All language subtitles for England.Is.Mine.2017.1080p.BluRay.H264.AAC-RARBG

Life, in its humdrum sense,
is worth avoiding.

It's the factory for father
and the kitchen for mother.

It's arguments at the dinner table,
missing children on the news,

and, through it all, a sense that
things are slowly falling apart.

Is it better to choose another
record, flip the lid on the pills

and wait for something to
happen?

Is it better to turn out the
lights,

climb under the covers
until sleep invites you

to a world you've always wanted?

Is it better than the one
that's in front of us?

Stop being a mad-arse.

Two beers, please.

If you spent as much time looking for
a band as you do slagging 'em off,

it could be you up there.

Who even reads the letters pages?

Come on, Steven,
I was only pulling your pisser.

Can I get another one?

Shall we go to town
on Saturday night?

We could go to that new club
on Deansgate.

Yeah, but we'll just sit there
like it's a funeral.

Yeah, we could pretend it's yours.
You'll like that.

I just think there's more to life
than being...

- Right, keep walking.
- Pardon?

Keep walking or you'll get twatted.

Just try and act normal
for ten seconds.

Dickheads.

Who's she?
The Queen of fucking Sheba?

- What's she doing with him?
- Ponce.

Have you found a job yet?

No.

Well, you're not gonna find one
sitting around on your arse.

There's nothing suitable.

What does that mean,
there's nothing suitable?

Leave him alone.

He's gonna have to
find a job some day.

- He wants to write.
- Write?

He can't even write his bloody name.

Why do you always do that?

Are you alright?

- I can't find Roxy.
- No, I meant...

They've been like that
for years, Anji.

Is it serious?

Do you want to talk about it?

There's no use bottling things up.

- Life is too short.
- For clichés.

Forget it.

You ever think it could have been us?

Buried in the dirt?

Dear NME...

Manchester is a lovely place,

if you happen to be
a bed-ridden deaf mute.

The local music scene is the
sole preserve of troglodytes

whose regard
for subtlety and variation

is comparable to a pig's passion
for the slaughterhouse.

The performance
was the musical equivalent

of a prolonged bowel movement

followed by an unexpected absence
of toilet paper.

In case I haven't made myself clear,
it wasn't very good.

What about this?

I don't think so.

It's a good job you're not fussy.

Here's one.

'Girl group seeks moaning Minnie. '

- You could do that.
- You're not funny.

I don't know what I'm meant to
be looking for, do I?

There's no point in you dragging me
here every week just to play the cunt.

Halle-fucking-lujah.

Yeah.

Yeah, alright.

Yeah, we will meet you tomorrow.

- Great. Okay. Bye.
- Bye.

I've got you a date.

Hey, he's quite fit.

Do you think that's him?

Leather jacket: check.
Red hair: check.

I don't like his shoes.

Just look him in the eye
and don't cock it up.

Just give me a minute.

You're not meeting the fucking Pope.

Shall we get out there or what?

- We?
- I could be your agent.

- Oh, my good God.
- Shall I count to ten?

Ten, nine, eight, seven...

- Fine.
- ...six, five...

Are you gonna sulk all day?

- I'm not sulking.
- What are you doing, then?

I'm sulking.

You're the one
who wouldn't talk to him.

The world is not
just gonna come to you.

- It might do.
- You're ridiculous.

You may as well get a job in Asda.

- What, like you?
- Fuck off, mummy's boy.

You know, some of us live in the real
world with proper shit to deal with.

I don't need this.

Call me when you've grown a pair.

Look after your mother.

Merry Christmas, eh?

Who's gonna carve your turkey?

Dickhead.

Hiya.

Beer, please.

Are you a DJ?

What's with the record, then?

Hey, lurch.

She's talking to you.

What have you done now?

Have you got any plans
at lunch, Steven?

- Yes.
- Cancel them.

You're gonna clean up this mess.
Get your shit together.

- Nice one.
- Knob jockey.

Get back to work, you two.

If there was ever
a revolution in England,

we'd form an orderly queue
at the guillotine.

Nothing worth doing in life
involves repetition.

It's the mind that matters.

The mind allows us
to think and feel...

...and see the beauty in things,

where others can only see
crank bearings and spark plugs.

My little brother
climbing that career ladder.

Please.

Chief pencil sharpener.

I'm not even listening.

Just a beer.

Ta.

I owe you an apology.

What for?

'Steven Morrissey of Stretford certainly
likes the sound of his own voice. '

Someone needed to say it.

Thank you.

You need to use more semicolons.

You write really well,

but you shouldn't be afraid
to use more semicolons.

You know, relax the diction.
You're not Jane Austen.

Linder, we're going.

Come to our party. Come on.
We can slag off the bands we hate.

This is Steven.
He's a published writer.

- Fellow scribe.
- Pleased to meet you.

I'm gonna collect my coat.

Be nice.

So you write, then, do you?

Just letters.
I've not really published anything.

- A man of letters.
- Or a lettered man.

A lettered man would imply a man
with a PhD or similar, would it not?

Not necessarily.

A lettered man simply means
an academic in the abstract.

You know, in the abstract.

Would you rather be a man of
letters or a lettered man?

You're confusing him now,
Gordon.

Ready?

- No.
- Come on.

- Hiya.
- You alright?

Hiya.

Hi.

So what are you saying?

I'm saying that art
is in itself.

That's all it can ever be,
and it can't become something else.

- You're talking rubbish.
- No, I'm not. I'm saying that..

- You're talking about what art
is instead of what art can be.

When Rembrandt
was painting his pictures

do you think he was
thinking about what art is

or what it can be..?

These are really...

They're really...

Are you trying to say you like them?

Yes, yeah.

Well, it'll all be for nothing
if I don't get it finished.

'I love the silent hour of
night,

for blissful dreams may then arise. '

Do you have to be somewhere?

I'm gonna be late for work.

Which is where?

The Inland Revenue.

Is it true they all have webbed feet?

You do know there's more to life
than dark, satanic mills?

It was a rambling garden
of gravestones and...

elderberries.

Alfred sat in the pagoda, looking
longingly at his winkle-pickers.

Sounds like... Dickens?

- Dickens?
- Just me.

Steven Patrick Morrissey.

A man who decided
to dedicate his life

to working for the taxman,

where he stamped documents
and licked envelopes...

- ...beautifully.
- Oh, so beautifully.

Seriously, you can't be happy
working in that place.

Oh, I'm as merry
as the days were long.

You can't beat me...
Shakespeare.

You can't beat me. Don't even try.
Just be yourself.

Everyone else is taken.

- Oscar Wilde.
- Shit.

Oi. She's alright, ain't she?

Alright?
I'd use her shit for toothpaste.

Let me take you and show you
everybody in there.

The wanderer returns.

How many days has it been?

It's six. We'll discuss it later.

Now, I would like to introduce
you all to Christine.

Christine's gonna be shadowing
young Steven,

and keeping an eye on him,
I expect.

So, Steven, if you would like
to give Chrissie the tour,

show her how things are done
round here.

Is that okay, Steven?

You don't say much, do you?

If you want me to help with
anything, just let me know.

Do you have any bullets?

What?

So do you have
much auditing experience?

I keep a list of people I dislike.

Terry seems nice.

- Terry?
- Mr Leonard.

If you like men who've got a
penchant for archaic numerical...

- Do you always talk like that?
- Like... Like what?

Using big words.

And your voice is sort of funny,
you know, like posh.

Are you from Bolton?

Hello?

I'm here to see Steven.

Who is it?

There's a girl at the door
to see Deirdre.

Was he expecting you...?

Linder. No, he's not expecting me.

Right, well, go on up, love.

You'll have to bang on the door.

Just hold on.

What are you doing here?

Was that you?

No.

I thought we said
we're meeting in town.

Christ. It's like a museum in here.

- Gonna put the kettle on, then?
- We don't wanna be late, though.

Nobody watches the support bands.

I do.

Milk and two sugars, Steven.

Just please don't touch
anything.

I won't.

I lied.

Hold these. Make yourself
useful.

Do you think you can
hand some of these out at work?

I don't think
that's your target audience.

What have I told you?
Think big, Shakespeare.

I think you've got an admirer.

- Oh, God.
- You know him?

I think he plays guitar.

- He certainly knows you.
- Just stop staring at him.

Excuse me, mate.
Have we met before?

You're not in a band or
anything?

No, he's not yet. Are you?

Well, trying to get
something together. I'm Billy.

Linder. This mute here is Steven.

You got a light, Duffy?

This is my mate, Johnny.

- Are you in his band?
- No, I can't sing.

Well, here we go.
Maybe see you in there.

Maybe.

- What?
- Steven, what are you waiting for?

Just do something. Take a chance.

Even cavemen
wrote their name on a wall.

How is the world gonna
remember you? Write, sing.

Just don't moan about it

when it's someone else's
name they remember.

I love that record.

He writes some great lyrics,
Strummer.

What do you like about them?

Strummer's lyrics.
I'm interested to know.

Don't you find him
rather schematic

in his self-flagellating world view?

White Riot's a good song.

When you're ready, mate.

I'll make us a brew.

Stick The Clash on if you want.

It's not all... whatever you said.

My mam loves this sort of stuff.

Mine too.

You're late.

Again.

Anything you'd like to say?

Not really, no.

I don't know what you think
you're doing, but you're coasting.

You can't just waltz in here
any time that suits,

pick up your pay cheque
and fuck off at five.

It's not how it works!

Why can't you be
more like everyone else?

Right, I want those files shifted.

And don't make me repeat
any of this again.

- Which files?
- What?

- You're not gonna jump, are you?
- No.

- What's this?
- Nothing.

Doesn't look like nothing.

'I am sick of being
an undiscovered genius. '

Please just give it back.

- What are these? Poems?
- No, they're not...

'It is becoming more apparent now,
as I get older,

that everyone is an imbecile
except me. '

Oh, my God.

- Christine...
- Wait till I tell everyone.

Christine...

Under one condition.

Look, can this wait?

- You promised.
- Yes, but...

I have absolutely nothing
to do with this creature.

Do you promise
not to think any worse of me?

No. Hiya.

Hiya.

Steven?

Oh, Christine.
Linder, this is Christine.

Christine is an esteemed cohort in
the business of petty indignities.

- Is he like this with you as well?
- Like what?

- Talking all funny and that.
- I wouldn't have him any other way.

What's wrong with her tits?

It's for my exhibition.

- Is that art, is it?
- Yeah.

I'm not sure I understand art.

Well, maybe you could
come along.

Steven could explain it to you.

You know he writes poetry?

She doesn't
understand that either.

You cheeky twat.

- I think I'll leave you two to...
- No, you don't have to do...

Come on.
What do you feel like eating?

I don't care,
as long as it's poisonous.

My fucking drink, you cunt!

Fucking hell.
What happened to you?

'I think I'm ready
for the electric chair. '

Right. Come on, then.

Ready?

What do you think that means?

Whatever you want it to mean.

What does that mean?

What I just said.

Come and look at this.

I've found a picture of a cock.

Thank you. Thank you.

As you can see,
these are extraordinary works.

Our students are the future

of Manchester's
thrilling artistic scene.

But, as every artist knows,

it's hard to resist
the pull of the capital,

and we're delighted to announce

that Linder's exhibition
will travel to London.

- Well done, Linder.
- Thank you.

Our Tracey's been to London,
says it's full of knobheads.

I need a drink.

Are we getting pissed?

Thank you.

I'm really very happy for you.

You deserve it.

You don't look it.

Will you be gone long?

As long as it takes.

Billy.

Steve. Sorry, man. I didn't
mean to crash the party.

Your mam said you'd be here,
so I...

Fuck me. I need to stop smoking.

Billy, why are you here?

What would you say if I told
you we were joining a band

and we'd got ourselves a gig?

I'd say, 'Billy, get off the drugs. '

Then call me Bob fucking Marley.

I know this band, the Nosebleeds,
who suddenly find themselves

shy of a singer, a guitarist
and some decent tunes.

So I said we'd do it.

That's brilliant.

It's a double celebration.
I'll get us some more drinks.

You don't look too happy about it.

Why is everybody concerned
with my happiness?

- Cheers.
- Cheers.

Hey. What are we celebrating?

She's adorable.

In a bovine kind of way.

I've never been to a gallery before.

Did you see what they were wearing?

You'd have thought
they'd make an effort.

Do you know, I just can't see
the point of university, me.

I'd rather just have a job.

- You have a job.
- What? That?

No. No, I'm only giving it
another few months.

I want a career change.

You know, our Tracey's
gonna get us a job in fashion.

Do you think I'd be good at that?

I do. Some of the girls tonight
were dressed like blokes.

Did you see that?

Your girlfriend dresses
well weird an' all.

- She's not my girlfriend.
- Piss off.

You're like two peas
in a fucking pod.

She's got a great rack, though.

Oh, God.

It's fucking cold, isn't it?

No.

So, when's this gig, then?

You know we're all gonna
come to that, don't you?

Please don't.

- Look, is it much further?
- No. It's just up here.

Well, good night, Christine.

You've gotta walk me to my front door
otherwise you're not a gentleman.

So... do you wanna come in, then?

- I don't think so.
- Come on.

Mr Hard To Get.

Is he alright?

Oi, Stevo!

Right, here we go.

Are you happy?

I think so, yes.

Should I be?

You owned the room, Shakespeare.

You were the room.

What's this?

The big time.

Some London manager. Talked about
tours and recording.

I can't fucking believe it, man.
One fucking gig.

See you later, Stevo.

Right, come on, boys.
Remember the date.

And smile.

You too, Steven.

I said you'd be back in on Monday.

Yes, but did you have to say
I had diarrhoea?

I've run out of excuses.

So, tell me all about it.

I've never experienced
anything like it.

And now I know how you must feel
when you do your knitting.

You skiving off again?

I've got far more important
things to consider.

- Like what?
- Tell her about your gig.

- It went really well.
- Great.

So I can take today off
'cause I don't like Thursdays?

It's not like I wanna spend my
life stacking shelves.

I hate to break it to you, Jacqueline,

but the way things are looking,

it looks like there might be one less
worker bee in the Morrissey hive.

What's this?

Studio time, gigs, stardom.
Who knows?

This is in London.

And?

And what's plan B
if that doesn't work out?

- My alphabet only has one letter.
- What, D for dickhead?

Just because the height
of your ambition is aisle five

doesn't mean that I'm gonna
slum it here for the rest of my life.

What are you talking about?

Once they discover my genius,
it's inevitable I'll move.

- You've done one gig.
- That's enough, you two.

I don't have to listen to this.

Clean-up on aisle five.
Clean-up on aisle five.

Wait!

- Did you make one for us?
- No.

Alright?

Here you are, mate.

It were top last week.

I were fucked by your third
song, but still...

Is this a private meeting
or can anybody join in?

Did you know Steve was in a
band?

No, no, I didn't, no,
and I don't care.

Get back to your desk
and start working.

Alright.

I sometimes feel like
the subject of a Lowry painting.

I've never wanted to paint
anything.

But look at these walls.

Returning to the real world is
like stepping into a cold shower...

where the dress code is smart.

Where the hell is he now?

And the people less so.

Lazy bastard.

And your ambition
is to start each day

and still exist by the end of it.

At least Lowry had smog.

We've got nothing to choke on.

This what you call
the records room, is it?

On the fucking roof?

I was actually...

I know exactly
what you get up to up here.

Writing bollocks about what
fucking idiots we are.

Well, I tell you one thing, Steven,
what goes around comes around.

What are you writing now?

- It's none of your business.
- I'll be the judge of that.

Fine. Fine.

You get back to your desk.
I'll deal with this after lunch.

You make a note in your fucking book.

Morrison.

Right...

You know why you're here?

I'm not paying you
to write in your notebook

or be in a pop band.

I'm paying you to work.

But it's not just that, Steven.

Your attitude stinks.

You're never at your desk at nine,
if you're here at all.

And when you are here,
your mind is elsewhere.

I don't owe you a living, Steven.

But I am a fair man. You know that.

So I thought I would give you
one more opportunity

to convince me
that things are going to change.

You can't live two lives.

Work or music.

What's it gonna be?

The famous Steve Morrison.

- I'm not gonna miss you.
- Liar.

So... did you jump
or were you pushed?

Creative differences.

Just when I was gonna
shoot you in the head.

I'm sorry to disappoint.

What time's your train?

We've got plenty of time.

Are you worried?

About what?

London belongs to me.

'As I wander thro'
each charter'd street

Near where the charter'd Thames
does flow...'

'And mark in every face I meet'

'Marks of weakness'

'Marks of woe'

- I can't remember the rest.
- 'in every cry of every man...'

You see?
What am I gonna do without you?

Die.

Lonely and depressed.

Give it a rest, will you?
Some of us still have work to go to.

- Hello?
- Hi, Billy.

- Steven.
- It's... I dropped off a tape.

- I got it.
- And what do you think?

It's really good, mate.

I was thinking that maybe
these should be the ones

that we demo for the manager.

- He called me this morning.
- Oh, great. Did he...

Did he say when we're going?

Billy?

I'm sorry, Steve.
They just want me to go.

But I don't understand.

They want a new guitarist
for this band.

There's a tour lined up and...
yeah.

I'm sorry, Steve.
I don't know what to say.

I can't turn it down.

Steve, are you still there?

- I'm still here.
- I can't turn it down, mate.

No.

Anyway, look,
do you remember my mate, Johnny?

Well, he's looking to start
something, so I mentioned you.

I can give you his number.

Have you got a pen?

I'll get one.

Mum said you'd forget.

- What?
- Doctor's appointment.

You can't just lock yourself away.

Okay.

You've been in here for six weeks.

- Seven.
- I'm being serious.

- Steven.
- What?

Mum's worried.

- When is it?
- 20 minutes.

I don't see how
these are gonna help.

Tell me what the doctor said.

Did you explain
how you were feeling?

Are you hungry?
I'll make you some food.

So what's it like down there, then?

Well, I live in a shoebox,

and all anyone talks about is hummus.

When are you coming?

- Soon.
- You'd clean up down here.

There's loads of people
you could meet.

You should come down.

- I should, shouldn't I?
- Yes.

- Check the train times.
- I will.

If you need,
I'll lend you the money.

So, anything new happening up there?

There's a new bag of cement
in the cellar.

I was planning my visit...

You know Billy's
playing Manchester next month?

He always asks about you.

And... I told him
you were writing your obituary.

Anyway, he said
he'd put you on the guest list.

Not really, no.

Are you alright, Shakespeare?
You sound lost.

No, I can see where I'm going.

- Hiya, Betty.
- Peter. Come in.

Right...

Is that enough?
It's all I can afford right now.

That's plenty.Thanks.

How is he? Any change?

I'm running out of ideas.

Well, if it helps, there's a
job going at the hospital.

I could put in a word.

The most used noun in
the English language is 'time'.

And I'm running out of it.

You win, Christine.

You've won.

Some of us want to dream
and keep on dreaming.

Think of us and protect us.

The lion and the lamb
shall lie down together.

Down together we go.

Look at the state of you.

I'll take the job.

- What?
- The hospital job. I...

I need the money.
I want to see Linder, so...

Where in Ireland are you from?

Dublin, man.

Very nice.

Yeah, but I've been here a long
time. A few years, you know.

Everything alright?

Is Linder still enjoying London?

You could probably get there and
back ten times by now.

Steven.

Were you a friend?

Life, in its humdrum sense,
is worth avoiding.

It's the factory for father
and the kitchen for mother.

It's arguments at the dinner table,
missing children on the news,

and, through it all, a sense
that things are slowly falling apart.

Is it better to choose another
record, flip the lid on the pills

and wait
for something to happen?

Is it better to turn out the
lights, climb under the covers

until sleep invites you
to a world you've always wanted?

Is it better than the one
that's in front of us?

I like what you've done
with the place.

I really don't know
how to carry on, Mum.

I remember when you first heard this.

We couldn't get you down
off the table.

Do you remember
why I bought you that?

And all the books
and the typewriter?

It's just not me any more.

Then who are you?

Are you that boy who stood
on the table and sang to me?

Or are you just like everyone
else? Given up. With nothing to say...

I've tried, Mum.
It's not like I haven't tried.

What else am I supposed to do?

The world, it's just not built
for people like me.

Then create your own world, Steven.

You'll get there.

I know you will.

But only when you realise
you have a choice.

Not everyone's so lucky.

You are the only version of
yourself in existence.

There is no replica of you.

You just have to be who you are.

Isn't that worth fighting for?

- Yeah?
- Yeah.

- Okay?
- Okay.

You could have at least
torn the wallpaper down.

Anything else?

That's £1.50, please.

The past is...
everything I have failed to be.

It was the ease of doing nothing

over the fear of doing something.

Do I carry those defeats
and emerge with a flag of victory?

It could be the start of something.

Even though the world does not
want your dance and your glitter.

Men were born to pray and save.

Romantic England's dead and gone.

It's with Jane Austen in the
grave.

I'm afraid there's not much demand
for pop stars in the Stretford area.

Can you even sing?

Now, Ringway Airport are looking
for car park attendants.

Fine.

Meat packing in Crumpsall?

Bricklayers. People'll always
need houses, Steven.

Job for life is that.

Do you ever wake up and think,

'I wonder
if I could have been a poet'?

What?

Do you think that if you'd tried
just a little bit harder

that you could have made it?

That maybe instead of all this,

you could have gone down in history?

Steven, it's me interviewing you,
not the other way round.

Manchester's first Nobel laureate.

Right, look, son, you might think
it's okay to quit your job,

but there are two million othe
blokes out there looking for work.

So I suggest that you start
pulling your finger out

and stop wasting my bloody time.

You can do it, sir.

I believe in you.

And if you ever do find a
bricklayer floating in the Irwell,

it'll be me.

I'm heading into work.
Do you want anything?

Are you sure that's enough?

Make sure you eat something
today that isn't toast.

But I like toast.

You alright? I'm Johnny.

I got your address off Billy.

Look, you probably
don't remember me, but...

I do.

Yeah, I play a bit and...

Can I come in?

You've read all these?

There's some top stuff in here.

See, no one makes
stuff like this any more.

Do you know what I mean?

Would you like to play one?

Alright.

Would you care for some toast?

Yeah. Cheers.

So, one o'clock, then.

- One o'clock.
- Shit. Almost forgot.

Billy said these are yours.

See you tomorrow.