Educating Rita Page #7

wanted to ask you, and it is -

have you seen Peer Gynt

on the radio?

Er...

assonance.

Do you know... Do you know

what assonance means?

Eh? It means getting the rhyme wrong!

It's terrible, isn't it?

Terrible.

Taking the name of literature in vain,

it's like pissing on Wordsworth's tomb.

The difference between

the tragic and tragedy

is inevitability.

Come on, let's get him to his room.

Did you know that Macbeth

was a maggoty apple?

Not many people know that.

Dr Bryant, the Vice Chancellor feels,

and we all agree,

that this sort of thing

must never happen again

or the consequences could be serious.

Thank you.

Sod them, eh, Rita?

Sod them!

- Will they sack you?

- Good God, no.

That would involve making a decision.

Pissed is all right. To get the sack, it

would have to be rape on a grand scale.

And not just with students. That would

only amount to a slight misdemeanour.

No. For dismissal, it would have to be

nothing less than buggering the Bursar.

Frank, even if you don't

think about yourself,

- what about your students?

- What about them?

It's hardly fair if the lecturer's so pissed

he's falling off the platform.

I may have fallen off, my dear,

but I went down talking.

- Look, I'll see you next week, eh?

- We've got a tutorial.

You're not in any state

for a tutorial, Frank.

We'll talk about

me Blake essay next week.

Hello, Rita.

Oh. Hiya, Frank.

I'm sorry I never made your tutorial,

it's just we're dead busy here.

When you didn't arrive,

I telephoned the shop.

- Which shop?

- The hairdresser's,

where I thought you worked.

- I haven't worked there for ages.

- Yes, so it seems.

- You didn't tell me.

- Oh, didn't I?

I thought I had.

What's wrong?

Well, it struck me that there was a time

when you used to tell me everything.

I thought I had told you.

Do you think I could

have a drink, please? Seeing as I'm here.

Not for free, I'll pay.

Who cares if I've left hairdressing

to work in a bistro?

- I care.

- Why?

Why do you care?

- It's just boring, insignificant detail.

- Is it?

Yes. That's why

I couldn't stand hairdressing.

I don't wanna talk about

irrelevant rubbish any more.

What do you talk about

here in your bistro?

We talk about what's important, Frank,

and leave out the boring details

for those who want them.

Is Mr Tyson one of your customers?

Look, for your information,

I do find Tiger fascinating

like I find a lot of

those people fascinating.

They're young and-and passionate

about things that matter.

They're not trapped.

They're too young for that.

And I like being with them.

Well, perhaps you don't want

to waste your time

coming to my tutorials any more.

Frank, we've just been too busy here.

I haven't stopped coming altogether.

All right. Come this evening.

I can't. I'm meeting Trish soon,

we've got tickets for The Seagull.

Oh, yes, well, when Chekhov calls.

Oh, dear.

You really can't bear to spend a moment

with me now, can you?

Frank, that is not true.

It's just that tonight I've got

to go to the theatre.

As I was saying,

if you want to stop coming...

Oh, for Christ's sake, I don't wanna

stop coming! What about me exam?

Don't worry about that,

you'd sail through it.

You really don't have to put in the odd

appearance out of sentimentality.

I'd rather you spared me that.

If you could stop pouring that junk

down your throat

in the hope that it'll make you

feel like a poet,

you might be able to talk about

things that matter

instead of where I do and don't work.

And then it might actually

be worth turning up.

Are you capable of recognising

what does and does not matter?

I understand literary criticism and that's

what we're supposed to be dealing with.

Oh, literary criticism, eh?

Literary criticism.

Give me an essay on that lot

by next week.

An assessment of a lesser known

English poet.

Me.

Yes, yes, Morgan!

But it's the publishers I'm worried about.

Frank...

Brian was just passing,

he dropped in to make a phone call.

Yes, yes,

I think you know why, Morgan.

We can't go on like this,

things are getting ridiculous.

The advance that they offered

was, as usual, inadequate.

Brian.

- I am an academic author of repute...

- Brian, I haven't paid the bill.

Hang on, Morgan,

Frank's trying to tell me something.

They disconnected us

this morning.

Morgan, f*** off.

- Frank...

- Yes, O faithful one?

For God's sake! How could anyone

be faithful to you, Frank?

Julia has at least tried

and what has she had in return?

What have any of us had

in return, Frank?

Only my soul, Brian,

which I must confess is very little.

Frank, I'm leaving you. Brian and I are...

Brian is leaving Elaine, and we're going.

Congratulations, Brian.

Better luck next time, eh, Julia?

Hello, Frank!

What the hell are you doing here?

Where've you been, Frank?

I've been up to your room a few times.

I went to see Julia,

she said I'd find you here.

She's nice, Julia, isn't she?

Are you sober?

If you mean am I still this side

of reasonable comprehension then yes.

Good, because I want you to hear this.

This is brilliant. You have got

to start writing again, Frank.

It is brilliant.

It's... It's witty, it's profound.

Full of style.

Oh! Tell me again and again.

No, Frank, it's not just me that thinks so.

Me and Trish read them and she agrees.

Why did you stop writing

when you can produce work like that?

Now, what did Trish say? Yes -

it's more resonant

than purely contemporary poetry.

It has, like, it has in it a direct line

through to the 19th-century traditions

of, like, wit and classical allusion.

Oh. That's marvellous, Rita.

It's fortunate that I never

gave this to you earlier.

Just think if you'd have seen this

when you first came.

Oh, well, I'd have never understood it.

You would've thrown it across the room

and dismissed it as total sh*t.

I know, but I could never

have understood it then

because I wouldn't have recognised

or understood the allusions.

I've done a fine job on you, haven't I?

It's true, Frank. I mean, I can see it now.

You know, Rita, like you,

I'm going to change my name.

From now on I am going to insist

on being called Mary.

Mary Shelley.

Do you understand that allusion, Rita?

What?

Mary Shelley wrote a little Gothic number

called Frankenstein.

So?

This clever, pyrotechnical pile

of self-conscious allusion...

is worthless, talentless sh*t.

There is more poetry

in the... telephone directory

and probably more insight.

However...

this has one advantage

over the telephone directory.

It is easier to rip.

It is pretentious, characterless

and without style.

It's not.

Oh, I don't expect you to believe me.

You recognise the hallmark

of literature now, don't you?

Why don't you just go away?

I don't think I can bear it any longer.

Oh. Can't bear what, Frank?

You, my dear.

You.

Yeah.

Yeah. Well, er...

I'll tell you what you can't bear,

Mr Self-Pitying Piss Artist,

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