The video presents a highly stylized, musical‑theatrical ending to Charles Dickens’ unfinished novel The Mystery of Edwin Drood. Two performers, labeled Speaker A and Speaker B, alternate delivering confessional monologues, lyrical verses, and rapid dialogue that reinterpret the novel’s central mystery. The script weaves together multiple revelations about who killed Edwin Drood – ranging from John Jasper, Dick Datchery, Rosa Bud, and even the speakers themselves – while simultaneously staging a mock‑court‑like vote on romantic pairings (Helena Landless, Reverend Mr. Crisparkle, etc.). The piece blends confession, accusation, and self‑reflection, punctuated by repeated lyrical refrains, meta‑commentary on fate, life, and death, and a final exhortation to “live forever.” The overall purpose is to provide a creative, performative closure to the unfinished story, offering several possible culprits and a celebratory, almost satirical, resolution that emphasizes love, choice, and the resilience of life.
Chapters
I can't see too clear, but I followed him here, finding out who was who. I've come back a time or two, then last night tracking me was this Mr. Datchery. So I followed his tracks to his lodgings in the 'Bags. Though I hate to confess, but I watched this man undress, and I saw suddenwise he without his bold disguise, and the job took theatrics and no fear of hazard. Dick Datchery.
Is Buzzard! I found the theatrical gate, hesitantly I did my bit. It said clearly it was named, I confessed to my shame. 'Twas her vanity too, I admit. So I followed young Jasper high-low through the dance. He descends to below, and when Luffa came here, 'Twas immediately clear my suspicions were wide apropos. So I crept in the lodgings of Jasper, dressed in that wig, what a sight! There I found Rosabud's clasp, the roses she gave you that night. Going out on a limerick, out on a limerick, out on a limerick. I found the astral sheet and its statuary. I did my bit to clear Neville's name. I confessed to my shame to His Majesty too. I followed John Jasper high and low. From the dens he descends to below. And when Puffer came near, it was immediately clear my suspicions were quite apropos. So I crept in the lodgings of Jasper, dressed in that weak sight. There I found Rosebud's clasp. Her mother she grieved through that night. Just took it from Ned after hurling him dead to the wee river bed, I suppose. Sell him that dachshund nose, and the proof is quite clear that the spring just were here to be tried and then tied up and strung. And for this limerick, let him be hung. Not mine. I was meant to die. Why stand by? Why this great surprise? They're walking men and me, and coming right is he who hides himself, recites himself, what I've no eyes to see. But now I think he's at the brink of breaking through the door. I mean, he's out! I'm out! I'm free! I'm free! I'm me once more! How many times I killed that drool upon my paws. The flag that burns is my presumption of his rights. His rights is air, his right to share my roses' bed. It took no smoke for me to picture Edwin dead. That night I poured myself a flask of old rum, and as a tootin' innuendo, I drank some. That's when my greatest flight of fancy did take place. I saw my hands outstretched toward Edwin's bare white face. Oh, I saw my fingers Touching these necks so tightly, touching my feet, each fell so lightly, moved more than fell on me. But God, the deed was much too easily done. Then as much as over as it had begun, such tragedy to finally make the king, and not to awake to taste —Now I've confessed. Now we both can rest. Yes, you put the coat that young Edwin Drew wore that night down at the river well to throw suspicion on Neville Huntress. You're a bad one, Jasper, when the evil one's inside you. But you're no murderer! You didn't kill Edwin Drew! Daggles, are you trying to tell me that John Jasper did not kill his nephew? Exactly, Your Lordship, sir. It was a wild night that Christmas Eve, as you'll remember, and I sought shelter near Mr. Jasper's door. And suddenly, I saw one of monsters romp right on through! And the convenient flash of lightning, I saw who it was. That was quite a long speech, Bill. Do you think I could have a bit more? Turtles! Right. Suddenly I see John Jasper stagger out of his own home under the influence of— potent medicine, but suddenly he collapses and then gets up and he picks up young Edwin Drood, carries him into the cathedral, down into the crypt, depositing the body right in Miss Saxe's tomb. What? See, I told you there was plenty of room in there. But Daddles, you must tell us, who killed Edwin Drood? Lord love me. It was— Rosabat!
Were you so blind you could not see? I killed him, yes, and it was wonderful to do, I do confess. To have it done, to do him in, to see it through. You surely know by now I meant to murder you.
Oh, thought you were so fine.
It's hard to know your mind. It's not the same each time. You meant to be kind. To feel myself unraveled with every movement of your eyes. I would realize a child can go quite mad and not know good from bad and calmly plan to kill a man and feel but not be glad to rid himself, to bid himself a murderous goodbye. Not end when how I start, but You! The night was far from rising, wet and thunder. Thatching bird dispatched from hell, is it yet to wonder? Could not see the arms of me stretched out, a scarf in hand. Saw your cup and tied that thread just like a deadly wedding band. Oh, so long a time they thought that I'd been present, all quite naive. But I believe this This pain, my brain, more tortured than we might conceive. With these late visions, I have now revealed murderous admissions hitherto concealed. Dare you all I say, no problem from above. Madness met in this. No good can come from bad. No good.
No good can come from bad.
You killed my love in the very best of senses. I killed him when I meant to kill you, Jasper, you pathetic imitation of manhood. All this because of that laughable Lucifer's coat of yours. Jasper, damn you and your fraudulent love, and damn this cloister ham for looking the other way when I was standing in your way.
Damn you all. And there is your murderer for tonight. But surely we are entitled to a happy ending. Yes, we all have need for love in our lives, romance, or this late in the evening, any reasonable facsimile. And so I leave it to you to answer one final question: who will be— no, sir, that was the Which was put earlier in the program. Yes, thank you. Who will be our lovers this evening? Yes, but see that, Almighty Shaddai, we have the lovely Miss Helena Landis and the serviceable Princess. So don't deny it. And so, by all means, let us proceed with another vote of Yes, so please. A little bit too much fun, so it's not reversible. Always. All votes for Helena Landless. I agree. I actually think it's Helen. And so that is your choice. Now, on my right, we have many well-heeled bachelors available. Yes, Reverend Mr. Chris Sparkle. This person that can only be known as Daddles. Helena's twin. Never. Daddles? Mr. Thorpe. Jasper? Andy? David? Adding to you another vote for Thorpe, that we will find our male lover. Now, the Reverend Mr. Crisparkle. You are all sick human beings. Very well. Devil. So that's your choice, and we're up with it. A gentle reprise, if you will, Mr. Purcell. I feel that we are about to have a love song.
The diversity of nature and of this audience has caused me to become incestuously drawn to Helena, I am your brother. I suppose you must give this to pray the English may get what they desire.
You wicked bastard! I find I now adore you.
All the best has yet to be. It seems my old happiness is too old. Fate brought itself. You love me so. Let's not waste this ending.
Once we have this, fate knows if No, dear lovers, for the scene. But what of Edmund Ruthven? If only he could speak to us from beyond the grave. What would he tell us? What would he say? Yes, I do wonder at times if he would say things that were very important to us. Yes, as if Mr. Basil I am Lazarus, risen from the grave.
Quite alive, you will find me. This tomb behind me is where I faced my closest shame. When I struck my head against the street, I was stunned, not stricken. A plot done wicked, and Jasper threw me off my feet to the crypt. I awoke in dark beyond belief, and while all above me showed their grief, I was screaming for my very breath, only moments from death. You have no idea the sudden strength that you feel within you, the steel and sinew, as death stands smiling at arm's length. I escaped from this room, I fled, and I did not return here till I could learn here just who in hell would wish me dead. But more than that, more than one solution fits the crime. What I've learned is life is bigger than death. Bits of time, and you fight for every tiny speck. When you're held by the neck, I have read the writing on the wall. And the greatest mystery is not the history of Jasper Jerome and one and all. I have met my maker and returned. What advice I'm giving to all who's living is just to learn what I have learned. Life is dear, there can be no victory in defeat. If mounting numbers meet, a fast retreat to the nearest shelter and dig in. When you live, then you win. Scratch and claw for every day you're worth. Make them brag you're screaming for life. Keep dreaming you'll live forever here on Earth. I have seen the writing on the wall. Hands clear, spelled out for them to held out That holding on to life is all. Is it clear? If you hear my voice, then you're alive. What a bloody farce we survive. When you think of every risk we face in our mad human race, I have read the writing on the wall. Try to live forever and give up never the fight. You'll need the wherewithal. Can't you hear the warning as I plead? The light of darkness to re-brighten on there.
