Original subtitles

Hey, can somebody help me here?

Help him! Help him!

Oh, shit!

Don't worry. I'm turning...

There's something wrong with the plane!

Man, just got to keep going.

So you're helping the boys on the ground after all.

I hope you die! -Got to jump, Yossarian!

No, come back!

I'm right behind you. I've got to get it out...

Synced & corrected by QueenMaddie

You goddamn spastics think I'm gonna let you

prance around here like a Busby Berkeley chorus line,

then you've got another think coming to you.

I make you practice marching more than any other squadron

so you'll be better for the Sunday parades,

and what happens?

We look worse. -You look worse.

Just meet me halfway.

Don't I always meet you more than halfway?

That may be why we never meet at all.

Is it my fault?

Is any of this my fault? I want to be told.

I won't punish the man who tells me the truth.

I swear. -Oh, yes, he will.

I would be thankful to the man who tells me the truth.

Why can you not walk a straight line?

Why can you not turn a 90-degree angle

after 11 weeks?

Why do you not seem to care that we are nine days

from the Inter-Squadron Parade Jamboree?

What the fuck are you staring at?

How can we finally, finally... I beg you...

find a way of getting this thing right?

I actually know the answer to this.

No, you don't. -Oh, my God, Clevinger.

No, really, I was looking

at the parade manual... -Shut up.

About breaking us into smaller

groups to start. -You really need to shut up.

And the $100 question...

why is it so hard to restrict the swing of your arms

to a maximum seven-inch lateral pendulum arc

with a maximum four-inch distance from wrist to thigh?

Peele, if you please!

Seven-inch lateral pendulum arc,

four-inch distance wrist to thigh.

Thank you, Peele! -Yes, sir!

Why is that so hard?

Why is that so hard?

Seven-inch swing, four-inch gap.

Then we look tight.

Then we look fierce.

Then we stand out from all the goddamn free-swinging arms

that seem to be the goddamn fashion these days.

Then we win the goddamn pennant because your goddamn hands

ought never move more than three and a half inches

in either direction, north or south,

from the center of your thigh!

But apparently we're all a bunch of mongoloids.

He's talking about you, Clevinger.

Reprobates!

And I've been staying up at night.

I've been saying to myself...

"How are we gonna win this thing, boys?"

And you know what'd do it?

I got a friend in the sheet-metal shop,

and he'd make me little pegs of nickel alloy,

and I could sink each one of them into your thigh bones

and connect it to your wrists with strands of copper wire

with exactly three and a half inches of play,

because apparently we're all a bunch of pansies!

So I'm asking you, somebody tell me,

what is it that I am doing wrong?

Somebody, anybody tell me,

where have I failed?

No, it's a rhetorical question.

Sir! -He...

Soldier? -Jesus Christ.

Well, sir, I've actually been thinking about this.

And, you see, I think it's quite a simple solution.

What's your name, soldier?

Clevinger, sir.

Air Corps Cadet Timothy Clyde Clevinger.

So I was thinking, the problem lies

in the relationship between the synchronization

of the whole unit and synchronization

of the individual lines, you see?

You start small rather than big,

you divide the unit into practice groups,

say six to ten men, well, it's just human nature

to take in information more concretely in smaller groups.

So, sir, I would suggest your error...

Clevinger, stop fucking talk...

This group small enough for you?

I still can't understand it.

What is there to understand?

They hate you.

They hate you before you got here.

They hate you while you're here,

and they're gonna keep on hating you after you leave.

I'm sorry, buddy.

As the lead bombardier in the squadron,

everyone else is following your cues.

So, with this practice run, set your sighting angle

to 70 degrees.

Now, clutch in, turn your rate and motor switch on.

The rate and motor runs within five RPMs

of the chosen speed.

Here they come, Nately. It's the Red Baron.

Take him down.

You know what's happening to your rate index?

You're trying to find just one point on that scale.

But watch the indices.

That's the only way you keep track of where you are.

So get in the habit now.

So, you're lined up. What's next?

Open bomb bay doors.

Okay, go ahead.

Opening bomb bay doors.

Level carefully so you can keep

the vertical reference line.

Every calculation must be precise.

And next?

Bombs away? -Correct.

Bombs away.

Whoo!

Oh, God.

Oh, God.

You know, I bet I could name two things

to be miserable about for every one you can name

to be thankful for.

Mmm, be thankful you're healthy.

Be bitter you're not gonna stay that way.

Be glad you're even alive.

Be furious how you're gonna die.

Things could be much worse.

Yeah, well, things could be one hell of a lot better.

You're naming only one thing. You said you could name two.

Mmm. And don't tell me that God works in mysterious ways.

There's nothing mysterious about it.

He's not working at all.

You know, he's playing. -Mm-hmm.

Or else He's forgotten all about us.

He is a brainless, conceited hayseed.

I mean, how mu...

how much reverence can you have for a supreme being

who finds it necessary to rob old people of the power

to control their bowel movements, hmm?

Why the hell did He create pain?

Pain is useful.

Pain is a warning to us of bodily dangers.

And who created the dangers?

Yeah, He was certainly being... He was certainly being

charitable when He gave us pain.

Why couldn't He have used a-a doorbell to let us know?

Or one of... Or one of His celestial choirs?

You know, when you think about the chance that He had

to do something good, and then you look at the stupid

ugly mess that He made of it instead,

His incompetence is staggering.

Better be careful what you say about Him, honey.

He might punish you.

Like He doesn't punish me already.

You know, one day I'm gonna make Him pay.

One day I'm gonna grab that little yokel by His neck.

You're gonna be in so much trouble.

I thought you didn't believe in God.

I don't.

But the God I don't believe in is a good God.

Not the mean and stupid God you make Him out to be.

I'm not making Him out to be anything.

Mm-hmm. -I'm just reporting the facts.

Take it easy, McWatt.

Get in the goddamn bunk. It's almost lights out.

Hey, what time's the parade drill tomorrow?

0600. -Fuck, great.

Fucking meaningless. -They have a meaning.

They're meaningless. -That's not true, Yo-Yo.

Tell me one thing that's not meaningless about parades.

Discipline, chain of command,

working together as a unit, geometry.

Bullshit, Clevinger. Yo-Yo, you're right.

There ain't one thing he can name. -Lights out!

Cohesion.

Now you're just repeating yourself.

No, I'm not.

No, you're out of your mind.

Parades aren't designed to teach us anything.

They're designed to humiliate us.

They're designed to make us suffer the indignity

of doing something entirely pointless

so that sadistic fuck Scheisskopf

can demonstrate he has power over us,

'cause apparently that's how sadists get their kicks.

The more pointless the activity,

the greater our humiliation, and the more power he feels.

And we can sit here and pretend all we want that there must be

some more noble war-effort-type purpose

to all this walking around in fucking rectangles,

but there isn't one.

We do parades so Scheisskopf can feel like a tough guy.

That's what parades are for.

Yeah, that's what parades are for.

They disgust me.

Make me feel sick in the stomach.

Yeah, me too, buddy. Sick...

in my stomach.

Feel this? -Yeah.

Ah, God, that hurts. -Mmm, how about here?

Ah, yeah.

And what about when I tap here?

How does that feel? -Ooh, rough.

How does this feel? -Mm, it hurts.

And here?

What about this?

And how about here?

Here?

When I tap here?

Mm-hmm.

There's nothing wrong with your appendix.

Are you sure?

Next time say it's your liver.

Something wrong with your liver, I can keep you here for weeks.

There's something wrong with my liver.

Nice try. There's nothing wrong with your liver.

That shows how much you don't know.

So how does a doctor end up here, anyway?

Did you sign up for this shit?

Why aren't you off somewhere doing regular doctoring?

Believe me, I don't want to be here.

I examined myself pretty thoroughly

and found that I was unfit for service.

Now, you'd think my word would be enough, but, no.

They send some guy from the draft board to look me over.

Starts disputing my Four-F.

You know, John, we live in a... in an age

of deteriorating spiritual values.

It's really a... it's a terrible thing when... when even the word

of a licensed small-town physician is questioned

by the country he loves.

What's a Four-F? -I just told you...

it's my fitness for military service.

I can't do these goddamn parades, Doc.

They're gonna kill me. -Parades never killed anyone.

I bet they have. -Not many.

Come on, Doc. -I'll tell you what.

I'll help you out when I know it can do you some good.

In the meantime, choose your battles.

Parades are the least of your worries.

Hey.

Clevinger, are you okay?

Hey.

Clevinger.

Stumbling without authority,

breaking formation while in formation,

indiscriminate behavior, mopery,

provoking.

Do you want me to keep going, sir?

And his friend? -Uh, that'd be, uh...

That'd be aiding and abetting all of the above, sir.

As to these charges, how do you plead?

Not guilty.

And what makes you think we care?

You're here because you're trouble

and nobody likes trouble. Do you?

Do I like trouble? -You think this is funny?

In 60 days, you're gonna be fighting the Hun,

and you think this is a big, fat joke?

I don't think it's a joke... -Don't interrupt me.

And say "sir" when you do. -Yes, sir.

Didn't I just tell you not to interrupt me?

But I didn't interrupt, sir.

Are you mentally retarded, son?

No, sir. I'm just innocent.

I'm innocent until proven guilty. -Says who?

Everyone, sir. The Bill of Rights. -Yeah.

The Declaration of Independence. -You believe all that crap?

Yes, sir. I'm a free citizen in a free country and I have certain...

You are nothing of the kind. You are a prisoner at my dock.

So you stand here, and you keep your mouth shut!

Yes, sir!

Now, what did you mean when you said

that we couldn't punish you? -When, sir?

I'm asking the questions. You're answering them.

Yes, sir. -You think we brought you

here so that you could ask me questions

and I would answer them? -No, sir.

Then what the hell did you mean when you said

that we could not punish you? -I'm sorry, sir.

I never said that you couldn't punish me.

Now you're telling us when you did say it.

I'm asking you to tell us when you didn't say it.

When didn't you say we couldn't punish you?

I always didn't say you couldn't punish me.

That a bare-faced lie!

You whispered that we couldn't punish you

to that dumb son of a bitch standing right there!

Oh, no, sir, I whispered to him that you couldn't find me guilty.

Well, I must be stupid, because the distinction escapes me!

You're a windy son of a bitch, aren't you?

No, sir. -No, sir? You're calling me a liar now?

No, sir. -No, what, sir?

No, what... -No, what?

What, sir?

Read me back the last line. -"Read me back the last line."

Not my last line. Somebody else's.

"Read me back the last line." -That's my last line again.

Oh, no, sir. That's my last line.

I read it to you just a moment ago.

I'm sorry, buddy.

Do you sleep with me because you like me

or because you hate my husband?

A bit of both. -Hmm.

I could ask you the same question.

Mm, you know, I'd say you're not allowed

to hate him so much.

You should leave that to me.

Besides, you're leaving tomorrow.

You'll never have to see him again.

You know why I joined the Air Corp?

Mhm.

'Cause I knew that I'd be dragged into this shit

one way or another.

And I knew that bomber crews required more training

than anybody else in the military, so...

I just figured war would be over

by the time my training finished.

Well, that was wishful thinking, hon.

Yeah, I'm beginning to realize I may have been wrong.

Jesus Christ!

All right, time to target?

30 seconds to the run, 30 seconds.

Compression.

All right, pay attention, boys.

Okay, steady. Hold steady!

Holding steady, three-four-nine. -Three-four-nine at 9.000 feet.

Roger that, holding at 9.000.

Yossarian, we're approaching.

Are you on a steady heading?

Yes, I'm on a steady heading.

We're getting hammered back here!

"Yankee Doodle", what's your status?

Opening bomb bay doors.

Let's go. Open them up.

Open them up!

Hey, McWatt, reading at oh-four-two,

holding at 5.000.

Oh-four-two at 5.000.

They're gonna have to get up a little higher.

Let's just hold it steady right there.

How we looking here? -We're holding.

Come on, let's drop them! Just drop them!

Here we go.

Adjusting for drift, three degrees.

Three degrees, roger that.

On your left! -Oh, it's too strong!

How do I know? I can't see anything!

We almost there, Yo-Yo?

Steady.

Closing in on target, fellas.

Holy fuck!

Yo-Yo, come on. Where are they?

Holding steady.

Can you hurry the fuck up up there?

We're dying back here! -Holding...

Come on! -And...

Drop them already, Yo-Yo. -Let's go! Drop them!

Bombs away!

They're away! They're away!

And we're off! -All right!

Over to you, McWatt! Get us out of here!

We're done!

All right, getting us out of this shit.

We're still getting strikes!

We got to go! Jesus Christ!

You all right up there?

McWatt, are you okay?

Fuck.

We got you, we got you. You're okay.

Christ.

Oh, Christ.

It is time to support the war effort.

Buy war bonds.

Buy them until we turn back Tokyo

and there's a white flag over Japan.

And what's more, keep those bonds.

Hold them for your future.

This is Ed Davey signing off.

Hey. -How'd it go?

Oh, we took some flak.

I bet you did.

Fellas, hi.

This is Mudd. Henry Mudd. He's your new bunkmate.

I think there's been a mistake.

I'm fairly certain there's been a mistake.

Well, it says right here he's...

Well, he's bunking down with you and Orr.

Right, well, I'll leave you men to it.

Hey, Milo. -Hi, Reverend!

Yo-Yo. Orr.

Oh, hi. I'm Milo Minderbinder.

This is Mudd. -Henry Mudd.

Well, Henry, you've arrived at precisely the right time.

I'd say there's plenty more where these came from, but there isn't.

That's how special these two are to me.

Go on. Take a few.

Now we're talking. -You too, Henry.

Come on, one for later.

Beautiful.

All right, gentlemen, I'm doing the rounds.

If anyone asks, these are going two for a dime.

Good to meet you, Henry Mudd.

You can drop your bags.

Uh, they told me to check in at the administration tent.

Well, that's what you should do, then.

Do you know where it is?

Well, you follow this path up here,

and when you hit the latrines, you take a left,

and the Administrations is the second tent on the right.

Thanks.

I'll be right back.

Yeah.

Great. That's fucking great.

Oh, fuck. Third tent!

It's the third tent on the right!

All right, I want you to pay particular attention

to this right here.

The heaviest flak is supported right here and here.

Yes? -Sir, I'm here to report...

Are you the gunner? -I'm a gunner, yes, sir.

Crosby, your tail gunner's here!

Hurry up, then! We're going up in four minutes!

This has been cleared last week as another squadron...

Uh, sir, I'm a side gunner, not a... I don't...

Go, go, go! -Yes, sir.

What? -Knife?

I'm not your mother, Dunbar, but here.

What's your name?

Major.

You're not a major. -No, no. That's my name.

Well, I'm not calling you Major.

What's your Christian name? -Major. It... it's Major.

No, your... your Christian name.

He means what's your first name.

That's what I'm saying. My first name is Major, too.

You're kidding me. -You serious?

It's a funny story.

My... my mother was rather exhausted from giving birth

to me... she had lost a lot of blood.

Uh, my father filled in the forms.

And he calls you Major? -It's my middle name, too.

Let me get this right.

Your father named you Major Major Major?

He came back into the ward, and he said to my mother,

"I've named him Caleb in accordance with your wishes."

But... but he was lying.

You're Sergeant Major Major Major?

Uh, yeah. I've... I've made peace with it.

Tell me this. Have you had a tough life?

You can call me Caleb. Even just... just Cal would be okay.

Hey, fellas!

This guy's name is Major Major Major.

Sir.

What is this nonsense? -It's meat, sir...

and vegetables, I think.

God, abominable.

I will have sardines on toast in my tent.

Of course, sir.

Did you hear about that plane this afternoon?

What plane? -That plane went down

that the kid was on.

What kid? -Mudd.

Who's Mudd? -The kid from our tent.

Oh, shit.

He didn't even unpack his kit.

He went down? -He's gone.

Done and dusted.

Poor guy.

Oh!

Oh, fuck! -There goes the hot water.

Oh!

Yeah, yeah, yeah, well, it's, uh... it's a type of oil valve.

I actually know how to modify that.

I'm not sure I can take this shit.

A little cold water never hurt nobody, Yo-Yo.

No, I can't fly more missions.

We're winning this thing, Yossarian.

You've already flown 16 missions.

25 and we can go home.

Yeah, I can't do nine more.

Well, we're winning this war.

That's what they say, anyways.

You know, Rome is about to fall,

and the Germans are toast.

The Germans are toast. Exactly.

No more planes. Ground troops only.

And they're all retreating.

So why the hell are we still flying missions?

'Cause we got to... we got to polish them off.

Well, you can polish them off.

I don't want to be the one who dies showing them the door.

There's something wrong with my liver.

What's wrong with it?

Well, it hurts. -Where does it hurt?

In my liver. -Will you show me exactly?

Uh...

That's not your liver. -Are you sure?

Well, well, well...

Doc! -Let me guess.

Liver?

Thank you, Sue Anne.

Do I need to call the priest? -What are you doing here?

I asked myself the same question.

I go where they tell me to go.

So...

are you actually sick this time?

I feel sick. -Yeah, but are you sick?

I honestly feel sick. -So do I.

But that doesn't mean I am.

Look, I've flown 16 missions. The mission quota's 25.

I have nine left to fly. They're entirely pointless.

I mean, the Germans are on the run, right?

So I figure I just wait it out in here,

if that's okay with you.

So the Germans fold, and then what do you think happens?

Then I go home.

You do realize we're fighting a war in the Pacific right now?

And as soon as Europe is done, if you haven't already been

formally discharged, they're gonna ship you

straight out there, and you do not want to go there.

They got malaria there. Yeah.

They got fungus. They got two kinds of fungus.

They got a fungus that gets in your brain and eats it.

They got parasites. They got leeches.

I'd fly your nine missions, if I was you.

Hello, sir?

Major de Coverley, sir?

Hello, sir.

Sorry to interrupt, sir.

But I think you're gonna want to see this.

What? Where'd you get these?

From the highlands of Scotland, sir.

Is that so? -Yes, sir.

These are highland lamb chops.

These lambs... oh, they're fed on the richest,

greenest clover in all of Great Britain all day long.

I have a friend at the RAF base in Donibristle

who manages to clear a little space for an icebox

on one of the courier planes.

I could have these for you every week, sir.

Donibristle.

Sunday lamb chops, we could call them.

Walk with me.

They're not the easiest things to come by.

If our friend in Scotland is sending us a steady supply

of lamb chops... -Okay.

Give me another one of these. -Of course, sir.

If our friend in Scotland is sending us a steady supply of lamb chops,

I really should be giving him something in return.

Now, don't get me wrong. He's a lovely man.

But the lamb chop situation...

As we all know, sir, ours is a mercantile world.

It's a world of give and take.

Our friend in Scotland, for instance,

has a fondness for Sicilian olives, which I can get.

Now, if I was Mess Officer, I'd have control

of the flight manifests of the cargo planes...

the outgoings, the incomings,

and so on and so forth.

Our friend in Scotland would be happy in the northern mists

with his olives. You'd be happy with your lamb chops.

I could devote my full attention to such matters,

and it's not just Donibristle we're talking about.

Do you like strudel, sir?

Everybody likes strudel, son.

That's exactly right, sir.

And when was the last time you had strudel, sir?

Not recently. -Me neither, I miss it.

I miss it, too.

As do I. -Me too.

Well, it needn't be this way.

We shouldn't have to miss strudel, sir.

If I was Mess Officer, I could fix it.

What's your name, son?

I'm Milo Minderbinder, sir. I'm 27 years old.

Clear sailing today, fellas.

Like a day in the country.

Clear skies up ahead.

Beautiful day for a milk run, boys.

Blue skies. Cloud nine.

Holding steady at two-four-eight.

Two-four-eight, 70.200.

Got to be on top of it. Where we at?

Closing in on target. 30 seconds to run.

Copy that. 30 seconds.

Yo-Yo, you ready?

Yo-Yo, drop them, and let's get the fuck out of here.

Holding steady.

Oh, shit!

Oh, hold on! We got it! Hold on!

Look out! Will you hurry the fuck up?

Jesus Christ.

Not a milk run anymore, fellas.

Here we go again. Hold steady.

Harvey, where we at?

Hey, McWatt, bring her to 066.

Roger that.

Steady! Steady!

All right, boys, we're approaching.

Yossarian, what's your heading?

Hey, Yossarian, you got to get above me.

Hey, Yossarian, you hear me?

Yo-Yo, what the fuck is going on down there?

Yossarian.

Oh! -Holy shit!

What the fuck was that?

Oh! -Holy fuck!

What happened to Dunbar?

Was he wearing his chute?

We're getting close!

Hold steady. Seven-six.

Uh... -Here I go!

Okay.

You there, Yo-Yo?

Steady! Hold steady!

Drop them, Yo-Yo.

Go, goddamn it! Nately, we're holding!

Shut up!

Yossarian, we're approaching. You got that?

I got it, I got it!

Ten seconds.

Steady.

Oh, shit!

And...

Drop them!

Okay, bombs away!

Okay, uh, McWatt, get us out of here!

Get us the goddamn fuck out of here!

Oh, shit!

Oh, fuck!

His face...

it was right there.

And it was one of those moments when...

you know...

It couldn't have been more than half a second... less than that.

But he was...

I can see everything.

Every hair in his nostril, that crooked tooth.

And his eyes...

there was no life flashing before them or any of that.

It's just terror.

That's all it was.

Shit.

Yo-Yo, that ain't right.

Gentlemen.

Gentlemen!

Gentlemen!

Gentlemen!

What's gotten into you fellas today, huh?

Come on, guys!

Because...

What is this, ladies' night out?

Hmm?

Is this ladies' night out, by any chance,

Lieutenant Colonel Korn? -No, sir, it is not.

Are you ladies settled?

All right, then.

I'm Colonel Cathcart, and as of now,

I'm in charge of you sorry-ass bunch of homosexuals.

Now, I understand that you were very fond of Colonel Copeland.

Well, guess what. Boo-hoo. I know Jerry Copeland.

He's an outstanding commander,

and he is an upstanding American.

And guess what.

Nothing changes, gentlemen.

Oh, the faces may change.

But our purpose and our resolve remain the same.

We keep doing things the same way we've been doing them

because we are the United States Army Air Force.

And what is our purpose?

Anybody.

Unbelievable. -Soldier.

To defeat the enemy, sir. -To defeat the enemy.

Now, some of us... some of us are making the ultimate sacrifice

on land, on sea, and in the air,

while others of us apparently think

we are at the Ladies' Auxiliary fucking Fund-raiser!

You are American officers!

And the officers of no other army in the world

can make that statement!

You think about that.

Now, let's get down to brass tacks.

I am gonna toughen you ladies up.

And here's where I'm gonna start.

I have decided to raise the mission count from 25 to 30.

That's exciting, isn't it? You're goddamn right it is!

30 missions effective immediately.

We're winning this thing, gentlemen.

We're beating the bastards.

So three cheers for us.

Hip, hip! -Hooray.

Hip, hip! -Hooray!

You're goddamn right hooray!

Doc, look, you got to help me.

Let's forget about the liver.

You can ground me if I'm crazy, right?

Oh, sure, I have to. I have to ground anyone who's crazy.

Then ground me. I'm crazy.

You're not crazy. -But I am! Ask anyone.

They'll tell you how crazy I am.

Yeah, but they're crazy.

Then why don't you ground them?

Why don't they ask me to ground them?

'Cause they're crazy. That's why. -Of course they're crazy.

I just told you they're crazy, didn't I?

And you can't have crazy people decide

whether you're crazy or not.

Is Orr crazy? -Oh, he sure is.

Can you ground him? -I sure can.

But first he has to ask me to.

Then why doesn't he ask you? -Because he's crazy.

You'd have to be crazy to want to keep flying combat missions.

Sure, I can ground Orr. But first he has to ask me to.

And that's all he has to do to be grounded?

That's it. Just let him ask.

And then you can ground him?

No, then I can't ground him.

Why not? -Catch-22.

Anyone who wants to get out of combat duty isn't really crazy.

Catch-22 specifies that a concern for one's own safety

in the face of danger... real and immediate...

is the process of a rational mind.

What?

Orr's crazy, and therefore he can get out

of flying combat missions... all he has to do is ask.

But as soon as he asks, he's no longer crazy,

and so he has to fly more missions.

What?

Orr would be crazy to want to fly more missions

and sane if he didn't, but if he's sane,

then he has to fly them.

If he flies them, then he's crazy,

and so he doesn't have to.

But if he doesn't want to, then he's sane,

and so he has to.

That's some catch, that Catch-22.

It's the best there is.

It's getting hot up here, fellas.

Oh, shit!

All right, boys, just hold it steady right here.

Hold steady! -Holy fuck.

Closing in on target. 30 seconds to run.

Okay, that's 30 seconds to run.

30 seconds, fellas!

Hold steady.

Okay, copy that!

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