Original subtitles

A gothic colonist is an odd sort of a bird.

He inhabits the land of expensive restaurants and nightclubs, and there he

upon titbits that are dropped to him by a host of amateur legmen and legwomen.

He pays them small sums for juicy morsels.

The juiciest morsels of all are those that concern either the international

the very rich, dukes and duchesses, or best of all, royalty.

All this is perfectly harmless, so long as the gossip remains benign and good

-humoured. But when it becomes malicious, as it so often does, then it

literally ruin somebody's life.

Let the story you are going to see now serve as a warning to all malicious

gossip colonists.

No letters.

No, no letters.

Look, if your old man's going to cough up.

Well, I spent a few hundred last month.

Well, it's living in Toronto.

He doesn't have any idea of the cost of living.

Especially in London.

Especially with a degree in English.

What has that got to do with it?

Well, it makes it harder to get a job. Everyone knows that.

You must have your head in the clouds if you spent three years doing an English

degree. You're a bit of a traitor, George.

A traitor?

Remember, you grabbing hold of people at parties, making them listen to your

theory that Shakespeare was a nun.

You could empty a room in ten minutes, but you cared about all that.

Yes, well, we're not students anymore.

The romantic poets won't earn us any bread.

Well, they lived in pigsty, and look what they accomplished.

Yeah, most of them died young.

Anyway, it was Garrett's.

It was always Garrett's for some reason.

You'll just have to write to your father for some more money.

I've taken enough of him.

So have you.

No more sponging, George.

Well, what else can we do?

I'll just have to start making the rounds again.

Newspapers, publishers.

I thought you tried them all. I'll try again.

Fleet Street is not looking for geniuses this year.

Well, I set my sights lower.

T -boy.

Anything. How are you going to show them how brilliantly you write with both

hands carrying a tea tray? Just shut up and make the coffee, will you?

The kettle's boiling, you nut.

A person can't live without money. Your old man ought to know that.

Oh, this guy's got a nerve.

Who?

Lionel Brewster, the columnist.

Why, what's he saying now?

Oh, same sort of stuff he's always saying.

Same sort of scandal.

Always about the rich.

Here, listen to this. Oh, thanks.

Scene at the Bongo Club.

Banker William S. Wilbur together with beauteous starlet Teresa Burton.

Three nights running.

Mrs. Wilbur at home with a headache, which is something anyone's wife would

if her hubby was out squiring Miss Burton of an evening.

Poor old Wilbur.

I think it's a shame.

That sort of thing could cause a divorce.

How can Brewster get away with stuff like that? Oh, they always do.

They're all scared of them.

You know what I'd do if I was William F. Wilbur? What?

I would punch Lionel Brewster on the nose.

The only thing these guys understand.

Mr. Wilbur couldn't do that. Why not?

Because he's an important man.

Mr. Wilbur is a dignified and respectable man. He's a prominent

He couldn't possibly... This is

brilliant.

What's wrong?

What's the matter with you?

I have an idea.

Listen very carefully, because I have an idea which will make us both very rich.

We're broke, correct?

We are.

On this William S. Wilbur, would you say that he's angry with Lionel Brewster

this morning?

Angry? He'll be madder than hell. You think he'd like to see Lionel Brewster

receive a good hard punch on the nose?

Damn right he would. And I'll tell you, isn't it possible that Mr. Wilbur would

be prepared to part with a sum of money to someone who would undertake to

perform this nose -punching operation efficiently and discreetly on his

I get you.

What a marvelous idea.

Just a little part of the idea.

If you read Brewster's column, you'll see there's another person who's being

insulted today.

Mrs. Ella Gimple.

She's a socialite. Maybe a million dollars in the bank.

What did Brewster say about her?

Oh, he answered how she...

makes a stack of money out of her own friends by throwing roulette parties and

acting as a bank.

Well, that's thick as gimple.

Full gimple.

Full Wilma. Right.

Two different people.

Both of them loathing Lionel Brewster's guts today, both wanting desperately to

go out and punch him on the nose, and neither of them daring to do it.

You understand that? Absolutely.

Right. Now, this is the plan.

We set up an organization, and we call it... What do we call it?

We'll call it... Let me see. We'll call it... Vengeance is Mine

Incorporated. How about that?

Well, it's a peculiar name.

It's biblical. It's good. I like it.

Vengeance is Mine Incorporated. It sounds fine.

We'll have lots of lift cards printed.

We'll sell them out to all our clients, reminding them they've been assaulted

and mortified in public, and offering to punish the offender for a fee.

We'll buy all the newspapers, read all the columnists.

And every day we'll send out a dozen or more of our cars to prospective clients.

Oh, this is great.

We'll be rich.

We'll be tremendously wealthy in no time at all.

Now, we need to offer them a choice of methods.

We need to think up a number of different punishments.

Now, number one will be a punch on the nose once hard.

What shall we charge for that?

250 pounds.

250 pounds.

Right, what's the next one?

Black is I.

Black is I.

250 pounds. Oh, no.

No, no, no, no, no.

No, it requires more skill and timing to black an eye than to punch a nose.

No, no, this is a skilled job.

No, that should be 350.

Okay. Three hundred and fifty.

And what's the next one?

Oh, both together, of course. The old one, too.

Both together. Absolutely.

Punch his nose, black his eyes. Six hundred pounds.

No, no, no, no, no. There should be a reduction for taking the two. We'll make

it five hundred.

Well, that's dirt cheap. They'll map it out.

What's next? Number four.

Put a rattlesnake with venom extracted.

On the floor of his car, by the pedal, it's when he parks it.

They want to scare him to death.

Sure. Where are we going to get a rattlesnake, anyway?

Oh, buy it. You can always buy them.

How much shall we charge for that one?

750 pounds.

Right.

Now we need one more.

Here it is.

Kidnap him in a car, shave his head bald, paint a slogan on his back of

choice. And then dumped him top naked in the middle of Piccadilly in the Russia.

We can't do that. Write it down and charge a thousand pounds.

You jolly well do it if Wilbur offered you that much.

Yeah, I suppose I would.

Hey, that's enough now. That gives him a wide choice.

Right. Now, where do we get the cards printed?

Uh, Bob Singer.

He runs the stationers. They do printing.

And he owes us a favor.

He's done it very nicely.

I mean, Wilberham, Wilber.

Hey, here he is.

Wilber, William S.

Here, get this down. Yep.

Six, Grosvenor Walk, West 1.

Got it? Yeah.

Oh, put it here.

And Suki, I'd adore to see your necklace.

My necklace, Mrs. Wilbur?

The one my husband bought you on your afternoon off in Bond Street at 4 .30.

No, madam, there must be some mistake.

Of course there is, darling. My husband is always making these mistakes.

But he doesn't mean any harm.

He's the most well -intentioned person and very, very kind.

The necklace, Sookie.

Yes, Mrs. Wilbur.

You didn't think it was genuine.

Not genuine?

Oh, not a hope, darling.

He will have his little joke.

Would you like me to speak to him about it, or... Shall we forget all about it?

Yes, please, we forget about it. There's a good girl. I knew you'd be sensible.

Just leave the tea, Suki. I'll pour for myself.

Yes, miss.

Well? Well, I've seen them both.

I pushed them with the letterbox, rang the bell and beat them up the street.

Well, they've got a huge head.

How did you get on?

Well, I went to see a guy I know who works in the sports section of the Daily

Bugle. He told me all about Brewster.

His movements are more or less routine. He operates at night.

But wherever he goes earlier in the evening, he always, and this is the

important point, he always finishes up at the after club.

He gets there around about midnight, stays till 2 or 2 .30.

That's where his leg men bring him all the info.

Well, that's all we need to know. Easy money for old rope.

There are two.

Hey, open them up quickly.

Your methods seem curiously unorthodox. At the same time, anything you do to

that scandal has my approval.

So go ahead.

Start with item one, and if you're successful, I'll be only too glad to

an order to work right on through the list.

I'll pay cash on delivery.

I'll probably be there on the ninth.

William S. Wilbur! Hey, listen to this. A good hard sock on the nose for

Brewster is worth 250 of mine or anyone else's money. I should like to watch

your sincerely hell -aged skimpo. We'll be rich!

We'll be rich!

We'll be rich! We'll be rich! We'll be rich!

We'll be rich!

When shall we do it?

Tonight?

Hey, listen, I've only just realized.

It's even better than we thought.

Two birds with one stone. Two customers with one punch. How?

Don't you see? We only have to hit Brewster once.

And each of the clients, Wilbur and Gimple, will think it's done specially

him or her.

This is brilliant!

No, it's common sense.

Listen, the same principle will apply to all the other treatments.

What are you waiting for? Go and answer it.

Telegram come for you.

Well, I never write letters. I always phone or send a telegram. And since you

didn't put a telephone number... Thank you.

Did your husband show you our card, Mrs. Wilbur?

Well, not exactly, no. But, well, I happened to catch a teeny glimpse of it

accident. Coffee? Oh, thank you. Yes,

please.

Milk and sugar?

Not for me, thanks.

Well, you help yourself.

Thank you.

Well,

the point is, my husband is very, very impetuous.

And headstrong.

And... Well, there's no sense in my saying anything to him once he's made up

mind. Do you disapprove of what we're doing?

Oh, no.

No, don't misunderstand me. I don't disapprove, not in the slightest.

I'm only concerned to protect my husband from the consequences.

Well, if there should be any consequences.

Well, if it somehow came out that he hired you boys to do whatever it is

going to do to that dreadful man Brewster.

Well, you can imagine how bad that would be for his reputation.

So I wanted to satisfy myself that, well, that you'd be taking precautions.

Precautions?

What kind of precautions?

Well, in case you were recognized or someone took down your description and

were traced.

We've thought of that, Mrs. Wilburton.

George is going to be disguised.

Oh, disguised. Yes.

Yes, that's just the kind of thing.

And are you good at disguises?

Well, not especially, but, you know, we thought maybe dark glasses, a big hat

pulled low over his face. Oh, no, no.

No.

Well, maybe I can help you.

How is that, Mrs. Wilbur?

Well, I... Well, I used to be an actress before I married Mr. Wilbur.

And, well, I did my own makeup most of the time. Really?

So... You just wait here and make yourself at home. I'll see what I can

Some getaway car.

I bet they wouldn't even let it into a junkyard.

What happens if no one chases it?

Oh, it has to crash into the back of it.

That's our secret weapon.

Well, you guarantee this is a fast car? Oh, I should do 110 at a push.

And who's going to push?

Well, that's a 20 pounds deposit returnable on top of the one day hire

There's a surcharge of 5 pence a mile.

We take that out of the deposit.

Perhaps you charge a commission on the petrol, too?

No, no. We'll fill you up at our usual price.

That's all right. It's cheaper down the road.

What is it?

Bugs in the upholstery?

Maybe this whole plan's not so gone after all.

Maybe we ought to reconsider it. Oh, no. Not the Hamlet Act again.

Whose idea was it in the first place?

Mine. And I'm having doubts.

Something goes wrong.

Look, even Shakespeare was a poacher.

Come on, we're wasting time.

There's a post office just around the corner. A post office?

We need to send telegrams to each of our clients.

Hope to see you outside Astor Club, 2 .30 a .m.

Regards, B .I. Mike.

You better put your hat on and your whiskers to get used to them.

Right.

How hard shall I hit him?

Hit him as hard as you can.

And on the nose. It must be on the nose because that's a part of the contract.

I hope I recognize him.

You can't always tell from a photograph.

Will you stop worrying?

I've thought of that.

Here. Take this.

Give it to the doorman.

Tell him to see it gets to Brewster quickly.

Act as though you're in a frightful hurry and scared to death.

Well, that's easy.

If 101 Brewster come out, no columnist could resist that message.

Why? What does it say?

It says, I'm official in Soviet consulate.

Come to the door very quickly, please.

I have something to tell, but come quickly as I am in great danger.

Good luck.

Remember, Soviet official.

Can you take this note to Mr. Lionel Bruce?

Please. It's very urgent.

Does Mr. Bruce know you? Are you a friend of his? No. He's expecting you?

No. Well, then move along.

No, no, no, please.

It's a matter of life and death.

Look, mate, I've got couples enough without you pestering me.

I'm being murdered.

Murdered? By a new pair of boots.

I can't move without them slicing off another piece of skin.

By the end of tonight, I'll be totally... So, don't bother me.

What's in his note then? Just take it in to him.

I promise you it's urgent.

What's the matter with you?

He's coming down now.

Oh, that's him, sir.

Yes? What did you want?

Please, I mustn't be overheard.

Well, come on, now.

What is it you want?

Well done!

Wonderful! I saw the whole thing! I'm Mr. Wilbur! You'll be the fine dog!

Well, we did it!

I hit him. Yeah, you hit him hard

When I'm done with those two they'll wish they'll never be Go on.

Drive faster.

Drive like mad.

We'll be rich. We'll be rich. We'll be rich. We'll be rich.

We'll have film stars lolling around our serving pools, head waiters bowing to

us.

You can drive on now.

when he ran after you he looked exactly like you in your disguise i i did my own

makeup most of the time

Ha ha ha.