Ralph Fiennes Monologues

A wonderful fact to reflect upon, that every human creature is a profound secret and mystery to every other.

When the day is creeping up on us and we must put in order the chaos of the night.

Last night, I sat next to a gentleman at dinner, and he asked me in some fury why it was that our city should help those who do not help themselves.

By "those" he meant the many fallen women that we see around us every day, and their offspring, many who rely on this hospital today.

I replied, "The two grim nurses, poverty and sickness, bring these children before you and preside over their births, rock their wretched cradles, nail down their little coffins, pile up the earth above their graves. Their unnatural deaths form one third of the annual deaths in this great town."

"But what of God?" he piously replied.

"What Of him?" I said. "I feel sure God looks leniently on all vice that proceeds from human tenderness and natural passion."

I hope we will, too, and give generously tonight.

It wasn't cod, you donkey. It was halibut.

The s'more. The most offensive assault on the human palate ever contrived.

So once again - thank you for dining with us tonight. You represent the ruin of my art and my life, and now you get to be a part of it. Part of what I hope is my… masterpiece. And now our final dessert course is a playful twist on a comfort food classic: The s'more. The most offensive assault on the human palate ever contrived. Unethically sourced chocolate and gelatinised sugar water imprisoned by industrial-grade graham cracker. It's everything wrong with us, and yet we associate it with innocence. With childhood. Mom and dad. But what transforms this fucking monstrosity is fire. The purifying flame. It nourishes us, warms us, reinvents us, forges and destroys us. We must embrace the flame. We must be cleansed. Made clean. Like martyrs or heretics, we can be subsumed… and made anew. I love you all!

Over the next few hours you will ingest fat, salt, sugar, protein, bacteria, fungi, various plants and animals, and, at times, entire ecosystems. But I have to beg of you one thing. It's just one. Do not eat. Taste. Savor. Relish. Consider every morsel that you place inside your mouth. Be mindful. But do not eat. Our menu is too precious for that. And look around you. Here we are on this island. Accept. Accept all of it. And forgive. And on that note... food!

Ask yourselves, this entire evening, why didn't you all try harder to fight back? To get out of here? Honestly, you probably could have. Something to think about.

As Dr. King said: "We know through painful experience that freedom is never voluntarily given by the oppressor. It must be demanded by the oppressed."

Shallots for the great foodie the phenomenal Mr food. Everybody gather round. You must learn from Tyler. This is a new dicing method that we have been woefully ignorant. What next?

Butter, leeks and shallots sautéed in butter. I bear witness to a revolution in cuisine.

Yes he did and he questioned my menu. He would even request substitutions despite the fact that there are no substitutions at Hawthorn! Fallen angel please.

We must be cleansed. Made clean. Like martyrs or heretics, we can be subsumed and made anew.

We are but a frightened nanosecond. Nature is timeless. Enjoy!

Bread has existed in some form for over 12,000 years, especially amongst the poor. Flour and water. What could be simpler? Even today, grain represents 65% of all agriculture. Fruits and vegetables only 6%. Ancient Greek peasants dipped their stale, measly bread in wine for breakfast. And how did Jesus teach us to pray if not to beg for our daily bread?

It is, and has always been, the food of the common man. But you, my dear guests, are not the common man. And so tonight… you get no bread.

Our first course is called The Island. On your plate are plants from around the island, placed on rocks from the shore, covered in barely frozen, filtered seawater which will flavor the dish as it melts.

It's perfectly all right. Yes, they are those very same scallops. Now, here is what you must remember about this dish. We, the people on this island, are not important. The island and the nutrients it provides exist in their most perfect state without us gathering them or manipulating them, or digesting them. What happens inside this room is meaningless compared to what happens outside in nature, in the soil, in the water, in the air. We are but a frightened nanosecond. Nature is timeless. Enjoy.

It's just that I find it all very moving. It's all so beautiful. I just... It's almost too beautiful to eat.

The next course is called Memory. And that is what it's meant to evoke. A memory. So, let me tell you a memory of mine. When I was growing up, a child in Waterloo, Iowa, Tuesday was taco night.

And this, here, this lady here. This is my mother. As you can see, she's rather drunk. This is not unusual. When I was seven years old, one Tuesday, my father came home quite drunk. Really drunk. Also, not unusual. My mother grew angry and screamed at him, at which point, he proceeded to wrap a telephone cord around her neck and pull it tight. I wept. I screamed, I begged him to stop. To make him stop, I finally had to stab him in the thigh with kitchen scissors. You remember that, Mother, don't you? Now, I suppose I should've stabbed him in the throat that evening. But we're not so smart when we're young. It was, as you can imagine, as a very memorable taco night.

Every night I cut out my heart. But in the morning it was full again.

I once traveled with a guide who was taking me to Faya. He didn't speak for nine hours. At the end of it he pointed at the horizon and said, "Faya!" That was a good day.

Why are people always so happy when they collide with someone from the same place? What happened in Montreal when you passed a man in the street? Did you invite him to live with you?

There is no God... but I hope someone looks after you.

Szerelem means love. And the story, well, there's this Hungarian count. He's a wanderer. He's a fool. And for years he's on some kind of a quest for… who knows what. And then one day, he falls under the spell of a mysterious English woman. A harpy, who beats him, and hits him, he becomes her slave, and he sews her clothes, and worships…

Stop it! Stop it! You're always beating me!

Let me tell you about winds. There is a, a whirlwind from southern Morrocco, the aajej, against which the fellahin defend themselves with knives. And there is the... the ghibli, from Tunis...

- the ghibli, which rolls and rolls and rolls and produces a... a rather strange nervous condition. And then there is the... the harmattan, a red wind, which mariners call the sea of darkness. And red sand from this wind has flown as far as the south coast of England, apparently producing... showers so dense that they were mistaken for blood.

No, it's all true. Herodotus, your friend. He writes about it. And he writes about... a, a wind, the simoon, which a nation thought was so evil they declared war on it and marched out against it. In full battle dress. Their swords raised.

I once heard of a captain who wore a patch over a good eye. The men fought harder for him.

There was a Prince, who was dying, and he was carried up the tower at Pisa so he could die with a view of the Tuscan Hills. Am I that Prince?

You see, there are still faint glimmers of civilization left in this barbaric slaughterhouse that was once known as humanity. Indeed that's what we provide in our own modest, humble, insignificant... oh, fuck it.

You're looking so well, darling, you really are... they've done a marvelous job. I don't know what sort of cream they've put on you down at the morgue, but... I want some.

Rudeness is merely an expression of fear. People fear they won't get what they want. The most dreadful and unattractive person only needs to be loved, and they will open up like a flower.

Keep your hands off my lobby boy!

What happened, my dear Zero, is I beat the living shit out of a sniveling little runt called Pinky Bandinski, who had the gall to question my virility. Because, if there's one thing we've learned from penny dreadfuls, it's that when you find yourself in a place like this, you must never be a candy ass; you've got to prove yourself from day one. You've got to win their respect. You should take a long look at HIS ugly mug this morning.

I knew there was something fishy. We never got the cause of death. She's been murdered, and you think I did it.

I must say, I find that girl utterly delightful. Flat as a board, enormous birthmark the shape of Mexico over half her face, sweating for hours on end in that sweltering kitchen, while Mendl, genius though he is, looms over her like a hulking gorilla. Yet without question, without fail, always and invariably, she's exceedingly lovely.

Mmm, I've had older. When you're young, it's all filet steak, but as the years go by, you have to move on to the cheap cuts. Which is fine with me, because I like those. More flavorful, or so they say.

Well, what does it say? Where is it? What's it all about, damn it? Don't keep us in suspense, Serge, this has been a complete fucking nightmare! Just tell us what the fuck is going on!

If I die first, and I almost certainly will, you will be my sole heir. There's not much in the kitty, except a set of ivory-backed hairbrushes and my library of romantic poetry, but when the time comes, these will be yours. Along with whatever we haven't already spent on whores and whiskey.

The beginning of the end of the end of the beginning has begun. A sad finale played off-key on a broken-down saloon piano in the outskirts of a forgotten ghost town. I'd rather not bear witness to such blasphemy.

This is van Hoytl's exquisite portrayal of a beautiful boy on the cusp of manhood. Blond, smooth skin as white as that milk, of impeccable provenance. One of the last in private hands, and unquestionably the best. It's a masterpiece. The rest of this shit is worthless junk.

How does one come by front row aisle seats for a first night at the Opera Toscana with one day's notice? How does one arrange a private viewing of the tapestry collection at the Royal Saxon Gallery? How does one secure a corner table at Chez Dominique on a Thursday?

Ivan, darling, it's Gustave, hello!... Well, I was until about five minutes ago. We've taken it upon ourselves to clear out in a hurry, if you see what I mean... Well, through a sewer, as it happens... Exactly! Listen, Ivan, I'm sorry to cut you off, but we're in a bit of a bind. This is an official request. I'm formally calling on the special services of...

What is a lobby boy? A lobby boy is completely invisible, yet always in sight. A lobby boy remembers what people hate. A lobby boy anticipates the client's needs before the needs are needed. A lobby boy is, above all, discreet to a fault. Our guests know that their deepest secrets, some of which are frankly rather unseemly, will go with us to our graves. So keep your mouth shut, Zero.

I miss you deeply as I write from the confines of my regrettable and preposterous incarceration. Until I walk amongst you again as a free man, the Grand Budapest remains in your hands, as does its impeccable reputation. Keep it spotless, and glorify it. Take extra-special care of every little bitty bit of it as if I were watching over you like a hawk with a horse-whip in its talons, because I am. Should I discover a lapse of any variety during my absence, I promise swift and merciless justice will descend upon you. A great and noble house has been placed under your protection. Tell Zero if you see any funny business.

I was perhaps for a time considered the best lobby boy we ever had at the Grand Budapest. I think I can say that. This one finally surpassed me. Although I must say, I am an exceptional teacher.

Honestly, you forgot the L'air de Panache? I don't believe it. I mean, how could you? I've been in jail, Zero! Do you understand how humiliating this is? I smell! That's just marvelous, isn't it? I suppose this is to be expected back in... Where do you come from again?

Precisely. I suppose this is to be expected back in Aq-Salim-al-Jabat, where one's prized possessions are a stack of filthy carpets and a starving goat, and one sleeps behind a tent flap and survives on wild dates and scarabs. But it's not how I trained you! What on God's earth possessed you to leave the homeland where you obviously belong and travel unspeakable distances to become a penniless immigrant in a refined, highly-cultivated society that, quite frankly, could've gotten along very well without you?

Well, I suppose I'd better take back everything I just said. What a bloody idiot I am. Pathetic fool. Goddamn, selfish bastard. This is disgraceful, and it's beneath the standards of the Grand Budapest. I apologize on behalf of the hotel.

There's really no point in doing anything in life because it's all over in the blink of an eye, and the next thing you know, rigor mortis sets in.

Now wait a minute, sit down, Zero. His papers are in order, I crossed referenced them myself with The Bureau of Labor and Servitude. You can't arrest him simply because he's a bloody immigrant, he hasn't done anything wrong!

The beginning of the end of the end of the beginning has begun. A sad finale played off-key on a broken-down saloon piano in the outskirts of a forgotten ghost town. I'd rather not bear witness to such blasphemy.

The Grand Budapest has become a troops' barracks. I shall never cross its threshold again in my lifetime.

I'll fight with none but thee, for I do hate thee.

O, a kiss Long as my exile, sweet as my revenge!

A name unmusical to the Volscians' ears, and harsh in sound to thine.

My name is Caius Martius, who hath done to thee particularly, and to all the Volsces, great hurt and mischief. Thereto witness my surname... Coriolanus. Only that name remains. The cruelty and envy of the people who have all forsook me, hath devoured the rest and suffered me by the voice of slaves, be whooped out of Rome. Now this extremity hath brought me to thy hearth. Not out of hope, mistake me not to save my life. For if I had feared death, of all men in the world I would have avoided thee. But, in mere spite, to be full quit of those my banishers, stand I before thee here. I will fight against my cankered country with the spleen of all the under fiends. But if thou dares not this, then I present my throat to thee and to thy ancient malice. Which not to cut would show thee but a fool, since I have ever followed thee with hate, and cannot live but to thy shame, unless it be to do thee service.

He that will give good words to thee will flatter beneath abhorring. What would you have, you curs that like nor peace nor war? The one affrights you, the other makes you proud. He that trusts to you where he should find you lions, finds you hares; where foxes, geese. Who deserves greatness, deserves your hate.

By Jove himself, it makes the consuls base, and my soul aches to know when two authorities are up, neither supreme, how soon confusion may enter twixt the gap of both and take the one by the other. Thus we debase the nature of our seats and make the rabble call our cares fears, which will, in time, break open the locks of the senate, and bring in the crows to peck the eagles!

I am returned your soldier, no more infected with my country's love than when I parted hence, but still subsisting under your great command. We have made peace with no less honor to the Volscians than shame to the Romans.

Measureless liar, thou has made my heart too great for what contains it. "Boy"? O slave. Cut me to pieces, Volsces! Men and lads, stain all your edges on me! "Boy"? If you have writ your annals true, 'tis there that, like an eagle in a dovecote, I fluttered your Volscians in Corioles. Alone I did it. "Boy".

Think upon me? Hang 'em. I would they would forget me.Custom calls me to it. What custom wills, in all things should we do it. What must I say? "Look, sir, my wounds. I got them in my country's service."