The Pickwick Papers
- APPROVED
- Year:
- 1952
- 109 min
- 320 Views
- Music -
In the year 1836, Messrs. Chapman and Hall, the
publisher, paid the vast sum of 14 pounds a month to
a
comparatively obscure young journalist of 24 years
of age
to write a series of comic adventures around an
imaginary club and the misadventures of its
members.
His name was Charles Dickens, and he obliged by
creating
The Pickwick Club, forthwith bestowing immortal
fame upon
this little gentleman you now see before you, Mr.
Samuel
Pickwick himself. So now pray silence for his noble
and
poetic fellow Pickwickian and club secretary, Mr.
Augustus
Snodgrass.
In view of the success of the paper just read to us
by
our honorable chairman, Mr. Samuel Pickwick,
entitled
Speculations on the Source of the Hampstead Ponds
With Some
Observations on the Theory of Tittlebats, I wish to
move
the motion that he should now enlarge his sphere of
observation by journeying forth into the Length and
breadth of England accompanied by Mr. Tracy
Tupman, the club authority on matters of romantic
conquest,
Mr. Nathaniel Winkle, the all-round sportsman of the
group, and myself.
I second this motion.
Mr. Wardle?
As a guest of this distinguished club, I hereby
extend my hospitality to Mr. Pickwick when so ever his
explorations take him to Kent, where I'LL insist on
him putting up at Dingley Dell Farm as my honored
guest.
Mrs. Leo Hunter.
Thank you. And as another honored guest, I hereby
extend my invitation to Mr. Pickwick when his Literary
pilgrimage brings him to Etonsville, at which time I
shall arrange one of my celebrated Literary
breakfasts in his honor.
Here, here.
Well, off they go, Mrs. Bardell. Good-bye, my fine
Little lad.
Good-bye, Mr. Pickwick.
Good-bye, Mrs. Bardell.
Good-bye, Mr. Pickwick, and a safe journey.
Thank you, thank you.
- Music-
Ah, cabman, to the Golden Cross.
- Music-
How old is that horse, cabman?
42? Extraordinary. I really must make a note of
that for our next meeting of the club. But does he
never
suffer from fatigue?
Only when we take him out of the cab. Then he
always
falls down. But when he's in it, we bear him up very
tight
and take him in when it's cold, and we got a pair of
Large
prize wheels on, so that when he moves, they run
after him.
He has to keep up, he can't help it.
Bless my soul. Verification cab number 924.
- Music-
Mr. Tupman, Mr. Snodgrass, Mr. Winkle
Mr. Pickwick. ALL ready for fay eh? Here's your fare.
That for your shilling and I request the pleasure of
fighting you for it. Come on, stick up your hands.
What?
Must be mad.
Or drunk.
Or both.
Come on, all four of you.
Control yourself.
Here's the lot. Go to work on him, Sam.
What's the wrap?
Would you believe as a company informer that a
man
would use a man's cab and not only take his number
down,
but every word he says in the bargain?
Did he now?
Informer.
Yes, he did. Then agitates me into assault and
then gets three witnesses here to prove it. I'LL get
even with him, even if I do six months. Come on.
Stay! Hold! Desist! Enough! What's the commotion?
My dear sir, my name is Pickwick. Samuel Pickwick.
I'm chairman of the Pickwick club of which these
gentlemen
happen to be honored members and my friends. I
was merely
making a few notes on the extreme age and singular
habits of this cabman's horse, it being our custom in
the club to collect and comment about anything we
find particularity interesting, when he without
any -
He's an informer.
What? Respected gentleman. Know him Well.
What's your number?
Take some off 924, before I... License. None of your
nonsense. Step this way, sir. ALL a mistake. Never
mind. Never say die. Worse things happened at sea.
Jingles the name, sir. Alfred Jingle, Esquire. Step
this way, sir. Come along now. That's right. Stand
back
there, please.
Straight the way through, sir. That's right. That's
right. Little weak in the knees, sir? Natural reaction.
Recover in no time. There.
I'm Well adjusted to the strange mutability of human
affairs, sir.
A philosopher, sir?
An observer of human nature, sir.
So am I. Poet, too?
No. My friend Mr. Snodgrass has a strong poetic
turn.
So have I.
No, no, sir.
Oh, no, please, please.
I insist.
Well, if you insist.
Your heath, sir.
And yours, gentlemen. Fine girl. Not a patch on the
Spanish, though. Ah, noble creatures. Jet hair, black
eyes, Lovely forms, sweet creatures. Beautiful.
You have been in Spain, sir?
Second home.
Many conquests, sir?
Thousands. Don Bolaro Fizzgig. Grandee. Only
daughter. Donna Christina. Loved me to distraction.
Jealous father. Handsome Englishman. Donna
Christina
in despair. Prussic acid.
Oh.
Stomach pump in portmanteau. Saved Life. Old
Bolaro in ecstasies. Consent to union. Romantic
story,
very?
Is the Lady in England now, sir?
Dead, sir. Dead.
Dead, sir?
Dead.
What cause, sir?
Never recovered from the stomach pump.
Undermined constitution.
And her father?
Remorse and misery. Suddenly disappeared. Not a
trace. Her public fountain remains square, suddenly
ceased to play. Workmen employed to clean it.
Father-in-Law discovered sticking head first in main
pipe. Full confession in right boot.
Most singular idea, dear sir.
Will you allow me to note that Little romance down,
sir?
Certainly, sir. Certainly. 50 more if you
care to hear them. Strange Life, mine. Only one
ambition left.
Always wanted to settle down in Demerara, West
Indies. Perfect climate. Pineapple rum. Gentlemen
planter. Elegant. Very.
Ah, the coach. My Luggage.
Here it is, sir.
Thank you. Of course, that's not all. Rest has gone
on ahead by water. Packing cases as big as houses.
Where are you bound for, sir?
The Bull Inn Rochester, sir.
The Bull Inn Rochester? Why, so am I. Excellent
food.
Be my guest. I insist. After you, sir.
Oh no, no, sir. After you.
I insist. A privilege.
Thank you, sir.
- Music-
The objects of the Pickwick club.
Why, I do believe Mr. Winkle has fallen asleep.
Good gracious, so has Mr. Snodgrass.
Ah, mulled wine. Excellent. Waiter, fill up
all around. No expense spared. In vino veritas. No
heel taps. Ah, you were saying, sir?
Was saying?
Uh-huh.
Oh, yes, yes. The object of the Pickwick club, to
study human nature and to be of service to it. Ever
vigilant.
What's going on upstairs, waiter? Lamps, glasses,
harps?
A ball, sir, in aid of charity. Tickets at the bar,
sir, half a guinea.
Half guinea? Reasonable.
Many fine women in this town, do you know, sir?
Devastating. Everyone knows Kent. Apples,
cherries,
hops, women.
Could we go to the ball, Mr. Pickwick?
Beginning, fiddles tuning, now the harps. Off
they go.
- Music-
Ladies, God bless them.
Oh, I should Like to go very much. Very much.
So should I. Confounded Luggage. No rag to back.
No
money till bank opens in the morning. Provoking.
Very.
I should be happy not only to take you as my guest
No, no, no, please, please, please.
No, no, no, but I insist. And also to lend you a suit
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"The Pickwick Papers" Scripts.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 2 Nov. 2024. <https://www.scripts.com/script/the_pickwick_papers_21069>.
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