All language subtitles for Red.Dwarf.S03E03.Polymorph.XviD-Gomez.eng

(GRAVELLY VOICE) This week's "Red Dwarf"

contains scenes which are unsuitable
for younger viewers

and people of a nervous disposition.

You have been warned.

(RED DWARF THEME)

(STEADY BLEEPING)

(BLEEP) Danger.
Do not attempt to open this pod.

The creature inside is extremely hostile.

It feeds off the human psyche,
seeks out the deranged,

the unbalanced
and the emotionally crippled.

(LONG GUTTURAL ROAR)

(CREATURE MUTTERS) Oh, pardon me...

Oh! Oh, n! Urgh!

(ZIP! ZIP! ZIP!)

(ZIP!)

Not too little and not too much. That's important...

Here we go!

I'll just give your quarters
a quick tickle around, sir.

- Won't take a jiff.
- Not now. I'm cooking.

- I didn't know you could do that!
- Oh, yes.

I have add-ons for my groinal socket

which allow me to perform virtually
any household task imaginable.

- Like what?
- Oh, you name it,

buzz-saw, drill, hedge trimmer...
even an egg whisk.

So, you stick the egg whisk on
and you can whip up an omelette?

I can, but it's amazing how
few people are prepared to eat them.

(JUDDERS AND RATTLES)

Goodness me!
I must have sucked up a penny.

I better change the old bag.
Yes, I'll just get a fresh one.

Mmm! Something smells good! What is it?

It's me! I love this aftershave!

You are minutes away
from the greatest meal of your life.

Set your taste buds on Def Con 3!

Hey, where'd you get all this stuff?

I got sick of plastic cutlery,
so I went to the medical unit.

This is a scalpel!

I'm supposed to use something
that's been inside someone's guts?

It's all been washed. It's clean.

Something that once may have performed
a certain popular Jewish operation?

I'm supposed to eat with this?

Get the onion salads out of the fridge.

"Embryo Refrigeration Unit"?!

How many times? It's clean! It's been cleaned!

- Onion salads...
- They're in the kidney bowls,

next to the colostomy bag
with the chilli sauce in it.

Here we go! Here we go!

(BEEPS)

Yahoo!

Come on, man. Come on.
It's ready. Sit down. Sit down.

One kebab for you and one kebab for me.

Lemon juice?

- What the hell is that?
- It's a syringe.

- What kind of syringe?
- It's for cows.

Artificial insemination. It's been washed.

It's all been sterilised. Do you want some?

- Excuse me.
- What about the meal?

This isn't a meal, it's an autopsy!

- What about the main course?
- You think I got nothing else to do

than watch you serve
chicken chasseur in a stool bucket?

Charming! I don't know.

You pull out all the stops, you make an effort...

try and do something with a bit of class,

and where does it get you?

Mmm, very cheeky.

(MUTTERS)

Oh, I'm sorry to interrupt, sir.

I just need to get a... (LAUGHS) Sorry.

Oh, no, Kryten. It's all right.
Just running a few old home movies.

That's me, there. Those are my brothers -
John, Frank and Howard.

God, we were close.

The Four Musketeers, we used to call ourselves.

Well, the Three Musketeers, actually.
I was always the Queen of Spain.

Marvellous. Yes, I was the butt
of the occasional practical joke,

but I mean, er... nothing sinister.

Just the usual boyhood pranks, you know -

apple-pie beds and black-eye telescopes...

One time, they even hid
a small landmine in my sandpit.

They took it from my father's gun cabinet.

How did they know it would go off?

- Marvellous guys.
- Oh, who's that?

- An old girlfriend, sir?
- Hardly.

No, not really your type. Silly old trout like that.

- She's my mother.
- Oh! Oh! I am so sorry, sir...

- Just forget it.
- Oh, how can I forget it, sir?

I compared your mother
to a foolish, aged, blubbery fish.

I said she was
a simple-minded, scaly old piscine.

I intimated she was an ugly,
lungless marine animal

with galloping senility,

a putrid amphibious gill-breather
with less brains than a mollusc.

Forget it!

Ah. Freeze.
Ah, there she is. Magnificent woman.

Very prim, very proper. Some say austere.

Some took her for cold, aloof.

Not a bit of it, she just despised idiots,
no time for fools.

Tragic, really,
otherwise we would have got on famously.

Well, if you'll excuse me, sir.
This is a private family moment.

I've no fish to embarrass you further.

I'll let myself trout.

- Oh, sir, I'm...
- Just go!

Don't panic, Arn, but it does appear
there's a very tiny possibility

that there may very well be
a non-human life form on board.

You mean like last time,
when we got all worked up

and went scooting off,
complete with bazookoids and backpacks,

and it was one of Lister's socks?

I didn't recognise the genetic structure.

Biologically speaking,
they were a completely new life form.

Absolutely ridiculous. I felt a total goit.

- Take a butchers'.
- Where is it?

I lost it. It's somewhere
along the habitation decks.

Can't get a moment's peace!

- Enjoying your meal, sir?
- It's de-smegging-licious, Kryten.

It's my own recipe, you know?

Shami Kebab Diablo. It's beautiful.
It's like eating molten lava.

I cooked up one for Petersen once.
He was in sick bay for a week.

(SNEEZES)

- What?
- I didn't say anything, sir.

(CREATURE MUTTERS)

- You like them that hot?
- It's trying to kill me.

Oh, it's a good one, huh?

- It went under here.
- Are you all right, sir?

- (ZIP!)
- It's gone.

- What?
- How? Where could it go?

We better go, Kryten.
Something very weird is going on.

Something very, very... Ooh!
Sudden pain in my groin.

- What's wrong?
- Ah! My underpants!

They're shrinking. Oh, God!
Me boxers are alive, man!

They're getting smaller! Help me, please!

Please, I'm begging you!

Get 'em off!

- Pull them down!
- Keep still!

Well, I can't say I'm totally shocked.

You'll bonk anything, won't you, Lister?

- The boxers, where are they?
- I put them here.

- You sure?
- There's nothing here.

- (ZIP!)
- Just the blanket and the...

Snake!

- Snake!
- Kryten!

- What the smeg is going on?!
- I hate snakes.

They freak me out totally, snakes.

They are my all-time second-worst fear, guy.

- What's your first?
- (ZIP!)

(ROARS)

This.

Is he OK?

- As far as we can tell, yes.
- Where'd it go?

It turned into a squelchy thing
and squidged off down the corridor.

- What is it? Some kind of alien?
- No, it's from Earth, man-made.

I checked its DNA profile.
A genetic experiment that went wrong.

Apparently, it was an attempt
to create the ultimate warrior,

a mutant that changes shape
to deceive its enemies.

- So what did go wrong?
- It's insane!

It feeds off the negative emotions -

fear, guilt, anger, paranoia,
drains them out of its prey.

It's a sort of emotional vampire.

It changes shape
to provoke a negative emotion.

It took Lister to the limit
of his terror, then sucked out his fear.

- So now Lister's got no fear?
- Precisely.

- What are we going to do?
- I say let's go and twat it.

Lister, you're ill. Leave this to us.

I could have had it, but it took me by surprise.

Lister, it turned into an 8ft-tall
armour-plated alien killing machine.

If it wants a barney, it'll get one.

One knee in the happy sacks,
it'll drop like anyone else.

Fine. We'll bear that in mind.

I'm gonna beat it to death with its own tonsils.

Yes, yes. Very good.

I'll stick my fist so far down its gob,

- I can pull the label off its pants.
- Yes, yes. Kryten...

What's that? You starting trouble?

It's just something to calm you down, sir.

Come on, then. All of you slags!

All together or one at a time.
It's all the same to me. I'm...

Thank God for that.
Right, we have two options -

one - we take it on and kill it,
or two - run away.

- Who's for two?
- Two sounds good to me, sir.

It's always been my lucky number.

- Right, let's load up Starbug.
- What about Lister?

Seal the hatch from the inside.
He'll be safe until we go.

- Remember, it could be anything.
- Let's move it.

What about the Space Corps directive
which states that our primary duty

is to contact other life forms
and bring them home?

What about the Rimmer directive,
which states, "Never tackle anything

"that's got more teeth
than the entire Osmond family"?

(RAPID BEEPING)

It's here.

- Where?
- Somewhere.

Set the bazookoids to heat-seeker.

When you see it, aim roughly in its direction,

and the heat-seekers will do the rest.

In the shadows...
It's in the shadows! There! There! There!

Sorry. My fault. False alarm.

Idiot.

I don't understand, holograms
don't produce heat. Neither do androids.

What are they homing in on?

So long, guys.

Oh, come on! Give me a break!

You either got it or you ain't,
and, boys, you ain't even close.

(LISTER) Cat, where are you?

- Over here.
- Stay put, we'll come and find you.

Keep talking.

What are you looking for?

A mutant. It's dangerous.
It can turn into anything.

Oh, sounds pretty scary.

It is, baby. Believe me.

It must take a really brave sort
of guy to do this kind of work.

- Well, I guess you're right.
- And I bet you have to be smart.

Smart? Yeah,
you definitely have to be smart.

It can turn into anything.
You gotta have your wits about you.

Don't let up for one second,
or - blip! - You're dog meat.

- Come on, babe.
- You know, you're quite a guy,

- Brave, smart, handsome...
- Oh, you think handsome?

Oh, come on. You're probably
the best-looking guy I've ever seen.

- I wasn't going to be first to say.
- Do you know what I'd really like?

To make love to a guy like you.

Well, I'm sure I have a window
in my schedule somewhere.

Let's see... What are you doing in,
say, ten seconds time?

- Nothing I couldn't cancel.
- Hi. I'm the Cat.

Hi. I'm the genetic mutant.

Glad to know you. Jenny who?

(ROARS)

It's got him!

Oh! Oh, my goodness! Are you all right?

- Is he dead?
- Unconscious,

but, according to the psi-scan,
he's lost an emotion.

- Which emotion?
- He's lost his vanity.

- This is your fault, Kryten.
- M-M-My fault?

We were supposed to stick together.

- But it wasn't...
- He trusted you. Now look at him.

- Oh, please. I feel so...
- (GROWLS) Guilty?

- Yes.
- Good! (SCREECHES)

Hah!

(ROARS)

Shoo! Shoo!

(ZIP!)

(MUTTERS)

- Let's get out of here.
- It's got my guilt, the one emotion

which prevents my transgressing
the mores of civilised society.

Stop your blithering, Kryten. Let's go.

Oh, screw you, hadron-head!

(CREAKS)

(MUTTERING)

Where have you been? Let's go!

(SLURS) I was getting myself comfortable, man.

- Come on, Kryten. You're holding us all up.
- Who cares?

- You'll get us all killed.
- So?

Oh, look. It's Bonehead's mum.

- Mother?
- Hello, dear.

- What are you doing?
- What does it look like, darling?

- You made love to my mother?
- Yeah. What of it?

- It's the polymorph!
- You've just had my mum?!

Five times. He was like a wild stallion.

"Very prim, very proper. Almost austere."

It's trying to make you angry.

Darling, I wish
you could have seen him in action.

He was like a set of pistons
in an ocean liner engine room.

I think I'm going to be sick.

- Don't get angry.
- Lister and mother...

it's a dream come true.

He's so energetic.

I honestly thought
my false teeth were going to fall out.

- Lovely.
- The positions he bent me into!

Terrific. That sounds enchanting. Well done.

And the things this boy can do
with Alphabetti Spaghetti.

- Cool it, Arnie.
- ALPHABETTI SPAGHETTI?!

- Where is it now?
- It's gone back to the cargo bays,

sleeping off a four-course meal
of fear, vanity, guilt and anger.

Just because it's an armour-plated
alien killing machine

that salivates unspeakable slobber,

doesn't mean it's a bad person.

We need to put together a solution package
over tea and biscuits.

Look at him. You can't trust his opinion.

He's got no anger. He's a total dork.

Good point, Kryten.
Let's take that on board, shall we?

David? Do you have anything to say?

Well, yes. I have, actually, Arnold.

Let's go to the ammunition stores,

get the nuclear warheads
and then strap one to my head.

I'll nut the smegger to oblivion.

Right, well, that's nice, David.
Let's put that on the back burner.

Cat, let's have your contribution. Come on.

Hey, don't ask me, I'm nobody.
Just pretend I'm not here.

That's lovely. Thank you very much.
Moving on a step...

and don't think
that I'm setting myself up as chairperson.

Just see me as a facilitator.
Kryten, what's your view?

Well, we should send Lister in as a decoy,

and while it's eating him alive,

we could blast it into the stratosphere.

Good plan. That's the best plan yet.

Let it get knackered eating me to death,

then you guys, like, catch it unawares.

Well, that's certainly an option, David, yes.

Um, but here's my proposal. Let's get tough.

The time for talking is over.

Call it extreme, but I propose
we hit it hard and hit it fast

with a major,
and I mean major, leaflet campaign.

And while it's reeling from that,
we follow up with a whist drive,

a car-boot sale, some street theatre

and possibly even some benefit concerts. OK?

Now, if that's not enough,
I'm sorry, it's time for the T-shirts.

"Mutants Out."
"Chameleonic Life Forms? No, Thanks."

If that's not enough, what is?

Has anyone ever told you that
you are a disgusting pus-filled bubo

who has all the wit, charm and self-possession

of an Alsatian dog
after a head-swap operation?

Listen, you bunch of tarts, it's clobbering time!

There's a body bag
with that scud-ball's name on it.

I'm doing up the zip. Anyone
who gets in my way gets a napalm enema.

(SLURS) I think everybody's right,
except me, so just forget I spoke.

Um, I think we're all beginning
to lose sight of the real issue here,

which is what are we going to call ourselves?

I think it's a choice between
the League Against Salivating Monsters

or my own personal preference,

the Committee for the Liberation
and Integration of Terrifying Organisms

and their Rehabilitation into Society.

Erm, one drawback with that,
the abbreviation is CLITORIS.

Look, it needs killing!

If that means I sacrifice my life
in some pointless way, all the better.

Yes. Even if it doesn't work, it'll be a laugh.

Right, so let's just cut all
of this business and get on with it.

Last one alive's a wet ponce. Who's with me?

Well, the car stickers aren't ready till Thursday,

but sometimes
one just has to act spontaneously.

- People, let's go.
- I'm coming, too.

Maybe I can bum some money.

Maybe if I hand you guys over,
it'll let me go. Move it, suckers!

(GROWLING)

(RIMMER SINGS) Love everybody

All you need is love...

Come on, you chicken!

Show us your slobbery chops
and we'll blow 'em off.

Here they are, nice juicy humans.
Come and get them.

Here, mutie-mutant!

(GROWLS)

(ROARS)

Phewee! What am I wearing?

Oh, how can you ever forgive me, sirs?

Naturally, I will commit suicide immediately.

Hey, we were all a bit whacked out there.

- You can say that again.
- Come on, let's clean up.

If I don't get into evening wear,

I'm going to have to resign my post
as Most Handsome Guy on the Ship.

(CACKLES AND ROARS)

(SONG) It's cold outside
There's no kind of atmosphere

I'm all alone, more or less

Let me fly far away from here

Fun, fun, fun

In the sun, sun, sun

I want to lie, shipwrecked and comatose

Drinking fresh mango juice

Goldfish shoals, nibbling at my toes

Fun, fun, fun

In the sun, sun, sun

Fun, fun, fun

In the sun, sun, sun