Let's be....Gosford Park

I'm also Emily Watson's 'I know EVERYTHING' face.

In one of the reviews for Angela's Ashes where she played Angela, someone said " you can almost see the Oscar in her eyes as she trudges up the hill, a child on both hips."

I'm Ryan Phillippe's "zoolander". I am his only expression in this movie.

I am Green. I'm such a tricky color.

I am the Jewish character who does not have to endure the explicit antisemitism for which the British aristocracy was notorious.

I am the gratuitous profanity added to get an R Rating.

I'm the unsatisfied longings in the male servants' rooms.

I'm *bought* marmalade.

I'm attempted rape, something a servant girl has to watch out for while washing her mistress's shirt.

I'm Rupert, the opportunistic cad.

I'm OP - who had planned to be the difficult colour green and/or the bought marmalade and now has to be something else.

OK - I'm Mary and I'm VERY cheap.

I'm also supposed to be someone the audience identifies and sympathises with - but really I, much like Emily Watson, have not a single endearing quality. I just shuffle around with a frown on my face, looking puzzled by everything.

I'm the horrible little dog.

I deserved to be kicked.

I'm that phone call from Hollywood the Jew is waiting for.

I'm the dodgy Scottish accent

I'm Downton Abbey. I made the aristocracy appear noble and benevolent and asked the audience to mourn their demise.

I'm the very un-British comment about not being able to play for two teams, uttered by the maid.

I'm Robert Altman's post-[italic]Popeye[/italic], pre-[italic]Player[/italic] output. You've probably forgotten about me by now.

I'm the excellent homemade jam eaten by the morose husband.

I'm Kristen Scott Thomas's riding outfit.

I'm Richard E Grant - apparently, I'm NO ONE.

In fact, I was better in this than I usually am.

I'm Kristen Scott Thomas walking away backwards as I inspect the green dress.

I'm Ryan Phillippe's ass. Strangely, and disappointingly, I remain clad throughout the film.

Not really, dear.

[quote]I'm the very un-British comment about not being able to play for two teams, uttered by the maid.

In England, we say un-English, dear.

I'm Jeremy Northam -- I sing much better than Hugh Jackman ever would have as Ivor Novello (and have done full-frontal nudity elsewhere) and deserve a much better career than I have.

I was just going to mention gay Jeremy as gay Ivor Novello - and gays Alan Bates, Derek Jacobi and Tom Hollander are also on hand,

The most hilarious joke is where the aristos beg the film producer to tell them the story of his new (1932) film - as none of them will ever see it.

R23, I'm glad you got that ;)

I'm the cute guy who arrives late and fucks the maid in the basement.

I'm patricide.

I'm the separate box for Lady Trentham's jewels that Mary didn't think to bring.

I'm the smart Bobby who has to follow the dolt of a detective around.

I'm the chubby servant girl who scores aristocratic dick!

I'm Freddie Nesbitt, sucking up.

I'm a shooting party, which Lady Trentham hates.

I'm Lady Trentham saying "Mary" in my clipped voice.

(Mary's a wonderful name to say in a clipped voice).

I'm Mabel Nesbitt's 'glove manufacturer' father, who you (sadly) don't see.

Hock-ptooey! I'm the spit on the silverware.

Cutlery, dear.

Mabel reminds me of sad little Veronica Lucan.

I'm Helen Mirrin, looking most unsexy for this movie.

I'm mirin Mirrin.

I'm Robert Altman's last chance for winning an Oscar and loaing to fucking Ron Howard.

^ losing

I'm doughty and gouty, I'm wonderful to see.

I'm cousin Ivor's last movie, The Lodger, which flopped, as Lady Trentham doesn't fail to remind him.

I’m Mrs. Wilson explaining “the gift” of anticipation.

“What gift do you think a good servant has that separates them from the others? Its the gift of anticipation. And I'm a good servant; I'm better than good, I'm the best; I'm the perfect servant. I know when they'll be hungry, and the food is ready. I know when they'll be tired, and the bed is turned down. I know it before they know it themselves.”

I'm bored to sobs.

I'm Ron Howard's Best Director Oscar for... some movie, I guess?

I'm Maceachran. Difficult to pronounce and spell.

I'm William McCordle. I did my bit in the war and I cut cards for my wife. Never been lucky at cards.

I'm Inspector Thompson, reminding Constable Dexter that they have people to clean up evidence like broken coffee cups in the study.

The golden curls on Ryan Phillipis head.

I’m the Bloody Mary, dropped on the muddy floor of the rotunda.

I'm a hot glass of milk at midnight.

I'm the fallout of conscientious objection, shamefully driving one towards periodic drunken binges for the rest of one's life.

I am a woman traveling without a lady's maid.

Apparently, I've given up.

I'm vegetarian, at a shooting party.

I'me the screenwriter, giving all the best lines to Maggie Smith

I'm any number of illegitimate McCordle spawn raised in orphanages, running around England.

Im the frustrated pudgy servant who won't get to see Ivor Novello in his underdrawers.......

Or

That moment when Elsie comes to Billy's defense - the looks and collective intake of breaths are amazing!

I am Robert Altmans longsuffering wife.

Gosford Park is melting in the dark.

All it’s sweet cream icing flowing down.

I am the two remarkable forks in the place setting for the fish course.

I'm the wrong color blouse for a shooting party, Mary.

I'm that picture the unsentimental Clive Owen character displays on his night stand.

I'm the fur trimmed coat the hunt-disapproving director wears during the hunt.

I'm the pile of dirty clothes on the floor in the director's room.

I am Kristin Scott Thomas's raised eyebrows. I am eloquent. I ruin lives.

I'm Lord Stockbridge on one side boring for Britain, and Freddie Nesbitt on the other sucking up.

I'm a school teacher. I'm excentric, according to a disapproving Lord Stockbridge.

How anyone cannot love the 1930s, is beyond me! KST was wonderful...such a thoughtless careless detached witch (spelled with a B)

Love her sister when offered a Whisky by her rich brother-in-law... She pushed him away. "Oh Bill, you Whisky always makes me misbehave...LOL

[quote]I'm William McCordle. I did my bit in the war and I cut cards for my wife. Never been lucky at cards.

No, they cut cards for you.

Why don't you tell us all about it ?

I assure you, none of us will read the thread.

There's a scene when he and the sister who lost him cutting cards say that they are both unlucky at cards.

I'm the suit you bought for yourself, disliked, then forgot giving to your daughter.

I'm Isabel's aborted fetus.

I'm her limp....

I'm Louisa's blood curdling scream when she discovers her dead lover/brother-in-law.

I'm a factory "all full of girls, so you can imagine."

I'm Ivor Novello's underdrawers, in which the chubby gay valet won't get to see me.

I'm the rather delicious looking meal the staff have to scarf down at the speed of light before serving upstairs.

I'm all the dolls in Isobel's room.

R5, The Anti Semitism is actually portrayed when Charles Dance asks the Producer to repeat his name, Morris Weisman as if to be sure he heard a Jewish name..

I’m the machine-made lace on Mabel’s cheap frock.

I'm the bacteria spores growing in the pots of jam that asshole keeps digging into with his spoon.

I'm the funny little American, adding glamour to the gathering.

Awwwwwwwwwwwww.......I liked the little doggy and was sad for him at the end.....

I'm Elsie's douchebag.

r86 Why were you sad for the dog? Elsie took him with her.

He got thrown out the back door......but yes.....I guess being with Elsie would be an okay dog's life.....

I'm Helen Mirren's Oscar nomination. I'm supporting.

I'm the movie star posters on Elsie's wall. She prefers the American stars. She thinks they've got more oomph.

I’m the tepid bathwater shared by Mary and Elsie, wondering why the hell there wasn’t going to be a hot lesbian scene to warm me up.

I'm the tears rolling down Helen Mirrens face as my cunt,of a sister tells me to suck it up because they'll here me....should have killed that bitch when I had the chance

I'm the shrimp cocktail wasted on the gazebo floor after the hunt. Stupid oafish gentry.

I'm the downstairs bells, unseen and unrung. Underappreciated until Downton Abbey.

I'm the unofficial pilot for Downton Abbey. Although it's just slightly more complicated than that.

I'm Mr. Meredith's valet and I KNOW what to DO.

[quote][R86] Why were you sad for the dog? Elsie took him with her.

EXACTLY!

She has no home, no job - she's an impoverished redundant parlour maid. You think she'll get a job where they'll accept a lowly maid's dog? I'm shitting bricks about my future. Go ahead! Feel sad for me.

On top of all that, I'm FUGLY.

She's on her way to Hollywood to be a star because she has Ooomph! The little dog will be hine.

* fine. He'll be fine.

He also sends his love.

I'm a younger son... with the taste of marquees and the income of a vicar.

I'm Mr. Blond. I am either Lord Standish's lover and therefor have a vested interest in seeing him well-married so I can continue to live off his income or the most fucking annoying buttinski friend he has. Either way I cannot act worth a damn.

I'm Lady Trentham's Rolls Royce. I am practically a Roman chariot in comparison with Mr. Weissman's Rolls Royce, driving her to a tantrum of envy that only fully stops when the credits roll.

I'm Dorothy's love for Jennings. I'll say anything you want me to. You only need to ask.

Dear R98 and R99, I agree that the implication is she will end up a star, or maybe Ryan Phillippe's character's beard.

I'm that vile little dog. The ones you hate last forever.

I'm desperate for a fag!

r3 He was a last minute replacement for another actor who had to bow out. His entrance in to the dining room at the end of the film has to be on some "The Worst Performances in Film" list.

I'm the cold cream shamelessly worn on the face of Lady Sylvia while she's propositioning the phony valet for midnight sex.

I'm the sound of a pheasant hitting the ground.

I'm Pitt, the devoted valet, sobbing as I prop up my dead master to "make him more comfortable."

I'm a forgettable movie.

I'm the imperious manner in which Lady Sylvia hands her false eyelashes off to the maid.

I'm the suite at the Ritz that Constance, Countess of Trentham should have taken instead of paying out tips to all these servants.

I'm the snarky smirking between head valet George and head maid Elsie as newbie Mary puts her mistress's jewel box in the safe.

[quote] In England, dear,

We're not in England.

I'm a bar in Mersaille. Apparently that's what the house sounds like with the Hollywood Jew "shouting down the telephone."

I'm the unseen "Sheehan," whom Weisman mentions several times while shouting down said telephone. Apparently I'm talking about rewrites so Una Merkel can be in the movie. I'm also interested in Clara Bow, but there's NO WAY she's coming NEAR the picture, as far as Weisman is concerned.

I’m Maggie Smith’s wrinkles and flaps. That woman seems to have aged steeply and rapidly. From a promising soubrette to the Mummy of Snark, she is now almost pure caricature.

I'm rather a mixed bunch.

I'm the perfect servant. I have no life.

I'm George, the head footman, and you want to watch where I put my hands.

I'm the first flush of recognition, after which there's always so little to talk about.

I'm a cloth napkin tucked over the collar of uncouth Sir William, as he presides at the head of the dining table.

I'm Lord Standish. I am both hot and chilly.

I'm that bloody old trout!

I am the Oder of Precedence.

I HAVE to be explained to Sir William again.

He always complains that people look down on him, and then he behaves like a peasant.

I'm standing in the drawing room, looking perfectly normal, don't be such a snob, Aunt Constance.

I'm the singer of a song, please do not encourage me. And her mother came to, one more time

I'm too many fags. They'll be the death of Mrs. Croft.

I'm a lovely long repertoire.

Rather like this old thread, R131.

I'm far superior to the horrid soap opera known as Downton Abbey and it's hard to believe the same person who wrote that shit, also wrote this.

I am Robert Altman. The first thing I do is throw out the script.

Thus answering your question, [R133]

(I watched this last night. Fabulous!)

I am discretion. I am everywhere.

I'm the bumbling middle class detective, kissing aristo ass and mising every cue and clue along the way.

I'm The Empire.

I was finished after the War.

I am Alan Bates, and right after this movie I will engage in a torrid affair with a hot young italian male model while Joanna Pettet pretends to be my girlfriend. Soon she'll start to blackmail me and threaten to call the tabloïds on me if I don't make her ' Lady Bates ' and my boytoy will have to hide until we can escape to the country, or another set, or visit me at night at the London clinic.

I'm the lower-class accents that I, in the audience, could not understand AT ALL. The friend I went with, who was English, said: "I couldn't understand them either!"

I'm Lady Trentham's butler who is seen at the very beginning of the movie. None of the viewers recognize me as Captain Peacock from the classic television comedy "Are You Being Served".

I'm discretion, which is not something Lady Trentham looks for in a maid.

I'm discretion, which is not something Lady Trentham looks for in a maid.

I'm Alan Bates, who except for a few scenes, is under-utilised in this film and is off dreaming about reuniting with Oliver Reed for some more nude wresting matches - on or off camera.

I'm that horrid fake Scottish accent Ryan Phillippe affects that isn't fooling anyone.

I'm Clive Owen, hot as Hades in my wife-beater.

I'm discretion also, something which Harry Denton claims he is known for in Hollywood.

R139

Had no problem understanding the servants and others from below stairs. Hearing anyone in entire film was a royal pain; sound quality is horrible to point that even with volume turned way up when playing DVD or watching VCR tape still often cannot hear what is being said clearly.

You want dialogue that is difficult to understand, watch film Kes..... I didn't have problems, but know plenty of others who were totally lost.

I'm the begging cup Constance, Countess of Trentham will have out during her visit. Her ladyship cannot get by on her current allowance which she wrongly assumes is for her life.

I'm the jewellery - all of it.

I'm Jeremy Northam exuding brave but tired resignation at the piano in the drawing room.

(How come no one opens thread wondering WHET me, I was so hot?)

I'm those gorgeous vintage autos everyone arrives in for the weekend.

I'm the exasperated sigh let out by the fat kitchen maid when she's told to count the knives one more time.

I'm those impossibly high-waisted trousers of the day that are secretly making it nearly impossible for the male actors to breathe.

I'm the all the dead animals that provided the fur coats and trim worn by the toffs.

R151

What is a "weekend"?

I'm the long driveway leading up to the semi-circular bit in front of the Stately Home and the view of all that privately owned English countryside stretching away in the distance.

I'm the cucumbers Old Mother Trentham puts on her eyes before appearing for breakfast.

I am "The Shooting Party," a vastly superior film on the same basic subject.

I'm Mrs. Croft.

Lady Sylvia simply doesn't dare inform me there's a vegetarian (doesn't eat MEAT?) in the house.

I'm the confusion in the audience when Ryan sleeps with Kristen because we thought he was Bob Balaban's boytoy

What was up with that?

I'm the apology Faye Dunaway gives to Kathryn Reed in 2002 at the Governor's Ball for her early 70s affair with her husband to which Kathryn replied, "It's Bob that should be apologizing."

Henry Denton was straight, but like no small number of actors then or now willing to do the casting couch if it meant getting roles. He was only travelling around with Morris Weissman and doing "research" for his role because he let the guy have is wicked way.

Meanwhile HD tried it with Elsie, who gave him the brush off. Failing there Henry Denton got rough with Mary Maceachran, but was stopped by Robert Parks. Lady Sylvia was the only female HD could pull, so she had to do.

Besides there are few to nil secrets in great houses; servants already had it in for Henry Denton (and were suspicious of him from the start), had he been caught coming out of Morris Weissman's room when he shouldn't, or maybe disheveled, maybe fell asleep in bed with MW and was there when they came to light fires in morning... all heck would have broken loose.

Elise likely knew about "those sort of men", and certainly the other male staff did, so putting two and two together would have made for great downstairs gossip. It sooner or later would have reached upstairs (something like that is just too delicious to keep to oneself), and spread from that great house to all of London.

R162 That was fantastic.

Please do some background on other characters

enjoyed reading that

I'm the odd tension in air when Mrs. Wilson goes to Robert Parks room to see if "everything is alright".

No self respecting housekeeper in a great home would go alone to male staff bedroom, or even that part of house. Much less enter same room with the visiting valet sprawled out on his bed in his undershirt.

Head butler dealt with male staff. Housekeepers were responsible for females, that is how things were done.

If Henry Denton were gay, he had far better choices than Morris Weissman in that house, in fact he came down with him; Ivor Novello.

It really is only glossed over such as when the ladies leave dinner table William McCordle doesn't care that Ivor Novello goes as well because "he can entertain the ladies). Then of course George teases Albert that because he won't be valeting Mr. Novello he won't get to see him in his shorts, am sure both characters were gay.

William McCordle largely agreed to have Morris Weissman's gay lover (Denton) down to Gosford Park because he knows his wife Sylvia has dalliances with male servants. Sir William hopes his wife will take the bait, and she does. But when it is reveled Denton is actually a guest and not a servant it blows up in her face. Sadly for Sir William he is murdered so doesn't get to relish humiliating Lady Sylvia for long.

I'm Emily Watson's breast that Michael Gambon brushes dog hair from.

I'm the napkins back from laundry that Mrs. Wilson is inspecting and counting. Otherwise the family would be using rags.....

R166 I'm a repeat of the same from A Wedding (1978), originally with Vittorio Gassman doing the brushing off if memory serves...

I'm Maggie Smith exclaiming "oh goody!" over her breakfast tray.

I'm also the fact that in several years' time the same material will be recycled for Downtown Abby.

She calls it GIVING IN

Cheap dress, wrong shoes - I'm making bricks without straws

I'm all the knives, all the knives here!

I am Presbyterian modesty!

I know how a glove should fit, and I get to sit next to Ivor Novello on his piano bench! The Hollywood director does not!

Why does DL keep talking about this movie that is so-so at best?

I do not understand.

^ Because you're a peasant.

I'm the servants getting a chance to listen and catch a break, briefly, to dream Jeremy Northam's beautiful singing as Ivor Novello, before the master comes in, making us scatter to look busy.

R98

Realize where you're coming from; but actually an experienced parlour maid like Elise would have no problems finding work after being turfed out of Gosford Park.

The "servant problem" was growing more and more acute during post war (WWI) years. What began with servants leaving for factory, office and retail work before war broke out, was exacerbated by activities and results of the war, grew into a major issue after war ended. Simply put at first men, then women in huge numbers were no longer interested in being servants. The "problem" with servants was where to get them, especially good ones.

This is why those who know about such things chuckle at watching period pieces like Gosford Park and Downton Abbey which seemingly had no issues in finding and keeping servants.

Elsie was a smart girl, with connections from her newfound "friend" Morris Weissman she likely would have found a job far better than service. Retail, working in one of the film studios as a secretary, script girl, or whatever.

Part of what we are meant to think about Elsie is that she is going to become a film star. Clara Bow had to stay miles away from the Charlie Chan picture. Elsie was "real" and perfect for the part.

R33

Think you'll find it wasn't the shooting party per se that annoyed Lady Trentham, but rather the guests who made up that "mixed bunch".

A homosexual Jewish American film director, the common but Honorable Mable Nesbitt (daughter of a glove maker), the gay actor Ivor Novello... those were people who ordinarily one assumes didn't come into Lady T's social orbit. Her society would have been that of Queen Victoria's time; a world where everyone had their place, knew it, and remained with very little mixing between the classes. Well not formally anyway.

Lady T' is a snob and a gorgon; not unlike that other infamous Victorian example drawn by Oscar Wilde.

This is a bumped thread fro 2017.

Is green still difficult?

Ask the Duchess of Sussex!

I'm not offended. And don't call me "mate".

And what purpose could it possibly serve?

I'm Inspector Thompson leaving his fingerprints on the whiskey decanter.

Trust Sir William, to be murdered twice!

I'm Isobel playing cards as if her life depended on it

R187

For some bridge is a very serious card game. Marriages have ended when one spouse trumped the other's ace, well at least the offending partner spent time in the dog house.

ça sent le vécu R188

Days may pass and years may pass and seas may lie between

I'm Downton Abbey waiting to be born.

I'm the old way.

We do things the old way, here. It saves confusion.

I'm the morning horseback ride Lady Sylvia never misses, even when her husband gets murdered the night before.

I’m the dead faint

I'm stumped!

About what interests Sir William besides money and fiddling with his guns.

I'm the bad sex Sylvia had with Raymond.

I’m so glad this has come around again. This time, can I be “bought marmalade?” I’m very feeble!

Tacky movie....

I’m the cigarettes. I am completely necessary when scene chewing is called for. Most on scene have better smoking skills than acting skills, so I’m there to help. Dramatic lines require long drags and over exaggerated hand movements. It gives the appearance of glamour and talent.

I'm Lady Lavinia, a "gracious bore" according to Aunt Constance.