calm down, lord ubu. kings are not supposed to behave like that. you're butchering the whole world. so, pshit. no more justice, no more financial system. fear nothing, my sweet child. i shall go around the villages myself and collect the taxes. - hey, did you hear the news? - huh? the king is dead, and all the nobles as well. what's more, pa ubu has seized the throne. and it seems they're going to raise all the taxes and that pa ubu is gonna make the rounds to collect them. great god. what will become of us? look. sounds like someone is knocking at the door. open up, pshit, in the names of saint john,

saint peter and saint nicholas. by my hussar and my caisson, i have come to collect the taxes. [music] which one of you is the oldest? - i am. - what's your name? stanislas leczinkski. well then, horn strumper, listen carefully or these gentlemen will extrude your neroe. hey, listen will you? but your excellency hasn't said anything yet. i've been standing here for an hour. do you think i came here just to amuse myself with the echo of my own voice? no thought could be further from my mind, sire. well, then, i have come to tell you, order you, and inform you that you are to produce and display your ready cash immediately, or you'll all be massacred. come on in. phynancial gentlemen. santa claus, wheel in the phynancial wheelbarrow. mercy, lord ubu, have pity on us. we're poor simple people.

i couldn't care less. pay up. but we can't. we've already paid. fork out, or i'll give you the works, good and proper, torture, twisting of the neck and decap-cap-cap-cap- capitation. horn strumper, am i or am i not your king? oh, in that case, to arms, fellows. long live boggerlas, by the grace of god, king of poland and lithuania. [music] forward, phynancial gentlemen. do your duty. [chanting ubu, ubu, ubu]

well, citizen, you are in a fine pickle, aren't you? you wanted me to pay you back what i owed you, and when i refused, you rebelled and plotted against me. and where did that get you? in jerky, hornboodle. take care, treacherous old ubu. in the five days since you've been king, you've committed more crimes and murders than it would take to damn all the saints in paradise. [music] gentlemen, i declare this meeting open. i'd like to say, our phynances are in a fairly good state. in every direction, there is a vista of burning houses and the sound of our people's groaning

under the weight of our by-laws. how are the new taxes going, mr. ubu, sir? not at all well. they've only produced 11 so far. horn strumper! what does this fellow want? get out, oaf, before i pluck both your eyes, cut off your head and make corkscrews out of your legs. he's gone already. but he left this letter. you read it. i don't know whether i'm going out of my mind or whether i forgot how to read. read it, clownish female. it's probably from manure. exactly. he says that he has escaped from prison, but the czar has welcomed him most warmly, that he is going invade your territories and reinstate boggerlas on the throne, and that you will most certainly end up swinging on the end of a rope. oh, i'm scared. oh, oh, oh, i'm frightened. oh, i'm a dead stalk. what's to become of me, poor wretch that i am? this nasty man is going to kill me. saint anthony and all the saints preserve me.

i'll shell out bags of phynance and even burn candles to you. oh, god, what's to become of me? there's only one course for you to adopt, pa ubu. - what's that, my love? - war. may god defend the right. well and nobly spoken. oh, yes, and i get knocked about all over again. we must get the army to battle stations with all speed. and requisition the supplies. - mobilize the artillery. - man the fortresses. and set aside enough money to pay the troops. oh, no, you don't. i'm going to do you in. you are not shelling out any money. what a stupid idea. i used to be paid to make war. now, it seems i have to do it at my own expense. by my green candle, let's have a war, since you're all so steamed up about it. but let's not spend a single cent. lovely war. three cheers for the war. [music] long live poland. god save lord ubu. ubu. ubu. ubu. ubu. ubu. hey, mama, pass me my helmet and my little wooden pick.

i shall soon be so cluttered up. i shan't be able to run if they chase me. oh, what a coward. and my pshit sword keeps coming off, and my phynance hook won't stay put either. i'll never be ready and the russians are advancing and will certainly kill me. hey, lord ubu, your knee rolling scissors are falling down. you, i'll kill you with my pshit sword and my face chopper. you're dead. ah, how handsome he looks in his breastplate and helmet, just like a little armor-plated pumpkin. i'm going to mount my horse. gentlemen, bring in the phynance charger. [clopping hoofbeats] i am going to get up. i better sit down.

otherwise i shall fall off. stop this runaway brute. lord almighty, i shall fall off and certainly find i'm dead. what an idiot. now, he's back in the saddle again. no, he's fallen off again. oh, pshit, i'm half-dead already. no matter, i'm off to the war, and i shall kill everybody. good luck, lord ubu, my lord and master. oh, i forgot to tell you... i'm making you regent. but i'm taking the account books with me. so if you try to cheat me, you're in for a hot time. i'm leaving the malcontent gyron behind as your assistant. farewell, madam. farewell, great commander. and mind you, kill the czar good and proper. don't worry about that. twisting of the teeth, pulling of the tongue

and penetration of the neroes with my little wooden pick. [music] now that we've got to rid of that overstuffed dummy. let's get down to business. assassinate boggerlas and get our hands on the treasures of poland. but first, the treasures. [music] hey, gyron. come and help me. help you? do what, mistress? everything. my dear husband wishes you to take care of everything while he is away at the wars. so tonight... don't rush darling. anyway, with your complexion, it's invisible. hey, hey. help me cart away these treasures. [music]

forward, my friends. long live poland. now, that old scoundrel ubu is dead, which only leaves old mother ubu and her malcontent to deal with. i ask only to march at your head and restore the royal succession of my ancestors. long live boggerlas. and we shall abolish all the taxes imposed by that horrible old ubu. - hurrah. - forward. - onward to the palace. - this way-- aha. there's the old hag. what can i do for you, gentlemen? oh, it's boggerlas. keep throwing stones, my friends. oh, so that's the way to say. defend yourself, cowardly bumpkin. i challenge you to single combat. ah, i'm done for. victory, my friends. now, for ma ubu.

ah, here come the nobles. quick, let's seize the wicked hag. yes, she'll do. and you, will you string up the old man himself? [music] ubu, ubu, ubu, ubu, ubu. all right, my friends, get hold of that lousy sot, manure. make mincemeat of the russians. victory is ours. three cheers for the red eagle. - hurrah. - ubu, ubu, ubu, ubu, ubu. let's get that big bugger. my god, i've come a cropper. so it's you, manure. well, well, we are delighted to see you again.

i'm a dead man. that must have been a cannonball that just hit me. dear god, i beseech you, forgive me my sins. it was a cap pistol. oh, so, you're making fun of me, are you? well, it's for the last time. you've had it. now... [music] what vile weather. it's freezing hard enough to split a rock. mr. ubu, sire, are you recovered from your terror and your running away?

yes, i'm not frightened anymore, but my guts are still running-- crappy creature. what about you, mr. tales, how's your neroe? as well as can be expected, sir, considering the fact that it's not well at all. splendid. you're like me, boy, always spoiling for a fight. oh, my, look at that little bow-wow. isn't it cute? [laughs] here, look out. cor, what an enormous bear. what bear? bear! what a monstrous creature. get it from me. it's coming straight for me. no, it's got tails. that was a trojan beast. mr. ubu, sir, help. help. not me, my friends. fend for yourself. at the moment, we are reciting our pater noster. everyone will have his turn to get eaten.

i've got it. i've got a half nelson on it. oh, well, keep it up. i think it's letting go of me. ooh, cowardly sot. ah! he's biting me bum. oh, lord help us. i was gonna die. ah! ooh! i managed to wound the brute. hurray, he's bleeding. now, hold it still while i get my explosive knuckle duster. hurry up. i can't keep this up all night. ah! here it is. - victory! - victory! ubu. ubu. ubu-- ♪ sed libera nos a malo is he already dead? as i come down off my rock. do what you like. gentlemen, you may pride yourselves that if you be still alive and still tramping under foot the snows of lithuania,

you owe it all to the master of phynance who did not hesitate to climb to the top of a very high rock so that his prayers should have less far to travel to fly to heaven. dirty swine. right. what a fat animal. thanks to me, you have something to eat. what is there to eat? i'm starving. the bear. and you, mr. ubu, sire, can go ahead with the carving. oh, no. the creature may still be alive. look, i distinctly saw it move. but he's already cold, mr. ubu. that's a pity. it would have been nicer to eat it whilst it was still warm. he really is repulsive. well, give us a hand then, mr. ubu, sire. i can't do it all myself. no, not i. i have no intention of lifting a finger.

i happen to be very tired. snow, my friends. you would think we're at cold castille or the north pole. that's nicer. it's getting quite warm now. but i see russians everywhere. what a rout. - ooh. - ssshh! here, did you hear that rumor that ma ubu was dethroned? and that wouldn't surprise me. you're right. shall we desert pa ubu, or stay with him? let's sleep on it. we'll decide what to do tomorrow morning. no, let's slip away now under cover of darkness. let's go then. ssshh!

[music] shelter at last. what a dreadful journey, crossing the whole of poland in four days. but i'd give a lot to know what's become of my old fat buffoon. oh, lord, i certainly rolled him plenty. catch ma ubu. chop off her neroes. my god, i'm losing my mind. i'm lost. ah! no, heavens above. well, thanks be to god. by my side, i behold the sleeping form

of sir ubu, the bold. but let's play it cool. let's take advantage of the darkness. let's pretend to be a supernatural apparition, and make him forgive our peculations. by god's third leg, i'll be hanged if somebody isn't speaking. not the bear, i hope. yes, there is indeed somebody speaking, mr. ubu. it is the voice of the archangel gabriel who is incapable of giving anything but good advice. he can stuff his advice. don't interrupt. on strumper. shut up. god damn it. angels aren't supposed to swear. oh, pshit. mr. ubu, you are married? true. true, to a vile hag.

to a charming lady. to an old horror. she sprouts claws all over. it's impossible to get one's hand up her anywhere. you should hand her up more kindly and gently, mr. ubu. if you were to do so, you would see that she was just as appealing as aphrodite. who did you say wears an appalling frayed nightie? you are not listening, mr. ubu. lend a more attentive near. ear. but we must hurry, for dawn is breaking. your wife has never been unfaithful to you. why, because the old hag is so ugly that no man in his right mind would give her the chance to be unfaithful. she does not drink. only since i kept the cellar door locked. before that, she was plastered by 7:00 every morning. now, i have to get plastered all by myself. silly idiot. your wife does not steal your bags of gold.

come off it. there is only one way for you to gain redemption of your sins. what's that? you must forgive madam ubu for pocketing a little bit of your spare cash. all right, i'll tell you what, i will forgive her when she's handed back the loot, and when she's been soundly walloped. it's getting light. we are lost. by my green candle, it's ma ubu. that is not true. i shall excommunicate you. don't be silly, you stupid old bag. i could see perfectly well that it's you. what the devil are you doing here? well, gyron is dead and the poles were after me, so i thought i better get out while the going was good. the russians are after me. and so i thought i'd better get out while the going was good. they say great minds often think alike. they can say that if they like. but this great mind thinks it just met a pea-brained idiot. is that so?

and in a moment, it's going to meet her pet. ah! my god. how horrible. oh, i'm suffocating. it's biting me. it's swallowing me. it's digesting me. aah... it's dead, you freak. am i going to be saddled with this stupid bitch forever? come over here, carrion, and kneel before your master. you are about to undergo the extreme penalty: twisting of the nose, tearing out of the hair, penetration of the neroes with my little wooden pick, extraction of the brain matter by way of the feet, laceration of the posterior. long live poland. one moment, mr. polack. wait until i'm finished with madam, my worst half. take that, tyrant, scavenger, scoundrel, infidel, musulman. take that, great glass kit, son of a harlot, nose snot,

bigot, blackguard, huguenot. take that, pig snout, layabout, horse pouch, hospital spout, idle lout, boy scout, polish kraut. oh, my god, we're getting in trouble. let's riddle the polack's toes. hey, by my green candle, this is going on too long. if only i had my phynance charger with me. hit them. go on hitting them. long live pa ubu, our great phynancier. here you are. there they are. here comes the ubuists. forward, quick march, to the rescue, phynancial gentlemen. get out, you poles. aha, mr. phynance, we meet again. come on, lads, courage, old ubu. oh, i've done it in my pants. forward on, strumpers.

bleed them off. kill 'em off. shag 'em off. skin 'em off. by ubu's horn, they're falling back. there's only two left. that's for you. and for you. come on, let's get the hell out of here. ubu, ubu, ubu, ubu, ubu. [chanting ubu, ubu, ubu] at last, i think they have abandoned the chase. yes, and boggerlas has gone off to get himself crowned. he knows what he can do with his crown. ah, how right you are, pa ubu. ubu, ubu, ubu, ubu, ubu. [music]

what a lovely breeze. we are traveling the highest, right? at the almost miraculous speed of, uh, give or take a bit, about a million knots, uh-huh. all hands leeward, close-haul the mizzen. what a stupid idea. don't all stand at one end of the ship. it's dangerous. supposing the wind changed about, we'd all go to the bottom and the fishes would eat us up. don't bear away. hug the wind, pulling by. there's only one solution. i'll take over command myself. ready about, about ship. let go of the anchor, go about in staves. homeward sail. haul down the sail. up with the mizzen mast. hoist the topgallant, full speed astern. splice the topgallant. my, what a dunking.

aah, isn't navigation wonderful? what bliss it will be to see our sweet france again, and all our old friends and our castle of mondragon. mondragon, mais oui. and at this very moment, we are tacking by the island of elsinore. oh, my, what a bump. i got a box, speeds like a bird on a white dark wave in the north sea. wild and inhospitable ocean that wraps the shores of the land called germany. so named because it's halfway to german street as the crow flies. that's what i call erudition. it's a beautiful country, they say. beautiful it may be, but it's not a patch on poland.

ah, gentlemen, there'll always be a poland. otherwise, there wouldn't be any poles. [singing] ♪ there'll always be a poland and poland shall be free ♪ ♪ if poland means as much to you ♪ ♪ as poland means to me [music] there'll always be a poland?

when jarry wrote the play, he would have scarcely have known that song or the sound of winston churchill's voice in world war ii. they are deliberate anachronisms added by this director. ubu roi has been popular with directors who enjoy adding their own mad touches to each production and who try to keep in the spirit of irreverence in ways which will mean the most to each new audience. since ubu, 20th-century writers have used similar techniques to emphasize modern chaos. in the plays of o'neill, ionesco, weiss and beckett, man has been depicted as ape, rhinoceros, asylum inmate and resident of a garbage can. expressionistic theater, as in ubu, has distorted and exaggerated to underscore the anarchy of the modern world and the absurdity of its human inhabitants. [music] this was a co-production of miami-dade community college

and british broadcasting corporation, british open university. captioning performed by aegis rapidtext