The Madness of King George Page #5

too many novels.

He has to recover soon,

or we're done for.

(Woman) Mr Pitt.

Lady Pembroke.

Her Majesty understands

that you are dissatisfied

with His Majesty's doctors.

The king is no better.

Mr Pitt, my mother-in-law

lost her wits,

and a succession of physicians

failed to recover them for her.

But one doctor was confident

of her return to health.

Accordingly,

she was placed in his care.

And is she recovered?

Entirely.

Rides to hounds,

founded some almshouses,

embroiders around the clock.

I've written down his name.

(Woman) Sir!

Thank you, Mrs Cordwell.

Look! Look! Look!

At last! At last!

- Mrs Cordwell...

- This is my husband,

come post-haste from Portsmouth.

Mrs Cordwell,

Captain Cordwell drowned

off the Goodwin Sands

three years since.

But he is very like.

Back to work, Mrs Cordwell.

Dr Willis?

I must have

certain undertakings...

authority over the patient,

access to him at all times.

You will reside here at Windsor,

and Parliament

will have to be kept informed,

so you will need

to write bulletins.

They must be confident,

optimistic.

The survival of the government

depends upon it.

And, Dr Willis,

you are my doctor.

Do you understand?

I'm the king's doctor, sir.

It is the same thing.

In here, sir.

Yes.

Do you know, Mr Greville,

the state of monarchy

and the state of lunacy

share a frontier?

Some of my lunatics

fancy themselves kings.

He...

is the king.

Where shall his fancy

take refuge?

We do not use the word lunatic,

sir, in relation to His Majesty.

Oh.

Well, who's to say

what's normal in a king? Hmm?

Deferred to, agreed with,

acquiesced in.

Who can flourish

on such a daily diet

of compliance?

To be curbed... stood up to...

in a word, thwarted

exercises the character,

elasticates the spirit,

makes it more pliant.

It's the want of such exercise

that makes rulers rigid.

Sharp, sharp!

The king, the king!

This is the king, sir.

Whom I must cure.

...As straight as a ruler,

straight as a ruler

done by a ruler.

And another beside that

until you have

as pretty a ploughed field

this side of Cirencester.

(Willis) I have a farm.

Put us out of our kingdom.

We'd not want for employment.

Give me the management

of 50 acres, and I could do it.

I said...

I have a farm, Your Majesty.

Ahem.

This gentleman, sir,

has made the illness

under which Your Majesty labours

his special study, sir.

A mad doctor, is it?

I'm not mad, just nervous.

I shall endeavour to...

alleviate some

of the inconveniences

from which Your Majesty suffers.

Inconveniences?

Insults.

Assaults.

And salt besides rubbed

into these wounds. Look!

By your dress, sir,

and general demeanour,

I'd say you were

a minister of God.

That's true. I was once

in the service of the church.

Now I practice medicine.

You've quitted a profession

I've always loved

and embraced one

I most heartily detest.

Our saviour went about

healing the sick.

But he had not

Ha ha ha!

Well, that's not bad

for a madman.

I have a hospital

in Lincolnshire.

Lincolnshire.

Yes, I know Lincolnshire.

Fine sheep there.

Admirable sheep.

Pigs, too.

But I know of no hospitals.

My patients work, sir.

They till the soil, cultivate...

and in so doing,

they acquire a better

conceit of themselves.

I'm king of England.

A man can have

no better conceit of himself.

Do you look at me, sir?

I do, sir.

I have you in my eye.

No, I have you in mine.

You're bold, sir.

But by God, I'm bolder.

Don't look at me!

I'm not one of your farmers!

You must behave!

Must? Whose must is this,

your must or my must?

Get away from me,

you bum sucker.

Lincolnshire lick-fingers!

Clean your tongue, sir.

I will not! I'll be a guest

in the graveyard first.

Very well. If Your Majesty

will not behave,

you must be restrained.

When felons

were induced to talk,

they were shown first the

instruments of their torture.

The king is shown

the instrument of his

to induce him not to talk.

Well, I won't, I won't.

I won't.

Bring him back. Bring him back!

What are you doing?

This is the king!

Stop.

What are you doing, sir?

No. No. No. No.

This is the king, sir!

This is the king!

Bastard!

I'm the king!

Take your hands off me!

This is the king!

Sit him down. Sit him down.

I'll have your hospital...

(Muffled) Help me! Help!

If the king refuses food,

he will be restrained.

If he claims to have no

appetite, he will be restrained.

If he swears

and indulges

in meaningless discourse...

he will be restrained.

If he throws off his bedclothes,

tears away his bandages,

scratches at his sores,

and does not strive every day

towards his own recovery,

then he must be restrained.

- I am the king of England!

- No, sir!

You are the patient!

(Queen) Not permitted.

Not permitted!

We recommended him,

and still it is not permitted.

None of them know him.

Come, Baker,

for heaven's sake.

(Queen) He's not himself.

How can they restore him

to his proper self,

not knowing what that self is?

He's an angel

of kindness and goodness.

Fortnum.

Sir.

What are you doing?

I'm going, sir,

to Piccadilly, sir,

to start a provision merchant's.

It isn't much, sir,

but it's a cut above

emptying piss-pots.

Braun.

Pepys.

Good news.

A fetid and a stinking stool.

Pepys.

The colour good, well shaped,

and a prodigious quantity.

Mind you, the urine

is a little dark.

Or is it the light?

Pepys, this Willis.

Yes?

A dangerous man.

Is he?

Not a proper doctor.

Not a member of

the Royal College of Physicians.

Wants us out, Pepys.

No.

We must stick together.

And remember, one voice.

- One voice.

- One voice.

(Prince)

What kind of fellow is he?

Parson.

Quack.

Has some modern ideas.

He'll need watching.

I've heard

very good things about him.

He does a lot of it

with his eyes.

You mean he actually

looks at the king?

Yes.

Damned impudence.

Poor king.

No queen. Must be very lonely.

Such a pity he's not nearer.

Then you could go visit him.

Hmm.

You don't mean...here?

Good God, no.

Kew.

(King) Kew? Aah!

Throw him in.

- Come on, Your Majesty.

- Come on, sir.

Stop struggling, Your Majesty.

God!

Stop!

I see you, sir.

No, sir. You do not see me.

Nobody sees me.

I am not here.

Easy!

(King) Take your filthy hands

off me, you...

I have you in my eye, sir.

And I shall do so

until you learn

to do as you're told.

I'm the king.

I tell, I'm not told.

I am the verb, sir.

I am not the object.

Then till you can

govern yourself,

you're not fit

to govern others.

And until you do so...

I shall govern you.

Govern yourself then,

you goat. Pbbblllt!

Get him in the coach.

Then I am dead!

Coffin king!

I shall be taken out,

murdered,

and my genitals torn off

and pulled apart by horses

and my limbs exhibited

in a neighbouring town.

Get him in!

(King) Aah! Oh, help me, please!

Help me. Help.

Mr King.

- Come on, you little bugger.

- Come on!

(King)

The queen will come, you said.

- In time, sir.

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