Monday, 22 July 2013

Digression: The White Queen, Episode 6

Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee never seems to look back
Although he has a crookback
His tragic hairstyle's hooked back
It's Frodo/Richard Threeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

Anne Neville: I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I'm so, so, so....
Edward: OK, we're cool.
Anne: Margaret of Clouseau made me do it.
Edward: You can live with Izzy.
Anne: And Mummy?
Edward: In a nunnery.
Izzy: OK, you can be my personal slave.
Anne: Shite.
George: And I'm you're guardian.
Anne: No way.
George: Way!
Anne: Shite.
George: You're just like your father. He used to end every scene by saying that.
Anne: They're controlling me.
Izzy: We're both pawns.
Anne: And Mummy?
Izzy: We're all pawns...
Anne: BITCH! [strips off kirtle and shift, tears Izzy's clothes off and grapples her into conveniently-placed vat of jelly for a prolonged wrestling match (the last bit only available in the US version)]
Izzy: Go to your room, pawn.
Anne: Shite.
Margaret Beaufort: Please God! Give me a sign that you still want Henry - that's HENRY TUDOR - to become King...
Sir Reginald: My Lady! Your mother is dying!
Margaret: YO! Cheers God! [dances Macarena in front of chapel altar]
Margaret: Are you dying mother?
Lady B: Yes.
Margaret: Whoopy-doo.
Lady B: It was all for the best, you know...
Margaret: Whatever.
Elizabeth: Oochy-coochy ickle-wickle princey-poo...
Edward: He'll soon be in Ludlow.
Elizabeth: In Wales?
Edward: No darling, Ludlow is in Shropshire. Let me draw you a map...
Elizabeth: But he's my sweetie-weetie poopsikins.
Edward: Tough.
Elizabeth: Mummy mummy, the texture of my marital relationship is sub-optimal.
Jacquetta: Let me pour some wine into a futuristic glass and look wise, while noting you're clearly pregnant.
Elizabeth: Mother! How could you possibly know?
Jacquetta: Wikipedia, fool.
Elizabeth: I'd better go and tell Edward... [trundles off to royal bedroom]
Jane Shore: Feel the texture of THIS relationship, big boy!
Elizabeth: Shite.
Margaret [typing an e-mail: Dear Jasper, Hubby and Mummy are dead. I'm all yours.
Anne: I want to see mummy. Can I borrow a horse?
George: Um, all down at the horse garage having radial hooves fitted.
Anne: Shite.
Servant: A letter for you, lady pawn. In anachronistic handwriting.
Anne: Mummy....
Frodo: I've taken the ring to Mordor and now I can take a fuller part in the plot. Anne? Meet me after supper in the garden?
Anne: 'K. Whatever.
Jacquetta: I'm dying.
Elizabeth: How can you be sure?
Jacquetta: I googled it.
Elizabeth: Does that mean from the next episode we won't have to endure all the repetitive google gags?
Jacquetta: I fear so.
Elizabeth: Whoopy-doo!
Elizabeth: Why is everyone looking at me in close-up and slow-mo?
[Jane Shore takes to dance floor and launches into "I'm too sexy for my kirtle" routine. Meanwhile, outside...]
Frodo: Anne?
Anne: Frodo?
Frodo: I think so, but in this lighting it's hard to tell.
Anne: Why haven't you come to see me before?
Frodo: George said you were grieving for emo-boy.
Anne: No way.
Frodo: But I can help you.
Anne: Why?
Frodo: Because you're kind of hot. And now available. But pretend to be nice to George. He's a flatterable idiot.
Anne: Righty-ho!
Elizabeth: Mummy? Still dying?
Jacquetta: Yes dear, but allow me to make some heavy-handed prophecies based on what I've found in google.
Jasper [typing e-mail]: I'm having too much fun in Brittany. Stayin' ere, like.
Margaret: Shite. Reginald?
Sir Reggie: Crikey!
Margaret: Sign me up for
Sir Reggie: What shall I put on your profile? Can you sing? Limbo dance? Juggle?
Margaret: I have Saints' knees.
Sir Reggie: Eauw, gross.
Anne: George? Izzy? I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry...
George: OK, you can go out now.
Anne: Whoopy-doo!
Elizabeth: Anthony? Will you look after my boy?
Anthony: Right up until Frodo has my head chopped off, yes.
Elizabeth. Oh.
Anne: What did that man want?
Frodo: He was showing me Margaret Beaufort's profile on
Anne: And?
Frodo: She's incredibly wealthy.
Anne: Men. You're all scum. And pigs. I don't need no man. I is an inde-PEN-dent woman!
Frodo: But -
Anne: Goodbye, piggy scummy gold-digging man-scum-pig.
Frodo: Shite. See you later maybe?
Anne: OK.
Anne: How do I get married?
George: I thought you were still a widow.
Anne: Hypothetically.
Izzy: What's going on?
George: OK, nunnery it is. You're needed in an abbey...
Anne: Isabelle! ISABELLE? Is a bell needed in an abbey? See what I did there?
Isabelle: Hmph.
Anne: Shite.
Sir Reggie: Got your matches here from Well, one match. Lord Stanley.
Margaret: Him? You have to be kidding.
Sir Reggie: No, it would have advantages. He's being played by Rupert Graves, for one thing.
Margaret: Interesting. Wheel him in....
George: Frodo - let me give you some unsolicited advice while I drink malmsey from an anachronistic piece of glassware in yet another heavy-handed piece of foreshadowing.
Frodo: What?
George: Stay away from Anne.
Frodo: You're not the boss of me. You don't own me. I hate you. I'm going to my room.
George: Watch it, she's already been married to one emo.
Elizabeth: Wassup? Anyone seen Edward?
George: He's with Jane Shore.
Elizabeth: Shite.
Anne: Minion - get this to Frodo. He's an old mate.
Minion: But -
Anne: We're not paying you to speak. Just do it.
[Frodo and Anne blunder around the darkened and strangely deserted castle, avoiding non-existent kitchen staff and invisible guards]
Anne: Frodo?
Frodo: Anne?
Anne: They're going to put me in a nunnery.
Frodo: If you do, it'll be hard to kick the habit.
Frodo: Sorry.
Anne: Margaret of Clouseau always taught me "Zere weel be tahms wheun yeu aff'ter deur wheurt eez rahght feur yeur"
Frodo: And what happened to her?
Anne: She lost the war, her husband and son were killed, and she got locked up.
Frodo: So solid-gold life advice there then. Will you marry me?
Anne: You will get my fortune.
Frodo: Yes, but you'll be a duchess and equal to Izzy. And I love you. I have always loved you.
Anne: Whoopy doo. Alright then.
Stanley: Lady Beaufort?
Margaret: Phwoarr! I mean, er, Lord Stanley?
Stanley: I agree with everything you are ever going to say, preemptively.
Margaret: And you'll get me back into court?
Stanley: As good as done.
Margaret: And my son?
Stanley: Henry VII? Yes, I googled him. You know I always like to end up on the winning side...
Margaret: Whoopy-doo!
George: He's bloody married Anne! And I'm her guardian.
Edward: You didn't ask me if you could marry Izzy.
George: Yes, but that's different. I was a traitor at the time.
Frodo: Can I marry Anne?
George: There you go again.
Messenger: Your grace - you must come at once. There's another gory birth scene coming up.
Edward: Shite.
Omnes: Eauw, gross.
Anne: Frodo darling! You know my previous sexual experience was rubbish, with a selfish Lancastrian emo.
Frodo: You can go on top if it helps to prove the point.
Anne: Whoopy doo!
Stanley: Well, erm, good night wife.
Margaret: But -
Stanley: I know you wish to live like a nun, so -
Margaret: Not necessarily. I'm quite up for it now.
Stanley: I shall leave you.
Margaret. Shite.
Izzy: I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I'm so, so, so sorry. I'm...
Anne: It's OK. Frodo is to be Lord of the North so we're going to live in Warwick Castle.
Izzy: Warwick is nowhere NEAR the North. Let me draw you a map...
Elizabeth: My mother and baby are dead, and you've been shagging that slapper Jane Shore, so I'm going to give you the very hard time you so richly deserve.
Edward: Would it help if I spouted a few Jeremy Kyle Show-style platitudes, while not wearing a shirt?
Elizabeth: No.
Edward: Bugger.
Stanley: Well, here we are at court, with its inaccurate banners, pointy-headed guards and donkey rides for out-of-focus children, stepping out of our bizarre wicker carriage into a yard full of Yorkists.
Margaret: Cheers. What could possibly go wrong?

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