Original subtitles

So far, we have seen a super instant mesmerizing device...

a chef's hat snatched...

and there goes the chef.

A hunting hat grabbed...

and its owner, ditto.

And the manager of a silver shop.

Holy sombrero.

A dish.

A jury box.

Aha, the 13th hat.

The Mad Hatter's plans for The Caped Crusader.

Another dish...

and another snatch.

A clue? Who knows?

Then Octave Marbot gets it.

But something's fishy.

Bam, bash, crash!

A bucket of instant hardening plaster.

Is Batman permanently plastered?

Wait, the wildest is yet to come.

Faster, Marbot, faster.

But the cement must be chipped very carefully if you want the mold of the Batman's cowl.

Oh, you can take it apart in sections and glue it back together again to form the mold.

- I will not disfigure my friend, the Batman. - Oh, Batman, Batman.

He couldn't possibly be alive inside that plaster shroud.

Hey, boss. That means he won't be needing that Batmobile no more.

Good thinking. It will make an excellent getaway car. Go warm it up.

The statue, it's coming alive.

Impossible.

It's diabolical.

Curses. My super mesmerizer's on the blink. To the Batmobile!

- I'll go after them, after the Mad Hatter. - No! No, Monsieur Marbot.

It's too dangerous.

- Robin. - Batman.

Robin.

Start her up, Dicer.

- Are you all right? - Never better.

I'm used to seeing you do the impossible...

but getting out of that plaster tomb was impossible.

Much easier than it seemed, Robin. I simply held my breath.

Holy frog man.

I think we should help Monsieur Marbot clean up this mess.

Oh, no, no, no, Batman. You saved my life, also your own.

That is enough for one day.

Next time you come to pose for me...

- we start the statue all over again, oui? - Oui.

The next time I come to pose, there won't be any such interruptions.

Come on, Robin, we have work to do.

I find being outmaneuvered by the Mad Hatter somewhat irritating.

I know what you mean.

There must be some insidious plan, some overall scheme.

Who'd steal five hats and five people with them to gain his nefarious end?

And what did he mean when he said my cowl would be his 13th hat?

Did he say that?

Yes, when I told him I was onto his masquerade.

I have it. Five from 13 is eight.

How right you are.

Then he must be planning to snatch eight more hats and eight more people.

Or already has and we don't know about it.

Yes, Batman?

Commissioner, have you any more reports of hat thefts or vanishing people?

Matter of fact, yes. Word is slowly reaching us that six other fine citizens have disappeared...

in the last few days along with their headwear.

I'll get back to you.

The police department is on its toes. Six more kidnappings.

Six plus the five we know about make 11.

Your cowl is the 13th. That leaves...

One to go. The 12th. Twelve hats, 12 people.

- But why, Robin? What comes in 12s? - Doughnuts.

Um, horsepower? Uh, amendments? Mile limits? Noon? Midnight?

- Oh, that's not quite it. Twelve. - A dozen?

- Shall we activate the Batcomputer? - That sounds like a good idea.

Feed it a question about dozens.

"A dozen, a collection of 12 such as a dozen men or women."

Or a dozen men and women.

A jury. Jurors. Of course, Robin.

That's what he was after, the 12 hats of the jury that convicted him.

And the jurors, Madam Magda, the chef, the fire chief, they were all on that jury.

- How could I have been so stupid. - All in all, Batman, you've been pretty busy.

One hat left. The key that will hoist our opponent on his own petard.

Yes, I realize that.

Yeah, Charlie, hold on a second, will you please?

Yes, Batman?

We may be onto something. Can you get me a list of names...

of the 12 jurors in the Mad Hatter's trial?

Yes, but it may take a little while. Call you back.

Right.

- I thought I might find you here, sir. - Yes, Alfred.

It's Mrs. Cooper, sir.

Dinner is almost ready and she wondered if you and Master Robin were back...

from sighting that fork-tailed petrel and black-footed albatross, sir.

Tell her we just got back, but we may be taking off again.

Oh, dear me. However shall I put it, sir?

- Yes, commissioner? - Batman, I have the jury list here.

What did you wanna know?

I'd like name of the 12th juror, last name on the list.

The 12th, huh? Uh...

"Turkey Bowinkle"? Oh, he owns Bowinkle's Bowladrome.

Have you a record of Bowinkle's hat being stolen recently or of Bowinkle being stolen?

No, we had no report of that.

Good. I'll call you later.

Alfred, tell Mrs. Cooper that we called from Slater Slough...

and that we sighted some night flying birds, and tell her we'll be late for dinner.

Very good, sir.

On second thought, tell her you'll be late for dinner.

Me, sir?

The 12th juror's name is Bowinkle, Turkey Bowinkle. He owns a bowling alley.

- A bowler. - Precisely.

What more fitting headpiece for the Mad Hatter to steal?

Our job is to get Alfred there before our cunning adversary does...

and use the 12th hat to trap him once and for all.

Me, sir?

Our cunning antagonist knows we're after him, Alfred.

We must do nothing to excite attention.

I want you to take this Bat-homing transmitter.

Pay a call on Turkey Bowinkle at the Bowladrome.

I want you to place it in his hat before the Mad Hatter snatches it.

That way, we'll be able to trace him with a homing receiver in the Batmobile.

If I may be allowed, sir. Roger.

- Bowinkle? It's just a family name. - That's what I thought.

You see, I specialize in genealogy.

- Ghosts? - Family trees.

When I ran across your name in the book, I was fascinated. Turkey Bowinkle.

You doubtless have a distinguished pedigree.

I got a license to run this joint if that's what you mean.

Now tell me, perhaps you have some records of your family lineage in your office?

All I got in my office is my hat.

Your... Well, maybe that could tell me something.

It's just an old hat.

You never can tell, Mr. Bowinkle, what may be useful in tracing a person's descent.

Descent? It ain't no descent to run a bowling alley.

I mean, family descent...

the natural order of succession from one's ancestors or even older forms.

Monkeys? Sorry, buddy.

Turkey ain't no handle handed down from my grandpa. It's a nickname.

And in the lingo of 10 pins, it means three strikes.

And Bowinkle means Bowinkle.

Nevertheless, I would like to take a look at that hat.

Perhaps the head size might prove informative.

Seven and five-eighths. That put an extra limb on the family elm?

That's Bowinkle at the counter with the old guy.

Butter him up, find out where the hat is, signal me, keep him occupied.

Whatever you say, Jervis.

- Yes, ma'am. - Mr. Bowinkle, I'm from Male-Mode.

- Yeah? - It's a magazine devoted to men's fashion.

Oh.

I'm sure you'll be glad to know you're this week's prize winner...

the best-hatted man in Gotham City.

Hey, what is this? That old bowler never attracted so much attention before.

- And this man here... - I really must be going.

It's been pleasant talking to you.

Perhaps we can go into your bloodline some other time. Miss?

- Your bloodline? Ew, that sounds icky. - Just some kook.

Anyway, Mr. Bowinkle, I hoped you'd extend me the courtesy of an interview.

Sure. Shoot.

Where is the prize-winning little headpiece right now?

Right now I figure it's upstairs on my desk waiting...

not knowing it's headed for fame and fortune.

Here you are.

Thank you.

Why me, lady?

There must be lots of guys in Gotham City with fancier bonnets than that old bowler.

Well, how Male-Mode selects its weekly winner is, of course, our secret.

But I suspect your virile charm had something to do with it.

Yeah?

Well, maybe that virile charm would like to buy you something.

What would you like? On the house.

Who let you out of the jug, Tetsch, and what are you doing with my hat?

Thanks, Lisa. Get lost.

Just repaying old debts, Mr. Bowinkle.

It took a unanimous vote of that jury to send me up the river.

Yeah, well, I'm casting another ballot right now.

Do you usually carry a homing Bat-transmitter in your bowler, Mr. Bowinkle?

- I don't know how that thing got in there. - I think I do...

and I think Batman will end up in my hat factory after all.

What's Batman got to do with it?

So the Mad Hatter gets his 12th juror.

Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.

Imagine shearing Batman like a rabbit...

or stretching him into any form I wish...

or shrinking him and sizing him.

Why, I'll make him into a sun bonnet...

or a 10-gallon hat or a fez. A fez.

Yes, a fez. I'll dye him red.

I'll buy myself a camel and go riding off into the desert...

wearing a tribal chieftain's flowing robes and Batman on my head.

- He's flipped his lid. - What are you mumbling about, Cappy?

My idle flights of fancy, my little daydreams?

They're nothing more than that, believe me. I'm a very practical man.

I already have my 12 jurors' hats and my 12 jurors.

All I need now is Batman's cowl...

and The Caped Crusader out of the way and my job will be complete.

Yeah. But when do we eat?

When I'm paid my fabulous ransom.

Imaginez-vous...

owning the Gastonian Institution's priceless collection of presidential headgear.

Ooh!

I think it's high time that the rightful owners of those hats were wearing them.

Yeah, but the real jury's still out.

Turkey's bowler can't be far from here.

The hideout must be in this old warehouse. Call Commissioner Gordon.

Tell him we found the Mad Hatter's lair.

It's worked. They found us, just like I planned.

- It's a long way up. - You're right.

Stand clear.

They're climbing up the wall. Places, everyone.

What a pleasant surprise awaits them.

Gosh, Batman. You'd think we were human flies.

- It's all in the game, Robin. - That's sure one way of looking at it.

I'm extremely sorry about all this, citizens.

We meet again, Dynamic Duo, but I fear for the last time.

Your little game of hide and seek is over.

- Very clever, Mr. Tetsch. - Oh, you were the clever one.

I might not have been able to lure you here without your...

homing Bat-transmitter in Mr. Bowinkle's hat.

Holy bowler.

And now, Caped Crusader, you will take off your cowl and hand it over.

Then you will sit for your photograph for all the world to see.

After that, I will take you on a personally conducted tour of my hat factory.

I'll have to be dead before you get my cowl.

Then we'll start with the hat factory.

Straight ahead, please.

Turn on the machinery, Dicer.

You may find that it smarts a bit to be shorn, Batman.

Until you lose consciousness, of course.

Sorry, I'm late Jervis, but I needed a pedicure.

The girl from Magda's.

Up to her pretty neck in evil.

You're just in time.

Batman and Robin are about to undergo a treatment...

I usually reserve for rabbits, muskrats and beavers.

Jervis, how droll. Do get on with it, though. Then perhaps you can take me for a bite to eat.

You heard the lady.

Would you like to walk into the factory under your own power...

or would you like a shot or two to help?

Put him on the conveyor belt.

Batman, help!

I suppose he's passed the acid test, Robin.

That'll keep him out of mischief for a while.

- And what plans do you have for me, Batman? - That's up to the courts to decide, young lady.

In the meantime, help us find those missing jurors.

Whatever you say. I'll show you where they are.

- I hope we're not too late, Batman. - But we had a devil of a time finding this place.

Oh, that's all right, gentlemen.

I'm happy to report that the treacherous schemes of the Mad Hatter have been...

knocked completely into a cocked hat.

Eighty-five dollars. Oh, Bruce, it's sweet of you to get me a birthday present.

- But a hat's a hat. - No, Mrs. Cooper, a hat is not a hat.

A hat is a memory, tea at Claridge's, a gondola in Venice.

A hat is romance, the first time he smiled at you, the night he kissed you.

A hat is an experience.

Well, when you put it that way, I guess $85 isn't too much.

I thought you'd agree.

It was so nice of you to bring Mrs. Cooper in, Mr. Wayne.

But I'm just sorry, I'm a little shorthanded today.

- My favorite sale girl disappointed me bitterly. - Oh?

She was mixed up with that miserable Jervis Tetsch.

To put your mind at ease, Madam Magda, I had lunch with the city attorney today.

He tells me that the Mad Hatter won't bother you anymore.

He and his gang are safely behind bars and the judge should give them a stiff sentence.

- Would you put that on my bill, please? - Okay.

Thank you, Madam Magda.

- What's wrong, Bruce? - It's funny.

When I came in here, I could swear I was wearing a hat.