All language subtitles for Hot Metal s02e01 Religion Of The People.eng

Harold Jotlin Singer was a giant among
newspaper men.

The day he accepted my invitation to
become the executive managing editor of

Daily Crucible, I gave thanks to God and
wept for three hours.

For I knew that I was not fit to lick
the back bumper of his Vauxhall Nova.

Only a month ago.

He went on a brief holiday to the
Bahamas.

A holiday he was to cut short when he
heard the Crucible's plans to publish

memoirs of Molly Sudden's gynecologists.

It is now three and a half weeks since
his plane went missing in the Bermuda

Triangle.

And we can only fear the worst, that he
has died a horrific and hideously grisly

death. But stone dead though he be.

He is yet remembered and revered, and
this much I promise, come what may, we

remain, we who cherish all that is good
in British journalism will never forget

the name of...

Twelve months ago this week,
multimillionaire Terence Twiggy Rathbone

the ailing Daily Crucible, then
acknowledged as the dreariest newspaper

English language.

A paper so dull, proofreaders had been
known to go into a terminal coma while

taking the weather report.

Within weeks, Rathbone's new editor,
Russell Spam, had revived the Crucible's

flagging fortunes with a heady brew of
inventive gimmicks.

racy storylines, and aggressive
advertising.

Today, Rathbone's plans for a new
evening paper, The London Fog, are said

well -advanced, along with a special
Braille edition of The Crucible for

people.

Mr. Rathbone, rumor has it you may soon
be introducing new printing technology.

And your plan is to lose 60 % of the
workforce the British way through a

combination of natural wastage and
industrial accidents.

I'm looking to reassure your workers.

British print workers are the salt of
the earth, Dickie.

I, as a lifelong socialist, have only
their best interests at heart.

Yes, you claim to be a lifelong
socialist and have done ever since

back into power at the last election.
Though this time last year you were

saying, and I quote, all socialists are
a festering canker on the backside of

society.

Incredibly out of context there, Dickie.
No, no, no, no.

I've always been a staunch supporter of
the Labour movement.

And I've nothing but admiration for this
new royal commission they've set up to

investigate the insidious right -wing
press barons who are monopolising our

newspapers.

The British press has a fine, noble
tradition moulded by the greatest men of

time. Rothermere, Beaverbrook,
Northcliffe, and... this man,

whose name will never be forgotten.

Our task now, though Herculean, is to...
Select his successor. In the

meantime, his spirit lives on at the
Crucible as a testament to the values of

decency and good taste in modern
journalism.

Turn that dribble off, will you, Jack?

I'm sorry, Greg.

Yeah, 5 .9 inches, yes.

6 .2 inches.

All right.

And Prince Edward?

All right.

I may suffer him at all.

Yes, true.

What sort of man, Mr. Ratburn, will you
be looking for as the new managing

editor of The Crucible?

Let me tell you the sort of man I won't
be looking for, Dickie.

An intellectual figurehead, a sham.

whose only purpose is to give the paper
a spurious credibility in the eyes of

the authorities.

I think you know the sort.

Television's littered with them. The
smarmy little former announcer with his

afternoon show thinks he's a journalist
and wouldn't know a news story from a

lump of dust.

Oh, we need someone who is strong and
dynamic.

Someone like yourself, Dickie, who I've
always admired ever since you used to

read the late -night pig prices on
Chilton Radio.

Not really, Mr. Rathburn.

You're a man who doesn't know the
meaning of the word illiterate, Dickie.

took Sharp and Operator to be taken in
by key polyflattery.

Thank you very much, sir.

The principal's editor, Russell Pound,
is getting too big for his boots. He

needs to be taken down a peg or two, and
you could be the man to do it, Dickie.

Mr. Richard Lipton will assume his new
position with immediate effect, and I'm

confident he'll uphold the same
standards of integrity as his

predecessor, whose name will never be
forgotten.

He will be frank, vociferous, and
outspoken in every way.

Yes, and in particular, I'd just like to
say... That's all we have time for

nowadays.

Dickie? This is the proudest moment of
my life, to serve underneath a man whose

tough and gritty skills I've admired
ever since he used to present Birthday

on Anglia television, dressed in a giant
rabbit suit.

Just the sort of dynamic force... All
right, Russell, that's enough of that

flannel. I'm here today with a personal
mandate from Mr Rathbone to clean this

paper up, starting with this little gem.

The male members of the royal family,
how do they measure up to each other?

This is nothing short of pornography.

Where did you get this information?

Insiders at the palace, Dickie.
Insiders? What are the insiders? Prince

trousers?

Now on, Russell, the Crucible will find
rather more elevated topics to fill its

columns. Is that clear?

As crystal, Dickie.

Nothing could be more elevated than my
next piece of news.

Today, gentlemen, Ladies, I signed on
the most sensational newspaper columnist

in publishing history. Someone more
qualified than anyone else alive to

about global affairs and declining human
morals in the world today.

Really, Russell? Who's that?

God.

God,

Dickie. Every Thursday starting this
week, God will contribute 500 words

exclusively to the daily crucible. The
words in this case being conveyed to us

through a very holy man who is the
almighty chosen prophet on earth.

Ah, I see.

You mean a spokesman for the church
putting forward the holy gospel in the

of a... Lifton.

Oh, yes, Mr. Rathbone.

Really?

Yes, I'd be delighted to, sir.

This evening.

Yes, I've been asked to address a
special conference of Polynesian

editors in John O 'Groats this evening.

Congratulations, Dickie, an honour
indeed.

Remember,

Russell, no fast ones while I'm gone.
I'd as soon slit my grandmother's

Dickie.

holy man of God, who was the Almighty's
chosen prophet on Earth, Russell. You

didn't tell us his name.

Sergeant Major Ken Lutterworth of the
Essex Light Infantry.

Yes, I've been imbued with the Holy
Spirit since last February, I think it

February the 13th.

I gather God came to you in an
amphibious landing craft.

Sometimes.

Fine.

Well, Sergeant Major, this will be very
useful background for our readers, so

it's been a real... Yes, well, the key
is, you see, not to let army work rule

your life.

A lot of people in my position, military
procedure, gets into their system.

They can't shake it off.

Would you like a cup of tea?

Oh, lovely.

Sugar? Yes, please.

So I made you a lot of work, Mrs
Brinsdale. Two teas, one with, one

the lounge. On the double, thank you.

Is this more than you?

No, I'm fine.

I'm sorry about that.

Yes, it's more like a transcendental
experience, really.

The material world seems to recede, and
slowly my mind becomes intoxicated with

God's only knowledge.

That's when it's best to get it all
down, you see. On to paper.

Yeah, that's really paper.

I've got to get tablets of stone for the
typewriter.

Well, it's all there.

Any spelling mistakes of mine?

Not God's.

He's infallible, of course.

Of course.

Well, I'd better skip the cuppa. They're
all on tenterhooks with this back at

the office.

Is that an article by Derek Jameson
there?

You know, I think he's so astute and
witty, that man. He really puts his

on it.

I don't think I've seen this one.

Well, you can take it. I'm finished with
it. That's fine. Oh, thanks very much.

I'll send it right back.

Um, well, I'd better split now. Um,
thanks for your time.

It's always a pleasure to meet a really
rational and socially responsible human

being for a change.

God,

that resulted in you being left.

Today, the first of a series of hard
-hitting articles, God, the creator of

heaven and earth, speaks frankly in
modern issues.

Anyone who's thugged terror on streets
with surgical commander arrays, by God,

that's part of the nature of the matter
world.

Make no bones about it, the world I
created has become a hotbed of sin.

As God, here's my five -point plan to
stamp out crime and thuggery now.

Send in the troops to curb inner -city
violence.

Who? Deploy crack FAS units at all
soccer grounds.

There's no gas to be standard issue.

There you go, Dickie.

Not a bad one, is it?

Switchboard's jammed already. People
ringing up to say how much they agree

God, asking if he can cure their
sciatica.

It's hogwash, Russell.

You don't believe all this God rubbish.

Oh, thank you not to blaspheme in
public, Dickie.

Especially in front of a born -again
Christian such as myself, or to Jack

a devout Quaker, all his life.

Oh. Well, I didn't mean... Sorry, I
didn't mean to, um... So, next week,

jack it up a stage further. We'll launch
the Crucible's new Pray In hotline.

Direct to God.

The almighty Agony Ark. What could we
call it?

Dear God. Dear God! Good one, Dickie.

Here it is, sweetheart.

Right, I make that 17 this morning a
record even for us.

17, Dickie, 17 what?

Well, let's see if we can spot the
common link, shall we?

AIDS riddle hairdresser in tainted perm
shock.

AIDS dentist slams false teeth of death.

MNS denies undies and no return AIDS
blow.

AIDS scare biscuit barrel ends WI coffee
mornings. Do I need to go on?

Highly important. subject, Dickie. All
the more reason for us, Russell, to

it in a mature and responsible manner
instead of all this mindless, trumped

gobbledygook.

I agree, Dickie.

Only an intellectual beat -him -off of
your acute perception could have spotted

it. I was blind, but now I see.

From now on, we'll adopt an altogether
different, more moderate approach.

It's more as I'd splash, Russell. Get me
there.

London Transport is today playing down
rumours that the public could catch AIDS

on the Metropolitan Line.

I wonder what rumours those could be.

The rumours, published exclusively in
yesterday's Crucible, came the

Underground's chief seat -up hosterer
once shared a Mars bar with a man who'd

been to San Francisco.

Jack, that story makes me ashamed to
belong to the British press.

dwells a visionary who alone can point
out the error of our tawdry ways.

Dickie, from now on, the Crucible's
attitude to this problem will change.

going to put our most reliable and
sensitive reporter on it.

Jack, give me Greg Kettle.

Excuse me.

Very well, but shut the door as you
leave. There are set regulations. Great

Tittle, Her Majesty's Press.

I shall have to ask you to direct me to
the Confidential NHS Records Department,

if you please.

I beg your pardon.

These documents are for internal use
only.

So are suppositories.

Might be available to the general
public.

I am afraid that unless you allow me
unrestricted access to your files, I

have you up under the Official Secrets
Act.

Oh, my goodness.

Can you do that?

Yes, I can.

Now, one moment, please. Before you open
these files, I have to see your

identification. Yes. Um, yes.

Oh, well, that seems to be in order.
Can't be too careful with these, eh?

fine to see.

What file exactly did you want?

A file of AIDS, stereo.

Sorry. The list of all those people who
have had positive test results for the

AIDS virus.

Right.

The government insisted there wasn't
one, so I knew it must be here

Oh, my God!

What are you doing?

By the powers of Her Majesty's press, I
hereby commandeer this vehicle. Drive on

as fast as you can.

Oh, but I was just going to...

This man Lutterworth, Maggie, he's
completely loony, Shirley. I mean, the

of God, come on.

Well, loonies are our bread and butter,
really, aren't they?

Of course, Lutterworth's no ordinary
loony. There's something very odd about

him. What do you mean? What do you mean,
no ordinary loony?

Well, this is just a theory of mine, but
I think that Lutterworth... No, I

better not. I'll wait till I'm sure.

Let's just say this could all depend on
an article by Derek Jameson.

I'll keep you posted.

Yes, because I... Derek Jameson.

AIDS. The most serious medical threat to
human life this century.

According to government figures, there
are currently some 40 ,000 people in

Britain known to be carrying the virus.

And we've got a complete list of all
their names and addresses at the

Over the next two weeks, as a public
service, we're publishing the identities

all those people the government know to
be infected.

Day by day, they build into a complete
directory for handy use when selecting

your new sexual partner. Yes, who's got
it? You can't do without it. Plus, he's

authoritative. He's outspoken. He's
almighty. Yes, God joins the Crucible's

award -winning team speaking out on the
burning issues of the day.

Divorce. Abortion. How filing squads
could be useful in cutting down road

traffic offences.

They shall all suffer my mighty wrath.

Don't miss tomorrow's white -hot
crucible. The paper with integrity.

Where the hell are you? I've just come
back up from the pub to find the entire

building completely deserted. What's
going on?

We've moved, Dickie. What?

We've moved to new premises in Stepney.

What? In the tea break?

I'm sorry, Dickie, I thought you knew.

As of 5pm today, the Crucible has
transferred completely to the new ultra

-modern Rathouse newspaper complex in
the East End.

I'm the executive managing editor,
Russell. Why wasn't I told?

We had to keep it hush -hush, Dickie. We
haven't tied up all the redundancy

deals yet.

Where is it, Russell? I'm coming right
over.

Fair enough, Dickie, but when you get to
the outer ring of electrified razor

wire, stop, wave a white card or
something, we'll sell out an armoured

get you.

Russell, I've just seen the most
unspeakable TV ad.

Russell?

Excuse me, I'm looking for the new Daily
Crucible building. I think it's over

there.

I was told to wait here in case they
needed me again.

It's like the pickets have arrived.

He's going to call the major earthquake
day.

Thanks, anyway.

I owe you one.

Good, my arm. I'm glad I'm not one of
those comedy boys, you know.

Mr. Lister, what the hell's happening?

Ah, good morning, Maggie.

Well, I was speaking to Lucy last night,
so I thought, why not pop down... to

the local nick for a spot of physical
violence at the hands of Neanderthal

Questions will be asked in the house on
this one.

Listen, Mr. Lecter, never mind that.
I've got something in here that could

blow your mind.

Right.

I think we can safely say this is
another rip -roaring day in the history

Crucible, everyone. The very first
edition produced... entirely using

computerised, state -of -the -art photo
-setting technology.

Total and complete gibberish.

Not a single intelligible word in the
entire paper.

But we were bound to have some teething
troubles, Dickie. Must have been all

that lightning we had last night upset
the phone lines we were using to relay

the copy.

Memory circuits went haywire.

Quite frankly, Russell, I'm not
surprised that any newspaper would auto

-destruct. considering the unfettered
pap you were filling it with last night.

In fact, I think we can justly regard it
as a blessing in disguise that the list

of so -called AIDS carriers turned out
in the end to be completely unreadable

view of this letter I received this
morning from the DHSS.

Letter, Dickie? Yes, which contains a
rather interesting revelation that the

confidential fire purloined yesterday by
persons unknown...

In actual fact, a list of 40 ,000 people
currently waiting for hearing aids.

Hearing aids?

Next, another little editorial
humdinger, Russell. Sit down.

The holy sergeant major who speaks with
the voice of God.

Maggie? Well, when I went round there,
he definitely seemed a bit spaced out,

say the least. And there was something
very dodgy about his tobacco.

So... I managed to get hold of a paper
with some ash on it for analysis.

In short, Russell, it appears that our
friend and correspondent, Mr

recently returned from a posting in the
Far East, is an opium smoker.

Opium? Toast up with a few pipefuls of
that stuff, I'm sure we'd all feel full

of the Holy Spirit.

His brains have probably turned to
poppies in there by now.

My God, Maggie.

We can turn this into tomorrow's front.

Opium junkie sergeant who saw God in a
puff of holy smoke.

Exposed. Honoured Christian soldier's
drug dream dope pipe dupe.

Worker McCall's for his resignation.

RSM 10.

Quit crack Queen's core over shock,
smoke, shame, sensation.

See you in the front of the first four
pages.

This is going to be dynamite, Dickie.

This is the start of a new era.

After today, we'll never...

Yes, Russell, and to mark the occasion,
I brought you a present.

A message from C .P. Scott.

Oh.

Comment is free, but facts are sacred.

As long as I'm editor of the Crucible,
Dickie, this text shall be my Bible.

Good, because as long as I'm managing
editor, the Crucible will be a paper

honesty and integrity.

A paper, Russell, that in future prints
the truth.

And a story with some sordid sex.

A seal.

Someone's secrets we have grabbed.
Famous bags that we have stabbed.

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