Cyrano de Bergerac

Royal Household Cavalry.

You?

I don't pay!

I'm a musketeer.

It's the last time. Stay in the pit!

Come on.

You'll see great actors...

Montfleury, Bellerose...

the chandeliers!

What's the play?

Clorise.

Who's it by?

Baltazar Baro.

A masterpiece!

To think I saw them play Rotrou here.

And Corneille.

Le Cid.

I was over there for the premiere.

Just give one snip to the lace.

Ragueneau! My friend!

Cake maker to poets!

You're too kind.

Quiet, you patron of the arts.

He supplies all of us on credit.

Being a poet myself...

Some have said it.

For a little ode or sonnet, I pay...

A tart?

A tartlet, say.

What did it cost you

to come here tonight?

Cyrano's absent. I'm surprised.

Why?

Montfleury's performing.

That ton of truffled pork?

He's playing Phedon.

Does it concern Cyrano?

Surely you know.

Cyrano warned him to quit the stage.

He's not playing?

He is.

Mr. Cyrano will not come?

I'm betting on it.

You're going?

Yes, I'm thirsty.

Stay a while longer. She'll come.

The lady's not coming today.

The bottle calls, I'm on my way.

I'm a stranger in Paris.

I must know her name.

Ask her then.

I daren't. The shame,

the embarrassment...

O God, there she is!

Madeleine Robin or Roxanne.

Refined, Precieuse...

One of these preciouses...

Oh no!

An orphan and cousin

to the notorious Cyrano.

A strawberry mouth in peach-flesh.

So fresh,

she'd give one cardiac rheumatism.

Who's that? Tell me, I scared.

That's the Comte de Guiche.

Her lover?

He wants to be.

But one thing stands in his way.

What thing?

He's married to Richelieu's niece.

So he wants to see her married

to that grim monsieur.

The viscount Valvert, so indulgent.

Roxane says no but de Guiche is potent.

He tortures the poor bourgeoise.

I wrote a poem Showing

what an evil swine he is.

He must hate me for it.

The ending was cruel.

You're going?

Good night.

The play! The play! The play!

The French Academy.

Look! Porcheres, Colomby

Bourzeys, Bourdon...

Arbaud.

Many an eternal name

in the hall of fame.

Let me go, I'll tell you a secret.

Well?

Ligniere, your friend.

Yes?

His life nears its end.

The victim of his song

sends 100 men to do him wrong.

A hundred?

Against one.

One poor poet.

Go and warn him!

Where will they be?

At the Porte de Nesles.

No Cyrano. I lose my bet.

So much the better.

Montfleury! Montfleury!

Happy he...

who far from court and city...

ah, how good...

breathes the essence of the vernal wood

And who,

when the breeze sings melodies

Rogue! Didn't I order you off

for a month?

What?

Who's that?

Cyrano!

I win!

King of fools...

off the stage!

Monsieur...

You hesitate?

Play on!

Worry not.

Happy he who far from court and city...

Well? Do I have to

take my stick, you clown

and plant a wood over your gown?

Happy he...

Get off the stage!

Happy he who far from court...

I'm losing my temper.

Help me, gentlemen.

Carry on acting.

One word more, and I'll lambast

your fat cheeks!

Enough!

Gentlemen, quiet please

or my cane will take its ease.

Montfleury! Continue!

Discontinue,

unless he needs disembowelling!

Off with him!

Monsieur...

Lug your guts away, salami, or stay...

and I'll remove you slice by slice.

In insulting me

you insult the Tragic Muse.

Montfleury! Montfleury!

Throw Cyrano out!

Consider my scabbard, pray.

She loves my sword, begs him stay.

Leave the stage!

Does anyone have anything to say?

Clorise! Play on!

Baro's play!

Sing the again

and there'll be a massacre!

You're no Samson!

Fall silent!

I hereby challenge you all.

I'll take names.

Step forward

young heroes, each in turn.

Come along...

Who wishes to head the list?

You, sir? No?

You?

No?

I'll give the first a funeral

as his due.

Raise your right hand

all who wish to die.

My naked blade offends your eye?

No names?

No hands?

Good. Let me speak then.

I wish to see theatre cured...

of this inflammation.

Here's the lancet!

My lords... ladies and gentlemen!

Flock of mutton-heads!

Bravo! Good! Bravo!

Let's have no bravos.

The famed thespian whose paunch

you love so much felt sick.

He had to leave.

Bring him back.

No!

Yes!

What's your reason, sir?

Why show such enmity to Montfleury?

Two reasons, one will suffice.

Firstly, he's a terrible mouther

grunter, grimacer and posturer

who weighs down heavy on his lines.

Secondly, well that's my secret

You deprive us without a scruple

of a great play!

Old mule!

The work is worth less than nought.

I silenced it without a thought.

Lord in heaven! Our Baro!

What of the money to pay back?

Bellerose, those are wise words.

I do not wish to see Thespis' robe

full of tatters. Take this and go.

You're mad! That famous actor

has the Duke de Candale as protector.

Do you have a patron?

No patron?

No name to protect you?

I said no twice. Must it be a third?

My patroness here keeps her word.

Turn and walk!

But...

Why are you looking at my nose?

Does it disgust you?

Not at all.

Is it soft and dangling?

I did not look at it.

And why did you not look at it?

Sickened you, did it?

Is the colour all wrong?

Is it obscene?

Not at all.

Why then do you criticize?

Do you find it too large in size?

It's terribly small, minuscule.

What was that?

Is that an insult? My nose is small, eh

Oh, God!

My nose, sir, is enormous!

Cretinous moron

a man ought to be proud

proud of such an appendix.

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