Original subtitles

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.