Original subtitles

Tumbling through an interdimensional vortex, Warren and Lucy discover twisted

versions of their own world, always hoping the next one will be home.

Oh. That's Mrs.

Schrodinger. Why does she keep dying? This is like the fifth time.

Her clothes. Like we've landed in some corny murder mystery cosplay.

Cos what?

Cosplay. Where people dress up as their favourite characters.

Remember when I dressed up as She -Hulk and left green footprints all over the

house? Oh, like when your mum dressed up like a nurse for my birthday. Whoa.

TMI, Dad.

And that's roleplay, not cosplay.

I used to watch heaps of murder shows with Mum.

Right about now, someone always runs in and... Lady Schrodinger's dead!

Wow.

Cosplay.

Oh, Inspector, thank God you're here.

What's happened?

Oh! Oh!

Whoa!

Check out your fellow's hard -out costumes. What a crack -up. You have an

interesting accent, Inspector.

Hard -out crack -up.

More importantly...

What on earth happened to Lady Schrodinger?

Dead.

I think the Vortex wants us to solve a murder.

Oh, OK. I'll play along.

Looks like she got... the horn.

This is no time for jokes. Good Lord, man. A woman is dead.

You said murder mystery. I was doing CSI Miami.

Wrong kind of murder show.

So, uh...

Who are you all?

Laurel de Bois, Lady Schrodinger's nurse, and yes, I am a spinster.

The Reverend Ian Worthington.

I think I need a sherry.

Colonel Muddy Fanshaw, at your service.

Mother, when did you join the army?

Oh, my God, she's dead.

Oh, the horror. I can't stand it.

I was in the war, you know.

Dr. Darwin Edwards, Professor of Peculiar Weapons at Oxford.

Bull.

Bridges, the garden keeper.

Always forgetting to set the cup off.

I don't mean to tell you how to do your job, Inspector, but the thunder waddled

the mansion, which must have caused the trophy to fall from the wall. Nothing

but a bit of woosh taxidermy.

Spot of bad weather and a bit of rotten luck, old bean.

That's ridiculous.

She's on top of the trophy. If it had fallen off, it would be on top of her.

This is no accident.

Brilliant police work, Inspector.

Actually, I was the one that... Oh, all of a sudden, I feel a little light

-headed.

Oh, Inspector,

you have very strong arms. Are you sure we haven't met before?

Well, uh... Inspector?

I need to speak to you in private.

Right now.

So it's all like one of those stupid old -school English murder mysteries.

If you found a dead person, you'd be traumatised for the rest of your life.

these people just carry on like, la -di -da -di -da, oh, a dead body. Better

have a cup of tea, old chap.

Dad, are you listening to me?

Check out these out -of -it sweets. Look, look.

Nicotine chew, whale blubber gum, black and white minstrel lollies.

Racist lollies.

It's the 1930s. Everything was racist back then.

We're trapped in a murder mystery and we're the detectives. So I reckon if we

solve the murder, vortex opens.

Boom shakalaka. Easy. It'll be the butler. It's always the butler. Dad,

I think we need to play this whole thing out. They won't listen to me, but they

will listen to smart Inspector Harrison.

Well, I just wanted to know what it tastes like.

He's dead.

I suspect murder.

Oh, I suspect murder.

But now, it's up to the brilliant Inspector Harrison to solve this heinous

crime.

Ah, yes, sweet ass.

Kia ora tatou. I bet you're probably wondering why I, the brilliant detective

fella, have assembled you all here today.

Because of the murders?

Aha! What do you know about the murders?

Lady Schrodinger has been murdered and also now the Reverend.

Their bodies are literally right here.

So, what are you, like, French or something?

May we? May we answer the question?

I smell arsenic in the sherry sherry.

I know this because I am a French spinster nurse.

And the sherry came from Swozing's drink, Twig.

It was intended for her. The reverend was just collateral damage.

So someone poisoned her sherry and impaled her on the trophy?

Someone really wanted her dead.

Although, to be fair, she was a member.

No, no, no.

Her death was a great loss, and she will be dearly missed, as will the reverend.

When will this ridiculous farce be over?

I have many things to be doing, huh? What the inspector is trying to say is

we're going to have to question you all individually to see if your stories add

up. Because the murderer has to be someone in this room.

I

was

in my quarters.

rehearsing for my latest masterpiece.

But little did I know that I would be cast in the real -life role of a

Of course, I am innocent.

Wait, no.

That was too wooden. May I try that again?

Please.

I tell you, innocent.

Wow.

You're brilliant.

Oh, you're too kind. I'm really just a... Big, hairy bear of a man, covered

blood and gunpowder. Look, I'm not here to listen to your war stories, Boomer.

What I need to know is, did you have reason to kill Mrs. Schrodinger? You

that I lifted her onto those stags' horns?

Not a chance. I've got seven bullets still stuck in my chest and a dicky knee

and a skittish bladder.

In many ways.

Between you and me, that man has never fought in the war.

And his injuries, you know, maybe some swelling around his... Gristening,

low -hanging plums.

I developed a real taste for them in the jungles of Makunda.

Sadly, they were poisonous.

I developed sepsis off both my hands.

And I couldn't whiff anyone.

With these... The shape and oaks of wood.

I took the wood to take out my frustration at the lady of the house.

She shot and killed my pet stag, you see, and mounted her dead on the wall.

But I didn't kill her, though.

I didn't.

I have a question for you, Inspector.

But I might.

Would you help me rehearse a scene?

I think you'd make a wonderful leading man.

It's a love scene.

Absolutely. Where is the inspector?

He's just finishing his investigation.

Sorry, I'm late. I was just immersing myself in some roleplay.

Well, whilst you were immersing, I solved the murder.

The killer is...

Chief Inspector Doyle.

Scotland Yard.

Chief Inspector.

No.

You're my boss.

You've been drawing on your face again, Harrison.

Goodness gracious me. Have you managed to solve this pickle scratcher yet?

As a matter of fact, I have.

I very much doubt that.

All evidence points to Beau, the disgruntled gardener.

Really? Hmm.

Very well.

I arrest you in the name of the king.

I didn't do nothing, copper.

But maybe I deserve present time for being a common working man.

But someone wanted us to think it was someone else.

Someone who knew the poison was arsenic and had access to pharmaceuticals.

Someone who's known for their impatience. When will this be over?

She poisoned the tea, poisoned the sherry, and then, when she got tired of

waiting, impaled Lady Schrodinger on the stag's head.

Imperium, Ababel.

I deny all of this. How could I possibly leave Dure? Nurse Laurel, you're an

Olympic gold medalist, n 'est -ce pas?

Mais oui.

Et dans quelle épreuve avez -vous participé?

With lifting.

Et voilà.

Based on my many years of police work, And the fact that I'm a pretty awesome

detective. I conclude that the murderer is none other than Ursula Graham.

And I rest in the name of the king.

We cheers for Inspector Doyle. Step here. Away!

For he's a jolly good fellow.

For he's a jolly good fellow.

He's a jolly good fellow.

And nobody can deny.

But I solved the murder.

Yeah, well, maybe they just need to hear it in a man's voice, honey.

Oh, I hate the 1930s. So hard right now.

What?

You're kidding me.

Why are we back here?

We solved the murder.

Have you ever noticed wherever we go, Mrs. S keeps dying?

Oh, so it's a different murder this time.

Now, what is the meaning of all this noise?

Professor Darren's been murdered.

Well, I think it's pretty obvious who did this.

He was murdered by... a Zulu.

This place is reset with a new murder.

I guess the Vortex won't let us leave until we find who the real killer is.

It's like we're stuck in one of those never -ending episodes of Black Mirror.

Stop eating that racist toffee.

But it's so good, though.

Maybe that's how they get you. It's going to make me racist.

I don't think that's how that works.

We have to find the killer or we'll be forced to repeat the sick, racist world

over and over.

Let's interview them all again.

I've known the Professor for years.

We first crossed... path in the Amazon, where he had the nerve to swipe a sacred

idol from the tribe that took me in as one of their own.

You always smelt like cucumbers.

Never trust a man who eats cucumbers.

They are the devil's fruit.

Evil cucumbers.

This is such a coodle moodle.

Professor Darren.

Wait, they're German now?

I mean, like, yeah.

The killer is...

Inspector

Doyle. Scotland Yard.

Have you thought it yet?

Yeah. But you're not going to like it.

It was him.

She was sympathetic to the plight of the native tribe Professor Darren was

exploiting. Her motive?

Vengeful justice.

This is an absolutely ghastly, gravity of justice, simply unbearable.

She's a wriggler. I will wait for you.

You'll be waiting a while.

Dad, just a reminder, that isn't mum.

Oh, yeah.

This is like Groundhog Day, but with more murder and less Bill Murray.

Come on, Dad. Let's go up another one.

Oh, no.

Not my beautiful Hennymore.

I think she's been poisoned, sir.

What? I don't know much about such things.

I'm just a humble gardener.

Not my darling Hennymore.

Dad, again.

It's not Mum.

No, I know.

Chief Inspector Doyle, girl in the yard, Nurse Laurel, with her medical

experience, is obviously the murderer, again.

Again?

Blah, blah, blah, I risked you in the name of blah, blah, blah. True.

I'm not some flaming galah who's going to get locked up for something I didn't

even do.

Never trust an Australian.

They're a penal colony, you know.

It's just going to reset us again, isn't it?

I reckon.

Maybe it's not about solving the murder.

What else are we supposed to do? Prevent the murder?

Not the dumbest idea we've ever had.

I was too late.

Wait, I was right. It was the butler in the drawing room with the candlestick.

So near with that pimple.

Why is he so handsome?

Apart from that, the 90s called me. They want the goatee back. Can you hear

that, Lucy?

Some kind of high -pitched whining sound, like a little baby crying.

I can't pull off the awesome, timeless style of a Van Dyke beard.

Whatever. Look at your haircut.

You reek of effort.

Did they just call her Lucy?

Fascinating, Father.

I always figured there'd be alternate versions of us out there. Wait.

You're us. Whenever you turned up to a new world, didn't you wonder where the

other versions of you were?

You're lost in the vortex too.

Check out the big brain on Brad's. Rude.

When we got here, we figured out that whenever we kill someone, the vortex

opens. We're on our last person, but... No vortex.

Then you turn up.

Nah, nah, don't get it. You're going to have to draw me a diagram or something

because... Am I really that stupid?

I would say so, yes.

Rude. This version, even more so.

I don't like this version of you.

Me neither.

The feeling's mutual.

So let's just kill them and get it over with.

Dad, run!

Yes, we didn't want to take any chances this time, so we killed everyone.

We're not so different.

We both have to be the smartest person in the room, am I right?

No. I would never kill anyone.

And you have bangs. What are you, an evil Dora the Explorer?

How dare you.

They perfectly framed my face.

Oh.

So, you're evil me, eh? No, you're inferior me. So, basic.

I bet your favorite food is barbecue.

Hey, don't diss barbecue food, man. You know the only thing worse than barbecue

food? Barbecue sauce!

What do you put on your steak, then? I don't eat steak.

I eat baby seals.

Orphaned baby seals.

You monster!

I need to hear myself think.

So, you're him, he's you, he's got a goatee, and you don't. This is giving me

nosebleed.

Oh, Mama.

Well, you're the Catholic.

That is a surprisingly lethal weapon, isn't it? Yes.

Oh, Warren.

Time to die.

Honey,

have some. I've always had these.

Why? Don't you?

And we haven't figured it out yet.

It looks like we're even, Steven.

I keep forgetting the golden roller.

There's always room for source, eh?

Looks like things are heating up.

Watch out for the window.

Okay.

Don't freak out.

What do you mean?

Aw, they're all dead.

What's happening?

Did we just go through the vortex or something?

No, I think this is something different.

I'm pretty sure it was all a simulation created by this machine.

It's like the holodeck on Star Trek.

Um, you keep forgetting I don't speak nerd, honey.

Okay, so was it like one of your video games and were the evil versions of us,

were they part of it?

No, they were real.

Yeah, real dick.

Warren? Lucy?

Oh,

I must have dozed off watching one of my virtual murder mystery films.

I just, I do enjoy a good murder.

I can't believe you're finally back after all this time.

What was that thing on your head?

On my grey hair on my sim's helmet.

It's just so good to see you too.

Hold on.

You're different.

You used to have a goatee and your hair is awful.

I better put the kettle on now.

Oh, they've gone.

What a pity.

I was going to poison their tea.

We're back.

Only one way to find out.

The game of rugby was outlawed in the early part of the 20th century.

I kind of like this world, Dad. Some might even say it's a utopia.

No, can't have a utopia without rugby. Sorry, darling, that's just a fact.

Dad, what have you done?

I only wanted to teach some dudes about the greatest game there ever was. I

never thought it would end like this.

Okay, in the words of every Star Wars character ever, I have a bad feeling

this.