All language subtitles for Hot Metal s02e02 The Joker To The Thief

Papers, papers, give us your daily news.

Papers, papers,

we'll tell you what's the news. Just buy
your papers, papers,

we'll tell you what's the news.

Get buy your papers!

Okay, Jack, so, intro.

Mrs. Brenda Turpin is waving goodbye to
all those fattening pork pies, pastries

and puds.

Dash, thanks to the Crucible.

Porky Brenda, who tips the scales at 23
and a half stone, admits she can never

stick to a normal diet.

So this week, at her own insistence, the
Crucible had her mouth surgically wired

up and she's got to tell you again.

Away from all those catching naughty
nibbles.

Say, blubbery Brenda, thanks to the
crucible, I shall be in this cage for a

month eating nothing but low -calorie
carrot juice through a straw.

Well, that's it then, Mrs Turpin. We've
got a couple of the lads coming up from

the packing bench to take you home
again. We shan't keep you long.

the health and beauty feature tied up.

Yeah, page seven.

Oh, hello. Good morning, Dickie. How are
you today? I just ran into Greg Kettler

on the lift who said he was on his way
to investigate a story that tennis

Boris Becker was a lesbian.

It's somewhat flimsy evidence that he's
been seen going out with women.

Now, this is just a kind of pernicious
path that Mr. Rathbone brought me in to

stamp out.

I've sent Ketlock instead to do a piece
on the government's new blueprint for

primary schools.

Could make a decent spread.

Are our infants getting the education
they deserve?

How do teachers in the 80s measure...
Hold that right there.

Two washed oranges, like this.

what the number nine looks like.

Yes.

I think you'll find that's the one
that's like a balloon on a stick.

Now, perhaps you'd answer a question of
mine. Do you or do you not have in your

school library, freely available for all
the children to see, a copy of the book

Rumpelstiltskin?

Rumpelstiltskin. No, we don't have any
copy of that book in the school. I see.

harmless fairy tale.

banned by the left -wing council, no
doubt, for depicting subjugation of

child abuse, and derisive references to
disabled laws.

Mr. Dillon, if Mr.

Kittle doesn't keep quiet, I shall have
to bring him out the front and give him

a smack on the bottom.

Sorry, Mrs. Strong, phone call for you
in your office. Thank you, sir.

All right, class, you can all start
sharpening your pencils.

When I come back, I shall tell you what
to do with them.

Thank you very much, gentlemen.

Thank you.

There was a going to be next week,
Russell. The crucible's cure for acne?

Simply stick your head in a guillotine?

You must think I'm some kind of
simpleton.

Last night, I went through the crucible
and made a list of all its major faults.

The minor ones are being delivered later
in a pantechnicon.

Now then, first of all, the use of
labels in headlines.

Cliff Plunge Baby Horror.

Great Girl.

Skin Graft Boy.

Herpes Man.

I think a 70 -year -old man who's been
horribly injured in the war feels about

being christened No Dick O .A .P.

So now, all headlines like this come to
me first for approval. Is that

understood? Without your say -so,
Dickie, they shall not pass.

Oh, ten o 'clock.

Is it time for your regular morning
briefing with Mr Rathbone?

Oh, God, yes.

Yes, it is. It's just the sort of place
I've been looking for, Derek, as a

little weekend pied -à -terre.

A deceptively spacious four -lagooned
island.

situated in the fashionable part of
Fiji.

They're asking a seven -figure sum for
it, which, if I were a rabid, mercenary

capitalist, I'd simply cream off from
the Crucible's record profits in the

of a fat director's bonus, because a
profiteering act would fly in the face

my principles as a lifelong socialist
and champion of the working classes.

Ah,

Dickie, come in.

Derek, we'll talk later.

Dickie! You're looking well.

How's tricks down on the 15th floor?

Walk me along nicely, Mr. Rathburn. I
think Spam's realized I'm getting wise

his various little shenanigans now.

Russell Spam's various little
shenanigans are the nest of maggots in

of my eye.

Crucible needs new blood, Dickie, and
you're the man to give it.

It's too much mischief of a copy.

Reaching the newspaper.

Copies such as this.

Entry for the Crucible diary page which
has been brought to my attention by

presence unknown.

Why is movie megastar Meryl Streep
looking so pleased with herself just

Thoughts is close to the American beauty
face because she's madly in love with

Mr. Terence Rathbone.

A little more media mogul and lifelong
socialist.

The two are rumoured to have met while
bopping at a New York nightclub.

The district immediately fell for the
millionaire philanthropist's hunky good

looks.

To the young 62, Rathbun is said to have
the bedroom staying power of a man half

his age.

Nevertheless,

I cannot in all conscience bar you from
publishing the story. It would be a

gross invasion of your editorial
independence.

You must just pay it away and do with it
as you will.

Don't worry, sir.

This is just the kind of unbelievable
drivel I determined to stop you.

Rest assured, your reputation is totally
safe with me.

Indeed, Dickie, indeed.

And that's why you have to be ever so
clever to become a reporter.

Because it's the job of the reporter to
make sure every word you read in your

newspaper is completely true.

What the hell's going on? Get away from
that blackboard at once! Also, before

you let a strange man into your house to
search through your belongings, always

ask to see his press card first. Oh!

It's true that he's a bona fide member
of Her Majesty's press corps.

Jack, read it to me again.

Sex show shocker for tiny tots.

Five -year -old kiddies at a London
infant school were this week forced to

witness bizarre sexually explicit acts
involving a man being beaten with a cane

by a busted blonde in high -heeled
boots.

Mistress Mrs Rowena Strong, who had
earlier invited reporter Greg Kettle to

part in a kinky spanking session, then
joined with another woman in leather

skirt and black stockings in a threesome
of flagellation and female dominance.

Pupil Darren Jessop, five and a half,
commented, I blame the loopy liberals on

Camden Council.

Since they appointed Mrs Strong, Sudbury
Road Infants has become more like St.

Pervo's Academy for Sexual Deviants.

I've had the headmistress on the phone
for two hours this morning.

I just managed to pacify on the end by
saying we'd go back there today to do a

proper story.

This time showing the school that it
really is.

The truth, Greg. Do I make myself clear?

Clear as crystal, Mr. Lipton. I'm on my
way.

Something wrong with the system,
Russell.

Stories are still slipping through
without my seeing them. I've had no

three nights worrying about it, Dickie.

As custodian of our morals, you must be
free to monitor all material. But now

that we're computerised, it couldn't be
easier.

On this key system, you can AMDIS into
your edition menu.

with a standard page digit code and then
simply access to your story display

with the relevant alphanumeric command.
It's all in the manual.

Here.

Hello, copy? Greg Kettle here with the
truth about Sudbury Road Infant School.

Catch line, hookers.

This was at St. Pervo's Academy in North
London.

Yesterday shocked parents with a new
addition to her kinky curriculum.

Lettons in prostitution.

I watched in horror as during an
innocent school outing, Rauchy

Rowena Strong led a party of little
girls through King's Cross, a well

soliciting point for call girls.

Then she explained how, when there were
no policemen about, They should stand on

street corners looking out for men in
cars.

Always wait under red lights.

When I approached one little girl and
asked, did she do French, she replied,

quotes, no, but my 12 -year -old sister
does.

I made an excuse and left.

Aha! Got it, Russell!

More sex shock than it's... school of
sin.

Herbert unveils his new top training
department.

Oh, sorry, Dickie, I've just kicked your
plug out.

Mr. Lipson flashed just in from AP.

A 34 -year -old woman rushed to hospital
with a major heart attack.

No, Jack, I've acquired too many
important...

There, that's that little story squash,
Russell.

A woman, Mrs. Brenda Turpin, suffered a
coronary thrombosis brought on by a

massive uncontrolled eating spree of 112
Danish pastries.

Her husband, Mr. Arthur Turpin, said,
this is all the fault of that bastard

Lipton for looking after that cage.

I'm going right round there now and
break his bloody neck.

I'll just lock this door just now, just
in case.

Mr Turpin, a burly 15 -star window
cleaner, then declined to make any

comments.

Right!

You little tosser!

I should warn you, I won't vote for
Cambridge!

Um, what do you want me to do with this
new intro, Russell? Girl who... bitten

on the chest by a black mamba.

Read it out to me, Maggie, will you,
please?

How's it done?

Snakes Alive.

Zookeeper Trudy Dangerfield is on the
danger lift after one of her slippery

specimens in the reptile house made a
beeline for her bee cup.

As 19 -year -old Trudy was rushed into
intensive care with a boob full of

snake poison, it was a case of fangs for
the mammary.

Condition is described as critical.

Critical, Maggie, much better.

Have a look at this one now, will you?

Are our courts tough enough on sex
offenders? Should rapists be castrated

birth?

Reel out a few judges, see what they're
going to say.

Good one, Russell.

Oh.

The last thing.

Where am I?

The last thing I remember.

is going to hit that man.

A devastating display of pugilism,
Dickie. You broke both hands on his

Oh.

As a result of your absence from the
office, Spam has disgraced the Crucible

again with this sordid perversion of the
truth.

Merrill's just wild about twigging.

Screen eyes. Little Miss Cheap spends
nights of luck with millionaire text

machines.

I'm shattered, Dickie, after your solemn
reassurances that such salacious gossip

would never see the light of day. I
can't think how could possibly... Cuties

come late in the day, Dickie. Frankly, I
think it's time you got off that fat

backside of yours and did something
about this odious trashmongering.

Now, don't try to move. They've strapped
you in for extra safety.

Dunstan. And in the case of indecent
exposure, would you tar and feather them

before or after you put a padlock on the
genitals?

Fine.

Okay. Well, thanks for your help.

Hello, is that the home of Mr. Justice
Hitchcock?

Um, David Crucible newspaper here. I
wondered if I could... Jesus Christ.

How the hell did you find out about
this? I'm sorry?

Uh, yeah. We have no statement to make
at this moment in time.

Uh, not until all the relatives have
been informed.

Relatives? I'm sorry?

Hello,

St. Demian's Hospital?

Administrator's office, please.

Hello,

Daily Crucible here, Maggie Troon. Have
you had any details in about a death at

the home of Mr Justice Hitchcock in the
village of Purlington, please?

That's exactly what I wanted to know.
Bye -bye.

Well, it's about what we expected,
Russell.

The press counsel's ruled that the
Sudbury Road infant coverage was

sensationalistic, and wholly and utterly
without any foundation whatever.

Yes. Single out as especially vindictive
was today's testimonial by a so -called

handwriting expert that the loops and
curls in Mrs.

Strong's rendition of the cat's hat on
the mat

Dearly so. She is a raving nympho and
bondage freak.

Well, how can they argue with hard facts
like that?

What, the only thing we... Dickie,
you've regained consciousness.

Either that or I'm still dreaming. Let
me see.

No, this could only be part of some
hideous nightmare. I must be awake.

Over the court jester, Dickie. I'm sorry
to dash, but Jack and I are needed down

at Playstop. Russell, what about...

Yes, what do you want?

Um, a bag of chips would go down quite
well.

Can't you read the sign on the door?

Yeah, it says open.

Everywhere seems to be locked up. The
place is like a ghost town.

What's going on?

Stand over there.

The, uh...

Blue bottles a bit frisky round here,
are they?

Could have been him, couldn't you?

The psychopathic killer what's on the
loose out there.

Psychopathic killer, eh?

My lucky day.

No, no, no.

Nothing like that, fortunately.

I'm a reporter from the Daily Crucible.

Crucible cleans up St.

Pervos.

Extracurricular activities at the Burbos
Academy are over. It's official.

A press council investigation into the
school for scandal found yesterday no

kinky beatings, no spanking sessions, no
lessons in prostitution.

Crucible editor Russell Spann says
thanks to our clean -up campaign,

children can return... Thanks to our
clean -up campaign.

This hunt paid.

I order you to remove it this instant.

Very well, Dickie.

Oh, come, you're... First edition's
halfway up the M1.

Jack, get down there and change this
flash for the later editions.

It is great. Change it to what, Mr
Lipson? Change it to... You've got a

major front page lead up your sleeve,
have you?

Hello?

It's Maggie here.

I'm down in some godforsaken hole in
Hertfordshire, and I think I've got a

one.

Mass murder?

They found four bodies, ten o 'clock
this morning, at the home of the High

judge, Justice James Hitchcock, as in
Alfred.

His wife, his son, his daughter -in
-law, and their 14 -year -old son.

Apparently they were found lying in
pools of blood, with their throats cut.

Nice, eh?

Yes. Look, I'll hand you over to
Russell, Maggie.

The weird thing is, the old boy himself,
Judge Hitchcock, has apparently

vanished. Can't be traced anywhere.

So, you know, finger suspicion and all
that.

I've rung the nick and they're holding a
formal press conference tomorrow

morning. Yeah, but if we run it tonight,
it'll be exclusive.

OK, Maggie, give me everything you've
got.

Jack, just at a spot of good news, four
people hacked to death in Hertfordshire.

Just a minute.

In a statement just issued, said there
was no truth at all in the rumour that

Miss Meryl Streep was expecting his
baby.

Accordingly, he was planning to sue his
own newspaper for libel.

Where such pernicious rumours originate
is a complete mystery to me, gentlemen.

Ladies, however...

My lawyers have, during the last hour,
concluded an out -of -court settlement

with the Crucible for a seven -figure
sum by way of damages, which I trust

marked an end to the whole tasteless
affair. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have

urgent flight to Fiji to catch. Good
night to you all!

Terrific, Maggie!

Murder me, lad.

Justice Jim flees cutthroat carnage in
hack -up house horror.

That bath bin sparks midnight manhunts
for jugular judge.

Yes, sounds great, Russell.

Listen, Russell, there is a school of
thought around here that the killer may

actually still be on the loose in this
village.

You know, lurking around, waiting for
his next victim.

So, um, if you don't need me here
anymore... Good thinking, Meg.

Better stay put.

Homicidal psychopath might strike again
at any moment. And when he does, the

crucible won't be...

Oh, Tom, stop.

On any page you'll find disaster,
servants killing off his master, and a

with some sordid sex appeal.

Someone's secrets we have grabbed,
famous facts that we have stabbed.

Now you want to know whether...