Joseph Rudyard Kipling ( /ˈrʌdjəd ˈkɪplɪŋ/ RUD-yəd KIP-ling; 30 December 1865 – 18 January 1936) was an English poet, short-story writer, and novelist chiefly remembered for his tales and poems of British soldiers in India, and his tales for children. Kipling received the 1907 Nobel Prize for Literature. He was born in Bombay, in the Bombay Presidency of British India, and was taken by his family to England when he was five years old. Kipling is best known for his works of fiction, including The Jungle Book (a collection of stories which includes "Rikki-Tikki-Tavi"), Just So Stories (1902) (1894), Kim (1901) (a tale of adventure), many short stories, including "The Man Who Would Be King" (1888); and his poems, including Mandalay (1890), Gunga Din (1890), The White Man's Burden (1899) and If— (1910). He is regarded as a major "innovator in the art of the short story"; his children's books are enduring classics of children's literature; and his best works are said to exhibit "a versatile and luminous narrative gift".
Plot
English gentleman author Rudyard Kipling, famous for the Jungle Book, uses his considerable influence, being on a War Office propaganda think tank, to get his nearly 18 year-old son John 'Jack', admitted for military service during World war I after he is repeatedly refused on account of his bad eyesight. He is enrolled in the Irish Guards: their patriotic dream but mother and sister's nightmare. After a short officer training course Jack gets command of a platoon and embarks in France. Soon, and just after his 18th birthday, his unit suffers terrible losses and Jack is reported missing. Now mother Caroline 'Carry' Kipling proves unstoppable pushing Rudyard's influence and half of England to help find out the truth. When it finally comes, there is far less glory than gore and guilt.
Keywords: 1910s, anti-aircraft-gun, anti-war, apple-tree, army, bare-chested-male, based-on-play, battle, battlefield, bayonet
A young man fights for his country.
McHugh: [the last of Jack's soldiers are about to go over the trench and take the enemy base] I am not fucking going anywhere!::John Kipling: You are, we all are!::McHugh: You're a murderer! You're a fucking murderer!::John Kipling: I'm not a murderer McHugh, I'm obeying orders.
Rudyard Kipling: [after being informed of Jack's death] By all accounts he was very brave, so few of us have the opportunity to play our part properly. But he did. He achieved what he set out to achieve.::Caroline Kipling: He must have been in such awful pain.::Rudyard Kipling: If you talked to wounded soldiers they would tell you the pain only sets in later. So, he was lucky. I was done with quickly.::Caroline Kipling: Don't tell me he was lucky! He wasn't lucky, or... or Brave, or happy! Jack was eighteen years and 1 day old! He died in the rain, he couldn't see a thing, he was alone! You can't persuade me that there's any glory in that!
Caroline Kipling: [crying] I miss him.::Rudyard Kipling: [bursts into tears] So do I.::Caroline Kipling: I can feel his head on my chest. I can feel his thick hair under my fingers. I can hear him laugh. I can feel his heat against me.
[last lines]::Rudyard Kipling: Have you news of my boy Jack?/ Not this tide./ When d'you think that he'll come back?/ Not with this wind blowing, and this tide./ Has any one else had word of him?/ Not this tide./ For what is sunk will hardly swim, Not with this wind blowing, and this tide./ Oh, dear, what comfort can I find?/ None this tide,/ Nor any tide,/ Except he did not shame his kind-/ Not even with that wind blowing, and that tide./ Then hold your head up all the more,/ This tide,/ And every tide;/ Because he was the son you bore,/ And gave to that wind blowing and that tide!
Rudyard Kipling: [on why the British Empire must fight] You see, we have built up a family - a family of nations - and it must be protected. That is why Jack must fight! To protect the family!::Elsie Kipling: [Totally not buying it] You're protecting the wrong family, father.
Plot
A few years from now, Earth will have the first contact with an alien civilisation. These aliens, known as Newcomers, slowly begin to be integrated into human society after years of quarantine but are victims of a new type of discrimination. When the first Newcomer police officer, Sam Francisco is assigned his new partner, he is given Matthew Sykes , a mildly racist veteran, the animosity between them soon gives way to respect as they investigate the Newcomer underworld, and especially Newcomer leader William Harcourt.
Keywords: 1990s, alien, alien-driving-car, american-flag, armor-piercing-ammunition, backlit-in-sheer-dress, bad-breath, bell-205-helicopter, bomb, bullet-proof-vest
Prepare Yourself.
Los Angeles, 1991. They have come to Earth to live among us. They've learned the language, taken jobs, and tried to fit in. But there's something about them we don't know.
[Commenting on a "human" condom]::Det. Samuel 'George' Francisco: And that fits?::Det. Sgt. Matthew Sykes: Well... Yeah, it's rubber. It stretches.::Det. Samuel 'George' Francisco: And still it fits?
Cassandra: Tell me the truth. Have you ever... made it with one of us?::Det. Sgt. Matthew Sykes: No... unless I got drunk and somebody didn't tell me.::Cassandra: Mmm. A virgin! I find that very arousing. You sure you haven't?::Det. Sgt. Matthew Sykes: Um... there's lots of things I haven't done; that's not real high on my list. No... you know... don't take it personally. I'm a bigot.
[after Sykes makes fun of George's name]::Det. Samuel 'George' Francisco: It is like your name... Sykes. I'm sure it doesn't bother you at all that it sounds like "ss'ai k'ss," two words in my language which mean "excrement" and "cranium." [pause] Shithead.
[Translating for Newcomer 'Porter' to Sykes]::Det. Samuel 'George' Francisco: Your mother mates out of season.
Det. Samuel 'George' Francisco: You humans are very curious to us. You invite us to live among you in an atmosphere of equality that we've never known before. You give us ownership of our own lives for the first time and you ask no more of us than you do of yourselves. I hope you understand how special your world is, how unique a people you humans are. Which is why it is all the more painful and confusing to us that so few of you seem capable of living up to the ideals you set for yourselves.
Det. Sgt. Matthew Sykes: What is it?::Det. Samuel 'George' Francisco: Nothing.::Det. Sgt. Matthew Sykes: Come on, it's not nothing! When you talked to that coroner with that request it looked like you were about to shit peach pits... and it's not nothing now! Don't lie to me, George, you're real bad at it. That slag in there didn't die from just bullet wounds, am I right? Am I right? Tell me! You tell me and you tell me now. NOW!::Det. Samuel 'George' Francisco: The drug is called ja-bru-kha. It is a potent narcotic!::Det. Sgt. Matthew Sykes: How potent?::Det. Samuel 'George' Francisco: More potent than any human drug you can imagine. The controllers regulated it, we would receive small amounts for our work in the mines.::Det. Sgt. Matthew Sykes: You? You were on this shit?::Det. Samuel 'George' Francisco: Yes! We all were! We were engineered as slave laborers. It was our only means of pleasure allowed! The harder you worked the more you got, the more you got the harder you worked. Thousands of my people died, I lost my best friend. It is a nightmare! I will not let it happen again.::Det. Sgt. Matthew Sykes: Ok. You know, it was simple... I mean, all you had to do is tell me. I mean, why couldn't you let me know?::Det. Samuel 'George' Francisco: Your people don't know about this part of our past and they cannot know it, it would threaten our entire existence here.
[Matt and George are showing each other pictures of their respective children]::Det. Samuel 'George' Francisco: This is my son, Richard. He's four years old. We named him after your former president, Richard Nixon.::Det. Sgt. Matthew Sykes: [beat] George, from now on, tell people that you named him after the director Richard Burton. Just trust me on this.
Det. Samuel 'George' Francisco: If the drug is here, we must destroy it!
Det. Sgt. Matthew Sykes: [looking at a pistol target] That is pitiful! That is goddamn pitiful! How long you been shootin'? What are you going to do if you catch a perp running out of a liquor store, wave your written exam scores at him?
Det. Sgt. Matthew Sykes: Tell me the joke.::Det. Samuel 'George' Francisco: Stop me if you have heard it before. Why did the chicken cross the road?::Det. Sgt. Matthew Sykes: [coughs uncontrollably] I've heard it.::Det. Samuel 'George' Francisco: It's a good joke.
Plot
This adaptation of the famous short story by Rudyard Kipling tells the story of Daniel Dravot and Peachy Carnahan, two ex-soldiers in India when it was under British rule. They decide that the country is too small for them, so they head off to Kafiristan in order to become Kings in their own right. Kipling is seen as a character that was there at the beginning, and at the end of this glorious tale.
Keywords: 1800s, 19th-century, abstinence, abyss, action-hero, adventure-hero, adventurer, afghanistan, ambition, ambitious-man
Adventure in all its glory!
Long live adventure... and adventurers!
Rudyard Kipling's epic of splendor, spectacle and high adventure at the top of a legendary world.
Peachy Carnehan: What's he saying, Billy?::Billy Fish: Danny's bleeding. They know! He says not god, not devil, but man!::Peachy Carnehan: [approaches Danny] They've twigged it, Danny. You've had it! The jig's up!::Daniel Dravot: [grabs arrow and raises hand in proclamation] I, Sikander -::Peachy Carnehan: [cuts off Danny] For God's sake!::Peachy Carnehan: [grabs Danny and leads him down the temple stairs] We've got to brass it out, Danny. Danny, brass it out!::Peachy Carnehan: [Danny, Peachy and Billy Fish try to escape the mob with heads held high] Bags of swank!::Daniel Dravot: [Danny, Peachy and Billy Fish on the run] We'll get your riflemen, Peachy, and we'll come back and slaughter the dogs! A drenching in their own blood we'll give them! Riflemen, prepare to advance!::Peachy Carnehan: [grabs rifles] Too many for that, Danny. Retire in sections!::Daniel Dravot: Retire? Retire be damned!::Peachy Carnehan: We've gotta make a run for it!
Daniel Dravot: You have our permission to bugger off!
Billy Fish: I oft times tell Ootah about Englishmens. How they give names to dogs and take off hats to womans, and march into battle, left - right, left -right with rifles on their shoulders.
Daniel Dravot: Peachy, I'm heartily ashamed for gettin' you killed instead of going home rich like you deserved to, on account of me bein' so bleedin' high and bloody mighty. Can you forgive me?::Peachy Carnehan: That I can and that I do, Danny, free and full and without let or hindrance.::Daniel Dravot: Everything's all right then.
Daniel Dravot: Let him put *that* in his paper. If he is in need of news.
Peachy Carnehan: Keep looking at me. It helps to keep my soul from flying off.
Peachy Carnehan: Pardon me while I fall down laughing. HA, HA, HA.
Peachy Carnehan: Detriments you call us? Detriments? Well I want to remind you that it was detriments like us that built this bloody Empire AND the Izzat of the bloody Raj. Hats on.
Peachy Carnehan: Home to what? A porters uniform outside a restaurant and six penny tips from belching civilians for closing cab doors on their blowzy women?::Daniel Dravot: Not for us thank you. Not after watching afghans come howling down out of the hills and taking battlefield command when all the officers copped it.::Peachy Carnehan: Well said, brother Dravot.
Daniel Dravot: The more tribes, the more they'll fight, and the better for us.
The Life Story of the Creator of Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn - His keen pen wove a fabric of wit into the lives of Americans !
Mark Twain: Ladies and gentlemen, William Shakespeare, the greatest author in the English language is dead.....and I feel far from well myself.
Mark Twain: Well I found out what a mine is anyway. It's a hole in the ground with a darn fool at the end of it.
We're marchin' on relief over Injia's sunny plains,
A little front o' Christmas-time an' just be'ind the Rains;
Ho! get away you bullock-man, you've 'eard the bugle blowed,
There's a regiment a-comin' down the Grand Trunk Road;
With its best foot first
And the road a-sliding past,
An' every bloomin' campin'-ground exactly like the last;
While the Big Drum says,
With 'is "rowdy-dowdy-dow!"—
"Kiko kissywarsti don't you hamsher argy jow?"
Oh, there's them Injian temples to admire when you see,
There's the peacock round the corner an' the monkey up the tree,
An' there's that rummy silver grass a-wavin' in the wind,
An' the old Grand Trunk a-trailin' like a rifle-sling be'ind.
While it's best foot first, . . .
Oh, then it's open order, an' we lights our pipes an' sings,
An' we talks about our rations an' a lot of other things,
An' we thinks o' friends in England, an' we wonders what they're at,
An' 'ow they would admire for to hear us sling the bat.
So 'ark an' 'eed, you rookies, which is always grumblin' sore,
There's worser things than marchin' from Umballa to Cawnpore;
An' if your 'eels are blistered an' they feels to 'urt like 'ell,
You drop some tallow in your socks an' that will make 'em well.
For it's best foot first, . . .
We're marchin' on relief over Injia's coral strand,
Eight 'undred fightin' Englishmen, the Colonel, and the Band;
Ho! get away you bullock-man, you've 'eard the bugle blowed,
There's a regiment a-comin' down the Grand Trunk Road;
With its best foot first
And the road a-sliding past,
An' every bloomin' campin'-ground exactly like the last;
While the Big Drum says,
With 'is "rowdy-dowdy-dow!" --
“WHAT are the bugles blowin’ for?” said Files-on-Parade.
“To turn you out, to turn you out”, the Colour-Sergeant said.
“What makes you look so white, so white?” said Files-on-Parade.
“I’m dreadin’ what I’ve got to watch”, the Colour-Sergeant said.
For they’re hangin’ Danny Deever, you can hear the Dead March play,
The regiment’s in ’ollow square—they’re hangin’ him to-day;
They’ve taken of his buttons off an’ cut his stripes away,
An’ they’re hangin’ Danny Deever in the mornin’.
“What makes the rear-rank breathe so ’ard?” said Files-on-Parade.
“It’s bitter cold, it’s bitter cold”, the Colour-Sergeant said.
“What makes that front-rank man fall down?” said Files-on-Parade.
“A touch o’ sun, a touch o’ sun”, the Colour-Sergeant said.
They are hangin’ Danny Deever, they are marchin’ of ’im round,
They ’ave ’alted Danny Deever by ’is coffin on the ground;
An’ ’e’ll swing in ’arf a minute for a sneakin’ shootin’ hound—
O they’re hangin’ Danny Deever in the mornin’!
“’Is cot was right-’and cot to mine”, said Files-on-Parade.
“’E’s sleepin’ out an’ far to-night”, the Colour-Sergeant said.
“I’ve drunk ‘is beer a score o’ times”, said Files-on-Parade.
“’E’s drinkin’ bitter beer alone”, the Colour-Sergeant said.
They are hangin’ Danny Deever, you must mark ’im to ’is place,
For ’e shot a comrade sleepin’—you must look ’im in the face;
Nine ’undred of ’is county an’ the regiment’s disgrace,
While they’re hangin’ Danny Deever in the mornin’.
“What’s that so black agin’ the sun?” said Files-on-Parade.
“It’s Danny fightin’ ’ard for life”, the Colour-Sergeant said.
“What’s that that whimpers over’ead?” said Files-on-Parade.
“It’s Danny’s soul that’s passin’ now”, the Colour-Sergeant said.
For they’re done with Danny Deever, you can ’ear the quickstep play,
The regiment’s in column, an’ they’re marchin’ us away;
Ho! the young recruits are shakin’, an’ they’ll want their beer to-day,