Ginger & Rosa Page #2

that you might be

a militant, like me.

Good for you, Ginger.

Can't you thank me?

Even one word?

I made you a pie.

Your favorite.

Yeah, I noticed.

And?

Thanks.

Is that it?

Is that all you

can say to me?

Thank you very much indeed.

Is that what you want?

What's wrong with

wanting my cooking to be noticed?

Nothing.

I don't believe...

this performance.

It's just not you, Nat.

So why don't you come out with it?

Come out with what?

If you want to shame me

again with this display...

- But I didn't say anything.

- But you meant it.

And as I tell my students,

say what you mean.

I'm not your student.

I'm your wife.

Have you forgotten?

The martyred wife

finally comes out with it.

- With what?

- The accusation.

Roland, I...

- Why do you...

- Why do I what?

Nat.

Nat.

Why do you twist my words?

You make everything seem

as if it's my fault.

Why can't you just be normal?

Normal?

What the hell is normal?

You know bloody

well what I mean.

Natalie, please.

Please.

How can I enjoy eating in this

atmosphere of resentment?

And how can I enjoy cooking

when you just gobble it up?

Oh, for God's sake.

I've been working all day.

But I made it for you.

There's emotional

blackmail again.

If the transitory nature of cooking

and eating offends you so much...

then why don't you take up

your painting again...

and make something

for posterity?

And with what?

I'm scraping to pay the bills,

with the money...

Yes, with the money I earn.

- But it's not enough for paint.

- Get a job!

Why don't you sod off

to your bloody yacht?

It's a boat.

It's a small boat.

Your bloody boat with some

blonde student again...

for all I know.

Anyway, what kind

of job could I get?

Roland's moving out.

They're separating.

Again.

Not that it'll make

any difference.

He's hardly ever

at home anyway.

At least you have a dad...

who takes you out and stuff.

I'm sure he wouldn't mind if

you came with me this weekend.

You don't want me tagging along

with your beloved Dad.

Don't be silly.

But anyway,

I have a Roland, actually.

- He won't let me call him Dad.

- I know.

You told me.

Lots of times.

Did I?

Did I also tell you

he says the word "dad"...

makes him think of

slippers by the fire...

and other bourgeois

death traps?

He has a point, of course.

What's Natalie's view

on death traps?

She just bursts into tears...

as usual, when he

says stuff like that.

Which he then says is...

Emotional blackmail.

Rosa!

Rosa, can you bring

the girls up now?

Hello.

Our mothers are pathetic.

They don't believe

in anything.

Or do anything,

more to the point.

Except moan about stuff.

At least your mum has a job.

Cleaning?

You call that a job?

She hates it.

She moans on and on.

Roland really hates

the moaning thing.

It's no wonder.

- No wonder what?

- It's no wonder they can't keep their men.

What could be

better than this?

Isn't she marvelous?

Am I right, girls?

It's lovely.

It's so romantic.

Indeed.

There is a poetry in small spaces,

isn't there?

Confinement can be

utterly beautiful...

but only if it's a

matter of choice.

What do you mean?

Well, what I mean is...

a prison cell,

on the contrary...

is the ugliest expression

of minimalism.

It must have been

really terrible.

Ginger told me about it.

Did she?

We tell each other everything.

I have nothing to hide.

Prison was pretty brutal.

First they strip you

of your clothes.

And then,

if you dare to protest...

they strip you of

all human contact.

But the worst thing

about solitary confinement...

is not that they make you feel

like an abandoned child...

but that you start to

doubt your beliefs.

I understand.

The Soviet defense

minister said today...

that their missiles could,

with one blow...

wipe off the face of the earth...

the industrial centers

of the United States.

The British government

has announced...

that nuclear missiles located on Royal

Air Force bases in the United Kingdom...

are capable of the ultimate

retaliation against any Soviet attack..

Did you hear that?

- What?

- About the missiles.

He always does that.

Especially with Schubert.

What do you think

I should say?

Who to?

Roland.

Why are you writing to Roland?

Well, I want to tell him

that I understand him.

You know, like sometimes

in your soul...

it's like you... you feel

someone else's pain.

I can't decide whether

to start...

with "Dear Roland"

or "Dearest Roland. "

What do you think?

# Tutti frutti, oh, Rudy

# Tutti frutti

# Tutti frutti, oh, Rudy

Tutti frutti, oh, Rudy

# Tutti frutti, oh, Rudy

# Got a gal named Sue

# She knows just what to do #

- Fancy a drink?

# I got a gal named Sue

# She knows just what to do

# She rock to the east

She rock to... #

Oh, Ginger.

You and Rosa.

Oh, go away!

You don't understand.

Ginger!

You came to my school.

I saw you.

My teacher told

me you said...

there should be more so-called

domestic science lessons.

Is that what this is all about?

How could you?

You wanted me to learn

housework... at school.

Listen, Ginger.

When I had you,

I was a teenager.

A teenager.

I didn't know how to

boil a bloody egg.

Roland never lifted a finger

to help with anything.

- That's not my fault!

- Listen to me.

I just don't want you

to struggle like I did.

But I'm never going

to have any babies.

Never.

I don't want to be like you!

So bugger off!

You and Rosa are

turning into little sluts.

Anyway, I'm going to

go live with Roland.

What are you

talking about?

Hello.

Is Roland in at all?

Follow me.

- Visitor, Roland.

- Thanks.

What a surprise.

Is everything all right?

Yes.

Absolutely.

Is Nat doing all right?

Not too many scenes or anything?

Not too many.

Good.

I'll put the kettle on.

Here, have a seat.

The thing is...

I was wondering...

Yes?

If, for example,

there was any room...

I mean, I don't know.

It may not be feasible at all.

- Room?

- Here.

Well.

Jesus, Ginger.

It's a bit of...

You, here?

I suppose I could ask Roger.

But look, you do realize,

of course...

I'm working more

or less nonstop...

and that this is a completely

unsuitable environment for you...

in every possible respect?

Absolutely.

Are you quite sure that this move

is a wise idea, Ginger?

How old were you when

you left home, Mark Two?

Well, I was about your age.

But I had to go.

My mother was an

absolute monster.

You see?

Nat is not a monster.

Not to you.

Anyway, Mark...

your mother was, in fact,

as I understand, not a monster...

- but a gangster.

- Yes, yes.

Was she a happy gangster?

Oh, my darling,

darling Ginger.

Nat is unhappy, darling...

but it's not because of you.

But was she always unhappy?

- When she was my age.

You knew her then. - I did, yes.

Did she cry all the time

before she had me?

Well, she was troubled, darling.

But then, we were all troubled.

It was wartime.

Must have been an

absolute nightmare.

You know, bombs falling

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