'll do her good,

stop her being
such a grumpy little bitchington.

Where's my tea?
I'm starving!

I had to walk home.

Why couldn't Grandad pick me up in the cart?
What's he do all day?

Nothing!
I hate my life! Shut up!

Long day, love?

What is this, the Star Chamber?
You're always on at me!

Yes, it was a long day.
You happy now? Shut up!

I actually think she
might be improving a bit.

Well, tell us a bit about it.

Were the boys nice?

No, they're a bunch
of nasty little swine.

There's this one kid
who's a bit different,

you know, what they call a holy innocent,
and they are so mean to him.

We had a boy like that in my class.

Brilliant!

We used to call him stupid.

Wasn't any harm in it.

We used to play tricks on him.

Wasn't any harm in it.

We used to steal his lunch,

chuck him in the pond

and reduce him to a weeping,
sobbing wretch in the corner.

Wasn't any...

harm in it.

Actually, when I think about it,

there was quite a lot
of harm in it,

which is why I try
not to think about it.

So thanks a lot for bringing it up,
Susanna!

My class is full of insensitive bastables
like Grandad was.

I just wish there was
a way I could make them see

that this kid has
exactly the same feelings

and exactly the same
human value as they do.

Well, maybe you should speak
to your father about it.

He can be very astute on
matters of human nature.

He knows a bit about
being bullied, too.

He started going bald
when he was seven.

I'll put an outsider
at the centre of my Venice play.

Despised and belittled.

I'll make him the moneylender
and create an iconic figure

who will stand for all time
as an affront to prejudice and bigotry.

Such a brilliant idea!

I can't deny, it seems strong.

So what type of outsider
are you going to make him?

Well, isn't it obvious?

I'll make the moneylender...

a Dutchman.

These riots are about
European refugees,

and I can't go French

because even my huge brain would struggle
to find sympathetic qualities there.

So Dutch it is.

Laas, a villainous but
ultimately deeply human Dutchman.

A tall, blond man in clogs

fond of rubbery cheese
and high-quality beer,

yet somehow managing to maintain
a trim and attractive figure.

- Isn't it brilliant?
- Hm, I'm not sure.

Then it's a good thing
I'm the genius, isn't it?

So, Antonio has asked for his loan,

and Dutch Laas is
reflecting on the fact

that this same Antonio has insulted him
and plotted against him on the rialto.

Kate, read it out for me.

You have something of the subtlety

that I believe Wolf Hall
will bring to the role.

[DUTCH ACCENT] You hath disgraced me,
laughed at my losses, mocked at my gains,

scorned at my nation.
And what's his reason? I am Dutch.

[ALL STIFLE LAUGHTER]

Excuse me, but, Bottom, Marlowe,
why are you laughing?

- Sorry, can't help it.
- It's the accent.

I beg your pardon,
I do a very good Dutch accent.

It just seems to play against
the timeless majesty of the poetry.

Well, surely that's the whole point.

People are alienated
by things they're unfamiliar with

and thus despise them.

Kate, please, proceed.

[CLEARS THROAT]

[DUTCH ACCENT]
If you prick us, do we not bleed?

If you tickle us, do we not laugh?

If you poison us, do we not die?

And if you wrong us,
shall we not revenge?

[DUTCH ACCENT]
Actually, Mr Shakespeare...

[NORMAL VOICE]
Actually, Mr Shakespeare,

it is quite difficult to get
the required gravitas doing it Dutch.

Yeah, and the clogs are going to make
a terrible racket on the stage!

Also, it strikes me that,

if you still want to
set the play in Venice,

that doesn't work either.

The Venetians don't hate the Dutch.

In fact, Holland's maritime success
has made them trading partners.

Yeah, to be fair, Will,
this anti-Dutch thing

is pretty recent, even in Britain.

I mean, they've been
our allies in the past.

People only hate the Dutch
at the moment.

Damn!
You're right.

If I'm to create a timeless classic,
I need a group that everybody persecutes,

a people who truly encapsulate

the eternal nature
of ignorant prejudice and bigotry.

But who can it be?

A ginge?

Yes, Bottom. Absolutely.
A ginge would be perfect.

Carrot Top,
the ginger moneylender of Venice.

The play will write itself.

Except, hang on!
There is one thing...

The Queen's a ginge.

Mr Shakespeare,
we can avoid the obvious no longer.

We seek a people who are
universally vilified and despised.

There can be only one contender.

Of course...

A Scot!

Don't be ridiculous,
Mr Shakespeare.

How can anyone dislike the Scots?

They are perfect in every way,
as they keep telling us.

Think about it, Mr Shakespeare.

What we've learned from
the riots here in London

is that people blame their troubles

on any convenient minority
living amongst them,

and there's one group of people

who are always in the minority
wherever they go.

It's time for another big Jew play.

I am to give my Jew once more.

Oh, joy!
Oh, joy!

I shall have a new
prop nose built.

Huge and hooked and warty.

And I shall hiss
and lurk and prowl.

And I'll have a stock of prop babies
hidden beneath my black, sinister gown,

from which
I shall drink stage blood!

Mr Burbage, the character is supposed
to be at least partially sympathetic.

Sympathetic Jew?
Ha! Are you mad?!

Such a thing has ne'er been known
in all European culture.

That's what's going to
make the play so memorable.

Oh, so do you think I should tone down
the baby blood-drinking bit or...?

Yes, well,
that's kind of the point.

We're trying to rewrite the rules
a bit on stage Jews here.

Speaking of which,
all this "do we not bleed" stuff,

as if they're the same as us,

I presume you want me
to play that for laughs.

- Laughs?
- Yes, it's a joke.

Obviously,
Jews are not the same as us.

They are a wicked, naughty people.

They drink the blood of Christian babies
and they poison Christian wells.

They deliberately created
and spread bubonic plague. Fact.

But have you ever actually
seen any of these things?

Are you suggesting
all this stuff is made up?

Well, you have to wonder.

I mean, they're supposed to secretly
run the world for their own advantage.

Well, if that's true, quite frankly,
they're not doing much of a job, are they?

I mean, they get hounded,
beaten and murdered wherever they go.

Hath not a Jew eyes?

Hath not a Jew hands,

organs,

dimensions, senses,

affections, passions?

Fed with the same food,

hurt with the same weapons,

subject to the same diseases,

healed by the same means,

warmed and cooled by the same winter
and summer as a Christian is?

If you prick us, do we not bleed?

If you tickle us, do we not laugh?

If you poison us, do we not die?

And if you wrong us,

shall we not revenge?

Mr Burbage,
Wolf Hall must play the Jew!

I'm sorry, that's impossible.

I, Burbage,
always play the title role.

Oh, well, that's all right, then.
The title role is Antonio.

- Antonio?
- Yes, Antonio is the merchant of Venice.

- Really?
- No-one's ever going to get that. Ever.

For evermore, people will presume
Shylock is the merchant of Venice.

Well, he isn't.
Antonio is.

Very well,

then I shall give my Antonio.

And Mr Hall will play the Jew,

my most startlingly nuanced
creation to date.

A villainous character, of course,

but also with human emotions
and even nobility.

Wolf Hall, it is an honour
to have you in my play.

Yes, it is.

Oh, although,
of course, it isn't your play.

- Not my play?
- You didn't write it.

Nor indeed any of your plays.

- What?
- 'Twas another scribe, I'm certain.

A posh boy, no doubt?

Didn't write my plays?
That's insane!

Burbage, Condell, Kempe,
back me up here.

Well, of course!

But now it's been said, Will,

it's hard to get out of your mind.

I mean, innit weird?

We've seen you write bits of them,
but now doubt's been put in my mind,

um, you know...

I can't help wondering if all
that proof is actually evidence

of a vast conspiracy
to hide the truth.

That you...

did not...

write your plays.

Shut up!

Shut up!
Stop saying it!

By St Thomas's tiny testicles,

the more you say it,
the more I must needs debunk it,

yet the very process of debunking it
lends credibility to the lie.

Get out!
I ban you from my plays forever.

You can go and do panto
in the provinces.

How very rude!

I was only expressing
reasonable doubt.

The actor Wolf Hall
bids you goodbye.

Well, Will, looks like you're
in need of a stage Jew.

Shylock is still not
the title role, Burbage.

The merchant of Venice is Antonio.

Will, believe me, no-one is ever,
ever going to get that.

Argh!

[EXAGGERATED JEWISH ACCENT]
If you prick us, do we not bleed?

If you poison us, do we not die?

And if you wrong us,
shall we not revenge?!

Oy vey, oy vey, oy vey...

Argh!

[AUDIENCE BOOS]

Looks like promoting
tolerance and understanding

might be a bit of a bigger project
than we thought.

Yes, Mr Shakespeare.

I fear it may be a long time

before the play's message of inclusiveness
and tolerance finds an audience.

Actually, I'm not so sure.
My daughter Susanna has asked

if she might use a passage
from it as a teaching aid.

Settle down!

As you know, my dad's famous,

and he's given me one of his speeches
to be recited

for the next village gladsome gadabout,
to raise money for the school.

And I have chosen one of you
to recite it.

Up you get, Rodney.

[SNICKERING]

Hath I not eyes?

Have I not hands, organs,
dimensions, senses,

affections, passions?

Fed with the same food,

hurt with the same weapons?

If you prick me, do I not bleed?

If you tickle me, do I not laugh?

If you poison me, do I not die?

Nice one, Rodney.

There's some lovely stuff
in that play, Will.

And those lines Rodney said...
They were beautiful.

And of course it represents a game-changing
moment in world culture.

- You think?
- Oh, no doubt about it.

In creating the world's first
slightly sympathetic Jew,

I have set humanity upon a path

which must lead inevitably

to a world of universal tolerance,
peace, love and understanding.

I am literally that good.

Course you are, love.

Do you know, I don't think
your hair's receding at all.

Really, my sweet?

That's encouraging.

No, what's happened is...

your head's got bigger.