All language subtitles for Blackadder (1982) - S01E01 - Plan A Captain Cook.eng.sdh

Ready, march!

[DRUMROLL]

Eyes… right!

Eyes right!

[DING]

[PHONOGRAPH PLAYING]

[SCRAPING NOISE]

Baldrick, what are you doing out there?

I'm carving something on this bullet, sir.

What are you carving?

I'm carving "Baldrick," sir.

Why?

It's a cunning plan, actually.

Of course it is.

You see, you know they say

that somewhere there's a
bullet with your name on it?

Yes?

Well, I thought if I owned
the bullet with my name on it,

I'd never get hit by it, 'cos
I won't ever shoot myself.

Oh, shame.

And the chances of there being two bullets

with my name on them
are very small indeed.

That's not the only thing around
here that's "very small indeed."

Your brain, for example,
Is so minute, Baldrick,

that if a hungry cannibal
cracked your head open,

there wouldn't be enough inside
to cover a small water biscuit.

Tally-ho, pip-pip, and
Bernard's your uncle.

In English we say, "good morning."

-Look what I got for you, sir.
-What?

It's the latest issue of King & Country.

Oh, damn inspiring stuff!

The magazine that tells the
Tommies the truth about the war.

Or alternatively, the
greatest work of fiction

since vows of fidelity were included
In the French marriage service.

Come, come, sir.

Now, you can't deny
that this fine newspaper

is good for the morale of the men.

Certainly not,

I just think that more could be achieved
by giving them some real toilet paper.

I'm not with you at all, sir,

what could any patriotic chap
have against this magnificent mag?

Apart from his bottom?

Well, look at it.

I mean the stuff's about as convincing
as Dr. Crippen's defense lawyer.

The British Tommies are all portrayed

as six-foot six with biceps
the size of Bournemouth.

Thoroughly inspiring stuff.

And look, sir, this also just
arrived for you this morning.

Hmm, do you know what this is, Lieutenant?

-It's a good old service revolver.
-Wrong.

It's a brand new service revolver,

which I've suspiciously
been sent without asking for it.

I smell something fishy,

and I'm not talking about the
contents of Baldrick's apple crumble.

That's funny, sir, because we didn't order

those new trench-climbing ladders either.

-New ladders?
-Yeah, came yesterday.

I issued them to the men, and
they were absolutely thrilled.

Isn't that right men?

Yes, sir,

First solid fuel we've had
since we burned the cats.

Something's going on,

and I think I can make an
educated guess what it is.

Something which you,
George, would find hard to do.

Ah, true, true.

Where I was at school,
education could go hang

as long as a boy could hit a six,
sing the school song very loud,

and take a hot crumpet
from behind without blubbing.

I, on the other hand, am a
fully-rounded human being

with a degree from the University of Life,

a diploma from the School of Hard Knocks,

and three gold stars from the Kindergarten
of Getting the Shit Kicked Out of Me.

And my instincts lead me to deduce

that we are at last
about to go over the top.

Great Scott, sir, you mean…

You mean the moment's
finally arrived for us

to give Harry Hun a darned
good British-style thrashing,

six of the best, trousers down?

If you mean are we all
going to get killed, yes.

Clearly, Field Marshal
Haig is about to make

yet another gargantuan effort

to move his drinks cabinet
six inches closer to Berlin.

Right!

Bravo-issimo!

Well let's make a start, eh?

Up and over to glory, last
one in Berlin's a rotten egg.

Give me your helmet, Lieutenant.

[MACHINE-GUN FIRE]

Yes, some sort of clever hat
camouflage might be in order.

Permission to speak, sir.

Granted, with a due sense
of exhaustion and dread.

I have a cunning plan to
get us out of getting killed, sir.

-Ah, yes, what is it?
-Cooking.

I see.

You know staff HQ is always
on the lookout for good cooks?

Well, we go over there,
we cook 'em something,

And we get out of the trenches that way.

-Baldrick, it's a brilliant plan.
-Is it?

Yes, it's superb.

Permission to write home immediately, sir!

This is the first brilliant
plan a Baldrick's ever had!

For centuries we've tried,

and they've always turned
out to be total pig swill.

My mother will be as pleased as punch.

Hmm, if only she were as
good-looking as punch, Baldrick.

There is, however, one
slight flaw in the plan.

Oh?

You're the worst cook in the entire world.

Oh, yeah, that's right.

There are amoeba on Saturn
who could boil a better egg than you.

Your filet mignons in sauce
béarnaise look like dog turds in glue.

That's because they are.

Your plum duff tastes like

it's a molehill decorated
with rabbit droppings.

I thought you wouldn't notice.

And your cream custard
has the texture of cat's vomit.

Again, it's…

If you were to serve one
of your meals in staff HQ,

you'd be arrested for the
greatest mass poisoning

since Lucretia Borgia invited
500 of her close friends around

for a wine and anthrax party.

No, we'll have to think
of a better plan than that.

Right, how about a nice
meal, while you chew it over?

What's on the menu?

Rat.

Sauté or fricassee?

Oh, the agony of choice.

Sautéed involves…

Well, you take the freshly shaved rat,

and you marinade it
in a puddle for a while.

Mm-hmm, for how long?

Till it's drowned.

Then you stretch it out
under a hot light bulb,

then you get within dashing
distance of the latrine,

and you scoff it right down.

So that's sautéing. And fricasseeing?

Exactly the same,
just a slightly bigger rat.

Well, call me old Mr. Unadventurous,

but I think I'll give it a miss this once.

Fair enough, sir.

-More for the rest of us. Eh, sir?
-Absolutely, Private.

Tally-ho, barf barf!

[TELEPHONE RINGS]

Hello, the Savoy Grill.

Oh, it's you… Yes…
Yes, I'll be over in 40 minutes.

Who was it then, sir?

Strangely enough, Baldrick,
it was Pope Gregory IX,

inviting me for drinks aboard
his steam yacht the Saucy Sue,

currently wintering in Montego Bay

with the England cricket team

and the Balinese Goddess of Plenty.

-Really?
-No, not really.

I've been ordered to HQ.

No doubt that idiot General Melchett

is about to offer me some
attractive new opportunities

to have my brains blown out for Britain.

What do you want, Darling?

It's "Captain Darling" to you.

General Melchett wants to see you

about a highly important secret mission.

-What's going on, Darling?
-Captain Blackadder to see you, sir.

Ah, excellent.

Just a short back and
sides today, I think, please.

Uh, that's Corporal Black, sir.

Captain Blackadder is here
about the other matter, sir,

the secret matter.

Ah, yes, the special mission.
At ease, Blackadder.

Now, what I'm about to tell
you is absolutely tip-top-secret.

-Is that clear?
-It is, sir.

Now, I've compiled a list of
those with security clearance.

-Have you got it Darling?
-Yes, sir.

Read it, please.

It's top security, sir,

I think that's all the
captain needs to know.

Nonsense! Let's hear the list in full!

Very well, sir.

"List of personnel cleared
for Mission Gainsborough,

"as dictated by General C.H. Melchett."

"You and me, Darling, obviously."

"Field Marshal Haig,
Field Marshal Haig's wife,"

"all Field Marshal Haig's wife's friends,"

"their families, their
families' servants,"

"their families' servants'
tennis partners,"

"and some chap I bumped into"

in the mess the other
day called Bernard."

So, it's maximum security, is that clear?

Quite clear, sir.

Only myself and the rest of the
English-speaking world is to know.

Good man.

Now, Field Marshal Haig

has formulated a
brilliant new tactical plan

to ensure final victory in the field.

Ah. Would this brilliant plan involve us

climbing out of our trenches

and walking very slowly
towards the enemy, sir?

How could you possibly
know that, Blackadder?

It's classified information.

It's the same plan that we used last time,

and the seventeen times before that.

Ex… Ex… Exactly!

And that is what is so brilliant about it!

It will catch the watchful
Hun totally off-guard!

Doing precisely what we have
done eighteen times before

is exactly the last thing
they'll expect us to do this time!

There is, however, one small problem.

That everyone always gets
slaughtered in the first ten seconds.

That's right!

And Field Marshal Haig is worried

that this may be
depressing the men a tadge.

So he's looking to find
a way to cheer them up.

Well, his resignation and suicide
would seem the obvious solution.

Interesting thought.
Make a note of it, Darling.

Take a look at this…

I'm sure you know it… King & Country.

Ah, yes, without question
my favorite magazine…

Soft, strong and thoroughly absorbent.

Top-hole, Blackadder,

I thought it would be right up your alley.

Field Marshal Haig's plan is this:

To commission a man to do
an especially stirring painting

for the cover of the next issue,

so as to really inspire
the men for the final push.

What I want you to do,
Blackadder, is to labor night and day

to find a first-rate artist
from amongst your men.

Impossible, sir.

I know from long experience

that my men have all the artistic talent

of a cluster of color-blind
hedgehogs in a bag.

Hmm, well that's a bit of a blow.

We needed a man to leave
the trenches immediately.

-Leave the trenches?
-Mm-hmm.

Yes, I wonder if you've enjoyed,

as I have sir, that marvelous painting

in the national portrait
gallery, Bag Interior,

by the color-blind hedgehog
workshop of Sienna.

I'm sorry, are you saying
you can find this man?

I think I can.

And might I suggest, sir,
that, having left the trenches,

it might be a good idea
to post our man to Paris

in order to soak up a little
of the artistic atmosphere…

Perhaps even Tahiti…

So as to produce a real masterpiece.

Yes, yes, but can you find the man?!

Now, I know I can, sir.

Before you can say "Sunflowers,"

I'll have Vincent Van
Gogh standing before you.

No, don't stop, sir.

It's coming, it's definitely coming.

I, hmm, yeah, uh, hm.

I just wonder whether two
socks and a hand grenade

is really the sort of thing

that covers of King &
Country are made of.

They will be when I've painted them
being shoved up the Kaiser's backside.

-Ah, now, now, this is interesting.
-What is?

Well, Private Baldrick is
obviously a bit of an Impressionist.

The only decent impression he
can do is of a man with no talent.

What's it called, Baldrick?

The Vomiting Cavalier?

No, sir, that's not supposed to be vomit.

-It's dabs of light.
-No, it's vomit.

-Yes, so, why did you choose that?
-You told me to, sir.

Did I?

Yeah, you told me to paint
whatever comes from within,

so I did my breakfast.

Look, there's a little tomato.

Hopeless.

If only I'd paid attention
in nursery art class

instead of spending my entire time

manufacturing papier mâché
Willies to frighten Sarah Wallis.

You know, it's funny,

but painting was the only
thing I was ever any good at.

Well, it's a pity you didn't keep it up.

Well, as a matter
of fact, I did, actually.

I mean… I mean normally I
wouldn't show them to anyone,

'cos they're just
embarrassing daubs really,

but you know, ah, they give me pleasure.

I'm embarrassed to show
them to you now as it happens,

but there you go, for what they're worth.

To be honest, I should have
my hands cut off, I mean…

George! These are brilliant!

Why didn't you tell us about these before?

Well, you know,

one doesn't want to
blow one's own trumpet.

You might at least have
told us you had a trumpet.

These paintings could spell
my way out of the trenches.

Yours?

That's right, ours.

All we have to do is
paint something heroic

to appeal to the simple-minded Tommy.

Over to you, Baldrick.

Um, how about a noble Tommy, standing,

with a look of horror and disgust,

over the body of a murdered nun,

what's been brutally done
over by a nasty old German.

Excellent.

I… I can see it now:
The Nun and the Hun.

Brilliant!

No time to lose.

George, set up your easel,
Baldrick and I will pose.

This is going to be art's greatest moment

since Mona Lisa sat down
and told Leonardo da Vinci

she was in a slightly odd mood.

Baldrick, you lie down in
the mud and be the nun.

I'm not lying down there, it's all wet.

Well, let's put it this way:

Either you lie down and get wet,

or you're knocked down
and get a broken nose.

Actually it's not that wet, is it?

No.

[SPLAT]

Who are you going to be then, sir?

The noble Tommy?

Precisely, standing over
the body of the ravaged nun.

I want a wimple.

You should have gone
before we started the picture.

You know, the funny thing
is, my father was a nun.

No, he wasn't.

He was so, sir.

I know, 'cos whenever he was up in court,

and the judge used to say, "Occupation?"

He'd say, "None."

Right. You're ready?

Just about sir, yes.

Um, if you just like to pop
your clothes on the stool.

I'm sorry?

Just pop your clothes
on the stool over there.

You mean, you want me… "tackle out"?

Well, I would prefer so, sir, yes.

If I can remind you of the
realities of battle, George,

one of the first things
that everyone notices

Is that all the protagonists
have got their clothes on.

Neither we nor the Hun

favor fighting our battles au naturel.

Sir, it's artistic license.

It's willing suspension of disbelief.

Well, I'm not having
anyone staring in disbelief

at my Willie suspension!

Now, get on and paint the bloody thing…
sharpish!

Brilliant, George, it's a masterpiece.

The wimple suits you, Baldrick.

But it completely covers my face.

Exactly.

Now, then, General Melchett
will be here at any moment.

When he arrives, leave
the talking to me, all right?

I like to keep an informal trench,

as you know, but today you must only speak

with my express permission, Is that clear?

Is that clear?

Permission to speak.

[TOGETHER] Yes, sir, absolutely.

Attention!

Dugout, attention!

Excellent, at ease.

Now, then, Blackadder,
where would you like me to sit?

I thought just a simple
trim of the mustache today,

nothing drastic.

We're here about the painting, sir.

Oh, yes, of course.

Good Lord, George! [LAUGHS]

How are you, my boy?

I said how are you?

Permission to speak.

Absolutely top-hole sir,

with a yin and a yang and a yippetty-doo.

Splendid!

And your Uncle Bertie sends his regards.

I told him you could
have a week off in April.

Don't want you missing
the boat race, do we?

Permission to speak.

Certainly not.

Permission to sing boisterously, sir?

If you must.

♪ Row, row, row your punt ♪

[TOGETHER] ♪ Gently down the stream ♪

♪ Belts off, trousers
down, isn't life a scream? ♪

Fabulous.

University education, you can't beat it.

Bravo! Now, what have we here?

Name?

Permission to speak.

Baldrick, sir.

Ah, tally-ho, yippety-dip,
and zing zang spillip.

Looking forward to bullying
off for the final chukka?

Permission to speak.

Answer the general, Baldrick.

I can't answer him, sir,

I don't know what he's talking about.

Aah, are you looking
forward to the big push?

No, sir, I'm absolutely terrified.

Ah, the healthy humor of the honest Tommy.

[LAUGHS] Don't worry
my boy, If you should falter,

remember that Captain
Darling and I are behind you.

About thirty-five miles behind you.

Right, well, stand by your beds.

Let's have a look at this
artist of yours, Blackadder.

-Next to me, Darling.
-Thank you, sir.

So, ah, have you found someone?

Yes, sir, I think I have.
None other than young George here.

Oh, bravo!

Well, let's have a shufti then.

It's simply called War.

Damn silly title, George.

Looks more like a couple of socks

and a stick of pineapple to me.

Ah, permission to speak, sir?!

Uh, I think not, actually.

Quite right!

If what happens when you open your mouth

is anything like what happens
when you open your paintbox,

we'll all be drenched in phlegm!

Oh, no, this isn't what we're
looking for at all, is it, Darling?

-No, sir.
-No sir!

There is this, sir.
It's Private Baldrick's.

He's called it My Family
and Other Animals.

Oh, good Lord, no!

Well, I'm afraid that's about it, sir,

apart from this little thing.

Ah, now that's more like it!

Who painted this, Blackadder?

Well actually, it was me.

Permission to speak
really quite urgently, sir!

Damn and blast your goggly eyes,

will you stop interrupting, George?!

This is excellent!

Congratulations, man.
It's totally inspiring!

Makes you want to jump over the top

and yell, "Yah-boo,
sucks to you, Fritzie!"

Thank you, sir.

Are you sure you did this, Blackadder?

Of course I'm sure.

-I'm afraid I don't believe you.
-How dare you, Darling?

General, I can't let that slur pass.

What possible low,
suspicious, slanderous reason

could this office boy have

for thinking that I
didn't paint the picture?

Three reasons, as a matter of fact.

-Firstly, you're in it.
-It's a self-portrait.

Secondly, you told us you couldn't paint.

One doesn't like to
blow one's own trumpet.

-Permission…
-Denied.

And thirdly, it's signed "George."

Well spotted.

But not signed George,
dedicated to George.

King George.

Gentlemen, The King.

-ALL: The King!
-Where?

Bravo, Blackadder, I have absolutely

no hesitation in appointing you

our official regimental artist.

You're a damn fine chap,

not a pen-pushing,
desk-sucking blotter-jotter

like Darling here.

Eh, Darling?

No sir.

Well, accompany us back to HQ immediately.

Ten shun!

Permission to jolly
well speak right now, sir,

otherwise I might just
burst like a bloody balloon!

Later, George. Much later.

Congratulations on your
new appointment, Blackadder.

Thank you, sir.

And may I say, Blackadder, I
am particularly pleased about it.

Are you?

Oh, yes.

Now that you are our official war artist,

we can give you the full briefing.

The fact is, Blackadder,

that the King & Country cover story

was just a cover story!

We want you, as our top painting bard,

-to leave the trenches…
-Good.

-Tonight
-Suits me.

And go out into no-man's-land.

-No-man's-land.
-Yes.

-Not Paris.
-No.

We want you to come back

with accurate drawings
of the enemy positions.

You want me to sit in no-man's-land

painting pictures of the Germans?

Precisely… good man!

Well, it's a very attractive proposition,

but unfortunately, not practical.

You see, my medium is light.

It'll be pitch-dark…
I won't be able to see a thing.

Ah… that is a point.

I tell you what…
We'll send up a couple of flares.

You'll be lit up like a Christmas tree.

Oh, excellent. Glad I checked.

All right… total and utter quiet.

So, for instance, if any of us
crawl over any barbed wire,

they must on no account go… [YELLS]

You just crawled over
some barbed wire, sir?

No, Baldrick,

I've just put my elbow
in a blob of ice cream.

Well, that's all right.

Now, where the hell are we?

It's a bit difficult to say.

We appeared to have crawled into
an area marked with mushrooms.

And what do those symbols denote?

That we're in a field of mushrooms?

That is a military map,

It is unlikely to list
interesting flora and fungi.

Look at the key and you'll discover

that those mushrooms aren't for picking.

Good Lord, you're quite right, sir.

It says "mine."

So these mushrooms

must belong to the man who made the map.

Either that, or we're in
the middle of a mine field.

Oh, dear.

So he owns the field as well?

[MACHINE-GUN FIRE]

They're firing, sir, they're firing!

Yes, thank you, Lieutenant.

If they hit me, you'll be
sure to point it out, won't you?

Get on with your drawing
and let's get out of here.

Surely we ought to
wait for the flare, sir,

you see, my medium is light…

Just use your imagination,
for heaven's sake!

Wait a minute… that's the answer.

I can't believe I've been so stupid!

That is unusual, 'cos
usually I'm the stupid one.

Well, I'm not over-furnished
In the brain department.

Well, on this occasion,
I've been stupidest of all.

Oh, now, sir, I will not have that.

Baldrick and I will always
be more stupid than you.

Isn't that right, Baldrick?

Stupid, stupid, stupid!

Yeah… stupidy, stupidy, stupidy!

The stupidest stupids

In the whole history of stupidityness!

[MACHINE-GUN FIRE]

Finished?

I think the obvious point is this…

We'll go straight back to the dugout

and do the painting from there.

You do the most imaginative,

most exciting possible drawing

Of German defenses from your imagination.

I say, now, that is a challenge.

Quite. Come on, let's get out of here.

Oh, sir, just one thing…

If we should happen to tread
on a mine, what do we do?

Well, normal procedure, Lieutenant,

is to jump 200 feet into the air

and scatter yourself over a wide area.

Are you sure this is what
you saw, Blackadder?

Absolutely.

There may have been a
few more armament factories

and not quite as many elephants,

but that's generally it.

Well, you know what this means.

If it's true, sir, we'll
have to cancel the push.

Exactly.

-Damn!
-What a nuisance.

Exactly what the enemy
would expect us to do,

and therefore, exactly what we shan't do!

Ah. Now…
If we attack where the line is strongest,

then Fritz will think
that our reconnaissance

is a total shambles.

This will lull him into a
sense of false security,

and then next week we can attack

where the line is actually badly defended,

and win the greatest victory

since the Winchester flower arranging team

beat Harrow by 12 sore bottoms to one!

Tell me… have you ever
visited the planet Earth, sir?

So, best fighting trousers on, Blackadder!

Permission to shout "Bravo"

at an annoyingly loud volume, sir!

Permission granted.

Bravo!

That's the spirit!

Just your kind of caper, eh, Blackadder?

Oh, yes.

Good luck against those elephants.

Get me a chisel and some
marble, will you, Baldrick?

Taking up sculpture now, sir?

No, I thought I'd get my headstone done.

What are you gonna put on it?

"Here lies Edmund Blackadder,

and he's bloody annoyed."

We're going over, are we, sir?

Yes, we are, unless I can
think of some brilliant plan.

Would you like some rat
au vin to help you think?

Rat au vin?

-Yeah, it's rat, and it's been…
-BOTH: Run over by a van.

No thank you, Baldrick.

Although it gives me an idea.

Telephone, please.

I suppose Blackadder and his boys

will have gone over the top by now, sir.

Yes.
God, I wish I was out there with them,

dodging the bullets,
instead of having to sit here

drinking this Chateau Lafitte

and eating these filet
mignons with sauce béarnaise.

My thoughts exactly, sir.

"Damn this Château Lafite."

He's a very brave man, Blackadder,

and of course that
lieutenant of his, George.

Cambridge man, you know.

His uncle Bertie and I used
to break wind for our college.

Slightly unusual taste,
this sauce Bearnaise.

Yes, and to be quite
frank, these mignons are…

-Are a little… well…
-What?

Well, dungy.

What on earth's wrong with our cook?

Well, it's rather strange story, sir.

Oh? Tell, tell.

Well, sir, I received a
phone call this afternoon

from Pope Gregory IX
telling me that our cook

had been selected for
the England cricket team

and must set sail for the
West Indies immediately.

Really?

Barely a moment later,
the phone rang again.

It was a trio of wandering Italian chefs

who happened to be in the
area offering their services.

So I had the quartermaster
take them on at once.

Oh? Jumping Jupiter!

Are you sure these are
real raisins In this plum duff?

Oh yes, I'm sure they are, sir.

Everything will be all right

once the cream custard arrives.

Jolly good fun, sir, but dash it all,

we appear to have missed the big push!

Oh, damn, so we have.

One thing puzzles me, Baldrick…

How did you manage to get so much custard

out of such a small cat?