Priest of Love (1981)

[bunniefuu]

-Oh, look.

Skylark.

"Teach me half the gladness that my brain must know.

Such harmonious madness from my lips would flow.

The world should listen, then, as I am listening now."

-Is that one of yours?

-Oh, nay.

That's one of Shelley's.

-What a pretty picture!

What's in the bag?

-What bag?

-The bag.

The bloody bag.

-Just some food and--

A bottle of water.

-That could have been a camera, for all we know.

-Yes, but you'll find it's a cheese sandwich.

-Your old lady's German, isn't she?

-Yes.

Von Richthofen, isn't that right?

-That's what we heard.

-One of her relations sh**t down all our aeroplanes.

Kills all our lads.

-Oh, yeah.

She comes down here at night and throws love letters to the German submarines.

While I'm asleep.

-That's what we heard.

-There's a light showing.

-That is because you knocked at the door and I opened it.

-Visitors?

-Neighbors.

English?

Yes.

-New Zealand.

But we're on England's side.

-It's been reported you sing German songs here.

-Ugh!

Italian songs, Hebridean songs, Hebrew songs--

If it's not English, it must be German.

Watch the lights.

Now will we sing a good German song!

-Mm.

-This is the second time you've been here ransacking our house.

-You will leave Cornwall within three days.

You will not live in any prohibited area.

You must report to the police whenever you move house.

-Why?

-There's no need to give grounds for order, which is made under Regulation 14B of the Defense of the Realm Act.

-What is a prohibited area?

-You ask us, and we tell you.

-It does not appear to be obscene in absolutely legal terms.

Anti-British to the point of insanity, of course.

-Apparently Mr. Lawrence is going to America.

-We must inform the authorities.

-It's been attended to, Mr. Muskett.

Shall I take this?

-Leave it.

I-- I shall read it again to make absolutely sure.

-I'm the one with the beard.

-Of course.

-We have been invited to New Mexico by a rich American lady.

-Mrs. Mable Dodge Stern.

She collects money and great artists.

And husbands.

I think she's had three so far, but maybe it's four.

-And she wants me to write about New Mexico.

-Is it going to be a colony of great artists?

Oh, love bless us, not great artists.

Just good people.

-And DH Lawrence is the savior?

Who better?

What is your name?

Uh, Simon.

-Simon called Simon, or Simon called Peter?

-No, just Simon.

All right, Simon.

You go to the top of the class.

And tomorrow, you can collect the.

First prize.

Not even Herbert G. Muskett has complained about that book.

-He probably doesn't understand it.

-Herbert G?

Muskett.

He advises the English police on which books to burn.

-Oh, I see.

-Have you seen Toby?

-Mm, no, sorry.

I haven't--

-Is this your latest book?

-Mm, yes.

-"Kangaroo."

-It's about Australia.

-It's wonderful.

-You expect it to create another scandal?

Oh, the kangaroos are very happy about it.

-Have you seen Toby?

Oh, no.

I'm sorry, no.

-Why are you leaving England?

-Because the government reviles me and persecutes me and set all manner of evil against me, falsely-- probably for your sake.

-So you prefer America?

-You ask an Englishman, "To be or not to be," he'll say, "Not to be."

The Americans are bullies, but there are signs of life as we know it.

-You one of Mr. Lawrence's disciples, sir?

-Yes.

Yes, he'd rather stay in England.

-Mr. Murry is also a very famous writer.

M, U, double R, A, Y?

-M, U, double R, Y.

-Is the lady, uh, traveling with you?

The lady is the Honourable Dorothy Brett.

Yes, she's traveling with us.

She's a painter.

-Oh, are you, uh--

-She's very shy and stone deaf.

-You may also report that Mr. and Mrs. Lawrence have the most wonderful marriage in the history of the human race.

-Thank you all very much.

-Erm, which newspaper shall we read?

-Oh, I'm a freelance, Mrs. Lawrence, but probably "John Bull."

Thanks for the book.

-"John Bull"!

-What's wrong?

-"John Bull" called my husband a perverted monster, and you are not fit to have that book.

If it's as dirty as the others, I don't think I'm bothered.

-Ha!

-I might phone later.

-"John Bull."

-Well, they take a lot of writing.

Have you been protecting me again?

I found him!

I found Toby!

He was in my cabin hiding behind my easel, wicked boy.

-Ah, I'll just say goodbye.

Well, I wish you joy of the Americas.

Goodbye, Brett.

-Bye.

-Wish you joy of England.

Lorenzo.

Lorenzo.

May I call you Lorenzo?

Oh, why not?

-Oh, and this must be Frieda.

-Yeah, this is Frieda.

-Oh!

This is the most wonderful day of my life.

And have you brought your disciples?

-Oh, we invited the noblest intellects of Europe, but for the moment, we've got Brett.

-Brett?

-The Honourable Dorothy Brett.

-Honourable?

-Dearly beloved daughter of Viscount Esher.

-An escaped aristocrat, just like me.

We call her Brett.

-How do you do, Brett?

She's extremely deaf.

Mrs. Mabel Dodge Stern.

-Oh, oh, no, Mrs. Mabel Luhan.

This is my new husband, Tony.

-Oh!

I've so many surprises for you.

We love surprises!

-But what's wonderful is that you got our messages.

-Messages?

-From the moment I decided you should come here, Tony and I sent you messages each night, calling you to Taos.

-Oh.

Oh, well, here we are.

You were wise to send the tickets.

And Western Union is a wonderful idea for messages.

-I've so many wonderful plans.

"The moment I saw the brilliant, proud morning sun shine high up over the deserts of Santa Fe, something stood still in my soul, and I started to attend."

-Look!

Now you see why they worship the sun.

A man could find religion here.

You love it, Lorenzo.

-If you people don't put it into a sterilized wrapper.

My god, what's that all about?

-He doesn't like a woman to lead the way.

-But he doesn't know the way.

-So?

-Oh.

Uh, and this is today's big surprise.

-Where is the surprise?

-A little ranch, all for you.

-Little?

-Oh, it's only 160 acres.

And it needs a little work here and there, but Tony's these will come and help out.

-Mrs. Mabel Luhan, I don't like property.

I don't like things.

I don't like presents.

I don't like patronage.

And I don't need any of it.

-He doesn't like presents.

-Yes, so I see.

-Wait.

-I've never ridden a horse.

Daddy kept a stable, but I was always frightened.

They said, never mind, she's only a girl.

-I'll teach you.

I know all about animals.

-Only a girl.

It's not right, is it?

-We'll buy the ranch.

-What with?

What sort of great writer is it who has money?

-I don't mean money.

We will pay for it with genius.

I will give you the original manuscript of "Sons of Lovers."

-Oh, in his own handwriting?

-Most of Lorenzo's original manuscripts are in his own handwriting.

-Oh, thank you, Mabel, it's a lovely ranch.

Especially the broken bits.

Any more surprises?

-Shut that up, Frieda!

-I brought something for you.

-Thank you very much indeed.

-Morning, Tony.

I stayed on the roof because I thought you were somebody else.

-He thought you were Mabel.

-Frieda!

-For Mabel.

Payment for the ranch.

Settlement in full.

-I arranged to borrow it from Mrs. Luhan, but I thought she must have forgotten.

I thought if I could learn to type, then I could type your stories for you, because I know how you hate typing.

I'd like to do something useful, because I don't think my paintings are very good, really.

I don't mean to interfere.

You are the call and I am the answer.

-You are the wish and I, the fulfillment.

-You're the night, and I, the day.

What else?

-Oh, you haven't forgotten, have you?

You are forbidden to forget my poetry.

-No!

Erm-- "Strange, how we suffer in spite of this!"

-Are you suffering?

-No.

I have a home of my own, you writing well.

But I should like to have my family here with me.

-Frieda, I am your family.

-Poor Mabel.

-Oh, why poor Mabel?

-I could have told her you would never make love in the daylight.

-You're a harlot, Frieda.

-I think she and Tony make love morning, afternoon, and evening.

-You are a brazen bitch.

Frieda, I'll tell you this, to think you were born an aristocrat, a German aristocrat, the famous Von Richthofen family, you have got a magnificent arse on you!

It takes a collier's son to find the right words.

-Eh?

In aristocratic circles--

-Mm.

-They'd be inclined to say "wonderfully impressive buttocks."

Brett, where's Lorenzo?

Aw, forget it.

I'll ask one of the trees.

Where's Lorenzo?

-Hiding, I expect.

-Oh, I'm going to take him riding.

-Impossible.

He's working.

And also, I'm going to cut his hair.

-With those scissors?

My god, Frieda, you'll k*ll the man!

Lorenzo!

I have not k*lled him yet.

Come on!

I know you're behind the cow!

I know I am the cow!

-I'm here to take you riding.

-I'm going to cut your hair.

Really?

I'm going painting with Brett.

-Brett?

-It's her reward for typing her first 1,000 words.

There's only 100 mistakes.

-You're not writing.

-Frieda says I must deal with correspondence.

"I saw a young woman reading 'Sons and Lovers.' Wasn't successful in preventing a conflagration."

Is there not enough misery in Nottingham?

Brett?

Brett?

If you ever write to me, make sure you use flimsy paper.

It makes better handkerchiefs.

That's very much better.

Ah.

I was always good at flowers.

-Lorenzo tells me you would like to go to bed with him.

-Well, sure.

It's only natural.

-Yes.

-Do you mind?

-He's always faithful.

-And you?

-Making love is better than screaming.

I might make love with somebody, but I'm always faithful.

-You see, it's the only way to reach the soul of a man.

-Ah, the famous soul of DH Lawrence.

-And I believe I can help him.

I really do.

Don't misunderstand me, Frieda, but I'm-- I'm not sure that you treat him properly.

-I am the wrong woman for Lorenzo?

-Oh, no!

Don't-- don't be offended.

I'll tell you why I am the right woman for Lorenzo.

Because I'm the right woman for him, I leave my first husband and I leave my three children.

Because I am the right woman for him, I stand on street corners trying to catch a glimpse of my children as they leave school.

We are without money throughout the w*r, and men in uniform knock on our door in the middle of the night because I'm German-- and because I'm the right woman for him!

I read in the English press that my husband is a perverted animal.

I hear Mr. Herbert G. Muskett, solicitor for Scotland Yard, describe his work as a mess of obscenity of thought, ideas, and action.

I see and hear all this because I am the right woman for him.

So!

For 12 years, I'm forbidden to see or even talk about my children.

But I do see the soul of DH Lawrence.

Oh, yes, ma'am.

Mine eyes have seen his glory, and he's seen mine.

I've seen his shame and I've touched his blood, and he has touched mine.

All this is my reward for being the right woman for him.

And nobody will take it away from me, Mrs. Mabel Dodge Stern Luhan.

I think we should go upstairs and make love.

Do you not want me?

-Come here.

I don't want you.

Not for one night.

-But you do want me.

-Yes.

I'll go away with you, and we'll tell everybody.

-I am a married woman with three children.

-You don't love him.

You're not even aware of him.

Your blood doesn't quicken--

-That I know.

As it does now.

But if you go away with me, you'll have to leave the children.

You may never see them again.

-Of course I will.

-He won't let you see them.

I've looked behind his eyes, and I know.

I can see behind people's eyes.

-I'm frightened.

-Nay, Frieda, there'll be no fear.

I promise you that.

There'll be pain.

I promise that, too.

I'll wait downstairs.

-Isn't it fascinating?

-Fascinating.

Let's have some real music now.

-Yeah, I'm sick of this ethnic purity.

-Do you realize that each movement has a precise significance?

-Symbolizing birth, growth, death, and rebirth, in that order.

-Exactly that, Lorenzo.

Gee whiz!

The great cycle of nature!

I'd recognize it anywhere.

-Let's have a tango.

-Why don't we dance?

Come on.

-Don't be absurd.

-I do something wrong?

-Very wrong, Mabel Leave him!

He'll hurt you.

-I thought you might enjoy the dancing.

I've invited lots of people-- poets, musicians, writers.

-And you wanted me to lead them to the Promised Land?

-Oh, all right.

You're not in your Jehovah mode today.

So just enjoy the drink and the dancing.

-The dancing?

You take their civilization, you turn it into a circus, you pay them 30 pieces of silver, they go off and buy chewing gum.

-You take the pieces of silver, Lawrence.

You took my ranch.

-No, we bought that ranch.

Value of ranch, $1,000.

Value of manuscript, $2,000.

You win again, Mabel.

But then, of course, you always do, because it's your game.

It's the great American money trick.

-You know what I did with your precious manuscript?

-Oh, I know-- you read it.

It's a rattling good yarn.

-I gave it to Dr. Brill.

Only a part settlement of what I owe him.

-Dr. Brill, the psychiatrist?

-Yes.

-Dr. Brill dispatched his bill, and Mabel, she recovers.

She went to bed to rest her head while she reads "Sons and Lovers."

Wahey!

-Lawrence, you're a crazy man!

And if you don't like it, you can buy yourself some nice man!

-Buy yourself a Herbert G. Muskett!

-Or a buck red Indian, and cut his balls off!

-Lorenzo!

Stop!

-Leave me alone, Frieda.

-I'll not leave you!

-Leave me!

-Don't worry, Tony.

-Are we leaving?

-Our trouble without possessions.

I don't believe in possessions.

All I need is my pen.

So you may have that.

It used to belong to my sister Ada.

Oh, he'll be back.

Now I know he'll be back.

My spirit always wants to go south.

The high, thin air gets my chest bronchially, and the white civilization makes me feel worse.

-What are the hotels like in "Oh-ax-ah-ca"?

-Oaxaca.

-And they're awfully like Cheltenham.

"In Oaxaca, the climate is perfect.

Very peaceful, with a remote beauty of its own.

You can ride in four or five days either to the Pacific or the Atlantic, if you don't get shot.

There are so many wild Zapotec Indians who don't know anything about anything, except that every rich man is an enemy.

They say the next revolution begins on Monday."

-What is that woman doing?

-Probably dressing for dinner.

-Well, you told her it was like chutney.

-And she's stupid enough to believe me?

-Shh!

-I'm sorry I'm late, but I-- I've lost Toby.

Uh, this is meant to be an ear, and I want you to make an ear trumpet, you see?

Like this, made with-- with-- with tin!

You see?

Oh, dear.

Hello.

Hello.

Hola!

Hola, hola, hola, hola!

-Hola!

-You like hola.

-Hola!

Bravo, bravo.

-Usted te parece a Cristo.

-Cristo.

-Cristo.

-Se parece a Cristo!

-They think you're Jesus Christ.

-Silly buggers.

Cristo!

Cristo!

Cristo!

Lawrence.

Cristo!

-I come from Nottingham, England.

Inglaterra!

I write books!

Books!

You understand?

Adios!

-You should see a doctor!

-Oh, Frieda, I show you the majesty of Zapotec civilization and you say I should see a doctor.

Jesus said, I am the way, the truth, and the life.

But I say unto you, in this temple there are a few great roads to God and many small, small tracks.

But the way is no longer Jesus!

The dark gods have not yet sent us a prophet, so we must find our own small tracks.

-Lorenzo, get down!

Get down!

Under bed!

-Frieda?

-It's only a little earthquake.

-I'll die in this place.

-I'm taking you to Mexico City to go see a decent doctor!

-No!

No more doctors!

-I'm going to die, Frieda.

-You'll die when I tell you, and not before.

You understand?

Anyway, the cemetery here is far too ugly.

-Is that actual blood?

-It's my blood!

-Ours.

-Oh, if you say so.

Mexico City.

-Buenos tardes.

-Buenos tardes.

-Good afternoon, Mrs. Lawrence.

-Wonderful shops in Mexico City.

-I called with the results of the tests I made.

-I have bought a hat which needs psychoanalysis.

-Frau Lawrence.

Your husband's got tuberculosis.

-How long?

-Ein Jahr.

-But the ancient temple of Mithra said 18 years.

-Two years.

I shall never forgive you if you cry all over.

I want to go home!

I want--

-Yes, so do I. So do I, but where is it?

-I want my children!

-Hello?

Oh, yes.

I understand he is back in the country.

I managed to get hold of the proofs of his latest, uh-- well, to be quite honest, I simply don't understand it.

-My own, my native bloody land.

They can't even organize a decent general strike.

Why don't they fight?

Why don't they make a revolution?

They accept misery when they should kick it in the guts.

It's all right, Ada, I'm not writing any more books.

-Why ever not?

This is where my father worked.

He used to walk home along this track.

Look, you see?

All those pit boots have worn the earth smooth.

Sometimes he'd arrive home.

More often, he'd stop off at the pub.

Oh, but he could drink.

And sing, and dance, even in his big boots.

And sometimes he'd stopped and look at flowers.

And my mother, she was like all women.

Flowers are for picking, arranging, possessing.

But I've seen mine as like my father, just looking at flowers.

Not with admiration or j or delight, or any of those arty-farty things, just-- contemplation.

Like an artist.

-Morning.

-There's the farm.

-Where Jessie lived.

-Jessie.

And Alan.

Alan taught me about harvesting and haymaking and muck-spreading.

Of birds and beasts and flowers.

Of birth, growth, full bloom, and death.

How to bind a sheaf of corn when it collapses in your arms.

-Hello.

-These are for you.

-Oh.

And Jessie?

I once said to Jessie, will you help me write my books?

She said, no, but I'll make you write your books.

Our books, I think she said.

So I wrote a book, and like a good little boy, I showed it to my father.

Hm.

How much did they pay you for this?

-50 pounds.

-50 pound?

Huh.

And us never done a day's work in me life.

Ah, well, your mother'll be pleased, I dare say.

My mother, she gave me life.

And then when I was young and got that pneumonia and nearly died, she gave me life again.

Twice she gave me life, so she deserved a good book.

Wouldn't you say so, Frieda?

-Oh!

Water.

She gave me life.

And, at the end, I gave her freedom.

She still demands my life back.

They never forgive us for leaving the womb.

-I am a mother.

-Aye, I know that.

-Have you made peace with your ghosts?

-No.

I never do that.

28 books, and still no peace.

-I would like to make peace with mine.

-The children?

-Please.

-Oh, might as well.

I can't give you any children.

-I've told you.

That doesn't matter.

Lorenzo.

Imagine being 21 and at the state school.

Oh, I imagine.

Do they teach her how to make art?

-They try.

-Ignore them.

Waste of time.

-Uh-- when do you intend getting married?

-Oh, well, one hasn't actually fixed the date yet.

-It is difficult for one.

-What are you working on at the moment, Mr. Lawrence?

Are you going to shock us all again?

-I'm just making a few running repairs to the great shit of life.

-Jolly good.

Think I'll see about that cab.

Excuse me.

-Oh, look at us, all the millions of pairs of trousers, and not a man left inside any of them.

Cab!

Are you for her?

Oh, good.

Come along, Barbara!

Barbara!

-You'll come and see us in Italy?

-Promise.

-Get rid of him first.

Barbara!

Bye!

I can see the Mediterranean and I've got my own vineyard Oh, Frieda.

-What a devastating uniform.

Has he lost his opera?

-That is our landlord.

-Oh, nay, Frieda.

We'll never have landlords like that at home.

-Buongiorno.

-Buongiorno.

-Capitano Ravagli.

-Signor Lawrence.

Signora.

-Parla l'inglese?

-No.

-Frieda, I think I'll teach our landlord to speak English.

-He will, I think, understand the essentials.

-Ah, but he might reduce the rent.

The sun.

Il sole.

The sun.

Si.

Il mare.

The sea.

The sea.

The good earth.

La buona terra.

-The good earth.

-Si.

Il, um-- cuh--

-Cuore.

-Cuore.

The heart.

-The heart.

-Si, bravo.

Right, an English poem by DH Lawrence.

"My father was a working man and a collier was he, at six in the morning they turned him down and they turned him up for tea.

My mother was a superior soul, a superior soul was she, cut out to play a superior role in the god-damn bourgeoisie.

But time has fled.

Our parents are dead.

We've risen in the world, all three.

But still we're in between.

We tread between the devil and the deep, sad sea."

Angelo?

-Lorenzo.

The sun.

-Bravo.

Lorenzo!

-Ah, the wife.

-The wife?

-The wife.

-Ah!

Look, what a surprise!

Not one daughter, but two!

-Oh, I imagine that makes three women all together.

-Ah, magnifico.

-Elsa.

Barbara.

Barbara Weekley and Elsa Weekley.

Capitano Ravagli.

Right, Barbara, haven't you brought that elderly young man with you from London?

-My fiance?

Is he still?

-I got rid of him, in accordance with your instructions.

Oh, magnifico!

Right, now as a reward, I'm going to take you fishing tomorrow, and I'll persuade you that the world is a miracle!

Barbara, look at those.

Magnifico!

Bravo.

Do you remember those paper boats I made for you?

-Yes, I remember.

But I don't know if I really remember or whether you make me remember.

-Frieda says-- Frieda says that's the moment she realized that she loved me.

-Did you have to steal her from us?

-Yes.

I wanted her to grow, and help me to grow.

She's a great fire I warm my hands on.

And a tree that shelters m, and a lioness that brings forth strength and sweetness.

-Did you have a nice time, Barbie?

-Blessed are the peacemakers.

-It's Lorenzo's new hobby, being nice to people.

-Oh, really?

Even to you.

Here's a present.

-Ugh!

They're beautiful!

-Ah, it's from Capri!

It's from Brett!

Oh, wouldn't it be spiffy to see Brett again?

-No.

It would not be spiffing to see the Brett again.

And you--

-This woman is impossible to live with.

I did you two a favor.

-Ada's coming.

-Ada?

Oh my god.

Don't ever run away from England, girls.

It comes chasing after you and grabs you by the sensitive parts.

Other writers get checks in the post.

Huxley does.

I've asked him.

I get friends and relatives.

-Huxley writes books.

Oh, that looks lovely.

You're a wonderful cook.

-Bravo.

-I couldn't imagine our father doing that.

-Mm.

Our father which art in heaven?

-Lorenzo's a much better cook than I am.

And when we have special guests--

-Bert does the cooking.

-Frieda just sits there, blowing cigarette smoke over everything.

-I'm a lady of leisure married to an eminent author.

And I can make love.

-Put that bloody cigarette out, Frieda.

-That was our dad talking.

-Frieda!

That was not our dad talking.

That was me talking.

It might please you to say, Isn't he like his father?

Or, wouldn't his mother be proud of him?

But at the end, you know, it is me, just as that is Frieda.

Not the Baron or the Baroness von Richthofen, but their daughter, Frieda.

And this is Barbara, not Frieda-- or god help us, not Professor Ernest Weekley, the celebrated scholar and betrayed husband-- but just Barbara.

And she'll only find out who she is if people like us let her!

-I hate you, Frieda.

-I know you do.

Lorenzo?

Please!

My coughing keeps you awake.

Leap into bed with somebody else.

-Lorenzo!

-My body's no good to you.

-Will you open the door, please?

-Good night, Frieda.

-Has he locked you out?

-Oh, go to hell!

-Well, what have I done?

-You have done that.

And it's a pity to disappoint you, but he isn't any longer the darling little brother who passed all his examinations and was kind to his poor, sick mother.

-But at least he was happy then.

-Happy?

Yes, happy.

And healthy, too, and look at him now, half-dead.

-Maybe he was a happy little boy.

I helped him grow up.

Nobody in his family could help him to do that, nobody in that shitty little village!

Yes, but I have to go on living in that little village.

I hear people laughing and sniggering.

That's Bert Lawrence's sister.

He went off with that German fancy woman.

Well, you should do what that fancy German woman would do.

Tell them to go to hell!

-Leave them to fester in their nasty little sniveling minds.

You English women--

-I'll tell you something, Frieda.

I would never abandon my children.

-I'm not abandoned.

I love you.

-He won't let you in.

I know.

I've known him longer than you have.

Well, I know him.

I know him!

Lorenzo?

-Leave me to die in peace.

But you have to make peace with me.

Lorenzo, you have to make peace with me!

Lorenzo.

Lorenzo!

Blessed are the Brewsters, my only American friends.

-Isn't it a lovely villa?

Oh, yes.

I wish I had a little place on Capri.

What is that?

-Well, this is my new Toby.

Works on three shilling batteries.

-My dear sweet Brett, you could have silence for nothing.

-We hear rumors you're not writing.

True or false?

-Well, no more books, just little morsels.

I've done a tiny story, about that high, called "The Virgin and the Gipsy," which is about a woman who runs away with her lover and abandons her two daughters, and one of them falls in love with a gipsy, and um--

-A sexual awakening?

-Sleeping Beauty.

-I'm always writing about the Sleeping Beauty.

You're not meant to notice.

-Sometimes about me, isn't it?

I don't mind if it is.

-Change of subject.

Now, uh, who's this?

-Oh, "Lamb's Tales" from Shakespeare.

-Mm, oh, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow?

Oh, delectable!

"Women in Love."

Oh, diabolical!

-A critic?

-Uh, warm, warm.

No decent God-fearing woman shall be purported to be in love!

-Obviously an Englishman.

-That's true.

-Herbert G. Muskett.

-Oh, correct.

We love you, Brett.

-Who is Herbert G. Muskett?

-He organizes my persecution and the burning of my books by the public hangman.

-Oh, come on.

-That is the truth!

I'll beat you, Herbert G. Muskett!

-I'll triumph in the end!

"My father was a working man and a collier was he.

At six in the morning, they turn him down and they turn him up for tea."

-Bravo.

I don't understand why people persecute you.

Everybody loves you.

Everybody wants to be with you.

-Do you really want to know?

-I want to know everything about you.

I always did.

-Oh, hello.

You'll have to tell me what to do.

Your beard, it's all soft.

I always thought it would be bristly.

Shall we blow the candle out?

-You're all wrong.

-I'm sorry, I didn't quite hear--

-I don't think that was my fault.

Lorenzo, you have to make peace.

Lorenzo!

-How much further?

-We turn off at these two cypresses.

Not much further.

Come on.

-Whoa.

-You mind riding in a hay cart?

-I'm a farmer, remember?

Bravo!

-Lorenzo, look!

La Villa Miranda.

You can see the whole of Florence from here.

It's a wonderful villa, Lorenzo.

If I was a great writer, I would find the words to describe it.

Find the words, Lorenzo.

-How much is the rent?

Oh, 25 pounds a year.

And the patron is never here.

-Perhaps he's in the army?

-Lorenzo.

I could look after you here.

Well?

-Not bad.

But it could do with a coat of paint.

I kiss all the pretty girls two at a time.

Around the bend of Mexico-- Lorenzo, why are you not singing?

It's your song.

Lorenzo?

Lorenzo?

Lorenzo?

Lorenzo?

Lorenzo!

Lorenzo!

Lorenzo?

Lorenzo.

-What?

-You've written f*ck.

-Because that's what they're doing.

You must tell me if they're doing it properly.

-Lorenzo.

-Oh, listen, Fried.

To f*ck, the single most beautiful, creative act in the experience of the human race.

Tender, sharing, giving.

Warm communion.

So why is it a dirty word/

-Because people are frightened.

I shall take that word, and all the other words, out of the gutter and put them back in the language.

Where they belong.

-People make love fearfully.

Yeah, and they write about it fearfully.

Geoffrey Chaucer, "Canterbury Tales," he wasn't frightened.

If one of his characters f*cked or farted, he wrote it down.

No shame, no fear.

Ever since Geoffrey Chaucer, writers have been frightened.

Take away the shame, take away the guilt, there's no "Hamlet" left at all.

500 years-- that's too long to be frightened.

Anyway, we writers, we're supposed to be brave.

-You're brave one.

-Frieda, you must help me.

Tell me about a woman making love.

What you think, how the body thinks, how the blood flows, how the heart beats.

-I'm never frightened.

Good.

-And I never care what the world may think.

When we ran away together, we had choices to make, simple choices.

We loved each other, therefore.

Should we run away together?

Or should we go our separate ways and masturbate?

-We caused pain to other people.

-You can't tell the truth without pain.

I felt pain.

But I'm not ashamed of what I did.

Never.

-Let's write it all down, Frieda.

-Am-- am I to be your Lady Chatterley?

-Since I met you, every woman I've written about has been you.

And a bit of me, yeah.

-Everything about sex?

Everything.

-I shall need a bigger book.

Heh, heh.

Lorenzo, Piero says you're genius.

I am a genius!

We must ask the Huxleys to come and stay with us.

Why the Huxleys?

-Because Maria types better than you do.

-Scheisse.

-Piero's horse probably types better than you do.

Mabel?

Yes.

-I have a letter.

Lawrence is writing a new book.

-A book, a proper book.

-He says it's a phallic novel.

-Oh!

-Tender and phallic, he says.

What's phallic?

-Oh, it must be about screwing.

-See?

Oh, good.

Screwing?

-Lawrence's map says this way.

Oh, scusi.

Scusi, um, Villa Miranda?

-DH Lawrence?

That way.

-Oh, thank you.

-Grazie.

-He's quite the genius.

-Thank you very much.

-"My father was a working man, and a collier was he."

Hello, Huxleys!

We found you!

-What a devastating car!

We thought you might like our old one.

-Oh!

Maria!

We love presents.

Oh, Frieda, I could never learn to drive a car.

I'll do it.

-I'll just check up on your husband.

-What do you think?

-Hm.

Well, as a house painter, you make a bloody fine novelist, Nelson.

-Your typist has a question.

-All right, Maria?

I don't understand the title.

-Which one?

We've got about three so far.

-"John Thomas and Lady Jane."

-Oh, well, that's simple.

-Every man has his John Thomas and ever woman has her Lady Jane.

Thank you.

-I thought it was called "Lady Chatterley's Lover."

-There's a Muskett version and there's a real version.

The real one is called "Lady C."

That's the one with the fucks and the shits.

-"John Bull" will crucify you again.

-Better people than me have been crucified.

They'll say that you're determined to bring about the downfall of civilization.

-What civilization?

Well, show it to me!

What is it?

Is it New York or London?

Is it man digging coal out of the earth?

Is it your shiny new motorcar?

No, civilization's falling down anyway.

I'm just giving it a supplementary kick on the backside.

We've got to smash things, clear the landscape, so we can get a proper sight of God.

-You still need a publisher who isn't frightened.

-Yes, well, I've got one.

There's this little Italian bookseller here in Florence, Pino Orioli.

He'll print it for me.

-Very good.

-Well, do you like it?

-Si.

Women very good.

The men, not so good.

-Because he has a wonderful female model.

-Ah?

-Ha una splendida modela.

-Oh, si!

Very good woman.

Piero very good man.

-Oh, thank you.

Should we start right now?

-Yeah!

Grazie.

-Ah!

-Pino!

-I am exhausted!

-It's only a mile and a half from the tram terminal.

-Ah.

And 10 of those are up the hill.

-All right, you come on in.

I'll make a drink and we can talk business.

-When did I last walk a mile and a half?

-When?

-Never!

-But it's easy if you follow my map.

-Oh!

Here, have a drink.

Did you get my letter?

Yes.

-They're going to exhibit my paintings in a gallery in London.

-Mm!

-London really hate them.

That's called "Dandelions."

It's actually a man pissing.

I think it's charming.

-You want for me to print 1,000 copies of your book.

Is that correct?

-Correct.

We'll sell 500 copies in England and 500 in the States, two guineas at a time.

Well, after expenses, that'll be 1,000 pounds' profit.

And look at this.

This is "The r*pe of the Sabine Women," or "A Study in Arses."

-Delightful.

-It's only a little painting, but they're only little arses.

-Signor Lorenzo--

-Oh, I recognize a business tone in your voice, Pino.

-In your letter you say I should take 10% of the profits and you should take 90%.

-Yet?

-I consult friends.

They say the publisher, 90%, the writer 10%.

-Oh, you must find new friends, Pino.

How long does it take you to print a book?

Oh,.

A month, two month?

-It's taken me 42 years to write it.

90, 10.

-Has Pino agreed?

-With grace, enthusiasm, and a certainty of a place in history.

-We love you!

-Kiss him again from me.

And forward is.

-Do they know what the book's about?

-Oh, yes.

I tell Giuseppe.

He says he and his wife do it every day.

-John Thomas says good night.

-Says good night.

-Ah!

-He's a very good printer.

-Does he read English?

-No.

He only just reads Italian, but he's a very good printer with many other talents.

"For England, it is a very shocking novel, shocking.

But that's because they're all dead from the neck up.

Do get people to send money with their orders if you can.

I'm broke again."

-Well, I suppose we'd better order a couple of copies.

10.

We'll give them to friends.

-OK.

-20!

-Rabbit.

-Oh, Brett, I wish you would stop doing that.

-I have to.

I always miss.

-Oh, this is beautiful, Pino.

-Oh!

-Bravo, bravo!

Bravo.

-Auguri!

Auguri!

-Auguri!

-Bravo!

-This is beautiful.

-Auguri.

-Auguri.

-Auguri.

-Bravo!

-Astonishing.

An extraordinary, courageous man.

-He's written, "To Tony."

-Oh!

-See?

-Oh, it's beautiful.

The Americans have banned "Lady C," of course.

God bless America.

It's good to be in France.

They never ban anything.

Don't worry.

Everyone's buying it.

We have made over 1,000 pounds.

All these years, you make me a rich woman--

I think it's right.

-Do people like the book?

-They adore the book.

Listen to "John Bull." "A landmark in evil."

I'm married to a landmark in evil.

"We have no hesitation in describing this as the most evil outpouring that has ever besmirched the literature of our country.

The sewers of French pornography would be dragged in vain to find a parallel in beastliness."

Mr. Lawrence apparently believes that decent people need to know about the primary functions of the human body-- indeed, that in some mysterious way, it would be good for us.

And not only for us, but for our wives and children and servants.

He also believes that such lolly is essential for the future of the church and the state, the empire and the monarchy.

And probably for the survival of civilization itself.

I shall want to speak to the Home Office.

-Yes, Mr. Muskett.

And Scotland Yard.

-Yes, Mr. Muskett.

Mr. Speaker, will the Home Secretary please give the names of the persons on whose advice he causes books to be seized and banned?

-The Home Secretary.

"I am advised by that these books contain obscene material--"

Ms. Luhan?

"And as such are liable to seizure."

Ms. Luhan?

Now you can't take that out of the country.

-Oh, but it's only for a weekend.

I need something to read.

-You know that's banned in Mexico.

That's banned.

-Well, perhaps I could collect it on the way back.

-Well, banned here in the States, too.

-This is absolute insanity.

-Well, don't tell me.

You tell your friend who writes these here things.

-I'll tell you this.

If they hate "Lady C," you wait till they see my paintings.

I'll protect your paintings.

Yes, I know you will.

Do you think "Lady Chatterley's Lover" is obscene, Mrs. Lawrence?

-Of course not.

The cleanest book ever written, as beautiful and tender and frail as the naked self.

-And these paintings?

The same.

-What's it like being married to DH Lawrence?

-Magnificent.

Every woman in the world would like to be married to DH Lawrence, but I am.

-Is it true he's seriously ill?

-Oh, of course not.

He staying with his publisher in Florence.

-Three.

Five.

Six.

Seven.

-Um, when?

-Justice must take its time.

Haste would be indecent.

Eight.

-Right, then.

Number three.

Number three.

-Number five.

Six.

Seven.

Eight.

-Good god!

-Nine.

Just a minute, lads.

His, uh, Royal Highness the Aga Khan would like to see the pictures before you take them away.

10.

11.

12.

That one will do nicely for my Paris exhibit.

-13.

14.

-Excuse me.

That is not one of Mr. Lawrence's.

-Whose is it then?

-William Blake.

He died in 1827.

16.

-Sergeant this one's dead.

-Well, put him back, then, Drinkwater.

Put him back.

18.

23.

Innocent England.

Oh, what a pity.

Oh, don't you agree that things aren't found in the land of the free?

Fig trees don't grow in my native land.

There's never a fig leaf near at hand when you want one.

So I did without, and that is what the row's about.

-I'm sorry, Frieda.

I liked the pictures very much.

Please tell him.

-Do you realize 13,000 people have visited this exhibition in three weeks?

Now this?

Can I?

The Aga Khan wants to exhibit them in Paris.

He gave a dinner party for him.

I shall have to send Lorenzo a telegram.

-Lorenzo, this has just arrived.

Gallery raided.

Paintings removed.

Ada loves you.

So do I.

Oh!

-Oh, I hate doctors.

I mean, not as people.

That man's a good man.

English.

He won't take a fee.

-You're talking too much.

-It's a symptom.

One of the nurses has given me a goldfish.

The nurses love you.

Everybody loves you.

Of course they bring you gifts.

And the cat at the fish.

It was a tragedy.

Cheer me up, Frieda.

-I will cheer you up.

Finally, they tell me.

They are not going to burn your painting.

-Oh, well now, that is cheerful.

What are they going to do with them?

-They're going to deport them.

Deport them?

-We win a long legal battle to prevent them being consumed by official flames.

And we win the battle.

But they must be taken away from England.

-To corrupt some poor bloody foreigners.

Cheer me up, Frieda.

Cheer me up the best way.

-Somebody might walk in.

-You must get me out of this place.

-The doctor says--

-You most find me a house to live in.

-I"ll find you a house.

Careful!

-We were never careful.

-Oh, look.

See, the mimosa is up.

Thank you, Frieda.

This is the first book of poems he wrote for me, when we ran away to Germany.

-"Look!

We have come through!"

-And we do.

-May I keep this?

-Of course.

Frieda!

Frieda!

I ought to have morphine now.

Hold me.

Hold me.

I don't know where my hands are.

You're not to cry.

I don't cry!

-My hands.

-I'm here.

-Mmmm.

I'm better now.

-"You are the call, and I am the answer.

You are the wish, and I, the fulfillment.

You are the night, and I, the day.

What else?

It is perfect enough.

You and I-- what more?

Strange, how we suffer in spite of this."

I think I will let him die.

Look.

We have come through.

Goodbye, Lorenzo.

"I shall always be a priest of love, and a glad one."