All language subtitles for My Family, Series 2, 03 Parisian Beauty 720p@@ WEB-DL HEVC x265 BONE

- Nine.
- Excuse me?

I was led to believe
you opened at nine sharp.

And I was led to believe
you'd been dead 50 years.

- I don't understand.
- No, neither do I.

My name's Hilliard.

The employment agency sent me
for the assistant position.

That position has been filled.

No, it isn't. It can't be.

According to the employment agency,
you're a DP5 -

difficult person, fifth level.

There's an asterisk beside your name.

I'm going to boot your ass-terisk
out of that door.

- Are you firing me?
- Firing you? I've not even hired you.

It's because I'm short, isn't it?

It's because you're dressed as Hitler.

- Ah, there's a dress code?
- Yes, I'm afraid there is.

Usually, tongue studs,
hot pants and Third Reich uniforms

are considered inappropriate
for a dental surgery.

I understand.
Do you have casual dress Fridays?

No. We have an exit door.
So goodbye. Schnell.

You can still
make that plane for Paraguay.

- What if I remove the hat?
- What if you removed yourself?

The jackboots?
I just wear them for height.

It's not the boots or the hat!
It's the totality! It's you!

Because I'm short.
You, sir, shall hear from my solicitor.

- Fascist!
- Midget!

Oh, Mum, don't even tell me what it is.

It's a bouillabaisse
casserole ragout melange,

to make your French exchange
friend feel at home.

Not a friend, my ticket to Paris.

So dump that before you scare her off.

She can be my friend.
And maybe so much more. If she's fit.

You've got no chance.
French guys are more sophisticated.

I'm sophis-cated.
God, that is hot. What is it?

- Giant snails.
- Crunchy!

- That is so gross!
- You're supposed to shell them.

When you cook them, the boiling liquid
makes the shells come away.

Aren't you thinking of tomatoes?

Sylvie's coming to learn
about English culture, isn't she?

She won't want to eat
the same food her mother makes.

She obviously won't get it here.

Got any more of that?
Do with a toothpick, maybe.

Clean your room so Michael can sleep
in it and Sylvie can sleep in his room.

- My room?
- Sylvie can stay in my room.

- We can't expect her to.
- Oh, we can.

I'm not sleeping in that pit. It's barbaric.

Like punishment
for a murder I didn't commit.

It's all right. You take my room.
I don't need it.

- I'm part of a science experiment.
- That explains it.

I volunteered for a sleep deprivation
project for someone at King's.

Every day I don't sleep they pay me L5.

If I don't sleep for a year
I'll have made L1,825.

- That sounds so ridiculous.
- (Doorbell)

After three nights without sleep
you see giant cockroaches.

In your room,
that happens in three minutes.

Janey, get going to the airport.
Stupid Brian's here.

- Hi.
- You were going to ring first.

I did. On the doorbell.

Hm. That smells nice, Mrs G.

- Nick, get cleaning.
- I've got to take a nap.

- You're going without sleep.
- Damn.

Janey, get going.
I don't want to keep her waiting.

Don't get in such a flap.
It's not about Sylvie. It's about me.

She spends time here,
I spend time in Paris and meet guys.

- Wicked. Can I come?
- Let's go.

- To Paris?
- To pick up Sylvie.

- Sylvie?
- No, it's Brian, actually.

Sylvie's gonna stay here

and we're going to Paris to meet guys.

Aah.

Go away.

Hello.

Hello. How are you? Good.

I had a crappy day. Really? So did I.

Hm. Well, that's that over with.
What's going on?

Sylvie's coming tonight.
Janey's French exchange.

Oh, right. The Euro Janey. Good God.

Two teenage girls in the same house.

- It'll be fun.
- Yeah, for Sylvie's parents.

- Help me get things ready.
- Burn the house down and leave?

Just leave me here.
I want to sit down, relax and unwind.

You're right. You're right.

OK. You've had your sit-down.
Now come on.

We'll clean, then there's
French entertainment.

Oh-ho-ho. Oh, baby.

Down, boy! I've rented a film

to put us in the mood
for French visitors.

- Last Tango In Paris?
- Gigi.

Oh, no! Not bloody Gigi again!

Yes, bloody Gigi again.
It's about a young French woman.

So is Emmanuelle
but we're not watching that.

(Music on video)

Better informed now
about the daily struggle of youth

in the decaying urban wastelands
of 21 st-century France?

- Shut up. It's timeless.
- It's endless.

- The songs are good.
- I Remember It Well?

I remember it all too
bloody well after 22 times.

It's about dirty old men, anyway.

How dare you talk about
Maurice Chevalier like that?

Thank Heavens For Little Girls?

You're missing the point.
It's about life's transitions.

In my case, life's transitions
only transit from bad to worse.

I want my life to stay at bad for a while.

Maybe you're uncomfortable
with little girls getting bigger every day.

No. Only the song.

- You're just being difficult.
- I'm being difficult?

You insist on me watching this drivel
and want me to enjoy it.

You're a pleasure fascist.

Is it unreasonable
to share my favourite film?

- Yes.
- No. You have to like it.

I don't like your favourite films.

You said you liked
The Enigma Of Kaspar Hauser.

That was our first date.
That's before I knew you were easy.

So our whole marriage has been a sham.

Not the whole marriage.
Just the crappy film part.

And the bit about wanting kids.

You don't even try
to be compatible any more.

- Neither do you.
- I say I like football.

You do not. You say you hate it.

Well, nobody likes football.
People just pretend they do.

What, 100 million people
in the stands fibbing,

all of them doing the Mexican fib.

Shh. They're here. Just pretend
we're happy and compatible.

It's easier to pretend I like Gigi.

Mum, Dad, this is Sylvie.
Sylvie, these are the parents.

Enchantee.

- Hello.
- Hello.

Thank you for having me.

And this is Michael.

Je suis enchante de faire
votre connaissance, Sylvie.

Moi aussi.

(French accent) And I am
Nico Jean-Paul Lupier a Boeuf.

I do not speak English too good.

It's all right. You'll fit in fine around here.

And where is my kiss?

You must be starving.
I'll whip up some English food.

It's OK. Brian took us to eat.

- You made that up, didn't you?
- He's very sweet.

- French boys don't do that.
- We got some French food.

Yes. Ze shake and ze Big Mac!

OK, but you don't know
what you're missing.

Yeah. We do.

(Sighs)

Welcome to the pleasure dome.

You never hang out in here any more.

I'm not off the antibiotics yet.

OK. Here are some of your essentials.

Here is your fire extinguisher.
Very important.

Here's a towel.

If you wake up and the bed seems to be
spinning, don't worry, you're just drunk.

I thought you were supposed to tidy up.

Oh, I don't need them.

OK. There's a lot of valuables in here,
so be careful.

- Is this a bird's nest?
- I said be careful!

In case of emergencies, use the window

or the saucepan under the bed.

What else? Erm... Oh, yeah.

Now, this is very, very important.

Never... ever... open this wardrobe.

- Why not?
- I can't remember.

But I opened it once years ago
and it was not pleasant.

Well, goodbye, old chum.
It was nice knowing you.

If you like your room that much...

I was talking to you.

- She's lovely, isn't she?
- Who?

Who? I obviously don't mean Janey.
Sylvie, of course.

Yeah, she smiles a lot. Says little.

Maybe we should make her
a permanent exchange.

- She's very pretty.
- I hadn't really noticed.

Maurice Chevalier would have noticed.

Maybe.

But I'm not an old lech.

Now let me read.

# For little girls get bigger every day... #

Well, grow up, then.

I'm annoying you, aren't I?
I mean, more than I'm trying to.

Maybe we're not compatible.

I want to read,
you want me to thump you.

Fine. You're right.
We have nothing in common.

Yes, we do. Unless you want
to bless me with the revelation

he's the love child of the fling
you had with the village idiot.

- This staying awake is tiring.
- It's only been ten hours.

- What are you doing, anyway?
- Altering my circadian rhythm.

- What? His what?
- It's an experiment.

I'm resetting my body clock
so it runs indefinitely.

Just think how much more
I can get done.

You don't do anything.

I didn't have enough time before.

Another one! When are we
going to get that turnstile put in?

I'm not going back in there.
I can't sleep in that hellhole.

There's food all over the floor.
And I saw something move.

- Not mice.
- No, that's the food.

Mm. I adore English food.
It is called what?

Tandoori chicken masala. Takeaway.

English is a musical language, no?

Hm. Takeaway is my favourite lyric.

- You're so funny!
- Really?

Aperitif? No, thanks. I got my own.

I love English men.

I'm not really French, you know.

I'm sorry. I don't understand.

No one else does, either.

Oh, I forget your gift, Mrs Harper.

I got zis for you in Harrods.

For having me.

This is exquisite!
Oh, you really shouldn't have!

Merci beaucoup.

Puke time! Dad, can I have a word?

- How about no?
- I haven't said anything yet.

- Let's keep it that way.
- It's not about money.

Not about money!

- Come on, Michael. Dishes.
- It's Janey's turn.

- I'll do it.
- And I'll help, naturellement.

Naturellement.

- You must have noticed.
- She is a bit tactile.

No, she's a crawler. I don't trust her.

You just met her!

What would you think if I bought Mum
an expensive present?

- That you were up to something.
- See?

That was over the top.
I told her a chocolate orange would do.

I'd like a chocolate orange.

She's just sucking up to all of my family.

She's trying to steal you away from me.

That's because she doesn't know us.

- (Sylvie giggles)
- He, he, he! Listen to all of them!

Why don't you join the fun
and do the washing-up?

I'm fed up, not insane.
It could set a dangerous precedent.

Oh, my God.

Pip, pip, old bean.

I'll take my tea on the veranda.

She wants English, she'll get English.

The sleep deprivation's kicked in.

How can you tell?

Could you point me
towards the good-looking one?

Sod off.

Toodle-oo.

So, Pater, you old cove.

Yes, Nicolas, you young wassock.

- Will this do the trick?
- Hm... got rid of Janey.

Nah, to impress Sylvie.

Nick, I think she prefers
the mature sort of male.

Oh. I know who you mean.

What, you've noticed?

Yeah, Michael.
But it's not over till it's over.

I think you've either got it
or you ain't. And... you ain't.

And that better be
tobacco you're smoking.

- What ho, Sylvie.
- What?

It's an English greeting.

I'm English, you know. All over.

- I don't understand.
- You don't have to.

Take a pew, old girl.
I'm just enjoying my pipe.

- Michael OK?
- He soon settled in

once I'd prised his fingers
off the doorframe.

Janey is not too keen on Sylvie, is she?

Hm. Seems that way.

Anyway, 12 more days to go.

- Wake me up when it's over.
- I want this to work.

I want Nick to work
but I don't obsess about it.

If Janey improves her French,
she's a dead cert for university.

She doesn't even like Sylvie.

I know. Tomorrow you can take them out
so they can bond.

- I know. You do it.
- You've got Saturday off.

What could be better?

Having my genitals
fed slowly through a mangle.

Thanks. I was wondering
what to do for your birthday.

Susan, I, erm...

I don't think it would be a good idea

for me to spend more than the minimum
amount of time with Sylvie.

And, er, I don't think you ought
to put me in that position.

- Why not?
- Well, it's a bit painful for me

and I'm sure it must be for you
but it's quite obvious that, erm...

Sylvie's got a huge crush on me.

(Laughs)

- I'm glad you can laugh.
- I'm glad you can make me laugh.

Maybe we're compatible after all.

- I didn't expect this response.
- Sorry, it's the best I can do.

That is so hilarious!

Is it hilarious
that I'm still considered attractive?

Not that I want teenage girls
to find me attractive.

You've watched Gigi once too often.

22 times too bloody often.
Whose fault's that?

- You don't like dirty old men.
- I don't.

But obviously Sylvie does.

This reminds me of the time you thought
your assistant fancied you.

Thought? She only gave me
long, sultry looks.

She had a lazy eye.

You think I'm being ridiculous,
don't you?

I do. I'm sorry.

No, it's good.
I'm pleased because I just...

want to be proved wrong about this.

Look, it's late. You're overtired.

I'll take them on my National Gallery tour.

You can stay here... unmolested.

I'm not against all molestation,
under the right circumstances.

Oh, monsieur, you're so very naughty!

That's not funny, Susan. Sorry.

Argh! God! He's turned into Nick!

Michael, what happened in there?

No one must ever know.

Two Nicks. Scary.

Don't panic. Maybe one will rise up
and destroy the other.

- I must see you.
- What?

Alone. When your wife is not there.

Morning.

- What happened to your face?
- Hm? Oh, that.

Pipe accident. Occupational hazard
of being an Englishman.

- I can't see you alone.
- But you must.

- Shh!
- Later.

- Hello again.
- Please, may I phone to Paris?

- Of course. Over there.
- Thank you.

Sylvie put me out last night.

- You went into her room?
- I was on fire.

That's no excuse.

- She's our guest. Now stop it.
- Hello?

Oui. C'est moi. Ca va?

Oui. Qui?

Ah, si, si. Oui. Il est mignon. Oui.

Filet mignon? I knew it.
She's missing French food.

No, Mum. She said, "ll est mignon."

Meaning, he's cute.

She liked the gallery because it was
close to Virgin Megastore

and the Tower of London
because it was handy for McDonald's.

Janey didn't like anything,
especially Sylvie.

- Tomorrow it's your turn.
- No, tomorrow is Sunday.

And you're not working.
What could be better?

Susan, look... do I have
to humiliate myself any further?

Fun though that always is, no.

I'm not falling for any more
of this Lolita nonsense.

It's just an excuse
for shirking your duties.

I wish it was but we can't
ignore this, Susan.

- The evidence is there.
- What evidence?

You know, you heard her say
someone was mignon.

It's not you. Rest assured.

Today I managed to take Sylvie
all over Chelsea

without her accosting
a single pensioner.

Susan, would you just listen to me?

She laughs at all my jokes.

She doesn't speak English.

Susan, stop it. I mean, I can't help it, OK?

Humour is a known aphrodisiac.

Women go weak over funny men.

That's funny ha-ha, not funny strange.

Susan, erm... Listen.

Sylvie wants to have sex with me.

Why?

I just can't talk to you
any more. I'm sorry.

(Susan laughs)

- Night, Dad.
- Night, mate.

Michael has just gone into your room
without a gun held to his head.

Must have found my stash of videos.

Oh.

Dad, can we have a talk?

- Huh?
- You know. A real talk.

Man to man. Father to son.

- What, Earth to Pluto?
- Yeah, that kind of thing.

Yeah, yeah. Go on.

You know Sylvie?

Sylvie? Oh. Er... No, not really. Vaguely.

I've noticed something about her.

Have you? I haven't noticed anything.

It's not really working out, is it?

Me and her.

You and her?
No, Nick, it's not working out. No.

Do you think it's because I don't sleep
and I roam from room to room?

Maybe she thinks I'm one of the undead.

Don't we all?

Maybe there are other reasons too, Nick.

Indefinable reasons.
Which says nobody's to blame.

Ah. I think I can hear you.

This is a good time, no?

Yes, you're right. No.

Oh, please.

You?

So this is the indefinable reason.

Nick, it... it isn't.

Oh, well. Dad, you old dark horse.

- It's not like that.
- The better man won.

OK, I am the better man
but I haven't won anything.

- I won't tell the old girl.
- That's not very loyal.

- Look who's talking, mate.
- Mr Harper.

Erm... Look, Nick,
this isn't what it looks like. OK?

It's not what it looks like. I'm just gonna
go in there and sort things out. OK?

Yeah, sure you are.

Go on. This might be your last chance.

- What, sorting things out?
- If you like.

Hi.

- Come in.
- I can't.

- Why?
- I'm stuck.

Stuck? I don't understand.

No. Neither do I. But there you are.

- I'll be quick. I promise.
- Oh, God, will you?

I want to show you something.

Do you mind if I look from here?
I've got a circulation problem.

I always keep one leg
on the landing. It's airier out here.

One leg is hairier
than the other one? Oh, poor you.

Anyway...

- You like?
- Oh, my...

No. No. No.

I like. Yes, I like. But, erm...

- What about your wife?
- No, she will not like this.

Not one bit. Look, Sylvie...

Erm... Sylvie...

You're 17 and I'm... not.

So?

Look, Sylvie, I have a wife.

A very powerful wife.

And, er... I love her.

And she loves me. And she trusts me.

Yes. And she would look pretty in this.

No?

You bought this for Susan?

Yes. For Mrs Harper. Of course.

Oh!

Ben! You did not think I...

No! No, I didn't think...

I... l... No. Absol... I'm sorry.
I'm so sorry. I'm sorry.

But you're like, 73 years old.

Yes!

Yes. That's right, yeah.

You'll have to do a bit of work
on those numbers, I think.

- Oh, you are sad now.
- No, I'm really relieved.

Very relieved.

OK? No offence.

- No offence.
- OK. Fine.

Thanks.

OK.

- Sylvie, erm...
- Yes?

When you were on the phone
and you said someone was mignon...

Mignon? Oh, I remember. Yes. Mignon.

Don't worry. It was not you.

Phew.

It's obvious Sylvie thinks
I've got a really fantastic family.

And that upsets you?

It makes me think I must have
missed something all these years.

Cos I think you're
a bunch of complete losers.

It's late. I'm tired. Out.

- Want a cup of tea?
- That'll be nice.

Will you make me one, too?

Oh, Ben. Have you seen
the lovely negligee Sylvie got me?

Oh, but you have, haven't you?

Don't you think it suits me, Ben?

Pulled any fit young girlies lately, Dad?

Is there no end to my humiliation?

Don't be silly. It's way too soon.

OK, OK. Who's going
to have the next dig?

Me. Mignon.

- What's everyone laughing at?
- They're laughing at me.

Oh, right. I get it.

- Hello, Brian.
- Hi.

Who do you think you're looking at?

Brian. Il est mignon.

Is est mine, you two-faced tart.

Girl fight! Yeah!

Girl chase! Yeah!

Girl chase, girl chase, girl chase!

What a dead loss this fortnight's been.

The two of them fought the whole time.

I don't think Sylvie's English improved.

And now we're not even going to get rid
of Janey for two weeks in Paris.

(Snores)

Ah, bless him. Chasing cats again.

I wonder what he's dreaming about.

- Girl fight!
- Merde!

Qu'est-ce que tu fous la, cretin?

Vous m'emerdez tous.
Vous etes des salauds, des cochons.

Well, at least she's improved her French.

Translation, Michael.

Believe me, Dad, you don't want to know.