All language subtitles for Formula.51.2001.1080p.BluRay.x264-BiPOLAR.English

- Yeah. Heh-heh.

I... I mean rules are like
arbitrary, you know,

made up for people
who believe in fairy tales.

Like, you know,
like Santa Claus.

Hey, but not us, right?

I mean, we know
what's important.

There's a war going on, man.
A war!

Ain't that a bitch?

I just graduated today, man.

With honors.

Got my degree
in... in... in pharmacology.

I'm licensed.

Look, if you write me up
on this drug charge,

I won't be able to practice.

So what we're talking about here
is... is my life.

The rest of it.

- The sixties are over... man.

- Jody and Nick, you have
come together in this church

so that the Lord may seal...

- Mr. Jones, is it true
this is the biggest deal

you've cut with the FBI?

[Screaming]

- I now pronounce you
man and wife.

[Bell tolling]

[Ring!]

- Aren't you supposed
to be in court?

- Case adjourned.

They just seemed to run fresh

out of witnesses.

Frees up the Lizard
for his other business.

One hundred large

has been deducted
from your account.

As promised.

Can the Lizard offer a
suggestion on how she can, uh...

work off the rest of her debt?

- The Lizard may not.

- Go.

Believe me,
you'll thank me later.

Let's go.

No more free meals. Let's go.

- Christ, it's like
a reptile house in here.

- Fuck off.

Ah, mix master.

To our star chemist, gentlemen.

Elmo McElroy.

Where's Durant?

I see five.
I don't see the Brit.

Where the fuck is he at?

- He said he'd be here.

- Limey faggot needs
a lesson in manners.

- Fuck Durant.

Just tell us about
this new wonder drug.

Get your master chemist in here.

- Okay.

Konokko, fetch him.

Fetch the Lizard Elmo.

[Honking]

- No Durant.

No McElroy.

- Maybe he went out
for something.

- Oh! What the fuck?!

- Nobody goes out

for something on deal day!

- Oh!
- Stop your whining,

get up off your ass
and go find him! Now!

- Ah...

- Just give me a moment.

[Ring!]

[Ring!]

[Beep!]
"This is Elmo McElroy's phone.

He's not home.

You know what to do,

you know when to do it. Bye."

- Tasty Drops?

- He fucked me.
I'm truly ass-invaded!

- "You have one new message."
[Beep!]

- "He fucked me.
I'm truly ass-invaded!"

[Boom!]

- Rest in peace...

motherfucker.

[Ring!]

- You're going home, Dakota.

- I'm going to Vegas.
- You listen to me.

There's this, uh...

Limey asshole in Liverpool

named Durant. He was supposed

to show up for this little deal
we had going on today.

He didn't... he didn't show up.

The Lizard thinks
he stole his Elmo.

- I'm not going back there.
I don't care how much money

I owe you.
- You listen to me, Dakota.

I want this Limey motherfucker
Durant off the fucking planet.

And I want fucking Elmo
fucking McElroy

off the fucking planet!!

- Did you hear what I just said?

That place has nothing
to offer me.

- The Lizard...
will wipe your marker clean.

[Brakes squealing]

Plus,

a bonus. One hundred thousand.

If the job is done in 48 hours.

And after that,
there is nothing to stop you

from turning right around
and leaving again.

- Two-fifty.

- Get it done.

- It's done.

Shite!

- Good evening.

I'd like to extend a very
warm welcome to each of you

on behalf of all the crew
on this virgin Atlantic flight.

Please store carry-on baggage
in the overhead lockers.

- Can I show you
to your seat, Sir?

- We are just waiting for our
last remaining passengers

to board and then
we'll be on our way.

- Spit it out.
Spit it out now.

- Tommy?

- What?

What?

- Fuckin' Yanks.

The trouble with
the fuckin' Yanks is,

they've no fuckin' sense.

Had some dick in Los Angeles

actually ask me
where I learnt English.

English, fuck!

- You have a problem
with America, Felix?

- Oh, yeah. I got one great, big,
fat swollen fucker of a problem

with America, twat.

Listen to this.

I'm in fuckin' Florida, right?

This southern prat comes up
and he's like, uh...

"Hey, England's small.

You must know that John
fucking Smith guy, right?"

[Ring!]
Fucking Smith.

I'm like, "Oh, yeah,

yeah, mate, that's right.

John Smith. Yeah,
I do know him, but uh,

he doesn't come from England,
mate. No, he comes from fucking

[both]: Pricksville, U.S.A.

[Phone ring Yankee Doodle]

Are you gonna answer
that fucking phone or what?

- It's just my wife.

Now, when Mr. McElroy joins us,
I'd be pleased

if you kept your opinions
to yourself.

This particular Yank
is not a traveling salesman.

He's a genius. Hm?

- Who is this cunt?

So I said to Mr. Durant,
I said, "Mr. Durant,

we're gonna meet
this fuckin' Yank McElroy,

bring him to the deal
and that's it."

None of this fucking

conversation-and-coffee
bollocks. None of this

asking how the Tampa Bay
"Fuckanneers" are getting on.

No, I said fuck him.
I bring him to the deal,

I get me fucking tickets
and I'm off. That's it.

Take a left up here.
- There's no time for this.

- Take a fucking left, will ya.

- Felix. Felix, listen.

This is a totally new chemical.
Once we have the formula,

we could make this stuff
in a kitchen!

We don't even need Durant.
- Look. You see that?

Manchester United vs. Liverpool.

And that's tomorrow.
Blokes are shagging

their fucking mothers-in-law
to get a ticket for that.

And I'm getting two
from Mr. Durant.

So unless you can shag us
a couple of tickets on the spot,

I suggest you shut the fuck up.

- But this is a unique window
of opportunity for you.

We are talking
telephone numbers...

- Enough. Take care of him.
He's getting on me fuckin' tits.

- We're gonna be late, boss.
- Fuck the Yank! Let him wait.

"When you walk
Through a storm

"Hold your head up high"

[singing loudly]

Boys and girls of Manchester...

just popped over from, uh...
Liverpool

to invite you to a little game
of footies tomorrow afternoon.

- What the fucking hell's that,
you twat?

- But I'm fucking fucked if you
think you are gonna win it.

- Someone get
that fucking thing out!

- Hey, young man!

- Where the fuck've you been?

- Just around the block.
- Drive. Quick.

- Let's go meet
the Yankee moppet.

Where's Lawrence?

Where's he gone? We're late.
- Well, he's...

- You left him at the pub. Twat.

- Well, you said...
- Go back.

Go back and get him.

- This wanker.
- Out, prick.

- Uh!

- Lawrence says, right,

he's gonna be carrying...

a load of drugs, right?

We do him. Job done, okay?

- Yeah.
- I'm not having

some fucking nignog...
put us out of business, right?

Right?!

Watch it! You're pissing
on me fucking boots!

- What about Felix DeSouza?
- Fuck him.

- He's a rabid dog.

- Is he? Well, fuck him!

Fuck him! Leave it to me!

Everybody fucking wants you off.

Heh? No problem.

No problem.

- Hey!

- Hey! Felix DeSouza.

Just the wanker
I wanted to deal with.

- Deal with this.
- Ah!

[Moaning]

- What a fucking day.

- Arthur, come in, Arthur. Over.

[High-pitched buzzing]

Why don't you try
the big fat button, Arthur?

- Yes, Sir.

- Now, we are looking for a large
black gentleman wearing a dress.

That's what Lawrence said.
It should be easy. Over.

- Yeah, and we want Customs
to pull him over, right?

- Wrong. We want Customs to let
him through and you follow him.

Over. Nutbag.

- Right. Over.

What now?

- Follow them all. Over.

- Madam. If you don't mind.
- No. I gotta go.

- You'll have to come this way.

- Are you finished?
- Uh, not quite, Miss.

I need to look
at your shoulder-bag.

- Welcome to England.

Actually, that makes me out
to be a bit of a liar,

'cause let's face it, pal,
you're about as welcome

as a dose of the clap.
But it's always nice to be nice.

- Who the hell are you?
- Felix DeSouza.

Mr. Durant sent me.
- I asked for a chemist.

Where's Lawrence?
- He's in the car.

- Well, he should be here.
- I should give a shit.

To me, you're just a ticket
to a game.

- Where's the chemist?

- Where's Lawrence?

- You heard the man.
Where's Lawrence?

Put these in the trunk.
Get Durant on the phone.

- Put these fucking sticks
in the boot.

Ah!

What's that?
- It's Lawrence.

- I can see it's fucking
Lawrence! What happened?

- You told me
to take care of him.

I meant to take care of him,
not fucking take care of him!

Shit.

Shit! Shit!

Shut the fucking thing, will ya?

- Get Durant on the fucking phone
right fucking now!

Where's my motherfuckin'
chemist?!

- Lawrence? Should be in the car.
- Should be?!

What kind of fuck-up is this,
Durant?

Look, we deal today
or I go to the competition.

- Look, let me speak to DeSouza.

- DeSouza? DeSouza?

- Look, boss,
it... it wasn't my fault.

Besides,
he was fuckin' irritating.

- Right now, I couldn't give
an ass, you twat!

You just make sure
McElroy gets here.

- Where's my fucking chemist?!
- I think we need

a new chemist, Mr. Durant.
- I know, I know.

I can fucking hear him, can't I?

Tell him I'm gonna
get a hold of, uh...

Pudsey Smith, okay?

Yeah. I am not buying aspirin
for a fucking arm and a leg!

- He's getting Pudsey Smith
for ya.

- Who?!
- He's deaf-mute.

- Stall him. Just stall him.

You keep that Yankee cunt happy.
And alive.

- All right, boss. Yeah.

- Oh! You fucking twat!

- What's the plan, then?

Freshen up?

Massage?
Maybe you fancy a bucket

of fried fucking chicken?

- If I wanted cuisine,
I'd've gone to Paris.

- You can still go to France,
It's not too far,

full of pricks and
they hate Yanks as well.

Do you fancy

a bite or what?
- Yeah, all right.

- Hello, stranger!

Said hello to loverboy yet?

Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!

- Iki, I'm in a hurry.
Can we get on with it?

Ruger Mini-14, 223 caliber.

Comes in a fetching chrome.
Twenty rounds per banana,

unless the elite and snazzy
Iki special takes your fancy,

extending the capacity to 40.
We've got a Czechoslovakian...

- CZ-83, I'll take one.

- Ah, well that's young Felix's
weapon of choice, isn't it?

Now there's a trip
down memory lane.

I'm partial to bitter sentiment,
me. I've heard things, you know.

He misses ya.

So what you're gonna say?

- I'll take the Baretta,
the CEZ, an ankle-holster...

Add the Mini 14 and I'm done.
I want to get in and out fast.

- Don't we all.
- Does Durant still do his deals

at the Port Hotel?
- Silly lad.

You know, that'll be his undoing
one of these days.

But what do you expect
from a fellow

who gets his ass waxed
every month.

- I forgot what a circus
this place is.

- Funny, that.
Never did much like the circus,

all that poking-your-head-
in-the-lion's-mouth shite.

Bring on the horses!
And the dancing girls!

That's the circus!

These and these...
are on the house.

Welcome home... Dawn.

- There you go, mate.
Thanks, mate.

- What the fuck

did they do to this fish,
batter it to death?

- Fish and chips.
National dish, mate.

- More like a national disaster.

- The keys.

Twat.

Come on.

So, uh...

how much are they paying you
to wear that skirt?

Fag?

- No, motherfucker.

[Knocking]

- Ah, Mr. McElroy.

That's daring
but very touching attire.

- Let's stick
to the business at hand.

- Hey, come on.
Mr. McElroy's a guest of ours.

Okay, boys.
Guns on the table, please.

Felix.
- Look, I've delivered your man.

I'll have me tickets and be off.
- Put your gun on the table.

- Fuck, the game's tomorrow.
- Put your fucking gun

on the table!

- What?

- So who's the chemist?
- Pudsey Smith.

He's a first-class man.
Fully qualified and everything.

He can't talk, he's been shot.

Felix, have you shit your pants
or something?

- Something doesn't feel right,
Mr. Durant.

- I know, because you're making
me nervous, for fuck's sake.

Sit on your hands or something.
Okay, Mr. McElroy,

the ball's in your court.

- MDMA utilizes serotonin.

Opiates like heroin
utilize dopamine.

Sort of like the same sensation
you get after sex.

Amphetamines increase adrenalin,

and cocaine gets those synapses
in the brain firing really fast.

My product is 51 times stronger
than cocaine,

51 times more hallucinogenic

than acid, and 51 times
more explosive

than ecstasy.

It's like getting
a personal visit...

from God.

- It's that good?

- Dog's bollocks.

- Felix DeSouza.

- I count 10.
- That's right.

That's one million
sterling gold. One point...

$1.6 million.

- But that ain't
what we agreed on, is it?

You're $18.4 million shy.

And I don't care how you cut it,
that's a whole lot shy.

- No, no, no.

Mr. McElroy, what we have there
is a goodwill gesture.

A deposit, a down payment.

One-and-a-half million's
not a bad start, is it?

I need to do some research.

I need to feed a few thousands
to the kids, get some feedback.

You don't think I'd allow you
to walk out of here

with $20 million for a formula
that only exists in your head.

And all I get is, well...

an ointment for toe-jam.

- Uh-huh.

Market research.
- Right.

- Profile your customers,
send out some questionnaires.

- Get out the bloody way, Felix.

- Hey, I can dig that.
But unless you got

what we agreed on,
what the fuck am I doing here?

Give me a call
when you're ready to deal.

[Knocking]

- I fucking knew it.
[Knocking]

[Knocking]
- Room service.

- That old fucking chestnut.

- Ahhh!

- Uh!
- Hey, hold it, fellas!

It's my sausage
and flaming mash.

- Ahhh!!!

- Shh-shh-shh.

- Sorry, love.

Sorry about that, pet.
It's just that, uh,

me dad ran off with
the room-service maid, you see,

and things have never
really been the same since.

- Bollocks.

[Ring!]

- Now's not a good time.

- Change in plan.
- What do you mean?

- I want McElroy kept alive.

- I don't do alive, I do dead.
- It's a matter of $20 million

in cash being vaporized and
it's a matter of a lot of anger

being directed toward the
Lizard Man. You now do alive.

My future is inside
McElroy's skull.

You waste anything and everybody
that gets near him.

You waste them, not him.

His mind belongs to the Lizard.

- Shit.

- Fucking hell!

- Shit! Shit!

Ah, shit.

Asshole.

- Let go, you double-crosser,
let go of that, mate!

Ahh!

- Oh, shit!

- Shit!

- Ow!

Shit!

- Told you to get out the way,
Felix.

- Fuck! I've been shot!
- Where?

- In the fucking ass!

- Oh, man, it's just
a flesh wound. Come on.

- Fuck. Flesh wound,

is that supposed to sound
like a fucking good thing?

[Panicked voices]

- Come on, dude.

- Hey, saucy!

Saucy!

- Here, take these.
- Fuck that!

- Ah!
- Ahh! Fuck!

- Fucking get him, boys!
Come on.

Uh!
- Uh!

- Uh!
- Ah!

- Stay down, bitch.
- Oi, you're not driving my car!

Shit!

- Give me the fucking keys.
Get in the car.

- Fuck!

[Siren blaring]

[Siren blaring]

[Both]: Ahhh!

- Fucking hell!

- Get your fat ass out of the
flaming car and check the hotel.

- So put me in the picture.

What just happened back there?
- Just got shot in the ass,

that's what happened!

- This is not the way
we do business!

- Just get out the fucking car!
- All right, all right!

- Oh, fuck!

- You fucking...

- What?!

- Take a fucking left!

Get off the pavement!

- Shit!
- Watch out!

Fuck!

- Which fucking way? Which way?
- Turn right! Right!

- Come on! Ah, Christ!

- Hey.

- Ohh...

- Another truck

is coming
from the fucking right!

- I got it, I got it.

- Fuck!

- You, out of the fucking way!

- Oh, bollocks!
- Dog's bollocks?

- No, just plain
fucking bollocks.

- No dog involved?
- No!

Watch out! Watch out!

You're gonna kill
the fucking car!

- Fuck.

- Ah! Fuck.

[Siren blaring]

- Hello.

- So let me get this straight.

"Bollocks" is bad, whereas "the
dog's bollocks" is good, huh?

- Yeah.

Oh, bollocks.

- Gotcha.

Come on, then!

Come on!

- Ahhh!

...Ahhh!
- Fucking hell!

- Stop.

- Fucking Yanks.
[McElroy laughing]

- Come on!

- Stop fucking...

- You're scraping
me fucking paint!

- Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

- Fuck you, Kane,

your shite...!
- Fuck off!

- "Bop-bop-bop-bop-bop!"
- Ha-ha-ha!

- Holy little fuck.
- Ha-ha-ha! Chicken bollocks!

- Shit!
[Honk-honk!]

- Fuck you, Kane,
you fucking wanker!

- Come here, you!
- Fuck!

- You all right?
- Fuck off!

- We lost 'em.
[Foghorn blowing]

- Yeah, well,
let's not take any chances.

- Oh...

Oh, shiiiit!

Argh.

- You want to junk that, pal?
- What?

- Dude, you have a car that
works? I need transportation.

- A nice little Cooper
that needs a lick of paint.

She goes. Throw in the XJ6

and she's yours for 100 quid.

- Deal.
- What, a Cooper?!

Piss off, Popeye. And you.

- Tell you what, 70 quid

and the Jag.
And I'm robbing meself.

- That... that's it.
That... That's it!

I've had just about enough
of this shite.

I got you to that deal
in one piece, I got you out

of that deal in one piece.

As far as I'm concerned,
my job's done, it's finished.

So you can leave me motor alone,
get your golf clubs

and fuck off back to Dixie!

- Pay attention, Felix DeSouza.

I atomized
a major drug syndicate

to be here this morning.

Now I'm stuck in
Liver-fucking-fool with you!

And if I need you to sell

your car to help me,
you will sell your goddamn car!

- Do I look
like the Salvation Army?

Have I got Jimmy-Fix-it

written on me fucking hat?
I'm sorry, mate,

but help's not a word
I'm too familiar with, you know.

[Phone ringing Yankee Doodle]

Fuck off!

I don't believe it.

- So who's the girl?

- That's me ex-girlfriend.

- Arthur.

- Yeah.
- I want you to describe

the situation to me.

- Seven shades of shit
and a one-shit trumpet, Sir.

Looks like some kind of a drug
buy. None of your ordinary.

Aye-aye, got some blue tabs.
They look like sweets.

How are you?

- What do you mean, how am I?
Nearly cut my fucking ear off!

Then I... I hurt me knee.

Now, I want you to get the pills
and take them straight down

to the lab, double time.
You got that? Right.

And then you call me.
Now what else you got?

- Six dead bodies
and one live one.

Chief, it's Leopold Durant.

- Durant?

Right. Now concentrate, Arthur.

Get that fat fuck
down here pronto.

- But Sir, he's dying.

- Well, then you'd better
be fucking quick about it,

hadn't you?

[Foghorn blaring]

- She dumped me.

Two years ago now.

Changed her name
from Dawn to Dakota.

Fucked off for Las Vegas
and a deck of cards.

- So who hired her
to take me out?

- You're asking
the wrong question, mate.

She's your guardian angel.

If she wanted you dead,
you'd be dead.

She never misses.
I mean, fucking look at that.

She really wanted to hit me.

I'll be "shiting" through a tube
for the rest of me life.

Someone wants you kept alive.

- Somebody's trying to cut in

on Durant's deal.

It's shit and the gang.
It's shitting again.

- Yeah, well shit happens.
- No.

Shit don't just happen.
Shit takes time.

Shit takes effort.

Twenty-million dollars'
worth of effort.

I gotta get a new deal on fast.

You know the town,
you know the players.

- Look...

all I want is a ticket
for the game.

You think you can swing that?

- With $20 million,
you can swing anything.

You know what I'm selling.

- Well, how much?
- Five percent of whatever I get

out of any deal you set up.
That's a million dollars.

Hell, you can buy your own
goddamn stadium with that.

- Game's tomorrow.
- You better get started then.

Oh, and Felix, a word of advice:

You ever want to get the girl,
you gotta broaden your horizons.

- What the fuck is that?

What is it?

What, Scotch mist?

Now, now, now, now, now.

You are getting greedy, Leopold.

There's a big deal going down

and you are trying
to cut me out the fucking...

- Ahhh!

- I told you,
face the fuck front!

Now this is gonna cost you

an additional 15 percent.

No?

All right, then, 30!

Why is he being so difficult?

How about this? Fifty-fifty.

Why settle
for anything less, eh?

- Sixty-forty.

- Uh, Leopold, I don't know
if you noticed, my son,

but, uh... you're in urgent need
of a fucking doctor.

Fifty-fifty?

Good boy.

All right then, Arthur.
Take him down.

- Sully.

- Ahhh!

- Fuck!

Oh, you really have
excelled yourself

this time, haven't you, Arthur?!

Brilliant!

Fucking brilliant!

[Indian music]

- Omar, it's me own
interpretation, innit?

- You need to find your centre.
- Get off me legs!

- Find your centre.
- Stop messing with... Omar!

Omar, you're messing with
me delicate energy field here,

all right?!
- Okay. Okay.

Cocksucker.
- Find your centre, Omar.

[Ring!]

- Hello.

- You got one chance, mate.
Yes or no,

to be the number-one shite
in this particular cesspool.

- Well bugger me sideways,
Felix DeSouza,

you misguided wanker,
I'm already number one.

Always was a bit of a pillock,
wasn't he, Leo Durant?

Now he's a dead pillock.
- Dead?

- Hang on a minute, Felix.
Me other line.

[Ring!]

Hello.

- I need to find Felix.

- Hello, Dawn.

Time to scratch that itch,
is it?

Well, he's not
in me fucking wigwam.

- Where does he hang out
these days?

- Hang on a minute, Dawn.

Felix.
- Listen, uh...

me and, uh, my associate and I
have selected you to deal with.

- Well aren't I just
the luckiest bugger alive.

Stay there.

- I don't fucking believe it.

- Have you tried Refresh,
Pink Factor?

- Yeah, all of them.

- Hang on a minute, tiger. Just
let me deal with this a minute.

- Let me talk to him.

The deal is $20 million.

The deal is non-negotiable.
The deal expires at midnight.

- Oh, Mr. McElroy, 20 million
sounds fanny-tastic. Yes!

Negotiation's for asswipes,
Mr. McElroy.

If you're not here by midnight,
I'll shit meself with woe.

And I want samples, Mr. McElroy,
I want supersonic samples,

I want thrust. I want 100,000
m/hr of intergalactic spaciness.

See ya!

- We in the house.

- Hiya, doll, sorry to keep you.
Listen,

there might one person
who knows where he is.

- Fuck!

- What the fuck is that?

- Congratulations, pal,
that's your new Cooper.

Mini Cooper.

Fucker's thought out

every fucking problem here.
- A "labratory,"

or as you would say,
a "laboratry."

We need a lab, Felix.

- Well, I'm sure that's dead easy
where you come from;

fucking lab on every corner,
is there?

[Honking]

- Piss off.

[Elvis Presley's
"Don't be Cruel"]

- Well shit in a bag
and punch it, she's back.

- I need to find Felix.

- And what do you need from me,
a map and a fucking compass?

- Shirley...

- You broke his heart.

Did you even give a thought
about that?

- This was a mistake.

- Most sensible thing
you've said.

Are you still shooting people

for a living?

What kind of fucking career
is that, then, eh?

- Look, can I come in.

- And do what? Dirty stop-out

doesn't normally come home
'til breakfast.

- Really good to be home.

- It's great
to see you again, love.

- I wanted to see the world.

Liverpool isn't the world.

- I couldn't take America.

It's like fucking Albania
in neon.

- And that stupid football shirt.

What kind of man jumps into bed
shouting, "Come on, you Reds."

- She made me laugh.

- Good shag, though.

- I tell ya, she'd kill anyone
for me, I'll say that for her.

- He's got problems.

- She's got problems.

- Shouldn't have come back.

- Better off.

- I need everything on this list.

- Look, I'm dying for a smoke.

You haven't any ciggies,
have you?

- I'm sorry. Cigarettes
are bad for your health.

- Well, so's a fucking punch
in the throat, mate!

I need fucking nicotine now!

- No need to shout at me.

I'm Pakistani, not deaf.

- Take a puff on this!
- Don't move.

- Ah, fuck off.

- And you.

You...

dress-wearing, uh...

monkey-boy!
- Monkey-boy, ha-ha!

- Monkey-boy!

You're gonna take them drugs
of yours and make it work...

for us!
- And where would I do this?

- Have it done, in my lab.

- You got a lab?
- Yeah, of course.

What do you take us for,
rank fucking amateurs?!

[Punk-rock music]

- Just say no.

- How the fuck
did we end up in here?

- Mm, one little mistake...

30 years ago.

- All of these items
are over-the-counter variety.

Nothing illegal here.

- Anyway to get fucked up, huh?
- I beg to differ.

You see, it's not the
ingredients themselves

which determine the effect,

but the manner
in which they're combined.

These kids
are getting very smart.

- He's right.

The ravers are the key.

- Oh, aren't you the clever
little chunky monkey.

- Hey, you keep banging on
about my weight...

- Arthur...
- Now, you're crossing the line.

- Arthur, it was a joke.

It was a joke.

Smile. Smile...

You fat cunt.

[Punk-rock music]

- Yo, Blowjob!

POS-51.

Comes in blue,
or race-car red.

Destination: Stratosphere.

Only this one...

gets you there in 60 seconds.

- You try one first.

- Thought you'd never ask.

- POS-51.

You can't call it that.

Punters are gonna feel like
right tits standing around

asking for tabs

of 438-IO-fucking-U,
whatever the number is.

No one's gonna know
what they're on about.

These scumbags
spend their entire lives

smacked out their heads.

And numbers, they couldn't even
tell you what time it is.

All right, Mr. Smug,
what've you done?

- I think the shit's
about to hit the fan.

- Waaahhh!

[Flatulence]

- Ooo-hoo-hoo.

[Moaning and groaning]

- Told you it was
a bad idea, lads.

- Oh, yeah,

please.
- Please.

- Please.
- Please.

- Oh, now come on

- Oh, thanks.

- Oh, thanks.

[Rave music]

- Oi!

Brother's gonna work it out.

"Brother's gonna work it out

"He's a chemical brother"
Mr. McElroy.

Welcome.
- How you doin', man?

- Spectacular, lad,
is what I'm doin'.

Spectacular.

Nice skirt.
Special occasion, is it?

- Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha.

- You're gonna be all right here
on your own?

- Mm-hm.

- She's here.
- All right.

- Everything all right, lads?
Problems?

- No, man.
Nothing we can't handle.

Every chemical used
in the production of this drug

is 100 percent legal.

Not one ingredient is found

on any known government's
banned-substance watch list.

Hell, you can ship
supertankers of this shit.

You can even lay
a goddamn pipeline

and no one would bat an eye.

POS-51.

It's all that.

And it can be yours...

if the price...

is right.

- Chemistry...

Mr. McElroy.

What is chemistry...

but the ability
to attract adoration in others.

You see, you're like me,
Mr. McElroy.

You're a "skyhighatrist,"
I'm a "skyhighatrist."

See, I always knew
I'd be a drug dealer,

even when I was a kid.

I saw me dad hit me mother,
me mother hit me brother,

my brother hit me sister
and me sister fuck me father,

so I suppose it's inevitable,
really. I mean,

you'd have to be on drugs
just to live in that madhouse!

Wouldn't ya?

Drugs are good,

Mr. McElroy.

Drugs are our mates.

Fuck, I'm getting
on me own nerves.

What I'm trying to say to you,
Mr. McElroy, is...

I'm very much attracted...

to what you have to offer.

- How ya doin', Felix?

- Well, me boss is dead,

can't get a ticket
for tomorrow's match,

and oh, yeah,

I've got a fucking bullet hole
in the ass.

Apart from that,

I'm tip-top.

So who's the target?

You got that look in your eye.

- I've been looking for you.
- Oh, yeah?

For old time's sake,
or for the company I keep?

- Little bit of both.

- So you have got me
on your list then?

- You've always been on my list.

- Forty years ago,

a rock'n'roll revolution
was launched

in this town!

Tonight, we're gonna launch
a new revolution!

One that will rock

and roll your senses!

And you...

are my test pilots.

You're gonna kiss the sun
and taste

the motherfucking rainbow!

Are you ready?

Are you ready?

Then let's get ready to party!

- Do you have an idea
how much I missed you?

- Why didn't you stay
with me then?

- What, me? In America?
Don't be soft.

Besides, I don't know
who you are anymore, girl.

It's been nearly two years,
I haven't heard a word.

Still...

always hoped...

you might...

change your mind...

and come home.

We could have a fresh start.

Aren't you gonna say anything?

- This, Mr. McElroy,
is a fucking miracle.

Drug use'll reach
epidemic proportions,

revolutions'll break out,
governments'll fall.

Twenty million
and not a penny less.

Where do I sign?
- Si... sign?

This ain't some written
contract, the kind of agreement

I can take you to court
and sue your ass over.

You fuck me on this deal,
I gotta take out

a contract just to get even
on the goddamn contract!

Now we think we have
an agreement, we think

we see things the same way.
Either we do or we don't.

You're either in or you're out.

You give me the money,
I give you the formula.

Are we clear?

- Crystal, Mr. McElroy, crystal.

I'm not Leo Durant.
I'm a man of me word.

- Get in my way...

and I'm gonna have to shoot you.

- Get in me way and I'm gonna
have to shoot you again.

I gotta work, babe.

- Fucking cow.

[Screams of panic]

- Ah, fuck!

Can't a brother
just deal some goddamn drugs?!

- Time to go, Elmo.

- Mr. Kane, is it that time
of the month already?

I thought you weren't due 'til
next week, you eager beaver.

- Ain't that always the way.

Elevator music,
a nigger in a kilt,

a chick with
a nickel-plated nine.

[Ring!]

- Now a word from our sponsor.

- Now that ain't
no Liverpool accent.

- Say hello, Elmo.
- Hello, Elmo.

- Absence makes the heart
grow fonder, Elmo.

And the Lizard is so full

of motherfucking "fondrance"
for you, that he got

on this plane
just to come see you.

- I'm touched.

- You will be.
- You got my cash?

- You're flush, sweetcakes,
you are flush.

- He's looking forward
to seeing you.

- So what's the price tag
on my ass?

- It's enough.

Move.

Ahhh!

Ah! Ah! Ah!

- Last stop. There's nowhere
from here but down.

- Reel me in!

- Why would I dream of doing
a stupid thing like that?

- Pull me up, will ya!

- Fold or call?
- What?

- You play poker.

Fold or call?

I'm your last chance, girl. I'm
the out you've been looking for.

I'm only gonna make
this offer once.

Take it like I did and get
out from under the Lizard's ass,

or stay a slave and wonder
where your life went.

- You think you can save me?
Look where you are.

Get real.

- A million. In bonds.
Untraceable.

That's real.
That's a fresh start.

Try quitting while you're ahead
for a change... Dawn.

- No.

- No?
- Ahhh!

Ahh!

I want 10 percent
of your deal with Iki.

- You're negotiating with me?!

Look at your options.

- Ten percent.
Have a look at yours.

- All right.

- Aaah!

- Ah... ah... ah.

- Now that is a lovely dress.

Need the extra room, do ya?

Tell me something.
I'm intrigued.

Is it true that you fellas
are equipped with incredibly...

large...

Fuck.

- Thanks.

- My pleasure.
- You can move your arm now.

- Right then, you "skaskit".

In the last 12 hours, this
city's gone from a peaceful,

fun-loving Utopia
to an all-out fucking war zone.

And I, Virgil Kane...

I wanna know why.

Nobody cuts me out of anything
in this parochial pisshole.

Now you smell that, Felix.
Smell it.

Smell it!

That is essence of Durant.

And Durant got what he deserved.

So when a deal goes down, you,
my old sausage, will fix it.

Time and place.

And then you will call me.

All right?

Accessory to murder,

possession of a firearm.

You fuck me,

I'm gonna have you on your hands
and knees, your ass in the air

exposing your rusty sheriff's
badge for the next 20 years.

So ask yourself,
are you gonna help restore

some national pride
and stick one on the Yanks,

or like the rest of your life,
you're gonna piss it all away?

Are you gonna help me

to help you?

Eight hours 'til kickoff.

It's a big game.

Let's just see if you come good.

- Mr. Kane...

- See ya.

- Never walk alone, eh, mate?

[Car-alarm beeping]

Help me to help you. Cunt.

- What do you think that
motherfucker would do

against people of this era
like Sosa, Maguire, Griffey?

They'd be knocking that shit
out of the park.

He can't throw
that kind of heat.

Kevin's got
what's going on, here.

You don't know
what you're talking about.

- Bullshit. Kevin Brown couldn't
carry Sandy Koufax's jockstrap.

- Heh-heh-heh!

You've been listening to
way too much Vince Gully, girl.

You need to get your ear out
of the radio and carry your ass

out to the ball game

- Sorry, but, uh...

have I missed something?

- What the fuck is that?

- Black pudding.

Fried pig's blood.

- Oh!

- You two planning on
filling me in, or what?

- Elmo's propositioned her.

- Nice one, Shirley.
- I'm listening.

The Lizard offered Dakota 250K
to deliver my live ass to him.

I've made her a significantly
better offer.

And I'm thinking
she might entertain...

certain sentimental reasons
for not doing her job.

The question is...

whether it's gonna pay me
to be sentimental.

- Look, we have a choice.

We can use our
get-out-of-jail-free card,

or we can choose "stop,

do not pass go,

do not collect $20 million."

Do we have a deal?

- Do that again, I will
definitely fucking shoot you.

- Shut your gob!
Go and get yourself cleaned up.

- And no shagging up there.
- Ye... yeah,

no shagging up there.

- We do this job and we get out.

It's what we all want, isn't it?

Just to get out.

- So what's the plan?

- You tell me.

- What's the plan?

- You tell me.

- Mmm...
- Ah...

...listen. It's got to come
from your belly.

Right deeeep down.

It's your birth trauma.

Now cleanse your chakras
and let it all out.

- Ummm...
- Ahhh...

Let it goooo!

- I'm trying, you fucking fairy!

Aaaahhhh!

All right?!

Aaahhh!

Aaahhh!

[Ring!]

All righty! Good morning!

- All right,
let's finish this deal.

- My sentiments exactly.

Any particular venue?
- No airports, no hotel rooms,

no dockyards, no barges

no pharmacies,
no animal-testing labs...

- Ohhh!
- No rooftops.

- Riddles, riddles,
I love riddles.

- No abandoned warehouses
or rave clubs.

I want total privacy.

In a very public place.

And security.

Cops. Lots of them.

And witnesses.
Thousands of witnesses.

You getting my drift?

- Well, uh,
I've got a certain, uh...

business indulgence, shall
we say, that I could, uh...

utilize.

- So what time's kickoff?
- Three o'clock sharp.

- I'll be there.

- Football and drugs...

a perfect Saturday afternoon.

Liverpool!

Liverpool!

Come on!

Chakras.

[Honking]

- No, no, no, no, no, chopster.

You stay here.
- What for?

- I don't know. Keep your eyes
pinned on the exits.

I mean, try for fuck's sake
to blend in. Cunt.

- This clown better deliver.
- Don't worry.

Iki put something like this
together a couple of year ago.

- Yeah? What happened?

They all died.

- We get in, we get out.

- What about the game?

We're staying
to watch the game, right?

- Dude, I'm in and I'm out.

[Flight announcement
to Los Angeles]

- Good afternoon, gentlemen.
Welcome to Anfield,

the home of football.
- Yeah, right, pal.

- Uh, McElroy, DeSouza.

- Yes. I thank you.
Take the lift to the 3rd floor

and it's the first door
on your right, Sir.

- Thank you.

- Sir?

- Don't you want to search me?

- Guests for the executive suites
are never searched, Sir.

- Right.

I knew that.

- Welcome!
Come in, come in.

- Excellent.

- I'm nothing if not hospitable,
Felix. Make yourself at home.

Mm! So excited I could shit!

Uh?

- Right. Mr. McElroy, your drink!

While I tell you about me plans.
Oh, I've got plans, Mr. McElroy.

Big fucking plans.
- Hey, hey, hey.

No talk.
You want a beverage?

I'll fix you a beverage
while you get the 20 mil.

I give you the formula,
you smile,

we toast,

we pretend we're friends,

and we go our separate ways.
- Foreplay. Mr. McElroy.

It's the only way
to a good relationship.

- Ah, Iki, my love,
we're way past holding hands.

- Twenty million in bonds.
Untraceable.

- What...

is that supposed to be 20 mil?

- Well, I'm not hefting gold bars

around the shop, am I?

It's not fucking Goldfinger,
is it? Ah-ah-ah-ah.

Easy, flower.

Where's me formula?

Wish you were here?

I'm fucking there, Mr. McElroy.

I'm fucking there.

An inspired choice, I must say,

my, uh, chemical brother.

Cheers.

- I never was one
to be too sentimental.

- Elmo!

It ain't often
that a blowed-up motherfucker

gets to chat to the motherfucker

that blowed him up.
- You got that right. Usually,

the blowed-up motherfucker has
the courtesy to stay blowed up.

- I'll try to be more
accommodating next time, Elmo.

Ooh, cocktails!
What are we celebrating?

- Oh, uh, we're toasting...

our deal, Mr. Lézard.

- Our deal?
- Not your deal.

Arms across the ocean,
you might say.

- Fucking twat.

- Elmo Mixmaster.

Huh.

- Cheers.

- I love your touches.
- To a global partnership.

- To a global partnership!

Fucking Limey bastard.

Global partnership?!

My ass!

My money is on good
old-fashion America monopoly,

you son-of-a-bitch!

Besides, England

ain't nothing! Nothing!

But the 51st state.

Don't you just

fucking hate it

when a motherfucker
stabs you in the back?

The Lizard traveled
12,000 miles

to settle accounts with you!

- So? What, you gonna hug me
and tell me

how much you missed me
or you gonna shoot me?

- I'm sick and tired
of fucking chasing your ass.

Give me my fucking goods and
give 'em to me fucking now!

You better chill with that shit,

motherfucker! I own you!!
- You own me?!

- I fucking own you!!

- You own shit!

Go ahead, kill me! Put me out
of my misery for the first time

in 30 years! But you will
no longer take what is mine!

- Fucking right.
And 10 percent of that's mine.

- Five.
- Five fucking percent

of that's mine.
- You shut the fuck up!

I don't even know
who the fuck you are!

Oh, you got some big
fucking onions, Elmo.

- This is the most expensive
candy on the market.

The drug's a fake, you know.

It's bogus.

It's what we chemists call
as placebo.

It's whatever you want it to be.

You can run all the tests
you want,

and it'll look like
the best shit in the universe.

But the ingredients,

they cancel each other out.

- Fucking confusing the Lizard
ain't gonna help your cause.

- Gotta give big ups
to marketing.

The ability
to make people believe.

The power of suggestion.

P-O-S-51.

- I don't give a shit.

Is this fucking
science lecture over?

- It will be in...

23 seconds.

It takes 10 seconds

for an imbibed liquid
to reach the stomach.

It takes the human body
81 seconds

to heat that liquid to the point
of chemical volatility.

You... have 12 seconds left.

- Twelve seconds. What the fuck
are you talking about?

And what is the big fucking
umbrella, Elmo?!

- Freeze!

- Oh...
- You, lumpy,

in the caftan, drop the gun!

Nice and controlled.

How's my timing, Felix?
- Fucking perfect.

- Oh!

Ahhh...

Aaah...

Aaahhh!

- That cleared me sinuses.

- Drugs...

always kill you in the end.

- Whoa! Whoa.

Whoa. Shit.

Okay, lads, get the cuffs
on this Cockney twat.

- As agreed.

- What about the drug?

You conned us.

- I conned them.

We... got paid.

- Is this or is this not worth

$20 million?

- This castle's worth...

I'd say more like seven,

seven and a half.

- Wanna see the game?

- Mr. McElroy,

you are a genuine McElroy
like myself, you say?

- This is the tartan
of my slave-master.

I now claim his castle
and his lands for my own.

- I see.

But will you not now
be making a putt?

- Aye.

- Congratulations, Mr. McElroy.

- Well.

I can tell you
it's the first time

that's been seen
on the 18th green.

- Elmo's in the house!

Captioning by CNST, Montreal