Original subtitles

Good morning. You must be Steven Toast.

How are you today? I'm fine, thanks.

And I trust you're well? Amazing.

Another Canadian. You guys are taking over this town.

I'm not Canadian.

Hold your horses. Is that Scramble Studios in London?

Yeah, Scramble is one of our sister studios.

We've got studios all over the world.

Is that right?

Sure. I'm due to fly out to the London studio next month

as part of our staff exchange scheme.

I can't wait. I'm super-excited, it's going to be so super-cool.

Sounds fascinating.

Hey, do you know Donald Sutherland?

Isn't he Canadian?

Is he single?

I've no idea.

He's a bit old for you, isn't he?

Hey, if Daddy can raise the bridge,

then Mama's river be flowing.

Good grief.

Erm, I'm due to record, and I'm guessing it's through there.

Sure. Studio one. Go right in. They're ready for you.

Thanking you.

Would you mind if I raised this microphone?

Make yourself comfortable, Steven.

Hello, Steven, this is Clem Fandango. Welcome to LA.

Of all the recording studios in the world,

I end up in the same one as you two clowns.

Is it always this hot?

I mean, I'm going to pass out in here.

Got to say, I kind of like the heat, man.

Always wanted to live out here in LA.

"Man"? You've only been here ten minutes, you idiot.

But this is too hot.

Hi, Steven, this is Clem Fandango. Can you hear me?

Yes, unfortunately.

I'm afraid the air-con in the vocal booth broke down last night.

Oh! Means it's 27 degrees hotter in there than it is in here.

Oh, God!

Also bad timing, I'm afraid, Steven, it's the hottest day

there's ever been in LA. Oh, for God's sake!

Don't you just love it?

No. All right, let's crack on.

The quicker we finish this, the sooner I can get out of this oven.

OK, Steven, pepper spray, take one.

Fed up with people knocking at your door?

Well, one sharp burst of Corden's pepper spray will make anyone

think twice about ringing your bell.

Corden's criminal deterrents - America's favourite pepper spray.

Perfect. That was great, Steven, real swell.

We'll shoot that over to the client, see what gives.

What is this snake oil?

Corden's pepper spray.

Huh.

Wonder what could have caused that. Must be the heat.

Mm.

Get...me...out.

What am I doing here?

Look at Russ Nightlife. Who is he?

He's a grown man doing a jigsaw puzzle like some geriatric

in a care home. Definitely an odd fish.

And I should know.

I've swum with a few in MY time.

What a loser. I hope I never end up like that - sad, lonely,

without hope, pathetically assembling a ludicrous jigsaw

just to pass the endless hours.

You know, I could read your thoughts.

What?! You're thinking about sex.

I'm not, actually. I'm meeting a friend tonight.

I was thinking about booking a restaurant.

A friend? Yes.

What, like a lady friend?

Yes.

Well, I'm telling you now, don't ever bring her back here,

I can't have anyone just sniffing around the joint, all right?

All right.

Are you planning to have sex with her?

What? The thought of you having sex under my roof disgusts me.

It's a stupid question anyway. I mean, look at you.

I beg your pardon? If you do have sex with her,

I want you to inject yourself with a millilitre of this.

Do what?!

It doesn't hurt. Look.

Ugh! Aghhh!

What the hell?

Jesus Christ, man!

Toast, I'm joking.

Oh, you need to lighten up a little, man.

Oh!

Jesus Christ.

Easing it in...slowly.

And now a persistent rhythmic movement.

Oh, yes.

In an accelerating motion.

Oh, God.

Quickly followed by a...rapid emission.

Good God!

Oh!

The act was completed in pretty much the same time period

as the previous procedure

last Tuesday, 3 minutes and 28 seconds.

It's all a bit...

A bit what? A bit clinical, isn't it?

But I am a clinical sexologist.

Yeah, but do you need to make notes while we're actually making love?

Oh, yes. It's very important to make notes during the procedure

rather than having to rely on memory.

And even the word "procedure" - it's not very romantic, is it?

"Romantic" is not a word easily defined in scientific terms.

This IS a relationship, isn't it? Just to be clear.

Oh, yes.

I draw a very clear distinction between sex with you

and sex with people I'm sleeping with for research purposes.

Glad to hear it.

Except, in this case, when it kills two birds with one stone,

as you Brits like to say.

Shepherd, there's another man in bed with us.

Yes, he's a fellow professor accompanying me on field work.

Does he have to be here?

Professor Map? Yes. Yes, he does.

Right.

It's rather taken me by surprise seeing him in bed here with us.

Very well. Professor Map...

Wurde es Ihnen etwas ausmachen, uns bitte zu verlassen?

It's only 11.30. What say we go for a walk?

We can stop at a cafe.

You fancy a cappuccino bianco in the shade?

Or maybe a cocktail at high noon?

I can't.

I have to go and have sex with someone else.

How many other men are you having sex with on this project?

Oh, I would say somewhere in the...

Oh! Goddamn it!

I really have to get these organised.

What are they? Score cards.

You give scores for performance?

I'm guessing I'd be in the higher points bracket.

Oh, I haven't filled out your score card yet, Toast.

I only do that when I've completed a full assessment

of the participants' performance.

Yeah, but I'm guessing I'd be pretty up there, wouldn't you say?

I'm sorry, Toast. That's confidential information.

Oh-ho-ha!

I really need to get this shit together.

Maybe my daughter could do it.

I must admit, I'm very fond of you, Shepherd,

so it's only natural that I should be slightly jealous,

seeing as you're sleeping with literally dozens, if not hundreds,

of other men, including me.

But as long as I know that I'm the special one,

then I'm absolutely...

..fine with it. You sure you're fine with it?

Sounds a little goddamn weird to me.

You couldn't be more wrong, Hooberman.

She's a professional psychologist,

perfectly capable of distinguishing between business and pleasure.

They're business, I'm pleasure.

Who's that fella?

Sonny-Sam Dysco, they say he's going to be the next goddamn big thing.

He's got a whole billboard to himself.

Wouldn't mind a slice of that action myself.

Anything juicy coming up for me?

How would you like to play another butler?

I'd hate that.

Weech Beacon needs a butler.

He's about to make a huge goddamn movie,

so the dollars will be a plenty, Daddy-o.

Weech Beacon?

Weech Beacon, talented director, also a major league asshole.

I've never heard of that league. Sounds prestigious.

Well, if he likes the look of you,

he'll probably offer you the job on the spot.

He's pretty impulsive that way. You want to meet him?

Well, if the dollars are plenty, Mummy-o, why not?

I'll text him.

He's probably at The Dive. He hangs out there all the time.

The Dive? They tell me it's the hippest bar in town

but, hell, my ass is as old as time, so what would I goddamn know?

Oh, we're pretty damn close. I'll text him now.

Asshole!

Like I said, Red's on board. Are you sure?

He might even bring Jen with him. Who knows? Sure?

Relax, baby.

The chicken's in the basket, huh?

Chicken's in the basket.

Are you Toast? I'm Steven Toast. Good afternoon.

You came in costume. I like that.

I'm Weech Beacon, and this is my producer, Ben Egyptian.

Hi, Steven.

I got to go. See you later, Ben.

Hey, sit.

All right. Yeah, Ben couldn't stay.

He's gotta go square things with his daughter.

It's the 16th time he's missed her birthday.

Yeah.

Jesus.

You know what? You look exactly like a waiter,

but also exactly like a butler.

Yeah, you'll be perfect.

I'm just going to tell Brad.

That's all very good.

Sorry, I've drunk rather a lot of water,

so I'll need to use the men's room. Do you know where it's located?

What, that? Yeah.

Really? What?

Must have drunk a gallon of water. Is it always this hot?

Actually...

Oh, damn.

That chilli went straight through me.

Whoa!

Goddamn chilli. Good God.

Jesus Christ!

Oh!

You say the line, "May I offer you some wine, Herr Shimmerman?"

"Shimmerman." And then hand the glass to him from the tray.

OK, doesn't sound too difficult.

Hey, this is a crucial scene,

and I'm planning to do it all in one ten-minute take.

There'll be a long tracking shot.

I'm using 2,000 extras, dancing girls, and well over 1,000 horses,

and then everything will focus on you,

and the shot will probably cost about $3 million,

so, yeah, you better not screw it up.

Well, no pressure, then.

Shit. Oh, dear.

No. LOTS of pressure.

I know, I was just being sarcastic.

You were being what? Sarcastic.

Well, that's a British thing, sarcasm.

We don't do that here in LA, OK?

Say the goddamn line!

May I offer you some wine,

Mr Shimmershine?

Shimmerman! Shimmerman.

Jesus. Sorry, I just got the name wrong.

Would you mind if I took that again?

I could have offered this role to any slack Jack Harris in town.

Harris? But you got the part because you look like a butler.

And remember, this set-up is going to cost $3 million.

Right.

Don't fuck it up, buddy.

Understood.

Yeah, it better be.

Jesus Christ.

Look at you, you dirty dog.

Have you been a naughty mongrel?

What's that?

Good grief.

I wondered where that went.

You nasty, thieving mutt.

Someone's getting punished now.

Severely punished.

Has anyone ever told you that you actually do look like a dog?

Yes. Some people have remarked on it before.

Shut up, Dogface!

Shepherd, I'm not sure this S&M stuff is for me.

Are you serious?

We haven't even introduced the man in the mask yet.

Who?

I auditioned a lot of people to help me out with our little game.

You want to see this guy. He has no inhibitions whatsoever.

Jesus. Man in the mask, enter.

I'm ready to be your slave, O Mistress.

Hang about. Huh?

Ed?!

Toast!

How are you finding LA?

What the hell are you doing here, Ed?

I was visiting friends and happened to see an advertisement

in a local cafe. What the hell is going on?

Do you two know each other?

Yes, we used to be housemates in London.

I was going to look you up, Toast,

but I wasn't expecting to meet you like this.

Can't say I'm surprised.

Could never resist a kinky knees-up, could you, Ed?

A kinky knees-up?

Oh, I like the sound of that.

So, since we're all here, let's get down to business.

Starting on Toast, is that right, mistress?

Are you ready, man in the mask?

Oh, yes.

Then, if it's OK, me next.

Shit.

How was your day?

Well, apart from my sexually-liberated girlfriend

who insisted on stringing me up and whipping me

in front of my old roommate from London who was dressed in rubber,

I'd say pretty ordinary.

It is hard in LA to find your footing,

but at least you have this other acting job.

What's your line again?

Oh.

"May I offer you some wine, Herr Shimmer...ton?"

Herr Shimmerson.

Shimmergroove.

Herr... Shimmerguff.

Herr Shimmertree.

Herr Shimmerblue.

Herr Shimmerfoot.

Herr Shimmersquare.

Herr Shimmerhair.

Hello, my name is Liberty. Are you Sandwich?

What?

No, not Sandwich, Toast.

Toast! I'm so sorry. Mr Toast, not Mr Sandwich.

Mr Toast, I'm afraid I'm going to need to take that chair, sir.

What, this chair?

That chair, yes.

The director has asked me to get him a chair,

but as soon as I find another one, Mr Toast,

I'll bring it straight over here.

Oh, he's also asked you don't move from this spot,

otherwise you could be in shot.

Jesus Christ, if...

Bloody hell, you could have killed me, you dozy bastard.

What?

What the hell did he call us? Fucking loser.

So, there you go. One trumpet.

I didn't ask for a trumpet.

Oh, wait. You wanted a chair.

A chair? Yes. Unless you want me to sit on that.

I'm so sorry, Mr Toast.

This is my first day.

Who ordered the trumpet?

This is ridiculous.

You might want to get rid of this before someone falls arse over tit.

Absolutely.

Toast! Get your ass over here!

I can't tell you how important it is that you don't mess up this shot.

It's going to be a ten-minute one-shot take.

At the end of it, you walk in, say your line.

You know your line, right?

Yeah. "May I offer you some wine, Herr Shimmershoo?"

Shimmerman! Jesus Christ!

Sorry. Do I look like the cream cheese fairy, huh?

I don't know. I don't know who that is.

Am I a chicken in a basket?

Again, I'm not sure.

This set-up costs $3 million.

How much did it cost?

Three million.

Yeah, that's right.

So you'd better get it right, baby. One chance.

How many chances?

One.

OK, everybody ready.

Positions, please.

Hey!

Fucking...

May I offer you some wine, Herr Shimmelshine?

Whoa!

Damn it!

What?!

How do you think that scene went just now?

Not great, to be honest.

I tripped on a skateboard and buggered up my line.

Yeah, yeah.

Forgive me, my memory's a little hazy,

but at any point did I tell you it was absolutely crucial

that you got your shit together, because if you didn't,

you could totally fuck up a shot that cost $3 million?!

You... You remember that?

Yeah, I remember.

OK, Steven Toast...

..what do you think we should do now?

I don't know, er,

reset and shoot the scene again?

OK, I see what we got here.

Take off your pants. I beg your pardon?

Take them down and bend over the table.

What the...? Now!

Hey, Ben. Hey, Weech. Just in time.

You want a piece of the action?

Is this absolutely necessary?

Well, it won't bring me my money back,

but I'll feel a whole shitload better about it.

Grip the desk.

Hey, Mr Toast, I found you a chair,

but I'm guessing you're good.

Moving my right hand across the lower back

and down to the buttock area.

What the hell is going on, Toast?

Your goddamn ass feels like a giant cookie.

Yeah, it's a bit sore down there, Shepherd. It's starting to burn.

Maybe I'll have a cold shower.

That ass has taken one hell of a beating.

I thought you said you weren't into S&M.

I'm not. The director I'm working with did it.

I ruined his shot, so he thrashed me with his belt.

Did it in front of his producer and a young runner.

Very humiliating, not to mention highly unprofessional.

Mm. Urgh.

You're top class, Shepherd.

This is the best relationship I've ever been in.

I'm so incredibly happy, I believe I could fly.

What are you doing, darling?

Oh, I'm just making a few final notes on my scorecards.

Scorecard, you say?

I'm guessing I'll get a 10, or maybe a 9.5.

I have to go. More research.

All right.

♪ My grandfather's hands went wandering

♪ Wandering from north down to south... ♪

What's this?

Weech Beacon?

What's it say? "Poor performance, predictable, dull, unexciting.

"Total, zero out of ten." Brilliant.

I say, Billy, how do I post something online?

You know that bloody director who shredded my arse?

Well, I found out something pretty embarrassing about him

and I want to put it online as an act of revenge.

I can do that for you.

You can? Mm.

I must warn you, I'm pretty useless when it comes to the social mediums.

Nonos problemos. Let's do it.

Really? Yeah. Fantastic.

I'll leave you to it and I'll enjoy the rest of my pina colada

on the terrace. Okey dokey, Smokey.

Very much appreciate you helping me, Billy.

Happy to do this for you, Toast. Yes.

Oh, before I forget, do make sure my account is anonymous.

This is the life.

What's the internet saying about me?

How cool I am? Yeah.

Loved my last movie.

What the...?

Shit. Shit!

Jesus Christ, how the hell did that get there?

Is that my scorecard, huh?

"Poor performance, predictable, dull, unexciting"?!

I mean, whoa, zero out of ten? Zero out of goddamn ten?!

No, that is not right. That is not your scorecard.

What? Well, that is the score card of a hopeless loser

I was sleeping with as research for my book.

His name is Steven Toast.

That's the dumb-ass jerk who just ruined my movie.

What? I asked Liberty to type up my scorecards from the notes

I'd put together. She's obviously got the names mixed up.

What a loser. Yes, he is a zero out of ten loser.

But you, you, baby, you are a ten out of ten winner.

I'm going to find your real scorecard and post it there.

Whoa, I'm a ten out of ten?

You betcha.

Are you ready to play, little doggie?

Oh, yeah.

Woof!

And after we have some fun, I'm going to go get my scorecards.

Oh, yeah, baby.

Woof!

Ah, Shepherd, what a lovely surprise. Come in.

I know you posted that stuff about Weech, Toast.

No, I didn't. It was an anonymous account.

Then, maybe you shouldn't have posted it

under the name of "Steven Toast, specialises in playing butlers".

Right, OK.

But we are still in a relationship, aren't we, you and I?

Scorecards.

He's not a happy bunny, Toast. You screwed up his whole movie,

and then you went on the social media

saying he couldn't cut it in the sack.

Yeah, and also he gave my arse a severe thrashing

and stole my ladyfriend.

Hopefully that'll be the end of it.

Oh, God.

No!

This Hollywood Reporter magazine,

now, I'm guessing it's a niche publication that nobody reads.

Would I be right?

Wrong? It's read by everyone in Hollywood.

Absolutely everyone.

Even people who never read anything read it.

God!

Hey, you want to try to fit a piece into my Tricky Dick

jigsaw puzzle? Jigsaw?

Yeah, might take your mind off of things.

Doesn't fit.

Aw, doesn't fit?

Bad luck, loser.

I'm so sorry I used your name on the account.

I didn't know you wanted to be anonymous.

It's not your fault.

I should have supervised my own caper.

Poor you. Are you OK?

You might have to remove that hand.

I'm not used to people being nice to me.

♪ Son of a small-town draper

♪ You wanted everything now not later

♪ Took a job as a hotel waiter

♪ Drank your whisky straight No chaser

♪ Hang around with a pretty ice-skater

♪ Till you tired and began to hate her

♪ Oh, yes, you're boss

♪ And it's just because

♪ They know that you're the great beatmaker. ♪