All language subtitles for Digman 6

Ch-Ch-Cheerio!

And welcome to tonight's

Bareknuckle Boxing
Championship bout,

where the action is set
to get underway

in just a matter
of metric seconds.

In one corner,
we've got the champ himself,

the undefeated
Prince of Punches,

the Lord of Long Armspan,
Punchy Dunkins.

And our challenger...

...Pee-Wee Pipsqueak.

Please get prepared
for some pugilism!

Now let's watch
as Pee-Wee is pummeled

into human jam
before our very eyes.

Down goes Punchy!

Eight, nine. Cock and hen.
It's a knockout!

And Pipsqueak
has defeated the champ.

Unbelievable!

Yeah, he went down
like a ton of bricks.

So, what's the gig, Nigella?

You hiring us to look
for that coffee filter

Shakespeare called a collar?

His Elizabethan Ruff?

That's actually
rather a good idea.

I'll make a note, but no.

I've someone
I'd like you to meet.

The Lord of Long Armspan?!

Let me guess. He's a big,
scary guy, but when he talks,

he has a funny voice
like Mike Tyson.

'Ello. Nice to meet you.

I was right! -Punchy,
tell them what you told me.

Well, everybody knows
me training ritual.

I've one very strict rule: no
shags the night before a fight.

That's right. You abstain
from sex before boxing

because it saps your strength.

On the eve of the championship,
I called for room service.

- An order of crisps...
- Chips.

- And an order of chips.
- Fries.

Even though I knew the carbs'd
go straight to me fanny.

- U.S. or U.K.? Butt.
- U.S.

When the bellman arrived
in me room,

he started reciting a poem.

I-I don't recall the words,

but it was quite beautiful, actually.

And-and by the time
he finished,

I, uh... I climaxed.

Well, then, I guess
the legend 'tis true.

Someone has found
Shakespeare's Lost Sonnet.

Okay, I'm going
to need you to...

...rewind.

Okay, that was very cool.
Now, here comes the explanation.

There have long been whispers

that the immortal Bard once
wrote a sonnet so romantic,

so passionate,
so heartbreakingly amorous,

that simply hearing it
would cause any listener

to become aroused to the point
of biological climax on sight.

- You mean shoot ropes?
- Precisely, yes.

Wow. I knew he wrote
the source material

for 10 Things I Hate About You,
but he also wrote a poem?

When he realized
the sonnet's power,

he hid it away from the world.

I'd never encountered any proof
of its existence,

but like a casual Fleetwood Mac
fan, I'd heard rumors.

And now let me guess.
You want us to track it down

so you can keep it safe
within your archives.

Would a rose by any other name
smell as sweet?

I can't help
but imagine it would.

Talk to me, Agatha.

Rip, I called
every London bookie I know

and found only one
sizeable bet placed

on that little guy
the night of the fight.

The bettor used a pseudonym,
but called from a local pub

where a bunch
of stage actors hang out

called "The Broken Keg,"

which is actually
a pretty novel name.

So I better put down the phone
and laugh for a moment.

Looks like I'm going
to have to go undercover.

And when I go in, I go all in.

Rip, no. Every time
you go undercover,

you get in too deep,
and you can't come back.

- Well, that's ridiculous.
- No, it's not!

What about
the Winnipeg incident?

This is nothing like
the Winnipeg incident.

- What's the Winnipeg incident?
- I'm sorry,

but you're just gonna have
to trust my instincts here.

Don't like it? There's the door.
There's a complaint box on it.

You're welcome
to drop a complaint in it.

You better believe I will.

Your instincts
nearly got you killed.

But they didn't!
Instead, they paid

for that Starbucks gift card
you're always reloading

for double the points.

- Guys, come on! You're friends!
- I'll kill you!

I'll have you arrested
for homicide. -Guys!

Fine, fine! But as of right now,
I am no longer Rip Digman.

The name's Doobie.
Doobie McBooberton.

Maybe we can work on the name?

Oh, now even she's coming at me.
Jesus Christ!

16 ounces of beer, please.

Okay, here's a tongue twister
for you.

Red leather, yellow leather,
red leather, yellow.

A proper pot of coffee
in a proper coffee pot.

The pot acts all posh,
but we know they are not.

Ha!

Got a problem, mate?

I hear you laughing, but
I don't see anyone performing

- The Taming of the Shrew.
- It's your friends.

Their words couldn't twist
the tongue of a toddler!

Well, if you think you can
do better, the stage is yours.

Unless it gives you... fright.

Saltine, Swooper,
bail me out here!

"World's hardest
tongue twister."

Got it. Repeat after me.

A biscuit baker...

Mixed a box of biscuits
in his mixer.

"Mixed biscuits?"
cried the baker.

The mix betwixt the mixer.
Ow!

- My tongue!
- She sprained her tongue, Rip.

- You got to take it from here.
- Well.

Ah.

So the biscuit baker mixed
the mixes in his biscuit mixer

as Seabiscuit sold his semen
by the seashore by the liter.

Lighted by the light
on the ledger by the lighter,

the letter read more lightly

than a lady lightly looming
lollies littered on a sweater.

"Better wetter,"
said the swimmer,

who was drier but not slimmer,

and as limber as the timber
of a soggy finger splinter.

"Time for dinner,
David Schwimmer!"

said the weary biscuit mixer,
whose elixir was a fixer

and a fixture in the picture
of the scripture for the richer,

not the poorer.
"Pour the mixture

"with a soggy swimmer's
sweater texture

sprinkled by a sprinkler!"

No notes.

Brilliant!

His tongue-- it has nary a knot!

That twister would please
Thespis himself.

- What's your name?
- Fourth. Wally Fourth.

Come rehearse with us.
The Englandshire Theater,

tomorrow night at 10:00.

Thank you, ten. Rip,

- you did it!
- Rip? Who's Rip?

Oh, right. Me.
Almost got in too deep.

- Sorry. That's my ringtone.
- Yeah, you should change that.

It gives me a great sense
of unease!

Okay, Rip,
once you're inside, all you

got to do is locate and extract
that missing sonnet.

Don't get sucked in
by his charisma.

Come on, Swooper.
What do you take me for?

I'm serious, Rip!
Saltine, I think

he's going to be fine.
The guy is rock solid.

Wally Fourth,
welcome to our humble home.

Quite chic.
How'd you land such a fit flat?

Well, let's just say it was
thanks to a recent lucky bet.

Everyone, lend me your ears.

For too long, we have
toiled as understudies,

always waiting in the wings.

We deserve the spotlight.

Wow. This guy's
charismatic as shit.

But soon, we understudies
shall become overstudies.

And we shall mount
the greatest production

of Hamlet
the world has ever seen.

We've already secured
the greatest stage.

Next, the greatest prop.
For you see,

playing the part
of Yorick's skull will be...

the skull of The Bard himself.

But isn't that
at the Shakespeare Museum?

Exactly. So we'll just
have to liberate it.

Are you in?
No! Stay behind

and look for the sonnet, Rip!

Don't betray the plan!

You bet I am.

Then let's go fetch
that head bone.

Ha, ha! Yes!

The skull is yonder. -SWOOPER:
Rip, what are you doing?!

We're supposed to be working
for Nigella, not robbing her.

You don't think
I see the irony in this?

Come on, Wally.

Most excellent fancy.

Hey! What's all this, then?!

I'll give you one chance

to put down your weapons
and lay on the floor.

- Or else what?
- Or else... this.

Wally, put these on!

"Such sweeter form."

Now, Wally, put them on!

- We lost sound!
- Don't panic!

Too late! Oh!

Come, Wally. Let's make haste.

To us-- The Understudies!

Yeah!
Hear! Hear!

Hey, Seb, say,
what even is that?

Oh, just something
I found tucked away inside

- a very old book.
- Oh.

And where do you
usually keep it?

That is something
I'll take to the grave.

I like the way you handled
yourself today, Wally.

You're one of us now.

Good night, my friend.
Parting is such sweet...

Well, you know the rest.

Sorrow.

I am an actor.

Rip, where have you been?

Oh, I think
you've got the wrong chap.

The name's Fourth. Wally Fourth.

Attention! The time has come
to unveil the cast list

for our most epic production
of Hamlet.

Behold!

Ooh.

Gravedigger Number Two.

You may not have many lines,
but remember, for an actor,

there's no such thing
as a small role.

- I agree!
- Thank you, man with headband.

I can't believe
we get to perform Hamlet

with Shakespeare's actual skull.

That's got to be the most
extreme acting there is.

No, it's not.

All right, here he goes again
with his myth.

Oh, 'tis no myth!
Every 50 years,

a majorly mondo tempest
comes out of Antarctica

and blasts the South Pacific.

The most extreme acting
would be to perform The Tempest

in that tempest.

It's happening next year.
All are invited, Wally.

- Then I'd better leave.
- Where are you going?

To find work as a gravedigger
and truly live the role.

For you see, when I go in,
I doth go all in.

Welcome back to
ArkyTAINMENT This Evening!

The theater world is abuzz
with, well, buzz

about actor Wally Fourth.

Wally Fourth's turn
as Gravedigger Number Two

is the greatest non-Joker
performance I've ever seen.

And once the reviews were in,

the television industry
came a-calling.

Wally walked
100 kilometers a day

for the one-line role
of Pedestrian

in the hit BBC drama Small Cars
Driving in the Left Lane.

He went that way.

He broke his own wrist
for the role

of Waiting Room Patient
in the show

Feeling a Bit Iffy, Are We?

before a last-minute rewrite
changed the injury.

Hi. I think
I broke my collarbone.

What's next for Wally?

Well, he's just been cast
as Denim-Clad Dad

in a commercial
for Eegan Blue Jeans.

And to prepare for the role,

he's already adopted
a small child.

- We've lost him.
- That's so, so, so sad.

Dibs on his flat-screen.

- Okay, Rip's birth certificate?
- Toss it.

- Rip's beloved childhood sled?
- Toss it.

I just don't see
how this is necessary.

Rip's gone, dear. I got
to get all his belongings logged

and incinerated by the end
of the month for tax purposes.

- Rip's petty cash?
- Toss it.

Wait. How did Rip come back
from the Winnipeg incident?

I told you never to say those
words around me ever again!

- No, you didn't!
- Well, I meant to!

He finished
the original mission.

He said that made him remember
his true purpose in life--

to become the greatest
arky of all time.

After that, he was Rip again.

So if he came back last time,

why are you guys
giving up so easily?

Shouldn't we be trying
to save him?

Saltine,
he's a famous actor now.

He doesn't want to be saved.

It's clearly simpler
to just burn everything

and start our lives over
from scratch.

Screw that. I worked too hard
to get this job.

If he came back once,
he can come back again.

We just need Wally
to pick up where Rip left off

and find the sonnet
for the Shakespeare Museum.

And how are we going to get
showbiz's hottest method actor

- to do that?
- I know what we can do.

That's great, dear.
We'll get on it

as soon as we finish up here.

- Rip's stick of dynamite?
- Toss it.

Honor,

heritage, tradition,

a rooster weather vein.

Eegan Blue Jeans,
one of the 7,200 subsidiaries

of EeganCorp.

And cut. Great take.

I'm so glad
I directed this myself.

You're Wally Fourth, right?
Ah, your aces, bruv.

You know, you'd be a dead ringer
for my old boss Rip Digman,

if you didn't have that scar
or dark hair.

Bet you do, so, never mind. Uh,
you want to party after we wrap?

Don't know what
you're talking about.

I'm just a modest farmer.

I got to tend to my dying crops

and my beloved
little young boy son.

- You do your homework, lad?
- I swear I did, Pop. I promise.

Actually, you know what?
I think I got all I need.

- That's a wrap.
- Whoo!

Let's fucking rage!

- Back to the orphanage, bub.
- But you adopted me.

No, Denim-Clad Dad adopted you.

Hold on.
This is my agent. Talk to me.

A film? Brilliant!

SWOOPER [with gruff voice]:
Wally Fourth.

Just the man I want to see.

I'm Don Sleaze,
and here at Sleaze Pictures,

we make highbrow art films
that take home Oscar gold.

Huh. The name is misleading.

We've got the perfect project
for you to sink your teeth into.

- Bring me the script.
- I'm Jill Filth!

Pleasure to meet you,
Mr. Fourth.

Ooh, look at that physique.

You'd be perfect for this.
Boopy de doopsy!

The Rip Digman Story.
Hot off the press.

We want youse
to play Rip Digman.

The has-been arky? Interesting.

But if I take this role, I am
going to live as Rip Digman.

Do you think
you could hook me up

with his old coworkers
for research?

Oh, I think
that could be arranged.

That should be
no problem at all.

Is this how he walks?

How about this?

The seat goes up for number one
and down for number two.

I'm sorry. I just don't follow.

Oh, what about
something like...?

Ooh!

Okay, very funny.

Hey, I sound just like him.

I got to say,
I'm feeling more and more

like this Rip chap all the time.

Wish I had a little more
backstory, though.

W-What was he doing
before he disappeared?

He was trying to find
Shakespeare's lost sonnet

by infiltrating
a production of Hamlet.

Maybe you could
complete the mission.

An undercover job, eh?
Let me guess.

When Rip would go in,
he'd go all...

No! Rip would only
ever go partially in.

You can just be Rip.

He never learned
where the sonnet was hidden.

But the actor who had it said

he'd take that info
"to the grave."

Well, if it's a production
of Hamlet,

maybe he meant Ophelia's grave.

- Beneath the stage!
- Swoopy, fire up the plane.

We're headed to London, England.

It's "Swooper," but okay.

Hey, hey, you're the actors
who are doing Hamlet, right?

Indeed.

Bartender, I'd like to buy
these kind folks a round...

- of steaming hot piss!
- What the devil?!

The person you've got playing
Gravedigger Number Two

can't act for shit.
There, I said it.

'Tis true.
Ever since Wally left,

we've been going through
one replacement after another.

The play is terrible now.

You're right
to order piss for us to drink.

Why don't you let me
play the part?

I'm a goddamn arky.

Wait just a Big Ben tick.

Aren't you Rip Digman?

Yup. My whole life
is going on digs.

Good Lord, you're right. Hell,
even your name is "dig man."

Oh, yeah, it is, isn't it?
Never really put that together.

This is so mental,

it just may bloody work.

I pray this
isn't utterly dreadful.

Looks like the trap door where
the sonnet is hidden is locked.

But I think
I know a way around it.

Maybe we can get it
after the show.

No, I've got a better idea.

Get thee to... a nunnery!

Where is the beauteous majesty...

of Denmark?

- Showtime, mate.
- Let's give these boards

the trodding of their lives.

Is she to be buried
in Christian burial,

that willfully seeks
her own salvation?

Yup! Let's dig!

Go, get thee in,

and fetch me a stoop of liquor.

Actually, I shall not
fetch thee a stoop.

I shall continue... to dig!

What the hell are you doing?!

What I do best.

- Aha!
- Dear God, no.

En garde, Rip Digman!

Wow.
Break the fourth wall much?

Parry! Fleche! Flunge!

Uh, guys, am I good at fencing?

No.
- Oh, that's too bad,

because Wally just completed
an expert-level fencing course.

But I will not draw
upon those skills.

- Ugh.
- You didn't know that!

How could you have known that?!

It's Wally Fourth!

No, no, no, no, no.
I'm Rip! I'm Rip!

Give me the sonnet.

You're going to jail. -I don't
care what happens to me,

but this sonnet
shouldn't be locked away.

Let me read it,
here, now, for the people.

I know the real Wally
is in there somewhere.

Don't let him
have that sonnet, Rip!

The name's Wally, not Rip.

Oh, goddamn it.

And I'm not an arky.

I am an actor.

We have to get in there
and stop him.

Not anymore, Saltine.

We have to trust his instincts.

You're the one who didn't
trust his instincts earlier.

What possibly convinced you
to trust them now?

I'm too tired to walk in there.

We just flew to England!

Lights, please.

A sonnet by William Shakespeare.

"Such sweet a form
thy body and thy skin

"and charms, that thou hath
learned to preen and show.

"But I desire
what lieth deep within,

"the part of thee
that only thou yet know.

"Oh, how mine poenis plumpens
when you're near!

"To see thy comely form
all squished and smushed,

"mine humors boil forsooth
and roar arear.

"And lo, unto my britches
poenis pushest.

"But what is silhouetted
on the wall?

"A shapely maiden? Nay.

"My poenis 'tis. It's back.

"In powdered wig
and child's shawl,

"for thine delight
to dance a merry jig.

"And now, as one,
our seeds shall both be sowed,

as your sweet maidenhood
meets my stout chode."

Ah!

Breaking news out of London.

William Shakespeare's skull
has been recovered

by police and returned
to the Shakespeare Museum.

Stage actor Sebastian Lines has
been found guilty on all counts

and shipped to the penal colony
of Australia.

They should really update
the law. It's very nice here.

And ever since
being recited publicly,

Shakespeare's lost sonnet
has spread like wildfire.

And as global orgasms skyrocket,

so too have sales
of Eegan Blue Jeans.

Jeans so tough,
so rugged, so resilient.

Good luck creamin' them.

Query for you chaps.

I noticed a door in the garage

that says Rip's Secret Chamber.

Am I allowed to go
in there for research?

- Do whatever you want, Wally.
- Cheers.

I don't get why he didn't
revert to being Rip.

He finished the mission.

Yeah, I was only guessing

that that's what
would bring him back.

I'm not a shrink, Saltine.

Huh. Whoop.

Well, aren't you fit.

I remember
my true purpose in life.

- What was that?
- Everything okay, Wally?

Who's Wally? It's me, Rip.

Oh, man, I went in
too deep again, didn't I?

- Rip, you're back.
- Yeah, I guess I am.

Just like the Winnipeg incident.

No, this was nothing
like the Winnipeg incident.

Will you please just tell me
what was the Winnipeg incident?

Well, there was a missing poem
that made people orgasm

and Rip had to disguise himself
as an actor to get it back.

How was that
any different than this?

It happened in March, not May.

So this was just
a big waste of my time?

Or was it so funny
that you actually don't mind?

I agree. It's funny in theory.
It's just not my kind of humor.

Well, I guess everyone
has their own taste.

It's good to be back!

I knew you wouldn't
miss the 50-year tempest.

Wally Fourth.

It's not Wally Fourth anymore.

I'm Rip Digman.

Are you?

You are just in time for my one-
man performance of The Tempest.

Time to dance with the universe.

Boson! Here, master: what cheer?

Good. Speak to the mariners:

Fall to't, yarely, or we run
ourselves aground. Bestir--

Oh, my God!
These waves are huge!

I'm going to fucking die!

Well, I guess all's well
that ends well.

Chirp.