The Cook, the Thief, His Wife & Her Lover Page #4

Synopsis: The wife of a barbaric crime boss engages in a secretive romance with a gentle bookseller between meals at her husband's restaurant. Food, colour coding, sex, murder, torture and cannibalism are the exotic fare in this beautifully filmed but brutally uncompromising modern fable which has been interpreted as an allegory for Thatcherism.
Genre: Crime, Drama
Director(s): Peter Greenaway
Production: Trimark
  7 wins & 10 nominations.
 
IMDB:
7.6
Metacritic:
62
Rotten Tomatoes:
89%
NC-17
Year:
1989
124 min
1,728 Views


Now, go on. Eat that. Go on.

Put it in your mouth. Go on. Go on.

Now, what's it taste like?

- Wet bread.

- No.

It's all squishy with gritty bits in it.

That's the sand.

That's the sand. You're a comic.

No, you mule. It's got a skin round it.

- Do you spit the skin out?

- No.

Pick it out of your teeth afterwards,

chump it up.

Now, swallow that, go on, swallow it.

Swallow it.

Go on, that's right.

Now, Mitchel, you have just eaten

a sheep's bollock.

The next time I ask you

to work for me, Mitchel,

I'll be expecting you to chew

someone's bollocks off on demand.

Oh, you're back.

What do you find in that toilet

that's so fascinating?

I'll go and have a pee and a look.

What have they got

since I was last in there?

Velvet seats, dirty pictures?

Hah.

Free perfume? A private drinks bar?

Cor, what a disgusting smell in here!

Must be the pigs using it, eh?

How disgusting it is.

Ha! Urgh, how horrible. Disgusting.

Revolting place, needs airing out.

What's this?

Gaw, phwoar, phwoar...

Look. "There was a young man from Uckinham

who got caught while he was..."

That is disgusting!

People ought to be locked up for that.

Absolutely appalling.

Not what I'm used to at all.

It's disgraceful.

Don't you reckon, don't you think?

Yes. God.

- 'Ere, what are you looking at?

- What are you talking about?

Don't pretend. You're waiting

for my young associates, aren't you?

A man ought to be able to piss

without harassment.

- How dare you? I'm getting the manager.

- I am the manager.

And you are out on the street.

Caught loitering in a toilet.

Yeah.

That's what these people need.

Short, sharp, shock treatment.

Hello. What are you doing? Reading again?

This is a restaurant,

not a library.

The only thing you're allowed

to read in here is the menu.

You are insulting the chef.

Reading gives you indigestion,

didn't you know that?

Don't read at the table.

You know, I've just been reading stuff

to make your hair curl.

Out there, in the toilet.

That's the sort of stuff

people read, not this sort of thing.

Don't you feel out of touch?

Does this stuff make money?

You know, I bet you're

the only man who's read this book.

But I bet you,

every man in this restaurant

has had a read at

that stuff out there.

It makes you think, doesn't it?

You know, I reckon you read

because you got nobody to talk to.

I tell you what. So you shouldn't eat alone,

why don't you come and join us?

Come and meet my wife.

She's seen you.

I know she's sorry for you

sitting here all alone.

She likes to read too.

She spends hours sitting on the bed reading.

She even reads on the john.

This is Cory.

This is Mitchel.

He can't read, can you, Mitchel?

- Yes, I can.

- Yeah. Comics and dirty magazines.

And this is Georgina. She is my wife.

What's your name?

Michael.

Well, Michael.

Oh, is that a Jewish name, Michael?

Do you eat kosher food then, Michael?

Sit down, Michael, and tell us

all about kosher food, Michael.

- I'm sorry but I'm not Jewish.

- Oh, why be sorry, why hide it?

60% of the people in this restaurant

are a touch Jewish, Michael.

Richard, set another place for Michael.

He is Jewish, so maybe you could find him

some spare ribs. No pork.

Oh, no she won't -- He won't need those.

We're going to hold a conversation,

aren't we?

You can start, Georgie.

Tell Michael all about yourself.

I'm sure your wife would

rather eat in peace.

No. Talk, Georgina.

Here's your chance

to improve your table conversation.

Tell Michael you live in a big house

and you spend 400 a week on clothes.

I spend 400 a week on clothes.

You have a petrol allowance of 40 a week.

I have a petrol allowance of 40 a week,

which I never use.

- You wear beautiful things.

- I wear beautiful things.

- You eat in the best restaurants.

- I eat in the best restaurants.

Georgina, try a little harder, please.

- I go to a good hairdresser.

- Yes, the best there is.

- I go to a good dentist.

- Yes, yeah, oh, yeah. He's Jewish.

- I go to a good gynaecologist.

- You what?

Who says it's unlikely

I'll ever have a baby.

Michael doesn't want to know that.

That the three miscarriages

have ruined my insides.

That isn't true,

Michael doesn't need to know that.

Now, drink up, Michael,

let's talk about you.

What do you do?

I'm a gynaecologist.

- You're a what?

- You could always come and see me.

We don't need to discuss that subject.

Being infertile makes me a safe bet

for a good screw.

Shut up, Georgie!

I must apologise for my wife, Michael.

If you don't get back to your table,

you're in danger of losing it.

The place gets very full about now.

Mitchel, take Michael back to his table.

Tell him about horses.

Oh, it's all right, Mr Spica, thank you.

I prefer to read my book.

Besides, I've finished. Thank you.

Thank you for introducing me to your wife.

I like your name.

What the hell do you think you're doing? Eh?

Telling a complete stranger

intimate details about us?

It's not about us. It's about me.

It's about us!

And what's all this,

how much time you spend in that loo?

What's all this about a gynaecologist?

Who is he?

It'd better be a she.

I don't want some bloke

fingering my wife about.

It's a man. He's Jewish.

- And he's from Ethiopia.

- What?

His mother is a Roman Catholic,

he's been in prison in South Africa,

he's as black as the ace of spades

and probably drinks his own pee.

- Take that, you b*tch!

- Oh!

You lying, ungrateful b*tch!

You get in that car.

It's the doghouse for you, you b*tch.

Bloody gynaecologist. Blasted gynaecologist.

Get up. Get up.

Get in the car, you slag.

Get in there. Go on.

Yeah.

Maiser came here.

And Trelawny with his black lady friends

who wore peaches in their hair.

- Peaches?

- Imitation.

And the Austrian brothers sat by the door -

high-wire professionals.

Great balancers, sloppy with money.

And Tim Tranter drank soup here out of a

cup with a straw when his jaw was broken.

There used to be a mark up there

where Goshy Capps threw a plate of kippers.

- Kippers?

- Yes, kippers, for God's sake.

You wouldn't find kippers here.

- They serve kippers for breakfast here.

- You've had breakfast here?

The ferryman and his lady

ate here every morning.

The ferryman was a poofter.

And fish disagreed with him.

- Who are all these people?

- Small-time crooks and pimps...

Boarst painted it out.

I'll get him to paint it back again.

...gigolos, busted boxers, cheap whores...

I've got the clippings at home.

...bullies, hairdressers, faggots.

- Robin Hoods.

- No, just hoods.

- You're getting very smart.

- Smart? Even his slang's out of date.

Now I'm the clientele,

you understand? Me.

And Georgie here and Cory Peterson.

The coq Au Vin is good.

- Cock a what?

- Chicken cooked in wine, you mule.

- Bess Riddle lived on coq Au Vin.

- More of the coq than the Vin.

Starkie, there are ladies present.

- Or there were. Where's she gone?

- Gracie's no lady, are you?

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Peter Greenaway

Peter Greenaway, CBE (born 5 April 1942 in Newport, Wales) is a British film director, screenwriter, and artist. His films are noted for the distinct influence of Renaissance and Baroque painting, and Flemish painting in particular. Common traits in his film are the scenic composition and illumination and the contrasts of costume and nudity, nature and architecture, furniture and people, sexual pleasure and painful death. more…

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Submitted on August 05, 2018

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