28 January 2010

Two Gentlemen of Lebowski


I'm sure I should be offended by the bastardisation of Shakespeare, the sweeping horsemen of American homogeny or some similarly literary complaint, but I thought this was pretty funny. The Coens and Shakespeare both deal in character studies, convoluted plots and snappy dialogue. So it makes complete sense that Adam Bertocci has created a mish-mash of the two entitled Two Gentlemen of Lebowski....
Full Script

THE KNAVE
Let me not to the marriage of false impressions deny impediments. I am not Master Lebowski; thou art Master Lebowski. I am the Knave, called the Knave. Or His Knaveness, or mayhap Knaver, or mayhap El Knaverino, in the manner of the Spaniard, if brevity be not in thy soul nor wit. A Knave by any other name would abide just as well.

LEBOWSKI
Have you employment, sir? Surely you hope not to pledge fealty nor till the earth in such roughly fashioned armour, invested in thy motley, clad as a jack-a-dandy on a Sunday?

THE KNAVE
I know not; what week-day, friends, is this?

LEBOWSKI
I tire, and cannot tarry; I am more busy than the labouring spider, and dwell on the iron tread as a man of constant pursuits. Thus, I pray you, you this way and I that way.

THE KNAVE
I must protest; the Knave minds. This will not stand, this uncheck’d aggression; for your strength of mighty kings and masters of the earth did not keep your wife from owing, a borrower and a lender being.

LEBOWSKI
My wife is not the issue here. I toil in hopes that she will shed her frivolities, rash and unadvised, and live within her allowance, which is in very ample virtue. Her mortal failures are her burden, as surely as your rug is your burden, and, verily, the burdens of every man be his own, and ‘tis in themselves that they be thus or thus. I’ll blame none for the loss of my legs. Some man of Orient birth robbed them from me as spoils of war; faith, who stole my legs stole trash, and I sallied forth and achieved in any aspect. Some are born achievers, some achieve greatly, and some have achievement thrust upon ‘em. Beseech me not!

THE KNAVE
Ah, a pox upon’t!

LEBOWSKI
Indeed! “A pox upon’t!” ‘Tis your answer to everything. Your merry revels have ended, sir. Condolences. The rogues lost; the rogues have always lost, will always lose, and so it will be tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow.

[Exit LEBOWSKI; enter BRANDT]

BRANDT
Good Master Lebowski. Did you enjoy meeting my honourable lord?

THE KNAVE
Truly, sir, a gentle marvelous;
He bade me take any rug in the house.

[Exeunt]

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