All language subtitles for tredivy nuyti

NARRATOR". A sunny Wednesday morning
in Gotham City.

The sort of Wednesday
that makes you wish it were Sunday.

And at Gotham City City Hall...

a stream of tourists
wend their way in...

to see the curios and trophies
on permanent display.

And this, ladies and gentlemen...

is the original charter of Gotham City.

And due to its excessive age
and delicate condition...

it has been sealed in this guaranteed
burglar-proof display case...

which has been vacuum sealed
to protect such a valuable document.

Oh, guide, are you absolutely
certain it's burglar-proof?

Absolutely.

And now, if you step this way, please.

Your eggspert has much to learn.

No material can resist
my incomparable eggsplosives.

And now, let us make our eggsit.

Impossible.
That a criminal could march in...

and purloin Gotham City's most priceless
possession right under our nostrils?

But why, commissioner?
That's what I can't figure out.

Nor can I, O'Hara, nor can I.
What did the witnesses say?

Oh, there's no doubt about it.
His description.

- It was Egghead, all right.
- The rottenest egg of them all.

Any suggestions, O'Hara?

Well, it isn't so bad facing thieves,
murderers, run-of-the-mill crooks, but...

I know it seems we call on
the Caped Crusader pretty often.

There's no other way to handle it.

NARRATOR". And in stately Wayne Manor,
home of millionaire Bruce Wayne...

and his youthful ward
Dick Grayson:

If you'll hold the line a moment, sir...

I will gain his attention for you.

You see, Dick, many years ago...

Gotham City was founded by three
families who landed at Gotham Rock.

- The Savages, the Tylers and the Waynes.
- Right.

The original land was leased
from the Mohican Indians...

for the price of nine raccoon pelts.

Wow, what a deal that was.

Every five years,
the lease has to be renewed.

The city charter is very specific
about honoring that debt.

Tonight is the night to make payment,
so Pete Savage, Tim Tyler and I...

the descendants of the original settlers,
have to deliver three raccoon pelts each...

to Chief Screaming Chicken
in order to fulfill the obligation.

Gosh, where did you get the pelts?

I had to buy a whole raccoon coat
from a very popular crooner of the 1920s...

who'd fallen on hard times.

Had to pay a pretty price for it too.

This one's held up very well for a raccoon.

A matter of grave importance
has arisen.

Your attention would be appreciated.

A contract to be, ahem, read.

- I will take care of it immediately, Alfred.
- I'll go with you, Bruce.

Honestly, Alfred, those two are so busy.

I'll wager Batman and Robin
don't get around as much as Bruce and Dick.

I, uh... I rather doubt that, madam.

- Yes, commissioner.
- Dire news, Batman.

Egghead is back with a
carton full of crime.

We'll be right there.

To the Batpoles.

Why go to all that trouble
to steal the city charter?

Who knows what evil lurks.

He's a tough egg, Batman,
the smartest man in the world.

The second-smartest man in the world.

Present company excepted, of course.

He's assuredly the smartest villain
we've ever faced.

Any evidence left
at the scene of the crime?

None, Boy Wonder.
Frankly, we're stumped.

The Gotham City Charter.

What does it say?

Aside from its constitutional edicts...

its purpose is to act as a treaty between
the Mohican Indians and the founders.

Holy Bill of Rights.

Maybe Egghead wants to start a war between
the Gotham City citizens and the Indians.

I rather doubt it, Robin.

There's only one Indian left.

He'd be outnumbered ten million to one.

I think it has something to do
with the leasing conditions.

That probably means
Egghead will make a deal...

with Peter Savage,
Tim Tyler or Bruce Wayne.

Egghead does not make deals.

Oh, where is Peter Savage now?

Undoubtedly at his home
here in Gotham City.

He spends most of his time in Paris.

He's something of a bon vivant
and patron of the arts.

But he's always here for the Raccoon
Ceremony and to distribute the pelts.

And I think I know where Tim Tyler is.

Probably at Tyler Stadium, watching
his team play baseball against the Pets.

That leaves only Bruce Wayne.

I, uh, wonder where he is.

Unquestionably,
out doing something inconsequential...

with his youthful ward, Dick Grayson.

You know
how those millionaire playboys are.

- Let's go, Robin.
- Where to?

To the teepee of Screaming Chicken,
last of the Mohicans.

NARRATOR". Meanwhile, behind the doors
of an apparently legitimate import firm:

Eggscellent.

I might even go so far as
to say eggsquisite.

What you got in mind, boss?

This just looks like
some old piece of paper.

That's because you have no foresight,
Benedict.

Not everybody is as smart
as you are, Egghead.

Not anybody is as smart as I am,
Foo Yung. Ha, ha.

Please, don't talk so fast.

What's she following us around
for all the time?

I don't like dames on capers.

Fortunately, not everyone thinks like that,
Mr. Benedict.

Hi, Eggybaby.

Please, it's Mr. Egghead
before other people, not Eggybaby.

My eggsecutive secretary, Miss Bacon,
is taking down my every thought.

That way posterity will have on record...

the working of the most brilliant
criminal mind of all time.

If I do say so myself.

You gonna publish a book?

Well, now, let us eggsamine
this more carefully, huh?

There must be a loophole in this charter...

that will enable me to eggstort
control of the city.

Here it is.
Look at that, my rotten eggs.

"Whereas, and to wit..."

if the price of nine raccoon pelts is
not paid to the Mohican representative...

by the descendants of the Savage,
Tyler and Wayne families...

and whereas, if it
is not paid on time...

said land will revert back
to its original owners...

"and/or their legal representatives."

Oh, we've got them this time. We've caught
them with their eggs post facto down.

- What's he talking about?
- Search me.

- A little slower, please. My fingers hurt.
- Eh, mm?

Don't you know
who the representative of the Mohicans is?

Oh, you mean that little guy that's got
the blanket concession out on the highway?

Eggsactly.

Chief Screaming Chicken...

the last of the Mohicans.

- How?
- What?

- When?
- Where?

You, you are only person in Gotham City
who know traditional Mohican greeting.

I've long been a student of your tribal
customs, Chief Screaming Chicken.

What you want with Screaming Chicken?

Tonight's the night when you receive
payment on the Gotham City lease renewal.

Me think price too low for Gotham City.

Nine raccoon pelts,
cost of living go up and up.

Me want 12 raccoon pelts.

The contract was for nine.

Indian poor businessman.

My cousin, oh...
He sell Manhattan for 24 dollars.

Could have got 35.

Be that as it may,
Chief Screaming Chicken...

I'm here to make sure you're present
at the ceremonies tonight.

It's imperative that you attend.

Absolutely.

Thank you.

Ciao, Chief.

A magnificent eggshibition,
Chief Screaming Chicken.

When I'm done with you, you will be able to
eggsercise your most eggstravagant desires.

If you give me an eggsclusive
lease on Gotham City.

Me no give you lease, not until tonight.

Me honor-bound,
if paid nine raccoon pelt.

- And if not?
- Me deal with highest bidder.

But don't worry, they pay me pelts.
They always do, it is tradition.

Ah, but tonight,
one of those men won't show up...

and then the lease will eggspire.

You make mighty big talk, kemosabe.

Kemosabe?

I thought I heard
just about everything but.

- Yeah, Screaming, what's that mean?
- Me no know.

Me hear it once on radio. Very old word.

It's no use, Robin.

Not a single new egg company has opened
in Gotham City in the last few weeks.

I can't understand.

That's his usual modus operandi.

Egghead always has his hideout associated
with some sort of egg outfit.

Obviously, he's changed
his way of thinking...

and if that's not enough,
he's probably changed the way he...

Oh, well, that's it. Of course.

What kind of company sells eggs
that you can't fry, scramble or boil?

- A fish egg company.
- Right, Robin. Let's see what that brings.

Look at this.

A new egg firm has just opened
on Point View Street.

"The Ghoti Oeufs Caviar Company."

"Oeuf" means "eggs" in French,
but I don't get this other word at all.

The word is "fish," Robin.

- "Ghoti" is "fish"?
- See here, English phonetics.

G-H becomes F...

as in "tough" or "laugh."

O becomes I as in "women."

T-I becomes S-H...

as in "ration" or the word "nation."

Holy semantics, Batman,
you never cease to amaze me.

No time for compliments now, Robin.
We must thwart some criminals.

To the Batmobile.

Oh, you're making a fine deal,
Chief Screaming Chicken.

One hundred dollars a month for life
and all the eggs you can eat.

Me 60 years old now.

Me need them pension.

You 60?
I hope I look that good when I'm 60.

Well, I have great eggspectations
for our relationship, chief.

I tell you what I'll give you
as an added bonus:

You may have the import-eggsport
concession...

for all genuine American Indian
blankets made in Japan.

Oh, heh.

You are one heck of fine pale face.
Mm. Yeah.

- You no Indian giver?
- Oh, no.

Eggybaby never gave an Indian anything.

Well, I for one am eggshausted.

It's been a trying day, and I must
rest my fantastic brain for tonight.

There'll be no rest for the wicked today,
Egghead.

Boy, do you guys have egg
on your faces.

All the king's horses and all the king's men
won't be able to put you together again.

Oh, Batman, you're so lyrical.

Well, that's enough eggsercise for one day,
Batman.

You no stop, me give Boy Wonder
very short haircut.

You, Chicken, turn chicken?

Have you joined the enemy camp as well?

This is an acid egg, Batman.

One move and I'll drop it on Robin's head.

Nobody could be that rotten.

Don't tempt me.

Ow!

You put all your eggs in one basket,
Egghead, a fatal mistake.

Prepare yourself for an
eggspeditious defeat.

- That's very apt, Robin.
- Oh, glad you liked it.

Well, see how you like this.

- What is it, Batman?
- I don't know.

Whatever it is, it's awfully funny.

The yolk's on them, it's laughing gas.

Ha, ha! It's the funniest trick
anyone's ever pulled on us.

- Yes.
- Ha-ha-ha!

It's even funnier than the Joker.

I can't stop laughing.

And you won't, not until the gas wears off.

- Let's go, boss, before we start laughing too.
- An eggscellent idea.

- Let's go after them.
- No, no, no.

Not now, old chum.

In our condition, it won't do us any good.

Here, here.

Here, take this.

It's a sad pill to neutralize
the laughing gas. Ha-ha-ha!

It'll clear our minds.

Well, he may have won the first round...

but we're going to fight fire with fire.

Robin...

we'll never beat Egghead
with brute strength.

We must... We must out-think him.

That poor, misguided redskin,
Chief Screaming Chicken...

is obviously under Eggheads influence.

Therefore, it stands to reason...

that the lease to Gotham City must be
close to being in Egghead's greedy hands.

How do we stop it from happening?

Egghead must prevent either one
or all three of the millionaires...

from delivering their pelts
in order to break the lease.

- Shall I call Tim Tyler and Pete Savage?
- I'll do it.

The machine is attuned to Bruce Wayne's
voice. Klondike 57589, please.

Gosh, Batman, I've never seen
you use a telephone directory.

- How do you remember all those numbers?
- Elementary, my dear Robin.

I simply transpose the
numbers into letters.

For example, Pete Savage's number is the
name of a girl that he and I used to date.

Holy IT&T.

Hello?

Hello, Pete, Bruce Wayne here.

I'm calling to see whether you'll be attending
the anniversary celebration tonight.

It's the Raccoon Ceremony,
you know.

Certainement, I'll be there.
You're grand marshal this year, aren't you?

Heh, yes, it should be fun.
It's nice to have you back in town, Pete.

Be it ever so humble,
there is no place like Gotham City.

Au revoir, Pete.

Very good, Mr. Savage.

Everything sounds good there,
let's try Tim Tyler.

Quentin 65701, please.

You can't make a word out of that one
because of the one and the zero.

Things don't always work out
like we want them to.

When that happens, I simply depend
on my well-developed memory.

When was the last time you called
that number?

- Yesterday.
- Sally, you're a whiz, Batman.

- Tim Tyler speaking.
- Hello, Tim, this is Bruce Wayne.

Bruce, how are you?

- Are you attending the ceremony tonight?
- Wouldn't miss it if it meant my life.

- Oh, that's swell. See you there.
- Right.

You demonstrated uneggspected
good sense, Mr. Tyler.

What do you want from me, Egghead?

I am just a poor major-league
baseball team owner.

How about season tickets?
I love halfbacks.

How eggsasperating.

Oh, what a beautiful night.

Mercy alive, do we look sharp?

Have a good time, boys.

And don't stay out too late,
you know how I worry.

I wonder where our official escort is.

- Dick, do you have the pelts?
- Here they are.

But I doubt if Chief Screaming Chicken
will be there to claim them.

Not after all he's done.

Still, we must live up to our part of the
bargain and deliver nine pelts before midnight.

I'll never understand why Chief Screaming
Chicken decided to put in with Egghead.

He told me once that he worked
for a while as a bottle washer.

He had an argument with a boss
who told him to go back to his own country.

- But this is his country.
- Ha-ha-ha.

Exactly.

And you wonder why
Chief Screaming Chicken is dissatisfied.

- Your escort, sir.
- Thank you, Alfred.

- So they got you too.
- What do you mean?

This is a trap, Bruce.
Egghead is driving this limousine.

And we walked right into it.

We can always get out.

- There's no handle on this door.
- That's correct.

So get ready for an eggsotic eggsperience.

There are several reasons
why I called this meeting, gentlemen...

aside from the obvious one of keeping
you all from the anniversary ceremonies...

when Chief Screaming Chicken
appears to collect his raccoon pelts.

It has occurred to me
that one of you is Batman.

- How exciting.
- Yes, you see this fiendish machine?

Well, it's one of my own inventions.

For lack of another name for it,
I call it an electro thought transferor.

It sucks every shred of information...

from the mind of the person
sitting under that apparatus...

and places it in the brain
of the one under this one.

- How ugly.
- How disgusting.

How eggshilarating.

Long ago, my superior intellect
deduced that Batman must be a person...

who was a millionaire
and didn't have to work...

because crime-fighting
is such an eggspensive hobby.

- Which one is it, Eggybaby, hmm?
- Please, please, Miss Bacon.

All of you are approximately
the right age, in your early 30s...

but I have eliminated you, Mr. Tyler,
because you are left-handed.

No, the Caped Crusader
is not a port-sider.

And you, Mr. Savage,
are out because of your accent.

So aside from a couple
of aging rock 'n' roll singers...

you, Mr. Wayne,
are the only Gotham City millionaire...

who is athletically inclined
with eggsessive agility.

Therefore, you must be Batman.

You realize this is all a waste of time.

Not at all, Mr. Wayne.

My machine has a rather eggscentric
and ugly side effect.

In removing all of the knowledge
from your brain...

it will leave you an empty-headed fop.

There's no use struggling,
Mr. Wayne...

you're being held there
by an electromagnetic force.

I'm leaving.
Things like this give me a headache.

All right, Benedict, turn on the machine.

It will take a moment or two to warm up...

and then we shall see
if my eggseptional logistics are correct.

But even if I'm wrong about
your being Batman, Mr. Wayne...

your brain will be utterly destroyed.