Upstart Crow (2016–…): Season 3, Episode 5 - The Most Unkindest Cut of All - full transcript

I wonder that you're still talking,
Signor Benedick.

Nobody marks you.

(BOOING)

What, my dear Lady Disdain!

Are you yet living?

(LAUGHTER)

I had rather hear my dog bark at a
crow than a man swear he loves me.

(BOOING)

Mr Condell is going down
like a lead inflated pig's bladder.

I know.

The groundlings don't like him
as they did.

Aye, cos he's got old and ugly.

'Tis true. His face, once soft
and plumpsome as a pixie's
bumble-butt,

be now craggy, hard and hairy,

like a goblin's scroting satchel.

(APPLAUSE)

See how Burbage hogs the bows.

Wrong, so wrong.

His head is grown so large,

this hollow O that is our theatre
will soon be fit to be his crown!

I must be rid of Burbage.

I must be rid of Condell.

You seem a bit low, Kate. Why?

I am fearful for my future, Mr
Marlowe.

Well, don't think about it.
Live for today.

Easy to say if you're a man, Mr
Marlowe, but a woman has not that
luxury.

My mother is ageing and like to die,
although, quite frankly,

with the amount of slap and tickling
she does with her bits of saucy
ruffington,

she's more like to die of exhaustion
than old age.

But when she does, what of me?

As a widow, she has legal rights,
but I will be a spinster, a
non-person.

I will have this property
and my mother's money but no legal
status,

prey to every exploitative,
opportunist, gold-digging rogue.

Kate, this could be the perfect fit!

I mean, you have property and money,
and I...

Am an exploitative, opportunist,
gold-digging rogue?

Exactly.

Better the exploitative,
opportunist, gold-digging rogue you
know.

I must be rid of Condell.

He can play the totty no longer.

Tonight, his Beatrice was about
as charming and coquettish

as Henry VIII trying to get
his rotting and ulcerated left leg

over his sweet and fragrant sixth
wife.

I cannot bear the idea
that Condell will give my Calpurnia.

Calpurnia? Is your next play
going to be about Julius Caesar?

That's the plan. Exciting, don't you
think? Ancient Rome. So cool, so
sexy.

Can't imagine why I didn't think
of doing a Caesar play before.

Possibly because Thomas North has
only very recently published his
translation

of Plutarch's Lives Of The Noble
Romans,

so you had no source
from which to pinch it.

Plutarch's Lives Of The Noble
Romans?

Not sure I've heard of it.

I bought it last week
and have been reading it in the
privy.

Well, I may have glanced at it
while...

...while awaiting the appearance
of that shy turtle who doth dwell

betwixt the twin boulders

and who emerges into the light

only to hurl himself straightway
into the dark abyss.

Stealing plots again, eh, master?

Look, I've got to base my plays
on something.

They can't all be about
amusingly confused cross-dressers.

Can they?

Definitely not. And I must say,
a Roman play does sound good.

I mean, those guys were crazy.

Murdering, gorging, puking...

And, of course, creating a united
Europe

with a single currency, no trade
barriers, free movement of labour

and a unified legal system.

Hmm.

Yeah... Might leave that out.

Not sure how well
it would play to us Brits.

Well, I think you're onto a winner,
mate. I don't know much history,

but I do know that Caesar's life
was absolutely action packed.

Goodness, wasn't it just?!

Three marriages,

numerous mistresses, including -
excuse me - Cleo-flipping-patra,

conquered half the known world,
crossed the Rubicon, became dictator
for life,

stabbed to death by his best mates!

I mean, goodness, so many amazing
events!

Absolutely.

So, I thought I'd focus on the short
weekend break he took to Kent in 55
BC.

Mr Shakespeare, Caesar's attempt to
invade Britain was an absolute
nonstarter.

His forces scarcely got off the
beach.

Exactly. I thought I'd play
the whole thing as a light comedy

about a trip to the seaside.

He came, he saw, he had a little
paddle.

Surely the play should be
about Caesar's murder.

Such an exciting story
of assassination, regicide and
betrayal.

Yes, Kate.

Assassination, regicide and
betrayal.

Any thoughts
on who might object to such themes?

Balding, ginger, owns a large axe?

Oh, goodness, I didn't think about
that.

There was a mysterious hooded figure
at the door - left this note.

Zounds!

Condell plots against Burbage.

He has summoned the company and will
betray him on the steps of the
stage.

Condell invites me
to join the conspirators.

This is terrible.

If Condell becomes chief
luvvie-kissie,

he'll be playing the teenage totty
until his seventh age.

Enter the gorgeous Calpurnia...

...sans eyes, sans teeth, sans
everything.

Ouch.
You're going to have to stop him,
mate.

But how? He writes
that the company are on his side.

He has the mob behind him.

Well, it strikes me that,
rather coincidentally,

this is all somewhat reminiscent
of the death of Caesar.

I can't be worrying
about my Roman play now, Kate.

I have to deal with Mr Condell.

In Plutarch's story,
it all goes wrong for the
conspirators

because Mark Antony turns up
after the murder and sways the mob.

My goodness, Kate, you're right.

I will go to the steps of the stage
and play Mark Antony to Condell's
Brutus.

Yes. And getting back to your play,

don't forget that
after Mark Antony's intervention,

Caesar is avenged
and all the conspirators end up
dead.

It seems to me,
if you put that part of the story,

Her Majesty might rather approve it.

Actually, that's a very good point.

- Thanks.
- Glad I thought of it.

Mr Shakespeare promises us a Roman
play, and all is in readiness.

We have the costumes, wigs and
props.

We await only the script. And mark
me!

My Caesar will be a triumph
greater even than the man himself!

Why, man, he doth bestride
the narrow world like a Colossus,

and we petty men walk under his huge
legs

and peep about to find ourselves

getting upstaged at the final bows.

Hm. Or...put better - he ain't all
that, and it's time he got shafted.

But do we have the numbers?

Ah, Longinus approaches.

The musicians are with you, sir.

Mr Burbage is a foul tyrant who
did once take a pee in the
kettledrum.

And the mob players?

With you also.

Though beg that
when you be chief luvvie-kissie,

you make Mr Shakespeare
shorten his soliloquies

through which we must stand
for many hours

pretending to understand.

And the thunder-board wobbler?

The front-of-house prostitutes?

Then all is ready. Come, Kempe.

Brothers, Burbage is a tyrant.

'Tis time to end this tyranny.

Strike him down.

What means this outrage?!

You hog the final bows,
which is totally unprofessional.

You get your own dressing place,
which is just so wrong.

And you farted when
my Beatrice kissed your Benedick.

We need a new chief luvvie-kissie!

(CHEERING)

Et tu, Mr Condell?

Et tu, Kempe?

Then fall, Burbage! Betrayed!

Liberty! Freedom! Tyranny is dead!

Ambition's debt is paid.

I am chief luvvie-kissie now!

(CHEERING)

What's this? Be Burbage usurped?

Yes. And it's no good
you trying to object,

because the musicians, the mob
players,

the man who wobbles the
thunder-sheet

and the front-of-house prostitutes
are all with me.

Hail, Kempe! Hail, Condell!

Object? Why would I object?

Friends, prostitutes,
strutty, shouty boys,

pin back your lugholes.

I come to bury Burbage, not to
praise him.

Betrayed!

Burbage was my friend,
faithful and just to me.

But Condell says he was ambitious,

- and Condell is an honourable man.
- Yes!

Condell has said
that Burbage doth hog the final bows

and will ever parp
the loud and boisterous trouser
trumpet

during other actors' quiet bits.

- And Condell is an honourable man.
- Hooray!

Yet Burbage will always get his
round in at the pub

and will keep us enthralled
for many...many hours

with but a single theatrical
anecdote.

Does this in Burbage seem ambitious?

Yet Condell says he is ambitious,

and Condell is an honourable man.

Yeah...

When all the company do venture
forth for a celebratory supper

and the reckoning is brought,
and some glutton or other doth cry,

"Why don't we just spit it equally?"

ne'er will Burbage quibble
that he only had a starter.

Does this in Burbage seem ambitious?

Yet Condell says he is ambitious.

And Condell is an honourable man.

Yeah...

See what he's doing here, mate?

He's using the brilliant oratorical
device of ironic repetition to turn
the mob.

You've been shafted.

But if we stand together,
we can face down the mob.

Yeah, right, gonna do that!

Burbage is wronged!

Condell be the traitor!

(BOOING)

Burbage is chief luvvie-kissie.

Hail, Burbage!

Hail, Burbage!

Will, your brilliant oratorical
device of ironic repetition has
saved me.

Is there anything I can do for you?

A drink? A lengthy theatrical
anecdote?

Oh, well, that would be lovely, of
course,

but what I'd really like to discuss
is the casting of my teenage totty
roles.

I have come to see you once again,
Miss Lucy,

because you are a strong woman
who is both a woman and strong.

Ah-ah-eh-eh. I am very strong.

If the angry hippo charges,
do not whisper sweet words.

Whack it with your assegai
and make it your bitch.

Right.

The thing is, my mother is shortly
like to bonk herself off this mortal
coil

with her insatiable appetite
for bits of saucy ruffington.

And you are fearful,
lest men circle like hyenas,

steal your monies
and feed on your soft flesh?

Well, I'm not sure I'd mind them
feeding on my soft flesh so much,

you know, as long as it was done
creatively and sensitively

with due consideration for my needs.

Ha! Good luck with that!

It's my cash I'm concerned about,
and my property.

That's why I have come to you.

You have no man who claims to own
you.

At least, not since you cut off the
penis

of the man who stole you
from your village.

How do you avoid falling prey
to exploitation?

Hm! Men are scared of me.

They think I'm a sorceress,
and I do not deny it.

I tell them to beware,
lest I shrink their privy parts.

Hm!

Look at these tiny testicle
earrings.

I say that I tore them from a man
and shrunk them, but it is a lie.

In fact, I just castrated
a well-endowed gerbil.

Would you like to borrow them?

Oh! Thanks awfully, but I don't
think I'd be very convincing trying
to be scary.

Hm! But you must learn to be scary
if you want to live alone.

But I don't want to live alone.

I just want to find a man
who isn't a selfish, entitled
bastable.

So, as I said, you must learn to be
scary if you want to live alone.

"...Glories of this happy day."

Finished!

Julius Caesar.

Best afternoon's work I ever did.

And it won't surprise you to learn
that it's brilliant.

I'm sure it is.

Such an earth-shattering event -
the death of Caesar.

Yes. Hard to believe
that you thought I should set the
play

around his abortive British invasion
of 55 BC.

Thank goodness I didn't listen to
you!

Botsky, get this manuscript
round to Greene's.

I hope he doesn't try and find a way
to deny it licence.

Oh, he'll license it, all right.
I've made sure of that.

And I must to the theatre.

Time to use the favour Burbage owes
me

to be rid of the ageing
dragsome queenie-preenie

who thinks the key to playing
teenage girls is having pubic
eyebrows.

Well?

What do you think?

Pretty saucy?

Pretty sexy?

Did it myself using gunpowder
and lemon juice.

But why?

Isn't it obvious? I'm dead,
remember. I'm going to start life
anew!

Kit Marlowe was known as an utterly
ravishing strawberry brunette,

not the drop-dead gorgeous
human daffodil you see before you.

This is the new me.

Being blond, I'll be able to show my
more sensitive, caring,
non-gold-digging side.

- I'm not going to marry you, Mr
Marlowe. - Oh, come on, Kate!

It's perfect! You need a husband,
I need a new life and identity.

You have a decent inheritance,
an impressive property portfolio.

I've got...

- A cod-dangle.
- Exactly.

- You and half the people on the
planet! - Yes, but not like mine.

We're talking a Marlowe massive
here.

If I marry, Mr Marlowe, it will not
be for rumpy-pumpington, but for
security,

and you are the last man on earth
I would go to for that!

I am sorry, Mr Condell,
but you can't play the totty any
more.

Time to hang up your coconuts.

Betrayed!

Betrayed!

Et tu, Mr Shakespeare!

Et tu, Mr Burbage!

Look, we're not saying
you have to give up the boards
completely.

Never. I am an actor.
The boards are in my blood!

Oh, is that why your performances
are so wooden?

Who said that? I did, so...

It's just that you will no longer
play the ingenue.

You shall now take the male second
leads.

Er, hello?

I take the second leads,
cos I'm big in Italy.

In which case,
I suggest you go and perform there.

Betrayed. So betrayed.
Like, mad betrayed.

There are loads of great parts,
enough for all.

For you, I thought Brutus, Mr
Condell.

And Mark Antony for Kempe.

Both are pivotal. Wait till you read
them.

It's not us that must needs read the
play, though, Will, but Robert
Greene.

And I must confess,
I'm slightly worried on that score.

A play that includes assassination,
regicide and betrayal

must prove contentious,
with Her Majesty's life ever
threatened.

Greene could use just such an excuse
to ban us.

Way ahead of you, Mr Burbage,
way ahead of you.

The Crow is in my clutches at last!

This extremely short Roman play
be clearly seditious.

It celebrates the murder of a ruler.

Well, I will grant his application.

And when the play is performed...

...then cry, "Havoc,"
and let slip the dogs of war.

You see, I've only sent him half the
play.

He thinks it ends
with the death of Caesar,

but, in fact,
Caesar dies at the beginning of Act
III.

Oh, I see.

Oh, yes, that is rather...

What?!

Caesar dies halfway through the
play?!

Well, a bit less than half, in fact.
About 40%.

But it's the title role!

Well, you know, they talk about him
quite a lot in the second half.

Talk about him?!

You write a title role and kill him
off at the beginning of Act III?

Betrayed!

Betrayed!

A second time betrayed!

Et tu, Mr Shakespeare!

I shall not present this play!

We shall give Greene's
Bungay And Bacon instead.

No, no, wait. Mr Burbage...

What about if I brought Caesar back
in Act IV...as a ghost?

A ghost? You'd do that? No tricks?

Well, you know, if I have to.

I suppose it might work.
I...could use my...deathly howl.

Ooooooh! Ooooh!

Ooooooooh-oh-oh.

Yes, absolutely. Or...

Or else not.

Very well. Reluctantly, I agree.

And when Greene tries to close us
down for presenting a play that ends
with regicide,

we will disgrace him by showing how
the conspirators all get their just
deserts.

Yes, by being haunted and tormented

by Caesar's omniscient,
ever-present,

avenging,

constantly hoooooowling ghost

in every single scene!

Absolutely.

Or maybe just briefly
in Act IV, Scene III.

16 words should do it, I think.

Right, I'm ready.

- Ready for what?
- The auditions, of course.

You're choosing a new principal boy,
aren't you?

And since you've always admitted
that I play a girl better than any
boy,

and also 'twas I who pointed out the
Roman strategy that did for Mr
Condell,

plus I left Plutarch's Lives in the
privy,

plus I pointed out
how to make the play Queen-friendly,

I naturally presumed you'd let me
try again to get into the company

because I really, really want to,
and it's my dream!

Look, I'm sorry, Kate, really I am,
but it's the law,

and the law has zero respect for
women.

Because the law was made by men!

I'm sorry, Kate.

Your heart and mind are of the
finest,

and yet, for want of a cod-dangle,

you be lowlier
than any base and stupid rogue in
Albion.

Your only hope
for comfort and security is to
marry.

He's right, Kate.

Are we looking dreamy and hot?

Look, reading poetry.

So sensitive!

It's upside down.

(FLATLY) Thy lips are warm.

Yea, noise?

Then I'll be brief.

O happy dagger!

This is thy sheath.

There rust, and let me die.

Oh!

I also have dance, intermediary
stage fighting and some tumbling.

Impressive.

My accents are West Country - ooh
arr! - and Scottish - och aye!

And those are the hard ones.

Gentlemen, we have found our boy.

Girl, Burbage. I'm sure of it.

It's happened again.

Another nasty little bitchington
trying to lie her way into the
theatre.

I demand that the Master of Revels
be called to study this person's
credentials.

Well, Mr Burbage, I have studied
this person's credentials,

and, while small and lacking in
maturity, all is present and
correct.

But he's got boobingtons.

Oh, yes, I forgot to mention that.

I have dance, stage fighting,
various accents and can supply own
breasts.

Ridiculous!

Where would he put the coconuts?

How can this be, Mr Greene?

Toby is a hermaphrodite, Mr Burbage.

But such folk are a myth.

On the contrary - to be born with
some of the physical attributes of
both sexes

is a recognised medical condition.

Some societies embrace such
differences.

Ours does not.

Sirrah, what sex be you?

D'you know,
I'm quite conflicted about that,
actually.

How be you described in the records
at your parish church?

- Boy, sir.
- In that case, you are a boy by
law.

And, Mr Shakespeare, do hurry along
with your Julius Caesar play.

I am so looking forward
to the first night.

Good day.

Well, funny old world, eh?
Welcome to the company, Toby.

I' faith, if this Toby joins us,
I will ne'er play the totty again.

Thus must I plot against him.

Mr Kempe, you're big in Italy.

Hast thou the address of
the Milano Commedia Dell'Arte?

Ooh, ha-ha! Hoping to get a new gig
with my Italian mates?

- Oh...
- Not gonna happen.

They don't want some washed-up,
bog-standard, old mincing slap like
you.

They're only interested
in the fascinating and unique,

the different and the intriguing.

You've got no chance.

Well, you won't mind giving me
the address, then, will you?

Brilliant news.

We've found our new principal girl,
and 'tis a very miracle,

for, though he be legally a boy,
he has his own boobingtons!.

'Tis a very gift to the theatre,

for what possible type of person
could be better to play a girl

than a boy with boobingtons?

I just can't think, Mr Shakespeare.

It's a mystery!

I don't make the law, Kate.

Now, meet my new ingenue.

Hello, everybody. I'm Toby.

He has natural talent,
but it is unrefined and lacks
technique.

So I was hoping that perhaps you
might give him a few acting lessons,
Kate.

I'd be ever so grateful, Miss Kate.

God, talk about twisting the knife!

All right.

Hang on. I should teach him.
I used to show Kate how to act.

Not quite how I remember it.

You teach Toby to act, Botsky?

And from what fantastical world
of vanity and self-delusion

comes this outrageous claim?

I've seen all your actors acting
your stuff right back to Henry IV,
Part 1.

I know the tricks.

Basically, to do Shakespeare...

(SHOUTS) ...you have to shout a bit!

(WHISPERS) Then go quiet
and tense a bit...before...

(SHOUTS) ...shouting again!

(NORMAL VOICE) Then you have
to make a sudden pause

right in the middle of a word
for no rea...

...son at all.

Also, you have to randomly em- pha-
sise certain syll- ables

also for no appa...

...rent rea- son.

And... (SHOUTS) that...

(NORMAL VOICE) ...is how you...

(SHOUTS) ...act...

(WHISPERS) ...Shake- speare!

(SIGHS) Actually, Toby,
that is basically it.

And then you have to get
pisslingtoned over a nice little
supper

and tell everyone you were awful

and they have to say,
"No, no, you were brilliant,
darling."

Yes, that bit's very important, too.

Anyway, acting lesson or not, Toby
is going to stay with us for a few
days

till Burbage can sort him out
some pay and lodgings.

Just so I know, is he above or below
me in the pecking order?

Botsky, you're not even
in the pecking order.

Betrayed.

Betrayed.

So, Toby, tell me a bit about
yourself.

There's not that much to tell, Miss
Kate.

I'm just like any other 16-year-old.

Apart from having been born with
both male and female sexual
characteristics?

Yeah, apart from that.

And what about your family?

Oh, lost to me now.

I ran away from home
when I started growing bosoms.

Were you bullied and abused most
horribly

for the innocent crime
of being born different?

Oh, no, my parents
were really, really understanding,

giving me the choice of whether
I wanted to live as a boy or a girl.

Oh, that's wonderful!

Yeah. People in my village
were great, too.

Offering me the use of either
the male or female groaning ditches.

Or, if I preferred, they were
prepared to declare both ditches
non-sex defined.

In fact, after a unanimous vote
at the parish council,

the whole village decided
to declare itself gender neutral.

Oh! That is incredible. I mean,
amazing!

Never did I think such tolerance
possible in our cruel, cruel times.

Except that was just in my dream.

In fact, I was bullied horribly

and shunned by all.
My mum had herself exorcised

after the priest told her that the
devil had visited her in the night

and implanted the seed of a monster
in her womb.

- Oh, Toby, I'm so sorry.
- Yeah.

But then I heard that the village
of my dreams really did exist,

that there was a place
I'd be welcomed and accepted,

a world where people didn't judge
you for your gender or sexual
preference,

a place where everyone rejoiced
in the rich and varied tapestry

of the human rainbow.

- The theatre!
- Yes. The theatre!

You'd found your home.

I like it here, Kate.

With you.

When beggars die,
there are no comets seen.

The heavens themselves blaze forth
the death of princes.

Cowards die many times
before their deaths.

The valiant never taste of death but
once.

Oh, do not go forth today!

He's so good. Well done, Kate!

Thanks, Mr Shakespeare.

I enjoyed teaching him.

Toby is such a sweet, sweet boy.

Too showy, lacks depth.

And also, curiously,
I don't find his breasts convincing.

Look, though.
See, Greene hovers in the wings.

He is come to cock my snook

but, verily,
'tis I who will snook his cock!

Oh! Oh! Argh!

Arrghh!

(SHOUTS) Et...

(WHISPERS) ...tu, Bru...

(SHOUTS) ...te!

Incredible talent. He got a shout,
a whisper, a pause and a random
emphasis

into four syllables.

A very masterclass
in Shakespearean acting.

Ehhh!

I am closing this theatre!

All involved will be taken to the
Tower.

This play is naught
but a traitorous incitement to
regicide.

It isn't finished yet.

- What?
- Didn't you read the rest?

I'm sure I sent it you.

The rest?

Look, here.
Sorry - spoiler alert - don't
listen.

Caesar's murderers
are first rejected by the mob,

then hounded in battle and finally
fall upon their own swords in
penance,

which, I think you'll agree,
is not very traitorous at all.

(GROWLS)

Betray-ed...

Betray-ed.

Et tu, Shakespeare!

(BOOING)

The play may proceed! Pah!

(CHEERING)

A hit! Verily a hit!

The box office goeth bonkers.

Ahem. Hello, everybody.

Um, I just wanted to say...
I couldn't be happier.

Not just cos I've found my true home
in the theatre...

Well said!

...but also because Miss Kate has
asked me to be her husband.

ALL: Oh...

Blimey.

Oh-ho! You did it, Kate.

You actually found a man
in touch with his female side.

Congratulations to you both.

Toby, might I have a word?

There's an Italian gentleman outside
I'd like you to meet.

Oh. I shan't be a moment, my love.

Katie, are you sure about this,
considering...?

Toby is a man by law, Mr
Shakespeare.

A very sweet and gentle man.

I need a husband,
Toby needs kindness and protection.

But, Kate, what of love?

In our exclusively patriarchal
society,

a woman is lucky indeed
if she is able to marry for love.

I am happy to marry for friendship.

Kate!

Kate! You won't believe it!

Mr Condell arranged for a casting
scout from the Commedia Dell'Arte

to attend the play, and they want
me!

I leave for Italy tonight!

Toby...

What of our engagement?

Oh...

Um...

Oh, I guess that's...sort of off.

Kate, I'm...going to be big in
Italy.

I need to pack.

Lesson learned, Miss Kate.

Toby may be a boy, or he may be a
girl,

and he may choose to be neither,

but, above all, he is an actor.

And an actor will always, always
take the better offer.

(SIGHS) Betrayed.

Betrayed.

Et tu, Toby.

It really is outrageous
that women be not allowed to act.

Kate would be brilliant,
if only it were legal.

Well, it wouldn't do her much good
in Julius Caesar, would it?

What do you mean, my sweet?

Well, there are only two women's
parts in it and both of them are
absolute crappage.

Particularly Calpurnia.

Oh, you noticed that, did you?

Oh, just a bit!

She gets one tiny scene and all she
does is talk about her husband.

Well, give it time, my love.

One day there'll be as many decent
parts for women as there are for
men.

Then perhaps will finally come a
script in which women get the last
word.

Kind of doubt it.