The importance of being earnest movie download free

He shows them the cigarette pack which has a note from Cecily. Jack then confesses that he is leading a double life and also explains that why he is doing that.

The events coming after these are really amazing and full of unlimited fun. Download the Importance of Being Earnest pdf to read ahead of the story. The Importance of Being Earnest Pdf Review: Social duties sometimes make us so weary that only thing we want to do is escape them.

Our whole life we live by being responsible and on duty to other people and forget to be ourselves. This is exactly the same what happens in this story.

With this 2nd name, no one recognizes him as Jack and he can hide away from all his duties for days. He is also in a relationship with this 2nd name to fulfill his needs.

All of this shows that people sometimes have to take measures to make themselves happy. She is my aunt. The bread and butter is for Gwendolen. Gwendolen is devoted to bread and butter. Well, my dear fellow, you need not eat as if you were going to eat it all. You behave as if you were married to her already. Well, in the first place girls never marry the men they flirt with.

It is a great truth. It accounts for the extraordinary number of bachelors that one sees all over the place. My dear fellow, Gwendolen is my first cousin. And before I allow you to marry her, you will have to clear up the whole question of Cecily. What on earth do you mean? What do you mean, Algy, by Cecily! Bring me that cigarette case Mr. Worthing left in the smoking-room the last time he dined here.

Do you mean to say you have had my cigarette case all this time? I wish to goodness you had let me know. I have been writing frantic letters to Scotland Yard about it. I was very nearly offering a large reward. Algernon takes it at once. Lane goes out. I think that is rather mean of you, Ernest, I must say. It is a very ungentlemanly thing to read a private cigarette case. I simply want my cigarette case back.

Charming old lady she is, too. Lives at Tunbridge Wells. Just give it back to me, Algy. Some aunts are tall, some aunts are not tall. That is a matter that surely an aunt may be allowed to decide for herself. You seem to think that every aunt should be exactly like your aunt! That is absurd!

But why does your aunt call you her uncle? You have always told me it was Ernest. I have introduced you to every one as Ernest. You answer to the name of Ernest. You look as if your name was Ernest. You are the most earnest-looking person I ever saw in my life. Here is one of them. Ernest Worthing, B. Well, my name is Ernest in town and Jack in the country, and the cigarette case was given to me in the country. Yes, but that does not account for the fact that your small Aunt Cecily, who lives at Tunbridge Wells, calls you her dear uncle.

Come, old boy, you had much better have the thing out at once. My dear Algy, you talk exactly as if you were a dentist. It produces a false impression. Well, that is exactly what dentists always do. Now, go on! Tell me the whole thing. I may mention that I have always suspected you of being a confirmed and secret Bunburyist; and I am quite sure of it now.

Here it is. My dear fellow, there is nothing improbable about my explanation at all. Old Mr. Thomas Cardew, who adopted me when I was a little boy, made me in his will guardian to his grand-daughter, Miss Cecily Cardew. Cecily, who addresses me as her uncle from motives of respect that you could not possibly appreciate, lives at my place in the country under the charge of her admirable governess, Miss Prism. That is nothing to you, dear boy.

You are not going to be invited. I may tell you candidly that the place is not in Shropshire. I suspected that, my dear fellow! I have Bunburyed all over Shropshire on two separate occasions. Now, go on. Why are you Ernest in town and Jack in the country? You are hardly serious enough. When one is placed in the position of guardian, one has to adopt a very high moral tone on all subjects. That, my dear Algy, is the whole truth pure and simple. The truth is rarely pure and never simple.

Modern life would be very tedious if it were either, and modern literature a complete impossibility! Literary criticism is not your forte, my dear fellow. They do it so well in the daily papers. What you really are is a Bunburyist. I was quite right in saying you were a Bunburyist. You are one of the most advanced Bunburyists I know.

You have invented a very useful younger brother called Ernest, in order that you may be able to come up to town as often as you like. I have invented an invaluable permanent invalid called Bunbury, in order that I may be able to go down into the country whenever I choose.

Bunbury is perfectly invaluable. I know. You are absurdly careless about sending out invitations. It is very foolish of you. Nothing annoys people so much as not receiving invitations. In the second place, whenever I do dine there I am always treated as a member of the family, and sent down with either no woman at all, or two. In the third place, I know perfectly well whom she will place me next to, to-night.

She will place me next Mary Farquhar, who always flirts with her own husband across the dinner-table. That is not very pleasant. Indeed, it is not even decent. The amount of women in London who flirt with their own husbands is perfectly scandalous.

It looks so bad. Besides, now that I know you to be a confirmed Bunburyist I naturally want to talk to you about Bunburying.

I want to tell you the rules. Cecily is a little too much interested in him. It is rather a bore. So I am going to get rid of Ernest. And I strongly advise you to do the same with Mr. Nothing will induce me to part with Bunbury, and if you ever get married, which seems to me extremely problematic, you will be very glad to know Bunbury.

A man who marries without knowing Bunbury has a very tedious time of it. That is nonsense. Then your wife will. Only relatives, or creditors, ever ring in that Wagnerian manner. Yes, but you must be serious about it. I hate people who are not serious about meals. It is so shallow of them. In fact the two things rarely go together. I hope I am not that. It would leave no room for developments, and I intend to develop in many directions.

I never saw a woman so altered; she looks quite twenty years younger. Why are there no cucumber sandwiches? I ordered them specially. I went down twice. I am greatly distressed, Aunt Augusta, about there being no cucumbers, not even for ready money. It really makes no matter, Algernon. I had some crumpets with Lady Harbury, who seems to me to be living entirely for pleasure now.

It certainly has changed its colour. From what cause I, of course, cannot say. I am going to send you down with Mary Farquhar. She is such a nice woman, and so attentive to her husband. I am afraid, Aunt Augusta, I shall have to give up the pleasure of dining with you to-night after all. It would put my table completely out. Your uncle would have to dine upstairs. Fortunately he is accustomed to that. It is a great bore, and, I need hardly say, a terrible disappointment to me, but the fact is I have just had a telegram to say that my poor friend Bunbury is very ill again.

It is very strange. This Mr. Bunbury seems to suffer from curiously bad health. Well, I must say, Algernon, that I think it is high time that Mr. Bunbury made up his mind whether he was going to live or to die. This shilly-shallying with the question is absurd.

Nor do I in any way approve of the modern sympathy with invalids. I consider it morbid. Illness of any kind is hardly a thing to be encouraged in others. Health is the primary duty of life. I am always telling that to your poor uncle, but he never seems to take much notice.

I should be much obliged if you would ask Mr. Bunbury, from me, to be kind enough not to have a relapse on Saturday, for I rely on you to arrange my music for me. It is my last reception, and one wants something that will encourage conversation, particularly at the end of the season when every one has practically said whatever they had to say, which, in most cases, was probably not much.

Of course the music is a great difficulty. Thank you, Algernon. It is very thoughtful of you. French songs I cannot possibly allow. People always seem to think that they are improper, and either look shocked, which is vulgar, or laugh, which is worse.

But German sounds a thoroughly respectable language, and indeed, I believe is so. Gwendolen, you will accompany me. Whenever people talk to me about the weather, I always feel quite certain that they mean something else. And that makes me so nervous. I would certainly advise you to do so.

Mamma has a way of coming back suddenly into a room that I have often had to speak to her about. I have ever met since. I met you. Yes, I am quite well aware of the fact. And I often wish that in public, at any rate, you had been more demonstrative. For me you have always had an irresistible fascination. Even before I met you I was far from indifferent to you. Worthing, in an age of ideals. The fact is constantly mentioned in the more expensive monthly magazines, and has reached the provincial pulpits, I am told; and my ideal has always been to love some one of the name of Ernest.

There is something in that name that inspires absolute confidence. The moment Algernon first mentioned to me that he had a friend called Ernest, I knew I was destined to love you. Yes, I know it is. But supposing it was something else? It suits you perfectly. It is a divine name. It has a music of its own. It produces vibrations. Well, really, Gwendolen, I must say that I think there are lots of other much nicer names.

I think Jack, for instance, a charming name. No, there is very little music in the name Jack, if any at all, indeed. It does not thrill. It produces absolutely no vibrations. I have known several Jacks, and they all, without exception, were more than usually plain.

Besides, Jack is a notorious domesticity for John! And I pity any woman who is married to a man called John. The only really safe name is Ernest.

Gwendolen, I must get christened at once—I mean we must get married at once. There is no time to be lost. You know that I love you, and you led me to believe, Miss Fairfax, that you were not absolutely indifferent to me. I adore you. Nothing has been said at all about marriage. The subject has not even been touched on.

I think it would be an admirable opportunity. And to spare you any possible disappointment, Mr. Worthing, I think it only fair to tell you quite frankly before-hand that I am fully determined to accept you. Of course I will, darling. How long you have been about it! I am afraid you have had very little experience in how to propose.

Yes, but men often propose for practice. I know my brother Gerald does. All my girl-friends tell me so. What wonderfully blue eyes you have, Ernest! They are quite, quite, blue. I hope you will always look at me just like that, especially when there are other people present. Rise, sir, from this semi-recumbent posture.

It is most indecorous. This is no place for you. Besides, Mr. Worthing has not quite finished yet. Pardon me, you are not engaged to any one. When you do become engaged to some one, I, or your father, should his health permit him, will inform you of the fact. An engagement should come on a young girl as a surprise, pleasant or unpleasant, as the case may be. It is hardly a matter that she could be allowed to arrange for herself.

And now I have a few questions to put to you, Mr. While I am making these inquiries, you, Gwendolen, will wait for me below in the carriage. In the carriage, Gwendolen! Lady Bracknell looks vaguely about as if she could not understand what the noise was. Finally turns round. We work together, in fact. However, I am quite ready to enter your name, should your answers be what a really affectionate mother requires. Do you smoke? I am glad to hear it. A man should always have an occupation of some kind.

There are far too many idle men in London as it is. How old are you? A very good age to be married at. I have always been of opinion that a man who desires to get married should know either everything or nothing. Which do you know? I am pleased to hear it. I do not approve of anything that tampers with natural ignorance. Ignorance is like a delicate exotic fruit; touch it and the bloom is gone. The whole theory of modern education is radically unsound.

Fortunately in England, at any rate, education produces no effect whatsoever. If it did, it would prove a serious danger to the upper classes, and probably lead to acts of violence in Grosvenor Square. What is your income? That is satisfactory. It gives one position, and prevents one from keeping it up. In fact, as far as I can make out, the poachers are the only people who make anything out of it. A country house! How many bedrooms? Well, that point can be cleared up afterwards.

You have a town house, I hope? A girl with a simple, unspoiled nature, like Gwendolen, could hardly be expected to reside in the country. Ah, nowadays that is no guarantee of respectability of character. What number in Belgrave Square?

I thought there was something. However, that could easily be altered. Oh, they count as Tories. They dine with us. Or come in the evening, at any rate. Now to minor matters. Are your parents living? To lose one parent, Mr. Worthing, may be regarded as a misfortune; to lose both looks like carelessness.

Who was your father? He was evidently a man of some wealth. Was he born in what the Radical papers call the purple of commerce, or did he rise from the ranks of the aristocracy?

The fact is, Lady Bracknell, I said I had lost my parents. It would be nearer the truth to say that my parents seem to have lost me. I was. The late Mr. Thomas Cardew, an old gentleman of a very charitable and kindly disposition, found me, and gave me the name of Worthing, because he happened to have a first-class ticket for Worthing in his pocket at the time.

Worthing is a place in Sussex. It is a seaside resort. Where did the charitable gentleman who had a first-class ticket for this seaside resort find you? I was in a hand-bag—a somewhat large, black leather hand-bag, with handles to it—an ordinary hand-bag in fact. In what locality did this Mr.

James, or Thomas, Cardew come across this ordinary hand-bag? The line is immaterial. Worthing, I confess I feel somewhat bewildered by what you have just told me. When LeBron and his young son Dom are trapped in a digital space by a rogue After saving the life of their heir apparent, tenacious loner Snake Eyes is welcomed In the s, five men struggling with being gay in their Evangelical church started An aging hairdresser escapes his nursing home to embark on an odyssey across his After Bobby and his best friend Kevin are kidnapped and taken to a strange house Kristen Stewart interview.

TMDb Score. Director Oliver Parker. User icon An illustration of a person's head and chest. Sign up Log in. Web icon An illustration of a computer application window Wayback Machine Texts icon An illustration of an open book. Books Video icon An illustration of two cells of a film strip. Video Audio icon An illustration of an audio speaker.