Barrymore
Come, my friends,
there's sap in't yet.
The next time I do fight
I'll make death love me;
Come, let's have one
other gaudy night:
call to me
all my sad captains,
fill our bowls; once more
let's mock the midnight bell.
Kalamazoo, zoo, zoo,
zoo, zoo, zoo...
Yolanda in Kalamazoo
Once strolled after
dark by the zoo
She was seized by the nape
And humped by an ape,
As she sighed, What
a heavenly screw.
Just a minute.
I forgot the baby.
I'm gonna send a
wire, hoppin' on a flyer,
leavin, today.
Am I dreamin,; I can
hear her screamin'
A B C D E F G H I
got a girl in Kalamazoo...
My baby.
It goes where I go.
Its only objectionable
feature is that people are
convinced I carry
around my own ashes.
life-sustaining potions from
my pharmacist at the Jungle
Club on Seventh Avenue.
Years have gone
by; my, my, how she grew;
I liked her looks,
when I carried
her books in Kalamazoo,
zoo, zoo, zoo...
I must be a frigging
masochist and, God knows,
an egoist - for here I
attack on Pearl Harbor,
and I'm trying to
revive my puny career.
As well trying to
rejuvenate my sex life and
turn this limp noodle
into a bushwhacker.
Ladies and Gentlemen, I
cannot believe I forked
out good money to rent
this delightful dump for
one night, just to run
a few goddamned lines.
But, I'll be honest
with you, I had to.
I had to.
So do not be put off by
the disarray that you see.
All this will hopefully
be transformed into the
throne room of that
lump of foul deformity,
ruthless King Richard.
The Turd.
God he was
sh*t, wasn't he?
But I have an
affinity with shits.
You know, Richard was
my first real success.
It was a long time ago,
but it was the first time
they took me seriously.
So I've got to try to
get the old bastard up
on his feet again.
I need to be taken
seriously once more before
the man in the bright
nightgown comes for me.
That is, if my trusty
prompter ever arrives.
For the success of this
hazardous enterprise rests
not only on your approval,
but on the shaky ability
remember his lines.
Oh and if, perchance,
there are among you one or
two charitable angels, the
smallest gesture will not be
unwelcome...
Hiya, Mister Jackson...
Ev'rything's O K A L A M A
what a gal,
a real piperoo.
I'll make my bid for
that frecklefaced
kid I'm hurrying to.
Have you ever seen
delirium tremens?
Well, a colleague of mine,...
...a bibulous fellow
thespian, had the best DTs
I've ever seen.
You might say, Henry's
bladder abhorred a vacuum.
Henry Malcolm Rogers,
known in theater circles
as the world's
best worst actor.
He kicked the bucket
last week at sixty-two,
but not from liquor.
He died of what in New
York is called a natural
death-he was hit a cab.
whiskey a day for forty years.
but he blew up and wrecked
the place.
Dear Henry, the only man
I ever knew with varicose
veins in his eyeballs.
There's really nothing
funny about booze.
Oh my God, I must be a
living advertisement for
all the friggin'
liquor companies in the world.
Look at these -
Restless little
buggers, aren't they?
I'm so far gone, I
haven't left yet.
But things are beginning
to click for me -
my knees, my elbows, my neck.
When I get out of bed,
I sound like
Carmen Miranda's castanets.
But I don't feel old... yet.
They say a man isn't old
till regrets take the
place of dreams.
That's it, isn't it?
Dreams.
And then our little life
is rounded with sleep,
blood clots, gout,
arthritis, dropsy,
ulcers and - oh yes
- hemorrhoids.
They're a pain
in the neck.
Sovereign panacea
for whiskey breath.
A tippler
from Riverside Drive
Had breath you
could barely survive.
He ate a banana, Read
George Santayana,
Allow me to disabuse you of
Jack Barrymore is a
tragic figure.
Get this straight:
for a man who's been
dead fifteen years,
I've had
one helluva life -
You know, one summer
holiday on Staten Island,
my brother Lionel and I staged
a furious duel with these.
I was six - I
was the baby.
Lionel was ten.
My sister Ethel,...
who was nine going on
forty, saw us showing off
and got the idea of
putting on a play in the
barn behind the
boarding house.
All thirty-seven
guests came.
Each paid a penny.
I earned six cents.
Lionel, ten.
Ethel kept the
remainin... twenty-one
cents for herself.
Star billing and
production costs.
Lionel was irate,
threatened to quit.
But I was
completely happy,
because I hadn't
learned to count yet.
Jesus Christ!
I must have the DT's.
What the hell is that?
Oh, it's just a glove.
I thought it was a dead rat -
which reminds me of my father.
Not the glove. The rat.
Maurice Barrymore.
Matinee idol, complete
with Oxford accent,
monocle and top hat.
Ah that bastard.
He used to drag me along
on his nightly binges.
I wasn't even ten yet.
He'd stumble home at dawn
without me -
forgot all about me.
Just left me in some
dingy old whorehouse.
The girls were always
telling me how cute I was,
how much I looked
like my father.
Well I was damned if I
was going to be like him.
That madman.
God what a brute -
and he got worse.
had her by the throat,
then he ran off screaming
into the night, screaming.
I chased him for twenty blocks.
I didn't give a
sh*t how big he was.
I was going to kill that
raving sonuvabitch.
Is that my inheritance?
Scares the hell out of me.
What's going on?
That you sir? Mr. Barrymore?
Frank.
Let me know
when you want to
start running your lines.
I'm all set up and ready to go.
Well! Mr. Efficiency
Hello, Frank.
Hello, sir.
How've you been?
Fine, sir.
Keeping busy?
Yes.
That's our Frank.
Traffic's bad, huh?
I took the train, sir.
Still living in Yonkers?
Yes.
With your mother?
Yes.
How is she?
So-so.
What?
So-so.
Oh well that's life.
Dear old Frank.
I have but to discreetly
cradle my auditory orifice,
lean artfully in his
direction, murmur, "Line?"
And the forgotten words
eagerly awaiting ear,
unbeknownst to the
enchanted audience.
Anytime, Mr. Barrymore.
I have very poor and
unhappy brains for
I could well
some other custom
of entertainment.
Wait a minute, sir.
Hmm?
That's not from Richard.
Oh?
How perceptive of you, Frank.
And what is it from then?
Othello.
Right as usual
Frank... Pedantic prick.
Save me from him.
A horse! A horse!
My kingdom for a horse!
Mr. Barrymore, aren't we
taking it from the beginning?
Presumably
That's the end
of the play.
Tedious boy.
All right, Frank.
Let us proceed
with the libretto.
Richard the Third
- Act one, scene one.
Forgive for a moment
I just eh...
Well, I'll just still
Translation
Translate and read this script in other languages:
Select another language:
- - Select -
- 简体中文 (Chinese - Simplified)
- 繁體中文 (Chinese - Traditional)
- Español (Spanish)
- Esperanto (Esperanto)
- 日本語 (Japanese)
- Português (Portuguese)
- Deutsch (German)
- العربية (Arabic)
- Français (French)
- Русский (Russian)
- ಕನ್ನಡ (Kannada)
- 한국어 (Korean)
- עברית (Hebrew)
- Gaeilge (Irish)
- Українська (Ukrainian)
- اردو (Urdu)
- Magyar (Hungarian)
- मानक हिन्दी (Hindi)
- Indonesia (Indonesian)
- Italiano (Italian)
- தமிழ் (Tamil)
- Türkçe (Turkish)
- తెలుగు (Telugu)
- ภาษาไทย (Thai)
- Tiếng Việt (Vietnamese)
- Čeština (Czech)
- Polski (Polish)
- Bahasa Indonesia (Indonesian)
- Românește (Romanian)
- Nederlands (Dutch)
- Ελληνικά (Greek)
- Latinum (Latin)
- Svenska (Swedish)
- Dansk (Danish)
- Suomi (Finnish)
- فارسی (Persian)
- ייִדיש (Yiddish)
- հայերեն (Armenian)
- Norsk (Norwegian)
- English (English)
Citation
Use the citation below to add this screenplay to your bibliography:
Style:MLAChicagoAPA
"Barrymore" Scripts.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 8 Nov. 2024. <https://www.scripts.com/script/barrymore_3636>.
Discuss this script with the community:
Report Comment
We're doing our best to make sure our content is useful, accurate and safe.
If by any chance you spot an inappropriate comment while navigating through our website please use this form to let us know, and we'll take care of it shortly.
Attachment
You need to be logged in to favorite.
Log In