(HORSE NEIGHS)
(HORSE NEIGHING)
(DISTANT GUNFIRE)
(EXHALES DEEPLY)
(SNIFFLES)
(INDISTINCT CHATTER)
Sir? Where are you going?
Up the line to find a friend.
If I'm not back, you know where to send my things.
- Well, wait... - (EXPLOSIONS)
Sir, wait!
- Tolkien, sir! - (EXPLOSIONS CONTINUE)
Sir, please don't do this. You need to rest.
No, I'm fine.
Go back to barracks and wait for me there.
Sir, you really need to lay down.
The doctor said that the fever might get worse.
- I really don't think... - Look, Hodges, stay here.
- That's an order. - (MISSILE WHIZZES)
SAM: Cover your face, sir! Keep down!
(EXPLOSIONS CONTINUE)
That water was cold.
You need to keep yourself warm, sir.
It's a long journey to the front.
(DISTANT EXPLOSIONS)
(SNIFFLES)
I don't think the night will treat us well, sir.
(TOLKIEN BREATHING RAGGEDLY)
(BIRDS CHIRPING)
(BOYS YELLING)
BOY 1: Fight, men!
BOY 2: There's too many of them!
BOY 1: We need reinforcements!
- BOY 3: Take the banner! - (YELLS)
YOUNG TOLKIEN: Yes, I have the banner!
BOY 1: Stop them! He's getting away!
BOY 4: Where's Tolkien?
- Where is he? - BOY 3: Tolkien!
FATHER FRANCIS: Ah!
I prayed for a strong pack mule
to help carry boxes, and look,
my prayers have been answered.
Where are we going?
Birmingham. I need you to go to your room and pack.
- What? Why? - Because I said so.
Because Father Francis has found us some rooms.
He's been very generous.
Find a box and collect your things.
I don't want to go to Birmingham.
Listen, both of you.
We...
Come here, Hilary.
(SIGHS) Boys, we are going to face some difficult times,
and we are fortunate to have the church to support us.
With your father gone...
Ronald.
(PANTING)
MABEL: Ronald!
(PANTING)
"Ubi bene ibi patria." Remember that, my darling?
Wherever you feel happy,
that's your home.
MABEL: We will find our place, sweetheart, we will.
Lock all this all in your heart.
Lock it tight, and it will be there forever, I promise.
MABEL: Boys, listen to me.
Do you know what impecunious circumstances are?
YOUNG TOLKIEN: They're what we're in?
MABEL: When I was a little girl,
all the new novels began like this.
A family of good and brave people
who suddenly find themselves in impecunious circumstances.
How did they escape?
By coming across some marvelous treasure.
Or else by marrying well.
I'm not marrying anyone.
Well, it will have to be the treasure then, won't it?
But, um, people don't find treasure, Mother.
Not in real life.
There's no fooling you, is there, John Ronald?
Let's just say there's treasure...
and there's treasure.
And leave it at that.
Let us begin, Ronald.
The earth began to shake with the weight of the dragon
as he crawled to the water,
and a cloud of venom flew before him
as he snorted and roared!
But Sigurd waited
till the dragon had crawled over the pit
and then he thrust his sword under his left shoulder
and right into his heart.
The dragon lashed his tail till stones broke
and trees crashed about him.
And then he spoke, as he died,
and said, "Whoever thou art
that hast slain me,
this gold shall be thy ruin
and the ruin of all who own it."
Sigurd said,
"I would touch none of it,
if even by losing it, I should never die.
But all men die
and no brave man lets death frighten him from his desire."
(YOUNG TOLKIEN SPEAKS UNKNOWN LANGUAGE)
YOUNG HILARY: (IN ENGLISH) Do you know
how ridiculous you sound?
YOUNG TOLKIEN: Oh, really?
I'm even funnier in Latin.
(YOUNG TOLKIEN SPEAKS LATIN)
(IN ENGLISH) Do you know what that means?
An insignificant wart.
YOUNG HILARY: No.
I believe you now sound like a drunken peacock,
you duffer.
Hello, Mother. Did you get my stamps?
Hello, Mother.
YOUNG HILARY: Where did you put them?
(BREATHES SHAKILY)
(SOBBING QUIETLY)
Sir?
I'm going to have to keep going.
SAM: Sir, gas.
(DISTANT EXPLOSIONS)
(TOLKIEN BREATHING HEAVILY)
(DEEP GROWLING)
- (GAS HISSING) - (CONTINUES BREATHING HEAVILY)
(HORSE WHINNIES)
(HOOVES CLOPPING)
MRS. FAULKNER: (MUFFLED) I'm intrigued to see the boys.
(DOOR OPENS)
(DOOR CLOSES)
(EXHALES SHARPLY)
FATHER FRANCIS: Well, boys, I was right.
She's an enormous beast,
with great scaly feet
and the most prominent pair of tusks I've ever seen.
She's chewing, on what I can only assume
is the femur of a small boy.
(SIGHS DEEPLY)
On the other hand, there is cake.
King Edward's?
That's a very good school.
Well, they're very bright boys, Mrs. Faulkner.
Very diligent.
After Africa, their mother home-schooled them,
and they are now fluent in many languages.
Yes, but I mean socially.
You boys will be mixing
with the cream of Birmingham's bonnes familles.
And quite a change from Africa, I shouldn't wonder.
They've been living in England
far longer than they ever were in Bloemfontein.
Isn't that right, boys?
Yes, we hardly ever carry our spears anymore.
Been difficult to place, have they?
They've had one or two temporary homes.
What they need, of course, is the civilizing influence
of a stable and refined environment.
Such as yours, Mrs. Faulkner.
If I have a fault, it's that I am...
too generous with my young lodgers.
Too attached.
Edith, another orphan,
is like a child of my own.
(FAINT CREAKING)
(WIND HOWLING)
(CREAKING CONTINUES)
(INDISTINCT CHATTER)
- (ORGAN PLAYING) - (BOYS SINGING HYMN)
Stand up, the new man.
Tol-Kine.
It's Keen, sir.
What?
It's pronounced Tolkeen, sir. Not Tol-Kine.
Sorry.
Sit down.
As we are so sensitive
about pronunciation this morning,
perhaps you could all be so good
as to take out our Chaucers.
Mr. Tol-Keen can keep up as best he can.
Mackintosh. Begin.
(READS THE CANTERBURY TALES IN MIDDLE ENGLISH)
(MR. HEAP SPEAKS WORDS IN MIDDLE ENGLISH)
(MACKINTOSH REPEATS WORDS)
MR. HEAP: Oh, for heaven's sake. Goodson-Thomas.
(GOODSON-THOMAS READS IN MIDDLE ENGLISH)
MR. HEAP: Wiseman.
(CONTINUES IN MIDDLE ENGLISH)
MR. HEAP: Mr. Tol-Keen.
(RECITING IN MIDDLE ENGLISH)
(PLAYERS CLAMORING)
(OVERLAPPING CHATTER)
(WHISTLE BLOWS)
(CLAMORING)
BOY: Pass to Tolkien. Out wide!
(YOUNG ROBERT GRUNTS)
(WHISTLE BLOWS)
(INDISTINCT CHATTER)
YOUNG ROBERT: Moron!
(ALL CLAMORING)
Don't speak.
Don't say a single word.
What if he asks me a question?
He won't.
He's not interested in you.
(KNOCKS ON DOOR)
- HEADMASTER: Come. - (DOOR OPENS)
Is it that you believe I have nothing better to do
than arbitrate in your quarrels?
No, sir. Absolutely not.
Collegiate relationships
are the cornerstone of learning.
Isn't that what we say at King Edward's?
Headmaster, with respect,
Gilson and I were just playing rugby.
A little forcefully, I admit, but...
Men should be comrades.
Wherever they come from.
From the highest,
to the lowest.
- You and Master... - Tolkien.
...will demonstrate this to the rest of the school.
You will do everything together
for the rest of the term.
- But, sir... - Everything.
Yes, sir.
YOUNG ROBERT: He's made us liegemen.
YOUNG TOLKIEN: Isn't that a little excessive?
YOUNG ROBERT: It's an impossible standard.
It's designed to humiliate me.
- Doesn't it also humiliate me? - You're irrelevant.
Why do you keep on saying that?
- Because it's true. - No, listen.
I may not come from a respectable background...
It's not that, you idiot.
You're irrelevant to the headmaster.
- And you're not? - No.
Oh, because you're special.
Because I'm his son.
(MUFFLED PIANO PLAYING SOFT CLASSICAL MUSIC)
(PIANO MUSIC CONTINUES)
- (FLOORBOARD CREAKS) - (MUSIC STOPS)
MRS. FAULKNER: Oh, please don't stop, Edith.
(RESUMES PLAYING)
(CHUCKLES SOFTLY)
YOUNG ROBERT: Christopher, darling.
YOUNG CHRISTOPHER: Gilson.
(WHISPERING) Christopher, sit still.
- Gilson, don't be absurd. - Christopher. Sit down.
- Stop! - Chris, sit down.
We're in a library. Christopher, sit down.
YOUNG CHRISTOPHER: What?
(FOOTSTEPS APPROACHING)
We're going to take some tea.
- So? - So...
I suppose as we're meant to be doing everything together...
I'll stay where I am, thank you.
Suit yourself.
(SIGHS)
He didn't want to come.
(FOOTSTEPS APPROACHING)
YOUNG GEOFFREY: What Robert meant to say
is that,
with a little encouragement from his friends,
he has now acknowledged
that this punishment was his fault
rather than yours,
and he'd like to make amends, by inviting you to tea.
You should be flattered, really.
It was your cleverness that rattled him.
It would rattle you too
if only you had a father like Gilson.
His marks only have to drop below
one other boy in the year...
It's no excuse, but...
Oh, come on.
It's a lot more fun than sitting around
with a load of old books.
I like books.
So do we.
Geoffrey Bache Smith.
John Ronald Reuel Tolkien.
YOUNG ROBERT: Gentlemen. A thought.
Tolkien.
YOUNG ROBERT: Imagine walking into Barrow's Stores,
and finding me, guarding the door with a very big stick...
Where is this going?
And I said, there's no need to eat the cakes here.
I've done it.
In fact, I did it so much it made me sick...
That is the nature of parental authority.
"I've done it. I've decided it was bad.
And now I'm going to stop you from doing it."
- Cakes in this case being... - Everything.
- Everything that's good. - YOUNG CHRISTOPHER: Right.
YOUNG GEOFFREY: Tolkien, this is Barrow's.
YOUNG CHRISTOPHER: Our kingdom,
and the best tea in town.
(INDISTINCT CHATTER)
- WAITRESS: Another pot of tea? - YOUNG CHRISTOPHER: Thank you.
And what do you have that's under a shilling?
And isn't toast.
- Bath buns are four pence. - Good. A bath bun, please.
- And three forks. - YOUNG GEOFFREY: Four.
YOUNG ROBERT: And what about the stick?
YOUNG CHRISTOPHER: The stick?
My father is a perfect example.
He knows about music. He loves it.
He spent the greater part of his youth
studying and composing music.
Christopher has had several musical pieces published.
YOUNG CHRISTOPHER: Not several. One.
Pass me the sugar.
And yet when it comes to
pursuing a life as a composer...
No. "Musical dreams are a fantasy.
You will do as I did. You will put them aside."
And where does the stick come in?
The stick was a metaphor. Move on from the stick.
YOUNG GEOFFREY: My mother's exactly the same.
She values poetry. She loves it.
She refuses to see it as a potential career.
She sees me as...
a lawyer or an accountant.
Does she carry a stick?
I'm gonna go outside and fetch a stick, how about that?
Thank you.
Well, at least your parents discuss it.
If I even mentioned becoming a painter, I'd be disowned.
- No. I'd be decapitated. - There!
That's the stick.
I didn't even eat the cake that they ordered.
Why not?
I wasn't sure I had enough money.
YOUNG EDITH: Oh.
But this is sweet.
What about you?
(CHUCKLES) What about me?
There must be something that you want?
To get out of here.
To be free.
I would go somewhere
where I wouldn't feel like a poor orphan
and... everybody would be dressed
like kings and queens.
I wouldn't be there to play piano.
Or to carry Mrs. Faulkner's purse.
I'd be... greeted and...
appreciated.
Welcomed.
(CHUCKLES) Welcomed.
(GUNFIRE IN DISTANCE)
(COUGHING)
Go back to barracks, Hodges.
(PANTING)
Lieutenant Geoffrey Smith is a friend.
His mother...
His mother wrote to me. She...
She hasn't heard from him in weeks.
And he's not responded to my letters.
I'm worried he might be...
I need to know he's all right.
It really has nothing to do with you.
He must be a very good friend, is he, sir?
He's the best.
He'd do the same for me.
(GUNFIRE CONTINUES)
Well, if we're halfway there,
turning back won't take any longer
than carrying on, will it?
Hodges, please.
Perfectly frank, sir, by the look on you,
if I don't come along,
you're not gonna find
this Lieutenant Geoffrey Smith, anyway.
Let me see if I can find some medicine for you, sir.
(BREATHING HEAVILY)
YOUNG CHRISTOPHER: Geoffrey, are you trying
to trap my bishop, you scoundrel?
Gentlemen. A thought.
You know what the trouble is
with all these legends Tolkien reads?
Enlighten me, Robbie.
They don't have any women in them.
I'm not talking about pale,
shivering maidens sitting in towers.
I'm talking about plump, red-blooded women.
- Could you sit down, please? - The women of Southern Europe.
Women with large flagons of wine on their heads.
Robbie, are you incapable of sitting in silence?
Like our waitress, just over there.
YOUNG CHRISTOPHER: Oh, for God's sake.
Robbie, if I lose this game
because of your endless prattle...
You will lose this game because of me.
What are you reading now?
I'm reading about the realm of the dead.
- (GROANS) - Or at least trying to.
See what I mean?
Presided over by a giant woman, as it happens.
Hel, a huge and ruthless goddess.
Is that not red-blooded enough for you?
It is our waitress.
Hel?
Yes, she rules over the realm of the dead. Helheimr.
It's a place where warriors are sent
if they die in the wrong way.
- What's the wrong way? - Peacefully.
Illness, old age.
Anything other than battle.
Now, that's an idea I can get behind.
I'm sorry, you're getting behind dying in battle now?
Not literally.
I can die in any way the Fates choose,
that's not up to me.
But what is within my power is to decide how I live.
Courageously or timidly. (CLAPS HANDS)
Helheimr! It should be our warning. Our challenge.
Yes, I know.
But you should learn how to pronounce it first.
Come on. Challenge me. Set me a quest.
I'll show you how to avoid Helheimr.
I challenge you to...
sit in silence for 25 minutes.
Shut up, Geoffrey.
I'm serious.
Propose to the waitress.
- YOUNG GEOFFREY: Christopher. - (SCOFFS) What?
An excellent idea.
Robbie, don't you dare do anything of the kind.
That's what I call a quest against Helheimr.
Helheimr!
Madam. My lady of the lake, the bearer of my dreams.
Would you do me the greatest honor,
sharing an infinite future with me...
(BOYS LAUGHING)
We should form a club.
- What? - A brotherhood.
Aren't we already a club? A tea drinking club?
A tea drinking club,
sounds like something my stepmother would go to.
The Tea Club.
It doesn't sound any better just because you repeated it.
The Birmingham Boys.
That sounds like a circus act.
The Boys of Barrow's Stores.
Barrovians.
The Tea Club and Barrovian Society.
I think that's far too long.
The T. C. B. S.
Are you sure that doesn't sound like a disease?
No, listen, I don't care what it's called.
As long as we pledge our loyalty to each other.
Exactly.
T. C. B. S. That's settled. Now what do we do?
We change the world.
Oh, good. Something simple.
Through art, you clown.
Through the power of art.
Brothers,
will you join your comrades
in this act of changing the world?
- We will. - We will.
Helheimr!
- YOUNG CHRISTOPHER: Helheimr! - YOUNG GEOFFREY: Helheimr!
YOUNG ROBERT: Helheimr!
YOUNG TOLKIEN: "Not for us, I reckon,
to follow the wolves,
to fight amongst each other
like the cubs the Fates rear ravenous..."
TOLKIEN: "...the Norns came,
to shape out fate for that kingling;
they said he'd be the fighter most famed,
and be reckoned the best of princelings.
They twisted fast the strands of fate,
unsettled the strongholds in Brálund..."
(KNOCKS ON DOOR)
This way, please.
- (SOFT STRING MUSIC PLAYING) - (WOMAN SINGING ARIA)
Pale hands I loved beside the Shalimar
Where are you now?
Who lies beneath your spell?
Whom do you lead on...
I don't have a hat.
- What? - I don't have a hat.
That's all right.
They all look ridiculous, anyway.
(TOLKIEN SPEAKING UNKNOWN LANGUAGE)
What does it mean?
Oh... It's nonsense.
It's about an old man who's watching an unlucky frog
who can't land softly, so he gets eaten by a dog.
(LAUGHS)
- And you invented that? - Yes.
The entire language?
Verb structures, vocabulary, everything.
My next language will have a music to it.
"Cellar door."
Cellar door?
That's the most musical word I can think of.
"Cellar door."
There's something about the fall of it.
The rounding of the mouth.
Cellar door.
If you say it over and over,
it starts to be something... magical.
(DRAMATICALLY) Cellar door.
(TONED DOWN) Cellar door.
I think that's nonsense.
I mean, it is if you say it like that.
A word isn't beautiful just because of its sound.
Cellar door.
It's the marriage of sound and meaning,
the door to the cellar,
a place where something magical
and mysterious might happen.
I'm sorry, have you just dismissed
the basis of my entire language?
Your language isn't worth anything
unless you remember this important fact.
- Oh, is that right? - It is, yes.
Listen.
Hand.
That might be a beautiful word...
Yes, it is.
But it means so much more
because of what we associate it with.
Touch.
Things aren't beautiful because of how they sound.
They're beautiful because of what they mean.
Tell me a story.
What?
The story of Cellar Door.
No, I can't.
Why not?
When someone asks me to play the piano...
That's a different thing altogether.
Tell me a story.
In any language you want.
- Don't be ridiculous. - The legend...
of Cellar Door.
No, I'm not a performing monkey.
(SIGHS) It begins with the arrival
of a proud and opinionated princess.
Yes, you're right about that.
She demands entertainment.
Princess Cellardoor is bored.
Bored of cakes and muffins
- and exquisite china... - No.
She longs for another life.
- It's not a name. - What?
It's something else.
Cellardoor. It's not a princess's name, it can't be.
Cellardoor...
is a place.
It's a place. An ancient place.
Impossible to reach, except...
by the most treacherous climb.
It hangs... no...
No?
It's not a climb... It's not...
Door...
(MUMBLES)
...road... path. It's a path.
A path through a dense, dark forest.
Oh, is it, now?
And at the heart of Cellardoor,
which is actually a shrine,
there stands an extraordinary sight.
(GASPS) Is it a proud and opinionated princess?
It is a place which is revered by all who know of it.
A sacred place, marked at its center by...
By?
By trees.
EDITH: Trees?
TOLKIEN: One of the purest black like ebony,
the other... white as bone.
They each contain a deadly poison in their sap.
But they have grown together over thousands of years.
Leaning into each other, like...
they were fighting, or...
The roots...
the branches of the two trees, reaching, twisting,
gnarling around each other,
have finally become a single knotted trunk.
Their poisoned saps commingled
to create a powerful, life-giving potion.
The water... of Cellardoor.
What does it do?
Yes.
What does it do?
- To drink it... - Yes?
The water of Cellardoor, to taste it,
is to possess the power of sight.
Sight beyond sight.
Sight into the deepest,
darkest parts of the human heart.
It's a hungry, potent magic.
A magic beyond anything anyone has ever felt before.
(BOTH SNICKER)
What did you do that for?
I was filled with the spirit of Cellardoor.
Go on. Your turn.
No.
What's the worst that could happen?
(COINS JINGLING)
Aren't you supposed to be studying?
Oh, yes. Thank you.
- They sound very exciting. - Yes.
I mean, I'm not saying that everything everyone says
is going to be absolutely fascinating.
- EDITH: It'll be fine. - TOLKIEN: Yes.
EDITH: I hope I've dressed up properly.
- More tea? - EDITH: Uh...
So, what do you normally talk about?
CHRISTOPHER: Uh, we...
We talk about all sorts of really interesting things.
Really interesting.
Interesting and fascinating, and...
you know, that's when we're not trying to change the world.
GEOFFREY: When we're not trying to change the world,
the thing we're focusing on most, Miss Bratt, is...
Please. Edith.
Is our university entrance.
Are you all trying for Oxford?
Well, Tolkien and I are.
The other two are aiming for Cambridge.
- Treacherous beasts. - Are you nervous?
Robbie isn't.
Oh.
I don't believe in examinations.
I write what I think.
And if they want to give me a mark, it's up to them.
What a revolutionary approach.
Why, thank you. (CHUCKLES)
I would love to hear you play the piano sometime, Miss...
- Edith. - (LAUGHS)
She plays marvelously.
EDITH: You're a composer yourself,
isn't that right, Christopher?
Yes.
- No, he's been published. - Heavens.
Which composers do you admire?
- Um, I like the Romantics. - So do I.
Beethoven. Brahms. Wagner.
I appreciate Wagner. I'm not sure that I like him.
You "appreciate" him?
Yes. As an agent of emotion, I mean.
The operas... They're somehow...
I love Wagner's Rheingold.
ROBERT: Christopher finds those too long.
No, I don't.
ROBERT: Well, nobody blames you.
It shouldn't take six hours
to tell a story about a magic ring.
No, Gilson, you don't know what you're talking about.
Of course, operas can be considered long and laborious
but for my music, whatever the length,
it is imperative that it has heart.
A sensation of intoxication...
- Look, I'm afraid we must go. - Already?
TOLKIEN: Yes, Mrs. Faulkner will be worried.
Oh, Tollers, there's so much tea left.
No, but we have exams coming up
and I, for one, have to study.
I'm sorry. Goodbye, all.
It was lovely meeting you.
- Bye. - ALL: Goodbye, Edith.
TOLKIEN: I'll fetch our coats.
EDITH: Are you ashamed of me?
TOLKIEN: What?
EDITH: I can't think of another explanation.
TOLKIEN: I don't know what you're talking about.
You know how I spend my days, John.
You've seen me.
I'm a companion.
A prisoner.
There's no secret literary societies for me.
No escape.
I play piano for Mrs. Faulkner.
Terrible, sentimental songs on the piano.
I sit with her in the evening.
Read with her. Sew with her.
Listen to her.
I have a passion for Wagner.
I want to talk about him. To discuss. To debate.
But you...
(FOOTSTEPS RECEDING)
(DISTANT EXPLOSIONS)
(EXPLOSIONS CONTINUE)
(DEEP GROWLING)
(DISTANT, HEAVY THUDDING)
(LOW GROWLING)
(MEN SCREAMING)
OFFICER: Take cover!
(MEN SCREAMING)
- (GUNFIRE) - (SCREAMING)
SAM: Run, sir!
Sir, I think we're safe.
It's okay.
(PANTING)
Sir. Let's stay here, sir.
Let's stay here, sir.
(PIANO PLAYING SOFT CLASSICAL MUSIC)
Haven't you anything a little more cheerful, dear?
(MUSIC STOPS)
(SIGHS SOFTLY)
(PLAYING JOLLY MUSIC)
GEOFFREY: "Shapes in the mist
It is long since I saw you
Pale hands and faces, quiet eyes
Crowned with a garland that dead hands wrought you
Out of remembrance that never dies
One among you is tall and supple
Good to love and to fight beside
Only the stain of a deadly quarrel
Only that and the years divide"
- It's dreadful. - It's superb.
- Stop being such a moron. - It isn't finished.
ROBERT: It's wonderful.
It's Greek, in a way. The love of comrades.
It's very emotive. You should be proud.
Right. Who's next?
Tollers?
No, I haven't anything new.
- ROBERT: Really? - TOLKIEN: Mmm.
ROBERT: Well, if Tolkien is betraying
the brotherhood with a blank,
I'm going to show you something utterly degenerate.
(LAUGHTER)
GEOFFREY: This cannot be good.
CHRISTOPHER: Heavens above.
ROBERT: Copied, unfortunately.
And what I need is life models.
Not much chance of that, of course.
TOLKIEN: I take it that's not one of yours.
ROBERT: What, my father's aristocratic pretensions?
Needless to say, he hasn't got a rifle,
a stately home, or a pack of spaniels.
(CHRISTOPHER LAUGHS)
Have you really not written anything?
Not even inspired by Miss Bratt?
Don't be an ass, Wiseman. Edith and I...
share a lodging.
So, her heart is still unclaimed?
Thank you, Tolkien. Good to know.
ROBERT: So, you've written nothing?
I can't get into my stride. I feel... unfocused.
CHRISTOPHER: You know what I think that's a symptom of?
Constipation?
- (LAUGHS) - Ha-ha-ha.
Love. Requited or otherwise.
Yes. Thank you.
What a wonderful insight
into the human condition, Chris.
It's a pity it doesn't find its way into your music.
You know, I'm surprised you expect us to believe
a single word you say, Tolkien.
What's that supposed to mean?
CHRISTOPHER: You kept the delectable Miss Bratt from us.
Who knows what else you might be concealing.
Christopher.
A wife, three children and a ranch in Argentina.
Since you ask.
God, I wish I had Tolkien's secret life,
eh, Geoff?
TOLKIEN: Can we please just play the game?
(DOOR OPENS AND CLOSES)
I thought you said he was away?
- Yes, he was. - (FOOTSTEPS APPROACHING)
He is...
Geoffrey, give me that quickly. Thank you.
ROBERT: Where do I put these things?
GEOFFREY: (WHISPERING) Quickly.
ROBERT: Shh!
(FOOTSTEPS GROW NEARER)
(DOOR OPENS)
- Sir. - TOLKIEN: Headmaster.
What's this?
You said I might have some friends here, sir.
While you were away.
Your aunt is better.
I came home.
I have work to do. Send them home now.
I've promised the boys that they can stay the night, sir.
Circumstances have changed, however.
And now they will go home.
(FOOTSTEPS RECEDING)
Helheimr.
Don't be ridiculous.
Helheimr.
If not now, then when? (LAUGHS)
ROBERT: Sir?
I prefer not to go back on my offer of hospitality, sir.
I think it ungentlemanly.
You think...
I'm sorry. What?
Ungentlemanly, sir.
Father, I think it rude.
The boys are here to study.
And play billiards.
Yes, and play billiards.
We've worked hard, sir. And these are my friends.
And I have made them a promise, which...
with respect,
I would like to keep.
Very well.
- (SIGHS IN RELIEF) - (BOYS SNICKERING)
CHRISTOPHER: Gilson. You're a bloody hero.
- ROBERT: (WHISPERS) Boys, stop. - CHRISTOPHER: Bloody hero.
- Helheimr. - (ALL LAUGH)
(DOOR OPENS)
There's a word in old German,
it has no translation in English,
but it means a gift offered fearfully
in the wake of an argument.
Drachenfutter.
Literally, "Dragon Food."
So now I'm a dragon?
(STAMMERS)
(BELL TOLLING)
EDITH: Wagner wrote it in four acts.
It starts with a ring,
a magical ring which can rule the world
and which is forged by a dwarf.
It's Alberich.
Well, I have picked up the odd bit of German mythology.
But to harness the ring's power,
you first have to renounce love.
Oh. A very sensible exchange, in my opinion.
Well, that's because you're a coldhearted Viking.
Two, please. Upper gallery.
Gallery and upper gallery full.
Sorry, what?
The gallery and upper gallery are full. I'm sorry.
Nothing at all?
That's what we mean by full, sir, yes.
There is availability in the dress circle.
The dress circle.
But that's five shillings.
And we do respectfully ask patrons
to dress appropriately for that tier, sir.
Come on.
Edith.
Follow me.
- (GATE CREAKS) - (HORSE NEIGHS IN DISTANCE)
(DOOR RATTLES)
Sorry.
It's fine.
Humiliating.
Counting out the pennies. It's shameful.
(SIGHS)
I'm not going to live like that.
And neither should you.
They're just tickets. We can...
It's not the tickets.
It's about not losing the people you love.
Looking after them.
My mother, she...
She was sick.
I don't know what it was.
But, maybe, if I could have paid...
for a doctor, I...
then...
Sorry.
This isn't going to work.
It was a nice idea, though.
(AUDIENCE APPLAUDING IN DISTANCE)
(MUFFLED ORCHESTRAL MUSIC BEGINS)
- (WOMAN SINGING IN GERMAN) - (LIP-SYNCHING)
(MAN SINGING IN GERMAN)
(WOMAN SINGING)
MASTER: You may begin.
Oxford entrance. Paper 1.
The time is nine o'clock,
and you have three hours.
Good luck.
TOLKIEN: Look, I can take it again.
I can take it again, and I can pass.
To pass is not enough.
You need a scholarship.
I'm worried, Ronald.
I'm sure Master Gilson has no need for a scholarship.
As for Geoffrey Smith...
This has nothing to do with my friends.
We encourage each other, we push each other on.
Your fellow lodger.
Miss Bratt.
No, Edith has nothing to do with my failing that exam.
You were seen coming out of her room. At night.
We talked.
We talk to each other.
- Oh. So, it's true. - Yes, of course it's true.
- It doesn't... - The night before the exam,
you accompanied her to the concert hall.
That, also, has nothing to do with this?
(SIGHS) She's not even Catholic, Ronald.
Your mother
made a sacrifice.
She knew she was dying
and she trusted your future and education to me.
I intend to honor that.
The time has come for you to choose
whether or not you will follow in her example.
I don't think I understand.
I must ask you
to have nothing more to do with Miss Bratt.
That's ridiculous. That's completely unfair.
- Nevertheless. - No. No, I...
I can't. I won't.
I am your legal guardian...
Yes, but you don't understand.
- Oh, I understand perfectly. - No. Father. (SIGHS)
I love her.
I wish...
Ronald, I wish you could enjoy
the same luxuries other boys do.
- I wish... - No, you're jealous.
You don't want that at all. You're jealous.
You say that but you don't mean it. You're a priest.
You don't know anything about love. How could you?
- Listen to me. - You want me to be alone.
You want me to live alone like you and have nothing.
I won't. I won't live like that.
If after the age of 21, you still feel the same way,
you are, of course, free to do as you please.
Until that time,
you have a duty to fulfill.
And you will fulfill it, Ronald.
So, help me God, you will fulfill it.
TOLKIEN: I can't fail it again.
And you know what will happen if I don't get into Oxford.
I could become a priest,
but I don't think a life of celibacy
is what either of us had in mind.
Edith?
Edith, it's just until I reach my majority.
Oh, for God's sake, Ronald.
Don't be so dramatic.
It doesn't matter.
No, don't say that. Of course, it matters.
I don't know why you're taking it so hard.
Things are just returning to normal, that's all.
To reality.
No, I won't give up on our future. (SIGHS)
That's why I'm...
I refuse to give up on that.
Of course, you will.
More quickly than you think.
- So will I. - No, that's not true.
Edith, please. Look...
I let myself believe
that there were happy endings for people like us.
But there aren't.
There can't be.
But you get your happy ending.
Hope you enjoy Oxford.
No. Edith.
(FOOTSTEPS RECEDING)
I need your help.
I need to rest, Sam.
You have to find Geoffrey.
Sir, I'm not leaving you here.
- Sam. - I'm not leaving you here.
Sam. It's an order.
Find Geoffrey and tell him not to lose hope.
Tell him that the T.C.B.S., we...
Just keep him alive.
(FAINTLY) Thank you, Sam.
- ROSE: Is it a dragon? - It's a dragon. It's a dragon.
CHRISTOPHER: For goodness' sake.
I was wondering, did I mention before...
The set of the play is very much inspired
by the architecture of Trinity.
Sorry, chaps.
- But what's it about? - Well...
- And so, you're the poet? - No, uh, that's Geoffrey.
I think you Oxford men should be upping the game. No?
- Where are we off to next? - Yes, do tell.
Yes, where shall we...? Sorry, excuse me.
Um...
Right.
(BELL TOLLING)
ROBERT: Stealing a bus? That's your plan?
- GEOFFREY: Gilson! Quiet! - CHRISTOPHER: Hurry up!
GEOFFREY: Shh!
I think that particular match it was the Oxford men
- versus the Cambridge boys. - (LAUGHTER)
ROBERT: Oh, come on, the referee was blind.
CHRISTOPHER: I hereby declare
the third Oxford council of the T.C.B.S.
well and truly open.
And would like to welcome
our damsels from the Eagle and Child
as honorary guests.
May all our meetings take place
on an abandoned omnibus.
I think the word "abandoned" might be stretching it.
- Maybe a bit. - (LAUGHTER)
MARY: What is the T.C.B.?
- ROBERT: Oh, the T.C.B.S. - Oh.
I don't think you like me, Mr. Burglar.
- Sorry, I was just... - I apologize for my friend.
- He's pining for someone. - What?
CHRISTOPHER: He's pining for the delectable Miss Bratt.
ROBERT: Take no notice of him.
Who's the delectable Miss Bratt?
- She's no one. - Oh, is she, Tollers?
The way you've been moping around
for the past couple of months.
It's not very nice to talk about another lady
when you're with someone.
No, you're absolutely right. I apologize, Myrtle.
- It's Beryl. - (LAUGHTER)
See? See? Sitting in the arms of a beautiful girl
and he can't even remember her name.
I'm sorry if my difficulties
are getting in the way of your diversions.
Ah, you made a decision, Tolkien.
Nobody forced you into it.
- What? - CHRISTOPHER: Edith or Oxford.
You chose Oxford, and here you are!
Sat on a commandeered bus with three beautiful girls
and your best friends. For God's sake, enjoy yourself!
- Nobody forced me? - CHRISTOPHER: Oh, yes...
The priest. Your benefactor.
Chris, this is getting out of hand.
- Don't talk about things you... - Thank you. This was wonderful.
You let her go. You didn't want her
- more than you wanted Oxford. - No.
- I didn't have a choice. - Does that make you a rotter?
Does that make you something else?
- What's the matter with you? - Just shut up!
Oh, for God's sake, Tollers.
- (CHRISTOPHER GROANS) - TOLKIEN: Chris. Sorry, Chris.
- Bloody hell, Tollers. - Are you all right?
For an intellectual,
you've quite an impressive right hook.
- Hit me back. Please. - No.
Hit me back right now. Please, Chris.
- Forget it. Forget it. - TOLKIEN: Chris, please.
CHRISTOPHER: It's fine.
No, that was horrible of me. I'm sorry.
ROBERT: What you need to understand, Tolkien, you...
poor lawless orphan,
is that we are your brothers.
Through everything.
Yes, absolutely.
Exactly.
ROBERT: This is more than... just a friendship.
It's an alliance.
An invincible alliance.
Helheimr!
- ALL: Helheimr. - TOLKIEN: Still Helheimr.
Every time he gets it wrong.
GEOFFREY: Right, I need a drink.
CHRISTOPHER: Where did the girls go?
GEOFFREY: (WHISPERS) Shh. Get down.
CONSTABLE: Hold the door, George.
They let you out in one piece.
They're speaking to the rector in the morning.
What about you?
Well, Gilson and Wiseman, the Cambridge swines,
have been let go already.
I wasn't quite so lucky.
Looks like I'll be joining you
in the rector's office tomorrow.
Death by lecture.
I'm sorry, Geoff.
- No, it's not your fault. - No, it is.
If it wasn't for me, you'd be in the arms
of the delightful Mary by now.
GEOFFREY: Please. The moment I showed any interest,
she started talking about her sweetheart.
TOLKIEN: I was doing all right until Wiseman ruined it.
(BELL TOLLING)
(INDISTINCT CHATTER)
GEOFFREY: The rector was honestly writing to my mother.
Do you think I stand a chance of becoming a poet after this?
She's going to lose her mind. So, that's that.
ROBERT: Oh, Geoffrey's only lost his career.
What did you get, Tolkien?
- I got sent down. - (ALL LAUGH)
(STAMMERS) Are you joking, Tollers?
They can't send you down for that.
For a bloody picnic on a bus.
The bus was the least of it.
I haven't achieved the grades.
According to the rector,
I have no flair for the Greats,
and only a passing interest in the ancient Greeks.
So, they won't endorse my scholarship.
Yes, but that doesn't mean you have to go down.
No, of course not. How stupid of me.
Yes, when Mama gets back from Monte Carlo,
I'll ask her to write another check.
(SCOFFS)
What are you going to do?
They'll endorse my scholarship until the end of term.
After that, I have to finance my own studies.
Which is, of course, impossible,
so, get a job, I suppose.
Well, doing what?
I will go back to Birmingham and work in a bakery.
Or I will make shoes for rich dimwits like you
who come in waving their wallets.
I could do with a new pair of Oxfords, anyway.
(BOTH CHUCKLE)
But, in all seriousness,
you've always had more flair than any of us.
And...
I'll be honest,
I sometimes hated you for it.
But, out of us all,
you're the last person who should be sent down.
GEOFFREY: So, tomorrow is our last game.
ROBERT: We're gonna really miss thrashing you, chaps.
GEOFFREY: Please.
(INDISTINCT SHOUTING)
PLAYER: Wiseman, stop him!
(SHOUTING CONTINUES)
- (GRUNTING) - (BLOWING WHISTLE)
(CROWD CHEERS)
- Well done, Tolkien. - Thank you.
- (LAUGHING) - Good game, boys.
- That was a beautiful run. - Well played, you big oaf.
You weren't a total fool, Tollers.
GEOFFREY: Sorry, what was the score, Wiseman?
(LAUGHTER)
Well played, lads.
Hello, Mother.
- Well played, Geoffrey. - Thank you for coming.
Are we still on for dinner later?
Yes. Seven o'clock.
And your father will be there.
(INDISTINCT CHATTER)
TOLKIEN: Excuse me, Mrs. Smith.
I wondered if I might have a brief word.
Well?
It's about Geoffrey and, um, this business with the rector.
It's been the most dreadful misunderstanding.
I'd prefer not to talk about that, if you don't mind.
I'm responsible for everything that happened that night
and I assure you I've been thoroughly punished.
I'm trying to say, please don't
make things harder on Geoffrey.
He's one of the most diligent people I know.
And the kindest.
He tries so hard to make you proud of him.
And he has such exceptional talents.
I know I'm speaking out of line...
- And you were responsible? - Yes.
Yes, and I've been sent down.
So, you needn't worry about my influence anymore.
And, um...
What... What talents are you referring to?
He's a poet.
He's had his work published in college magazines.
He'd kill me for telling you this. But he's good.
Good afternoon to you.
PORTER: Mr. Tolkien?
- This is for you. - Thank you.
(LIQUID SLOSHING IN BOTTLE)
(SPEAKING UNKNOWN LANGUAGE)
PROFESSOR: Students off the grass!
Have you any idea what time it is?
(SPEAKS UNKNOWN LANGUAGE)
(IN ENGLISH) You silly old sod!
I say, Wright, is he one of yours?
I don't believe he is.
(SPEAKING UNKNOWN LANGUAGE)
(IN ENGLISH) You silly old...
PROFESSOR: Get off the lawn!
Hail Earendel,
brightest of angels sent unto men.
(SPEAKING UNKNOWN LANGUAGE)
GEOFFREY: Ronald. Ronald, get up.
Get up. It's me. Wake up.
Yes, I'm awake.
You've woken up the whole college.
They can't send me down twice, can they?
- Pull yourself together. - Can they?
Geoff! Geoff, sit down.
Have a drink. Wonderful malt.
I don't want a drink. Pull yourself together, John.
(GEOFFREY PANTING)
(SIGHS)
Would you like to come to a wedding?
What?
- Very beautiful, English... - John...
- ...summer wedding. - You're not making any sense.
Edith.
Congratulations.
Yes, she wrote to me. She's...
She's engaged.
She's getting married.
Oh, John, that's...
That's awfully bad luck.
(VOICE QUIVERING) I'm sorry. I'm in a bit of a mess.
- No, that's okay. Hey, hey... - Sorry, Geoff.
It's okay. It's okay.
- That's okay. - (SOBBING)
I've got you.
REFEREE: Fencers salute!
- How are you feeling? - (FOILS CLASHING)
Oh, absolutely fantastic.
Delightful.
And what a marvelous idea this was, thank you.
To love someone,
who, for whatever reason, cannot return your feelings
is painful.
But if you listen to the poets,
perhaps there's a kind of beauty to that love.
It burns.
Bright.
And it's never tainted by reality or by...
overuse.
It's as clear and fierce today
as it was the very first day it began.
And there's beauty to that,
I think.
At least, that's what I cling to, anyway.
(MASTER SPEAKING INDISTINCTLY)
WRIGHT: Hails!
Uh... Hails!
(CONTINUES SPEAKING ANCIENT GOTHIC)
(UNDER BREATH) Another gobbledygook speaker.
(IN ENGLISH) How are you, uh, finding the Gothic Primer?
Yes. Not bad. The preface is pretty well written.
There's not much of the language itself.
- Ah, a pity about that. - Yes.
- Last night in the quad... - God. You were there.
...I heard a language I was unfamiliar with.
Well, of course, the greater part
of Oxfordshire heard it too,
right up to the Chiltern Hills.
I was very drunk.
I don't doubt it.
It was utter nonsense.
A language I invented for the fairies.
I thought perhaps I heard some Finnish.
- Yes. I stole a good deal. - Ah.
- Not stole. - No.
Languages never steal.
- Right. - Influenced.
Sorry, I didn't catch your name. I'm...
I'm Tolkien. Ronald. Exeter College.
(SIGHS)
Excuse me.
A child points,
and is taught a word.
Tree.
Later, he learns to distinguish this tree
from all the others.
He learns its particular name.
He plays under the tree.
He dances around it.
Stands beneath its branches, for shade or shelter.
He kisses under it, he sleeps under it,
he weds under it.
He marches past it on his way to war,
and limps back past it on his journey home.
A king is said to have hidden in this tree.
A spirit may dwell within its bark.
Its distinctive leaves
are carved onto the tombs and monuments of his landlords.
Its wood might have built the galleons
that saved his ancestors from invasion.
And all this,
the general and the specific,
the national and the personal,
all this,
he knows,
and feels,
and summons, somehow, however faintly,
with the utterance of a single sound.
Oak.
Saxon word. Proto-Germanic.
Cognates in Old Norse. Eik.
Language is never nonsense.
Language is meaning.
History. Layer upon layer upon layer.
And a word without meaning is what?
Merely a sound.
Someone else once said that to me.
With a good deal more economy, I shouldn't wonder.
(CHUCKLES)
There are one or two original Gothic texts
in the library.
You should take a look.
But I can't just walk in and ask for the originals.
Tell them Professor Wright sent you.
CHRISTOPHER: He wouldn't have cared.
That's not the point.
He's probably the greatest philologist,
certainly of the Gothic language.
He might have even been flattered.
Of course, he was flattered.
Nobody's taken that book out of the library in 1,500 years.
Well, actually, I had it out last week.
ROBERT: Oh. How did you find it?
I don't want to spoil it for Tollers.
He won't finish it. He doesn't even know who wrote it.
Please. Will you all just shut up? It's not funny.
Listen, Tolkien,
you absolute clown.
This is your chance, can't you see?
Your Gothic professor is encouraging you to defect.
What are you talking about?
He's enticing you into his class.
- (ALL SHUSHING) - Sorry.
(WHISPERS) He's right.
But I can't just breeze into the philology department.
Why not?
Because I don't have a scholarship, for a start.
So, are you telling me that the philology department
don't give out scholarships?
Yes, for someone who happens to be a genius with languages.
- ROBERT: Moron. - (CHRISTOPHER LAUGHS)
Professor!
- Excuse me, Professor Wright. - Yes.
I've been thinking about the oak.
Uh, the symbolism of it.
The guardian tree, the harbinger of change.
How fascinating. Are you a student of arboriculture?
No. I'm studying Greats. But I would like...
That's why I stopped you,
I'd like to change to your class.
- To study philology. - To my class?
Yes. I'm Tolkien. Ronald Tolkien.
I stood outside your window and shouted obscenities
in a kind of bastardized Finnish.
And you consider that a recommendation?
I know this is irregular,
but I've realized my true passion,
the thing I've been working on my entire life...
Can I speak candidly, sir?
You cannot conceive how much I would welcome it.
- I need a scholarship. - (SIGHS)
I need a scholarship to study philology. With you.
And there are no lengths I wouldn't go to,
to prove that I'm a worthy candidate.
- No lengths? - Yes.
(SPEAKING OLD ENGLISH)
No.
- No? - No.
No, because if I left you alone to work in peace,
then I wouldn't get the privilege
of learning from you,
and that would defeat the purpose
of this entire, frankly, quite terrifying, interlude.
- Tolkien. - Yes, sir.
- German origin. - I think so, sir.
From the Anglo-Saxon, perhaps.
- Exactly. - Tollkühn.
I'm assuming you don't need me
to translate that particular word for you.
Foolhardy.
Professor Wright...
My class is full, Mr. Tolkien.
Full with students who can translate Old English,
at least as quickly and skillfully as you,
and they've already had two terms to establish themselves.
Good afternoon.
Helheimr.
Professor.
Since childhood, I have been fascinated with language.
Obsessed with it. I've invented my own.
Full, complete languages. Look.
This is, it's... everything.
From the Breost-hord. My heart.
The treasure of the breast.
And the drawings?
I made stories. Legends.
After all, what is language for?
It's not just the naming of things, is it?
It's the lifeblood of a culture, a people.
- Yes. Exactly. - Exactly.
Could you write 5,000 words
on the influence of Norse elements in Gawain?
Yes, absolutely. When would you like it by?
WRIGHT: This evening.
This evening.
(READING BEOWULF IN OLD ENGLISH)
Middle Earth.
(HORSE NEIGHING)
"Both of these brothers marshaled the warriors
They bid their dear kinsman through words
that they had to endure there in time of need
make use of their weapons without weakening"
The way you follow the rhythms of the poetry,
your sensitivity to it.
I have to tell you, Mr. Tolkien,
I've never come across anything like it.
Never.
"Byrthwold spoke out..."
"Byrthwold spoke out, brandished his shield..."
War! War! England's at war!
Germany's invaded Belgium!
(PEOPLE CLAMORING)
"He instructed the warriors most boldly of all:
Courage must be the harder
heart the keener
spirits the greater, as our strength wanes
Here lies our lord, entirely cut to pieces
a good man in the dirt"
- (PEPPY JAZZ MUSIC PLAYING) - (INDISTINCT CHATTER)
(PIANO PLAYING SOFT CLASSICAL MUSIC)
(STOPS PLAYING)
TOLKIEN: Here you go, Chris.
Ladies and gentlemen, Robert Gilson.
CHRISTOPHER: Gilson!
Aren't you going to ask me to dance?
Did you lose a bet?
ROBERT: I've had three envious glances already, actually.
People must have mistaken you for the Kaiser.
What is this? A war or a tea dance?
- First-class mustache, Gilson. - Why, thank you.
- You need a drink, young man. - ROBERT: On the ball.
GEOFFREY: I think we're all here, Tolkien.
Yes.
Shall we make a toast?
To all the future T.C.B.S. meetings.
All across Europe.
Cheers, gentlemen.
- Gentlemen! May I? - I don't see why not.
ROBERT: Eyes front, Tolkien.
PHOTOGRAPHER: And watch the birdie!
ALL: Helheimr!
(CAMERA FLASH POPS)
ROBERT: I've just written a play where a French waitress
falls madly in love with an English hero.
TOLKIEN: You'll have to shave
if you want to play a French waitress.
ROBERT: Cheers. Never too many.
One more?
ROBERT: All bets Wiseman goes to sleep first.
GEOFFREY: I'll take that bet. Scotch?
ROBERT: Easy money.
(INDISTINCT CHATTER)
Good luck, Ronald.
I'll take that.
I'll try and hold the ship.
- EDITH: How's your brother? - TOLKIEN: He's fine.
He's in France already.
How about you? How's your music?
EDITH: I teach piano.
Small girls, mostly.
Not very good.
And you're engaged.
He's very kind.
Very considerate.
A good person, really.
There is something I have to say...
Ronald.
I made the biggest mistake of my life
and there hasn't been a day, a moment...
I've never stopped thinking about you.
You are the most remarkable spirit I have ever met.
You have courage and resourcefulness, talent,
you're proud,
maddeningly, wonderfully, so;
and you are cunning and vibrant
and completely alive.
You deserve every happiness you find.
No. No, you don't.
You don't deserve happiness, that's not what I...
What I mean is...
You deserve much more.
You deserve magic.
(INDISTINCT CHATTER)
Is it that one?
TOLKIEN: It's the Ascanius.
Sounds like something out of one of your stories.
Yes. "Pity the poor citizens of the kingdom of Ascanius."
Why shall we pity them?
For their terrible history.
For their shame.
Their regrets.
They should forgive themselves.
They can't.
MAN: Lancashires on the Ascanius!
I'd better...
This has been so nice.
Goodbye, little one.
Edith.
- I love you. - I love you.
- I love you so much. - I know. (CHUCKLES)
There's nothing I could do about it.
I know. I can't either.
(BOTH LAUGH)
(MAN SHOUTING IN DISTANCE)
I have to go.
- Stay alive. - Yes.
And come back to me.
Stay alive and come back to me.
(FOOTSTEPS SLOSHING)
SAM: Sir, I found them. Get up!
- I found the 19th Lancashires. - Geoff.
You have to get up, sir.
(DISTANT EXPLOSIONS)
Let's find your friend. We're almost there.
- (PANTING) - (EXPLOSIONS CONTINUE)
OFFICER: Fire!
SOLDIER: Get up the ladder!
- (GUNFIRE) - (MEN SHOUTING)
(SCREAMING)
OFFICER: Attach your bayonets!
PRIVATE: I can't do it.
SERGEANT: Come on, Private. Come on!
Geoffrey!
OFFICER: This way! Quickly!
SOLDIER: Right, you Lancashires!
Geoffrey!
- (WHISTLE BLOWING) - (MEN CLAMORING)
Where's Geoffrey Bache Smith?
Lieutenant Geoffrey Bache Smith?
Bache Smith isn't here. He's already gone over the top.
- No! - Yes. Sorry.
- (SHOUTING CONTINUES) - (PANTING)
Geoffrey!
OFFICER: Don't stop for wounded.
Geoffrey!
- Sir, what are you doing? Wait! - TOLKIEN: Don't follow me.
OFFICER: Up the ladder, Lancashires!
Geoff!
Geoffrey!
- (EXPLOSIONS) - (MEN SHOUTING)
(SCREAMING)
- (GUNFIRE) - (MEN GROANING)
SOLDIER: Don't slow down!
Geoff!
GEOFFREY: Ronald!
- Geoff! - (EXPLOSION)
Geoff!
GEOFFREY: Ronald!
Geoffrey!
(EXPLOSIONS)
GEOFFREY: Ronald!
Geoff!
What?
GEOFFREY: Ronald!
Geoff!
GEOFFREY: Ronald!
Ronald!
Geoff!
Geoffrey!
(CAVALRY YELLING)
SOLDIER: Gas!
(MEN SHOUTING)
SOLDIER: Get that bloody mask on!
Gas!
(BREATHING HEAVILY)
- (GUNFIRE) - (MEN SHOUTING)
(GASPING)
(EXHALES HEAVILY)
(GROWLING)
(EERIE, INDISTINCT WHISPERING)
(DEEP GROWLING)
(ECHOING VOICES YELLING)
EDITH: (SOFTLY) Hello.
Don't try to sit up.
You've been asleep for a very long time.
You've had trench fever, but you're all right.
You're home.
(WEAKLY) I tried to find him.
Who?
Geoffrey, I...
I heard him...
I could hear him.
Geoffrey is... is dead.
He died weeks ago.
What?
No.
Robert Gilson, he was...
he was hit.
He's also dead.
Robbie and Geoffrey.
I'm sorry.
Ron, I'm so sorry.
But you're fine. You're home. Every...
Everything's going to be fine. I promise.
FATHER FRANCIS: I spend my every afternoon
with mothers, widows.
What can I say to them?
Your sons have died in the war to end all wars.
TOLKIEN: What do you say?
Words are useless.
Modern words, anyway.
I speak the liturgy.
There's a comfort, I think, in distance.
Ancient things.
Throughout the whole of your illness,
Miss Bratt never left your bedside.
Not once.
You were right to pursue her.
Thank you.
Oh. This arrived for you via...
a very circuitous route.
He wrote it, I believe, during his last days.
GEOFFREY: My dear John Ronald,
It is my chief consolation that if I am scuppered tonight
there will still be left a great member of the T.C.B.S.
to voice what I dreamed and what we all agreed upon.
That the death of one of its members cannot,
I am determined,
dissolve the T.C.B.S.
Death can make us loathsome and helpless as individuals,
but it cannot put an end to the immortal four!
May God bless you, my dear John Ronald,
and may you say the things I have tried to say
long after I am not there to say them.
(BELL TOLLING IN DISTANCE)
(BIRD CHIRPING)
STUDENT 1: Good evening, Professor Tolkien.
- STUDENT 2: Evening, sir. - TOLKIEN: Ah.
(GREETS IN ANGLO-SAXON)
(BELL TOLLING AND DOG BARKING IN DISTANCE)
What are you doing out here?
We had a jam pudding today with the children.
Michael's request.
He and John put a tray outside your study.
I hope you had some.
I'm sorry, I...
I'm sorry.
Edith, it was a very difficult day.
Nothing I'm writing...
You used to write for pleasure.
I know, it's...
- It was a passion. - I know it's...
pointless.
I wish you would decide
what it is you want from it, Ronald,
or abandon it entirely.
(SIGHS)
MRS. SMITH: Mr. Tolkien?
TOLKIEN: Mrs. Smith.
It's wonderful to see you. Thank you for coming.
Robert Gilson was the...
son of the headmaster at King Edward's.
Yes, that's right.
I remember the stepmother, I think.
And Christopher Wiseman?
He survived.
Although I'm sorry to say he's...
Some of us who came through have other sorts of scars.
My sister lost three sons.
I lost two.
All in the same week.
I'm sorry.
And this is where you sat.
TOLKIEN: Yes.
It's very cozy.
Thank you for bringing me here.
I can imagine, I can...
see you here.
All of you.
I can picture it.
It must have been a wonderfully happy time.
This is where Geoffrey sat.
I was wondering, with your permission,
perhaps I might try to get
a volume of his poems published.
His poems?
I think he was...
really very talented.
I would like to bring him to people's attention.
I thought, perhaps, I could write the foreword myself.
I don't know, I...
I'm inclined to say no, Mr. Tolkien.
He was really very good. I think it's important.
I used to be fond of poetry.
I sometimes wondered if that was where Geoffrey...
I'm sorry, I can't see what possible good it would do.
It would do the most extraordinary good.
Please believe me.
I never knew Geoffrey
as much as I would have liked.
Was he happy?
Please, tell me.
Did he know love?
I was an orphan
when I came to King Edward's.
And even at the beginning, even...
before we were friends,
Geoffrey was gentle.
Kind.
(VOICE QUIVERS) He was, I think, of anyone I ever met,
the person...
He was the person who most embodied
what it means to love.
And to be loved.
Truly that's...
That's why this is so important. Please...
forgive me, but you ask...
what good it could do, and the... poets,
the writers...
or what our art could do.
I cannot think of anything more necessary.
Especially at a time like this.
Especially now.
(MRS. SMITH SNIFFLES)
A foreword would be lovely.
Thank you.
HILARY: Remember how mother made us kiss the trees?
And listen to them talk.
What dark magic was that?
Come on, you savages.
Come on.
Who wants to speak to the trees?
MICHAEL: Hey, wait for me.
LITTLE CHRISTOPHER: What are you thinking?
What's your name?
JOHN: We're not scary. Don't be worried.
Children, I need your help.
Will you do something for me?
MICHAEL: Is it homework?
Uh, no, not if I get it right.
I want you to listen to a story.
MICHAEL: What story?
LITTLE CHRISTOPHER: Is it a good story?
TOLKIEN: I hope so.
MICHAEL: Is it long?
TOLKIEN: Extremely long.
Has it been started?
Yes, I think...
I think, up here, yes, I think it has.
What's it about?
It's about journeys. Adventures.
Magic, of course.
Treasure.
And love.
It's about all kinds of things, really.
It's hard to say. I suppose...
I suppose it's about quests, to a certain extent.
The journeys we take to prove ourselves.
About courage.
(QUIETLY) Fellowship.
It's about fellowship.
Friendship.
- Little people just like you. - I'm not little!
No. Little in stature.
Not little in spirit.
(CHILDREN YELLING)
TOLKIEN: It's about wizards, too.
- LITTLE CHRISTOPHER: Wizards? - TOLKIEN: Wizards, yes.
And mountains, and dragons, and journeys...
EDITH: Christopher, if you break your neck wearing those,
I will not be taking you to the hospital.
Hobbit.