All language subtitles for Blackadder (1982) - S01E04 - Plan D Private Plane.eng.sdh

Ready, march!

[DRUMROLL]

Eyes… right!

Eyes right!

[DING]

[PHONOGRAPH PLAYING]

[ARTILLERY BLASTING OUTSIDE]

[RECORD SKIPS]

God, why do they bother?!

Well, it's to kill Jerry, isn't it, sir?

Yes, but Jerry is safe
underground in concrete bunkers.

We've shot off over a million
cannon shells and what's the result?

One dachshund with a slight limp!

Shut up!

Thank you!

Right, I'm off to bed
where I intend to sleep

until my name changes to Rip Van Adder.

-Aah…
-[NOISE OF PLANES OVERHEAD]

Oh, God! Bloody Germans!

They can't take a joke, can they?

Just because we take
a few pot-shots at them,

they have to have an
air raid to get their own back.

Where are our air force?

They're meant to defend
us against this sort of thing.

Right, that's it!

Hello?

Yes, yes, I'd like to leave a message

for the head of the Flying Corps, please.

That's Air Chief Marshal Sir
Hugh Massingbird-Massingbird,

VC, DFCV and BAAR.

Message reads:
"Where are you, you bastard?"

Here I am, sir.

For God's sake, Baldrick, take cover.

Why's that, sir?

Because there's an air raid going on

And I don't want to have to
write to your mother at London Zoo

and tell her that her
only human child is dead.

All right, sir.

It's just that I didn't know
there was an air raid on.

I couldn't hear anything over
the noise of the terrific display

by our wonderful boys of
the Royal Flying Corps, sir.

What?

I say, those chaps can't half thunder

in their airborne steeds, can't they just?

Oh, hello, what's going on here?
Game of hide and seek?

Excellent!

Right now, I'll go and count to a hundred.

Uh, no. Better make it five, actually.

-George…
-Oh, it's sardines.

Oh, excellent!
That's my favorite one, that.

-George.
-Yes, sir?

Shut up, and never say
anything again as long as you live.

Right you are, sir.

Crikey, but what a show it was, sir.

Lord Flashheart's Flying Aces.

How we cheered when they spun.

How we shouted when they dived.

How we applauded when one chap
got sliced in half by his own propeller.

Well, it's all part of the joke

for those magnificent men
in their flying machines.

[PLANES CRASHING]

For Magnificent Men read
"biggest show-offs" since Lady Godiva

entered the royal enclosure at Ascot

claiming she had
literally nothing to wear.

I don't care how many times

they go up-diddly-up-up,
they're still gits!

Oh, come on, sir! I'd love to be a flyer.

Up there where the air is clear.

The chances of the air being clear
anywhere near you, Baldrick, are zero!

Oh, sir.
It'd be great, swooping and diving.

[MAKING AIRPLANE NOISE]

Baldrick.

[DRONES ON]

Baldrick.

Baldrick, what are you doing?

I'm a Sopwith Camel, sir.

Oh, it is a Sopwith Camel.

Ah, right, I always get confused

between the sound of a Sopwith Camel

and the sound of a malodorous
runt wasting everybody's time.

Now, if you can do without
me in the nursery for a while,

I'm going to get some fresh air.

Ha! Eat knuckle, Fritz!

Ooh!

How disgusting.

A Boche on the sole of my boot.

I shall have to find a
patch of grass to wipe it on.

Probably get shunned
in the officers' mess.

Sorry about the pong, you fellows,

Trod in a Boche and
can't get rid of the whiff.

Do you think we could dispense

with the hilarious doggy-do
metaphor for a moment?

I'm not a Boche.

-This is a British trench.
-Is it?

Oh, that's a piece of luck.

Thought I'd landed sausage-side! Ha!

Mind if I use your phone?

If word gets out that I'm missing,

five hundred girls will kill themselves.

I wouldn't want them on my conscience,

not when they ought to be on my face!

Hi, Flashheart here.

Yeah, cancel the state funeral,

tell the king to stop blubbing.
Flash is not dead.

I simply ran out of juice!

Yeah, and before all
the girls start saying,

"Oh, what's the point of living anymore,"

I'm talking about petrol! Woof, woof!

Yeah, I dumped the kite
on the proles, so send a car.

General Melchett's driver should do.

She hangs around with the big nobs,

so she'll be used to a fellow like me!
Woof, woof!

Look, do you think you could make
your obscene phone call somewhere else?

No, not in half an hour,
you rubber-desk johnny.

Send the bitch with the wheels
right now, or I'll fly back to England

and give your wife something
to hang her towels on.

Okay, dig out your best booze

and let's talk about
me 'til the car comes.

You must be pretty impressed having
squadron commander The Lord Flashheart

drop in on your squalid bit of line.

Actually, no.

I was more impressed by the
contents of my handkerchief

the last time I blew my nose.

Yeah, like hell.

Huh, huh.

You've probably got little piccies of me

on the walls of your dugout, haven't you?

I bet you go all girly and
giggly every time you look at me!

I'm afraid not.

Unfortunately, most of the
infantry think you're a prat.

Ask them who they'd prefer to meet,

Squadron Commander Flashheart

and the man who cleans out
the public toilets in Aberdeen,

and they'd go for Wee Jock
"Poo-Pong" McPlop every time.

[LAUGHS]

[SMACK]

So when that fellow looped-the-loop,

I honestly thought that, that, that…
My God!

Yes, I suppose I am.

Lord Flashheart, this is
the greatest honor of my life.

I hope I snuff it right now to
preserve this moment forever.

It could be arranged.

Lord Flashheart, I want to learn to write

so I can send a letter home
about this golden moment.

So all the fellows hate me, eh?

Not a bit of it.

I'm your bloody hero, eh, old scout?

Jesus!

My lord, I've got every cigarette
card they ever printed of you.

My whole family took up smoking

just so that we could get the whole set.

My grandmother smoked herself to death

so we could afford the album.

Of course she did, of course she did,

The poor love-crazed old octogenarian.

Well, all right, you fellows.

Let's sit us down and yarn about
how amazingly attractive I am.

Yes, would you excuse me for a moment?

I've got some urgent business.

There's a bucket outside
I've got to be sick into.

Yooo-hooo!

All right, you chaps, let's get comfy.

You look like a decent British bloke.

I'll park the old booties
on you if that's okay.

It would be an honor, my lord.

Of course it would! Ha!

Ah… Have you any idea what it's like

to have the wind
rushing through your hair?

No, sir.

[FLATULATING]

He has! Lucky devil!

So I flew straight through
her bedroom window,

popped a box of chocs
on the dressing table,

machine-gunned my
telephone number into the wall,

and then shot off and shagged her sister.

[CLEARS THROAT]

Driver Parkhurst
reporting for duty, my lord.

Well, well, well.

If it isn't little Bobby Parkhurst…

Saucier than a direct
hit on a Heinz factory.

I've come to pick you up.

Well, that's how like my girls…

Direct and to my point. Woof!

Woof!

[PASSIONATE KISSING NOISES]

Ah! Tally ho, then!

Back to the bar.

You should join the Flying Corps, George.

That's the way to fight a war.

Tasty tuck, soft beds
and a uniform so smart

It's got a Ph.D. from Cambridge.

You could even bring
the breath monster here.

Anyone can be a navigator

If he can tell his ass from his elbow.

Well, that's Baldrick out, I fear…

We're always looking for talented types

To join the Twenty-Minuters.

And there goes George.

Tally ho, then, Bobby.

Hush, here comes a whizbang

and I think you know
what I'm talking about!

-Woof!
-Woof!

God, it's like crufts in here!

I say, sir, what a splendid notion.
The Twenty-Minuters.

Soft tucker, tasty beds, fluffy uniforms.

Begging your permission, sir,

but why do they call
them the Twenty Minuters?

Ah, now, yes,

Now this one is in my
Brooke Bond Book of the Air.

Now, you have to collect all the cards

and then stick them into this
wonderful presentation booklet.

Uh… Ah, here we are, Twenty-Minuters.

Oh, damn! Haven't got the card yet.

Ah, but the caption says "Twenty minutes

is the average amount of
time new pilots spend in the air."

-Twenty minutes.
-That's right, sir.

I had a twenty-hour watch yesterday,

With four hours overtime,
in two feet of water.

Well then, for goodness
sake, sir, why don't we join?

Yeah, be better than just
sitting around here all day

on our elbows.

No, thank you. No, thank you.

I have no desire to hang around

With a bunch of upper-class delinquents,

do twenty minutes work,

and then spend the rest of
the day loafing about in Paris,

drinking gallons of champagne

and having dozens of moist, pink,

highly-experienced
young French peasant girls

galloping up and down my… Hang on.

[KNOCKING]

Come!

Ah, Captain Blackadder.

Good morning, Captain Darling.

What do you want?

You're looking so well.

I'm a busy man, Blackadder.

Let's hear it, whatever it is.

Well, you know, Darling, every man…

-Every man has a dream…
-Hmm.

And when I was a small boy,

I used to watch the marsh warblers

swooping in my mothers undercroft,

and I remember thinking,

'will men ever dare do the same?'

And you know…

Oh, you want to join
the Royal Flying Corps?

Oh, that's a thought.

-Could I?
-No, you couldn't!

Goodbye!

Look, come on, Darling, just
give me an application form.

It's out of the question.

This is simply a ruse

to waste five months of training

after which you'll claim
you can't fly after all

because it makes your ears go "pop."

Come on, I wasn't born
yesterday, Blackadder.

More's the pity,

we could have started your
personality from scratch.

So, the training period
is five months, is it?

It's no concern of
yours if it's five years

and comes with a free holiday in Tunisia,

contraceptives supplied.

Besides, they wouldn't admit you.

It's not easy getting transfers, you know.

Oh, you've tried it yourself, have you?

No, I haven't.

Trust you to try and skive
off to some cushy option.

There's nothing cushy

about life in the Womens'
Auxiliary Balloon Corps.

And then the bishop said,

"I'm awfully sorry, I didn't
realize you meant organist."

[LAUGHING]

Thank you, George.

At ease, everybody. Now, where's my map?

-Come on.
-Sir!

Thank you.

God, it's a barren, featureless
desert out there, isn't it?

The other side, sir!

Hello, George.

What are you doing here?

Me, sir? I just popped in to
join the Royal Flying Corps.

Hello, Blackadder.
What are you doing here?

Me, sir? I just popped in to
join the Royal Flying Corps.

-And, of course, I said…
-Bravo, I hope, Darling.

Because, you know,
I've always had my doubts

about you trenchy-type fellows.

Always suspected there
might be a bit too much

of the battle-dodging, nappy-wearing,

I'd-rather-have-a-cup-of-tea

Than-charge-stark-naked-
at-Jerry about you.

But if you're willing to
join the Twenty-Minuters,

Then you're all right by me and
welcome to marry my sister any day.

Are you sure about this, sir?

Certainly, you should
hear the noise she makes

when she eats a boiled egg.

Be glad to get her out of the house.

So, report back here 0900
hours for your basic training.

Crikey! I'm looking forward to today.

Up-diddly-up, down-diddly-down,

Whoops-poop, twiddly-dee.

Decent scrap with the fiendish Red Baron,

a bit of a jolly old crash
landing behind enemy lines,

capture, torture, escape

and then back home in
time for tea and medals.

George, who's using the
family brain-cell at the moment?

This is just the
beginning of the training.

The beginning of five long months

of very clever, very dull
men looking at machinery.

FLASHHEART: Hey, girls!
Look at my machinery!

[GIRLS SCREAMING]

Enter a man who has no underwear.

Ask me why.

ALL: Why do you have
no underwear, Lord Flash?

Because the pants haven't been
built yet that can take the job on.

And that's the type of guy who's
doing the training around here.

Sit down!

Well, well, well, well, well.

If it isn't old Captain Slack Bladder.

Blackadder.

Couldn't resist it, eh, Slack Bladder?

Told you you thought I was great.

All right men, let's dooo it!

The first thing to remember is:

Always treat your kite
like you treat your woman.

How… How do you mean, sir?

Do you mean…

Do you mean take her home at
weekends to meet your mother?

No, I mean get inside her five times a day

and take her to heaven and back!

I'm beginning to see why

the Suffragette Movement want the vote.

Hey, hey!

Any bird who wants to
chain herself to my railings

and suffer a jet movement gets my vote!

Uh, right.

Well, I'll see you in
ten minutes for takeoff.

Hang on, hang on!

What about the months of training?

Hey, wet-pants!

This isn't the Women's
Auxiliary Balloon Corps.

You're in the Twenty-Minuters now.

Uh, sir… sir! Prat at the back!

I think we'd all be intrigued to know

why you're called the Twenty-Minuters.

Oh, Mister Thicko.

Imagine not knowing that.

Well, it's simple!

The average life expectancy
for a new pilot is twenty minutes.

Ah… Life expectancy… of twenty minutes.

That's right.

Goggles on, chocks away,
last one back's a homo!

Hurray!

ALL: Hurray!

So, we take off in ten minutes,

we're in the air for twenty minutes,

which means we should be
dead by twenty-five to 10:00.

Hairy blighters, sir.

This is a bit of a
turnup for the plus fours.

I shouldn't worry about
it too much, Blackadder.

Flying's all about navigation.

As long as you've got a good navigator,

I'm sure you'll be fine.

[SNICKERING]

BLACKADDER: Actually, they're right.
This is a doddle.

Careful, sir!

Whoops, whoops, a little wobble there.

I'll get the hang of it, don't worry.

All right, Baldrick, how
many rounds have we got?

Uh, five hundred, sir.

Cheese and tomato for you, rat for me.

Tally-bally ho!

What's this, sir?

Baldrick! Baldrick!

Will you stop assing about
and get back in the plane!

Ooh, ooh, ooh!

Hey, sir, I can see a pretty
red plane from up here.

[CHUCKLES]

Woo woo!

Schnell! Da unten! [LAUGHS]

Oh, no!

Watch out, Baldrick,
it's stood right on our tail.

Yes, now this is developing
into a distinctly boring situation,

but we're still on our side of the line

So I'll crash-land and claim
my ears went "pop" first time out.

Ooh, let's hope we fall on something soft!

Fine.

I'll try and aim between
General Melchett's ears!

I don't believe it. A German prison cell.

For two and a half years
the western front has been

as likely to move as a Frenchman
who lives next door to a brothel,

and last night the Germans advance a mile

and we land on the wrong side.

Ooh, dear, Captain B., my
tummy's gone all squirty.

That's because you're scared, Baldrick,

and you're not the only one.
I couldn't be more petrified

if a wild rhinoceros had just come
home from a hard day at the swamp

and found me wearing his pajamas,

smoking his cigars
and in bed with his wife.

I've heard what these
Germans will do, sir.

They'll have their wicked way
with anything of woman born.

Well, in that case,
Baldrick, you're quite safe.

However, the Teutonic reputation
for brutality is well-founded…

Their operas last three or four days,

and they have no word for "fluffy."

I want my mom!

Yes, it'd be good to see her.

I should imagine a
maternally-outraged gorilla

could be a useful ally when
it comes to the final scrap.

[FOOTSTEPS]

Prepare to die like a man, Baldrick.

Or as close as you can come to a man

without actually shaving
the palms of your hands.

Good evening.

I am Oberleutnant Von Gerhardt.

I have a message from
the Baron Von Richthoven…

The greatest living German.

Which, considering
his competition consists

entirely of very fat
men in leather shorts,

burping to the tune of "She'll Be
Coming 'Round the Mountain,"

is no great achievement.

Quiet!

And what is your message?

It is: "Prepare for a fate worse
than death, English flying fellow."

Oh.

So, it's the traditional
warm German welcome.

Correct.

Also, he is saying, "Do not try to
escape or you will suffer even worse."

"A fate worse than a
fate worse than death."

That's pretty bad.

Yes, well, you see,

It's all very well for you, isn't it,

Sitting here behind yer, behind
yer, behind yer comfy desk!

Don't you take that
tone with me, Lieutenant,

or I'll have you on a
charge for insubordination.

Well, I'd rather be on a
charge for insubordination

than on a charge of deserting a friend.

How dare you talk to me like that!

How dare I?

Now, then, now then,
now, now, then, now then,

now then, then now…
now then, what's going on here?

That damn fool Blackadder
has crashed his plane

behind enemy lines, sir.

This young idiot wants
to go and try rescue him.

It's a total waste of men and equipment.

He's not a damn fool,
sir, he's a bally hero.

All right. All right.

I'll deal with this, Darling.

Delicate touch needed, I fancy.

Now, George,

Do you remember when I came down
to visit you when you were a nipper

for your sixth birthday?

You used to have a lovely little rabbit…

Beautiful little thing. Do you remember?

-Flossy.
-That's right, Flossy.

Do you remember what happened to Flossy?

-You shot him.
-That's right.

It was the kindest thing to do

after he'd been run over by that car.

-By your car, sir.
-Yes, by my car.

But that too was an act of mercy

when you would remember
that that dog had been set on him.

-Your dog, sir.
-Yes, yes, my dog.

But what I'm trying to say, George,

is that the state young flossy was in

after we'd scraped him off my front tire

is very much the state that
young Blackadder will be in now.

If not very nearly dead,
then very actually dead.

-Permission for lip to wobble, sir?
-Permission granted.

Stout fellow.

But surely, sir, you must allow me

to at least try and save him.

No, George.

It would be as pointless
as trying to teach a woman

the value of a good,
forward defensive stroke.

Besides, it would take a
superman to get him out of there,

not the kind of weed who blubs

just because somebody gives him a slice
of rabbit pie instead of birthday cake.

Well, I suppose you're right, sir.

'Course I am.

Now, let's talk about
something more jolly, shall we?

Look, this is the amount of land
we've recaptured since yesterday.

Oh, excellent.

Um, what is the actual
scale of this map, Darling?

-Um, one-to-one, sir.
-Come again?

Uh, the map is actually life-size, sir.
It's superbly detailed.

-Look, there's a little worm.
-Oh, yes.

So the actual amount of land retaken is…

Excuse me, sir.

Seventeen square feet, sir.

Excellent.

So you see, young Blackadder
didn't die horribly in vain after all.

If he did die, sir.

[SCOFFS]

That's the spirit, George.

If nothing else works, then a
total pig-headed unwillingness

to look facts in the
face will see us through.

So!

I am the Red Baron Von Richthoven

and you are the two English flying aces

responsible for the spilling
of the precious German blood

of many of my finest
and my blondest friends.

I have waited many months to do this.

You may have been right, Balders.

Looks like we're going to
get rogered to death after all.

Do you want me to go first, sir?

[LAUGHS]

You English and your sense of humor.

During your brief stay, I look
forward to learning more of your wit,

your punning and your amusing
jokes about the breaking of the wind.

-Well, Baldrick's the expert there.
-I certainly am, sir.

[LAUGHING]

How lucky you English are
to find the toilet so amusing.

For us, it is a mundane
and functional item.

For you, the basis of an entire culture.

I must now tell you of the
full horror of what awaits you.

Ah, you see, Balders.

Dress it up in any amount
of pompous verbal diarrhea,

and the message is "squareheads down"

"for the big Boche gang bang."

As an officer and a gentleman,

you will be looking forward
to a quick and noble death.

Well, obviously.

But, instead, an even
worse fate awaits you.

Tomorrow you will be
taken back to Germany…

Here it comes!

To a convent school outside Heidelberg,

where you will spend the rest of the war

teaching the young girls home economics.

Uh… For you, as a man of honor,

the humiliation will be unbearable!

Oh, I think you'll find we're
tougher than you imagine.

Ha! I can tell how much you
are suffering by your long feces.

"We're not suffering too
much to say thank you."

Thank you.

Say thank you, Baldrick.

Thank you, Baldrick.

[LAUGHING] How amusing.
But now, forgive me.

I must take to the skies once again.

Very funny.

The noble Lord Flashheart still eludes me.

I think you'll find he's overrated.

Bad breath and… impotent, they say.

Sexual innuendo.

[LAUGHS]

But enough of this.

As you say in England, I must fly.
[LAUGHS]

Perhaps I will master
this humor after all, ja?

I wouldn't be too optimistic.

Oh, and the little fellow,

If you get lonely in the
night, I'm in the old chateau.

There's no pressure.

[LAUGHS] Pratfall!

Is it really true, sir?

Is the war really over for us?

Yup!

Out of the war and teaching
nuns how to boil eggs.

For us, the great war is finito.

A war that would be a damn sight simpler

if we'd just stayed in England

and shot fifty thousand of our men a week.

No more mud, death, rats, bombs, shrapnel,

whizbangs, barbed wire
and those bloody awful songs

that have the word "whoops" in the title.

Oh, damn! He's… He's left the door open.

Oh, good! We can escape, sir.

Are you mad, Baldrick?

I'll find someone to lock it for us.

Shush! Keep-ee! Mum's the word!

Not 'arf, or what?

Sir, why did you just slam
the door on Lieutenant George?

I can't believe it. Go away!

It's me. It's me.

But what the hell are you doing here?

Oh, never mind the hows and the whys

and the do-you-mind-if-I-don'ts.

But it would have taken
a superman to get in here.

Well, it's funny you should say that,

because as it happens I did have some help

from a rather spiffing bloke.

He's taken a break from
some crucial top-level shagging.

It… It's me, hurray!

Hurray!

God's potatoes, George.

You said Noble Brother
Flyers were in the lurch.

If I'd known you meant Old Slack Bladder

and the mound of the
Hound of the Baskervilles,

I'd probably have let them
stew in their own juice.

And let me tell you, if I ever tried that,

I'd probably drown.

[LAUGHING]

Oh!

Still, since I'm here, I
may as well doooo it.

As the bishop said to the netball team,

"Come on, chums!"

Aah! Ow! Aah!

Come on.

Yes, yes. Look, I'm sorry, chaps,

But I've splintered my pancreas.

Um, and I seem to
have this terrible cough.

CV-guards! CV-guards!

Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait a minute.

Now, I may be packing the kind of tackle

that you'd normally expect
to find swinging about

between the hind legs of
a Grand National winner,

But I'm not totally stupid,

and I've got the kind of feeling

you'd rather we hadn't come.

No, no, no, I'm very grateful.

It's just that I'd slow you up.

I think I'm beginning to understand.

Are… Are you?

Just because I can give multiple orgasms

to the furniture just by sitting on it,

doesn't mean that I'm
not sick of this damn war:

The blood, the noise, the endless poetry.

Is that really what you think, Flashheart?

Course it's not what I think.

Now get out that door

before I redecorate that
wall an interesting new color

called "hint of brain."

Excellent. Well, that's clear.

Let's get back to that lovely war, then!

-Woof! Woof!
-Bark!

Not so fast, Blackadder.

Oh, damn! Foiled again! What bad luck!

Ah, and the Lord Flashheart.
This is indeed an honor.

Finally, the two greatest
gentleman flyers in the world meet.

Two men of honor, who
have jousted together

in the cloud-strewn glory of the skies,

face to face at last.

How often I have rehearsed this
moment of destiny in my dreams.

The opportunity to encapsulate the
unspoken nobility of our comradeship…

[BANG]

What a poof!

Come on!

Oh! Oh!

-Hello, Darling.
-Good lord.

Captain Blackadder, I thought you were…

-Playing tennis?
-No.

-Dead?
-Well, yes, unfortunately.

Well, I had a lucky
escape, no thanks to you.

This is a friend of mine.

Argh!

Hi, cretin.

Flashheart, this is captain Darling.

Captain Darling?

Funny name for a guy, isn't it?

Last person I called "darling"
was pregnant twenty seconds later.

Hear you couldn't be
bothered to help old Slacky here.

Uh, well, it… it wasn't quite that, sir.

It's just that we weighed
up the pros and cons,

and decided it wasn't a reasonable
use of our time and resources.

Well, this isn't a reasonable use

of my time and resources,
but I'm going to do it anyway.

What?

-This!
-Oh!

All right, Slacky! I've got to fly.

Two million chicks, only one Flashheart.

And remember, if you
want something, take it.

Bobby!

My lord!

I want something!

-Take it!
-Woof!

Git!

-Ah, Blackadder, so you escaped.
-Yes, sir.

Bravo!

Don't slouch, Darling.

I was wondering whether,

having been tortured by the most
vicious sadist of the German army,

I might be allowed a
week's leave to recuperate.

Excellent idea.

Your commanding officer would have
to be stark raving mad to refuse you.

You are my commanding officer.

Well?

Can I have a week's
leave to recuperate, sir?

Certainly not!

-Thank you, sir.
-Baah!