All language subtitles for Avenue.5.S01E07.Are.You.a.Spider.Matt.1080p.AMZN.WEB-DL.DDP5.1.H.264-NTb

We're gonna suck a person
out of this person!

-You killed it.
-What?

I'm smiling, you killed it.
Like...

What is that?

It's an oxygen leak.

What is this ship made of?

Tinfoil?

You need to change
the way they see the ship.

Are you talking about lasers?

The president suggested
we lose 500 people.

You're just gonna kill
500 passengers?

The Beeping
is the ship telling us

to recalibrate for the baby.

-We have air?!
-Yeah, we have air.

And... light 'em up!

He's transformed

the most disgusting thing
imaginable

into a kaleidoscope
of butt truffles.

Space and luxury,
a somewhat awkward marriage.

But then, isn't every marriage?

I know mine was!

With comms down,
we can't talk to Earth,

but we can still
swim like a mermaid,

gamble like a gangster,
eat like a beast.

Some food flavorings
may not be available.

And spend hours marveling
at our illuminated
circle of turds!

This thing
is kind of mesmerizing

since Mr. Judd lit it up.

See that--
Look at right there.

Looks like a burrito.

Where?

- Right-- See? It's moving.
- I'm not seeing a burrito.

I can see a face there, kind of.

It's maybe...

John Paul.

Beatles or Getty?

I see the pope's face.

Pope John Paul II. He was in
at the turn of the century.

Infallible, obviously,

but great at apologizing
for historical bad stuff.

All I'm seeing is a lot
of shiny excrement.

I'm sorry, guys.

JP was one of the good ones,
too.

Wasn't even a Nazi in his youth.

I'm-- I'm just not sure a pope
would choose to appear in shit.

Wouldn't he pick, like,
motor oil or pancakes?

Honestly, I see his face.

Maybe I'll see you later,
Mr. Pope,

since... I guess
I'm the only one who can.

Wow.

It's like a screenshot
from the Bible.

So, when does this,
Caca Papa appear?

Any second now.
It's every 90 minutes.

Yeah.
You can set your watch by it.

Although I prefer to use
the onboard time--

There he is. Bless you.

I wish I could kiss his ring.

Can you see it, Billie?

The descent into barbarism?
Yeah, I can see that clearly.

The pope, I do not see.

No, I don't see it either.

But I can see the joy

that his face
puts on their faces.

I don't understand.

Joy. It's a--
it's a human emotion.

Used to be quite popular.

That right there,
is that an ear?

No, it's a piece of shit.

As long as it keeps people
from murdering me in my bed,
I'll be happy.

For fuck's sake,
get out of my way.

-Iris.
-It's not making everyone happy.
-It's Harrison.

Get out of my way,
you bunch of brides of Christ.
- Let's go.

- What-- Who-- What is-- Who?
- Fuck off!

- Who is Harrison?
- Harrison. Harrison.

That's just somebody
that I'm not scared of.

Why don't we talk about
something else and not that guy

'cause, honestly...
...who cares about him? Not me.

Hi, Captain.

Hey there, Mike.
How are you doing?

Good, good
- I have not
forgotten about Harrison.

Jesus Christ.

I just heard I'm gonna be
at your table tonight.

What,
with an apple in your mouth

and pineapple nipple rings
like I requested?

Just kidding.
Is Barbara gonna be with you?

Yes, sir.
She's very excited about it.

-Me too. Can't wait.
See you later.
-Okay.

I want to hear
more about Harrison.

I wanna know about Barbara.
How do you like that?

-How does that make you feel?
-Barbara's my wife.

I didn't ask you.
She is, though?

- Yes, she is.
- I didn't see that coming.

-Who's Harrison?
-No. Thank you for sharing...

-about your wife.
-It's a great story.

Good luck.
I hope she feels better.

Judd Very Light Beer.

It hurts less on the way in
than it does on the way out.

It feels like you're peeing
actual fire.

We're gonna see
that guy's suicide, aren't we?

Sure. But when it happens,
we all tell HR

-there were no warning signs.
-Got it.

I have the feeling
that he might have spent

the first couple of years
of his life locked in a shed.

- Fudd!
- Iris!

Wait! Is this Harrison?

You're in no physical danger.

Well, not unless he buys me
dinner first.

Iris, he's making
weird sexual violent innuendo

- I don't fully understand.
- Fudd.

Judd.
You know my name is Judd.

Silence, Fudd,
you quivering sack of fraud.

And you explain to me
why the first-class hallway...

-Can you stop this?
-Absolutely.

...is teeming
with tenth-class passengers

-bleating about a dead pope?
-Well?

Now, when are comms back on?

- You mean now?
- Well...

I'm gonna need some information.
Who-- Who is this guy?

Harrison Ames is an awful
and awfully litigious man

with more trillions
than you have nostrils.

Three. He has three trillion.

Because you're
costing me money, you hairball.
- Okay.

Mr. Harrison Ames!

Captain Ryan Clark.

Well, that's quite
a grip you got there, Captain.

Well, I treat handshakes
the way I treat my job.

I like pressure.

Yes. Well, pressure...
creates diamonds.

Then consider this
a 25-carat shake.

-I like it. I like that.
-I-- I also have manly hands.

-Correct, Iris?
-Absolutely. Like shovels.

Tell him about my firm grip.
Did you guys hear about my grip?

- What?
- My... firm grip.

First of all, Mr. Ames,
what I want to say

is that that nonsense
in the hallway is unacceptable.

And that stops right now.

That is impressive.
You see this, Fudd?

-Judd.
-This, Fudd,

-is what power looks like.
-Judd.

-Tell me, Captain, do you golf?
-Do I--

Does the pope shit in the woods?

--I don't know.
-Well, according to these guys,

he probably does.

-I'm playing this bozo
on the VR golf range.
-Okay.

Why don't you join us
for a few cheeky holes?

You know,
my VR golf is very cool.

You can tee off
as young Judy Garland,

and then sink your last putt

as old, drunk Judy Garland.

Not that I have done that.
I would-- I don't do that.

He's totally done that,

and I think that's the saddest
thing I've ever heard.

And I've heard whalesong.

See you on the virtual green,
Fudd.

Not if I see you first,
Farrison.

- Jesus.
- Fesus.

We have great banter.

No, we don't,
you fucker!
- See?

We found a short window
for a supply shuttle,

and communications to Avenue 5
should be restored in ten.

Goody, goody, gum disease.

Last ten minutes with no Judd.

And I've wasted some of it
saying this.

Just a quick heads-up.

There are some pretty gnarly
protesters outside.

Just in case you hear
any effin' and jeffin'.

Protesters? What are they,
anti-jet propulsion?

-No, anti-you.
-Me?

Queen of Death Rav Mulcair

orders the murder
of 500 Avenue 5 innocents.

This should all be on Judd.
He's in charge.

I was just following--

Yes, yes, I know, but sometimes
that is what people should do.

I suppose you are Head
of Mission Control.

And I guess what, you know,
they're saying...

is that you're not.

In control.
Of the mission.

Alan, could you possibly find me
some coordinates

as far away from Earth
as possible?

Fuck off there!

Are you into
spiritual epiphany and poop?

Then come down to deck five.
It's like Woodstock down there.

But Catholic.

Hey, honey.

Wow, this is--

Have you come
to take a look at the Pope?

Some people can't see it.
But good-- good people can.

And then, right below that,
the nostrils, you look at

where, like, the almost
similar sized holes are.

Honey...

Honey, are you sure this
is a good idea? You look tired.

-No, I'm fine. I'm-- I'm happy.
-No.

I know what makes my Frankie
happy.

A little light jazz,
maybe a nice box of raisins.

Yeah, you have your thing.
Why can't I have my thing?

Because my thing is trying
to get us all home alive,

and your thing is proclaiming
toilet miracles hither and yon.

Hey! Don't belittle it.

I am not belittling it, honey.

It just is little!

No, it's not.

Hey John,
did the pope heal your anxiety?

Yeah! I took a Xanax
and I prayed right here,

and then,
the Xanax totally worked.

Yes, you see?

-Sweetie--
-Shh.

I can't listen to you now.

I have to go help some people
who are looking at the pope

in the wrong direction.
I have to...

Golf. Yeah...
The sport of kings.

I think that's horse racing.

Who's this little guy?

Some physical manifestation
of Judd's ego?

It's Iris.

That's what I said. Boom!

Very good.

I didn't think Judy Garland
could get more tragic.

Trust me, I can get
a lot more tragic if I--

Hey, guys.

Comms are about
to come back on.

Thank fuck.

Are-- What are you?
Are you a spider, Matt?

Well,
I admire their industry,

and the fact that they play
the long game.

Hey,
look at my abdominal ganglion!

But there you go,

messages from the past
eight days coming through now.

You got a message!

About bloody time.

My god! Tobey Maguire died.

Throat slit in a prison shower.

Well, off I scuttle.

Eight days, no comms,

my companies
are in the shitter!

Look at my losses, Fudd!

Iris.

All right, cut the breeze.
Trees, give us a second.

Do you understand wealth?

If this blackout has put me
in the red, Fudd,

I will come at you like
a crocodile after a turkey leg!

Well, I'll come after you
like an even more killy animal.

That was really bad. We need
to work on your comebacks.

- God.
- Problem?

No, just, just...

relishing the cold embrace
of an empty inbox.

- Well.
- "Smell," more like.

You know, you don't have
to do comebacks with Ryan.

You know, you don't have
to do comebacks with me.

Okay, give me that.

Do you use alcohol
to fill the chasm

left by the absence
of fatherly love?

Then come to happy hour!

Five p.m.
at the Judd Sports Bar.

Your dad won't be there.
He never is.

Hey.

You're the woman who saved us
from space cancer.

Yeah, and you're the comedian
who, um...

Yeah. I didn't think
this would be your vibe.

It isn't. No....

The carpets are sticky
and so are the people.

It's just a quick cut through
to engineering.

So...
How long exactly is it

until everyone starts eating
each other?

No, we've got enough food
for years,

it's just we're out
of flavorings.

So... we're gonna
not eat each other,

but use each other as seasoning.

Wow, that was...
quantifiably funny.

"Quantifiably funny."
I should put that on my posters.

Yeah, you should.

Can I try some
new material on you?

Okay. Go.

So I've got this bit
about the papal poop.

I thought, "
the Catholic church
had already gone to shit."

Something like that.

-Not funny?
-Not listening.

I gotta go.
But this has been, um...

-Fun.
-Not fun, but... you know...

-It happened.
-Yeah.

Tha-- Thanks, though,
for the...

- Let's do it again.
- ...quantifiable...

Yeah.

With an emergency shuttle

ready to take
essential supplies and food
flavorings to Avenue 5,

all eyes are on
Judd Mission Control.

Well, this is nice.

I'm amazed you wanted
to come out.

We thought,
with everything going on,

- that you might wanna--
- We have a rule

that we don't
talk about work outside of work.

Should we order?
Get things over with?

Not over with.
Underway.

Are we drinking?

I might... treat myself
to some water.

Water on the rocks. You guys?

- You choose.
- The usual.

Anger grows
as mission director Rav Mulcair

refuses to deny that
500 non-essential passengers

will be blasted from the ship.

I think I might get
the jackal paws

and cucumber snow.

I will get the wasp tapenade,

owls in blankets,
and some tree soup.

With still no answers
as to whether 500 are to die,

we ask Rav Mulcair:
does she really fucking care?

Jim, cancel the water.

I'll have that Mexican drink
with the finger in it.

And a notepad.

No, this is fun time,
not work time.

Alan, all time is work time now.

Actually, sod this lovely lunch.

I'm checking on
the supply shuttle.

I'll get some rabbit nuggets
to go.

All right,
let's try another one.

I need real killer comebacks
for this guy, Matt.

-No-holds-barred type of stuff.
-That's right.

Okay, look at me. I'm Harrison.

-Okay.
-Right?

Fudd. Is that your face?

Or a rectal prolapse
with a dye job?

And your comeback is?

-My face.
-No.

-No.
-It's a rectal di--

-No. No.
-Dye job.
-Let's try it again.

-Let's try it again.
-All right, all right.
-Okay. Okay.

Fudd.

-You have the voice--
-Voice.

What?

I was trying to anticipate

- what Harrison might say.
- That's good.

Hello, Fudd.
- Fudd.

-You have the voice...
-You have the voice...

-...of a--
-...of a castrato.

I did not anticipate that.

You've been chemically castrated
by your own effeminate glands.

How did you know about that,
Harrison?

No. Again.

-How did you know--
-Try not to affirm
the things he says.

Yeah.

-All right, let me try one.
-What did Iris suggest?

"Hey, Harrison. Are you
suffering from brain bleed?

Don't worry. For you,
that's a minor injury."

Okay, I like that because it's
suggesting his brain is small.

- Yeah.
- That's wonderful. That's very--

Right. I'll keep it quick,
you horse's arsehole.

Your brain is--
- Now, this period without comms
has cost me--

- If I'm a horse--
- Shut your pussyhole and listen.
This has cost me billions.

And to prove
that I'm very serious, Fudd,

I've hired myself a paunchy
white male to represent me.

- You have a bad brain.
- You are served.

Legal hat on.

-Legal hat off, great trip.
-Thank you.

Apart from the food flavors.
It's a lot of banana.

Yeah, that's enough.
I will ruin you, Fudd.

- Prepare for penury.
...small brain...

Enjoying the cruise?

I bet you would love
the skating rink!

Iris, give it to me straight.
What does this mean?

If Harrison sues,
we get no rescue money.

So...

Why don't we have Ryan schmooze
him at the Captain's Table

-and talk him out of it.
-Wait, okay. Wait.

What if...

we have Ryan invite Harrison
to the Captain's Table

to schmooze him out of it.

Yep. You fixed it.

So, Doug,
do you see the pope out there?

-Or are you on the fence?
-I'm on the fence.

Okay, well, this
might focus you a little bit.

Five hundred non-essential
passengers

are not going to be
jettisoned out of the airlock.

But, if they were,
why are you essential?

Fuck. Yeah...

I can... put a pencil
in my teeth

and flick with my finger
and play the theme to Rawhide.

Isn't it funny
what our minds produce

-when we're panicking?
-That was just-- No, I--

And I'm also
a generous and warm husband.

I should've led with that.
Shit, can I go back?

No, we have more people
to interview,

but... I loved that.
You were great.

Get outta here.

... Thank god
there's not gonna be a cull

'cause it would be bad news
for...

Hey, Billie, comms are up.

Yeah, I know.
Just got the rescue plan.

Waiting for messages
from my husband and wife.

I sent them a
"can we try again" plea.

Cool.
Okay, so the plan.

Firstly, Mission Control
are gonna send up
a huge docking station.

What?

Looks like the messages
I sent them didn't go.

Titting Jupiter.

I'm-- sorry about that. Um...
So, the plan?

What is this?

This is... a kind
of floating airport terminal

which they send into deep space.

We dock,
everybody gets in 500 shuttles,

and we evac in a 48-hour window.

And go home.

Can you remind me
why I'd wanna go there?

Right, well, there's--
there's a little bit more.

Um...
So, maybe you should sit down.

Here we go.

You remember,
at the launch ceremony,

that Joe paired your handprint
with the emergency console.

And he secretly paired his own.

But they are now in a coffin
with the rest of his corpse,

leaving us with only one set
of hands that can now do...

...that.

What? You--

You mean you want me
to dock the ship? Me?

-And you can. You can learn.
-But--

Because we have
three and half years.

Is that enough time?

Well, it usually does take five.

Five years?

Right, well, you see,
I noticed a difference

between those two numbers.

But there are some extremely
gifted candidates

that can do it in four.

And these extremely gifted
candidates,

are they guys in their late 50s

who can barely steer piss
into a toilet bowl?

You can do this.

I can do this?

You can.

-I can do it.
-Absolutely.

You really think I can do it?

No, you can't do it.
Who am I kidding?

Well, you just said
that I could do it!

Yes, I know, but I was trying
to just boost your confidence.

For three seconds.

That's all I can muster,
I'm really sorry.

-Well, muster more.
-Okay, look, Ryan...

You can do this because,
quite frankly, you have to.

-But I can't.
-But you will.

-I will?
-You will.

Now, say it like you mean it.

I don't mean it. Neither do you.

Well, can't you just pretend?

Yeah. I can do this.

Captain Ryan?

You-- I'm sorry, you're--
You're in the wrong place.

The ice rink is on
the next level.

No, no, no. It's you
that I'm looking for.

I need to serve you
with a notice

for divorce proceedings.

It's quite a working vacation
for me.

Yeah, I gotta get back
to the rink.

By rights, this should be
the worst moment of my life.

But now, I have to go up
and host the Captain's Table

and smile and be charming.

So... that can be
the worst moment of my life.

-You can do--!
-Yeah. Yeah, yeah, yeah.

Alan, I need the plans

for the emergency
supply shuttle.

Yes.

We've just time with a one-hour
window for a shuttle

to bring medical supplies
and food flavorings--

Fuck you, Rav! Fuck you, Rav!

-Fuck you, Rav! Fuck you, Rav!
-Fuck you, Rav! Fuck you, Rav!

We need Judd here.
He's the problem. Not me.

His face
is a giant blast shield,

and I intend on
cowering behind it.

How?

We bring him back
on the supply shuttle.

A lost wallet was found
on level six,

but money is essentially
useless up here,

so we're-- we're probably
just gonna throw it out.

He's here, he's hungry...

- Ooh!
- Hello.

...he's in the third person.

Putting the "captain"
into "Captain's Table,"

- and-- and "stable," actually.
- Yes, that's true.

Wow.
I think for the first time ever,

we have some no-shows.

Best seats in the house!
You guys...

you guys wanna fight over it?

No, I'm good over here.

Having dinner with my father--
Don't know why I said that.

Hey, Billie.
You wanna join us?

... I would love to,
but... No, I wouldn't.

- Hey!
- All right, well...

All the people
I wanna be with... right here.

- Aww.
- Right?

Best table on board!

The real hot ticket
is the fecal pope.

It's The Shrining. That's why
this place is so empty.

Ryan, when are you gonna clear

these gawping cockroaches
from my corridor?

It's at the top of my agenda.

It's actually above the word
"agenda."

Thank you.

What's, like, your best joke?

That's subjective, really.

'Cause that's like asking you

... what's your favorite part
of the engine.

-Belkron filter.
-Sure.

This is nice. For once,
I'm not thinking about

being stuck up here for years.

Although, now I am.

Surrounded in shit.

How do they say that in Swedish?

It's a beautiful language.

Mike, how's the fish?

Yeah, it's good.

Great. And the tomatoes?

The tomatoes are very good.
Very good.

- Don't eat with your mouth full.
- Harrison.

How are your tomatoes?

Well, they're tomatoes.
What can you say about tomatoes?

Well, I said they were good.

Yeah, Mike said they were good.

Great, we get action replay.

That's... I like that.

Wow, Captain's Table
is really, killing it

on the conversation front.

Tomatoes. I can't wait to hear
your opinion on the sweet corn.

Ooh, the muscly toddler
is giving us a challenge!

Be more interesting, Captain.

What's happening over there?

I think Ryan is boring him
to death.

Boring is bad.

But to death...
To death is good.

Great news. I just got out
of a sexless marriage.

Dry as a desert.

Now I'm living on a flood plain

with the hottest man
in the galaxy.

She's-- She's referring
to my attractiveness

-and not my temperature.
-No, they know.

That's fun--

I don't get a lot of comedy,

but it's--
it's tragedy plus time, right?

Yeah. But, you know...

how much time is enough time?

I don't know.
How much time is enough time?

There's no punchline
to that one.

So, Mike, Barbara,
tell us about yourselves.

Do you have kids?

We-- We have a son,
and it's-- it's real hard

being away from him for so long.

Aw, he must be missing you.

He's in a coma.

-What?
-The fuck?

Comas are all in the mind.
Did you know that?

You can literally bring yourself
out of one.

You left your son in a coma...

to come on holiday?

We didn't induce the coma.
He hit the curb...

God.

- He was skateboard.
- Skateboarding.

That's cool.

- Yeah.
- What?

He's been in a coma
for 18 months.

We thought we'd only be here
for eight weeks.

Are you fucking serious?

Well, that's disrespectful.

Yeah, well, you're the ones
drinking Mai Tai

while your son's tubed up
like a potato clock.

When I was younger,
I used to wonder

what it would be like
to have a son,

and then, suddenly,
one day, I realized I am a son.

Fuck's sake.
"Captain's Table."

It's got a captain and a table!
And that's it.

And as for this food, I can't
touch this taste-free guano!

Right!
That's it! I am fucking done!

I'm done!

Fuck it! There are
jauntier dinners on death row,

and god forbid
that anybody should actually ask

-how I'm doing!
-How are you doing?

And you know what else
is in a coma? My marriage.

And I've just heard that they're
gonna switch off life support.

Thank you and good night.

Are we fully certain he
understood the term "schmooze?"

Do you wanna go,
check out an old pope's face

in some excrement?

He pushed the table forward
and he went backwards.

Sure. I mean, you like a guy
who disrespects furniture,

-I can do that.
-Opposite and equal.

So, if we jettison some stuff,
we could push forward,

past the ring--!

All right,
our wonderful date continues.

Hey. Nice job schmoozing,
Captain Schmooze.

What the hell was that?
What are we gonna do?

I know
they're just turds, honey.

-Please help me.
-All right, baby. Okay.

You're overheating. Just--
Let's go somewhere,

and we'll take your shirt off.

Hey, I see some familiar feces
in the audience tonight.

You're improvising crap jokes.

That's very funny, I guess.

Thank you, but you've been
a shit audience.

Okay, that was just
the same joke.

Captain.
Captain, I think I got it.

Look at them.

They have so much hope
on their faces.

To be a happy cretin.

We should throw Matt
out of the airlock

for making people panic
that they're gonna be
thrown out of the airlock.

I think that she's implying
that we dump these vagrants

out of the airlock.
Right, Iris?

-No, I'm not implying that.
-Well, I'll gladly lend a hand.

Takes me back
to my property days.

Clearing squats...
with a cricket bat.

We shoot stuff out of the back,
and that pushes us forward

to break free
from the shit ring.

Correct.
Plus, with the weight loss,

we can dock in six months.

I could hug you, but neither one
of us wants that.

Hey! Listen.
Can I have your attention?

Shuttle launch in five minutes
and counting.

- Rav.
- Going for a walk.

Rav, it's not safe outside.

I walk where I please.
I can walk on you if I want.

My friends. I confess to you now
that I see it.

I see the importance of faith.

- Faith in science.
- Amen.

Science does not need faith.
It just is.

- Rav!
- Not now!

Also, a couple of protesters
have breached the perimeter,

so security would like
to escort you to a safe place.

Alan, I'm not going anywhere
until I've launched the shuttle!

-Rav?
-Alan, I'm sorry!

Newton's...

Third Law...

...states, and I quote,

that if you throw stuff
outta the back of the ship,

it pushes you forward.

Ravioli, where you going?

Alan, I'm going
to bring Judd back myself.

Access authorized.

I'm getting on that shuttle.
Goodbye!

Don't do this!
You'll miss your birthday!

There's been talk about ejecting
500 people from the ship.

That is the talk of Satan.

Lord, cast him out!
But not of the airlock!

We eject the equivalent weight
of 500 people,

and we jettison that weight,
pushing us forward

within striking distance
of Earth

within six months!

-Six months!
-Hallelujah!

- Amen!
- Amen!

A-fucking-men!

-You're back in the black book!
-Thank you, Harrison.

Get fucked!

Out of the way, poor people.

Hey! Hello, Mr. Schmooze.

- And I'm saying that now
unironically.

So, non-essential items
to the hallway for jettisoning.

You can follow my lead.
I overpacked. Come on.

Ask yourself:
"Do I really need

more than one pair of pants?"

Well done, Captain.

Thank you. Yep, I think it's...

probably time for a drink.

No time! We don't have time!

That's not enough time to learn
how to dock the ship!

Even I couldn't learn it
in six months,

and I'm so much smarter
than you.

-That is not enough time
to learn how to dock a ship--
-That's not enough time!

-Six months?
-No!

- What am I thinking?
- No! My god!

I need years!

Hey. What's the matter?
Why are you acting like

a little foster child
with a secret?

Okay, the Captain now has
only got six months
to learn how to dock the ship.

-That is not enough time.
-What?!

It took me longer than that
to learn how to poach an egg.

Well, let's just hope

that you are really,
really good with deadlines.

The only thing I hear there
is "dead."

You know what? I take back
what I said to you before.

You're not Captain Schmooze.

You're more like Captain Booze.

- It's getting better.
- Thank you.

Really good.

- Seven... six... five... four...
- What's in the seat?!

- Food flavorings.
- Right. Won't be needing those.

...two... one.

- Go, go, go, go, go, go!
- Launch.