Theatre of Blood Page #2

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- A splendid review, my dear Snipe.

- What else did you say?

- More, in the same vein.

Let me refresh your memory.

Achilles unsurpassed...

This clearly is Lionhearts own view.

That actors oft-expressed desire

for solitude is well known.

He must derive much satisfaction

in knowing that he is absolutely alone

in his opinion

of this lamentable production.

- Did I write that?

- Your name is Hector Snipe?

I can only say that you were one actor

who could always accept criticism.

Criticism is one thing, my dear Snipe.

Then there is the little matter

of the Critics Award Presentation.

I cant accept blame for that.

Devlin was president of the Circle,

and you know how persuasive he can be.

Devlin?! Do you think

you can hide your guilt behind his?

Maxwell thought so, too.

Its all right, sir. No need to worry, sir.

Youre among friends here, sir.

Oh, thank you, my dear man.

I was getting a little bit nervous.

We were rehearsing Troilus and Cressida.

The scene where Hector,

believing he was among friends,

was brutally murdered by them

without warning,

and his body dragged from

the battlefield tied to a horses tail.

Lionheart, I came here for an interview,

not for a lecture on Shakespeare.

Now, tell us this remarkable story

of your resurrection.

Its a grave tale, Snipe,

and difficult to write,

but I am sure

you can rise to the occasion.

Stand back! Get out of the way!

The dragon wing of night

oerspreads the earth,

My half-suppd spear,

that frankly would have fed,

Pleased with this dainty bait,

thus goes to bed.

(evil laughter)

In the midst of life, we are in death.

We therefore commit

his body to the ground.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,

in sure and certain hope

of the resurrection to eternal life

through our Lord Jesus Christ.

Man that is born of a woman hath but

a short time to live and is full of misery.

He cometh up

and is cut down like a flower.

He fleeth as it were a shadow

and never continueth in one stay.

Almighty God, Father of all mercies

and giver of all comfort,

deal graciously, we pray thee,

with those who mourn,

that casting every care on thee, they may

know the consolation of thy love,

through Jesus Christ our Lord.

- Amen.

- Whos that girl?

- Sh!

- Im sure I know her from somewhere.

Do be quiet, Perry.

..be with us all ever more.

(all) Amen.

Imperious Caesar dead and turnd to clay,

Might stop a hole to keep the wind away.

O! That that earth

which kept the world in awe,

Should patch a wall

to expel the winters flaw.

Come, tie his body to my horses tail.

Along the field I will the Trojan trail.

- Shall I be seeing you at the club?

- (whinnying)

Oh, no!

Whoa, there.

(all gasp)

- Know him?

- Yeah.

Yeah. Hector Snipe.

- A critic?

- Yeah.

But hes supposed to be

one of the mourners.

George Maxwell, Hector Snipe -

both dead, both critics. Now, why?

Who hates you enough

to want to kill two of your circle?

Critics are likely

to make enemies, lnspector.

You might call it an occupational hazard.

But, darling boy, they wont start killing

people for writing bad notices, will they?

Well, why not? A play fails,

directors, writers, actors, careers ruined.

Plenty of motivation there, I should think.

Are you saying some lunatic in the theatre

might be trying to kill us all?

Its a distinct possibility.

Id like you all to give it some thought.

If you have any ideas,

get in touch with me... at once.

Take me home. I think lm going to be ill.

Oh, my God.

I think Georginas going to faint.

- I know who it is.

- What?

That girl. Edwina Lionheart.

Hello, Edwina. I thought it was you.

Well, the brilliant Peregrine Devlin.

Wielder of the brutal aphorism.

Master of the killing phrase.

My fathers murderer.

- Thats a bit melodramatic, isnt it?

- Oh, forgive me. I forgot.

It was your reverence and admiration

that drove him to take his own life.

- You dont understand.

- I understand the greatest ever actor

never earned your approval

for one single performance.

Never. Not one good review.

In his entire career your father refused

to appear in anything but Shakespeare.

A truly great actor illuminates

the present as well as the past.

I attacked him in order to goad him

into the 20th century.

What do you want, Devlin? lnformation

for a vicious posthumous attack on him?

No. Look, Edwina,

your fathers body was never found.

My father is as good as under that granite.

You and your pack neednt fear

hes come back to haunt you.

(hippy) Fear no more the heat o the sun

(Lionheart) No exorciser harm thee

- (hippy) Nor the furious winters rages

- (Lionheart) Nor no witchcraft charm thee

(hippy) Thou thy worldly task has done

(Lionheart) Ghost unlaid forbear thee

(hippy) Home hath gone

and taen thy wages

(Lionheart) Nothing ill come near thee

(hippy) Golden lads and girls all must

(Lionheart) Quiet consummation have

(hippy) Like chimney sweepers

come to dust

(Lionheart) And renowned be thy grave.

(crowd) Bravo!

Thank you, thank you.

An excellent dress rehearsal.

But tonight we shall play Cymbeline

as it has never been played before.

(excited murmurs)

I simply dont understand

these modern playwrights.

What we saw this evening

didnt make sense at all.

(Sprout) lm not so sure about that, dear.

It was incomprehensible rubbish,

and you know it.

Yes, lm sure youre right.

Good gracious.

According to Agnes, it came this evening.

What to do with it, she does not know.

You must remove it, Horace. I cant

have a thing like that in my bedroom.

Well, dont just stand there.

Why dont you open it?

- I cant without a key and tools, can l?

- Well, deal with it in the morning, then.

Yes, dear.

(Sprout snoring)

Horace, youre snoring.

- (mumbles) Oh, dear. Was l?

- How many more times?

- (whispers) Hypodermic.

- Hypo.

Ooh!

(moans)

- Sheet.

- Sheet.

(mutters)

- Lipstick.

- Lipstick.

- Scalpel.

- Scalpel.

(tearing)

(gushing)

Basin.

Basin!

- Saw.

- Saw.

(cutting)

Horace! How many more times?

Youre snoring again.

- Hypodermic.

- Hypodermic.

Ooh!

(knock at door)

Morning, maam.

Good morning, Mr Sprout.

Heres your breakfast.

Aaargh!

Horace!

Horace!

Mr... Mr Sprout...

Aaargh!

All right, thats enough.

Get that thing out of here.

Constable.

Dyou have that list of your colleagues?

My remaining colleagues, yes.

You wouldnt have a match on you

by any chance, would you?

Thanks very much.

Sergeant, get every one

of these people on the phone,

tell them to stay where they are

until a constable picks them up

and delivers them here for a meeting.

And stress that on no account

are they to go out alone. Right?

Well, Mr Devlin.

Theres no doubt about it now.

Hes after you all.

Mr Dickman?

Yes. Trevor Dickman.

Your secretary told me

I might find you here.

Really? That was

terribly considerate of her.

- Have you heard the news?

- No. What?

His head cut off? I cant believe it.

Isnt it simply awful? Poor Mr Sprout.

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