And when I first came to town
They bought me drinks a'plenty
Now they've changed their tune
Hand me the bottles empty
And if I was where I would be…
All of you, gather round! I have things to say!
Get out here in the yard, all of you!
Last night, men of poor judgment
elected to leave open the gates to this yard
to allow men of poor character to get inside.
These men of poor character
call themselves the Irish Republican Brotherhood.
But, as you can see,
they're no brothers of ours.
Now, some of you will know
who unlocked the gates and left them open.
Yesterday, men of my own religion,
some Catholic men and women,
tried to disrupt the funeral of a man
to whom we owe a debt of gratitude.
These Fenians will use any excuse to divide us,
to separate the one from the other, the green from the orange.
I used due force to remove them,
nothing more.
A chain is only as strong as its weakest link,
and we have some weak links among us.
Someone knows someone
who knows someone
who… knows someone.
And that someone
we must identify.
The walls to the lavatory over there
that were built by the late Sir Benjamin for us, for our comfort and dignity,
they are white walls.
The remains of our barrels… is black ash.
Any of yous who know who left open the gates
will write the names of those men, in black ash,
on the white walls of the shithouse.
You will do this behind a locked door
so you can do God's work anonymously.
The culprits whose names are written
will be dealt with according to God's law.
Until the culprits' names appear on the walls of the lavatory,
there will be quarter-day shifts.
Due to the shortage of barrels.
And your pay will reflect the three-quarter cut.
I can see that I've made myself clear.
Use the chains that I dragged up here
to secure the back gates to the cooperage.
Sorry.
Before we begin,
let me offer my sincerest condolences to you all for your grievous loss.
But now Sir Benjamin has been interred and accepted into heaven,
it is time to settle his affairs.
First, let me inform you that, along with the brewery estate,
there is, in Sir Benjamin's personal accounts,
a total in accrued savings
of £1,100,000.
This, along with the entirety of his estate,
buildings, industries, ships, locomotives,
goods yards, houses and land
will be distributed among you all gathered here today.
For further clarity,
all reference to land and estates
in this last will and testament that I am about to read
will consist of the following residences and tracts.
The Ashford estate in Connacht, the Doon estate, the Cong estate,
substantial land holdings in Connemara,
large parts of County Kerry,
the Rosshill estate,
the parish of Kilcrohane.
I know I've been pissed for four years, but I thought it's just Ashford and Doon.
Shh.
…estate of Iveagh House at St. Stephen's Green,
St. Anne's estate at Dublin Bay,
and, of course, the brewery of St. James's Gate,
leased to the Guinness family for an annual fee of £45
for 9,000 years,
along with the perpetual right to take and to keep water, fish and eels
from the River Liffey, and to use it as a gateway to the world.
Understood. Get on with it.
Shh…
Now, to the division.
Before the land estates, the will deals first with the brewery.
This is his testament.
"I, Sir Benjamin Lee Guinness, hereby give, devise, and bequeath
all my said brewery concerns
to my eldest son,
Arthur Edward Guinness,
and to Edward Cecil Guinness,
jointly and equally."
"And I direct that said premises so left and bequeathed to them
shall belong to and be held by them and them alone."
"And I, Sir Benjamin Lee Guinness, earnestly hope that my said sons…"
Said sons only.
"…shall continue to carry on the said brewery business,
carried on in the same place by their ancestors for so many years."
"However,
in case either of those two sons shall unfortunately decline to take to
or to carry on the said business,
I will and direct that the said brewery concerns in their entirety
will be given to the brother who remains and does wish to continue."
"The brewery shall not be divided or broken up or given to others,
and I direct that if any of the said two sons,
Edward or Arthur,
do decide to decline or retire from said brewing business,
then that brother shall
forfeit everything."
"In other words,
all divisions and bequests, including land and property,
shall be removed from any brother
who chooses to leave the business of brewing."
"As to my daughter, Anne, since she is legally married
and in the care of an honorable gentleman, Reverend William Plunket,
I have no expectation that she might want to exercise any influence on
or expect any partnership in any part of the brewing business."
"And, since she is the ward of her husband, neither do I expect
that she will be in want of residences or land either here or in England."
"She will, of course, have access
to all of the above-mentioned estates and parishes
at the discretion of her eldest brother, Arthur."
Of course.
"Now,
to my son Benjamin."
"Having sought advice from God and from professionals in London,
I feel it wise not to burden Benjamin
with the temptations that come with fortune."
Gone is the day
"I instead bequeath to him a controlled income from a monthly bursary,
and the level of that monthly income…"
Gone is the day, gone is the night
Gone is the day
Fuck!
Fuck.
"To my cousin, Henry Grattan, I will and direct that all bequests
towards his missionary work be at the discretion of my eldest son,
Arthur Edward Guinness."
Gone is the day, gone is the night
Gone is the day
It's gone, it's gone, it's gone It's gone, it's gone, it's gone
It's gone, it's gone…
Ben, are you all right?
I'm naked,
alone,
stolen from,
and shot through the heart.
What have you got to remedy that?
We've got the good stuff in the back.
Come on.
Also,
Bonnie Champion wants to see you.
It's all right.
Mr. Champion is tranquil with the state of your gambling account.
He just wants to have a conversation
about one of your brothers.
Come on, Ben, me boy.
Where are they?
Arthur is busy, but he's late back.
Benjamin, of course, I have no idea.
But where am I, in all this?
Well, it seems you are married.
And so…
Do you not see the miracle of it, Eddie?
Our father has managed to bequeath millions in money and land
and yet make all of us unhappy.
Well, at least in that, he was even-handed.
-Do you think he knew about me? -Knew what about you?
You know, that I am capable of things.
That I am not this lady ministering and swishing.
-And looking down from great heights. -Father would never have dreamed…
He has tied you to Arthur and has tied me to my husband
because I have no alternative.
You had no alternative anyway.
And your search… for an alternative
was, to say the least, reckless.
Unsuitable is the kindest word I can use for it.
You mean the man who caught me when I fell.
I fell, and he caught me and laid me down.
-I don't need details. -None of it was planned.
We should talk about the practicalities.
Nothing is practical.
I didn't know you had arrived, madam. Is there anything you need?
Privacy… above all else.
And discretion, thank you.
Lately,
since getting married, but not, I think, because of it,
I have been feeling out of control with myself.
My mind, I mean.
And also my body.
Have you noticed anything in the way that I move?
-The way I walk? -Have you seen Dr. Ray?
I wish to God I had a sister.
My mind is pretty full at the moment
with things that need practical consideration.
I have seen Dr. Ray,
and I told him that,
when we are out on the estate and my husband is shooting pheasants,
I have a strong desire to tear the heads off the pheasants with my teeth.
Shoots can be pretty… tedious.
To tear off my clothes.
Annie…
And also, I am short of breath by the fifth stair on the grand entrance,
and it used to be the 20th.
Dr. Ray took some blood. He's carrying out tests.
And I cannot leave Dublin because I am a cat.
A cat?
Yes.
Who longs to be on the rooftops.
What a day this is, Eddie.
When we all find out what's what.
So you said something about practicalities.
Judgment Day.
Well, if this is Judgment Day,
there's a few around here that are facing the gates of hell.
Yes.
Especially Bonnie Champion.
You said he wanted to see me?
Look, Bonnie.
I know I owe you money I can't repay, but
if this little bit of theater is meant to scare me…
…I'm not afraid.
If you're gonna kill me, give me a weapon, and let's make a fight of it.
What's got into the boy today?
He says it's Judgment Day.
Hmm…
Bring us out a bottle of whiskey.
Two glasses.
Last night,
before the storm,
I had some fine-looking Fenian woman come to me…
asking after secrets,
expensive secrets involving your brother Arthur.
So how was it?
I am… confined.
-What does that mean? -Fuck.
Arthur.
I would have nothing if I go.
I am obliged.
Utterly without alternative other than to have nothing.
Obliged? What… what are you talking about?
-I must stay and run the business. -In Dublin?
Well, where else?
-You said you'd sell to your brother. -My father knew that's what I'd do.
-So he prevented me. -How can he?
You know fucking nothing about how any of these things work.
-I am a lawyer. -I mean families.
My family.
Secrets.
Ways of discovering secrets.
Ice-cold houses in the middle of nowhere filled with locked fucking boxes.
Should we go somewhere for a drink?
And be seen?
I've been left places all across the South and in Dublin Bay.
You mean stay here?
Wouldn't be so bad.
A view of the bay.
A house.
Every morning, there's another report
of another outbreak of cholera in the South.
The most important thing is your precious health?
-What is more precious? -Love, Michael.
-The air in here is making me sick. -Michael, please wait.
Michael.
Arthur, you will never escape from your name.
Does he look drunk?
Drunks rarely look drunk.
Fuck.
You and Arthur must be generous with him.
Where the fuck is Arthur?
Well, perhaps he's boarded a ship for America.
I imagine if he emigrated, you would feel unburdened.
"Bear ye one another's burdens
and fulfil the will of Christ."
Galatians chapter 6, verse 2.
In my darkness, since the will was read,
I have resorted to the Bible, Annie.
But then, head bowed, a different kind of revelation came.
A practical solution.
And it involves you, Annie. I have a very important task for you.
What important task could a mere sister possibly do?
Now that we are running the company,
Arthur and I will both need suitable wives.
You have connections in all the branches of the family.
You know so many people, including on the banking side.
And you want me to decide who is suitable?
Aunt Agnes will help you.
And "suitable" for you
would be a level-headed cousin who would help run the business.
And for Arthur,
an impoverished but titled countess who will abhor trade
and keep him away from the business.
Edward, as well as the idea of me finding you both a wife being absurd,
there is the added complication to it regarding Arthur.
I wonder if you are aware of it.
The complication.
Which, of course, I am aware of.
Makes it all the more urgent that you find him a wife.
A wife who is also aware of the complication
and who understands that certain sacrifices must be made
in pursuit of reputation.
Am I making myself clear?
On this, your first day of power, and so soon, Edward,
I'm afraid you are making yourself very clear.
Benjamin.
Fuck.
We thought a few sober words of reflection first.
Dear, responsible,
sensible Eddie…
…I'm afraid it's too late for sober reflection.
I have been at the pub with some very disreputable people,
who told me… to tell you…
…now that the new regime is in place,
the House of Guinness
is about to come crashing down
around your ears.
Unless someone pays someone…
…a rather large sum of money.
What are you talking about, Benjamin?
Where is Arthur?
You see, boys…
I've seen your three names up there on the shithouse wall in black and white.
Just some old Prods with grievances. They wrote our names there.
So, I have found the weak links in our chain.
But, in all honesty,
you fucking bits of meat are not my real concern.
Any one of yous, tell me who it was
who directed you to leave the back gate of the cooperage unlocked.
We don't know. We have no idea.
Jesus!
No!
Please, no.
Give me a name.
Sweet Mary, Mother of God…
I don't know.
Use your mouth wisely
or lose the use of it.
I didn't open the gates, but I know the name of the man who did.
Give me the name.
We built the fire to send smoke signals to the Guinness family.
The fire in the brewery will send sparks across Ireland
that will ignite a rising.
The unionist Guinnesses will know something is brewing.
-They'll not know what's hit them. -Sláinte.
Let's drink to that.
Get everybody out!
How does it feel, Mr. Cochrane,
to be the one putting out the flames?
I spoke to my colleagues at the brewery and asked them for information,
which they gave gladly.
I then spoke to the men who you prevailed upon
to risk their lives for you.
And how are their lives?
Mm.
They live.
Not part of the family anymore.
And perhaps they'll have trouble chewing their food from now on.
But they can speak well enough to warn others not to do business with Fenians.
Now, I came here for a conversation, but not with you.
I understand you're not exactly the supreme intellect
in your organization.
I want you to give this to your sister, Ellen.
I believe she is the architect of your republican castles in the clouds.
If it's my sister you want, why didn't you hand the letter to her yourself?
Oh, I had an associate go see your sister at the house where she dwells.
My associate will be giving her a very forthright message,
even as we speak.
What the fuck are you talking about?
I'll tell you what I'm talking about.
I fight fire with fire.
Now, you run along with that letter to your sister at 54 Donegal Street.
The letter will explain to her why her house has,
as of… one minute ago,
just been set on fire.
And I hope to God my boys checked if she wasn't upstairs
before they put that bottle through her letter box.
She lives in a boarding house!
There's a family down the stairs!
Well, then you'd better run along and make sure they're all alright,
hadn't you, Mr. Cochrane?
Look out, please!
Move!
Watch where you're going!
Eejit!
Ah, Jesus!
Bastards.
Ellen, it's your brother.
Tell him to go away.
Go away, you bonehead.
Oh God… Ellen.
Ellen.
What is it?
I have a message for you.
-From who? -Mr. Rafferty, the Almighty.
What does it say?
It's not addressed to you. Go away.
Ellen. Ellen!
He threatened to burn this house down. Tell me what it says.
You struck the first fucking match.
Now the fires will spread.
I'll read it to you.
"Dear Miss Cochrane,
I understand you've been making inquiries
regarding certain personal matters about members of a particular family."
-Writes like he's hopping over hot coals. -Go on.
"I would like to remind you
that family business is the business of no one else."
"To pry is to spy."
"To spy is a low form of combat."
"I would ask that you desist in your inquiries,
and I'll remind you of the words of the great Benjamin Franklin."
What words?
"In order for three people to keep a secret,
two of them must be dead."
"Yours in deadly earnest,
SL Rafferty, Esquire."
Did Benjamin Franklin really say that?
How the fuck would I know?
Nah. No, you're burning evidence!
We go to the police, do we, bonehead?
Tell the Dublin police to investigate
and apply the law evenly to the Guinness family?
It's gonna be okay. I'm writing a letter of me own.
A letter?
To who?
You leave this to me, right?
Don't go striking any more matches.
I'm sorry, Ellen,
that I lit the fire. I…
I just… have hot blood.
Come here, you bonehead.
This new era… these new Guinnesses,
it's opportunity and terrible danger in equal measure.
And if we don't cool our blood, they will spill it.
Go on.
They're here. Get out.
Fuck!
-Eejit! -I'm sorry, sir.
-Just leave it. Move. -Yes, sir.
Smart old bugger.
Let's see how quickly they fuck it all up.
Sirs.
The map you requested.
The gentleman at Fred Sutton and Company who drew it up
left word that he's happy to talk to you and arrange access
to any of the marked properties
whenever you see fit.
This rug has moved.
This has just been spilled. It's still wet.
The idiot boy, the clerk.
The clerk spilt the ink and then put the rug over it?
The clerk spilt the ink.
But you put the rug over it.
Thus ruining the underside of the rug as well.
-It's just a rug. -No, it's not a rug.
Arthur, it's… it's a principle.
I notice things, details, and I value honesty.
I will get it cleaned up, sir.
And you will learn.
Things are changing here.
You don't want to cover things up, Mr. Guinness, no?
When we are finished, clean the rug, then I'll give you ten minutes of my time
to explain some new ideas to you.
Mistakes will no longer be covered over.
Yes, sir.
Dear God, Edward, power electrifies you.
We must begin work on all of these places we didn't know we had.
-I'd suggest-- -Weekend at each, perhaps?
-Weekend? -Invite friends.
What friends? Arthur, do you see me with any friends?
Actually, no.
For five years, I've been running the brewery.
The brewing process, Arthur, cannot be allowed to stop.
It is like breathing in and breathing out.
If you stop, you die.
No weekends, Arthur.
-So we never visit any of our properties? -Our families will mostly be in residence.
What families?
The ones we will start very soon, as is the custom for men in our position.
It's… it's like there's… a narcotic in you, suddenly.
Our wives, perhaps children, all their staff,
horses, dogs… you know, all the things that… that families have.
Now, I suggest we ask Anne to visit the properties
and to make an inventory of what we have.
She really seems eager to do something.
Why do you talk about wives and families in that way?
So it's agreed.
We ask Anne to visit the properties, starting with the castle in Galway.
And with that settled, you and I together, we two gods,
we study…
an altogether more important map.
Come, brother, and look at the future.
I have decided upon a strategy.
Without consulting me?
Yes, many things need to be settled and dealt with, which reminds me,
we have a meeting… in one hour, at the brewery with Mr. Rafferty.
Mr. Rafferty? What about?
He has received anonymous letters containing… accusations.
-What accusations? -Local and domestic.
Things that can be dealt with.
Now, let me tell you how I intend to conquer America.
Phase one, New York.
-Agnes. -Oh, Anne.
Oh, Anne.
Look at you.
It was so daring of your father
to give the business to the two sons equally
and to hold them to their responsibilities.
So compassionate of him to leave Benjamin with nothing.
And you…
with your marriage to keep you warm.
You said you wanted to see me.
Your brother Edward asked me to give you this.
Those are potential wives for Edward that I have identified.
He favors a cousin or a second cousin because he wants a woman he can trust
and who already knows how mad we all are.
So then perhaps Edward himself should go out
and find a woman he can trust who knows how mad we all are.
Edward is going to be far, far too busy
doing the work of two men to do that, so, I rather thought
you and I could do it for him.
It'll be fun.
I already spoke to Edward
and told him no.
No?
Goodness.
Anne, perhaps you're not aware of the change that took place
when the will was read out.
Arthur and Edward now own the brewery.
They are also now joint heads of the family.
Meaning I do as they tell me to do.
They will need help.
Men are easily fooled.
Rich men attract clever women.
Clever is a good thing.
Remember, whoever Edward marries will become one of us.
We will have to live with the choice.
I have plans.
Mm.
What absurd times we live in.
Women with plans.
And also,
I know how it feels
to accept and endure… a marriage that was arranged for you
by people who thought it was for the good of both parties.
Oh, Anne.
You are a wave crashing against a rock,
but the rock is made of gold bands and diamond engagement rings.
I was also a wave crashing against my fate once,
and eventually the roaring storm settled down into a glass
and became a glass of gin.
Untroubled.
Cooled by ice.
Forgetful.
Let's we two pick out someone
who will tolerate your brother's infuriating certainty.
We can drink lots of gin
and say rude things about our country cousins.
And what about Arthur?
You are planning to find a wife for him too.
Of course.
But this will be more difficult.
More… strategic.
More dangerous.
A list of women who are pretty, privileged, and penniless.
We need someone who comes to Arthur for the money
rather than the companionship.
Sees it as a job.
What do you say, Anne?
Let's do this together.
Let's raise a toast to the matchmakers.
Good.
Arthur, this way.
-Why are we not meeting him in his office? -I am planning a formal introduction.
I will introduce you to all of the staff on Monday morning.
Don't worry, there'll be tea and cakes.
But tonight's business
will be conducted away from prying eyes.
-Good to see you, sir. -Good evening to you.
Leave us.
I haven't seen you for a while, Mr. Guinness, sir.
You don't look any older.
I live a clean life and drink lots of the black stuff,
which keeps me young.
My brother tells me there have been some anonymous accusations.
The death of your father and establishment of the new order at the Guinness Brewery
has served to… poke a stick in a hornet's nest.
There was a fire at the cooperage, Arthur.
A way of testing the resolve of the new order.
What hornets?
Two, in particular.
The first has come from the Fenians, sent anonymously today.
A suggestion that they have proof
or witnesses who will testify
that you have been having carnal relations with other men.
Fuck!
What proof could they possibly have?
Huh? And who would testify against us?
The other approach has come from a gentleman called Bonnie Champion,
regarding things that happened before you went away to London,
and since, on two occasions after you returned.
As you know,
Bonnie Champion runs certain houses and…
Yes. I know.
I used to go there a long time ago, before I…
Before what, Arthur?
Before
I…
met someone…
in London
who brought me peace.
Except, of course, today,
that peace was shattered…
beside a water lily.
Today, brother, we must speak plainly
and get these matters resolved.
A month and a half ago,
the Dublin assizes sentenced a man convicted of these crimes
to 20 years' hard labor in the Maryborough Gaol.
No consideration for family or fortune. No exceptions.
And the Fenians would use you as proof
of a degenerate English Protestant ruling class.
-No one has any right to tell me what-- -Arthur, we need to be practical.
And live in the world that exists, not the one we wish existed.
If this were to be revealed…
…the Guinness Brewery would be finished.
-Okay, so this is about money. -No, this is about family, Arthur.
All the things the family has achieved.
The Fenian woman who sent the letter started all of this.
If it wasn't for her, then Bonnie Champion would never have had the opportunity.
Then what do they want?
Bonnie Champion wants £5,000 in return for his silence.
And what about the noble, righteous Fenians?
If you'd finished reading the letter,
you would have seen they want a guarantee
that when you take father's seat at Parliament…
If, Edward. If I take his seat.
…that you would begin to see the future of Ireland from a more
balanced point of view.
Fuck you!
And fuck them!
-No, to fucking hell with them! -We need cool heads.
Oh, let them come.
Let them try.
Let them see what I am.
I will get you the £5,000 in cash to give to Bonnie Champion.
And as for the Fenians, I will… work on him.
The election isn't for six months, so there is time.
This woman,
who is she anyway?
Ellen Cochrane.
She is a cut above the others, I think.
Perhaps it would be more efficient if I should deal with her directly myself.
Make the arrangement, Mr. Rafferty.
A rendezvous with the Fenian woman somewhere that'll impress her.
Yes, Mr. Guinness.
Oh, and by the way,
if you ever…
ever lay one hand on my poor sister again,
I will use every bit of my power and influence in this city
to have you thrown in jail
on some charge I will concoct
that'll see you serve out the rest of your life
on the treadmill.
Do I make myself clear?
Very clear, Mr. Guinness.
Once there was a rich man His name it was Diviizium
Glory hallelujah hi rogerum
He held high dinners For the swanks of Jerusalem
Glory hallelujah hi rogerum
And there was a poor man The work he wasn't ableium
Glory hallelujah hi rogerum
He begged for the crumbs From the rich man’s a tableium
Glory hallelujah hi rogerum
Hi rogerum
Skida marink a doodle um Skida marink a doodle um
Glory hallelujah hi rogerum
Well, now me song is ending The truth I have to tellium
Glory hallelujah hi rogerum
And if you don’t believe me You can all go to Hellium
Glory hallelujah hi rogerum
The moral of the story is The rich are fucking cuntiums
Glory hallelujah hi rogerum
But we're on our way to heaven 'Cause we're all stony brokium
Glory hallelujah hi rogerum
Hi rogerum, hi rogerum
Glory hallelujah hi rogerum