the last unicorn fancast


The Last Unicorn Fancast φ Mommy Fortuna - Angela Lansbury

“Not yet,” Mommy Fortuna said, and she turned toward the unicorn’s cage. “Well,” she said in her sweet, smoky voice. “I had you frightened for a little while, didn’t I?” She laughed with a sound like snakes hurrying through mud, and strolled closer.
“Whatever your friend the magician may say,” she went on, “I must have some small art after all. To trick a unicorn into believing herself old and foul – that takes a certain skill, I’d say. And is it a twopenny spell that holds the Dark One prisoner? No other till I –”
The unicorn replied, “Do not boast, old woman. Your death sits in that cage and hears you.”
“Yes,” Mommy Fortuna said calmly. “But at least I know where it is. You were out on the road hunting for your own death.” She laughed again. “And I know where that one is, too. But I spared you the finding of it, and you should be grateful for that.”


The Last Unicorn Fancast φ Schmendrick the Magician - Matt Smith

The unicorn halted in her slow, desperate round of the cage, realizing for the first time that the magician understood her speech. He smiled, and she saw that his face was frighteningly young for a grown man – untraveled by time, unvisited by grief or wisdom. “I know you,” he said.
The bars whispered wickedly between them. Rukh was leading the crowd to the inner cages now. The unicorn asked the tall man, “Who are you?”
“I am called Schmendrick the Magician,” he answered. “You won’t have heard of me.”


The Last Unicorn Fancast φ King Haggard - Christopher Lee

“You may come and go as you please,” said King Haggard to the Lady Amalthea. “It may have been foolish of me to admit you, but I am not so foolish as to forbid you this door or that. My secrets guard themselves – will yours do the same? What are you looking at?”
“I am looking at the sea,” the Lady Amalthea replied again.
“Yes, the sea is always good,” said the king. “We will look at it together one day.” He walked slowly to the door. “It will be curious,” he said, “to have a creature in the castle whose presence causes Lír to call me ‘father’ for the first time since he was five years old.”
“Six,” said Prince Lír. “I was six.”
“Five or six,” the king said, “it had stopped making me happy long before, and it does not make me happy now. Nothing has yet changed because she is here.”
He was gone almost as silently as Mabruk, and they heard his tin boots ticking on the stairs.


The Last Unicorn Fancast φ Prince Lir - Tom Hiddleston

“No,” he repeated, and this time the word tolled in another voice, a king’s voice: not Haggard, but a king whose grief was not for what he did not have, but for what he could not give.
“My lady,” he said, “I am a hero. It is a trade, no more, like weaving or brewing, and like them it has its own tricks and knacks and small arts. There are ways of perceiving witches, and of knowing poison streams; there are certain weak spots that all dragons have, and certain riddles that hooded strangers tend to set you. But the true secret of being a hero lies in knowing the order of things. The swineherd cannot already be wed to the princess when he embarks on his adventures, nor can the boy knock at the witch’s door when she is away on vacation. The wicked uncle cannot be found out and foiled before he does something wicked. Things must happen when it is time for them to happen. Quests may not simply be abandoned; prophecies may not be left to rot like unpicked fruit; unicorns may go unrescued for a long time, but not forever. The happy ending cannot come in the middle of the story.”
The Lady Amalthea did not answer him. Schmendrick asked, “Why not? Who says so?”
“Heroes,” Prince Lír replied sadly. “Heroes know about order, about happy endings – heroes know that some things are better than others. Carpenters know grains and shingles, and straight lines.” He put his hands out to the Lady Amalthea, and took one step toward her. She did not draw back from him, nor turn her face; indeed, she lifted her head higher, and it was the prince who looked away.
“You were the one who taught me,” he said. “I never looked at you without seeing the sweetness of the way the world goes together, or without sorrow for its spoiling. I became a hero to serve you, and all that is like you.


The Last Unicorn Fancast φ The Unicorn/Lady Amalthea - Tamzin Merchant

They broke out of the woods, kicked their horses to a gallop, and dashed away. But before they were out of sight, the first hunter looked back over his shoulder and called, just as though he could see the unicorn standing in shadow, “Stay where you are, poor beast. This is no world for you. Stay in your forest, and keep your trees green and your friends long-lived. Pay no mind to young girls, for they never become anything more than silly old women. And good luck to you.”
The unicorn stood still at the edge of the forest and said aloud, “I am the only unicorn there is.”

“The magic chose the shape, not I,” Schmendrick answered. “A mountebank may select this cheat or that, but a magician is a porter, a donkey carrying his master where he must. The magician calls, but the magic chooses. If it changes a unicorn to a human being, then that was the only thing to do.” His face was fevered with an ardent delirium which made him look even younger. “I am a bearer,” he sang. “I am a dwelling, I am a messenger –”
“You are an idiot,” Molly Grue said fiercely. “Do you hear me? You’re a magician, all right, but you’re a stupid magician.” But the girl was trying to wake, her hands opening and closing, and her eyelids beating like birds' breasts. As Molly and Schmendrick looked on, the girl made a soft sound and opened her eyes. They were farther apart than common, and somewhat deeper set, and they were as dark as the deep sea; and illuminated, like the sea, by strange, glimmering creatures that never rise to the surface. The unicorn could have been transformed into a lizard, Molly thought, or into a shark, a snail, a goose, and somehow still her eyes would have given the change away. To me, anyway. I would know.


The Last Unicorn Fancast φ Rukh - Mackenzie Crook

Then she heard Rukh’s voice, like a boat bottom gritting on pebbles.
“Okay, Schmendrick, I give up. Why is a raven like a writing desk?” The unicorn moved away into deepest shadow, and Rukh saw only the magician and the empty, dwindled cage. His hand jumped to his pocket and came away again. “Why, you thin thief,” he said, grinning iron. “She’ll string you on barbed wire to make a necklace for the harpy.” He turned then and headed straight for Mommy Fortuna’s wagon.
“Run,” the magician said. He made a frantic, foolish, flying leap and landed on Rukh’s back, hugging the dark man dumb and blind with his long arms. They fell together, and Schmendrick scrambled up first, his knees nailing Rukh’s shoulders to the earth.


The Last Unicorn Fancast φ Mabruk/The Skeleton - Andy Serkis

“I am going,” Mabruk said. “Not from fear of you – you lump of stale dough – nor of your mad, ungrateful father; nor of your new magician, much happiness may you have of him.” His eyes met King Haggard’s hungry eyes, and he laughed like a goat.
“Haggard, I would not be you for all the world,” he declared. “You have let your doom in by the front door, though it will not depart that way. I would explain myself more fully, but I am no longer in your service. That is a pity, and in that hour, you will have Schmendrick to call upon! Farewell, poor Haggard, farewell!”
Still laughing, he disppeared; but his mirth dwelled forever in the corners of that chamber, like the smell of smoke, or of old, cold dust.

The clock struck twenty-nine – at least, it was at that point that Molly lost count. The rusty strokes were still clanking to the floor when Schmendrick suddenly shook both fists at the skull and shouted, “All right, all right for you, you pretentious kneecap! How would you like a punch in the eye?” On the last words, his voice unraveled completely into a snarl of misery and rage.
“That’s right,” the skull said. “Yell. Wake up old Haggard.” Its own voice sounded like branches creaking and knocking together in the wind. “Yell louder,” it said. “The old man’s probably around here somewhere. He doesn’t sleep much.”
Molly gave a small cry of delight, and even the Lady Amalthea moved a step nearer. Schmendrick stood with his fists shut and no triumph in his face. The skull said, “Come on. Ask me how to find the Red Bull. You can’t go wrong asking my advice. I’m the king’s watchman, set to guard the way to the Bull. Even Prince Lír doesn’t know the secret way, but I do.”


The Last Unicorn Fancast φ Captain Cully - Sacha Baron Cohen

“Enough!” Cully roared. “Not before strangers!” He tugged at his sword and Molly opened her arms to it, still laughing. Around the fire, greasy hands twiddled dagger hilts and longbows seemed to string themselves, but Schmendrick spoke up then, seeking to salvage Cully’s sinking vanity. He hated family scenes.
“They sing a ballad of you in my country,” he began. “I forget just how it goes –”
Captain Cully spun like a cat ambushing its own tail. “Which one?” he demanded.
“I don’t know,” Schmendrick answered, taken aback. “Are there more than one?”
“Aye, indeed!” Cully cried, glowing and growing, as though pregnant with his pride. “Willie Gentle! Willie Gentle! Where is the lad?”
A lank-haired youth with a lute and pimples shambled up. “Sing one of my exploits for the gentleman,” Captain Cully ordered him.