All language subtitles for What.About.Dick.2012.1080p.WEBRip.DD5.1.x264-monkee.eng

- Good evening, ladies
and gentleman and welcome

to another edition of oral cinema.

A popular series of movies for the ears.

Well, we'll be going on
air live in just a couple

of minutes, so please,
may we first of all test

the applause level?

Thank you.

Excellent, thank you very much.

Well, tonight's cinema for sound features,

What about Dick?

An emotion picture for
radio which tells the story

of the decline and fall
of the British Empire as

seen through the eyes of a piano.

So, will you welcome please,
tonight's fantastic cast.

♫ Oh the Orpheum Theatre
theater in downtown LA

♫ Tonight we invite you to picture a play

♫ A radio screenplay
approved for your ears

♫ Oral movies, pluck up my ears

♫ Yes, it's time once again
for the cinema of sound

♫ To transport you across the radio waves

♫ To bring you, What about Dick

♫ It's oral cinema ♫

Once upon a time there
were two sisters who lived

with their Aunt Maggie in
a rambling old Edwardian

Novel in Kensington.

Emma, the older, was an
emotionally repressed English

girl, who spent all day
staring out of the window,

dreaming of a submissive
role in a sick relationship

with an older sadomasochistic Englishmen.

Helena, her younger
sister, was a dark-haired

foxy minx, who stole
umbrellas to repress her

sexual urges.

- What's a minx, is it an Egyptian thing?

- No dear, that's a sphinx.

- Oh, I thought that was
the backside of something.

- No dear, that's the sphincter.

- Ah!

- Anyways, these two
sisters lived together

in a two-story Novel
with their Aunt Maggie,

an amateur dipsomaniac
who spent the afternoons

in Hampstead under a
young Austrian doctor.

- His name is Freud, Roger Freud.

He's licensed in Massage and colonics.

- And who exactly are you?

- I am the narrator of this tale.

Everyone in the story
has touched me and played

with me and run their
fingers over me until I

rang with joy.

For you see, I, am a piano.

- A piano narrating a story?

- Yes!

- Furniture doesn't narrate stories.

- I'm not furniture, I'm an instrument.

- Well, that's stupid.

Are we to have Macbeth
narrated by the bagpipes?

- Or Les Misérables by the french horn?

- Look, it's my fucking
play and I'll play a

piano if I want to.

Anyway, this is the story of a piano.

- Heavens, is that the time,
the 3rd of August, 1910?

- Evening Star and
Standard, read all about it!

Another English human found
half-eaten in Houndsditch.

- Oh dear, not the reaper again.

- No, this one's the
mutilator, apparently he eats

his victim.

- Ew, how disgusting!

Just then, the Reverend
Whoopsie walked into the door.

- Ouch!

- Walked into the doorway.

- Oh sorry!

Hello ladies, do I intrude?

- Not from this angle, Mr. Whoopsie.

- The Reverend Whoopsie
is a, well he's a--

- He's a single clergyman
who's kindly disposed

toward men.

- Especially working men,
who I adore above all and

put on a pedestal and
offer five shillings to.

- Your Christianity does
you credit, Whoopsie.

- Let us not forget
our Lord himself had 12

little male friends, all
sailors and nobody said a word.

Have you seen, Dick?

- Not for ages, Mr. Whoopsie.

Not since the coming out ball
turned unexpectedly fruity--

- No, I think he means your Nephew, dear.

- Oh, dear, yes. Oh, he's
coming down today from Oxford.

- I wondered if he'd like
to come camping with me.

I'd love a weekend of Dick.

- I've always found 20
minutes quite sufficient.

Helena, why don't you play something for

Mr. Whoopsie on your harp?

- I hate the harp, I'm sick of plucking.

- Well you should try a
mouth organ like Dick,

so you can suck and blow--

- Yes, yes, yes, yes, thank you, Emma.

Why don't you sing us
one of your Victorian

ballads?

- Righto.

♫ Blow me

♫ A kiss in the moonlight

♫ Blow me

♫ A kiss in the dawn

♫ Blow me down, I never knew I would dare

♫ Now must I swallow

♫ My pride while I'm there

♫ Heavens, he's coming

♫ Inside now

♫ He's coming to make me his own

♫ In these cold marble halls

♫ Where the men hold their balls

♫ Why must I always be all alone ♫

- Lovely dear, just lovely.

- At that moment they spotted Dick.

A young man with floppy
hair, bee-stung lips and

a strangely ambivalent sexuality.

One of those impossibly
pretty English boys

with ravish me bedroom
eyes and bathroom legs

and drawing room thighs--

- Yes, thank you piano
but I think we get it.

Dick!

- Hello everybody!

Hello Whoopsie!

Hello Emma, old sausage!

- Hello, Dick!

- What are you reading at Oxford, Dick?

- Beauty on the Mountain.

- That's Mutiny on the Bounty.

- Sorry.

How's the umbrella thing, Helena?

- Oh, Dick...

- Why does she take umbrellas?

- Well, it's just female hysteria, dear.

She needs a little rogering in Hampstead.

Ew, he has a new machine
called the Happy Trappy,

which relieves all my female tension.

- How does it work?

- Well, I lie down, he attaches it to me--

- Where?

- Well, in Hampstead.

- I say, Dick.

Do you fancy a weekend in Norfolk?

- Golly, it sounds a bit dull.

- Well, yes it is a bit dull,
but we can play Tiddlywinks.

- Oh yes, that's sounds spiffing.

- Splendid!

If you'll excuse me.

- Mind the umbrellas.

- Ouch!

- Good heavens, look it's
Mr. Hudson coming here

to this very house to meet
me for the very first time

and perhaps fall hopelessly
in love with me which

he will not be able to
express because he is

English and cannot
mention emotions and has

a beastly wife who cannot
satisfy his perfectly

normal manly urges which
would very easily be

satisfied with some
cold cream, a hand towel

and a copy of the
Guinness Book of Records.

Thank you, Aunt Maggie.

- I hope I don't disturb you ladies.

- Hey you, visitor, I'm not a lady.

- Oh, forgive me, it is your hairstyle.

My name is Hudson, I am in rubber.

- Oh really, are you wearing it?

- No, no, not wearing
it, it is my business.

- Well, of course it's your
business what you wear.

- No, no, no, it's my
business, my business.

- Mr. Hudson is the owner of
the Hudson Rubber Company.

- Oh, the manufacturer
of the Happy Trappy.

Well, I find it most
satisfactory, although

occasionally I do miss
the disappointment of a

real man.

- Mr. Hudson discovered
those gadgets in India.

He saw the future of
rubber and embraced it.

- How precisely this woman understands me.

And how perfectly lovely
she is with her warm eyes,

her rosy lips and her firm,
welcoming curtly, bouncy--

- I can hear you, Mr. Hudson.

- Very sorry, Miss Schlegel.

- Have you seen Dick, Mr. Hudson?

- Yes, quite a lot in India.

- No, no, this is Dick, he's at Oxford.

- Oh, well what is he reading?

- The Three Musty Queers.

- The Three Musketeers.

- Sorry, yes, no.

- I read French Philosophy,
trouble was it was

all in French, didn't get
a word of it.

- Mr. Hudson, you're such a card

- Yes, yes, well, well
we mustn't spend all day

doing that.

This isn't America.

- How very witty Mr. Hudson is and he has

such lovely eyes and such
manly thighs and such

eloquent hips and--

- I can hear you, Miss Schlegel.

- Oh, I'm sorry.

- Well, I must be off,
I need to lubricate a

new oiler for my jigger, I
have no idea how that sounded.

- It sounds so romantic.

♫ Dick, Dick, what about Dick

♫ Is there some dreadful mystery

♫ Hidden in his history

♫ Dick, Dick his light is short of gas

♫ I don't think he is playing
from a full deck of cards

♫ Everybody likes Dick

♫ Everybody wants Dick

♫ Though he seems to be a
sandwich short of a full picnic

♫ Dick, Dick's a cappuccino with no foam

♫ The lights are on but is
there really anybody home ♫

- Those boys in the pub
seemed to take a real

shine to you, Dick.

- Mm.

- Dick, has anyone ever told you about the

birds and the bees?

- I'm 26.

- Oh, but did
anybody ever tell you

about the birds and the birds?

- No!

- Well, Dick, remember
when we were very young in

the nursery with nanny,
being violently incontinent

and we were like Peter
Pan, we never wanted to

grow up?

- Yes.

- Well, when Peter comes
fluttering in through

the bedroom window, he
wants Wendy, but not

for a wife.

- He's looking for a
Mommy for the lost boys.

- You are one of the lost boys, Dick.

- Mm, because I have no mommy.

- Because you are different, Dick.

Lost boys are not so
much as lost as hiding.

- From whom?

- From the cruel world,
Dick, which frowns on

boys trying on Tigerlilie's
flimsy dresses or

borrowing makeup from
Tinkerbell, or going out

hunting for rough, male pirates.

Let me put it another
way, when Oscar Wilde

talks of a love that
dare not speak its name--

- What's that?

- Well, it's male love.

- No, no, not that,
that, there on the beach.

- Oh good heavens, it's a piano.

What's it doing on the beach.

- Sounds like Rat Maninoff.

- I'm going to give this
piano to the working

classes.

- Why?

- Because they need some new instruments.

- But I saw it first.

- Then we shall call it
the Dick piano for the

working classes.

- Hey Burt.

- Yes, Ken.

- See that piano?

- Yeah.

- What's it doing on the beach?

- Well perhaps it fell off
the back of the Titanic.

- Maybe its a symbol.

- Nah, it's definitely a piano.

- Hey you two idiots.

- Yes, Gov?

- What's your name?

- Burton Russell.

- The Philosopher?

- No Sir, Burton Russell
the furniture remover.

- Oh, well, I want you
to remove this piano to

London, I'm going to give
it to The Working Classes.

- Wow, I'm sure they'll be thrilled,

all 25 million of 'em.

You okay, Ken, you got a bit pale.

- There's something oddly
familiar about this piano, Burt.

- What?

- I've seen it before.

- Where?

- In India.

When I was in the regiment.

It was August 1898, a
stinking hot day in Shagistan.

- What's going on?

- He's having a flashback.

- Oh dear, can you stop him?

- Too late, Sir, it's started.

- I was in British India in Shagistan with

the Queen's Armed Gay Gordon's,

a cross-dressing British regiment sent to

raise morale on the Northwest Front Yard.

We were a hundred men under Lord Darling,

guarding the back passage to India.

One day, I came across a local man by the

name of Deepak Rushdie Obi Ben Kingsley.

He was making something rather special.

- There, that is it.

It is finished.

- What is it, Deepak?

- Well, what does it look like?

- Well, it looks like a dick.

- Exactly, in fact, it
is a dick, but a toy one

for the women.

- What kind of toy.

- A toy women can play with.

- Where?

- in their privates.

- Well, what will they do with it?

- Well, they could, sit on it.

- You mean--

- Yes.

- Good grief! You're a monster.

- No, that's just
shortsighted, women will enjoy

this little toy.

- But, I can't believe that any woman--

- Oh, yes, they will, you
will be shocked, Sergeant

but you're looking at the future.

Hitherto, these little
private toys have been

made only in merchant ivory but now,

look, you, rubber, much more flexible,

much more easily sat upon.

- Good God!

- You are very naïve, Sergeant, there is a

shining future for the
personal stimulator.

You see, I believe that
one day every woman will

have one of these things,
they'll have models

of all shapes and sizes,
they will make different

things and they will shake
and they will vibrate

and they will buzz.

They will be called
The American Happy Boy,

the Old Colonial Ghetto
Blaster, Slippery Sid,

Black Beauty, Ol' Calcutta,
and your dick will

be useful for a little
while yet, Sergeant but

when push comes to
shove, it will be nothing

better than one of these
little rubber things,

and that is the future then.

And then the Hudson Rubber Company will be

worth a fortune and I
will get a proper Indian

accent.

This...

Yes, this I believe.

Thank you.

- Morning, Colonel Darling.

- Morning, Sergeant.

How's drag night coming along?

- Well, I mean, I'm very
much looking forward

to it, Sir.

I've been up all night
sewing their frocks.

- Is there any finer
sight than a regiment of

young, British men in full drag?

By God, it must terrify the enemy.

- Scares the shit outta me, Sir.

Good grief!

- What is it, Sergeant?

- Over there, Sir, in the scruff.

- What is that?

- It looks like a piano, Sir.

- Beware, Sir, my Lord Darling, this piano

could very well bring
about the collapse of the

entire British Empire.

- What?

- Oh, don't mind Deepak, Sir.

He always predicting the future.

Last week he foresaw Sarah Palin.

- What's that?

- Some kind of British
comedian, I think, Sir.

And then only last night,
he foresaw the Kardashian's.

- Is that some kind of disease?

- Yes it is.

- And you should see his little dick.

- I beg your pardon.

- He's got a little rubber toy, Sir.

Apparently, women will put
it up their hoochie coo--

- That's quite enough of that.

Take this piano back to
camp, it will make its

debut tonight at the
regimental fancy dress ball.

- Oh no, Sir, I beg you,
the rivers will run with

blood, the wren will leave
its nest, the frogs will

fall from the sky and
lambs will give birth to

little tadpoles.

And the owl will hoot at night and--

- The owl always hoots at night.

- This one will hoot in French.

- Oh, shut up, Deepak!

And Sergeant?

- Sir?

- I want to see you in my
tent the minute we get back.

- It might be a few minutes after, Sir.

- Why?

- Well, I have to take a Donald.

- A what?

- A Donald Trump.

- Oh, a dump!

- So I was taken back to
camp by the piano warriors,

a small hill tribe used
by the Scot's Gays for

moving furniture.

While Sergeant Russell took
a Donald and hurried off

to meet Lord Darling.

It's a tent.

- Oh, sorry

- You wanted to see me, Sir.

- Ah, yes, Sergeant.

Come in!

The thing is, I wanted
a little talk with you,

because there's something
that I want to get off

my chest.

- That ugly picture of your wife, Sir?

- No, my own chest, not off the furniture.

- Perhaps it's just a bad angle, Sir.

- It's from the front.

- Exactly.

- Sergeant, I'm trying
to tell you something

personal, but you know
how we English people are

with emotions.

- We don't have any, Sir?

- No, we have some but
we don't share them.

We're not a touchy-feely race.

- Like the Nigerians.

- What?

Look, this may just be
sentimental tosh, but I

have been having feelings
about something, well

a little private.

- Any little private we know, Sir?

- It feels a bit awkward,
I mean, after all, we're

in the Army.

- It's fairly common in the Navy, Sir.

- It's just that if anything
should happen to me,

Sergeant, and this is
really important, I should

like you to--

- What, what did he say?

- That's just it, I can't remember.

- You can't remember.

- Just that it was very important.

- But, how could you possibly forget?

- It was that night,
when the piano appeared,

that the Regimental Transvestite Ball,

something terrible happened.

- Good evening, Major Dickhead.

- That's Dihard.

- What?

- It's spelled Dickhead but
it's pronounced Duh hard.

- Oh, sorry.

Splendid sight isn't it,
all these chaps in their

frocks.

- Stimulating!

- Fancy a stiff one?

- I already have one.

- Lovely gown.

- Thank you.

- Sorry to interrupt this gay banter, Sir,

but there's a bit of trouble in the camp.

- What sort of trouble?

- One of the civilians has been eaten.

- Beaten?

- No, Sir, eaten.

- Eton as in the public
school founded in 1440

by Henry the VI part three?

- No, Sir.

Eatin' as in tucked into a nice sandwich,

nibble, nibble, nibble part chewed.

- Good grief!

- Shall I cancel the ball?

- Good Lord, no need to do that.

The chaps have been up all
night sewing their dresses.

- Righto, Sir.

But I wish I had,

because shortly after the spot dance,

we cut right in to who
just won best frock for

a beautiful hand embroidered ballgown,

all hell broke loose.

- It should have been me.

- It was mine.

- My frock was much better than yours--

- No, mine had no holes in it--

- Look, yours is Bastille rubbish--

- I don't know what your--

- But this terrible
bickering was soon silenced.

by a deadly attack.

- What sort of enemy
attacks during drag night?

And I'll tell you one thing, Sergeant,

before I die, there is
a place far off in the

future where the wind
blows off of the mountains,

and people will be kind and good,

and respect one another
and be descent and fair.

- America, Sir?

- No, not America, Holland.

- But there aren't any
mountains in Holland.

- What?

- Well, there's canals,
and dykes and red light

districts with hookers
in the windows but no

mountains.

- The mountains are a metaphor.

- But Holland is known for being flat.

- It doesn't matter.

- Well, it matters
because if the metaphor is

to signify it, it must
be appropriate to the

comparison.

- No, no, you see, a
metaphor is by definition

a comparison between two different things.

- That's a simile.

But the argument was never resolved.

Lord Darling took a terrible wound.

- I'm done for, Sergeant.

Don't forget your promise.

- Oh I won't, Sir.

But I did.

In the morning, there
were only three survivors,

me, Deepak and this piano.

- Look, there's Helena Schlegel
walking down Bond Street.

Helena!

- Hello, Reverend Whoopsie.

Is the flashback over?

- Yes, thank God!

- How was the weekend with Dick?

- Marvelous!

We played games.

- Who won?

- Dick came first.

- It was such fun, Helena.

I hardly knew I had it in me.

- Then Dick found this piano on the beach.

- Oh, it's a beauty.

- Isn't it?

- We're giving it to the Workers.

- Oh, not to me, Dick?

- Mr. Whoopsie says The
Workers need some new

instruments.

- But such a beautiful
piano, you might have

thought of me.

- Whoopsie was very
insistent and apparently

has a young man in mind.

- Why don't you come
along and meet him tonight

at The Royal Working Men's Club.

- Oh, Dear God!

Oh, sweet Jesus!

Shit, Christ, hell,
fuck, will it never end.

- I am very pleased to
present The Dick Piano for the

Working Classes to Leonard the Bastard.

So what do you think, Helena?

- I think it's monstrous.

Why on earth did you choose him?

- Well, look at him.

He's beautiful.

- But he can't play the
piano to save his life.

- Congratulations, Lennie.

- Thank you very much, Reverend.

- Leonard, this is Helena Schlegel.

- Very nice to meet ya, Miss Schlegel.

- How much do you want for the piano?

- Oh no, I couldn't possibly part with it.

- I'll give you a hundred guineas.

- Heavens, that's more than
my wife makes in a year.

- You're married?

- Who's the clever little ducky wucky?

Come on, Lenny give us a smackening,

muah, muah, muah, muah, muah, muah.

- This is Enid.

- Who's Enid?

- I'm Enid.

- She's your mother?

- No, she's me wife.

- Oh, sorry,
it's the light in here.

- Don't worry Vicar, if it weren't for me,

Lennie would starve.

- Why, what is it you do, Mrs. Bastard?

- She has men over.

- And what does she do with them?

- None of your business.

I make them happy.

You should try it sometime.

- Enid!

- What?

You're a stuck up git!

She's looking down her nose at us, Lennie.

- Golly, how awkward.

Well, I must be off to
play hunt the thimble,

with the Bishop of Thornton.

Enjoy the piano, Lennie.

- How are we ever going to
get that piano into our place?

- We'll manage somehow.

- Well, we'll have to get
a saw and cut it in half.

- 150 guineas.

- I cannot lie to you
miss but it's more than me

life's worth.

- Give me the address then.

- It's at the bottom of Glenn Close.

- I'll tell the Russell brothers.

- That's in Houndsditch, miss.

But you've probably never
won't have heard of it.

- Enid!

- What?

- She's only trying to help, girl.

- Well, I don't trust her, Lennie.

I don't like the way she's looking.

- At me?

- No, at the piano.

- Hey, you two idiots.

- Yes, miss.

- You're to take this piano
to Kensington Gardens.

- This what?

- I think she means the piano.

- Well, why didn't she
fucking well say so?

- Well, she's a toff
but she has very nice--

- Oh, she certainly does, yeah.

- Hurry up you two Working
Class wankers, to Kensington.

- Kensington, I thought it
was going to Houndsditch.

- No, it's written Houndsditch
but it's pronounced

Kensington.

- Oh see, that's why she's a toff and I'm

just a cunt--

- Tree boy.

Come on in, Warhorse.

- Look, Lennie, there's
a cart with our piano,

that's not the way to Houndsditch.

I knew it, they're heading for Kensington.

- Perhaps there's a mistake.

- Yeah, accepting pianos
from Whoopsie Dick 'cause

he's a mistake, quick after 'em.

- I'll call the police.

- No, no, no, no, not the police, Lennie.

Think of my work.

- What is it exactly that you do?

- I told you, Lennie.

It's a kind of therapy.

- But must they take their trousers off?

- We'll talk about that later, Lennie.

- No, I want to talk about it now.

- Alright, Leonard.

I'm an ass reader.

- You what?

- I tell peoples fortunes.

It's like palm reading.

Only I read their asses.

- Ass-trology.

- Exactly.

- But why do you work all the time?

- Because.

♫ I'm a simple girl from Houndsditch

♫ Ass readings what I do

♫ Bend over, drop your trousers Len

♫ I'll read your future too

♫ No!

♫ It's part of your body

♫ Speaks volumes like a book

♫ Bend over, my sweet Lennie dear

♫ And let me take a look

♫ Can't have it

♫ Asstrology

♫ Asstrology

♫ As sound as the hills like Geology

♫ All that is written
and will come to pass

♫ Is buried down deep in your ass

♫ Ugh

♫ Each little wrinkle
and crinkle and dimple

♫ Will foretell the future
it's really that simple

♫ Look on the night side
and not on the black side

♫ Your face is your fortune
but so is your backside

♫ Come on, Lennie

♫ Asstrology

♫ Asstrology

♫ It all sounds like
hogwash and doorah to me

♫ I prefer Psychology

♫ Shut up and let me read your ass

♫ Slight little problem
that's found on me ninth

♫ Is written down neatly upon my behind

♫ The past so completely and utterly gone

♫ Is plainly still writ upon my sit upon

♫ Asstrology

♫ Asstrology

♫ They say that whatever will be will be

♫ But whatever happens
When shove comes to push

♫ A future is read in
your tush, tush, tush ♫

- It's very late.

Where can that neurotic girl be?

- Don't worry, Aunt Maggie.

Here's Helena now, on a cart.

- Hey, Emma, look what I've got.

- Not more umbrellas.

- She's got a piano.

- Where on earth did you get it?

- Dick found it and gave it to me.

- Out of breath, out of breath.

Excuse me.

- Yes?

- That's my piano.

- No it's not.

- Oh Helena don't tell me--

- It's mine, Emma.

- Give it back to me or
else she'll call the police.

- You tell her, Lennie.

- What exactly do you want?

- We want his piano miss hoity toity.

- Stand aside you ruffians.

- Why, Mr. Hudson--

- May I be of some assistance.

- This lady is Nickin' my piano.

- How dare you make scandalous
aspersions about a young

neurotic upper class woman.

I shall thrash you, Sir with my umbrella.

- Oh, I will take that, thank you.

- Please, Mr. Hudson, do not thrash him.

He is Working Class.

- No, no. He fucking ain't.

He ain't even working.

I mean, Leonard's
unemployed, everyone will be

forced to fetch the police,
so give me that piano back.

Stealing a piano in broad daylight.

Oh, why, I never heard the like of it,

oh so help me, I've never
did, in all of my born

days, oh blimey, Lord's
have mercy, cross me

heart and hope to die.

- What is she, some kind
of Dickens Festival?

- She's on crack cocaine.

Get this woman out of here.

- Eww, hello cuddle butt.

- Do you know her?

- Uh, no, absolutely not,
never seen her before

in my life.

- You know this man, Enid?

- Yeah, he's a regular,
Saturdays at eight.

- What is she talking about?

- Woman's mad.

- Come on, Enid, let's fetch the coppers.

- You haven't heard the last of this.

See you Saturday as usual, dimple butt.

- Can I ask you a favor, Mr. Hudson?

That man Leonard that was just here,

would you go after him?

- Yeah, go after him and then
offer to beat his lights out?

- No, offer him a job.

- Oh, whatever for?

- The piano was his, Helena took it.

- Oh dear, that umbrella
thing is getting much worse.

- Yes and soon the police
will be here and there'll

be an awful scene.

- Where is this piano?

- Over there on the cart.

- Hey, you two idiots.

- Yes, Gov?

- What's your name?

- Ken Russell.

- Don't I know you?

- No idea, Gov.

- His memories gone, Sir,
he can't remember anything

since the Shagistan massacre.

- I see, right.

Well, I want you to
take this piano over to

Trevor Howard's End.

That is my country cottage at Norfolk.

The piano will be safe there.

- Alright, Gov.

Come on, warhorse.

- And now, Emma, I will
make my excuses and I

shall pursue Leonard
Bastard to offer him a job

in the Accounting Department.

- I don't know how to
thank you, Mr. Hudson.

- You don't need to thank
me unless, perhaps, do

have a hairbrush?

- Yes, why?

- Oh, nothing.

She detains me with her eyes.

I have a strong compulsion towards her.

It's as if--

- It's as if I could read his thoughts.

- It's as if she could read my thoughts.

- That's because we are speaking out loud.

- Yes, I suppose so.

So here we are still--

- Exactly--

- It's not as if--

- no, hardly at all--

- And just to think if something doesn't--

- No, of course it doesn't--

- What's the harm in that?

- Simply thinking.

- And fantasizing.

- Perfectly normal.

- You know what I'd like to do?

- I have and idea.

- I'd like to be a Butler.

- A Butler?

- In a great house.

- How odd, I too dream of serving.

- Of housekeeping?

- To serve alongside a
man who likes order and

discipline.

- Wearing a simple black
dress of silk maybe.

- Yes.

- With tightly laced
black corset underneath?

- Yes.

- Perhaps regulation black stockings.

- Oh, certainly.

- Forgive me, Miss
Schlegel, I must just go and

rearrange my furniture.

- Oh heavens.

- These are new trousers,
I'm just breaking them

in for a friend.

- So I see.

- Excuse me.

- Not so fast upper class, middling class,

poor n high class.

Allow me to introduce myself.

I'm a private dick by the
name of Inspector McGuffin

in New Scotland Yard,
missing furniture division,

including instruments, mouth
organs, banjos and other

such items lost from
time to time and reported

by the public to the police.

- Well, how do you do?

- I'll ask the fucking questions.

- Well, Inspector, I'm a
very busy man could you

possibly tell me what all this is about?

- Certainly.

A young man from The
Workers, Leonard the Bastard

was given a piano from
the Reverend Whoopsie.

- I'm sorry, what?

- A piano.

A young laddie for The Working
Class apparently playing

piano in the Royal
McMurkett Class Institute.

Young laddie with a great
bit hairstyle took a piano

country...

to the Kensington Gardens,

where a man identified later
to be Hudson Rubbery Company

to, wish to take
away the piano in secret

and the same piano is far
away in a far distant place,

arousing the suspicions
of the Metropolitan Opera

and the police, namely Inspector McGuffin,

who's demanding the same of
Mr. Hudson return

information regarding
of the same piano.

- Could you just run that by me again?

- Mr. Hudson--

- Yes I got that bit.

- Do you or do you know
these have taken possession

of the same young man, Lenny
Bastard's piano

the same said piano for
the country to all uses and

practices for your own self abuse and your

, please?

- I can honestly assure
you Inspector, I have no

idea what you're talking about.

Oh yeah,

what I be talking about?

- Ah, are you offering
us a holiday in Scotland?

- I'm not offering you a
holiday in Scotland, you

daft tit.

Do you no understand any English?

Where's the fucking piano?

- What fucking piano?

- Don't with me, Sonny.

- I think he means piano.

- Oh thanks for the
translatoration you upper

tightly, upper classy
emotionally retarded twat.

- Well, do you honestly
see any piano, Inspector?

- Don't be so fucking clever
with Inspector McGuffin,

son.

From the loo...

From the loo, I'll trouble
you no further, but I'm

not through with you big
boy so cheerio the loo,

my kind speckled neighbor
and when the

bag of oatmeal, empty-handed,

the more you know the less the better.

Bebo bobbity,

- What an odd person.

Miss Schlegel are you hungry,
would you like some dinner?

- Oh gosh, yes, I'm starving.

- Well, let's eat tomorrow,
say at my country house

in Norfolk.

- Oh, okay.

- Next day while I was on
the cart, being driven up

to Norfolk, Emma took the
train to dine at Trevor

Howard's End.

- I'm just as excited as
a little girl, to be going

off alone to visit the man of my dreams

I was as giggly as a giddy
goose, to get away from my

family and friends, I was
feeling so very grown up

when--

- Hello, Emma.

- Reverend Whoopsie.

- Surprise!

- What are you doing on this train?

- Aunt Maggie wants to
make sure you were safe.

- Oh, I'll be perfectly
safe alone in a bedroom

in a country cottage with
an unhappily married man.

- Think of your reputation, dear.

- Aunt Maggie, you're here too?

- I love a train journey.
All the jiggling about,

it's like the Happy Boy.

- Is that you, Dick?

- Hello, Emma.

I bought me a mouth organ.

- And I can't wait to play my piano.

- Helena, you as well?

- I'm so excited, I've already found three

umbrellas on the train.

- Give them back.

- No, the owners got off
ages ago and we're here now.

- Spiggy Junction, Spiggy
Junction, all change for

Coupler's bottom, Wrigley
in the Watch, Colonel

Strummond Duprat, Lord Dee's
Forget, Butthole's Landing,

Downton Abbey, Upper Prostate,

Fingley Bongley, Lower Forking,

and Spunky Cumsnotoil.

- Emma, welcome to Trevor Howard's End.

- Mr. Hudson, how kind
of you to invite me.

- Ass!

- What?

- Hello.

- Hello, Mr. H.

- Hello there.

- Oh, I didn't expect the
bloody Spanish Inquisition.

- No, no, neither did I.

They insisted on chaperoning me.

- Well, good
grief, what did they thinks

gonna happen?

It's not as if we're gonna
run off into the woods and

start playing vicars and nurses.

- No, no, I hear the
woods can be really lovely

this time of year.

- Especially with a pig
leg and some extra virgin

olive oil.

Well, look, please, all
of you, why don't you

just go and play with the farm machinery.

I have to go and poison some rats.

- May I help you poison rats, Mr. Hudson?

- Very kind of you, Emma, but it's best

left to a man, this job.

- What's more natural on
a Saturday afternoon than

a good game of poisoning rats?

Especially if you can't--

- Well, precisely, it's very--

- Healthy--

- Exactly, it takes my mind off--

- Other things--

- Quite, otherwise mind can get very--

- Whimsical--

- No, regular--

- Regime--

- It's hard for a man to--

- Fulfill himself--

- Quite.

- Mr. Hudson, may I help you finish

your sentences this weekend?

At the weekend dance, Miss
Schlegel, that would be

so very, very--

- Fuck.

- Whatever was that?

- It's just, it's my wife, she's dying.

- Oh dear.

- No need to worry, she
usually dies about this time

of day.

You can set your watch by it.

It's from wisteria.

- Hysteria?

- No, wisteria, she's allergic to it.

- She was touched incorrectly
in a cave in India.

Ever since then the
sight of wisteria makes

her wisterical.

- You do not trust your
emotions do you, Mr. Hudson?

- I believe emotions are
like rats, they should

be poisoned at birth.

- Mr. Hudson, do you know
what a hooded clitoris is?

- Yes, it's a kind of snake with a cap on.

- No, it is found in the vulva.

- Ah Argentina.

- Have you any idea what the vagina is?

- Well, that's a river
in the Belgian Congo.

- Oh, Mr. Hudson do not toy with me.

My gynecologist tells
me I may never be able

to have an emotion.

- Do not despair, Miss
Schlegel, these days we

can do wonderful things with the rubber.

And now if you'll excuse me, I have to hit

Tracey and...

But more to the point,
my wife is dying again.

I must go and give her sugar.

- What a strange man
he is but I believe he

understands me despite
his attempts to distract

me with interesting
discourse about rat poison.

- I can still hear you.

- Oh, sorry.

- Whoa there, look at that house, Ken.

- Blimey.

Anne fuckin' Hathaway's fucking cottage.

- The last time I saw so
much thatch it was on a

stripper in Belgium.

- Hey Burt, see that bloke
lurking in the window.

- The one watching us?

- Yeah, do I know him?

- Yes, Mr. Hudson.

- He looks familiar.

- Yeah, you saw him
yesterday when he told us

to bring the piano here.

- Oh yeah.

- He thought he knew you.

- From where?

- He didn't say.

- Look, Dick.

My piano is here.

- You're jolly fond of
that piano aren't you?

- I love it, Dick.

Thank you ever so.

- Hey, you wouldn't marry me would ya?

- What?

- Become my awful wedded wife.

- That's lawful, Dick,
and it's not lawful,

we're cousins.

- Doesn't stop the Royal family.

- Yes but they're all bonkers.

- Dick, you are very beautiful
but you are a little bit--

- Am I, am I?

- Yes, yes, Dick, Just a tad.

I'm so sorry, I don't
care for you in that way.

I can't marry you.

- Well, nevermind, I'm gay anyway.

- What?

- He's different, that's all.

♫ He's different

♫ So very different

♫ Oh, very different

♫ In every way

♫ That's right, I'm different

♫ So very different

♫ Oh, very different

♫ Not gay

♫ He's not the same as other boys

♫ He likes to play with different toys

♫ I like to stay out late
and dress in fancy things

♫ Of course you do

♫ He's not the only one there's been

♫ I'm not the first King who is a Queen

♫ But it's illegal still

♫ So that is why we sing

♫ That he is different

♫ Oh very different

♫ So very different

♫ Not gay ♫

- Helena played with me all afternoon

tickling my ivories
with her lovely fingers.

I must say, she has a lovely touch.

Meanwhile, Whoopsie and Dick disappeared

into the woods.

Maggie and Emma went
for a walk amongst the

bluebells, and Hudson
busied himself poisoning

rats until around three when...

- I say, has anyone seen Dick?

- What about Dick?

- I've lost him.

- What?

- One minute we were
playing hide and seek,

and the next he had gone.

- He's probably playing a game on you.

- Oh, yes, of course.

I'm sure he'll be back for dinner.

- It's a lovely dinner, Mr. Hudson.

- The curry goat is delicious.

- Yes, it's something my
wife picked up in India.

- How is your wife?

- Oh, still off her tits.

- Still no sign of Dick,
it's very worrying.

- Perhaps we should call the police.

- Too late, we're here.

- Oh shit.

- My piano, um I'm sorry Inspector,

you can't come in here,
we're having dinner.

- I'm warning ya's, all of
ya's, every single one of

you toffee-nosed gits,
sittin' round with your chips,

listening to your Chopin
and your Beethoven, after

your suppers we have kippers
and lungs and requiche.

Listen that
frame my lips and mouth and

drop a little rain,
falling from the gland that

softly quells the glistening
buns and rivulets and

streams of Bonnie Scotland.

- Is this something about a holiday?

- You've not won a
holiday, you stupid gits,

we're tickety boom, may I
ask who owns this piano?

- Oh, that's mine.

- Oh, is that right?

It's your piano?

- Been in the family for
years, matter of fact,

belongs to my wife.

- Your wife's as mad as a hatter, coo coo,

bonkers.

She hasn't got a piano.

This piano was stolen
from Leonard Bastard.

- No, no, Inspector,
you are mistaken, that's

his Helena's piano, I give it her.

- Leonard Bastard, what
are you doing here,

just in time to confirm
a most unlikely story?

- I come here to thank
you for getting me the

job with Mr. Hudson and
to give you the piano

you love so much.

- How on earth did you get here?

- I walked.

- All the way from Houndsditch?

- Yes.

- But that's a hundred miles.

- Yes.

- Would you like a glass of water?

- Seeing you is refreshment enough for me.

- Oh golly gosh, blush, blush, blush.

- So you see Inspector,
it is Helena's piano.

- How very touching, it
reminds me of a wee ballad

from my childhood,
called The Lonely Trout.

♫ From the heelan hills
and rills o bonnie Scotland

♫ Fra the bogs and fogs
and soggy lochs and braes

♫ From the moontin tops where
lonely jocks drink whiskey

♫ To the dingy pond wherein
the lone trout plays.

♫ There was once a laddie
wandered wi his lassie

♫ When she told him that
her love for him was dead.

♫ As she left this lonely boy

♫ Who’d now lost his only joy

♫ The trout raised his head
and this is what he said

♫ O rum ti tumti

♫ TTckle yer monkey

♫ Tickle di didle doo

♫ Rumpy pumpy

♫ Humpty dumpty

♫ Tickle yer tivey too

♫ Oh hankie pankie

♫ Winkie wankie

♫ Diddle de didle doo

♫ Rinky dinky

♫ Tiddley winky

♫ Nicky nacky noo

♫ the noo the noo the noo the noo the noo

♫ O Winkie wankie

♫ Nickety nackety

♫ Sings the lonely trout

♫ Tiggly wiggly

♫ Higgly piggly

♫ What is life about?

♫ Mickety pickety

♫ Wickety lickety

♫ She was just a slut

♫ Find yourself another lass

♫ A nicer piece of butt.

♫ Oh packety wackety

♫ Nickety nackety

♫ Sings the lonely trout

♫ Splickety wickety

♫ Pickety nickety

♫ What is life about?

♫ Shackety mackety

♫ Thwackety crackety

♫ She was just a slut

♫ Find yourself another lass

♫ A nicer piece of butt.

♫ Splickety wickety

♫ Pickety nickety

♫ What is life about

♫ Shackety mackety

♫ Thwackety crackety

♫ What is life about?

♫ Shackety mackety

♫ Thwackety crackety

♫ She was just a slut

♫ Find yourself another lass

♫ A nicer piece of butt.

♫ Oh packety wackety

♫ Nickety nackety

♫ Sings the lonely trout

♫ Splickety wickety

♫ Pickety nickety

♫ What is life about?

♫ Shackety mackety

♫ Thwackety crackety

♫S he was just a slut

♫ Find yourself another lass

♫ A nicer piece of butt.

♫ Oh, packety wackety

♫ Nickety nackety

♫ Sings the lonely trout ♫

- I think that's quite
enough of that, Inspector.

I said come on, off, off, come on, you.

Off, off, off, take your boobs with you.

And what about Dick?

- I completely forgot about wee Dickie.

- My nephew is missing.

- No he's not.

- Oh you found Dick.

Oh thank heaven.

- Oh, shut your dribble,
you big.

You're a disgrace to the
We Free course frolicking

about in pines with naked
laddies beneath.

We have indeed found him
and he told me a joke.

We found him in the woods.

- In the woods, is he dead?

- Not quite but severely blootered.

He was attacked by some hungry vampire who

tried to eat him all up
and do him like a dinner.

- Great Scott!

- Thank you.

- But who would want to harm Dick?

- Somebody who wanted to shut his face.

- But Dick knows nothing about everything.

- Do you know we have a
wee saying in Scotland,

we men in the nuts.

- One can only imagine what that means.

- Sometimes the things
we don't know are the

unknown knowns that we
don't know we think we know

but others think we do.

- Well, that's easy for
you to say, Inspector.

But it is idle to
speculate, since Dick can

no longer speak.

- I have an Indian
gentleman who specializes

recovering memories by the name of

Deepak Rushdie Obi Ben Kingsley.

Perhaps wee Dickie
might remember something

when he comes out of his coma.

- But when will he wake up?

- Who knows, a few weeks,
a few months, a few

years per chance.

- Years, but whatever shall we do?

- We must all go to Italy at once.

♫ To Italy

♫ To Italy

♫ Oh yes, let's go to Italy

♫ Where painters paint so prettily

♫ On ceilings there

♫ Where everyone talks wittily

♫ And no one argues bitterly

♫ And we'll free to really
have some feelings there

♫ Let's leave the soggy English rain

♫ And go to Italy by train

♫ To visit Florence,
Venice and then Rome again

♫ We'll wine and dine 'til we are sick

♫ And we won't have to think of Dick

♫ At least until we
finally come home again

♫ Italia

♫ La, la la, la la, la
la, la la, la la, la

♫ Italia

♫ Ya, ya ya, ya ya, ya
ya, ya ya, ya ya, ya

♫ No, I cannot stand Italians

♫ They wear the gold medallions

♫ And act like bloody stallions

♫ All the waiters there

♫ Telly, telly, dirty telly

♫ It all gets on my nelly

♫ As far as I'm concerned

♫ They're pasterbators there

♫ Italia

♫ La, la la, la la, la
la, la la, la la, la

♫ Italia

♫ Ya, ya ya, ya ya, ya
ya, ya ya, ya ya, ya

♫ Italian men are gorgeous

♫ If you don't include the Borgias

♫ For they make me slightly nauseous

♫ When I read of them

♫ Romeo's and Cinderella's

♫ Say buon giorno and ciao bella

♫ And they have umbrella's

♫ Should I feel the need of them

♫ Italia

♫ La, la la, la la, la
la, la la, la la, la

♫ Italia

♫ Ya, ya ya, ya ya, ya
ya, ya ya, ya ya, ya

♫ Rome was not built in a day

♫ Though actually it looks that way

♫ The Roman Empire, of course

♫ Was the power there

♫ There's a geezer came from Pisa

♫ By the name of Julius Caesar

♫ He was a little bent

♫ But then, so is the tower there

♫ Italia

♫ La, la la, la la, la
la, la la, la la, la

♫ Italia

♫ Ya, ya ya, ya ya, ya
ya, ya ya, ya ya, ya

♫ Italia

♫ La, la la, la la, la
la, la la, la la, la

♫ Italia

♫ Ya, ya ya, ya ya, ya
ya, ya ya, ya ya, ya ♫

- I was on the move again.

This time to Italy where English people go

to have emotions.

Consequently, Emma remained behind.

Meanwhile, the party arrived in Florence.

The traveling party arrived in Florence.

- Sorry.

- What joy to be in
Italy with these friendly

men and their encouragingly lax morals.

- Aunt Maggie, why is
that statue not wearing

any underpants?

- I suppose because it's
so terribly hot dear.

- Amd what is that little thing?

- Well, it's an umbrella symbol.

Oh, here we are, the Pensione Berlusconi.

- Buon giorno, Signore.

- Bunga bunga, Signor pederasty Inglesi.

- Oh, Signor Berlusconi,
how nice to see you.

- Ah, Signora De Clepa Inglesi.

I have reserved for you and your niece,

a room with no view.

- Thank you so much, dear.

Helena is allergic to views.

- Particularly right wing views.

- Well, welcome to
Pensione where emotionally

repressed English people
can learn to enjoy

themselves.

How to chew the pizza, how
to nibble on the pasta,

how to swallow salami--

- Yes, yes, I think that's quite enough

single entendre's for now, Signor.

Come on, Helena, let's
freshen up while they

unload our baggage.

- Blimey!

Look at that statue, Ken.

- That bloke's not wearing any underpants.

- That's Michaelangelo's David.

- Michaelangelo's dick, more like.

- Yeah.

Scusi, Signore.

- Yeah, delivery's are around the back.

- Oh, charming.

- You bloody Italians,
should be ashamed of

yourselves, all these naked statues.

Have you Italians never
heard of underpants?

- What's he saying?

- He says you condescending
English bastards,

I invite you to pull your
foreskin over your heads

and give yourself an
enema with a wine bottle.

May you sleep in sheep shit
and your sphincter become

a highway for Australian rugby players.

- Blimey, I never knew you spoke Italian.

- I learned it on the train.

- What is it you two idiots want?

- Oy, don't you get lippy with us, mate.

Who do you think you are?

- You arrogant, English pigs.

You come from a miserable island,

it rains every day where
the men are pederasts

and the women are frozen
from the waist down.

You have no cheese, you
have no wine, no olive oil,

no garlic, you cannot
play football and your

music is all poo.

- Oh yeah, yeah well,
that's where you're wrong,

Mister, ice cream selling
bloody fascist wop.

Cause we have brought a piano
for Miss Helena to play.

- What?

The bella signorina with
the lovely swishy hair?

- That's the one.

- Well, oh, mi apologia,
I invite you to stay,

for dinner and anal sex.

- Ken?

- Dinner would be nice.

- Yeah.

- Oh, I am so very happy.

At last I have my own piano.

♫ One day some lovely fellas

♫ Going too show me his umbrella

♫ But until that day

♫ Ill play upon my pi-an-o

♫ If he's jealous

♫ Of the fellas

♫ Who have shown me their umbrellas

♫ He'll be happy when I let him

♫ Touch my pi-an-o

♫ My Pi-an-o

♫ My pi-an-o

♫ It's such a lovely instrument

♫ And I really love it so

♫ My pi-an-o

♫ My pi-an-o

♫ Who wouldn't like to play

♫ Upon my pi-an-o

♫ From Florence down to Napoli

♫ The men behave unhappily

♫ If they can't get a
glimpse of my sweet pi-an-o

♫ The Frenchmen and the Dutchmen

♫ Always shout and yell

♫ How much then

♫ But I won't let them touch me

♫ Like my pi-an-o

♫ My pi-an-o

♫ My pi-an-o

♫ Tickling the ivories

♫ I really love it so

♫ My pi-an-o

♫ I so adore

♫ I'll play with it all night and day

♫ Until I get too sore ♫

♫ Her pi-an-o

♫ Her pi-an-o

♫ Who wouldn't like a go

♫ Upon her piano

♫ The British upper classes

♫ Can all shove it up their asses

♫ For the poor and struggling masses

♫ Have no pi-an-o ♫

- What a lucky, lucky old piano

- Leonard Bastard.

What on earth are you doing in Italy?

- I walked.

- But, that's almost 900 miles.

- 903, actually.

- Is your wife here?

- No, she couldn't get away.

- You tied her up.

- No, she's helping McGuffin
with his Dick problem.

- How?

- Well, she's a professional ass reader

and she has some information that may be

helpful to the police.

- Oh gosh, really?

I have judged her too harshly as a

worthless slut who trapped you into an

unhappy marriage.

- No, no.

She is a worthless slut who trapped me

into an unhappy marriage but she is a very

fine ass reader.

- Leonard, I have been less
than generous with you.

I want you to play with me.

- What?

- On the piano.

- When?

- Right now.

- Let's go.

- Oh, good grief.

Close your eyes Mr. Whoopsie.

You're a clergyman.

- What is going on?

- Helena is playing a piano in public with

a mad man of The Working Classes.

- How shameful!

Unprotected Beethoven.

- Whatever are we to do?

- Russell brothers, pick up the piano.

We must all go home at once.

- Who is it?

- Open the door, Emma.

I must see you at once.

- Hang on a minute.

Why, Mr. Hudson.

- Thank God, you're here.

- Mr. Hudson, you're in
a state of some emotion.

- I'm sorry, these are new trousers,

just breaking them in for a friend.

- What are you doing in a house, alone,

with a woman whose Aunt
and Sister have not

yet returned from Italy
and with no one around to

notice if you were to
accidentally slip upstairs

with a hair brush?

- No, I have something
terribly serious to tell you.

My wife is dead.

- For real?

- Yeah.

- How did she die?

- An unfortunate brush with rat poison.

She apparently mistook it for sugar.

- It's easily done.

- I blame myself.

- Oh, it could happen to
anyone with an unwanted wife.

- I wasn't there, you see.

I was in Manchester.

It was a rubber thing.

- A perfectly reasonable alibis.

- Yes, the police suspect foul play.

They think the same man who had done it to

Dick has gone and done it to her.

I'm sorry, I seem to have lost control

of my tongue.

- Am I making you nervous?

- Standing in the
doorway in a nightie with

a light behind you, nervous
isn't quite the word.

- I know what you'd like.

- Really?

- A nice cup of tea.

- Uh, it's close.

- Oh I love the way he
stares at me when we're

making tea.

I know exactly what he's thinking.

- I know exactly what I'm thinking.

- He can read me like a book.

- I can read her like a book.

- The Big Boy's Book of Fairies.

- 107 nasty positions to do it.

- He seems to know exactly what I'd like.

- I know exactly what she'd like.

- I'd like to play tiddlywinks.

- She wants to be shagged senseless.

- Then supper at the Ritz
and afterwards, dancing.

- Then up to the bathroom
for a good scrubbing.

- What?

- With a stiff Loofah
rag and scrubbing with

a soapy tub of water til
she blushes naked all

over with that pale, delicate skin.

- Good heavens.

- I wanna kiss your warm, soapy buttocks,

- Oh!

- probing deeper and deeper--

- Oh!

- Stroking and spanking
and kneading and plunging

- and thrusting.
- Oh!

Turn you over then
plunging and thrusting you

- Oh!

- like a giant glob of
internal combustion engine

- oh, oh.

- buzzing haplessly like
a bee in a bottle and

- Ohhhh!

- screaming like a monkey on speed.

- Ooooohhhhh!

- Emma, dear!
- Oh!

- We're back from Italy.
- Oh!

- Emma, Emma!

- Good grief!
- Ohhh!

- what's happening?
- Oooh ooooh!

- Is she alright?

- Oh, I'd say so.

- Ohhhhhh!

- What is happening to her?

- Emma is having an emotion.

Italy had worked it's gay magic.

And the English were now
all caring and sensitive.

Dick was on everyone's lips.

We shall skip World
War I, which was mainly

about a horse and move on to August...

1929 when Aunt Maggie went to visit Dick.

But when she arrived at the Royal Hospital

for the Extremely Mad,
she was in for a surprise.

- You've a visitor, Dick.

- Has there been any
change in his condition?

- Alas, Madam, there is none.

- Allow me to present Deepak
Rushdie Obi Ben Kingsley.

Visiting professor of psycho
babble at the University

of Virginia Woolf.

- Oh, I read about him
in the rubber ware news.

It seems you are the
inventor of the American

Happy Boy.

- That is I, myself, good lady.

- Oh, it has relieved many of my emotions.

- Well, I am proud to
have had a hand in that.

- We're going to seek the assistance of a

professional ass reader.

But first, we have wee surprise.

Mr. Russell, bring in the piano.

- Here ya go.

- Good heavens, it is
the piano from Shagistan.

- This piano has been
close to the scene of

all these violent attacks.

- You suspect the piano?

- Of course I don't
fuckin' suspect the piano,

you weird Indian psycho
babbling Chapati muncher.

I thought it may help to jog his memory.

- If only this piano
could talk, Inspector.

- Piano's don't fucking talk,
you silly touchy-feely wanked

out son of a bloody.

You gobbledy shaky sloppy
sloppy touchy-feely bullocks.

But since Dick found it
on the beach I thought it

might help him to remember a happier time.

- This where you wanted the piano, Gov?

- Just drop it right here.

Thank you.

The piano's at the heart of the mystery.

- Will that be all, Sir?

- Good heavens, is that you, Sergeant?

- Do I kbow you, Sir?

- Sergeant Ken Russell of
the 13th foot and mouth.

Do you not remember me, I
am Deepak from Shagistan?

- Alas Sir, he can
remember nothing since the

massacre.

- Well, Darling told
him something important

but he's forgot it.

- Do not worry, Inspector.

I will put him in a trance.

Now, Ken, listen to me,
you're going to relax,

you're going into a deep sleep,

not you, Inspector.

- Oh, sorry, sorry.

- Just relax, Ken, Kenneth.

Now, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1.

You're gone.

- Where am I?

- You are in Shagistan, Sergeant.

- Oh, yeah.

Bloody hot, innit?

- It's very hot, Ken.

- Lord, these bloody flies.

- Oh, these bloody flies.

Now you're with Lord
Darling and he is talking

to you.

What is Lord Darling saying?

- He is telling me a very
disturbing tale, Sir.

He's saying...

- There are some things
I am not proud of in

my life, Sergeant.

There was a young governess
I met at a coming out

ball , her name was Margaret.

She was beautiful and
I couldn't help myself,

I plied her with Gin and
I took advantage of her.

Too late I learned that nine
months later,

she had a child, but by
then, my regiment had

shipped out.

I still don't know the name of that child.

- The child's name was Dick.

- How could you know that?

Because I was that Governess.

Margaret was me.

This is my Dick.

- He's your son?

- Yes, Inspector.

- Oh, mommy, I'm coming out of my coma.

- There, there, Dick, mommy's here.

- Mommy, can I have a little
suck on your breast, please?

- Well, I suppose a little wouldn't hurt.

See if I can still lactate.

Oh, yes I can.
- Sergeant.

- Oh, yes, it's happening.

- Sergeant.
- Oh, Russell likes it, ew.

- Sergeant, control,
control your energies.

- Eww!

- Sergeant, for fucks
sake, control the energies

in your head.

- Very difficult, very difficult, Sir.

- What else is Lord Darling saying to you?

- It's all coming back to me now, Sir.

It's a little bit misty
but it's coming back.

He says--

- Take this piano to my
son, Dick, at Darling Hall.

- Very well, and so you have
done, your task is complete

Sergeant, Dick has the
piano and he has a mommy.

- But we still don't know
who attacked him and why?

- That is true, Inspector,
it is time for the

ass reading, I think.

- Who is it?

Oh, it's you, come on in, yeah,

come to have your body
read again, have ya?

- You're a right naughty boy ain't ya,

I saw it in your bum the other day.

I said to myself, I said there's violence

in that bottom, Enid my
love, those cheeks have

seen more than their
fair share of sorrow and

a deep dark secret is
hidden in that derriere

but I haven't told no
one, Gov, so help me,

I wouldn't tell Inspector
McGuffin nothing,

as long as you brought
me that little bit of

money you promised me.

Dear, dear, what's that?

No, no, please, don't, stop!

- Houndsditch mutilator strikes again!

Ass reader ass-assinated!

- Dammit, Deepak, we're too late.

- Police working on the
theory that they have no idea

what's going on!

- Watch to, you.

- This is most unfortunate.

I had high hopes that she
might see something useful

in Dick's behind.

- Who assassinates an ass reader and why?

- Maybe the King of Sweden
for shits and giggles.

- What?

- No, she knew something,
she knew the identity of

the mutilator.

- Well, how could that be so>

- She opened the door in her pajamas.

- She had a door in her pajamas?

- It has to be somebody she knows well.

Her husband has disappeared.

We must find Leonard Bastard immediately.

- Who is it?

- Open the door, Emma.

I must see you at once.

- Hang on a minute.

- Emma, is there a window I can just--

- Why, Mr. Hudson, I'm here all alone.

- I have something to tell you.

- I have a hair brush upstairs.

- Something terrible has happened.

- Leonard Bastard's
wife has been murdered.

- No, worse than that.

- What could possibly be worse than that?

- I am bankrupt.

- Oh dear!

- This afternoon the
Hudson Rubber Company just

collapsed.

- Into the Thames?

- Financially, you see.

Someone in the Accounts Department
was speculating huge sums

against the future price of rubber and now

I'm utterly ruined.

- Oh, crikey!

Maybe the young man who
made these speculations

was Leonard Bastard,
the very man you begged

me to employ.

- Oh!

Oops!

- Well, oops doesn't quite
hack it actually, Emma.

So, because of this, I
have decided to accept the

job of a Butler in the West country.

- Oh, well have a good one.

- Yes, ta very much.

- No, wait.

I am an Englishwoman of a certain age.

You are the only man who
ever gave me an emotion.

I am going to do something
utterly improper.

- Oh yes?

- I am going to pack some
hankies and come with you.

- Darling Hall, doesn't it
look great in the rain, Butler?

- Uh, yes, my lord.

- Butler, what time is it?

19:35, by the way.

- Who is that woman in
the giant black dress?

- That is the housekeeper,
Miss Schlegel, Sir.

- Fine figure of a woman.

- Yes, Sir, she does her job very well.

- This weekend, I'm having
a Nazi party, the usual

thing, you know, uniforms,
speeches, search lights,

discipline, boots, bondage,
Vodka, and tight leather

trousers.

- Very good, my lord.

- This will be the first
Nazi party ever held in

England and here's the order of events.

There'll be hi and hello,
getting to know you cocktails,

with a few introductory
remarks about the Third Reich,

what happened to the
other two reich's and why

this one will last, ever so much longer.

- Very good, my lord.

- Mr. Hudson, might I
have a word with you?

- Yes, of course, Miss Emma.

- There is to be a Nazi party here?

- Just a very small one.

- And why have you been avoiding me?

- Because I am a Butler
and you are a housekeeper

and in this country,
any contact is not only

immoral but it is also illegal contrary to

the naughty behaviors Act with servants

1932.

- But surely--
- No.

- Not even if--
- No.

- But suppose we were to--
- No.

- On our own time--
- Impossible.

- At weekends--
- No.

- In the garage--
- Out of the question.

This is England, we must

have no more emotions.

- But I have brought this hairbrush.

- Shit.

Come here, woman.

Get on my springy thing.

Come on.

- What on earth is going on, Emma?

- Aunt Maggie, Whoopsie, Helena and Dick.

- What on earth are they
doing, mommy, I'm scared.

- Miss Emma was merely
helping me clean the

floor with her posterior.

- No, Henry, no more lies,
I'm a fully grown woman

and I am entitled to an
emotion now and again.

- Good heavens, this isn't America.

- What on earth is going on, Butler?

Who are all these people?

- Lord Darling, this is
your long lost brother,

Dick.

- Hello, Bro.

Want to see my mouth organ?

- Good heavens, it's the Nazi's.

- Hello, Darling.

- Countess Von Kunst,
welcome to Darling Hall.

- It's important that
you English understand

when Nazi's have a
party, it's a fun thing.

Mein über Butler?

- Yes, Countess?

- Do you have a piano?

- No, Countess, no piano at Darling Hall.

- Then what Is that?

- Good heavens, that is a piano.

- Good grief, it is the piano.

- It is Lord Darling's, a
gift from his dead daddy.

- Deepak, is that you?

- Hello, Mr. Hudson, long time no see.

- What on earth are you doing here?

- Well, I'm just talking
to you at the moment.

- Yes, I can see that, but why?

- Because they think it's funny, Sir.

- It is a bit confusing.

- Yes, it is.

- I would like to play
a song about the fuhrer,

but first I should warm
up with the diva scale.

♫ Do Re Mi Mi Mi Mi Mi Mi ♫

♫ Mi Mi Mi Mi Mi Mi Mi Mi ♫

What is that, what is
wrong with this piano,

it is like England, it doesn't work.

There's something trapped inside it.

- What is a vibrator doing inside a piano?

- That's a rather long story.

- Who are you?

- A rather long story teller.

- This is Inspector McGuffin.

- Not in fact so, madam,
I'm a private dick,

my real name is Holmes.

- Good heavens, Sherlock Holmes?

- No, Shylock Holmes, his Jewish cousin.

- Why is there a dildo
shtook in this piano?

- It was hidden there madam by someone in

this room

- What does it matter?

- It matters because it
reveals the identity of a

murderer, Butler, I arrest
you for the murder of

Henry Hudson.

- But this is Henry Hudson, Inspector.

- No, Sir.

- This man is called Hopkins, who killed

the original Hudson to gain control of

the rubber market.

He attacked little Dicky in the woods and

poisoned his wife for
seeing him attack Dick

from a window.

And he bludgeoned poor Enid to death

when she planned to reveal
that she read his backside

that he is the Houndsditch mutilator.

Butler, I arrest you for
the murder of Henry Hudson.

- Oh, Henry, they will hang you.

- I'm already hung, Emma.

- I know that.

I'm bearing your child.

- Then leave this sorry island, England is

finished, the future is Holland.

- America?

- Yeah, in America, yeah.

Where they have more
respect for a person of

violence and they won't
stop short of having

automatic weapons just
because they're insane.

So the Butler was arrested
and sentenced to be

hanged by the neck until
he wasn't at all well.

Leonard Bastard married
Helena and together they

opened an umbrella shop.

Reverend Whoopsie became
the Arch Bishop of

Canterbury.

Aunt Maggie moved to Holland
where she demonstrates

personal vibrators.

And as for me, the piano, I was bought by

Elton John.

And I'm currently starring
in Las Vegas where I

made this, one of Elton
John's finest hits.

♫ O rum ti tumti

♫ Tickle yer monkey

♫ Tickle di didle doo

♫ Rumpy pumpy

♫ Humpty dumpty

♫ Tickle yer tivey too

♫ Oh hankie pankie

♫ Winkie wankie

♫ Diddle de didle doo

♫ Rinky dinky

♫ Tiddley winky

♫ Nicky nacky noo

♫ the noo the noo the noo the noo the noo

♫ O muckety buckety

♫ Shmackety crackety

♫ Sings the lonely trout

♫ Tiggly wiggly

♫ Higgly piggly

♫ What is life about

♫ Mickety pickety

♫ Wickety lickety

♫ She was just a slut

♫ Find yourself another lass

♫ A nicer piece of butt.

♫ Oh packety wackety

♫ Nickety nackety

♫ Sings the lonely trout

♫ Splickety wickety

♫ Pickety nickety

♫ What is life about?

♫ Shackety mackety

♫ Thwackety crackety

♫ She was just a slut

♫ Find yourself another lass

♫ A nicer piece of butt ♫