A Man for All Seasons

CREDITS OVER:

1 CLOSE UP INSERT

A massive white hand with a bishop’s ring on it, extending from a scarlet satin sleeve, scribbles ferociously the last line of a letter; signs: “Wolsey. Ebor.”

The quill is thrown down, the letter shoved away.

2 INT WOLSEY’S STUDY

The red satin figure of WOLSEY, seated. A huge man of say sixty, the heavy face contemptuous, intellectual, corrupt. He broods at CROMWELL, his Secretary, a younger man with a subtle, serious, very vital face whose movements express energy perfectly controlled as he folds the letter, carefully drips melted wax on it, offers it to WOLSEY who seizes a heavy seal and:

3 CLOSE UP INT.

Smashes it onto the wax, leaving there the Cardinal’s coat-of-arms.

4 INT. HAMPTON DOOR & LONG GALLERY

Letter changes hands from CROMWELL to GENTLEMAN USHER at door of long gallery. USHER walks down gallery. PETITIONERS of every rank rise expectantly, fall back resignedly when they see who it is. He hands letter to MESSENGER in outdoor clothes.

5 INT. HAMPTON STAIRS

MESSENGER descending stairs encounters no-one.

6 EXT. HAMPTON COURTYARD

MESSENGER emerges from door to a courtyard of Hampton. Sunset; the brick walls crimson, the windows flashing bloodily. PANNING, we follow him towards black archway of main entrance. He passes through beneath the massive Royal Coat of Arms.

7 EXT. RIVERSIDE WITH GATE

At the riverside, wrought iron gate in foreground, we see him descend. steps to six-oared longboat. A litter.. of hire boats. nearby. He sits, letter prominent, nods. The rowers heave, longboat moves.

8 EXT. RIVER

LONG SHOT Longboat on the flaming river.

9 EXT. RIVER

LONG SHOT Longboat approaching, the riverbank different, the river silvery, the sky drained of light.

10 EXT. RIVER

MESSENGER looks up, checks his letter, grunts to STROKE ROWER who glances over shoulder at:

11 EXT. LONG SHOT RIVER

MORE’s Chelsea House approaching, a few lights, faint music mingled with the lapping water.

12 EXT. MORE’S HOUSE

STEWARD comes to garden door of MORE’s house to meet MESSENGER approaching. Doesn’t budge when they meet. MESSENGER relinquishes letter to STEWARD who turns on his heel and importantly enters house.

13 INT. MORE’S HOUSE CORRIDOR

Inside, enters corridor, approaching door from behind which, laughter. FINAL CREDIT 14 INT MORE’S HOUSE CORRIDOR

CLOSE SHOT STEWARD glances up and down the corridor, attempts to see what may be in the letter. His manner shows this to be mere impertinent curiosity, not espionage. He can make nothing of it so:

15 INT. MORE’S GREAT HALL

Enters. Clears his throat and signals to someone off scene. With him we see:

15a THE MORE FAMILY, RELATIVES and GUESTS, mostly young. Some are scholars, some are courtiers. ALICE, florid, coarse, splendidly strong and MARGARET, graceful, fine-faced, ardent and another GIRL sew at a half-completed tapestry spread across their knees, baskets of coloured silk at their feet. A pot of crystallized ginger is next to ALICE. YOUNG MEN sit in chairs, on the floor, some drinking wine.

NORFOLK, hard-faced aristocratic, brutal and frank, leans against the fireplace with one foot rested on the belly of an ancient dog. Another old dog is in evidence. On a table, four or five lutes and viols carelessly put down after familiar use—also books. In the background one YOUNG MAN is playing chess with a GIRL, while another GIRL is looking on. They are oblivious of the group at the fireplace A SERVANT is taking the leavings of a meal from the dining table. MORE, in the centre of the group, sees STEWARD. He rises quietly and approaches, his attention still on the conversation.

SCHOLAR:
But in Utopia that couldn’t be.

NORFOLK:
For why?

SCHOLAR:
For there the Priests are very holy.

COURTIER:
And therefore very few.

MORE smiles, approaching into TWO SHOT with STEWARD. Behind him, a burst of laughter MORE takes the letter. Registers that it has been tampered with and murmurs:

MORE:
Is it anything interesting, Matthew?

STEWARD flickers but recovers.

STEWARD:
Bless you sir, I don’t know!

MORE:
(gravely) Bless you too, Matthew

He opens letter and turns away, reading

15b MEDIUM SHOT The group, laughter petering out. looks up with mild enquiry as MORE rejoins them, but doesn’t sit. The opened letter is in his hand.

MORE:
It’s from the Cardinal.

NORFOLK:
What’s he want?

MORE:
Me.

NORFOLK:
When?

MORE:
Now.

ALICE:
In Hampton Court? You won’t be there by mid-night!

MORE:
The King’s business.

Saying which, he folds the letter and carefully puts it in the fire. MARGARET, watching:

MARGARET:
The Queen’s business.

ALICE:
(growling) Mistress Anne Boleyn’s business.

MORE, straightening from the fire.

MORE:
Well it’s all the Cardinal’s business.

NORFOLK grunts.

NORFOLK:
Very true. (edge of sarcasm) And when the Cardinal calls, you all come running, day or night. What is the man? A butcher’s son!

MORE:
Chancellor of England, too.

MARGARET:
No that’s his office. What is the man?

RICH’s voice is heard interrupting on SOUND.

RICH:
(SOUND) Surely Your Grace, when a man rises so high so swiftly—

RICH, a poorly dressed scholar with a head of golden hair, sensitive features and an expression of habitual strain has half-risen, overeager, from the embrasure where he sits apart.

RICH:
—we must think that he was misplaced in his origins.

NORFOLK stares, then turns away without response. RICH falters vaguely Into the silence:

RICH:
That at least is the opinion of of Aristotle and—

NORFOLK:
(to MORE, riding indifferently over RICH’s last phrase, which we hear on SOUND over) A butcher’s son, and looks it.

MORE:
(wry) His looks, yes I give you his looks.

Appreciative snort from young Courtier.

MORE:
(pleasantly to RICH, raising his voice) What was that you said, Richard?

RICH, crouched in his embrasure looks up with flashing smile of gratitude.

RICH:
Nothing, Sir Thomas—t’was out of place.

ALICE:
(flatly) And Cardinal Wolsey’s just what he looks. And you’re a member of the King’s High Council, not an errand boy!

MORE:
That’s why I must go. The Duke would go, if the Cardinal called.

NORFOLK looks affronted for a second, then grunts.

NORFOLK:
I might.

Laughter. ALICE has risen. MORE kisses her.

MORE:
I’ll be back for breakfast.

Kisses MARGARET, says:

MORE:
Go to bed.

As a matter of routine, as cleaning their teeth, they put their hands together, shut their eyes, their GUESTS rising as a matter of everyday politeness, and:

MORE FAMILY:
Dear Lord give us rest tonight, or if we must be wakeful, cheerful, careful only for our soul’s salvation. For Christ’s sake, Amen.

ALICE and MARGARET have done, but:

MORE:
And bless our lord the King.

ALICE AND MARGARET, hastily:

ALICE AND:

MARGARET:
And bless our lord the King.

NORFOLK:
(gruffly patriotic) Amen!

MORE:
Good-night Your Grace. Excuse me gentlemen.

But NORFOLK takes him by the elbow, escorting him to the door, held wide by STEWARD. Confidential warning:

NORFOLK:
Keep clear of Wolsey, Thomas. He’s a frightened man.

MORE looks at him gravely but impassively. NORFOLK looks over his shoulder and sees: RICH, following, arrested by NORFOLK’s glance, stops, stranded, hovering ridiculously. NORFOLK, frowning:

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