All language subtitles for Gallipoli.Part.3.720p.BluRay.X264-GHOULS

That gun -
any of you blokes

think you can charge it?

- I'll give it a burl, sarge.
- What?

OK, lads. Come with me.

Ah!

- Bloody hell!

- Tolly!
-What are you doing, Tolly?

- Come on.
-Bugger me.

Struth, it's the Light Horse!

Hey, where are your gee-gees,
fellas?

Go to buggery.

I just wanna get stuck into 'em.

No, you don't, mate.

The landing
was a mistake, simple as that.

But to build mistake
upon mistake

like these fools are doing...

Unforgivable.

Keep it up and nothing of yours
will leave here.

You've been warned.

So it seems.

- Hold your fire!

Hold your fire,
hold your fire!

Captain, we need to do something
about all this.

- The heat.
-Yes. I will speak.

Birdy wants an armistice
at Anzac.

Bodies are piling up.

Sir, I...

Certainly, sir.

Each side collects
and deposits enemy bodies

on the opposing side.

Thanks.

You could shoot me tomorrow.

Allah korusun.

God forbid.

Celia.

Celia?

Çok güzel. Much, much...güzel.

More ammunition!

Bring that ammunition to the front!

Dave.

Bevan said you could
speak French.

I did it in high school.

What does, um...

Puh...

What does "Per...per vay...

"..vaytre pays"?

-"Pour votre pays"?
-Yeah.

Um, "for your country".

What about, uh...

“Um,

'Mourir'?

'Die'. Why?

Where'd you hear that?

Doesn't matter.

C'est mauvais.

Souffrir.

Mourir.

Pour vote pays, mourir.

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Well, seven, then.

Mate, they never give you
seven days off.

Nuh. They'll give us half.
Four days off - you watch.

Yeah, three.
Three clays, that'll do me.

Three clays? I haven't shat for three days.
Did I tell you that?

Oh, I don't wanna shit anyway.

You squat in there,
there's bloody flies up your arse.

Cliff, do you ever stop talking?

"Do you ever
stop talking?"

Stop talking shit, eh, Cliffy?

After the armistice,

the peninsula was quiet
for a while.

The fighting continued
and there were more men killed,

but the war
had become routine.

Just a daily, weekly routine
of craving sleep,

and eating when you can,

writing letters home,

and hoping you didn't get sniped
using the latrine.

It became the only life
we ever knew.

- Amen.
- Amen.

The marines!

Where you boys going? You lost?

What are you doing, boys?

Not time for hide-and-seek!

Alright, lads.
Form up.

- Quickly!

Oh, it is, actually.
Poor buggers.

Yeah, poor bastards.

Quick march.

Well, have a dekko at this.
It's St Kilda.

- Without the ice-cream.
-Or the women.

Or anything fun.

Platoon...halt!

Platoon, right turn!

Platoon, fall out.

Alright, working party,
listen up.

- Working party, sarge!
-Quiet, Sutton.

You'll split into three.

A third of you will go
with Lieutenant Wheeler

for digging duties
off the beach.

A third of you will come with me

to help erect the new
casualty clearing station.

The rest of you will stand by.

You'll be unloading supplies

as soon as the boats
tie up at the pier.

"The rest of you"? That's us!

Alright, let's move out.
Come on, move!

Ohh!

Snipers.

They can't see us.
They're firing blind.

Yeah? Come on!

Come on! I'm right here!

Take a bloody shot,
why don't ya?

Cliffy?

Cliffy! Cliffy! Cliffy!

I got ya, Tol!

I got you! I got you.

Christ's sake.

Can't anyone have a joke
around here?

I'm telling you,
he showed me a picture.

Kids and everything?

- Two kids. And his missus.
- Phwoar.

No. No, you don't think of 'em
like that.

For Christ's sake, Cliffy,
what do you think of them as?

They're people. Like you.

No, it's...it's just...

You know.

I don't know.

Anyway, who gives a bugger?

They live in a place
called Turkey.

Next there'll be a country
called Goose.

Or Duck.

Duck, Duck!

Great name for a country
to have a war in.

Do you reckon you'd
still sign up now?

Mate, it's for the empire.

If we don't stop 'em,
they'll take over.

Yeah, I suppose.

Take over what exactly, Bev?

Everything.

You gotta fight 'em.

You needed to speak to me, sir.

Ah, Johnson.

At ease.

Sergeant Perceval
reported your actions

at the Turkish machine gun nest.

It was my brother, sir.

Still, it's remarkable.

You're young, but you've
a good head on your shoulders.

I've recommended to the colonel

that you be promoted
to lance corporal.

What?

And he accepted.

No, sir.

What do you mean, no?

The army doesn't work
like that, son.

You're a lance corporal.

Go and inform your mates.

Dismissed, Johnson.

Uh, excuse me there.

You wouldn't mind awfully
if I asked you a few questions?

If I take notes,
you'll understand, won't you?

Now, firstly, how old are you?

17.

Good God.

I lied.

And why did you want to join up?

My brother.

To...

...to help him?

You gotta love your own brother.

Indeed.

Have another.

I've never had brandy before.

Enjoy it. It's older than
both of your grandfathers.

So, tell me,
what did your father say

when you joined up at 17?

He's dead.

He drowned.

No-one knows why.

I'm sorry.

I think I'm gonna die here.

I just don't know when.

And there you join the rest of humanity,
Master Johnson.

None of us ever know.

I'll get shot.

What makes you
so certain about this?

Tell me, are you frightened...

...of this...looming shot?

What do you think?

- Hey.

It's alright.

Shh.

The nights always seem
longer and darker at Gallipoli.

We all had something
that haunted us.

We mostly didn't
talk about it.

It didn't matter how different
we were as blokes.

Everyone had
the same experience.

As long as we went on living.

Jack!

C'est mauvais. Souffrir.

Mourir.

Pour vote pays, mourir.

Steak.

I want a steak with sauce. Yeah.

I reckon a leg of lamb.

- Yeah, with...with gravy.
-Oh!

- And mint sauce.
-Yes!

No, my mum's lamb's fry.

- Ooh!

- You bastards!

Oh, give us a look!

That's a great shot!

Yeah? Alright, then.

- What'd he say?
-How would I bloody know?

- Now.

Hah! Missed!

Yoo-hoo!

- Whoa!
-Oh, shit!

Yeah, good shot!

Yes, it was
bloody good!

Good to see you, Ellis.

Donald.
Only a damn lieutenant, I see!

I'll have to have a chat
with the admiral.

And only a reporter?
Where's the novel?

Far too busy to write a novel,
Donald.

- Welcome to the 'Majestic'.
-Thank you.

I've seen cables to Kitchener.

All's going well and we're
progressing very soundly.

This is Hamilton's tone
to London?

"We gain ground steadily
but surely every day," unquote.

Don't we?

Unconscionable.

Well, speaking of mess,

I'm the catering officer.

Come with me.

You there. Would you be so kind?
Thank you.

Yes, sir.

"We are fighting a brave
and tenacious enemy

"who is most skilfully led..."

Note, sir.

"..and who has always proved himself
a more formidable foe

"when backed into a corner
and placed on the defensive."

The whole of London's
reading this!

He must be stopped.

Well, it's not exactly treason

to give the enemy his due, Braith.

If you'll forgive me.

Bartlett's laughing at you, sir.

I've intercepted this

he's tried to get
past the censors.

A letter to the London editors.

Exactly.

"Expedition failing.

"British public misled."

Under no circumstances
must this be let through.

Why does he write these things?

He's on the 'Majestic'.

I'll have him sent packing
immediately.

Uh...perhaps not.

Let's have Bartlett where
we can keep an eye on him.

He's well connected.

I don't want him
playing the gadfly in London.

We should at least get him
off the peninsula.

Quite.

Quarantine him somewhere, Braith.

I want him gelded.

- Abandon ship!

And we were picked up
by some French warship.

As you can see, they were
most accommodating.

I'll have my valet fit you out.

Although I don't see why.
Just...add a hat.

What do you think, Roger?

Of course, this would
never have happened

if I'd been allowed the yacht
that I'd requested.

The 'Majestic' would not
have been torpedoed

if you'd had your own yacht?

Heavens no.
That's not what I meant at all.

Still, I have lost all my kit
and I will need to replenish.

Do I have your permission
to leave, sir?

Of course. And where is
this shopping expedition to be?

Well, I thought I might
go to Malta.

Very good. And you don't write
a word while you're away.

- Is that clear?
-Thank you, sir.

- How's that?
-Bit more biscuit.

So, where's Troy?

Here.

Just over there,
across the water.

So the Greeks...

They got into the horse

and just sat there,
waiting to get towed into town?

Yep, they did.

- We need some kind of sauce.
-Bit more water if you can.

How did they know
they'd get past the gates?

What if the Trojans just decided
to burn the horse down?

Well, they would have all
been burned to death.

More biscuit.

So if it was such a long shot,
why bother making it a horse?

Why not just make it...
a big box with wheels?

The Wooden Box of Troy?

You're not much
of a poet, are you, Tol?

- Shit!

- Incoming shot!
-Take cover!

Stretcher bearers!

Needs more biscuit.

Beautiful leg swing!
Did you see that?

Oops, beam ball! Sorry, Abdul!

Oh, bloody Horsies. Welcome.

Getting stuck in, are ya?

Get fucked.

Where'd you learn
to shoot like that?

Born with a rifle
in my hand, cobber.

Wow, a yorker!
Never even saw it coming.

Who's up next, eh? Eh?

What's it gonna be?
You don't know, do ya?

Come on, you better watch out!

Cliffy, will you shut up?

Oh, shut up yourself, Dave.

Bomb!

Whoo!

What do you reckon, Tol?

Returned to the keeper
a bloody inch over the bails.

Bloody Cliffy.

Yes?

Bartlett.

Lord Kitchener.

Heard you were here.
What the hell do you think you're up to?

Well, I was informed
you wanted to see me, sir.

Don't be clever. Take a seat.

Thank you, sir.

The Prime Minister's
up and down corridors

with fresh ideas about victory
on Gallipoli.

Was it you who got to him?

I spent some hours with him
last night, sir.

He wanted me to deliver
a memo to Cabinet.

Yes, he mentioned
you have a new strategy.

You're a reporter,
for God's sake!

Well, the present plan
isn't working, sir.

An attack at Bulair?

A fresh advance across
the neck of the peninsula.

Once you're astride it,
the campaign's won.

What about Anzac?

The Turks will have to move men

away from Anzac
to defend Bulair.

Yes.

Yes, the Turks' hold
to the south

gives them fine position there.

Why hasn't Hamilton
used the Australians

to take Achi Baba from behind?

That's impossible, sir.

Unless he takes Gaba Tepe first.

Yes, my view exactly.

I don't understand why they gave up
Gaba Tepe in the first place.

Sir?

But the Australians have never
held Gaba Tepe, sir.

Are you sure?

Quite sure.

Damn.

Another one from London, sir.

- Another one?
-From the PM this time.

Why this flurry of queries
about my campaign?

-It's not the PM's business.
-It's Bartlett, sir. Must be.

First he leaves
without permission...

I'm afraid not.

I gave him permission
to depart for Malta.

He agreed not to write anything
while he was away.

He clearly hasn't.

Malta.

And now he fetches up in London
on a whispering campaign.

Treachery.

Leave him to me, sir.

So, an enjoyable voyage back,
was it?

Not fast enough, but it's good
to be back at work.

Fine, then.
Here you are, right here.

The whole of the press corps,
Bartlett, and you in particular.

You'll be supplied with tents.

Um...

Just how am I supposed to report
on a war in Turkey

from an island in Greece?

You'll be briefed. By me.

I see.

At least I can see Gallipoli.

Could have chosen
a more accommodating spot

with my eyes closed.

Our headquarters are
just along down there.

It's only marginally better.

We must all sacrifice.

Chased from the ships, were you?

You'll set up here.

You will not leave
without permission.

- Is that clear?
-Abundantly.

You were an army man, Bartlett.

You should know better.

And you're still
an army man, sir.

This is an official reprimand.

I speak with the authority
of General Hamilton.

No, you don't, Walter.

Misplaced hubris, Bartlett.

So you're opposed
to this campaign?

Well, take note -

young men flocked to enlist

after reading
your glowing reports.

Oh, and, Bartlett - we have
three more journalists arriving.

You're hardly exclusive
to London now.

The death of a soldier
is always the same.

No matter who he is.

Everything's taken from him.

His tags,
his pay book and diary,

his gun,

letters from his girl,
if he has one.

You have to stop yourself
thinking about it too much.

You lot!

Bury this man.

Move it!

♪ Oh, I do like
to be beside the seaside

♪ I do like to be beside the sea

♪ I do like to be upon
the prom, prom, prom... ♪

No, indeed.

There's more than one way
to skin a cat.

- But all this?
- Yes, I know.

Well, I have a friend in the navy.
We were blown up together.

The 'Majestic'?

He was sleeping below deck.
By rights, he should have perished.

But sailors, you know -
float like corks.

Not all of them, Ellis.

No. Sadly true.

Still, a wonderful example
of cooperation

between the senior service
and the fourth estate,

don't you think?

And let us not forget
our Greek friends.

And - where are my manners? -
Henry, welcome to Gallipoli.

It's an honour to have a member
of 'The Guardian' in our ranks.

Thank you, Ellis.

This is shaping up to be

as fascinating
as our previous encounters.

It is indeed.

- You've worked together before?
- Many years.

Henry covered the Second Punic War
as a cadet journalist.

He's been hard at it since.

Politicians keep
war correspondents very busy,

bless 'em.

But I hold that one is a mirror.

One must reflect no more
and no less than what one sees.

What utter nonsense, Henry!

The man wants to gild the lily.

I don't want to gild the lily,

but I reserve the right
to have an editorial attitude.

We report on places and numbers
and times, Ellis.

No, we don't.

We report on courage,
pain and madness.

♪ And there's lots of
girls beside

♪ I should like to be beside

♪ Beside the seaside

♪ Beside the sea. ♪

We are ready to disembark you
for Imbros, sir.

It's a beautiful sunset,
general.

A cold hand, John.

And I'm afraid of it.

"Like one that on
a lonesome road

"doth walk with fear and dread

"Because he knows
a frightful fiend

"doth close behind him tread."

Sir, any man twice recommended
for the Victoria Cross

is not afraid of much.

We learn not to fear our enemy.

That's the thing
a soldier does best.

Young men face oncoming fire.

It's a silent bullet
in the back of the neck

for the commander, hmm?

Not if he's victorious, Johnny.

Caesar didn't hear them coming.

I do, John.

Already.

We'll attack
along the ridge

with sections of the Light Horse
in support.

- Ugh, God help us.

Alright, that's enough. Quiet.

The secondary objective

is to destroy
the Turkish observation post

at the high point
of Dead Man's Ridge.

There'll be no preliminary
naval bombardment,

so we move quietly.

We rely on surprise.

Any questions?

Right.

The attack'll begin at midnight.

Senior officers have indicated
their complete confidence

in the success
of this initiative.

Dismissed.

"Complete confidence".
Gets you all warm inside, eh?

- Yeah, they love us.
-But are they coming with us?

C'est mauvais.

Souffrir.

Mourir.

Pour vote pays, mourir.

Are you scared, Tol?

No.

He is.

Look at him over there
with his rosary.

You know what he's scared of?

What?

Well, he might get shot.

And he might go to heaven.

But what if he doesn't?

Do you know
what happens in hell?

Tell you what happens.

You're lying there naked,

under a pile of
red-hot burning sand

a thousand miles thick.

You choke.

You burn.

And you got no hope, right?

Wrong.

You got hope.

'Cause every thousand years,

a little bird flies in

and takes away
one grain of sand.

Who thought that up?

It's true, mate.

"A naughty young Grecian
named Yorick

"Flashed his phallus
in places historic

"Then patiently waited

"While scholars debated

"Was it Corinthian,
Ionic or Doric?"

Oh, God.

Welcome to Imbros, sir.

Sit down, gentlemen.
I'm only a colonel, for God's sake.

So, Bartlett,
what do we have here?

Well, that depends.

Are you a spy, colonel?

Has the general sent you
to wipe us out?

This sounded
a lot more convivial.

Oh, it is!

Compared to our camp.
What the dickens are you drinking?

Retsina. It's dreadful.
We're enjoying it immensely.

We thought "If it was good enough
for Achilles..."

Take a seat, colonel, please.

There's ouzo as well.
In fact, I think it's worse!

Speaking...of wipe-outs, sir.

General Hunter-Weston's
massive casualties

at Krithia last week -

the man is slaughtering
his own troops.

- Surely something...
-Please, Mr Nevinson.

I'm here to drink wine.

Well, you're in the right place
for that.

Marcus, pour the colonel
another drink, for God's sakes.

They're waiting for us.

Course they're bloody
waiting for us.

But do they know we're coming,
is the question.

I reckon they know.

No, they don't.

We're past that trench
I saw the other day.

They would've been firing
by now if they saw us.

Yeah, you're right.

Oh, shit. Come on,
get out of here!

Jeez, it's the little bugger, Tolly.

- Chook.
-Tol.

- G'day, Tol.
-Two Bob.

Hey, Stewie.

Shit!

Captains report
to headquarters now.

Company headquarters
is over there.

Tolly!

He's here!

- Hey!

Stretcher bearer!

Stretcher!

Tolly, come on. Come on!

Wound to the chest.

No exit wound.

Tolly? Tolly.

He has to be evacuated.

There's no boats
till this afternoon.

We'll check on him later.

He won't last long.

Ripped By mstoll