by Tom Stoppard
PHILO: You Judas! I spit on you. I am ashamed of the stupid old man I am – but on you I spit!
ACHERSON: I’m sorry.
PHILO: – because you cheat so much for such a small prize. Well, I will not go with you to England.
ACHERSON: Yes, I know that.
PHILO: You can take away my hope but you will not take my honour.
(PHILO is raving. ACHERSON seems stunned, but now he’s suddenly had enough and he turns angrily on PHILO.)
ACHERSON: Honour? – what honour? You’re a stubborn, bitter old man. I don’t blame you – it’s understandable, you have been ill-used. Otis made a mistake and you paid for it because in the game we’re playing his skin is worth more than yours and there’s never enough justice to go round. But you carry your grievance around like a badge – that’s all your bloody honour is and you’ve got to like it.
PHILO: I trusted you after I’d forgotten how to trust.
(The steam goes out of ACHERSON.)
ACHERSON: It’s not such a significant betrayal, judged by the scale of the world’s duplicity.
(PHILO pushes the papers back to ACHERSON.)
PHILO: I thought you were my friend.
ACHERSON: Well, as it turns out, you were right. (He pushes the papers back again.) I should hang on to these, because you can’t stay here. We got to you only just in time, one move ahead of your other friends. If I were you I should take the morning train and see how far you can get.
PHILO: You’re lying. Where are they?
ACHERSON: I had to kill them, but there’ll be others.
PHILO: (Incredulous) You? (Laughs.) You can’t stop trying, Acherson.
(PHILO turns to go.
OTIS enters the scene, CAROL is behind him. OTIS greets PHILO like an old friend.)
PHILO: I am very much as you last saw me. Please do not waste time in persuasion. Use force or let me go.
OTIS: Marin, I need you.
PHILO: I am the same man, the same risk.
OTIS: Marin …
PHILO: No. You had no time for me then and you will not make use of me now.
OTIS: You need me.
PHILO: No. You cheated me, Otis.
OTIS: (Getting angry) You’re cheating yourself. You want freedom – I’m giving it to you. You want a country – you can have it. You want apologies – you’ll get them. But you won’t forgive and you won’t accept, and I knew you wouldn’t so we had to go through this whole bloody charade. And now you want to go home. All right – but first ask yourself to which side you really belong.
PHILO: Not yours, Otis. Not anyone’s.
OTIS: Look, there are no neutral corners in this world, not for you. I made a mistake and I’m sorry, but in this world, you are with us.
PHILO: Words.
OTIS: You’d rather wait till their triggermen find you?
PHILO: Yes, I would.
(OTIS pauses, then nods with finality. He turns to ACHERSON expressionlessly.)
OTIS: Are you coming?
ACHERSON: Yes.
OTIS: Think about it, Acherson.
ACHERSON: You can do what you like with me. I’ve just had enough of this picnic. And at bottom I think you’re wrong.
OTIS: You had a duty.
ACHERSON: Duty! He’s been conned all down the line. The Russians conned him out of his country, and the British conned him into working for them, and you conned him out of his due at the end of that, and now you’re conning him to get what’s left and cover up your mistakes. So don’t preach at me about duty.
(CAROL is frightened by this outburst.)
CAROL: (Coming forward) Charles –
ACHERSON: You go ahead. I’ll be coming.
CAROL: It’s stupid. It may be right but it’s stupid.
ACHERSON: Yes, that’s about it.
(The train makes sounds of getting ready to go.)
OTIS: Come on, let’s forget it.
(OTIS turns to go to the train. CAROL turns to follow him. PHILO grabs her sleeve.)
PHILO: You’re his wife!
(She looks at him with stone eyes.)
CAROL: No. No, I’m not, actually.
(She follows OTIS. PHILO is stunned.)
PHILO: So much deception. Was it all necessary?
ACHERSON: Why not? It was Carol who got through your distrust, wasn’t it? (He moves.)
PHILO: Are you really going back?
ACHERSON: Yes.
PHILO: What will they do to you?
ACHERSON: I don’t know.
PHILO: Are you frightened?
ACHERSON: No, I’m just tired. Goodbye, Marin.
PHILO: Do you think I’m worth it, Acherson?
ACHERSON: Yes, I think so.
PHILO: (A curse) Otis … I’ll kill him!
(ACHERSON smiles helplessly and moves. PHILO moves with him.)
You touched me, Acherson. Yes, I am a stubborn, bitter man, and you are stupid, but we are holding out for something. Aren’t we? Stay.
ACHERSON: How can I? What for?
PHILO: They’ll break you for this.
ACHERSON: One of those things.
PHILO: (Bursts out) You think I’ll go with you, don’t you? – to save your neck.
ACHERSON: No. Goodbye.
PHILO: You’re blackmailing me! (Desperate) Otis set this up, didn’t he?
ACHERSON: No.
PHILO: Tell me he set it up!
ACHERSON: (Rounds on him) That’s what you want to think so you can forget all about it. Well, think it.
PHILO: No – just tell me the truth.
ACHERSON: Otis didn’t set it up.
(ACHERSON starts running towards the train. PHILO stands still for a moment.)
PHILO: (Screams) Acherson!
(PHILO runs after ACHERSON as the train starts to move.)
94. EXT. TRAIN AT SPEED. NIGHT
95. INT. TRAIN. NIGHT
ACHERSON stands in the corridor looking out at the night. Behind him are the closed doors of the sleeping compartment. The nearest door opens and OTIS comes to ACHERSON’s shoulder. PHILO can be seen sitting inside the compartment, on the bunk. The adjacent compartment is seen, CAROL in the doorway.
OTIS pats ACHERSON on the shoulder.
OTIS: Very nice. Very nice. (Pause) You need a holiday, Charles.
(OTIS goes back into the sleeper he shares with PHILO and closes the door.
CAROL looks at ACHERSON, troubled and sympathetic.)
CAROL: Are you coming in?
(ACHERSON does not respond, but continues to stare at the black country rushing by.
Fade to black.)
PROFESSIONAL FOUL
To Vaclav Havel
CHARACTERS
ANDERSON
MCKENDRICK
CHETWYN
HOLLAR
BROADBENT
CRISP
STONE
CAPTAIN (MAN 6)
POLICEMAN (MAN 1)
POLICEMAN (MAN 2)
POLICEMAN (MAN 3)
POLICEMAN (MAN 4)
POLICEMAN (MAN 5)
POLICEMAN (MAN 6)
MRS HOLLAR
SACHA (ten years old)
GRAYSON
CHAMBERLAIN
FRENCHMAN
CHAIRMAN
CLERK, LIFT OPERATORS, CONCIERGES,
INTERPRETERS, CUSTOMS, POLICE, etc.
Professional Foul was first shown on BBC TV in September 1977. The cast was as follows:
ANDERSON Peter Barkworth
MCKENDRICK John Shrapnel
CHETWYN Richard O’Callaghan
HOLLAR Stephen Rea
BROADBENT Bernard Hill
CRISP Billy Hamon
STONE Shane Rimmer
CAPTAIN David de Keyser
MAN 1 Ludwig Lang
MAN 2 Milos Kirek
MAN 3 Arnoft Kopecky
MAN 4 Paul Moritz
MRS HOLLAR Susan Strawson
SACHA Stefan Ceba
GRAYSON Sam Kelly
CHA
MBERLAIN Victor Longley
FRENCHMAN Graeme Eton
CHAIRMAN Ivan Jelinek
CLERK Patrick Monckton
INTERPRETER Sandra Frieze
SCRIPT EDITOR Richard Broke
DESIGNER Don Taylor
PRODUCER Mark Shivas
DIRECTOR Michael Lindsay-Hogg
1. INT. AEROPLANE. IN FLIGHT
The tourist class cabin of a passenger jet.
We are mainly concerned with two passengers. ANDERSON is an Oxbridge don, a professor. He is middle-aged, or more. He is sitting in an aisle seat, on the left as we look down the gangway towards the tail. MCKENDRICK is also in an aisle seat, but across the gangway and one row nearer the tail. MCKENDRICK is about forty. He is also a don, but where ANDERSON gives a somewhat fastidious impression,
MCKENDRICK is a rougher sort of diamond.
MCKENDRICK is sitting in the first row of smokers’ seats, and ANDERSON in the last row of the non-smokers’ seats, looking aft. The plane is by no means full. The three seats across the aisle from ANDERSON are vacant. The seat next to ANDERSON on his right is also vacant but the seat beyond that, by the window, accommodates a SLEEPING MAN.
On the vacant seat between ANDERSON and the SLEEPING MAN is lying a sex magazine of the Penthouse type. The magazine, however, is as yet face down.
The passengers are coming to the end of a meal. They have trays of aeroplane food in front of them.
MCKENDRICK puts down his fork and lights a cigarette.
ANDERSON dabs at his mouth with his napkin and puts it down. He glances around casually and notes the magazine next to him. He notes the SLEEPING MAN.
MCKENDRICK has a briefcase on the seat next to him, and from this he takes a glossy brochure. In fact, this is quite an elaborate publication associated with a philosophical congress. The cover of this programme is seen to read: ‘Colloquium Philosophicum Prague 77’.
ANDERSON slides out from under his lunch tray a brochure identical to McKendrick’s. He glances at it for a mere moment and loses interest. He turns his attention back to the magazine on the seat. He turns the magazine over and notes the naked woman on its cover. He picks the magazine up, with a further glance at the SLEEPING MAN, and opens it to a spread of colour photographs. Consciously or unconsciously, he is holding the brochure in such a way as to provide a shield for the magazine.
MCKENDRICK, casually glancing round, sees the twin to his own brochure.
MCKENDRICK: Snap.
(ANDERSON looks up guiltily.)
ANDERSON: Ah …
(ANDERSON closes the magazine and slides it face-up under his lunch tray.
McKendrick’s manner is extrovert. Almost breezy.
Anderson’s manner is a little vague.)
MCKENDRICK: I wasn’t sure it was you. Not a very good likeness.
ANDERSON: I assure you this is how I look.
MCKENDRICK: I mean your photograph. (He flips his brochure open. It contains small photographs and pen portraits of various men and women who are in fact to be speakers at the colloquium.) The photograph is younger.
ANDERSON: It must be an old photograph.
(MCKENDRICK gets up and comes to sit in the empty seat across the aisle from ANDERSON.)
MCKENDRICK: (Changing seats) Bill McKendrick.
ANDERSON: How odd.
MCKENDRICK: Is it?
ANDERSON: Young therefore old. Old therefore young. Only odd at first glance.
MCKENDRICK: Oh yes.
(ANDERSON takes a notebook, with pencil attached, from his pocket and writes in it as he speaks.)
ANDERSON: The second glance is known as linguistic analysis. A lot of chaps pointing out that we don’t always mean what we say, even when we manage to say what we mean. Personally I’m quite prepared to believe it. (He finishes writing and closes the notebook. He glances uneasily out of the window.) Have you noticed the way the wings keep wagging? I try to look away and think of something else but I am drawn back irresistibly … I wouldn’t be nervous about flying if the wings didn’t wag. Solid steel. Thick as a bank safe. Flexing like tree branches. It’s not natural. There is a coldness around my heart as though I’d seen your cigarette smoke knock against the ceiling and break in two like a bread stick. By the way, that is a non-smoking seat.
MCKENDRICK: Sorry.
(MCKENDRICK stubs out his cigarette. ANDERSON puts his notebook back into his pocket.)
ANDERSON: Yes, I like to collect little curiosities for the language chaps. It’s like handing round a bag of liquorice allsorts. They’re terribly grateful. (A thought strikes him.) Oh, you’re not a language chap yourself?
(The question seems to surprise MCKENDRICK, and amuse him.)
MCKENDRICK: No. I’m McKendrick.
ANDERSON: You’ll be giving a paper?
MCKENDRICK: Yes. Nothing new, actually. More of a summing up of my corner. My usual thing, you know …
(MCKENDRICK is fishing but ANDERSON doesn’t seem to notice.)
ANDERSON: Jolly good.
MCKENDRICK: Perhaps you’ve come across some of my stuff …?
(ANDERSON now wakes up to the situation and is contrite.)
ANDERSON: Clearly that is a reasonable expectation. I am sorry. I’m sure I know your name. I don’t read the philosophical journals as much as I should, and hardly ever go to these international bunfights. No time nowadays. They shouldn’t call us professors. It’s more like being the faculty almoner.
MCKENDRICK: At least my paper will be new to you. We are the only English, actually singing for our supper, I mean. I expect there’ll be a few others going for the free trip and the social life. In fact, I see we’ve got one on board. At the back.
(MCKENDRICK jerks his head towards the back of the plane. ANDERSON turns round to look. The object of attention is CHETWYN, asleep in the back row, on the aisle. CHETWYN is younger than MCKENDRICK and altogether frailer and neater. ANDERSON squints down the plane at CHETWYN.) Do you know Prague?
ANDERSON: (Warily) Not personally. I know the name. (Then he wakes up to that.) Oh, Prague. Sorry. No, I’ve never been there. (Small pause.) Or have I? I got an honorary degree at Bratislava once. We changed planes in Prague. (Pause.) It might have been Vienna actually. (Pause. He looks at the window.) Wag, wag.
MCKENDRICK: It’s Andrew Chetwyn. Do you know him?
ANDERSON: (Warily) Not personally.
MCKENDRICK: I don’t know him personally. Do you know his line at all?
ANDERSON: Not as such.
MCKENDRICK: (Suspiciously) Have you heard of him?
ANDERSON: No. In a word.
MCKENDRICK: Oh. He’s been quite public recently.
ANDERSON: He’s an ethics chap, is he?
MCKENDRICK: His line is that Aristotle got it more or less right, and St Augustine brought it up to date.
ANDERSON: I can see that that might make him conspicuous.
MCKENDRICK: Oh, it’s not that. I mean politics. Letters to The Times about persecuted professors with unpronounceable names. I’m surprised the Czechs gave him a visa.
ANDERSON: There are some rather dubious things happening in Czechoslovakia. Ethically.
MCKENDRICK: Oh yes. No doubt.
ANDERSON: We must not try to pretend otherwise.
MCKENDRICK: Oh quite. I mean I don’t. My work is pretty political. I mean by implication, of course. As yours is. I’m looking forward to hearing you.
ANDERSON: Thank you. I’m sure your paper will be very interesting too.
MCKENDRICK: As a matter of fact I think there’s a lot of juice left in the fictions problem.
ANDERSON: Is that what you’re speaking on?
MCKENDRICK: No – you are.
ANDERSON: Oh, am I? (He looks in his brochure briefly.) So I am.
MCKENDRICK: ‘Ethical Fictions as Ethical Foundations’.
ANDERSON: Yes. To tell you the truth I have an ulterior motive for coming to Czechoslovakia at this time. I’m being a tiny bit naughty.
MCKENDRICK:
Naughty?
ANDERSON: Unethical. Well, I am being paid for by the Czech government, after all.
MCKENDRICK: And what …?
ANDERSON: I don’t think I’m going to tell you. You see, if I tell you I make you a co-conspirator whether or not you would have wished to be one. Ethically I should give you the opportunity of choosing to be one or not.
MCKENDRICK: Then why don’t you give me the opportunity?
ANDERSON: I can’t without telling you. An impasse.
(MCKENDRICK is already putting two and two together and cannot hide his curiosity.)
MCKENDRICK: Look … Professor Anderson … if it’s political in any way I’d really be very interested.
ANDERSON: Why, are you a politics chap?
MCKENDRICK: One is naturally interested in what is happening in these places. And I have an academic interest – my field is the philosophical assumptions of social science.
ANDERSON: How fascinating. What is that exactly?
MCKENDRICK: (Slightly hurt) Perhaps my paper tomorrow afternoon will give you a fair idea.
ANDERSON: (Mortified) Tomorrow afternoon? I say, what rotten luck. That’s exactly when I have to play truant. I am sorry.
MCKENDRICK: (Coldly) That’s all right.
ANDERSON: I expect they’ll have copies.
MCKENDRICK: I expect so.
ANDERSON: The science of social philosophy, eh?
MCKENDRICK: (Brusquely) More or less.
ANDERSON: (With polite interest) McCarthy.
MCKENDRICK: McKendrick.
ANDERSON: And how are things at … er …
MCKENDRICK: Stoke.
ANDERSON: (Enthusiastically) Stoke! An excellent university, I believe.
MCKENDRICK: You know perfectly well you wouldn’t be seen dead in it.
(ANDERSON considers this.)
ANDERSON: Even if that were true, my being seen dead in a place has never so far as I know been thought a condition of its excellence.
(MCKENDRICK despite himself laughs, though somewhat bitterly.)
MCKENDRICK: Very good.
(An air hostess is walking down the aisle, removing people’s lunch trays. She removes Anderson’s tray, revealing the cover of the sexy magazine, in the middle of McKendrick’s next speech, and passes down the aisle.)
Wit and paradox. Verbal felicity. An occupation for gentlemen. A higher civilization alive and well in the older universities. I see you like tits and bums, by the way.
