Long Day's Journey Into Night Page #14

I could have been a great shakesperian actor if I'd kept on.

In 1874 when Edwin Booth came to the

theater in Chicago where I was leading man.

I played Cassius to his Brutus one night, Brutus to his Cassius the next.

Othello to his Iago and so on.

First night I played Othello he said to our manager:

"That young man is playing Othello better than I ever did."

That from Booth!

The greatest actor of his day or any other.

As I look back on it now, that night was the highest spot of my career.

I had life where I wanted it.

But for a time after that I kept on with ambition high,

married your mother. Ask her what I was like in those days.

Her love was an added incentive to ambition.

Then a few years later my good bad luck made me find the big money maker.

And then life had me where it wanted me.

At from thirty-five to forty thousand net profit a season.

A fortune in those days.

Even in these.

What the hell was it I wanted to buy, I wonder, that was worth...

Oh well, it's a late day for regrets.

My play isn't it?

I'm glad you told me this Papa.

I know you a lot bette now.

Maybe I shouldn't have told you.

Maybe you'll only feel more contempt for me.

It's a poor way to convince you of the value of a dollar.

The glare from those extra lights hurts my eyes.

You don't mind if I turn them out do you? We don't need them.

There's no point in making the electric company light company rich.

No, sure not. Turn them out.

No, I don't know what the hell it was I wanted to buy.

On my solemn oath Edmund.

I'd gladly face not having an acre of

land to call my own, nor a penny in the bank

I'd be willing to have no home but the poor house in my old age if I could

look back now on having been the fine artist I might have been.

What the devil are you laughing at?

Not at you Papa.

At life, it's so damned crazy.

More of your morbidness. There's nothing wrong with life.

It's we who...

"The fault dear Brutus is not in our stars

but in ourselves that we are underlings"

The praise Edwin Booth gave my Othello!

I made our manager write down his exact words in writting.

I kept it in my wallet for years.

I used to read it every once in a while.

Until, finally, it made me feel so bad I couldn't face it anymore.

Where is it now, I wonder? Somewhere in this house.

I remember I put it away carefully.

Might be in an old trunk in the attic along with Mama's wedding dress.

For pete's sake Papa, if we're gonna play cards, let's play.

She's still moving around.

- God know when she'll go to sleep!

- For God's sake Papa, forget it!

You just told me some high spots in your memories,

want to hear mine?

They're all connected with the sea.

Here's one. When I was on the Squarehead square rigger, bound for Buenos Aires.

Full moon in the Trades the old hooker driving fourteen knots.

I lay on the bowsprit, facing astern

the water foaming into spume under me,

the masts with every sail white in the moonlight, towering high above me.

I became drunk with the beauty and singing rhythm of it,

and for a moment I lost myself -- actually lost my life. I was set free!

I dissolved in the sea, became white sails and flying spray, became beauty

and rhythm, became the ship and the moonlight and the high dim-starred sky!

I belonged, without past or future, within peace and unity and a wild joy,

to something greater than my own life, or the life of Man,

to Life itself!

To God, if you want to put it that way.

And several other times in my life, when I was swimming far out,

or lying alone on a beach, I have had the same experience.

Became the sun, the hot sand, green seaweed

anchored to a rock, swaying in the tide.

Like a saint's vision of beatitude. Like the veil of things

as they seem drawn back by an unseen hand.

For a second you see -- and seeing the secret, are the secret.

For a second there is meaning!

Then the hand lets the veil fall and you are alone, lost in the fog again.

It's a great mistake me being born a man.

I'd have been much more successful as a seagul or a fish.

As it is I'll always be a stranger who can never really feel at home.

Who does not really want, is not really wanted

who can never really belong and who must

always be a little in love with death.

Yes, you've the makings of a poet in you all right.

The makings of a poet?

No I'm...I'm afraid I'm like the guy who's always panhandling for a smoke.

He hasn't even got the makings, he's only got the habit.

I couldn't touch what I was trying to tell you just now I only stammered.

It's the best I'll ever do, I mean if I live.

That's faithful realism at least.

Stammering is the native elequence of us, fog people.

Well, that sounds like absent brother.

- He must have a peach of a bun on.

- That loafer. He caught the last car back. Bad luck to it.

Get him to bed, Edmund. I'll go out on the porch. He has a

tongue like an adder when he's drunk. I'd only lose my temper.

What ho! What...

Nix on the loud noise.

Hello kid.

I'm as drunk as a fiddler's b*tch.

- Thanks for telling me your great secret.

- Yeah. Unnecessary information number one.

I had a serious accident. Front steps tried to trample on me.

Took advantage of the fog the way...

Ought to be another lighthouse out there.

It's dark in here too.

What the hell is this, the morgue?

"Ford, ford, ford o' Kabul river in the dark!"

"Keep the crossing-stakes beside you, an' they will surely guide you

'Cross the ford o' Kabul river in the dark."

There. That's more like it.

To hell with old gasbard!

Where is that old tight wad?

He's out on the porch.

He expects us to live....

in a black hole in Calcutta!

Say...

Have I got the dts?

(delirium tremens - tremors caused by lack of alcohol on people who are dependant)

My God!

It's real.

Hey what's the matter with the old man?

He must be assified to forget he left this out.

Grab opportunity by the forelock!

It's the key to my success.

- You're stinking now. That will knock you stiff.

- Wisdom from the mouth of babes.

- Can the wise stuff kid, you're still wet behind the ears.

- All right. Pass out if you want to.

I can't, that's the trouble.

I've had enough to sink a ship but I can't sink.

- Well... here's hoping.

- I'll have one too.

No. No you don't. Not while I'm around.

Remember doctors orders.

Maybe no one else gives a damn if you die

but I do.

You're my kid brother.

I love your guts kid.

Everything else is gone and you're all I got left.

- So no booze for you if I can gelp it.

- Lay off.

You don't believe I care. Just drunken bull.

All right go ahead and kill yourself.

Sure I know you care Jamie.

And I'm going on the wagon but tonight doesn't count.

Too many damned things have happened today.

Here's how.

I know kid, it's been a lousy day for you.

I bet old gasbard hasn't tried to keep you off the booze. He'll probably give

you a case to take with you to the state farm for pauper patients.

The sooner you kick the bucket, the less expense.

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes