All language subtitles for 01 Monty Python And Now For Something Completely Different - 1971 [H264-mp4] English

And Now For Something Completely
Different - 1971 [H264-mp4] English.

In this picture
there are 47 people.

None of them can be seen.

In this film,
we hope to show you...

how not to be seen.

This is Mr. E. R. Bradshaw
of Napier Court...

Blackline Road, London, SE 14.

He cannot be seen.

Now I'm going to ask him
to stand up.

Mr. Bradshaw,
will you stand up, please?

This demonstrates
the value of not being seen.

In this picture, we cannot see
Mrs. B. J. Smegma...

of 13 The Crescent, Belmont.

Mrs. Smegma,
will you stand up, please?

This is Mr. Nesbitt
of Harlow. Newtown.

Mr. Nesbitt,
will you stand up, please?

Mr. Nesbitt has learned
the first lesson of not being seen:

Not to stand up.

However, he has chosen
a very obvious piece of cover.

Mr. E. W. Lambert of Homely,
The Burrows. Oswald Street...

has presented us with a poser.

We do not know
which bush he is behind.

But we can soon find out.

Yes. It was the middle one.

Mr. and Mrs. Watson of Hull...

chose a very cunning way
of not being seen.

When we called at their house, we found
they had gone on two weeks holiday.

However, a neighbour told us
where they were.

And here is the neighbour
who told us where they were.

And here is where he lived.

And this is where he was born.

And now for something
completely different.

Oh. Good evening.

Ladies and gentlemen...

we apologize that the feature was
not quite as long as we'd anticipated.

Therefore,
there will be a short interval.

In the meantime, we are pleased
to be able to show you a short film...

starring a man
with a tape recorder up his nose.

And now... And now
a film starring a man...

with a tape recorder
up his brother's nose.

And now in stereo.

Thank you.
That is the end of the interval.

Will you kindly return
to your seats?

We will now be proceeding
with the program as advertised.

Darling, you were wonderful.

Oh, really?

In 1971 the British Empire
lay in ruins.

Foreigners frequented the streets,
many of them Hungarians.

Not the streets.
The foreign nationals.

Anyway, many of these Hungarians went
into tobacconist's to buy cigarettes.

There you are, sir. Thank you.

Good morning, sir.

"I will not buy this record.
It is scratched."

I'm sorry?

"I will not buy this record.
It is scratched."

Oh, no, no, no.
This is a tobacconist's.

Tobacconist's.

"I will not buy this tobacconist's.
It is scratched."

No. Tobacco. Um, cigarettes.

Cigarettes?

- "My hovercraft is full of eels."
- What?

"My hovercraft is full of eels."

- Ah, matches.
- Yeah! Matches.

- "Do you want..."
- "Do you want."

Want.

"Do you want to come back to my place?
Bouncy, bouncy."

That'll be
six shillings, please.

"If I said you had a beautiful body,
would you hold it against me?"

"I am no longer infected."

May I?

Costs six shillings.

Help!

- What's all this. Then?
- "You have beautiful thighs."

- What?
- He hit me.

"Drop your panties, Sir Arthur.
I can not wait till lunchtime!"

- Right!
- "Oh, my nipples explode with delight!"

The Hungarian gentleman
was subsequently released...

but his information led to the arrest
and trial of the real culprit.

I am.

You are hereby charged
that on the 28th day of May...

you did will fully
and with malice aforethought...

publish an alleged
English-Hungarian phrase book...

with intent to cause
a breach of the peace.

- How do you plead?
- Not guilty.

Mr. York, on the 28th of May...

- you published this phrase book.
- I did.

With Your Lordship's permission,
I would like to quote an example.

The Hungarian phrase meaning, "Can you
direct me to the railway station?"...

is here translated
by the English phrase...

"Please fondle my buttocks."

"Please fondle...

my buttocks."

Ah, yes.
It's past the post office...

200 yards down
and then left at the light.

Left at lights.

Meanwhile, not far away...

Mr. and Mrs. Arthur Putey were
about to enter an unfamiliar office.

Next.

Oh. Are you the marriage
guidance counsellor?

- Yes. Good morning.
- Morning.

And... good morning
to you, madam.

- Name?
- Mr. and Mrs. Arthur Putey.

And what is the name of your...
ravishing wife?

Wait. Don't tell me.

It's... It's something
to do with moonlight.

Goes with her eyes.

It's soft and gentle...

warm and yielding.

Deeply lyrical, and yet...

tender and frightened,
like a tiny, white rabbit.

It's Dierdre.

What a beautiful name.

What a beautiful...

beautiful name.

And what seems to be the trouble
with your marriage, Mr. Putey?

It started when we went
to Brighton on holiday together.

Dierdre - that's my wife - and I,
we've always been close companions...

and I never particularly
anticipated any marital strife.

The very idea of consulting
a professional marital adviser...

has always been of
the greatest repugnance to me.

Although, far be it from me
to impugn the nature of your trade or...

or profession.

- Do go on.
- We've always been close companions...

sharing the interests,
the gardening, the holiday money.

Twice a month of an evening, we settle
down to do the accounts together...

something which Dierdre -
that's my wife -

and I particularly look forward to
on account of her feet.

I should have said at the start that
I noted for having a grand sense of humour.

Although I've kept myself very much
to myself over the last couple of years.

It's only been as comparatively recently
as recently that I've begun to realize...

Well, perhaps "realize"
is too strong a word.

Uh, imagine that, uh,
I was not the only thing in her life.

You suspected your wife?

Well...

frankly, yes.

A bit.

Her behaviour did seem to me...

Her behaviour did seem to me.
Who was there to see...

to be a little odd.

- Odd?
- To an extent.

I'm not by nature
a suspicious person.

I've got a reputation of an after-dinner
speaker, if you get my meaning.

I certainly do.

And in the area where people know me,
I'm very well known.

- Fine. Would you...
- Certainly.

It was time to face the facts,
stop beating about the bush...

or I'd never be able to look myself
in the bathroom mirror again.

Would you mind running along for 10...
make it 20 minutes. All right?

Yes. I'll wait outside, shall I?

Yes, that-that's perhaps
the best thing.

Certainly set my mind at rest
on one or two scores there.

Arthur Putey!

Are you a man or a mouse?

You've been running too long,
Arthur Putey.

It's time to stop, time to turn
and fight like a man.

Go back in there, Arthur Putey.

Go back in there
and pull your finger out.

Yes! Yes, you're right.

This is it, Arthur Putey!

This is your moment,
Arthur Putey!

At last you're a man!

Come out of there. Dierdre!
I know you're in there.

- Go away!
- Righto.

Oh, what a lovely little.

Oh, what a lovely little...

- Oh, what a lovely little...
- Stop it! Stop right there!

This is absolutely disgusting,
and I'm not going to stand for it!

There. Kill.

Cut! That's it. We're not going to allow
this sort of smut on the screen.

This depraved and degrading spectacle
is going to stop right now.

- Do you hear me? Stop it!
- Damn I Just when it was getting good.

Evening, squire.

You married?

- Yes.
- I'm a bachelor myself.

Is... Is your wife a goer?

Eh? Know what I mean?
Nudge, nudge.

- Know what I mean? Say no more.
- I beg your pardon?

Your wife, does she go? Eh?
Know what I mean? Does she go?

- She sometimes goes.
- I'll bet she does.

Say no more.
Know what I mean? Nudge, nudge.

- I'm afraid I don't quite follow you.
- Follow me.

That's good. A nod's as good
as a wink to a blind bat.

- Look, are you selling something?
- Selling. Selling. Very good.

Know what I mean?

Oh, wicked. You're wicked, eh?
Nudge, nudge.

A nod's as good as a wink
to a blind bat.

- But...
- Your wife a sport, eh?

- She likes sport, yes.
- I bet she does.

She's very fond of cricket.

Who isn't, eh? Likes games.

Knew she would. Who doesn't. Eh?

She's been around a bit. Eh?

She's travelled.
She's from Purley.

Oh! Say no more.

Know what I mean? Say no more.

Your wife interested in,
uh, photography, eh?

"Photographs, eh?"
he asked him knowingly.

- Photography?
- Yeah. Snap. Grin. Wink. Nudge.

- Holiday stamps?
- Could be taken on holiday. Could be.

Swimming costumes. Nudge, nudge.

- Candid photography.
- No. I'm afraid we don't have a camera.

Oh. Still.

Look, are you trying
to insinuate something?

- Yes.
- Well?

Well, I mean,
you're a man of the world, aren't ya?

I mean, you know, you've, uh...
you've been around. You've been there.

- What do you mean?
- Well, you know, you've...

You've done it, uh, with a lady.

- You've slept with a lady.
- Yes.

What's it like?

Well, I think it's overrated.

Shut up, you!

- Good evening, class!
- Good evening.

- Where's all the others, then?
- They're not here.

I can see that!
What's the matter with'em?

- Don't know.
- Perhaps they've got flu.

Flu! They should eat
more fresh fruit!

Right! Now, self-defence!

Tonight I shall be carrying on
from where we got to last week...

when I was showing you how to
defend yourselves against anyone...

who attacks you armed
with a piece of fresh fruit.

- You said we wouldn't do fruit again.
- What do you mean?

We've done fresh fruit
for the last nine weeks.

What's wrong with fruit?
You think you know it all, eh?

Can't we try something else?

Like someone who attacks you
with a pointed stick.

Pointed stick?

We want to learn how to defend ourselves
against pointed sticks, do we?

Getting all high and mighty, eh?

Fresh fruit not
good enough for you, eh?

Well, let me tell you
something, my lad!

When you're walking home tonight
and some great homicidal maniac...

comes after you with a bunch of
loganberries, don't come crying to me!

Right!
And now the passion fruit.

When your assailant lunges at you
with a passion fruit, like thus...

- We done the passion fruit.
- What?

- We've done the passion fruit.
- We done oranges, apples, grapefruit's...

- Whole and segments.
- Greengages, pomegranates.

- Grapes, passion fruit.
- Lemons.

- Plums.
- And mangoes in syrup.

- How about cherries?
- We done them.

- Red and black?
- Yes.

All right, then.

Bananas. We haven't
done bananas, have we?

- No.
- Right!

How to defend yourself
against a man armed with a banana!

Catch. Now, it's quite simple
to deal with a banana fiend.

First of all, you force him
to drop the banana.

Then you eat the banana,
thus disarming him.

You have now
rendered him helpless!

- Suppose he's got a bunch.
- Shut up.

- Suppose he's got a pointed stick.
- Shut up!

Right! Now you, Mr. Apricot.

- Harrison.
- Sorry. Mr. Harrison.

Come at me with that banana.

Be as vicious as you like with it.
Come on. Attack me!

No, no, no!
Put something into it, for God's...

Hold the banana like that.

That's better. Now scream.

Good. Right. Now attack me.

Come on, man, attack me!

Next, I eat the banana.

Now, I would just like
to point out...

that this film is displaying
a distinct tendency to become silly.

Now, nobody likes
a good laugh more than I do.

Except, perhaps,
my wife and some of her friends.

Oh, yes, and Captain John son.

Come to think of it, most people
like a good laugh more than I do.

But that's beside the point. I'm warning
this film not to get silly again.

Right. Now, Director,
on the command "Cut"...

cut to the next scene.

- Director...
- This is a frightened city.

Wait for it.

Director, cut!

This is a frightened city.

Over these streets, over these houses,
hangs a pall of fear.

An ugly kind of violence is rife,
stalking the town.

Yes, gangs of old ladies
attacking fit, defenceless young men.

They just come up to you
and push you, like.

Shove you off the pavement. There's
usually about four or five of them.

Yeah, sometimes
it's three or four of them.

It's not even safe to go out
down to the shops any more.

Grannies are no respecter
of race, creed or sex.

Theirs is a harsh.
Ruthless world...

a tough world, a world in which
the surgical stocking is king.

But what are they in it for,
these senile delinquents...

these layabouts in lace?

- Oh, the violence.
- The prestige, mainly.

- The free gifts.
- Poking the knee in the groin.

We like pulling the heads
off sheep.

And tea cakes.

We have a lot of trouble with grannies.
Pension day is the worst.

Soon as they get it,
they blow the lot...

on milk, tea, sugar,
a tin of meat for their cat.

The whole crux
of the problem, uh...

lies in the basic
dissatisfaction...

of these senile delinquents
with the world as they find it.

They begin to question, uh,
the values of their society.

They see their sons
and daughters growing up...

to become accountants, uh,
solicitors, sociologists even.

And they begin to wonder,
"Is it all worth it? Is it all..."

Another prime target for vandalism
is telephone boxes.

But mostly,
they just live for kicks.

But there are other kinds
of violence abroad...

other gangs, equally vicious,
equally determined...

such as the baby snatchers.

Hey What is this?

Hey! Help!

I left him outside for a few moments
while I got some Brillo Pads.

When I came back, he was gone.
He was only 48!

And also vicious gangs
of "Keep Left" signs.

Right! Stop that!

It's silly. Very silly, indeed.

It started off as a nice little idea
about old ladies attacking young men...

but now it's just got silly.

His hair's too long
for a vicar too.

And you can tell those are not proper "Keep
Left" signs. Clear off, the lot of you!

You, come with me.

Right. Now let's see something decent
and military: Some precision drilling.

Squad! Camp it up!

Ooh, get her! Whoops!

I've got your number, but you
couldn't afford me, dear, two, three.

I'll scratch your eyes out.

Don't come the bigger
dear bitch with us. Dear.

We all know where you've been,
you military fairy, two, three.

One, two, three, four,
five, six.

Whoops! Don't look now, girls.

The maid is just mince
in that jolly colour, Sergeant.

Two, three. Ooh!

Right! Stop that. Silly.

And a bit suspect, I think.
Time for a cartoon.

Once upon a time...

there was an enchanted prince...

who ruled the land
beyond the Wobbles.

One day he discovered
a spot on his face.

Foolishly, he ignored it.

And three years later,
he died of cancer.

The spot, however, flourished...

and soon set out
to seek its fortune.

Agnes, did you just see
who moved in next door?

Yes. Black as the ace of spades,
they were.

Oh, well,
there goes the neighbourhood.

Oh, yes.

Next, please.

One at a time, please.

There is only me, sir.

So there is. Take a, um...

- Seat?
- Seat. Take a seat.

So, you want to join
my mountaineering expedition, do you?

Who, me, sir?

- Yes, I'd very much like to, sir.
- Jolly good.

And how about you?

There is only me, sir.

Well, bang goes
his application then.

Now, let me fill you in.
I'm leading this expedition...

and we're going to climb
both peaks of Mount Kilimanjaro.

I thought there was
only one peak, sir.

Well. That I save a bit of time.
Well done.

Now, the object of
this year's expedition...

is to see if we can find any trace
of last year's expedition.

- Last year's expedition?
- Yes. My brother was leading that.

They were going to build a bridge
between the two peaks.

My idea, I'm afraid.

I ought to tell you that I have almost
everyone I need for this expedition.

But what special qualifications
do you have?

- Well, sir...
- Yes, you first.

- There is only me, sir.
- I wasn't talking to you.

- Carry on.
- I'm a fully qualified mountaineer.

Mountaineer?

Mouse. Moun...

Mountaineer: Two men skilled
at climbing a mountain.

By Jove, that'd be useful.

Well, you're in.
Congratulations.

Both of you.
Now, what are your names?

Arthur Wilson.

Well, look.

I'll call you Arthur Wilson One
and you Arthur Wilson Two...

just to avoid confusion.

Are you actually leading
this expedition?

Yes, we are leading
this expedition to Africa.

- What routes will you both be following?
- Good questions.

We'll be leaving on one or other
of the January the 22...

and taking the following routes:

From Manchester's,
down through Oxfords...

taking the M1.5
through London's to Purleys...

then the A25s
from Purleys to Dover's.

Thence Africans to Nairobis.

We take the south roads out of Nairobis
for about 12 miles and then ask.

- Does anyone speak Swahili?
- Most of them do down there.

No. Does anyone in our party
speak Swahili, sir?

- Well, Matron's got a smattering.
- Apart from the two Matrons.

Good Lord. I forgot about her.

Apart from them, who else
is coming on our expedition?

Well, we've got
the Arthur Brown twins...

two botanists called Madchen,
the William Johnston brothers...

- Two of them.
- Four. Pair of identical twins.

Two of the Harry Baker quads
and you two.

- And none of these are mountaineers?
- Well, you two are.

And we've got a brace of guides
called Jimmy Blankensoft...

because Kilimanjaro
is a pretty tricky climb.

Most of it's up,
till we reach the very top...

and then it tends
to slope away rather sharply.

But Jimmy's put his heads together
and worked out a way up. Jimmy

Jimmy Blankensoft, Arthur Wilson.
Arthur Wilson, Jimmy Blankensoft.

Jimmy Blankensoft Two,
Arthur Wilson Two.

Arthur Wilson Two,
Jimmy Blankensoft One.

- Carry on, Jimmy.
- Don't worry about the...

We'll get him up, all right.

Well, I'd better describe the route.
We start off simply up Kilimanjaro...

Quite simple.
No problem there, basically.

And then we go on to
the main face itself of Kilimanjaro.

It's a bit difficult
here because...

There's a difficult bit 'round here
when you've got to go...

from the end of the mantel-piece
onto the coffee table.

It's a bit of a difficult jump.
We don't need those.

Then you've got the rail up here,
which is quite a good fortune.

There's a terribly easy bit
over the floor up onto the chair.

And then we've got...

We get down.
We go quite simplistic.

He'll be leading
the first assault.

I'm afraid I shan't be coming
on your expedition, sir...

'cause I have absolutely no confidence
in anyone involved in it!

Oh. Dear.

- What about you?
- I'm game, sir.

Jolly good.

Good Lord!

And now for something
completely different.

- Inspector!
- Yes, sir?

I was sitting on a park bench
and I put my coat down.

When I picked it up, I found my wallet
had gone and Ј15 had been stolen.

- Did you see anyone?
- No, no one at all.

Well, there's very little
we can do about that, sir.

Do you want to come back
to my place?

Yeah, all right.

And so Miss Spume
returned to her typing...

and dreamed
her little dreamy dreams...

unaware of the cruel trick
fate had in store for her.

For Miss Spume was
about to fall victim...

of the dreaded international
Chinese communist conspiracy.

Yes, these fanatical fiends...

under the leadership
of the so-called Mao Tse-tung...

had caught Miss Spume off guard
for one brief but fatal moment...

and destroyed her...

just as they are ready to go
any time free men anywhere...

waver in their defence
of democracy.

Once again, American defence...

proves its effectiveness
against international communism.

Using this diagram of a tooth
to represent any small country...

we can see how
international communism works...

by eroding away from within.

When one country, or tooth...

falls victim to international communism,
its neighbours soon follow.

In dentistry, this is known
as the domino theory.

But with American defence,
the decay is stopped before it starts.

That's why nine out of ten
small countries choose American defence.

Or Crelm toothpaste
with the miracle ingredient Frauduline.

The white car represents
Crelm toothpaste...

with the miracle ingredient
Frauduline.

The not-white car represents
another toothpaste.

Both cars provide 30% protection.

At 60% protection,
both cars are doing well.

At 90% protection... Wait.

The not-white car is out...

and Crelm toothpaste goes on
to win with 100% protection.

Yes. Do like all smart motorists.

Choose Crelm toothpaste!

Or Shrill petrol,
with the new additive GLC-9424075...

after 6:00 p.m., 9424047.

Using this white card
to represent engine deposits...

and this black card to represent
Shrill's new additive, GLC-9424075...

after 6:00 p.m., 9424047...

we can see how the engine deposits
are pushed off the face of the earth...

by the superior forces
available to Sh...

This is the police.

We know you're in there,
so come out with your hands up.

You'll never take me alive
copper!

All right, then. Sergeant!

Conrad Poohs and His Dancing Teeth.

Thank you, thank you,
Conrad Poohs and His Exploding Teeth.

A smile, two fangs
and an "Excuse me".

And next tonight,
gentlemen and ladies...

here at the Peep-hole Club
for the very first time...

we're very proud to welcome...

Ken Ewing and His Musical Mice.

Thank you, thank you.

Ladies and gentlemen,
I have in this box...

23 white mice...

mice which I have
painstakingly trained...

over the past few years...

to squeak at a selected pitch.

This one is "A" -Sharp...

and this one is "G".

"G", "A"-Sharp.
You get the general idea.

Now, these mice are so arranged
upon this rack...

that when played
in the correct order...

they will squeak...

"Three Blinded White Mice."

Ladies and gentlemen,
I give you, on the mouse organ...

"Three Blinded White Mice."

Thank you.

- Oh, my God!
- Somebody stop him.

Ten seconds, studio.

Stop him! Stop that bastard!

Hello, and welcome to another
edition of It's the Arts.

And we kick off this evening
with a look at the cinema.

One of the most prolific film directors
of this age, or indeed, of any age...

is Sir Edward Ross, back in this country
for the first time in five years...

to open a season of his films
at the National Film Theatre.

And we are indeed fortunate to have him
with us in the studio this evening.

- Good evening.
- Edward...

- You don't mind if I call you Edward?
- Not at all.

It does seem to worry some people.
I'm not sure why.

Some are sensitive, so I do take the
precaution of asking on these occasions.

- No, that's fine.
- So Edward it is. Splendid.

- I'm sorry to have brought it up.
- No. Edward it is.

Thank you very much
for being so helpful.

- At times it's more than my job's worth.
- Quite.

Makes it hard to establish a rapport,
to put the other person at his ease.

- Quite.
- Quite.

Silly little point,
but it does seem to matter.

Still less said the better.
Ted, when you first went in the film...

You don't mind if I call you Ted,
as opposed to Edward?

- No. Everyone calls me Ted.
- Splendid.

- Because it's much shorter, isn't it?
- Yes, it is.

- Much less formal.
- Ted, Edward, anything.

Splendid.
Incidentally, do call me Tom.

I don't want you bothering with
any of this "Thomas" nonsense.

Fine. Where were we?
Eddie baby, when you first...

I'm sorry. I don't like
being called Eddie baby.

- I beg your pardon?
- I don't like being called Eddie baby.

Now get on with your interview.

- Did I call you Eddie baby?
- Yes, you did.

I don't think I did.
Did I call him Eddie baby?

Yes, you did!

I didn't call you Eddie baby,
did I, sweetie?

- Don't call me sweetie.
- Can I call you sugar plum?

- No!
- Pussy-cat?

- No!
- Angel drawers?

No, you may not.

- Now get on with it.
- Can I call you Frank?

- Why Frank?
- Frank's a nice name.

President Nixon's got
a hedgehog called Frank.

- What is going on?
- Frank. Frankie. Fran. Frannie.

- Little Frannie Boo.
- That's it. I'm leaving.

Had enough of this.
I've never been so insulted.

- Tell us about your film, Sir Edward.
- What?

Tell us about your latest film,
Sir Edward, if you'd be so kind.

- None of this pussy-cat nonsense?
- Promise.

Please. Sir Edward.

- My latest film?
- Yes, Sir Edward.

I first had the idea, funnily enough,
when I joined the industry in 1919.

Of course, in those days
I was only a tea boy...

Oh, shut up.

- There he is!
- Get him.

Stop him!

He's a murderer!

Come back, you fiend! Fiend!

He's a murderer!

"The room is full of milkmen..."

some of whom are...

"are very old."

This man is Ernest Scribbler...

manufacturer of jokes.

In a few moments he will think
of the funniest joke in the world...

and as a result
he will die laughing.

It was obvious
the joke was lethal.

No one could read it and live.

Scribbler's mother, alarmed by
the unusual sounds of merriment...

entered the room and found
what was, apparently...

a suicide note.

The war against the Hun
continues...

and as Britain's brave boys
battle against the Bosch...

their leaders are on the lookout for
new breakthroughs that could provide...

the ultimate weapon
in the war against the Hun.

Here, in this little house in Pinchley,
they think maybe they've found it.

It's a joke so deadly, it could have
Fritz's forces falling about.

Tests on Salisbury Plain confirm...

the joke's devastating effectiveness
at a range of up to 50 yards.

Fantastic!

All through the winter of '43...

we had translators working
in joke-proof conditions...

to try and manufacture
a German version of the joke.

They worked on one word each
for greater safety.

One of them saw two words by mistake and
had to spend several weeks in hospital.

But apart from that,
things went ahead pretty fast.

And by January
we had the joke in a form...

which our troops couldn't understand,
but which the Germans could.

So on July the 8th, 1944...

the joke was first told
to the enemy...

in the Ardennes.

Squad, tell the joke!

In action, it was deadly.

The German casualties
were appalling.

It was a fantastic success
over 80,000 times as powerful...

as Britain's great pre-war joke,
which was used at Munich...

and one which Hitler
couldn't match.

I would like to apologize
for the rather poor taste...

of the previous item.

And excuse me, please.

Fleet Street, please.

All right, everybody,
stay close.

Don't lag behind.
Keep together, everybody.

Remember. Watch out
for the killer cars.

Yes, the killer cars.

For years the city had been plagued by
ever-increasing pedestrian congestion.

In an attempt to eliminate
this problem...

certain fanatical cars,..

Had taken the law
into their own hands.

But the days of the killer cars
were numbered...

thanks to the miracle
of atomic mutation.

Thank you!
You've saved our city!

But at what cost?

Just then as it looked for certain,
that the city was about to be eaten...

the earth trembled and the sun
was blotted out from the sky.

Suddenly, swarms of giant
bees filled the air...

and 300 million armoured horsemen covered
with coats of 1,000 different colours...

appeared at every street corner
attacking the monster cat...

in a scene of such
spectacular proportions...

that it could never in your life be seen
in a low-budget film like this.

If you'd notice,
my mouth isn't moving either.

But just as the monster cat
was starting to weaken...

the earth split apart
with a deafening roar and...

Hello. I wish
to register a complaint.

- Hello. Miss?
- What do you mean, "miss"?

Oh, I'm sorry. I have a cold.
I wish to make a complaint.

Sorry. We're closing for lunch.

Never mind that, my lad.
I wish to complain about this parrot...

what I purchased not half an hour ago
from this very boutique.

Oh, yes, the Norwegian blue.
What's wrong with it?

I'll tell you what's
wrong with it, my lad.

It's dead.
That's what's wrong with it.

No, it's resting. Look.

Look, my lad, I know a dead parrot when
I see one and I'm looking at one now.

No, that's not dead,
it's resting.

- Resting?
- Yeah, resting.

Remarkable bird, the Norwegian blue,
isn't it? Beautiful plumage.

The plumage don't enter into it.
It's still dead.

No, it's resting.

All right, then.
If it's resting, I'll wake it up.

Hello, Polly!

I've got a nice, fresh cuttlefish for
you if you wake up, Mr. Polly Parrot!

- There, he moved.
- No, that was you pushing the cage.

- I didn't.
- Yes, you did.

Hello, Polly!

Wakey, wakey!

Rise and shine.

This is your 9:00 alarm call.

That's what I call
a dead parrot.

- No, he's stunned.
- Stunned?

Yeah, you stunned him
just as he was wakin' up.

- Norwegian blues stun easily.
- I've had enough of this.

That parrot is definitely deceased,
and when I bought it a half hour ago...

you assured me that
its total lack of movement...

was due to it being tired
and shagged out after a long squall.

Well, he's pining
for the fjords.

Pinin' for the fjords?
What kind of talk is that?

Look, why did it fall flat on its back
the minute I got it home?

Well, the Norwegian blue prefers
keeping on its back. Beautiful plumage.

Look, I took the liberty of examining
that parrot and I discovered...

the only reason it had been sitting
on its perch in the first place...

was that it had been
nailed there.

Oh, well, of course
it was nailed there.

If I hadn't nailed it there, it would
have muscled up to those bars and boom.

Look here mate.

This parrot wouldn't boom
if you put 4,000 volts through it.

It's bleeding demised.

No, it's pining.

It's not pining, it's passed on.

This parrot is no more.

It has ceased to be.

It's expired and
gone to see its maker.

This is a late parrot!

It's a stiff.

Bereft of life.
It rests in peace.

If you hadn't nailed it to the perch,
it would be pushing up the daisies.

It's run down the curtain
and joined the choir invisible.

This is an ex-parrot.

Well. I'd better
replace it then.

If you want to get anything done in
this country you've got to complain...

till you're blue in the mouth.

Sorry, squire.
We're right out of parrots.

I see. I get the picture.

- I've got a slug.
- Does it talk?

Not really.

Well, it's scarcely
a replacement then, is it?

Listen. I didn't want
to work in a pet shop.

I wanted to be a lumberjack.

Sorry. This is irrelevant.

Yes, a lumberjack!

Yes, a lumberjack!

Leaping from trees as they float down
the mighty rivers of British Columbia.

The giant redwood!

The larch!

The fir! The mighty Scotch pine!

What about my bloody parrot?

The smell of fresh-cut timber!

The crash of mighty trees.

With my best girl
by my side, we'd sing!

I'm a lumberjack and I'm okay

I sleep all night
and I work all day.

He's a lumberjack and he's okay.

He sleeps all night
and he works all day

I cut down trees I eat my lunch

I go to the lavatory.

On Wednesday I go shopping.

And have buttered scones for tea.

He cuts down trees
He eats his lunch.

He goes to the lavatory.

On Wednesday he goes shopping.

And has buttered scones for tea.

He's a lumberjack and he's okay.

He sleeps all night
and he works all day

I cut down trees I skip and jump

I like to press wild flowers

I put on women's clothing.

And hang around in bars.

He cuts down trees
He skips and jumps.

He likes to press wild flowers.

He puts on women's clothing.

And hangs around in bars.

He's a lumberjack and he's okay.

He sleeps all night
and he works all day

I cut down trees
I wear high heels.

Suspenders and a bra

I wish I'd been a girlie.

Just like my dear papa

- I cut down trees, I wear high heels.
- He cuts down trees.

Suspenders and a bra

I wish I'd been a girlie.

Just like my dear papa.

Oh, Brevers!

And I thought you were so butch.

Oh, you pansy!

And now for something
completely different.

Hello, darling.
Sorry I'm so late.

That's all right, darling.
I'm 20 minutes late myself.

- Let's not start worrying about that.
- It's nice here, isn't it?

Yes. A very good restaurant.
Five stars, you know?

- Really?
- Oh, yes. Terrific reputation.

Good evening, madame.
Good evening, sir.

May I say what a pleasure it is
to see you here again, sir?

Thank you. Apparently,
the boeuf en croute is fantastic.

If I may recommend, sir,
the faisan a la reine.

The sauce is one of the chef's
most famous creations.

- Mmm, that sounds very good.
- Sounds lovely.

Anyway, darling,
have a look at the menu.

See what you want.
Take your time.

By the way, I've got a bit of a dirty
fork. Could you get me another one?

- I beg your pardon?
- It's dirty. Could I get another fork?

- Sir, I do apologize.
- No need to apologize. Doesn't worry me.

No. I do apologize, sir.

I will fetch the head-waiter
immediatement.

No, please. No need to do that.

Oh no.
I feel sure the head-waiter...

he will want to apologize
to you himself, personally.

I cannot think how this has happened.
I will fetch him at once.

Well, you certainly
get good service here, don't you?

Yes, they really
look after you here.

This all looks delicious.

Excuse me, sir, madame.

This is filthy.
Who the hell washes up?

Find out who washes up and give
them their cards immediately.

No! On second thought,
we can't take any chances.

- Sack the entire washing-up staff.
- I don't want to cause any trouble.

It's quite right that you bring
this sort of thing to our attention.

Find the manager and tell him
what has happened immediately!

- Please, I don't want to make any fuss.
- Oh, no, there's no fuss.

We simply wish to ensure
that nothing interferes...

with your complete
enjoyment of the meal.

I'm sure it won't.
It was only a dirty fork.

I know, and I'm sorry.
Bitterly sorry.

But I know nothing I can say can alter
the fact that in this restaurant...

you have been given a dirty,
filthy, smelly piece of cutlery.

- It wasn't smelly.
- It is smelly.

And obscene and disgusting.
I hate it.

- That's enough, Gilberto.
- Dirty, nasty, smutty!

Good evening, sir.
Good evening, madame.

I'm the manager.
I've only just heard what's happened.

- May I sit down?
- Yes, of course.

I want to apologize
humbly, deeply and sincerely...

about the fork.

No. Really, it was only a tiny piece
of dirt. You can hardly see it.

Oh, you're good, kind,
fine people for saying that.

But I can see it.
To me it's like a boulder...

a vast bowl of pus.

- Oh, it's not that bad.
- No, it gets me here.

I can't give you any excuses.
There are no excuses.

I've been meaning to spend
more time in the restaurant...

but I haven't been well recently and
things have been going badly back there.

Poor old Mrs. Dalrymple
who prepares the salad...

can hardly move
her poor, swollen fingers.

And then, of course,
there's Gilberto's war wound.

But they're good people,
and they're fine people...

and together we were beginning
to get over this bad patch.

There was light
at the end of the tunnel...

when this...

when this happened!

- Can I get you some water?
- It's the end of the road!

You bastards!

You mean us?

You vicious, heartless bastards!

Look what you've done to him.

He's worked his fingers to the bone
to make this place what it is!

And you come in here
with your petty...

vicious, heartless quibbling...

and you grind him into the dirt.

This fine, honourable man...

whose boots you
are not worthy to kiss!

Oh, it makes me mad.

Easy, Mongo! Easy.

Stark, stirring mad.

No, Mongo! Oh! Oh, the wound!

They destroyed him!

It's the end! The end.

He's dead.

They killed him!

Revenge.

No, Mongo!
Never kill a customer.

Oh, the wound again.

They ruined him!

Lucky I didn't tell'em
about the dirty knife.

Good morning. I'm a bank robber.

Please don't panic.
Just hand over all the money.

This is a lingerie shop, sir.

Fine, fine.

Adopt, adapt and improve.

- Well, what have you got?
- We've got corsets, stockings...

suspender belts, tights, bras,
slips, petticoats, knickers...

socks and garters, sir.

Fine.

No large quantities
of money in safes?

No, sir.

No piles of cash
in easy-to-carry bags?

No, sir.

Fine.

Just a pair of panties then,
please.

And now for something
completely different.

Hey, did you see that?

Did you see something
go past the window?

What?

Somebody went past
that window, downwards.

Another one.

Another one just went past,
downwards.

What?

Two people have just fallen
past that window!

Fine.

Look, two people... three people
have just fallen past that window.

Must be a board meeting.

Oh, yeah.

- That was Wilkins of finance.
- No, that was Robertson.

- Wilkins.
- It was Robertson.

- That was Wilkins.
- Oh, yeah.

Bet Parkinson next.

- Bet you it won't.
- How much?

- What?
- How much do you bet it won't? Fiver?

- Yeah, all right.
- Right. Done. You're on.

Parkinson next.

- Come on, Parky!
- Don't be silly, Parky!

- Come on, Parky! Jump!
- Don't be stupid, man!

Dear Sir, I would like to complain
about that last scene...

about people falling
out of high buildings.

I myself have worked all
my life in such a building...

and have never once...

Psst. All clear.

Vocational guidance counsellor.

Ah, Mr. Anchovy. Do sit down.

Oh, thank you. Take the weight
off the feet, eh?

Yes.

Lovely weather
for the time of year, I must say.

Enough of this gay banter. Mr. Anchovy,
you asked us to advise you...

which job in life
you were best suited for.

- That is correct.
- Well. I have the results here...

of all the interviews and the aptitude
tests that you took last week...

and from them we've built up clear
impression of the person you are...

and I think I can say
without fear of contradiction...

that the ideal job for you
is accountancy.

But I am an accountant.

Jolly good. Well, back
to the office with you then.

No, no, you don't understand.

I've been an accountant
for the last 20 years.

But I want a new job, something
exciting that will let me live.

But accountancy
is quite exciting.

Exciting? No, it's not.

It's dull, dull, dull!

My God, it's dull.

It's so deadly dull
and tedious...

and stuffy and boring
and desperately dull!

I can't stand it any longer.
I want to live.

Well, yes, Mr. Anchovy, but,
you see, in your report here...

it says that you are
an extremely dull person.

Our experts describe you as...

"an appallingly dull fellow",
"unimaginative"...

"timid, spineless,"
"easily dominated"...

"no sense of humour",
"tedious company"...

and "irrepressibly
drab and awful".

And where as in most professions
these would be considerable drawbacks...

in accountancy
they are a positive boon.

I'm only as awful as this
because accountancy does this to people.

Can't you help me?

Any idea of what you want to be?

- Yes. Yes, I have.
- What is it?

A lion tamer.

Yes. Of course,
it's a bit of a jump, isn't it...

accountancy to lion taming
in one go?

Don't think it'd be better to work your
way towards lion taming via banking?

- Or insurance?
- No! I don't want to wait.

I want to start immediately.
Tomorrow morning at 9:00...

I want to be in there, taming.

Yes, but what qualifications
do you have?

- I've got a hat.
- A hat?

Yes, a lion taming hat, a hat
with "Lion Tamer" written on it...

and it lights up, saying "Lion Tamer"
in big red neon letters...

so you can tame them after dark.

- I see.
- During the day, you switch it off...

and you can claim it as reasonable wear
and tear under "allowable expenses"...

under paragraph 335...

Yes. I follow.
But, you see, the snag is...

if I now call the service
and say to them...

"I've got a 45-year-old accountant
who wants to become a lion tamer"...

their first question is not going to be
"Does he have his own hat?"

They're more likely to ask
what experience you've had with lions.

- I've seen'em at the zoo.
- Good.

Little brown, furry creatures with
short, stumpy legs and great long noses.

I could tame one of those.
I don't know what all the fuss is about.

Look pretty tame to start with.

And these lions,
how high are they?

Oh, about so high.
They don't frighten me at all.

And do these lions eat ants?

Yes, that's right.

Well, I'm afraid what you've got hold of
there, Mr. Anchovy, is an anteater.

- A what?
- An anteater, not a lion.

You see a lion,
is a huge savage beast...

about ten-foot long,
five-foot high...

with masses of sharp,
pointy teeth...

and nasty, long,
razor-sharp claws.

It looks like this.

- Now. Shall I call the circus?
- No!

I like your idea
of making the move...

to lion taming by easy stages...

say by insurance or banking.

- Banking?
- Yes, banking. I see it now.

It's a man's life, isn't it?
Travel. Excitement...

decisions affecting people's lives,
romance, thrills.

I'll put you in touch
with the bank.

Probably.

I'd like a couple of days to think
about it, 'cause it is a big decision.

Or maybe, maybe a week,
at most, you know?

But I do want to make this decision.
I'd like to do banking...

It's sad, isn't it...

that this is what
accountancy does to people?

The only way that we can fight this
terrible, debilitating social disease...

I only want to be famous.
I only want to see my name in lights.

And so you shall.

Cue!

Hello, good evening,
and welcome to "Blackmail."

To start tonight's program,
we go north to Preston in Lancashire...

and Mrs. Betty Teal.

Hello Mrs. Teal.
Now, Mrs. Teal, this is for $15...

and is to stop us revealing
the name of your lover in Bolton.

So, Mrs. Teal, send us $15
by return of post, please...

and your husband Trevor and your lovely
children Diane, Janice and Juliet...

need never know the name
of your lover in Bolton.

Now, a letter, a series
of photographs...

and a hotel registration book
which could add up to divorce...

premature retirement and
possible criminal proceedings...

for a company director
in Bromsgrove.

He's a Freemason
and a conservative M.P.

So, Mr. S. of Bromsgrove,
that's $3,000, please...

to stop us revealing your name, the name
of the three other people involved...

the youth organization
to which they belong...

and the shop where
you bought the equipment.

Well, we'll be showing you more of that
photograph later in the program...

unless we hear
from Charles or Michael.

Now it's time for
our "Stop The Film" spot.

The rules are very simple.

We have taken a film which
contains compromising scenes...

and unpleasant details
which could wreck a man's career.

But the victim may phone me
at any time and stop the film.

But don't forget, the money increases
as the film goes on...

so the longer you leave it,
the more you have to pay.

So, with the clock at $300 this week's
"Stop the Film" visited Temstead.

He's a very brave man.

No, sir. No.

I'm sure you didn't, sir.
No, that's all right.

We don't morally censure.
We just want the money.

And here's the address
to send it to:

Thank you, sir.

Ah. There you are.

Well, that's quite
enough of that.

And now...

a local civic group re-enacts
a famous scene from history.

This week, the Townswomen Guild
of Sheffield in Yorkshire.

Miss Rita Fairbanks...

you organized this representation
of the Battle of Pearl Harbour.

Why?

We've always been extremely
interested in modern works.

We were the first towns women's guild
to perform "Camp on Blood Island"...

and, of course, last year...

we did our extremely popular
re-enactment of Nazi war atrocities...

so this year we thought we'd do
something in a much lighter vein.

I can see that you're all ready to go,
so I'll just wish you good luck...

in your latest venture,
"The Battle of Pearl Harbour."

Thank you very much
indeed, young man.

Oh, Brian.

Oh, Elsbeth.

Be gentle with me.

Oh, Brian, are you gonna do anything
or just show me films all evening?

Just one more, dear.

Good afternoon, and welcome
to Brantley Park...

just as the competitors are
running out onto the field...

on this lovely winter afternoon
with the going firm under foot...

and very little sign of rain.

Looks like we're in for
a splendid afternoon sport...

on this, the 127th
"Upper Class Twit of the Year" show.

There's a big crowd here today
to see these prize idiots in action.

Vivian Smith Smythe Smith.

He's in the Grenadier Guards,
and can count to four.

Simon Zinc Trumpet Harris.

He's an old Italian and married
to an attractive table lamp.

Nigel Incubator Jones.
His best friend is a tree...

and in his spare time
he's a stockbroker.

Javais Brookhamster.
He's in the wine trade...

and his father uses him
as a waste-paper basket.

And finally, Oliver Singen Mollusk,
another old Italian.

His father was a cabinet minister
and his mother won the derby.

He's thought by many to be
this year's outstanding twit.

And now the twits are moving
up to the starting line...

and any moment now they'll be
under starter's orders.

I'm afraid they're facing
the wrong way at the moment...

the wrong way at the moment,
but the starter will sort this out.

Any moment now they're going to have the
big off. This is always a tense moment.

And they're off!

No, they're not. They didn't realize
that they had to start with the gun.

I think the starter has explained to
them. Several are beginning to point.

And ready again, and off again!

This time, yes,
a really fast start!

It's Vivian going for the lead
Oliver's running wide to the right!

And to the left but,
he'll soon pick up the line...

into the first event which is,
walking along a straight line.

The twits have to walk along these lines
without falling over.

This is Oliver's worst event.
He's having a little trouble.

Simon's coming through.
Nigel's coming through.

Oliver's over at the back. Never mind.
He'll get up. He's a great fighter.

He's having...
Oh dear, never mind.

We're coming to the second event,
the matchbox jump.

Two layers of matchboxes for the twits
to clear. Nigel and Simon are over!

And Vivian has refused.

And now,
it's "Kicking the Beggar".

And Nigel to put the brogue in there!
Oh, beautifully placed!

The beggar is down,
and the crowd really loved it!

And here it's Oliver.
He hasn't cleared the jump.

Oh, if only his father
could understand.

And now it's
"Running Over the Old Lady".

Simon in the lead and he's done
it beautifully, right in the midriff.

Back to Oliver.
Oh, he's magnificent, this man.

He doesn't know when he's beaten. He
doesn't know what he's winning either.

He has no sort of sensory apparatus
known to man. Bad luck. Oliver.

And now, it's "Waking the Neighbour".
Simon's there at the front.

He's slamming that door, and woken
the neighbour Simon's moved into first.

The crowd is really excited!

And now it's
"Shooting the Rabbits".

These rabbits have been staked to the
ground so they can't move too much...

as this is only a one-day event.

There's mist there which I think is
causing the twits a bit of trouble.

And Javais is using
the butt of his rifle!

Vivian's going in with a fist,
and Javais is first away!

And Oliver has run himself over!

What a great twit!

And now, it's "Taking the Bras off
the Débutantes from the Back".

This is a particularly difficult
event for most of the twits...

one of the ones that takes the most time
on this exacting course.

The crowd are getting excited, and I
think the twits are getting excited too.

And it's Simon into the lead,
closely followed by Nigel!

And it's the final event now!

They have to shoot themselves
to become upper class twit of the year.

Simon can't get the bra off his finger
it's Nigel there!

Nigel misses! Simon's missing!

Nigel misses again!
And Javais has shot himself!

Javais is
upper class twit of the year!

Vivian is there!
He's not having any luck!

Simon shoots.
Simon has shot Vivian!

Simon has shot Vivian
into second place.

And Simon shoots himself.
Simon is third.

And Nigel clubs himself
into fourth place!

And so, the final result:

First and upper class
twit of the year...

Javais Brookhamster of Kensington...

runner up, Vivian Smith Smythe Smith
of Mayfair...

and third, Simon Zinc
Trumpet Harris of Kensington.