How many Merry Christmases are meant, and how many are lies?
There's no need for Tim to keep writing letters of thanks every Christmas.
To pretend, on one day of the year,
that the human beast is not a human beast.
-Merry Christmas, sir! -Go away.
-Humbug. -You're worse than old Scrooge.
I sense you are angry with me.
As if you're suddenly careless of your situation.
I know the narrowness of my situation.
Marley?
My name's Marley. I'm dead.
-Who are you? -I am the Ghost of Christmas past.
Together, you and Ebenezer Scrooge profaned the spirit of humanity.
You did this!
And only together can you repent.
"Humbug!" I will say. "Repent what?" I will say.
The first of three spirits will come tonight when the clock strikes midnight.
Prepare ye.
A CHRISTMAS CAROL
-Well? -Well, I did as you asked.
I called on Ebenezer and I told him he'd be visited by three spirits.
I urged him-- no, I pleaded with him-- to hear what the spirits had to say.
And he replied but one word. I'll spell it for you.
H-U-M-B-U-G.
And he settled into his chair, and then... Oh, f...
What's the point?
The only way anyone could ever soften Scrooge's heart
would be with a mincing knife and a cup of warm gravy
to make some kind of unpleasant pudding.
Let's face it, I'm stuck here forever.
And what do you care, anyway, eh?
To you, we're just numbers on a list in your celestial inventory.
Nevertheless,
having observed this... Ebenezer Scrooge,
I relish a challenge.
I'll show him his most treasured memories
and tortured nightmares.
And like the many thousand souls before him,
he will beg forgiveness.
Why are you awake, my love?
I'm excited.
It will soon be Christmas.
Mary.
Is there something you want to tell me?
Hey.
If the money you received was not sent by some mysterious cousin in America...
...who did send it?
Why?
Let Christmas be, Bob, please.
Just let Christmas be.
Listen.
It's almost here.
And when Christmas is done...
you'll tell me who.
Come, Spirit, change me. Try.
Is that you, Spirit?
Do ghosts have bells attached to them?
Erasmus?
Erasmus, is th... Is that you?
It is you.
The best Christmas present I ever had.
Still with the ribbon and bell my sister put around your neck.
So you are the spirit I was promised.
And the lesson I am meant to learn by your miraculous appearance
is that even a small rodent--
reviled, trapped, poisoned every other day of the year--
can, on Christmas day--
with the addition of a bit of silk and gold leaf--
become a precious gift for a small child, as you were for me.
Well, little spirit,
if you think my heart would melt on the warmth of your memory,
you have no idea what you are up against.
So...
the grand visitation is over.
Time for a celebration.
A rat wrapped in a ribbon is no match for reason.
No...
Please, not you.
You are dead. We buried you.
Alive. Alive, oh.
No, not alive. Please.
Not this.
Alive. Alive, oh.
Alive.
Ebenezer?
Aye, awake, are ye?
Ebenezer.
Ebenezer?!
Your little prayers on my behalf were no use.
They did me this afternoon.
Over tea and biscuits.
Did me up proper.
They took the lot, every fucking thing!
They covered my ass with tallow,
and set it alight, like a cat.
Spirit, if this is your doing, please make him go away.
What did ye say?
Please don't make it that he can see me.
Oh, I can see ye.
I can see ye.
I see ye, boy.
-What did ye say?! -Please... not this night.
What night?
The night you were declared bankrupt.
What, you're sorry for me, are ye?
He's fucking sorry.
Yeah, well, you know this, you know that everyone out there--
every man, every woman-- they're all beasts
who care only, only for themselves.
Because that is what a human is. It's an inward-looking thing only.
This whole world is cock fighting cock,
bear fighting dog,
hands in your pockets, fingers up your ass.
They're trying to take your very kidneys from ye.
-You learn that from this night. -I know that, Father. That I know.
There is no virtue.
Look upon me.
Everything took.
No mercy shown.
I only just made it across the Thames without giving myself up to it.
But I continued because I have you
and your useless fucking frozen-up mother to keep.
And your sister to keep, too, and a scrubber maid and a sweep.
And now, by the devilment of fucking Christmas,
the latest addition to my list of dependents,
a little white mouse.
Whose reason for existence under my roof is yet to be explained to me.
I can explain the mouse, Father. It was a Christmas gift from Lottie.
There are no gifts!
A gift is just a debt, unwritten but implied.
And this gift has a golden bell around his neck.
Now, you tell me, what good is gold to a mouse?
The bell wasn't real gold.
Lottie took it from a toy. It was gilt and worth only pennies.
Yet, still...
that mouse, with his bell,
is richer than I.
You could have taken that bell.
Just cut the ribbon. You could have...
You could have done it without causing any harm to him.
Harm to vermin?
Learn... this... lesson!
Feed only that which might someday feed you!
Where is this mouse and its bell?
Not this. Not this. Not a repeat of this.
Why not this, Ebenezer Scrooge,
when you've relived it a thousand times?
Learn this lesson!
To warn me against unprofitable affections.
A lesson you learned well.
And I am here to make you unlearn it.
You are the spirit Marley told me about,
the one who doesn't even care.
I am the canvas.
It is you who paints the pictures.
I don't care for riddles. I am done. Your point is made.
If it makes any difference, your visit opened an old wound barely ever healed.
Congratulations.
Now, if you don't mind, I should like to sleep.
You will not get down on your knees
and beg me for absolution?
No.
I am quite careless of myself.
I count myself to sleep each night the same.
One day, the count will end. So...
I have had men claw at my robes.
Women soak my sleeves with their tears.
Perhaps you should claim a new robe against tax as a legitimate expense.
Tonight, you will not sleep, Ebenezer Scrooge.
I will not allow it.
This is not a game of reason against fancy, Ebenezer.
I will put hot tweezers to your soul and remove the splinters.
I am going to take you on a long journey
measured not in yards and miles but in days and years.
Surely, I am forgiven.
I don't want to go anywhere.
You have no choice but to come with me, Ebenezer.
Come with a Ghost of Christmas Past
who feels your heart beating.
I have formulated a rational explanation for this.
The sherry I drank in front of the fire
from the decanter which has been half-full these six months.
The maid who I dismissed for idleness must have slipped laudanum into it.
I haven't touched a drop of the sherry since she left until now.
There. That is what all of this is.
Laudanum slipped into my wine by a vengeful maid.
You are an opiate.
-Come on. -William.
-Time to go. -Come on.
I know those boys.
-Time to go, children. -Jasper.
And-and Wellington.
And poor Horace, who... who died of consumption.
Poor Horace.
Walk on.
We are now in a time before poor Horace was struck down.
Your memory shapes me according to what time we're in.
Same spirit.
Different Christmas.
At this time in your life, I was your only friend.
Behold.
I swear, there was never a time in my life
when I had a friend who looked even remotely like you.
Look again.
My God.
-You are Ali Baba. -Yes!
How many nights you spend reading my stories under cover by candlelight,
over and over, to escape from the pain of these years?
-The shame. -You are an illustration.
Correct.
That is to say, in truth, you, too, are also opium.
Have you ever ridden a camel before?
No. No, I've never ridden a camel before.
Nor have I ever had a conversation with a picture from a picture book.
Well, today you are doing both. Come.
Come where?
-I know this place. -Indeed you do.
The Black Bridge Boarding School.
-I do not wish to come. -Why?
I vowed I would never set foot inside Black Bridge School ever again.
And yet you step back inside it every night. In your dreams.
Your nightmares.
-You know so much. -Everything.
Spirits can know everything except the outcome.
Come with me.
Morphine.
Actually, his name is Valentine, but you know that.
As an 11-year-old child, you escaped from hell on his back many, many times.
What good will it do for me to go back?
If you come back with me now,
you may never have to go back into your nightmare ever again.
And if the camel and I are merely poppy fumes,
what harm can it do?
Come.
The day is drawing to a close.
You are in the dormitory reading your book,
lost in The Arabian Nights.
You are 11 years old. You are alone. Come and see.
Why do we not leave footprints?
We are not here.
What you see happened a long time ago. On a particular day.
-What particular day? -Come, you will see.
-Who will be there on this day? -You and one other.
Be brave, Ebenezer.
You have Ali Baba and Valentine at your side.
The other children have gone home for Christmas, yes?
Yes. You saw them leave.
I was the only child who had to board here over the Christmas holidays,
-because my father said... -What did he say?
One year, he said there was pestilence in our street.
Another, the house was flooded.
Another, there was no room in the new house.
Always, I had to stay here.
I know that man.
Ebenezer, you cannot hurt him.
-He's in the past. -But I see him.
Always you see him.
Ever since those days, you see him when you close your eyes.
The great Ali Baba seeks to enter your past.
Enter the den of the 40 thieves.
Can you remember the magical password from the book?
Of course I remember the magic password. "Open sesame."
I warned you, Ebenezer Scrooge, this is not a game.
Come.
Into the truth.
Open sesame.
Ebenezer, look upon yourself.
What would you say to him if you could?
Spirit, I should like to go home now.
That is exactly what he would say to me. "I should like to go home now."
That was all I wanted then, to be with my mother and sister.
Watch.
Ebenezer.
It is I.
Good Lord. He can see you.
Just for a moment.
Sometimes children-- they can see spirits.
Children that need to see.
I remember this. I remember this very moment.
In the stories,
Ali Baba always could do anything.
I was praying to him to save me and come and take me from this place.
And I swear, just for one moment, I looked up and I saw him,
just where you're standing.
I thought he could save anyone.
So...
it's just you and I here for Christmas again, Scrooge.
Well, don't worry.
Course I won't expect you to sleep in here on your own.
You'll be with me.
Just like last year.
Come on, get your things. Come on.
-Enough. I should like to go home now. -Not yet. Wait.
Come on, boy. Chop chop.
Because this is the happy year.
-Goodness. -Yes, I know.
Who is it?
It's my sister, Lottie.
What the hell does she want?
I show you this not to torture you but to enlighten you. Look.
-Lottie! -She cannot hear you, Ebenezer.
You are here only to watch and learn.
Ebby tells me you are his sister. What do you want?
-I've come to take my brother home. -What are you talking about?
Ebenezer spends Christmas with me.
Not anymore. Things have changed.
Your father and I have a long-standing arrangement to keep Ebenezer here.
Ebby, go and wait outside. There's a carriage.
-No. -Ebby, our father has left us.
At last.
Mother said you are to go home.
Go on. Run ahead.
Now for the part you do not know.
No. Scrooge, stop. I order you to come back.
Stop!
Your help is not needed. Watch.
Our father made my brother stay here at Christmas
in return for you waiving school fees.
But I and my mother have finally managed to be rid of him.
And your little... arrangement regarding my brother is over.
My brother will never return to this school ever again.
And if you try to follow...
I will shoot you.
And, in my defense, have my brother tell the parish everything.
Lottie, like a highwayman. She pulled a fucking gun. It's...
-She rescued me. -A Christmas miracle.
An act of love without the need for thanks.
A gift which was not given as a debt implied.
Come. Mother's bought a goose for us to pluck.
But you never saw her bravery.
Never felt the warmth of her selfless compassion.
Go on, then. Get up.--
She always told me I had to leave school because we couldn't afford the fees.
You never told a living soul about what happened at this school.
But your sister knew.
She could not bear the thought of you spending another Christmas in hell.
Forget ribbons and bells.
That is the spirit of Christmas.
But you were numb to her, lost to all affection.
You went home and had no more need
for Ali Baba and Valentine.
I never went home.
The boy who left never returned.
I counted myself the most hard-done-by creature on Earth.
Just yesterday...
Lottie's son came to invite me to dinner.
And even he told me
Lottie had always warned him
to be patient with me because of a... a very old pain.
But Spirit, consider this.
This is proof.
Proof? Of what?
What happened to me here at this school-- this excuses me.
This explains me.
And because it's all in the past, nothing can be done to remedy it.
So, we require more than a mincing knife
and warm gravy to soften your heart.
You only see what your father did to you,
not what your sister did for you.
Let us go deeper.
Behold. Scrooge and Marley anthracite coal mine in the country of Wales.
One of your later commercial ventures,
after you and Mr. Marley met at the corn exchange.
Both buying up bankrupt businesses from men like your father.
And this was one of your most profitable ventures.
Poor thing.
"He is pure air and fire."
Evidently, when William Shakespeare wrote that about a horse,
he'd never seen one put down a coal pit.
Not much is pure down here.
I remember when we bought the mine, I tried not to think about the horses.
You made this place profitable cutting on the excessive use of oak timbers.
Before you and Marley bought the mine, they had used timber quite extravagantly
to support the roof.
Collapse!
Get up, lad! Quick!
No harm can come to us because we're not here.
But they are not so lucky.
Recall. This was midnight on Christmas Eve.
And this the Christmas gift for 27 men and women and boys and multiple ponies.
You tried not to think about the horses,
but did you ever think about the human souls?
Pull us up! In the name of God!
Pull us up!
In the name of God, the timbers won't hold!
Save us! Save us! Pull us up! Save us!
The only thing you didn't count were the victims.
Pull us up! Save us!
They were lost in your darkness.
Spirit, where... where are we? Is this hell?
No. We are now back in your 30th year, Ebenezer Scrooge.
And business is booming.
Come.
Come quick, or we'll miss it.
I'd just like to explain the Christmas mine collapse and its causes,
which aren't at all how you characterized them.
There is no time for explanations.
Yes, it's Christmas Eve again. And they will be working until long after dark.
But come, Ebenezer.
-I fear something awful awaits. -No. Something magical.
Something wonderful. Profit, Ebenezer. Pure profit.
Look, Scrooge, there you are. You and Marley in your prime.
This was the moment when it all really began.
My father's barely cold in his grave and already you're here with business?
Well, your father looks down from heaven and urges you to listen to us.
Your father was fond of gambling on horses.
Fond of it, but poor at it.
And we can't all choose the winner at the Epsom Derby.
We didn't know how much he'd lost until his last breath.
Look, grief blinds you, slows you.
And we're here to help you.
We're familiar with some of the people of his secret acquaintance
and we're in a position to purchase your father's gambling debts.
Owed to a turf accountant in Halifax, name of Dagger.
Why would you do that?
But I'm afraid the price of slow horses are the least of his legacy.
-Put that back. -Accounts not worth the written paper.
Money due to the government revenue
spent instead on some nag with the same name as his mistress.
How dare you?
Secrets, debts, mistresses...
...revenue men who bring pistols and chains.
They can't chain a ghost, young man.
It will be you they throw into the lockup.
-You wish to buy one loom? -No. The whole mill.
Well, I think you missed off a zero.
Zero means nothing, so we missed off nothing. Sit down.
Now, we'll deal with Dagger.
We also have friends at the revenue who will overlook your inherited liability,
in return for a healthy bribe, of course.
The mill itself is worth ten times that.
The mill is healthy but you have no liquidity. You need money now.
Without us, it will be a race
between Dagger's cutthroats and the revenue's militiamen.
And please know that your father's reputation
as a pious, Christian family man will be safe in our hands.
We'll even put up a plaque. There. Above your head.
So your father can rest in peace. Now...
-Do we have a deal? -You bought the mill in Dewsbury for 800
then promptly sold it four days later for £8,000
to be demolished and broken up for parts.
You had discovered that tragedy for the many is opportunity for the few.
500 jobs lost and a profit of £7,200 in just four days,
for doing precisely... nothing.
You and Marley would become celebrated
for deals like the splendid bit of opportunism you just witnessed.
It was business. I cannot be blamed for doing business.
You cannot be blamed for building your beautiful temple to profit
because profit means more and more and wonderful more.
And you were very considerate.
You didn't tell the workers they had all lost their jobs until Boxing Day.
Why do you mock me with false glory in your voice?
I am a spirit. I am what you make me, and your glory was real.
-Real cash, hard currency. -Was it so wrong to make a profit?
-To use that profit to make more profit? -No, nothing wrong at all.
And every penny you made is still there inside your head.
Behold.
Each loom shows another profitable year
for the unstoppable Messrs. Scrooge and Marley.
That is your fourth year of trading.
-What was your net income that year? -Year four?
Net income: £665, seven shillings and sixpence.
This is year eight! Total expenditure?
Expenditure, year eight:
£4,871 and 19 shillings,
mostly the acquisition of Denmon & Sons and a wire factory of Birmingham.
This year. Your tenth year.
An excellent year. A move into spice and indigo in the Moluccas.
Income: £9,970 and sevenpence.
-Expenditure... -All in your head. What a mind you have.
You counted yourself the most hard-done-by boy in the world,
and you counted and counted.
Wherever you looked, you didn't see people, you saw pounds and pennies.
The weakness of others spun into wealth.
Your accounts were your new Ali Baba,
profit your new Valentine.
Ah, I forgot. You are mocking me.
I've done no more and no less in my life than many an illustrious businessman.
Your life?
Did you say your life?
Come and see your life.
Behold.
Your life beyond the counting machines.
Elizabeth.
The days she waited and waited.
I was kept late at the exchange.
Who are they?
They are the children you would have had with Elizabeth.
And there you are,
the father you never were,
being a merry-go-round for the children you never had.
Behold.
A Christmas past that never was and never will be.
"Humbug.
"How many Merry Christmases are meant
"and how many are lies?
"To pretend on one day each year that the human beast is not a human beast."
Do you see any beasts up there, Ebenezer?
I would have called the children...
Jacob.
Lottie.
And neither would have been sent away to school.
They would have come home safe every night.
Children who were never born bring emotion you never had.
Not even for the children of people you knew intimately.
I told you...
...my business is the intimate inspection
of your heart and of your soul.
So, come now,
and we will witness
how your blindness finally gave rise to the abominable.
To something you did seven Christmases ago.
-Seven? -Come, Ebenezer.
And look upon the evil that you did.
An evil that was not even for profit.
Dear God. No man should be here.
We are not men, and we are not here.
And yet we witness where this awful thing began.
Your baby is born!
-Is it a boy or is it a girl? -Boy.
-Does he breathe? -He breathes.
Is he whole?
Martha.
Martha, is he whole?
Martha, is he whole?!
And in this, this moment, do you remember what you did?
No.
You looked upon the suffering,
not of faceless strangers,
but of people you've known for years.
And in their anguish, you would see only one thing:
opportunity.
Come with me to Christmas Eve
seven Christmases ago.
When the clock is striking one, two...
three...
Four, five, six.
6:00 in the morning, and all is snowbound and iced.
Cratchit an hour early?
-Mrs. Cratchit. -May I come in?
May I speak with you in confidence, Mr. Scrooge?
Yes, I always have time for early risers.
Is your husband ill? Are you here to make excuses?
No. My husband will be reporting for work in one hour, as usual.
Though to work on Christmas Eve is not so usual.
Oh, at Scrooge and Marley, it is usual.
What do you want at this hour?
As I think you know...
two years ago, I gave birth to a boy, Tim.
And as I also think you know, he was...
-...born with imperfections. -Yes.
Perhaps too much rich food in your diet, Mrs. Cratchit.
This cold and the smoke in this city it does not suit a boy so tender.
He has fluid on his lungs.
A surgeon has told us that he requires an operation,
thoracic draining...
...or he will die. Now, the-the cost of the operation
is far beyond our means. It's very complex, in three stages.
How much?
T-Ten, ten and ten. £30.
You can't sell your house?
-The house is rented. -You have no rich relative?
Mr. Scrooge, my husband is too proud to ask you himself.
But I weigh my pride against my baby's life, and...
...the scales break with the imbalance.
You are a poet.
I am a mother...
...in desperate need.
And I came here without my husband's permission or knowledge...
to ask you, Mr. Scrooge, for a loan.
Where does your husband think you are?
What lie did you tell?
Well, uh... I told him that I would queue for the best goose.
You can afford a goose, but you still want a loan.
You could deduct a certain amount from my husband's wages each week.
I th-I think we could survive on two shillings less.
-And over... -Let me see-- two shillings per week.
Two by 52, that's 104 shillings per year.
That is five pounds, four shillings.
Five pounds, four shillings per year times six is £31, four shillings.
So, if your husband were to continue to work for me,
he would pay his debt in six years
and provide an interest dividend of one pound, four shillings.
-Mr. Scrooge... -That's an interest rate of 4%.
Which, on a six-year investment, is uncompetitive.
Especially since it depends on a guarantee of six years of service
when, as we know, life is filled with...
uh, misfortune and unexpected hazards
which may render him unable to fulfill his obligation.
Mr. Scrooge, I th-I think
we might be able to survive on less per week.
If you were to sacrifice absurd things like goose at Christmas, yes, perhaps.
Mr. Scrooge...
...there is no one else.
Mrs. Cratchit, in my safe, at present,
I have £537 and 15 shillings.
Pure profit. Pure.
Just behind that iron door.
Which opens with the turn of this key.
And the words "open sesame."
What would you do, Mrs. Cratchit, to have me open that door
and hand you £30?
Not as a loan, but as a gift.
I know, Mrs. Cratchit, you are a faithful, virtuous and honest woman.
But I am curious as to the extent of that honesty and faithfulness.
The price of it, I mean.
I do not understand what you mean, Mr. Scrooge.
Ten, ten and ten.
I am a man of reason.
A scientist. I... I like to conduct experiments
regarding the human condition.
Regarding virtue and vice.
Experiments to determine
if every aspect of the human soul can be converted into currency,
and if so, what is the exchange rate.
For love, for example,
or compassion.
Mrs. Cratchit, please, take ten now,
then think up another lie to tell your husband,
and come to my apartment on Christmas Day at 4:00p.m..
When you are at my apartment,
if you do exactly what I tell you to do, everything I tell you to do--
I'll give you the rest. As a gift.
Christmas... Christmas Day itself would be difficult.
Christmas Day is a day like any other.
Meet me at my apartment at 4:00p.m.. Do we have a deal?
Yes.
This is not a game,
Ebenezer Scrooge.