Ah, Mr. Rafferty, sir… do you think there'll be trouble today?
The man's name is Guinness.
'Course there'll be fuckin' trouble.
Behold the fallen idol.
Today, they bury Benjamin Guinness…
…a brewer of sin and debauchery.
Just as his soul will not enter heaven,
his body shall not pass this gate!
So… Mr. Guinness, let me be the last living soul on this earth
to put a smile on your face.
That's it.
Dear Lord… ignore the angry voices beyond the wall,
and remember the great good that he did
and the legacy he left behind.
If ye be Christians, clear the way for a departing soul,
because his mortal remains are coming this way in half an hour.
Then these cobbles must be the road to hell.
And nor will they pass down Bow Lane West,
even if they are dead.
It's gonna be a long fuckin' day.
Okay, boys, hold the line.
And anyway… if we don't stop his carcass in his tracks…
…the Fenians will.
This funeral parade for a rich unionist
shall not go unchallenged this Dublin morning…
…when it's his machines
of the Protestant gentry
that make us Irish suffer
at the hands of the British!
The children Sir Benjamin leaves behind are weak and divided.
Now is the time for us Fenians
to use that weakness and free Ireland
from the English!
Attention!
Each of you grab a means of persuasion.
It is our solemn duty this day
to ensure our beloved former employer's path to heaven
is a smooth one.
Remove all obstacles with a firm hand.
If the dragoons draw swords, fire above them.
Spare the horses!
All horses are Catholic!
Keep pushing.
1-2-3-4-5
Hunt the hare and turn her down The rocky road and all the way to Dublin
1-2-3-4-5
Hunt the hare and turn her down The rocky road and all the way to Dublin
Whack-fol-la-de-da!
Say the word "Dublin."
Dublin.
Say the word "iconoclast."
-Iconoclast. -Yeah, there.
"There" what?
You've been in London so long,
all that champagne has washed the Irish off your tongue.
Yes.
Now, God help me, I'm back.
-So… you're still never satisfied? -If it isn't right, what is the point?
Well, what's the point of getting it right
if everyone today will be unable to see clearly
because of the tears swimming in their eyes?
And who is that remark aimed at, Arthur?
-Which remark? -Your sarcastic remark about tears.
It was aimed at all those who will attend today's event,
as if it were a starting line of a horse race.
You think the tears in the cathedral today won't be real?
Mmm… Mostly not, no.
Mostly for a purpose. Mostly, anyway, among the workers.
And what about our tears?
I have wept.
Oh, we should have all collected our tears in a bell jar and measured our grief.
Do you think Benjamin will ever wake up?
Do you think anyone will ever care if Benjamin wakes up ever again?
Potter.
A note from Mr. Rafferty to say
your father's funeral has left St. James's Gate
and is proceeding towards the cathedral.
But such is the vast extent of the crowd of well-wishers on the street,
Mr. Rafferty thinks the cortege may be delayed.
-Today really is not a day for truth. -There's an anticipation of trouble?
Those who despise drink and those who despise the union with England
have lit some small fires.
The Fenians blame him for cozying up to the British.
Evangelists blame him for everything else.
I'm sure Mr. Rafferty will extinguish their fires considerately.
Just as Mr. Rafferty often lights fires in people's hearts.
Mr. Rafferty suggests that you're all in the cathedral at ten.
Oh, don't worry about Benjamin.
If necessary, we can roll him up into a ball and bowl him down the aisle.
In the cathedral today, we must appear united.
Yes. And to appear united,
we must all be conscious.
Arthur, what the fuck are you doing?
Calm, Benjamin. It's all right.
Calm, Benji-- Calm. Easy.
Calm down! Calm down.
-Whoa! -Calm down. Ah!
Fuck!
You fucking idiot!
That's not my fault!
Fuck.
Hark. Papa's funeral cortège marching peacefully towards St. Stephen's Green.
For freedom!
Officer! Get back here and do something!
You lot too!
-God save Ireland! -Go on. Over there.
Rot in hell!
How dare they.
With Father gone, the Fenians will be trouble.
Dubliners must see we are as strong as our father.
Peace comes in small measures.
Every word you say twists in my gut like a bag of nails.
The twisting in your gut's poitín and laudanum.
Will you both shush?
Just kill each other. Do it.
Get it done. Father has pistols beside his bed. A duel.
Yes. Why not?
An exchange of musket balls before the reading of Father's will.
It would reduce the clutter.
Today of all days, we must behave like a civilized Christian family.
Which we're not.
Which we are.
In our way.
Please.
Arthur.
Spes mea in Deo.
My hope is in God.
And above all,
love is our hope.
We have 20 minutes.
Edward,
you change your shirt.
Benjamin,
change into some clothes that you haven't slept in.
And, Arthur…
just change.
I wanna talk with a gag If it's a bottle or bag
I wanna strike with the SAG I need the friends from it
I want a shot in the dark I wanna make a mark
I want to live the arc I call the ends on it
I wanna take the truth Without a lens on it
My God-given insanity It depends on it
How I feel? How I feel?
How I feel? I wanna keel
Over harder Than a turned-up challenger
I wanna keep All of your charm in a canister
Do you inspire Like the same did Salinger?
I'm the pig on the Chinese calendar
Let me through!
God save Ireland!
If we are not careful, these Fenian gentlemen will make us late.
We will no longer suck black porter from the teats of the English oppressor!
And I hate to be late.
God save Ireland!
Guess who's back on the news
It's your favorite Republican hoods
It's your fella with the Nike Air shoes Two chains, two birds
And we know what's good Guess who's back to abuse
Every solvent that I choose
Two blues and a pint of stout
And never you mind If it smells like trout, foc
Gu ag teacht i mo dhiaidh Ach Stalford agus an DUP
Gach lá, taobh amuigh de mo theach
"Go back to Dublin if you want to rap"
Anois éist I'm gonna say this once
Yous can all stay Just don't be cunts
And don't be runnin' round Like silly old Tans
Just take these yokes And we'll go for a dance
Go for a dance
Get your Brits out Get your Brits out
We're on a mad one
Get your Brits out Get your Brits out
We're on a mad one
Get your Brits out Get your Brits out
We're on a mad one
Fuck.
Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today
to mourn the death
of a man who brought peace and prosperity
to the people of Dublin.
If ever there was anyone
who could bring the Protestants and Catholics of this great city together,
it is this man.
The Protestant man who paid to have this one-time Catholic cathedral
restored to its current splendor.
A man who treated his workforce with benevolence,
who forbade the discussion of religion and politics
within his place of work.
Also, a man of commerce
that has brought wealth to all layers of society in our city.
He was a man who cared deeply about this city.
He was the lord mayor of Dublin.
And a member of Parliament for Dublin City.
And it was in our capital city of London
that he was ultimately bestowed with the title
of First Baronet of Ashford.
But most of all,
he was a devoted family man.
MY HOPE IS IN GOD
And, of course, our thoughts and prayers
are most of all
with Sir Benjamin Lee Guinness's four children.
Since their late mother died,
it has been their father who has raised them.
These heirs to his legacy
will now have the responsibility to match
and better the momentous achievements
of their beloved father.
With God's help,
and with the determination and courage
which they have inherited from the great man himself,
we have no doubt that the children of Sir Benjamin Lee Guinness
will rise to the task
and take this particularly Irish enterprise
to all four corners of God's earth.
Now we will sing the first hymn,
"Immortal, Invisible."
Stand up. Come on.
Immortal, invisible
-God only wise -Hey, come on.
In light inaccessible
Hid from our eyes
Most blessed, most glorious
The Ancient of Days…
We'll give back to them what they gave to us.
-You better believe it. -Will we hit 'em?
We'll hit 'em. We'll hit 'em hard.
You'll get your retribution.
-Sister! -Oh God.
-Thank God you're safe. -Fucking hell.
We've just finished a meeting of the Ladies Committee.
We are preparing a response to these acts of violence
carried out by men in the name of the company.
We men have begun to make preparations as well,
and robust preparations they will be.
And what "robust preparations" are you talking about?
-You don't see the irony? -No irony to see.
This tavern only sells stolen Guinness.
Stolen from the cooperage yard by honest Fenian coopers.
Your thieves are honest.
Yeah.
Honest thieves will open the gates tonight
so that we can light our fires.
And you'll light a fire where?
A million empty barrels… waiting to be filled.
So you'll burn the cooperage?
For starters.
You don't fucking think, brother.
What'll they put the beer in
without the barrels?
If you burn their barrels,
they will have their excuse to take you,
and they will string you up.
And you will have half the men in Dublin pulling down on your legs
to break your stupid fucking neck
for stopping their daily supply of beer.
Fists and fires have gotten us nowhere.
Think.
Come with me, you bonehead.
We know that Sir Benjamin's death has given us an opportunity.
Do you have a match?
Not for lighting barrels, you bonehead.
The old man was flawless.
-Give me the fucking matches. -I'll give you a light.
But I'm keeping the matches 'cause I don't trust you.
When I say the old man was flawless, I'm not talking about faults.
I mean secrets.
Sir Benjamin Lee Guinness had no secrets that could hurt him.
But his children are a different matter.
Maids, cooks, butlers.
The new generation talk in front of them as if they were made of glass.
The maids talk to me.
And what secrets have they uncovered?
The old man's children have secrets that'd burn them out of positions of power faster
than a million burning barrels.
Are you talking about blackmail, sweet Ellen?
Naturally, I put that to the vote.
Blackmail is not noble, sister.
I feel better burning the barrels.
But we ignoble women will gather their secrets.
And when the eldest takes his father's seat in Parliament,
I'll make sure he sees things from our point of view.
And so it comes to pass
that little Ellen unties a 700-year-old knot
without a single shot being fired.
All four of them have secrets?
Not all four.
All of them have secrets apart from one.
But I've got an eye on him.
Thank you.
You said today we need to appear united.
So where the fuck are Ben and Anne?
We're meant to receive condolences in a line together.
-Thank you. -I'm so sorry for your loss.
-Thank you. -There will never be another.
Benjamin went downstairs.
Said he wanted to be alone with Father's portrait.
With a quart of Jameson's. Where is Anne?
-Please accept our condolences. -Thank you.
-Sorry for your loss. -Thank you.
I will wait for him down this alleyway.
Is this wise, madam?
Wisdom is overrated. Go and fetch him.
-Condolences, madam. -Thank you.
What brings you here, Mrs. Plunket?
I thought there was a family congregation.
There is, but I have business with you.
This is the money to give to your men
for the work they did today clearing Father's path.
Blood money, but I hope not too much blood was shed.
You walked through the streets with £50 in cash?
Seventy.
Arthur has decided to increase your rates.
And I was accompanied.
Yes.
And now your butler is a witness.
Could he not have sent someone to deliver the money?
I said I would do it.
For what reason?
I wanted you to assure me
that your men did not use undue force today.
There were no deaths.
Some lessons learned.
I know the limits.
What limits?
Three nights ago, you and I went beyond all limits.
The other reason I came
was to tell you I have regrets about what happened.
-Yes, but what's done is done. -I have begged God's forgiveness.
He will understand.
I pray each morning, I pray each evening, but sometimes the devil whispers.
-You were blinded by your grief. -Or a blindfold was removed.
Mrs. Plunket.
Let's at least be honest with each other.
Our consciences put up a very brief fight,
if I recall.
And if the world were to end tomorrow…
we'd do it again.
In this alley.
Like cats.
We are not cats.
Ah, but sometimes, Mrs. Plunket,
when you hear them howling at night,
don't you just wish…?
Wish what?
I've worked for your family for 20 years.
And I know
you're all good-hearted, generous people.
But inside every one of yous…
…there is a black,
wild…
wild cat
dying to climb out onto the rooftop
and howl.
Thank your brothers.
I'll go and pay my men.
For reasons I don't quite understand,
you fuckers all just got a pay rise.
Walk me back to my misery, Mr. Potter.
Yes, madam.
Ah, there. What new adventure has Potter witnessed?
What spice is that in your voice?
Dear husband…
What adventure?
While you've been in London, Annie has been here in Dublin discovering
that it isn't just the boys of the Guinness family who are cursed.
We've all been waiting for you. Where have you been?
Arthur. Edward.
I just wanted to express my sincere condolences.
-He was a unique man. -There will never be another.
But we will try our best.
Also, his last will and testament, when is that being read?
Ah…
No, Aunt Agnes…
In my grief… I almost forgot there was even a will to be read.
And a vacant parliamentary seat to be filled.
I assume, Arthur, you are going to accept your responsibilities
and become Dublin's MP.
Then you assume a great deal.
Aunt Agnes… the will is being read tomorrow, but if you haven't been invited,
it's because there is nothing in it that concerns you.
When the will is read out, I hope we will discover
that your father knew his children well enough
to know which of you is Ogma
and which of you is Dagda.
Who the fuck are Ogma and Dagda?
In Irish mythology, they are brothers, sons of a god.
One can be trusted.
The other cannot be trusted. Hello.
-Sorry for your loss. -Thank you.
Thank you so much for coming.
Thank you.
So which are you, brother?
I've been away in London these past five years.
-I hardly know you anymore. -Thank you for coming.
Mr. Guinness. Our condolences.
Well… while you've been away,
I've been working at the brewery,
barreling, bottling, and selling beer.
I like to work.
And you think I don't?
I think it's hard to brew beer wearing white satin gloves.
-I'm so sorry for your loss. -There will never be another.
And yet tomorrow, at the reading of the will,
since I am the eldest son,
the brewery in its entirety will be left to me.
-He was a wonderful man. -Thank you.
Such a loss.
I know. I know.
Yes.
The weight of it will be put on your shoulders.
Like Atlas holding up the sky.
I would find that task very tiring.
Of course, as your brother, I would share that burden.
-A moving service. -Sir, thank you. Thank you.
Or even take the burden from you.
-One moment, please. -Yes, of course.
I would buy it from you.
The whole thing.
With what?
With an agreement to give you 30% of the profits.
For doing nothing?
For representing our interests in Parliament.
Father was only ill for a few days.
You thought all of this up in such a brief space of time.
-Death comes to us all. -And the brewery comes to me.
But you sell it to me.
Against our father's wishes.
In heaven, he'll find peace.
-Thank you -Gabriel. Thank you.
-40%. -Thirty-five.
Deal.
We have no need for lawyers or accountants, brother.
Our love is our bond.
-He'll be sorely missed. -Thank you. There will never be another.
Yes?
Gentlemen.
Your uncle, the Reverend Henry Grattan Guinness,
has requested an audience with you both in private.
-Oh, fuck. -Jesus fucking Christ.
Lock the door.
Okay, give it to me.
Ben, there's half of Dublin society upstairs,
and you're asking me to steal you a pistol.
Why?
You can go.
I did not bring bullets.
Wh-- Why? Why, why? Why would you not bring bullets?
I will not be responsible for you ending your beautiful life, Ben.
You thought I asked for the gun to use on myself.
I'm really not that courageous, Christine.
Then what is it for?
There's a man. A bad man.
Named Bonnie Champion.
He runs exports for the family but also has sidelines.
Gambling. He operates out of the docks.
I owe him £170.
Anything above 150,
and you go to the bottom of Dublin harbor wearing irons.
So please fetch me the bullets,
because they'll come for me.
You don't have £170?
"Money will kill you," Arthur said.
Giving me money is like
giving me a loaded revolver.
Ben.
Listen to me, because I have a serious proposition.
And today is the perfect day for it.
I have an endowment.
I will pay you the £170 on condition that when we marry…
Please. Please don't be a pawn in their game of families--
On the condition that when we marry…
…the madness stops.
I've spoken to my father.
Your father is dead, and Arthur won't object.
What do you say?
I say…
I won't let one so sweet waste her life with one so bitter.
You must understand, Christine.
I am the madness.
Fuck you.
You serve strong spirits and have music playing at a funeral.
Whose idea was that?
Actually, my father's idea.
I'm sorry, do you not dance, Uncle Henry?
I don't dance on anyone's grave, no.
No. No, you devote yourself to the fight against Satan in all his forms.
Tell me, how goes the battle?
Well, the Harley College is thriving.
The missionaries we train there travel across the globe,
spreading the word of God.
And putting Satan to flight.
Actually, perhaps you could fit your missionaries up
with samples of our porter and have them spread the good word of Guinness too.
Good idea, especially if they're heading for the Americas.
-We are considering the Americas. -We are?
As I understand it, at the moment,
the Americans make their drink from cactuses.
Cacti.
So you brothers dance at a funeral and make jokes at the expense of God.
Tell me.
Just how expensive is God these days?
I need an assurance that whoever benefits from the will tomorrow,
their heart will remain as open as your father's heart was
when it comes to helping us.
How much did our father give you per annum?
Your father always gave us exactly just not quite enough.
Is this family business?
It's God's business.
Then it is my business, perhaps more so than my brothers'.
Reverend Grattan, speaking for myself,
I have every intention of using all of my influence
to ensure that the good works and charity
for which the Guinness family is famous will continue.
And what influence would that be, sweet Annie?
You think, as a daughter, I will have none?
"May the sons of the father be like plants full-grown,
but may the daughters be like corner pillars
cut for the structure of a palace."
Psalm 144 verse 12, I believe.
Suggesting that it may be I who will be the cornerstone
for the House of Guinness.
Welcome…
to the Guinness export wharf
and pleasure gardens.
I'm looking for someone called Bonnie Champion.
If you're looking for work in one of Mr. Champion's houses,
I'm his gatekeeper.
I get to decide if a girl has
what's required to work his rooms
and greet the men off the ships.
Lift up your skirt, and let me have a look.
I also get the privilege
of having first go.
First go?
Usually through the bars of this gate.
Ellen Cochrane, Ladies Committee.
Fenian Brotherhood official business. Take down your fucking trousers.
No.
You want first go? Take down your fucking trousers.
And the fucking rest.
No.
You don't have what it takes for first go.
So open this fucking gate or I'll shoot it off.
Are you lost, madam, on this dark night?
Are you looking to improve your fortune?
An associate of yours died today. You're not wearing a black tie.
The man was no associate of mine.
Too grand for the likes of me.
I simply provide services for the men who work for him
and the men who work his ships and locomotives.
But you, now…
I'd have you down as a secretary in the wharfinger's office.
-If it wasn't for that look in your eye. -What look is that?
Every Fenian I've ever met looks down on me from a great height,
like I'm a necessary evil.
I've heard of you, Miss Cochrane.
A dangerous creature. A woman with brains.
I've already paid my taxes to the Brotherhood.
I'm not looking for taxes.
-What are you looking for, then? -It's secrets I'm after, Mr. Champion.
Family secrets.
Presently, you pay 10% of all your profits
on the whorehouses and the bookmakers and the rackets to the Brotherhood.
And on behalf of the Brotherhood,
I am offering you a one-year holiday from paying any taxes at all.
Get to work, boys.
Quick!
Keep your heads down, boys. Soak the whole lot.
Let's go. Come on!
Young Benjamin gambles on the advice of voices in his head.
He hears fairies, spirits.
How much does he owe you?
Enough to send any other man below.
So why not him?
Because his name is Guinness.
Tonight's takings.
Now, I'm a wicked fucker. I've fed the fish very, very often.
With men named O'Reilly and O'Leary.
But not Guinness.
You never drown a Guinness.
Because if you did, there's a Rafferty fella who'd come along
and put you down among the shipwrecks wrapped in an anchor chain.
Which makes me
curious to know,
what's your business with these family secrets?
None of your business.
You'll excuse me if I end this conversation.
There's a storm coming. It's gonna baptize whoever's out in it.
A storm is coming,
because it's not Benjamin's secrets that we want.
Our interest, Mr. Champion,
is in the altogether more interesting secrets
of the oldest brother, Arthur…
…who we believe uses parts of your business
unrelated to gambling.
Mr. Champion! Come and see!
What?
The cooperage is on fire.
They're asking for our pumps and our horses.
Haste thee to the water wagon!
Fucking bonehead.
Move those barrels away from the fire!
You men over there!
Roll the empty barrels into the dock and let them float!
We can fish them out in the morning!
Hey! Who opened the fucking gate?
I don't know, sir! I was at the mash tuns.
Suddenly, the windows were orange.
Move it! Move!
Hey!
Hey, back in there!
Faster!
Keep moving!
Move them over to the dock! Come on!
Come on!
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.
You seen any Fenians here tonight, Bonnie?
Fenians?
No.
Only a wharfinger secretary who'd lost her way.
And lost her mind.
Get that fucking hose out!
Swing a little more, little more…
Now the fun starts.
…a little more next to me
Swing a little more Little more o'er the merry-o
Swing a little more…
Keep pumping, lads!
Swing a little more
On the Devil's dance floor
Let's go, men!
Come on! Move those barrels into the dock!
Come on, Benjamin. I've got you.
And lo and behold,
on the day before the reading of the will,
Benjamin finds that he is a prospect.
She actually loves him.
Or what he used to be.
Or what's left of him.
Or does five years in London make you unable to believe in love?
Ahh… Love comes quickly.
Like a riptide.
Then, just as quickly,
it's, "Ah hell, the snoring and the pimples and the hair."
To hell with it.
That has been your experience?
Mmm.
A multitude of experiences.
Sometimes, you sound Irish again.
Yes.
When I'm sad.
Why are you sad?
Ah, because as of tomorrow morning,
everything becomes real.
Brewing, politics.
You will take father's seat in the Commons.
That's what everyone says, so it must be true.
You must.
This is a delicate moment.
I will be with you.
Brother, I know the brewery like the back of my hand.
And as for politics,
Dubliners vote for the beer, not the party.
And yet I'm in search of an energy I'm not sure I have.
I have it.
And I have ideas.
I meant what I said about America.
Population 36 million,
14% freed slaves.
No longer a wilderness.
Two coasts, rich as fuck,
with a thirsty army in between.
And since the famine, the East Coast is half Irish.
And I am half consumed by the flames of hell.
What flames are you talking about?
Arthur.
What flames consume you?
Lady Christine leads Benjamin away as if he were a frightened puppy.
She will get herself pregnant, they will marry,
and her entire aristocratic family will be an expense in my accounts.
He's just pretending to be bullheaded, Anne.
In truth, it is Arthur
who is the frightened puppy.
Oh, Arthur.
We should all get some sleep.
Tomorrow will be a big day.
Okay, boys!
Let the rain do your work for you.
Maybe the fuckers do have God on their side, after all.
Who's the most violent person you know Except Arlene?
Oh, what would be you, kid
Respect
Focain caite amach arís
Barraíocht piontaí Le barraíocht snaois
Equals a cocktail bread For unleashing the beast
Oíche mhór amach fuinne, at least
Troid eile, he's beating some fella
Tá an R.U.C. anseo anois And it's for saoirse na Cilla
Fucked into the back of the Jeep He falls asleep
He does it every week
Tiocfaidh ár lá
Get the Brits out, lad
A one-way ticket, please I've lost my bus pass
It's gonna be a bloodbath
-It's gonna be a bloodbath -It's gonna be a bloodbath
Throw a hook, a jab, and a boot
I sneak a quick toot Then I fire another boot
For calling me a fruit For trying to take the loot
Well, Billy won't be bothering Any more hoods
'Nois cúpla ceist
Do you want it in your chest
Or your knees or your head? DJ Próvaí has the lead
You can beg, you can plead You can tell us what we need
You can change your name But you're all the fucking same
H.O.O.D
Low-life scum That's what they say about me
'Cause I'm a H.O.O.D
Low-life scum That's what they say about me
I'm a H.O.O.D
Low-life scum That's what they say about me
'Cause I'm a H.O.O.D
Low-life scum That's what they say about me