Original subtitles

I like The Daily Crucible because it's a paper that makes me think.

It's extraordinarily well written, and I find its political coverage unrivaled

in sheer... Mr.

Stringer, can we keep to the point, please?

Yes, sorry, am I going to resign?

Certainly not.

The Daily Crucible and myself are here to stay. Make no mistake about that.

Papers. We'll tell you what's the news.

Just buy your papers.

Papers.

We'll tell you what's the news.

Just buy your papers.

The Daily Crucible was set up 18 months ago by a private business consortium

with a mission to print the absolute truth, free from bias and free from

distortion. It was a recipe for economic disaster.

Circulation figures and advertising revenue were so abysmal that within

the entire enterprise was being labelled the product of a diseased mind.

Then, three months later, came a sensation.

Deeply upset by allegations of the paper's poor news coverage, the

editor, Humphrey Brassett, threw himself out of his office room.

The event made front -page headlines in every national newspaper except the

Crucible, which missed the story.

The paper's new editor, Harry Stringer, Once named by a leading woman's

magazine, the dullest man in Britain was unable to stop the rot. And this week,

the signs are that the paper's backers may have to give way and sell up.

There are known to be several parties interested in buying up the Crucible,

the favourite must surely be this man, Terence Twiggy Rathbush, chairman and

managing director of the multi -million pound Rathouse International

Corporation.

Mr. Rathbone's business empire is already vast by any standards, but he

never yet fulfilled his long -cherished ambition to acquire a fleet street

daily. By this time next week, that dream may well have become a reality.

No. No, I can't talk about pay cases now. I've got a newspaper to bring out.

Bloody press.

Come in.

Just a quick one, is it, Harry? I'm halfway through an unnatural act in a

lavatory.

Sit down, Greg.

I've, uh... I've had a letter of complaint from a Mrs. Edna Sperling who

as housekeeper at the home of Lady Deborah Harrington Scott in Chelsea.

Oh, yes?

She says yesterday morning, just after Lady Deborah had gone out shopping, she

received a visit from a rather greasy -looking character who claimed to be

the North Thames gas board.

While waiting to be asked, the man pushed his way into the bedroom and

rummaging through the drawers.

Challenged on this, he said some gas had escaped and he was trying to find it.

Bizarre little story.

While we're on the subject of bizarre little stories, Greg, Prince Andrew's

girlfriend wears kinky black suspenders and that's official.

Dishy Deborah Harrington Scott, it was revealed today, has an extensive

of saucy unmentionables, including sinful French knickers and frilly lace

garters, guaranteed to give any young prince a royal flush.

How can you write this salacious odium?

Well, I suppose it's a gift.

Anyhow, if you'll excuse me... I'm not standing for it any longer, Greg, I've

had enough.

The time has come for the parting of the way.

I see.

You've made your mind up, have you? I have.

Well, I'll be sorry to see you go, Annie.

You're a bloody good editor.

I'm not going anywhere, Greg. You are.

It's all in there.

Now take it and leave my office. Go.

Harry Stringer.

What?

When?

Oh, my God, no.

This is a great day for Fleet Street, gentlemen. Under the new ownership of

House International, the daily crucible will go from strength to strength,

embodying... The noble traditions of free speech and the unrestricted flow of

information for all.

No further comment.

This is no ego trip for me, gentlemen.

I like to keep a low profile. Of course, there will be changes.

But change is the crankshaft in the drive for progress. And talking of

crankshaft, what can I say about Harry Stringer here?

the finest newsman of his generation. During his time as editor, the

gone from bad to worse.

The chair of the market has plunged to an all -time low.

But did he get downhearted? Did he go around sniveling and whining about it?

Of course he does.

Because he's a human being just like you and me, you cats.

And that's why, as from today, I'm upgrading you, Harry, with taking over

brand -new post of executive managing editor.

I'm surprised.

Oh. Well, I don't really know what to say. Finally, gentlemen, I want you to

rest assured that I shall confine my involvement on the crucible to affairs

management only.

I don't hold with megalomaniac press barons who try and stamp their politics

anything.

Punish the crucible!

must retain its independence, and that's why I've appointed as the new editor

Mr. Russell Spam.

A man whose name is synonymous with integrity in journalism.

Russell Spam? I don't think any Russ has ever heard of Russell Spam. Spam's

worked miracles on some of my African titles. He's a man after my own heart. I

think you'll like him. As a matter of fact, if you'll be here by now, if

excuse me, I'll just go and see where he's got to.

Oh.

Congratulations on becoming executive managing editor.

Thank you, Max.

What exactly does an executive managing editor do?

Well, basically, I'll be... Well, it'll be my job to...

I can't believe we've met.

I'm sorry?

to rush off before the banks closed.

Rest assured, everyone, that I shall take up this job just where you left

Your newspaper couldn't be in safer hands.

bathroom. We'd better fix you up with someone temporary. It's not ideal, but

we're a bit pushed for space.

Oh dear.

Where have you put me? In the lift?

Managing editor.

Well, I'm responsible for the... I... Well, basically, my

job now is to... Can I call you back?

Well, there's the Israeli push into the Bekaa Valley. 500 dead, according to

agency reports.

Have we got a man in the water?

Jeff Tindall's in Riyadh. I could put him straight on a plane for Lebanon.

great respect, gentlemen, this is the Daily Crucible, not the Beirut Bugle.

If I see Jewish atrocities, I can go and watch Sammy Davis Jr.

People in Britain want to know what's happening here, now.

The crucible is a limp organ. It needs pepping up.

I'm sorry, Russell, I can't agree.

The crucible's function is to provide a serious, in -depth analysis of world

affairs. Independent of external constraints? Yes.

Where the editor has complete, unfettered control?

Certainly. Free from interference from busybody executives?

Absolutely.

So, it's agreed, then, what this paper needs is new blood. Someone who can turn

out copy.

Like this story in today's Sun.

Palace playmate supports sexy sizzlers.

Exposed. The undercover secrets of Royal Romeo's perv gear princess.

Prince Andrew's new girlfriend wears kinky black suspenders and that's

But you know where the son got this nugget of gold? From a freelance called

Kettle. Well, gentlemen, that reporter is a freelance no longer. I've snapped

him up for a six -figure sum to come and work for us. You're not serious.

I don't hang about, Harry.

Life's too short.

Lady Deborah's the hottest thing on newsprint at the moment, and Kettle's

man to come up with the goods. I've sent him out this morning to Switzerland to

cover the royal skiing holiday.

I don't think he'll let her down.

Oui, qu 'est -ce que c 'est? Oh, good evening, Madame Press.

I'm looking for somewhere to spend the night. There is no room here.

Why is the hotel search?

The hotel search used is full up.

It's being used as a place by gossip columnists from Der Spiegel.

Then to pass them on time next door. Oh, that's full up as well.

Paris Match, Newsweek and the Bridlington Mercury got there first.

Everywhere's full.

Now, I'm sure you wouldn't refuse accommodation to a member of Her

Prince. You cannot possibly stay in my chalet. I appreciate your concern for my

welfare, but I've slept in worse squalor than this.

Oh, I'll just move this out of the way.

An elderly person might well... That is... That is my lodger. He's very

old. Oh, well, he'll grow out of it in due course.

Now, then, you will, of course, be recompensed for this inconvenience. The

British press is not without honour.

Invoice to our accounts department. They'll come to an arrangement.

Don't affect dentists' appointments with lust.

Atom leak mum in Boy George Mercy Dash.

Toupées cause cancer. It's a fact.

What you're concerned, Harry, it's only natural.

The concern is the squashed hedgehog on the right. Old Trinicari.

Russell's got his finger on the pulse. It's not for me to interfere.

I think I'd feel a lot happier, sir, if you could clarify exactly what are my

responsibilities as executive managing editor.

You're the top dog, Harry.

Yes. But what actually is my job?

Your job, Harry, is to... Oh, excuse me just one moment.

Now, Russell, everything under control. I've just been talking to Harry.

Harry? Harry who?

One of the finest newsmen of his generation, sir. I agree, Russell.

The man's a legend.

Exactly, but I think for me he's bothering him. Maybe I should have a

for his mind at rest.

Would you, Russell? Certainly, sir.

I'd appreciate it if you could do that.

Harry!

How's it going?

Come back to the office and we'll talk.

And as if all that wasn't bad enough, Russell.

This afternoon, I was flicking through the news desk diary, and I found this.

Under December the 23rd, exactly nine months from today, it says, Royal Baby,

question mark.

What does it mean, Russell?

It's called the freedom of the press.

It's what distinguishes our society from those of Eastern Europe. You people are

the filth of the earth.

It's a school of thought, aren't you?

Go on, get out of my room. Out!

Go on!

Bob produced a knuckle duster and socked me on the jaw.

Blob broke a small soup tureen over my head, comma, screaming, quotes, F for

Freddy, dash, dash, dash, off.

You greasy little W, dash, dash, dash, dash, dash, exclamation

marks, close quote, new part.

A palace spokesman denied that Lady Deborah has a history of heavy drinking.

Right, front page, Max, what have we got for tomorrow?

East -West summit, 200 dead in Soweto. I'm not talking about down -page

Max.

We've had our beating -up reporters. What can we do for a follow -up?

Sex scandal would just fit across five columns.

Wasn't Harry meant to be coming to this meeting, Russell?

Harry who?

Harry. Harry Stringer.

Well, probably got detained somewhere.

You know, I think that we should...

Harry who?

Harry, where are you?

Stuck? Between floors?

Well, that's terrible, Harry, just terrible.

Still, can't be helped.

Try pressing the alarm button. Bye.

Listen, I think I've got one.

Pornographic videos.

Pornographic videos?

Can you imagine the sensation if we revealed that during her days as a

Lady Deborah once took part in a porno movie?

The print lies like that.

up in the tower. They can't sue us for publishing malicious rumours in good

faith. Rumours? I've heard no rumours.

All right. Listen to this one.

Some filth merchant in Soho is peddling sex films with Lady Deborah in them.

Is he?

It could be.

We print a couple of blurred stills of a naked girl on the job and ask, is it or

isn't it the crucible?

damn deceitful and disgusting slander. There's your front lead, ma 'am.

Lady Deb in Blue Movie Queen Quiz.

Royal Throt by Shock Porn's Dawn.

The Queen forbids them to meet again. We're off to the races.

Hardcore heartbreak for Playboy Prince.

Bare all antics. Spike royal love fling.

You know, we're going to have to get maintenance to do something about these

libs.

I wish I had nipples like yours, Jane.

Hey, looks like we're just in time.

What's this one called again?

Oh, Christ knows. They're all beginning to look the same now.

Red hot nymphos from Rangoon.

is Royals cancel skiing trip and rush home to deal with porno scandal.

I'll see what I can do.

Bye.

I'll have some more toast, if you've got it.

And can you get me another cup of tea? This one's got a piece of string in it.

You know, your face looks familiar.

You weren't landlord of the Amschimmel beer garden at the time of the 76 Munich

massacre, by any chance?

What was that man's name?

Khrushchev.

Nikita Khrushchev. No, no, it began with a D.

He had a very novel way of writing his name in the froth. I used to amuse the

ladies.

What name did you say?

Khrushchev. Khrushchev?

He was leader of Russia, wasn't he?

1953 to 1964.

And then came the discreditation.

The seagulls.

The prisoners.

They were always hungry for power.

What are you all about?

The Supreme Soviet did what it could to bury my name.

My death was a fiction.

The body was for me called Bull Terrier.

I live here.

Give the only norm.

I just had a call from Harry, Russell. He tells me you've been sailing close to

the wind on this royal story.

If I've upset Harry Stringer, I'm a boy on the face of journalism, sir.

I hereby tender my resignation.

That's a fine little gesture, Russell, that I've got.

One more chance.

I'll try to be worthy of it, sir.

Oh, firm.

Look here, this ludicrous charade has gone on quite long.

I thought I'd find you both in here.

I mean,

I just... They'll skin us alive. They'll take us for every penny we've got.

Russell, this statement's just been issued by Lady Deborah's solicitors. My

what did I tell you? We're finished.

We write with reference to your front page article today alluding to an

appearance by Lady Deborah Harrington Scott in a video production titled Red

Nymphos from Rangoon.

The aforesaid article has caused deep distress and embarrassment to our client

and we hereby formally serve notice of the following. One, that our client only

took part in the above film because of her adverse financial position.

Two, that she has subsequently appeared in no other similar productions and...

Three, that she hereinafter has agreed to terminate her relationship with His

Royal Highness to spare the latter's family further embarrassment.

Sensational match. Clear the centre spread. Front three and five. We'll get

town on this one.

Great work, Russell. I knew you could do it.

Is there anything else you want me to carry?

Well, yes.

Yes, there is.

I'm just about sick and tired of all the... What?

I'm telling you, Russell, it's him.

Oh, hang on, hang on, just a second.

What do you want? What's all this rumour about Apollo video?

I can't tell you.

It's exclusive. Look, I'm sorry, I'll see you later.

What's going on? A bit of bird in there.

What? Oh, yes, I have, yes.

Inflagranti with a stunning alpine temptress goes like a rocket.

Are you going to come and finish this before it gets cold?

Russell, look, I can't talk anymore. The place is swarming with reporters.

Bring him back here at once, Greg. I don't care what it takes.

The crucible struck gold again, Harry. This could be the biggest thing since

Lazarus.

of his master and a story with some sordid sex appeal someone's secrets we

grabbed famous bags that we have stabbed now you want no