The Happy Prince (2018) Script


High above the city, on a tall column, stood the statue of the Happy Prince.

He was gilded all over with thin leaves of fine gold.

For eyes, he had two bright sapphires, and a large red ruby glowed on his sword-hilt.

He was very much admired indeed.

One night, there flew over the city a little swallow.

His friends had gone away to Egypt six weeks before... but he had stayed behind.

Where shall I...?

All the next day, he sat on the Prince's shoulder and told him storeys of things he had seen in strange lands.

Of the red ibises who stand in long rows on the banks of the Nile... and catch goldfish in their beaks.

Of the King of the Mountains of the Moon, who is as black as ebony... and worships a large crystal.

"Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow", said the Happy Prince.

"You tell me of marvellous things.

But more marvellous than this... is the suffering of men and women.

There is no mystery so great as suffering.

Fly over my city, little Swallow... and tell me what you see there."

So the Swallow flew over the great city... and saw the rich making merry in their beautiful houses... while the white faces of starving children looked out listlessly at the black streets.

At a table sat a broken man, a bunch of withered violets by his side.

He was a writer.

But he was too cold to finish his play.

It's a dream.

I rather agree with you.

Absolutely extraordinary!

It was very good bottle. Lovely place too!

I tell you what. When we're next in London, will you come to the club? Hmm?

I'd love to! Which one?

Um... The Carlton. Oh, marvellous!

Never seen a man eat so... I...

What is it, my dear? I, I think I left my fan.

Is she all right?


Mr Wilde!

Mr Wilde?

Madam. Surely you remember me.

It's Mrs Arbuthnot.

I came to all your first nights.

Of course, madam.

One never forgets such a face.

How kind of you to speak to me.

You are well, I see. Very well, sir.

How are you? Oh...

Lydia! Come here immediately!

I have to go.

You couldn't lend me £5, could you?

Things are a little tight at present. I feel ghastly asking like this but...

Lydia! I'm coming!

Mr Wilde, I...

I... just wish...

Never wish, madam. It might come true.

But thank you... for a moment's harmony in a discordant fugue.

Go back to Jeffrey at once.

If you ever speak to my wife again, I'll kill you. Do you hear me?


Five pounds.


See, see, my Christ blood streams through the firmament.


I'm coming.


Shrouded in the symphony of adjacent copulation.


Ow!

Thanks.

For that.

Sit down.


My dear Boudicca.

Please!

Garçon.

Very well, sir.

And for you, sirs?

Ooh, Maurice.

Maurice! Maurice!

Maurice!

Oscar!

Brother.


Shut up.


♩ I'm a young girl ♩

♩ And I just come over ♩

♩ Over from the country Where they do things big ♩

♩ And amongst the boys I've got a lover ♩

♩ And since I've got a lover Well, I don't give a fig ♩

♩ The boy I love ♩

♩ Is up in the gallery ♩

♩ The boy I love is looking down at me ♩

♩ There he is, can't you see? ♩

♩ Waving his handkerchief ♩

♩ As merry as a cricket ♩

♩ That lives on the leaf ♩

♩ Now if I were a duchess And had a lot of money ♩

♩ I'd give it to my Johnny Who's going to marry me ♩

♩ But I haven't got a penny So I'll live on love and kisses ♩

♩ And be just as happy As the birds in the tree... ♩

♩ The boy I love Is up in the gallery ♩

♩ The boy I love is looking down at me ♩

♩ There he is, can't you see? Waving his handkerchief ♩

♩ As merry as a cricket ♩

♩ That lives on the leaf ♩

♩ As merry as a cricket ♩

♩ That lives on the leaf ♩

The actors... have given a charming rendering of a delightful play.

Your appreciation is most intelligent.

I congratulate you on the success of your performance.

Which persuades me that you think almost as highly of the play... as I do myself.

Oscar Wilde.

The crime of which you have been convicted is so bad that one has to put the sternest restraint upon oneself from describing the sentiments, which must rise to the breast of every man of honour.

It is no use to address you.

People who do these things must be dead to all sense of shame.

I shall, under such circumstances, be expected to pass the severest sentence that the law allows.

The sentence of the court is that you be imprisoned and kept to hard labour for two years.


Robbie.

My lonely rider of the Apocalypse.

You took me into exile, dear boy.

Where will you take me now?

I'm not taking you anywhere. What?

What ship? Ireland, you say?

No ships, Oscar.

I'm here in Paris. I have your allowance.

Oh, good. I have been dinnerless.

I'm in mortal combat with this wallpaper, Robbie.

One of us has to go.

Maurice says you made quite a scene last night.

It's more or less impossible to make good scenes in such reduced circumstances as mine.

But I believe I did my best.

Last night, I dreamed I was dining with the dead.

You must've been the life and soul of the party, Oscar.

What is this? Morphia.

I am much distracted, dear boy.

I've had a very bad time lately. For two days, not a penny in my pocket.

So I had to wander around, filled with wild longings, trapped in the circle of boulevards.

One of the worst in the Inferno.

Jumping off tables at your age.

What do you think, doctor?

The abscess has suppurated.

If things don't improve, I'm afraid we'll have to operate.

I shall never forget your kindness when I was released from prison.

What high hopes we had that day.

But I was doomed from the start.

Why does one run towards ruin?

Why does it hold such a fascination?


Oscar!

Robbie!

Oscar. Robbie!

How are you? Where's Reggie?

He's waiting for us at the hotel. He wanted to make sure there were no...

What? Difficulties.

Have you got everything? No.

I left Oscar Wilde at Newhaven.

And this is the last thing he wrote.

The great letter I told you about.

Make three copies, send one to Bosie Douglas, one to me and keep the original under lock and key.

Understood? Come.


If anyone asks for your papers, just say they're in your cabin trunk.

What?

Well, well, well.

Sebastian Melmoth.

Reggie. What an absolute joy!

Your first time in Dieppe, Sebastian? Sorry?

What fun.

Let me introduce you immediately to our good friend, the manager.

Melmoth, meet Monsieur Duroc..

Look after Mr Melmoth, would you? Best room, and all that.

Well, I'll leave you to it. You lunching?

Er, yes, probably.

My favourite blue. The case is from Reggie.

And here's £800 we raised while you were in prison.

No!

It'll keep you going until you begin to work again. Uh! I'll look after this.

Reggie!

Oh, darling Oscar.

How do you like your new name?

Almost as much as I loathe the old one.

Ah! Letters.

And look!

No exiled fairy's trousseau is complete without a signed portrait of the great widow herself.

You must dance naked before it at the Jubilee next month.

It's from him. Oscar?

I may as well tell you both now that I fully intend to effect a reconciliation with my wife.

If she will have me.

And rest assured, I shall never see Lord Alfred Douglas again.

That part of my life is behind me.

No, he was absolutely furious.

Really? Come on, Oscar, that's simply not true.

That's the whole point.

From what you say, Oscar, it would seem that Reading Gaol is an enchanted castle.

With the governor as its presiding elf.

Robbie...

I met Christ in prison. And what was she in for?

Don't joke, Reggie. In the cell, there is only God and man.

After three days in hell, Jesus rose from the dead... broke open his tomb, discarded his cerements and took his place forever in the heart of man.

After 700 days of hard labour, my tomb is opened.

I have tiptoed to the boat train and am born again, through him, with him and in France.

Very good, Oscar. We'll make a Catholic of you yet.

Only unlike dear Jesus, you have luggage.

And £800 to spend before your ascension into heaven.

Or purgatory.

I'm afraid a delegation of 15 young poets are arriving from Paris at the weekend to welcome you into exile. Oh.

They're bringing a cheque. Oh, good.

All I'm saying, Reggie, dear, is I have lived in the grip of vice and pleasure.

It was wrong and I have paid.

Perhaps the slate is wiped clean, perhaps it is not, who knows?

At any rate, I am now ready to return to life.


You coming down, Oscar?

I need to get my bathing things.


Constance, my dear, good, beautiful wife.

There is nothing I can ever say that will undo the great hurt I have caused you.

We both know that.

For two years, I have lain on hard boards, knelt on cold stone, dined on shame and thought of little else.

You and my sons are the only things that tie me to life.

I don't know if...

Were it not for the hope that one day I would meet you all again...

I don't think I could go on.

Good God.

My desire to live, dearest Constance, is as intense as ever.

Oh, for God's sake.

And though my heart is broken, hearts are made to be broken.

Waiter, more champagne, please!

That is why God sends sorrow to the world.

Write to me as soon as you can and tell me that I am still your Oscar.


Speech! Speech! Speech!

Speech! Speech!

Speech! Speech!


No, to you! You are really wonderful!

Wonderful!

Come on, boys! Let's have him!

Oh, shot!


You can't bowl! You just simply can't bowl!

No, you can't.

Get away from me! I don't want to catch anything.

Er, coffee.

Six café au lait.

Go away.

Not wearing your silk stockings today, Oscar?

Darling boy. Yes, my Hyacinth.

Oh, remind me to change the sheets today, darling boy.

Your slim, gilt cheeks have left a shit stain all the way down your side of the bed.

You go too far, sir!

No you go too far, madam.

Garçon, there's a piece of shit on the pavement. Get rid of it!

Oscar! There you are!

We're late. They're waiting for us.

Are you all right, Oscar?

No, not really.

Let's go back to the hotel.

Let's follow them.

Christ, they're following us.

Wait for me! I want to cover you in honey and lick it off again!

This is intolerable.

This way.

Oh, look! Sticks, sticks!

This is better than hunting! Come on!

Quick! A church!

What's the matter, Oscar?

What more do you want?

What more do you want?

Get your hands off me!

You've taken everything, you little shit! Everything!

My family, my work, my freedom! Everything!

There's nothing left to take!

What are you gonna do, kill me? I'm already dead, you cunt!

Now, go!

The natural habitat of the hypocrite is England.

Go back there, leave me in peace! Go!

I didn't know you had it in you.

I don't.

I've nothing in me.

Not even fear.

With no warning, I was transferred one afternoon from Wandsworth to Reading Gaol.

In broad daylight, by train, shackled to a warder like a performing bear.

That journey was the most exquisite of the tortures Her Majesty contrived for me.

At Clapham Junction, we had to wait for a connexion.

Half an hour, my dears, on platform two.

Sadly, my public had not forgotten me.

At first, they simply giggled and pointed.

And then a man began to shout.

It's Oscar bleeding Wilde!

He paced up and down, wagging his finger...

Backs to the wall, boys!

...as he catalogued my crimes to his growing and spellbound audience.

We don't want any of that love, but don't speak its moniker here!

At each twist, they moaned and swayed as one... spitting and screaming, hungering for my blood.

And I...

I saw the future.

It was the end of all peace.

I shall see it on my deathbed.

Oh, dear. It's from the Chief of Police.

You read it.

It seems he's to be deported if his behaviour doesn't improve.

Our celebration of young French poets didn't go down very well in the voisinage.

Well, for God's sake, don't tell him now.

In his current mood, he's likely to set fire to the hotel.

Thank Christ I'm leaving tomorrow.

Be careful, Robbie.

He'll eat you.

Can't help it.

Goodnight, dear boy.


I read your letter from prison.

It's really rather marvellous.

You should call it De Profundis.

Well, it was written from the depths.

Bosie will probably try to kill you when he reads it.

I wrote some harsh letters to you, Robbie. I'm sorry.

You wrote harsh letters to us all. I know.

It's hard to explain the feeling... of utter impotence and desperation in there.

One becomes a Fury.

One never speaks. One simply weeps and has diarrhoea.

Result: lunacy.

Do you forgive me?

Who'd have thought that afternoon we met, fifteen years ago, that here we'd be?

Lepers dining under a full moon in a foreign hotel.

It's quite romantic, in a way.

Except that you, dear boy, are not a leper.

Tomorrow morning, you will blow away on the sea breeze, destination Dover.

As to who would've thought... We met in a public lavatory, Bobby dear.

And we ended up here.

You wouldn't have to be the Sybil of Mortimer Street to join the dots.

I was going to a matinee.

And I was going to my club.

A different corner, a minute later... another play and who knows, perhaps I should be the poet laureate, but I doubt it.

Intimacy in the sewers, followed by fantasy in the Gods.

The rest is silence.


He did not wear his scarlet coat For blood and wine are red And blood and wine were on his hands When they found him with the dead The poor dead woman whom he loved And murdered in her bed

Superb.

As the boys' guardian, I can't impress upon you too strongly my alarm at your being in contact with your husband at all.

Mrs Holland. Mrs Wilde.

Constance.

We have been friends for many years.

I am the executor of your grandfather's estate.

You must trust us. Please sign.

Cyril and Vyvyan, stop fighting!

Be extremely cautious when you reply to his letter.

I feel sure that if I was to see him once, I would forgive him everything.

Precisely, my dear, and then you would be stuck here in Heidelberg forever.

We may go to Genoa in the spring.

A surgeon there thinks he might be able to do something for my wretched back.

You must wait.

Think of your children.

He must prove to you that he will change, that he can.

Since you left, I've been completely alone.

Oscar, that's simply not true.

My wife has written me a revolting letter, in which she tells me that perhaps she will see me at some later date, but not in the foreseeable future, and the boys probably never.

Quite frankly, Oscar, I'm amazed you should imagine that Constance would want to see you at all.

You wrote her one letter full of your usual perfumed shit and you suppose everything you've put her through for the past few years can simply be forgotten.

Robbie, if you've come here to upset me, I suggest you return to Dieppe where you'll find a train that leaves at three minutes past the hour, every hour.

I'm not here to upset you, Oscar. I just want you to be reasonable.

Bosie, whom you all deplore, at least offers to help me.

Oh, really? How, Oscar? How is Bosie gonna help you?

Bosie loves me, Robbie.

In a way that you could never understand.

At any rate, he's coming here next week.

Then you will never see Constance again!

You seem to forget, Oscar, that despite everything you've put her through, she still allows you £4 a week.

That £4, Oscar, is dependant upon Bosie's absence from your life.

But doubtless he'll settle money on you when he gets here, if his mother's given him any.

I'm all alone! I have no one! Why are you being so harsh?

You have me, Oscar! I am here!

But it's not enough, is it?

Why is it not enough, Oscar?

Well, frankly, my dear... you're not really grand enough and you're certainly not rough enough.

Let's get a drink, for God's sake.

And don't be cross, Robbie. You weren't built for rage.

I went on the most marvellous pilgrimage yesterday to Notre-Dame de Liesse.

Did you know liesse is the mediaeval word for happiness?

No, I didn't. Well, it is.

I go there every day.

It takes all of ten minutes to get to it and just as many to get back.

The priest, who is charming and terribly attractive, has become a great friend.

Yesterday, he showed me all his vestments.

He looked particularly captivating in his martyr's garb.

Rose dorée streaked with blood.


You see, Robbie.

Suffering is nothing when there is love.

Love is everything.


Bosie.

♩ The boy I love ♩

♩ Is up in the gallery ♩

♩ The boy I love is looking down at me ♩

♩ There he is, can't you see... ♩ Oscar. ♩ Waving his handkerchief ♩

♩ As merry as a cricket ♩

♩ That lives on the leaf ♩

Oh, come on, Oscar, it's not like you to have nothing to say.

Oscar.

Oh, Bosie!

Come on.

It's all right.

Come on.

Come on, let's sit down.


It's all right, shh. Oh, thank you.

Oh, how are you?

Oh, Bosie, it is so lovely to see you!

Oh, you too. Anyway, that night...

Bosie, about that letter I sent you from prison.

I never got it. What did it say?

Oh. Nothing much. Huh.

It was just my testament.

De Profundis.

Oh, Oscar, you silly old fairy. Come here.

I am my own Judas.

I need a drink.

Come on.

What are your plans? What plans can I have?

The doom of Melmoth is to wander the earth, seeking shelter where he can.

I may go south. Naples.

See it and die. If only it were that simple.

Have you written anything? Mm.

A ballad about prison. It's almost finished.

Rather good, actually.

Oscar, let's run away. Somewhere no one could find us.

Naples, in fact.

Dear boy, you don't know what you're saying.

I'm starving. Let's order, for God's sake.

Why do we huddle without the city walls at a station hotel?

Because I am a ruined man...

if you came with me to Naples, the world would become a picture you could look at but never touch.

Do you love me that much, Bosie?

But anyway, we have no money.

Oh, money. Oscar, for Christ's sake, my mother's got masses.

What are you laughing at?

Nothing. Just something Robbie said.

Robbie's been against me since the day we met. He's... riddled with jealousy.

Robbie loves me, Bosie.

In a way that you could never understand.

Shall we take a room?

Hmm?


My going back to Bosie was psychologically inevitable.

I cannot live without the atmosphere of love.

"I must love and be loved, whatever the price I pay for it."

I dare say what I have done is fatal.

I love him as I always did. With a sense of tragedy and ruin.

Oscar! Oh, God.

Oscar! Bosie?

Listen to me, you little...

It's under my chair, it's under my chair!

There it is! Get it!

It's behind the cupboard! Get it! Oscar, there are fucking rats everywhere!

For God's sake, Bosie, calm down. It was in the fucking bed, Oscar!

Kill it! Kill it!

It's only a rat, don't worry about it.

Bosie, you're completely hysterical.

Get that fucking thing away from me. You keep that fucking away from me!

This place is fucking ridiculous! Fucking ridiculous!

I forbid it. I forbid him to live with that infernal man.

There was nothing anyone could do. Well, I shall not pay his allowance.

You can tell him when you see him. That's unlikely, madam.

I've resigned as his literary executor.

He doesn't know you're here, I presume.

He does not.

Why do you mind so much?

They told me to be wary of you, Mr Ross. They say you can't be trusted.

But we're the same, you and I.

He's hurt you too, hasn't he?

Oscar destroyed himself and everyone around him.

Look at me, Mr Ross. Just look at me.

He's killed me.

Someone walking over my grave.

Our dear friend, the witch, is coming back on Friday to finish things off.

Oh, God.

But her spells and smells appear to have worked.

About time. The good news is there are no more rats.

The bad news is my allowance is being cut off.

Do you always have to talk about money during lunch?

Obviously, I should prefer to discuss serving techniques with our waiter.

We must make some sort of plan, Bosie.

I came here at your invitation. You said you had funds, you do not.

I accept that.

Why should a perfectly divine leopard change its spots?

But the fact remains we have, what, £6?

Five.

I had to pay last week's rent up.

Careful, his mother is watching.

Yes, and she's thrilled.

Don't be such a bore. Oscar, what's happened to you?

We have £6 a week from my mother.

We have £100 for the libretto you will never write.

We have studs and cuff-links, friends and relations, and, above all, we still have each other.

One of us could eat the other and make a tent of the hide.

For God's sake, stop worrying.

You always talk to boys as though they were blood stock.

You should tell them to lift their hoofs and open their mouths.

And then thrash 'em.

I need to make sure they don't fall at the first fence.


Go on, dear, fuck him.


Oh.

Isn't it beautiful?

You see? I can make you happy.

Yes.

You can.

No more anxiety.

No more ambition. No time.

Just now.

Fisherman diving for pearls.

An old sheep with his butcher.

A bobbing boat on a silver sea.

And scandal...

just a small black dot... against the edge of dawn.


Yet each man kills the thing he loves By each, let this be heard Some do it with a bitter look Some with a flattering word The coward does it with a kiss The brave man with a sword It's finished

Some kill their love when they are young And some when they are old Some strangle with the hands of Lust Some with the hands of Gold The kindest use a knife, because The dead so soon grow cold Some love too little, some too long Some sell and others buy Some do the deed with many tears And some without a sigh For each man kills the thing he loves Yet each man does not die

Oh, look, here we go. Bosie.

Is Father all alone in the hospital?

No, of course not, darling.

At Christmas, all the patients have a party.


♩ Good King Wenceslas last looked out ♩

♩ On the Feast of Stephen ♩

♩ When the snow lay round about ♩

♩ Deep and crisp and even ♩

♩ Brightly shone the moon that night... ♩

Felice!


Huh?


This one's from Papa.

Vyvyan doesn't know who Papa is.

Yes, I do!

What an earth is going on?

One can run up a bill for everything in this swamp except sex, it seems.

There's never credit where love is concerned, Bosie. You should know that.

No, no! Right, stop it!

Be silent! Stop!

Oh, what bollocks. I said be quiet!


What the hell did you give him that for?

A foolish question, I know.

Why didn't you just pay him? With what?

Money.

I haven't got any.

What do you mean, you haven't got any?

Well?

My mother has stopped my allowance. What? When did this happen?

Oh, Christ!

I was waiting for the right moment to tell you.

In the meantime, you imagined that wretched boy would fuck you for fun.

And why not? Oh, your vanity is extraordinary.

The only person who ever fucked you for fun was me, and look where it got me, the dock.

What? Nothing.

So, that's it, then!

We appear to have come to the end of the road.

We're penniless. Well, not exactly.

Oh?

You could have £200 and I could keep my allowance.

If?

Well...

You see, what mama and the family really can't stomach is the fact that we live together.

She says that if we agree to separate, then she will reinstate my allowance and very generously, I think, give you a substantial...

Tip!

For services rendered... to the family.

Will I get a good reference? Can I keep my cottage?

God, you all make me sick!

And your sanctimonious mother thinks I can be bought off for £200.

Your family has destroyed me, stripped me of everything!

Not least my genius.

And all for £200!

Genius?

You destroyed yourself, Oscar! Oh, fuck off!

Because underneath the pose, there was no substance!

One good comedy, three pot-boiling melodramas and those ridiculous fucking fairy storeys.

That's all you find when you scrape away the powder and the pancake.

Your success was interesting, your hunger for it perversely fascinating, but you, my dear... never were.

You found me interesting when you were faced with blackmail!

Oh, you were in your element.

You saw the green baize door swing open and you scuttled through it.

You are talking drivel. My father...

Was a drunken groper with dirty fingernails, just like his son.

Whereas your father is an assassin at large!

Oh, come on, Oscar, you're still alive.

Barely.

For God's sake, stop acting.

It's strange.

I've never really looked at you before.

I gave you my whole life.

And now I see it before me, daubed in shit.

I'll write to you when I get to Rome. Where will you be?

I've really no idea.

I suppose I may as well stay here till the lease runs out.

Then I shall probably go to Paris.

Who knows?

At any rate, we'll be in touch.

Dear boy, do you mind awfully if I don't wait?

I'm not really built for waving pocket handkerchiefs at parting trains.

I'm too big!


Hello, Oscar.

Constance.

Is that you?

Where's Lord Alfred?

Has he left?

Are you quite alone now?

Where are the boys?

Must get on.

Such a long way to go.

Constance...

We never meant... I loved you so much.

Always.

It's odd, isn't it?

♩ The boy I love is up in the gallery ♩

♩ The boy I love is looking down at me ♩

♩ There he is, can't you see ♩


Hmm?

Hmm.


My pleasure, Mr Melmoth.

Mmm.


Hmm...

Ah!


Robbie!

Stop a minute, please!

Oscar.

"Ill met by moonlight, proud Titania." Yes, dear boy, it is I.

Why are you sitting in the rain?

I've spent all my ready cash on youth and beauty and I cannot pay.

Please help me. Let's go inside.

Like dear St Francis, I am wedded to poverty.

Only in my case, the marriage is not a success.

Robbie, you are naughty. How long have you been here?

Twelve francs!

God, Oscar. It's been a long day.

Do you have 12 francs for me or not? Yes, of course.

Once again, I am in your debt.

Dear Robbie, I've missed you so much.

Almost a year of punitive silence.

Naples was, as you so accurately predicted, a disaster.

I know I'm always asking for it... but do I have your forgiveness?

Forgiveness is for amateurs and you, dear Oscar, are a professional masochist.

Ooh!

It's stopped raining.

I'll take you home. Oh, dear boy, so cruel. What?

Let us not squabble like two disgruntled housemaids.

Let us rather black our grace with a light-hearted chatter about our betters.

Bosie, we hear, has come into £20,000.

He arrives next week.

I thought I might touch him for a tiny pourboire.

How long are you here, Robbie?

I'm joining my mother in Menton on Tuesday.

More paraffin injections.

How lovely.

You should take Oscar. He looks like a rotten egg in aspic.

What happened?

I was poisoned by a moule last week when Robbie arrived.

I've had mysterious skin ever since. Leprosy, I expect.

Oh, thank you, my dear. But let us talk about more cheerful things.

Your father's death, for example. How did it go?

Without a hitch, for the most part. In and out of consciousness.

As in life.

My brother, Percy, went to see him just before the end.

Father opened his eyes and spat at him. Queensbury rules.

Well, I, at least, have outlived my nemesis.

Although I'm more or less starving at the moment.

Shovelling down lobster Newberg.

A magnificent treat, and, at the moment, sadly all too rare.

Bosie dear, this brings me rather neatly to an awkward point.

Oscar, do not ask me for money. I have absolutely none spare.

Dear boy, you've just inherited £20,000.

Surely, you don't wish to see me on the street.

As you're behaving like an old prostitute, Oscar, perhaps that's where you belong.

For God's sake, Bosie. Keep out of this, Robbie.

This has nothing to do with you. Unfortunately, it has.

Since Oscar threw in his lot with you in Naples, he's been cut adrift by everyone.

Constance has died, his sons have been taken away from him, his so-called friends have deserted him and now you, who owe him everything, turn your back.

I am sick and tired of being blamed for the self-inflicted wounds of a gluttonous snob!

I'm not my lover's keeper! If he wants to eat, he should work!

Oscar, what have you written recently? Ah, the pudding trolley.

I see your little eyes light up. What shall we have?

Robbie, you'll burst a haemorrhoid. It was only a passing thought.

Like all your work. You disgust me, Bosie!

Do you suppose I care?

I asked you a question, Oscar. Does the flame still burn?

No, it doesn't, does it?

So I'm supposed to keep you in luxury while you stumble about the boulevard begging for drinks.

Christ!

Some of us have to work!

Come along.

Reggie will be here when you wake up, and I'll be back in no time.

Have you told Bosie? I haven't seen him since that lunch.

But you must. If something happens.

It won't.

Is it really necessary, Doctor Tucker? I feel perfectly well, you know.

We shall be as quick as we can.


Oscar, you old fraud.

You look perfectly well.

I know. Can you believe it?

Once poisonous moule four months ago and I've been in and out of bed ever since.

Dear boy, behind the commode, you will find a bottle of Champagne.

Open it. Let us drink to your arrival. Hmm?

Shouldn't really.

Of course we shouldn't.

You've crossed the water for a treasured friend.

There are glasses under the bed.

You poor darling.

But I hear you're writing a new play.

Yes, in a way.

Robbie has left me some divine notebooks in which to scribble beautiful thoughts.

But unfortunately...

I haven't had any this year.

Mmm.

I will tell you a terrible secret.

And don't tell Robbie, please, Reggie, there's a dear.

I have sold the play to three different individuals.

And I haven't written a single word.

Rather clever, don't you think?

There's nothing like an Irish beggar when he gets into his stride.

What will you do when the times comes to deliver it?

Oh.

Die.

I am... paralysed by dark thoughts.

Sometimes I wonder.

Is it a moule?

It could be something else.

Oh, God.

Reggie, why did Constance die?

Why have I become so mad?

My brain is crashed and shattered. Is this...?

Syphilis.

What?

Do you see the hell in which I live?

Robbie wants me to write a play, but I am wrestling with my soul.

Reggie, I cannot write a play! Of course you can.

Now come on, Oscar, pull yourself together!

The doctor says, within a few days, we'll be able to take you out for a drive.

We're going to have a lovely time.

I can't think what happened last week. My whole life was a blur.

Very well.

Oscar!

Oh, Reggie, fuck off! One last drink before I die.

I've been teaching Maurice English, but he is much more fluent in the language of love.

Oscar! Can I have a scarf, please?

Thank you very much.

Oh, it's freezing!

Get off!

Reggie, I didn't know you cared. Off they come.

Oh, God, Reggie!

Careful of my ear.

Can you pull me up a bit more, dear boy?

Who can that be at this hour?

Christ, are we to be spared nothing?

You see, Reggie, more creditors to add to our list.

I am dying beyond my means.


Hmm?


Reggie, turn down the gaslight, would you?


He had just enough strength to fly up to the Prince's shoulder once more.

"Goodbye, dear Prince", he murmured.

"I'm glad you're going to Egypt," said the Happy Prince.


The disciples sleep.

The end is nigh.

Was the cause of death mentioned?

A severe chill, it seems!

As a man sows, so shall he reap.

Will the... internment take place here?

No! He seems to have expressed the desire to be buried in Paris.

Come home soon, Father. Tomorrow.

And tomorrow and tomorrow.

Oscar. Oh, Reggie.

Look. The boys.

Which boys? Maurice? Bosie?

I'm sorry.

I'm awfully sorry.

So many broken hearts.

And they will have to live with it forever and ever and ever and ever.

World without end.

Yesterday, she decided I was a waiter.

And today? I don't know.

Hasn't spoken. Listen.

The doctor said he can't last more than 48 hours.

Have you called a priest? No, should I?

Well, I will, then.

I must tell you, Father, the dying man has been quite a well-known literary figure.

Oh, well, that's all one and the same to God, Mr Ross.

He has very little time to read, what with all us sinners clogging up the road to hell.

Well, what is the name of this friend of yours who comes home so late, and yet is so thirsty for the sacred blood of our Lord?

Oscar Wilde. Oh, Jesus Christ!

Well, I...

Has Mr Wilde expressed a desire for extreme unction?

Most certainly. While he could still speak.

Has been received? Is he not a Protestant?

He was meant to be a Catholic.

Oh! No...

Don't...

Don't worry, my son. Don't worry, don't worry, Mr Ross.

Don't... We'll sort something out.

I've got everything here we'll need.

Unless, of course, um... exorcism is required.

That's, that's my little joke.

Ah, well, we're in time.

Good evening, Mr Dupoirier. We missed you on Sunday.

Oscar, can you hear me?

This is Father Dunn. Reggie, move!

Father Dunn is willing to receive you into the church and give you absolution.

But you need to sit up and pay attention.

Now, now, Mr Ross.

Between the stirrup and the ground, there's always time for an act of contrition.

There's no need to hurry.

Thank you.

Good evening, Mr Wilde. My name is Father Cuthbert Dunn.

Now, I'm going to say a few simple things to you, but I need...

I need to know that you understand them. A little sign will do.

That's very good. Let us kneel and pray.

In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost. Amen.

Father... look with pity on your servant, Oscar.

Absolve him of his sins.

And Mr Wilde, examine your conscience.

There are no secrets between God and man.

Talk to him.

Where did you lose sight of our blessed Lord?

Clapham Junction.

Jesus Christ was nailed to the cross in Golgotha so that our sins might be forgiven.

I baptise you in the name of the Father... and of the son and of the Holy Ghost.

Though I walk through the valley of death... and raise my eyes to the hills... whence cometh my delight.

That was beautiful, wasn't it?

We're so grateful. Ah, no, not at all.

But it is a great privilege to meet such a distinguished author.

If you need me, our friend, Mr Dupoirier, knows where to find me.

It's going to be a beautiful day.


Do go on, Mr Wilde.

So they pulled down the statue of the Happy Prince.

"As he is no longer beautiful, he is no longer useful," said the Art professor at the University.

And they melted the statue in a furnace.

"What a strange thing," said the overseer of the workmen at the foundry.

"This broken lead heart will not melt.

They must throw it away."

So they threw it on a dust heap, where the dead Swallow was also lying.


For Christ's sake, Bosie, shut up!

You can't understand, Robbie, but how could you?

Understand what? The sort of love that Oscar and I shared.

You've never shared anything with anybody. You're too fucking selfish.

Robbie.

Where were you when he was dying? Here we go.

You could never accept the fact that Oscar loved me and not you.

Because he didn't, did he?

However hard you tried.

And how you tried.

Bosie!

Fuck! For Christ's sake, Bosie!

You're a second-rate prole! You know what Oscar thought about you?

He thought you were a useful bore!

When history looks back, it won't be at you!

It will be at him and me!

You'll just be a footnote, you dreary little cunt!

"Bring me the two most precious things in the city", said God to one of his angels.

And the angel brought him the leaden heart and the dead bird.

"You have rightly chosen", said God.

"For in my garden of paradise, this little bird shall sing forever.

And in my city of gold, the Happy Prince shall praise me."


Author! Author! Author! Author!

It's a dream.