All language subtitles for 28uy noiuy

NARRATOR". We have previously seen in a fancy
new restaurant run by an old friend...

a gay dinner party...

interrupted by a shocking
and senseless theft.

Caught red-handed.

Too red-handed. It could have been a plot.
Better call Batman.

Strange, he wants to be arrested.

So let him go.

Spy on him, find out his plans.

Cold-blooded murder.

A fake. Another attempt
to get into the pen.

What? A super-crook like him
in a mere city jail?

What's his scheme?

Got it. He wanted to contact a forger
who's doing time.

But Penguin broke out of jail.

Snatched Chief O'Hara as a hostage.

Challenged the Dynamic Duo to a fair duel.

A fair duel? With that crooked bird?

O'Hara in a trunk.

Deadly Penguin guns waiting.

High-voltage electric cables into the pool.

Shut your eyes. Hold your breath.

In just one minute,
the gunfire is going to blast.

Look! That trunk on the slide.

Push it.

- Holy Davy Jones!
- Hold it.

This could be a deathtrap.

- Fire!
- Down! Bat Shield.

Holy Guadalcanal, Batman. What now?

Stay calm.
Let's assess this desperate situation.

Dollars to doughnuts,
Chief O'Hara's in that trunk.

And look! There's Penguin
at that electric switch.

Right. First thing...

drive the bird away with a Bat-pellet.

Nice eye, Batman.

No time for compliments, I'm afraid.

Let's advance our Bat Shield
through this deadly gunfire.

- Make for those big electric cables.
- Right you are.

What do we do?
Cut them with our Insulated Bat-clippers?

On the contrary. I'll reverse the polarity
with my special Bat-inverser.

Oh! I'm blinded.

Those dratted bat fellas.

Watch it. Someone's getting back
to that electric switch.

Indeed. Just as I'd hoped. Get back.

All right, fry, Chief O'Hara.

You fry and sizzle and boil.

Holy levitation. How did that happen?

Simple.
By reversing the polarity of the cables...

I transformed the swimming pool
into a gigantic antimagnet.

It repelled the metal of the trunk.

Curses. We're out of ammunition!

It's a trick to get us out
from behind our Bat Shield.

- No trick, Robin. They are out of ammunition.
- How do you know?

Easy. I've been counting their bullets.
At them.

Surrender, you criminals.

- Up with your flippers!
- Quack.

Open the trunk. Release Chief O'Hara.

Roger.

- Are you all right?
- Whew.

Drat it! It's most irritating.

A perfect plot gone awry.

It'll happen to the criminal every time,
Penguin.

Get set for a short flight.

- Next stop for you, the bar of justice.
- Quack.

Next case, bailiff.

An arraignment, Your Honor.
Mr. Penguin and his rascally restaurateurs.

- On what charge?
- Various, Your Honor.

"Kidnapping of a police chief..."

illegal electrification
of a swimming pool...

littering public property
with machine gun cartridges...

without proper license therefore...

attempted murder, mayhem, battery...

"and compound assault."

Dear me, most serious.

Where's Mr. Jefferson Hamfurter,
the district attorney?

With your permission, Judge Moot...

Mr. Hamfurter has asked me
to represent the people.

Of course. It will be an honor, Batman.

Will the prisoner Penguin rise
and state how he pleads?

In the immortal phrase of Emile Zola:

J 'accuse!

What? You accuse?

Indeed, Your Honor.

I accuse Batman and Robin...

and the Gotham City Police Department...

with conspiracy to deprive me
of my lawful rights.

You got that?

On what facts do you base your
grave charge, Mr. Penguin?

Well, early yesterday
evening, Your Honor...

I was apprehended in the act
of heisting a diamond bracelet...

from the wrist of one Mrs.
Harriet Cooper.

And although my guilt was manifest...

Batman and Robin prevented my arrest.

Astonishing. What do you say, Batman?

It's quite true, Your Honor.

I felt in this peculiar situation...

He felt, he felt!

Under what do we live in Gotham City, sir?

We live under a code of law...

or do we live
under a costumed madman's feelings?

Point well taken, Mr. Penguin.

Thank you, Your Honor.

- Your Honor, I object to...
Objection overruled.

Continue, Mr. Penguin.

Thank you, sir.

As a law-breaking citizen...

I had and I have a clear right
of admission...

into the Gotham State Penitentiary.

Quite so. Quite so.

Now, deprived of those rights,
I had no other recourse...

but to protect myself
by any means at my disposal.

Hmm. Mm.

In other words,
the acts of which you're accused...

were merely a citizen's reaction
to illegal police conspiracy?

Solomon himself could've put it
in no neater nutshell, Your Honor.

But, Your Honor, kidnapping, mayhem...

the attempted drowning
of our beloved police chief.

Holy flip-flop, what's happened to justice?

You call attempted mayhem
a "normal citizen's reaction"?

Enough, Boy Wonder. I fear you're out
of your depth in these thorny matters.

Way, way out.

Ahem. Now, our code of law
is the cornerstone of our society.

Whenever it is violated
by those sworn to uphold it...

which you clearly did, Batman...

then what recourse has the
humble citizen but action?

Now, which of us is to
cast the first stone?

We've been outwitted, Robin.

It's not fair. Let's fight.

Another day, another way.

Your Honor, the people withdraw their case.

Very well. Dismiss the charges.

Release Mr. Penguin
and his rascally restaurateurs.

Do you mean that you are not sending me
to the state pen?

No. Your eloquence has gained you freedom,
Mr. Penguin.

Now fly the straight and narrow path
forevermore.

Faugh.

This is one plan Penguin won't twist.

There. That ought to do it.

Remarkable indeed, sir.

You can say that again.
I bet Batman's the only one in the world...

with a hand steady enough
to paint false fingerprints.

Come, come, Robin, don't exaggerate.

All it takes is a little practice
and a bit of patience.

Fortunate the criminal classes
don't realize the possibilities.

It wouldn't help them if they did, Alfred.

The poor wretches are addicted
to tobacco and alcohol.

They lack the nerve control
for this sort of work.

You know your role?

I've committed it to memory by rote, sir.

So proceed to The Penguin's Nest.
Good luck.

- It's a privilege to be of help, sir. Good day.
- Ah, ah, ah.

Don't touch anything
for a minute and 23 seconds. Remember.

Very good, sir. Yes.

Robin, would you get me police headquarters
via the special tip line, please?

Roger.

- It's ringing.
- Good.

Police headquarters.

This is a friend speaking.

There's trouble at Table 7.

What now? Some nitwit complaining
about a fly in his caviar?

- Police trouble.
- Police? What do you mean?

That bonehead chief flatfoot.

The one that we tried to bump off
in the trunk. Better have a look.

But, my dear chap...

Don't you "dear chap" me,
Mr. Quill-Pen Quertch.

- "Quill-Pen Quertch"?
- Who's he?

Heh-heh-heh. My pretty brainless birdie...

he's merely the most brilliant
criminal penman who ever lived.

What an astonishing stroke of luck.

Get out of town, Quill-Pen.

As St. Paddy said to the snakes
in dear old Ireland, "Out."

I give you three hours.

Or is it too neat to be a stroke of luck?

You're right. It might be a trap.

Chickadee, get the
gentleman's fingerprints.

Mr. Dee, come with me. Quack, quack.

Ah, fingerprints.

Famous Forgers, International.

- Ah! Here we are.
- His water glass, Pengy.

Well done, my sweet.

Mm-hm.

Right index finger.

Can you read me Quertch's classification
in the file?

"Twelve-R-seven-one-Q-six."

seven-one-Q-six.

Eureka!

It's Quill-Pen, after all. Shh.

Your host and colleague, Mr. Quertch.

That brainy bird of prey, the Penguin.

- I'm honored, Comrade Penguin.
- Heh, heh.

Oh, yeah, that's right.

Now, uh, allow me to suggest...

a mutually profitable collaboration.

By all means, old bird.

What's the setup?

You see, it happens
that I have very cleverly got hold of...

- Curious.
- Huh?

Uh, I have a strange feeling
that I have seen you somewhere before...

Mr. Quertch.
- Heh.

Well, perhaps my...
My phiz in the Rogue's Gallery, what?

No, I don't think so.

Great heavenly ice floes!

Mercy me! Oh, the poor man has fainted.

Ladies and gentlemen,
friends of The Penguin's Nest...

I regret to announce the outbreak
of a sudden epidemic:

Moldavian food poisoning.

I suggest, while you can...

run for your lives
to your favorite family physician.

- What's happened?
- Who is he, Pengy?

He's an impostor.

I recognize him as a busybody
who has stumbled into my stew before.

His name is Alfred.

He is the faithful butler
of the millionaire Bruce Wayne.

I don't like it.

He should have checked in
five minutes ago.

Gosh, do you think Penguin's seen
through our ploy?

I don't know.

But I may have made a grave mistake
in sending Alfred to that devil's lair.

Come on, Robin, quick!

I don't get it. Why should Bruce Wayne's
butler be wearing a set of phony fingerprints?

Alas, it's too simple.

See, Mr. Wayne
is a very prominent bank director...

and they have got wind
of my super-crooked forgery scheme...

and this is a counterplot laid
by the Gotham City League of Bankers.

- Yeah. Yeah, that figures.
- So, what do we do?

I am brainy. I am nimble. I am versatile.

This Bruce Wayne will pay dearly
for his clumsy interfer...

Mr. Blue. Mr. Blue.

I want you to prepare
50 pounds of piecrust.

We are going to make
a gigantic butler pie. Heh!

Sinister.

This could be a crude attempt
to throw us off.

There's no one in the dining room.

There may be someone in the kitchen.
Let's find out.

Alfred's bowler.

Heavily dusted with pastry flour.

Holy chocolate éclair.
What can it mean, Batman?

I scarcely dare think.

I fear it's too grim.

Who are you? What's the meaning of this?

It's a catered affair, madam.

- In honor of Mr. Bruce Wayne. Is he home?
- No.

We'll wait.

You get out of here.
You get out of here at once.

Shoo, you hideous creatures! Shoo!

Answer it.

Answer it.

Hello?

Hi there, Aunt Harriet. It's Dick.

Bruce and I were just wondering
if there's anything new around the house.

Well, yes, I'd say there certainly is.

Eh. Hello? This is Mr. P. N. Guin.

- Penguin, you...
- Careful. You're Dick Grayson.

You mean the Penguin?

The famous criminal
I've read so much about?

That's who I mean, Dicky boy.

And you better tell your guardian, Mr. Wayne,
that if he wants to see Alfred alive...

he'd better hurry home fast.

Quick. To the Batmobile.

Ah, there you are, Mr. Wayne.
Good day, Mr. Wayne.

And good day, my boy. Welcome.
Welcome, the both of you. Heh.

- Why, what an extraordinary pastry.
- The biggest I've ever seen.

Yes, its name is Humble Pie, Mr. Wayne.

- And you are about to eat it.
- You don't say.

Yes. Mr. Blue, prepare to light the burner.

Now, inside that pie is
Quill-Pen Quertch...

the famous British forger.

- Why, you...
- Steady, Dick, I'll handle this.

And he will be cooked
before your very eyes...

millionaire Bruce Wayne,
the banker's friend.

Unless you compensate me...

to the tune of $1 million cash. Now.

A million.

I believe I have that sum on hand
in the small wall safe in my study.

Come on, I'll help you get it out.

Turn off
the Automatic Costume Change Device.

Costume Device off.

Quickly.

Now, a small tricky charade
to preserve our secret identities.

- Take your cues from me.
- Roger.

Look, Dick.

Good gravy, Dick,
coming through that window.

Why, Bruce, isn't that Batman and Robin,
Bruce?

It certainly is, Dick.

Go on and get them, Batman and Robin.

We'll just be out here
so as not to be in your way.

Nice.

Curse it!

We have you this time, Penguin.

We planted a tiny homing device in your
hat. We've been tracking you relentlessly.

Up with your flippers.

Surrender that gigantic pie.

To the fray, my rascally restaurateurs!

Stop, Batman!
Stop or I blow the lady's brains out!

Batman... Oh!

Well hit, madam.

Quickly, down and up the Batpoles
before they wake.

- Ah.
- Good gravy.

That must've been quite a battle.

Yes, indeed, sir. Too bad you missed it.

Where are they, Alfred?
I'd like to give them my thanks.

They departed through the window, sir,
in some haste.

Oh, and, sir,
they asked me to give you a message.

Should you ever again come up
against such a criminal as the Penguin...

don't endeavor to capture him
yourselves. Call the police.

- Quack.
- The job of crime-fighting is theirs.

Faugh!

There you are. Only one.

Quack. Triumph at last.
We're being sent to the state pen.

Rendezvous with Ballpoint Baxter
in the next cell.

- You still got the handwriting samples, Pengy?
- Of course I do.

In the handle of my tricky umbrella.

Ha-ha-ha.
- Oh.

- Good morning, commissioner.
- Oh, hello, Bruce.

Has my man arrived?

He should have been here by now.
O'Hara went to get him.

Oh. Here he is now.

Ballpoint.

Ballpoint Baxter?

That's right, Mr. Penguin.
I've just secured him a parole.

Mr. Baxter's going to teach penmanship...

in one of the Wayne Foundation camps
for underprivileged children.

Oh, no. No.

What about the underprivileged criminal?

All right, you crooked birds,
let's get moving.

- Quack.
- Come on.

Ballpoint. Ballpoint.
Ballpoint, don't leave me.

All right, come on. The bus is ready
to take you to the state pen.

Come on, Mr. Baxter, an honest life awaits.

One I'm sure you'll find
very, very satisfying.