Easy Virtue

Good evening.

Good evening, good evening.

Hello, chaps.

Thank you for coming.

Now then, we have a long way to go,

so... er... keep your powder dry.

Righty-ho...

settle down, now.

# I'm mad about the boy

# I know it's stupid to be

mad about the boy

# I'm so ashamed of it,

but must admit

# The sleepless nights

I've had about the boy

# On the silver screen

# He melts my foolish heart

in every single scene

# Although I'm quite aware

# That here and there are traces...

of the cad about the boy

# And Lord knows, I'm not a fool girl

# I really shouldn't care

# Lord knows, I'm not a schoolgirl

# In the flurry of her first affair

# Will it ever cloy, this odd diversity

of misery and joy?

# I'm feeling quite insane

and young again

# And all because I'm mad

about the boy

# I'm feeling quite insane

and young again

# And all because I'm...

#... mad about the boy #

She's the first lady racer.

- But she didn't actually win.

She crossed the line first.

It's so exciting.

Not nearly as exciting

as crossing your mother.

I think we can all ignore that.

Oh, what is that man doing?

Jackson!

Madam?

- What did I tell you?

Put the camellias by the front door

before the guests arrive!

Furber.

- Madam?

Salvage any of Jackson's appalling

pruning and send it to Mrs Holborough

who's kindly offered up a leg of mutton

for dinner, which you'll fetch, Marion.

But Reverend Burton has asked me

My hands are clearly full.

- I'll go.

Uncle George has posted

the most grizzly clippings

of the Valentine's Day Massacre!

Hilda.

Seven terrified men cut down

in a hail of automatic gun fire!

Made worse by the strays that

came to lap the curdled blood.

Hilda...

- The Devil Dogs! The Hounds of Hell!

The leg of lamb! Now.

Why we try and marry her off to gentry

when plainly she'd prefer an undertaker.

Seating. I'm putting Sarah on your left

and Philip on your right,

so please try and make an effort

to be civil.

Right... I shall go and brush up

on my very small talk.

It might be an awkward meal.

For all we know Sarah's grazing

in greener pastures.

Whilst your brother sows his wild oats

in the South of France with his floozy?

No. We'll keep the home fires burning

until his highness wanders home.

Hmm. Like father did?

Yes. Like your father did.

I've got news, everybody!

You all right, sir?

- No. Are you?

Coping, sir.

- Hear, hear. Well done.

Well done? They look like

they're waiting for a firing squad.

Can't you make them more relaxed?

- Last meal and a cigarette, perhaps?

I can't believe it. You'll never guess.

Houdini escaped the Chinese water

torture only to die of a burst appendix.

How ghastly!

Oh, and Mother's got a telegram.

"Mr and Mrs Whittaker". Your mother.

What's it say, Father?

Perhaps your mother

should read this first.

Oh! That stupid, stupid, stupid boy!

What's happened?

Has there been an accident?

It's John, he's married that f-f-f...

- Francophile?

F-f-f...

- Photographer?

Pharmacist?

- Why are you smirking?

Deploying a smile. One member

of this family may actually be happy.

Don't be absurd! We don't know

anything about this woman. Furber!

Furber!

Oh, not again!

- Madam.

Lord have mercy.

Mister John is coming home with his...

with his wife.

Yes. Their bags have just arrived.

Congratulations, Madam.

I'll be the judge of that. Clear up this

mess and get Cook to send up a ham.

This is from Dover. They'll be half way.

- Yes, Furber. Dress the mutton as ham.

Very sharp,

don't cut yourself.

John married the floozy.

How exciting!

# A room with a view and you

# And no one to worry us

# No one to hurry us through

...this dream we found #

There she blows.

Behold the country cottage.

Oh, Lord, it's enormous.

So, I lied about gingerbread hedges

and obese little children.

How hard to swim is the moat?

- Smoke and mirrors, darling.

Smoke and mirrors.

Oh, by the by, smoking... don't.

Apparently it wilts the azaleas.

That makes no sense. Speak English.

- All will be revealed, darling.

Oh, give me back the wheel of my car.

I'm going back to Detroit!

How romantic!

Here they come! Oh, Furber!

Mister John and his wife

are about to arrive.

I can't see them.

- Your tunnel vision.

Ooh!

Smile, Marion.

- I don't feel like smiling.

You're English, dear. Fake it.

The prodigal son returns

in a blaze of gravel.

Father! You shaved.

Welcome, Madam.

You look gorgeous.

It's so lovely to see you.

Oh, darling. Sorry, sorry!

This is my wife, Larita.

Mrs Whittaker, the pleasure is all mine.

Oh, you're American.

And very welcome. Jim Whittaker.

- This is my father.

I fought alongside many

of your countrymen, Larita,

and I must say it's an honour

to have a comrade in the family.

Thank you.

I do hope I'm not a disappointment.

Far from it.

- And my two little blisters.

Hilda and Marion.

Aren't you the woman

who won the Grand Prix?

First place, before disqualification.

Apparently you need chest hair

to change gears in Monaco.

I saw you in the paper.

I cut your head out. I could just die!

Furber, that suitcase

to the drawing room, and do be careful.

Marion... Golly, you're not a bit

like what we imagined.

Somewhat older, I expect.

Awfully sorry about that.

Before the frostbite sets in...

I'm looking forward to getting acquainted

with the mother of my "Panda".

You'll find me quite uncomplicated,

I'm afraid.

Oh! What are you doing?

Carrying you over the finish line.

Venus de Milo meet my Venus Detroit.

Oh, hello.

Mother's turned our old nursery

into a boudoir.

I wouldn't exactly call

it a boudoir, Hilda.

Marvellous. All those grubby memories

of Little Johnnie.

We had no time

to raid the hothouse.

I only hope we can make you

comfortable.

Don't go to any trouble.

We're only staying a few days.

Aren't we, Johnnie?

- Of course.

And for our next surprise...

What on earth is that?

His master's voice!

A wedding gift from us to you all.

How divine! You should've

got married years ago!

#... another June,

another sunny honeymoon

# Another season, another reason

for making whoopee... #

Come on, little blister. Twirl for me.

Oh, a Continental education.

Not all of us have been so fortunate.

An emotional depiction of the French

postal service, Mrs Whittaker.

Come now, not Mrs Whittaker.

It's "Mother" now.

I don't think we're quite ready

for that yet.

Since time is so clearly against us, why

don't you show Larita up to the nursery?

Dinner's at 8:
00.

You didn't tell them?

- One bombshell at a time, darling.

That's not fair! Your poor mother.

How long are we staying?

A few days?

I shoulder the shortcomings of this family

and what do I get in return? A few days!

Look at her. What am I supposed

to do with the bauble of a woman?

Hang her?

- I think she's splendid.

Do you, Hilda? Well, we can all relax.

- She's not what I expected.

She's exactly

what I expected.

Surely not exactly? She wasn't drunk.

- Oh, very funny, Jim.

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