The Short Film Of J. Alfred Prufrock
Intro Music
Typing on Screen:
"If I believed my answer was to a person who’d ever get back to the world, this flame would keep still without moving any further. But since from those undergrounds no one has ever come back alive, if I hear what’s true, I answer you without fear of infamy."
Prufrock and woman walking to party
Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky,
Like a patient etherized upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question …
Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”
Let us go and make our visit.
Women discussing art in dining room
In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.
Woman getting ready in mirror
[Indeed] There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
Prufrock writing
There will be time to murder and create,
Prufrock and woman walking to party (4x)
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.
Contemplative music playing
Prufrock and woman climbing staircase
And indeed there will be time
To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?”
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair—
(They will say: “How his [body] is [not] thin!”)
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin—
(They will say: “But how his arms and legs are [not] thin!”)
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.
Dinner table at party
For I have known them all already, known them all:—
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?
Party guests corner and inspect Prufrock
And I have known the eyes already, known them all—
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?
Female guest sitting next to Prufrock changes (5x)
And I have known the arms already, known them all—
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare,
But in the lamplight, [downed with light brown hair!]
Is it perfume from a dress
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
And should I then presume?
And how should I begin?
Prufrock stands, guests look at him
Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows?…
Prufrock does not speak, guests go back to talking
I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.
Apartment: Prufrock sitting with woman
And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep … tired … or it malingers,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me,
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
Church: Prufrock praying
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Table: waiter brings in dish
Though I have seen my head - grown slightly [large] - brought in upon a platter, I am no prophet—and here’s no great matter;
Cemetery: Death tuants Prufrock
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.
Apartment: Prufrock sitting with woman
And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question,
To say: “I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all”—
If one, settling a pillow by her head,
Should say: “That is not what I meant at all,
That is not it, at all.”
And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor—
And this, and so much more?—
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
“That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all.”
No, no... NO!
Prufrock walking angrily: claps
I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Prufrock walking into the ocean
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.
[But alas] I do not think that they will sing to me.
["I will sing to you. There is hope. There is hope."]
[Nay.] I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.
["Come back and I shall sing to you."]
[Nay.] We have lingered in the chambers of the sea [too long]
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.
END: music, credits
Additional Director Commentary
Typing on Screen:
"If I believed my answer was to a person who’d ever get back to the world, this flame would keep still without moving any further. But since from those undergrounds no one has ever come back alive, if I hear what’s true, I answer you without fear of infamy."
Prufrock and woman walking to party
Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky,
Like a patient etherized upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question …
Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”
Let us go and make our visit.
Women discussing art in dining room
In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.
Woman getting ready in mirror
[Indeed] There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
Prufrock writing
There will be time to murder and create,
Prufrock and woman walking to party (4x)
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.
Contemplative music playing
Prufrock and woman climbing staircase
And indeed there will be time
To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?”
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair—
(They will say: “How his [body] is [not] thin!”)
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin—
(They will say: “But how his arms and legs are [not] thin!”)
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.
Dinner table at party
For I have known them all already, known them all:—
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?
Party guests corner and inspect Prufrock
And I have known the eyes already, known them all—
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?
Female guest sitting next to Prufrock changes (5x)
And I have known the arms already, known them all—
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare,
But in the lamplight, [downed with light brown hair!]
Is it perfume from a dress
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
And should I then presume?
And how should I begin?
Prufrock stands, guests look at him
Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows?…
Prufrock does not speak, guests go back to talking
I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.
Apartment: Prufrock sitting with woman
And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep … tired … or it malingers,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me,
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
Church: Prufrock praying
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Table: waiter brings in dish
Though I have seen my head - grown slightly [large] - brought in upon a platter, I am no prophet—and here’s no great matter;
Cemetery: Death tuants Prufrock
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.
Apartment: Prufrock sitting with woman
And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question,
To say: “I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all”—
If one, settling a pillow by her head,
Should say: “That is not what I meant at all,
That is not it, at all.”
And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor—
And this, and so much more?—
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
“That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all.”
No, no... NO!
Prufrock walking angrily: claps
I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Prufrock walking into the ocean
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.
[But alas] I do not think that they will sing to me.
["I will sing to you. There is hope. There is hope."]
[Nay.] I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.
["Come back and I shall sing to you."]
[Nay.] We have lingered in the chambers of the sea [too long]
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.
END: music, credits
Additional Director Commentary