What is that?
It's a man!
- What is he, dead?|- No, sir. He's writing!
He's writing, sir.
He's writing in a notebook!
That man was not mad.|He was working
The contents of that notebook|were too important
to write it down later.
He had to do it|when his mind dictated,
he couldn't put it off|a single second.
and running, like any other man|would have done?
That soldier was called|Ludwig Wittgenstein,
the man who set the limits|on our thoughts.
was the following:
Can we know the truth?
All the great thinkers|throughout history
something which|no one can refute,
like "two and two make four".
In order to find that truth,
Wittgenstein used, in fact,
mathematical logic. What better|means of obtaining a certainty
with impeccable method,|until he reached
a terrifying conclusion.
There is no such truth
outside of mathematics.
There is no way of finding
an irrefutable argument
Philosophy,|therefore, is dead.
Because "Whereof we cannot speak,
thereof we must be silent."
Don't touch that, please.
This is an Enigma machine!
Sorry to sneak in like that...|The door was open.
and let you in|on these legs, did you?
Martin, our new overseas|student lodger, I presume.
- This man in the photo with you...|- Yes.
That's Turing, Alan Turing,
the man who deciphered|the Enigma code.
Thanks to him, we won the war.
Poor man died|such a strange death...
a poisoned apple, like Snow White.
And the one on the left?
My husband, Harry.
to politicians.|Politicians or anybody.
He never had many friends.
He had one at least.|Arthur Seldom.
Poor boy. He spent day
after day in the house,|tidying Harry's papers.
- wasn't it?|- I see you've done your homework.
In fact, Mrs. Eagleton,|it's because of him that I'm here.
In Oxford, I mean.
I know what you mean.|Seldom is... unique.
Every prize,|every acknowledgement
he's received over the years|has been a real joy for me.
Careful, mother, or|your secret will be discovered.
How dare you!|That's not true.
There's no doubt|Professor Seldom is a genius,
Beth, darling, couldn't you stop|being so spiteful just for a second?
Thank you, mother, for tarring me|with the same brush.
Ah, our overseas student.
Translate and read this script in other languages:
Select another language:
- - Select -
- 简体中文 (Chinese - Simplified)
- 繁體中文 (Chinese - Traditional)
- Español (Spanish)
- Esperanto (Esperanto)
- 日本語 (Japanese)
- Português (Portuguese)
- Deutsch (German)
- العربية (Arabic)
- Français (French)
- Русский (Russian)
- ಕನ್ನಡ (Kannada)
- 한국어 (Korean)
- עברית (Hebrew)
- Gaeilge (Irish)
- Українська (Ukrainian)
- اردو (Urdu)
- Magyar (Hungarian)
- मानक हिन्दी (Hindi)
- Indonesia (Indonesian)
- Italiano (Italian)
- தமிழ் (Tamil)
- Türkçe (Turkish)
- తెలుగు (Telugu)
- ภาษาไทย (Thai)
- Tiếng Việt (Vietnamese)
- Čeština (Czech)
- Polski (Polish)
- Bahasa Indonesia (Indonesian)
- Românește (Romanian)
- Nederlands (Dutch)
- Ελληνικά (Greek)
- Latinum (Latin)
- Svenska (Swedish)
- Dansk (Danish)
- Suomi (Finnish)
- فارسی (Persian)
- ייִדיש (Yiddish)
- հայերեն (Armenian)
- Norsk (Norwegian)
- English (English)
Discuss this The Oxford Murders script with the community:
Use the citation below to add this screenplay to your bibliography:
"The Oxford Murders" Scripts.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2020. Web. 6 Aug. 2020. <https://www.scripts.com/script/the_oxford_murders_15460>.