All language subtitles for Absolute Power s01e05 Country Life.eng

You were so unadventurous.
You should have tried those fish cakes.

- Fish cakes, yeah.
- I think you should try everything once.

- Once, yeah.
- Do I have your complete attention?

Aagh!

- Gareth!
- Don't worry, Aria. I've got him.

Anthea.

Blood. I feel sick.

Sometimes, Gareth,
you have to suffer to be beautiful.

- Give me the bag.
- No, wait.

The "Telegraph" and the "Standard"
are both strangers to sudden movement.

Give them time,
then saunter out like you're Russell Crowe.

Saunter, Gareth. Don't waddle.

Give it the full boom-shacka-lacka, yeah?

Oh, Gawd.

You are one hell of a tough guy, Gary Hunt.

- Gareth.
- Go for the broadsheets, Anthea!

Banging the gong for hunting with hounds
one minute, bloody footpaths the next.

It's all such a muddle.

- This Welsh fellow, MP for Henley...
- Johnson's not Welsh, is he?

Comic grotesque.
Couldn't find his arse with a guide book.

How can he help the poor bugger
on the tractor?

God help you if you need an ambulance.

My spleen's on the blink.
I hardly dare go back to Chippenham.

- One can't afford to die in Wiltshire.
- Country people have no voice.

We're drifting, gentlemen...
rudderless, towards extinction.

What's your view, Martin?

In all the years you've represented me,

I've never quite got a handle
on you and rural affairs.

Essentially, Ronnie, I think... yes.

There is a great crisis in the country -

or countryside
as we're obliged to call it now.

It's time someone stuck their standard
in the sod and said, "Enough!"

The land is the heart of the nation.

Treat it and the men who care for it
with the greatest respect or...

suffer the consequences.

Well, I think you're the man for us.

Oh, am I really? That's handy.

Jolly good.

You should have seen me, Charles,
how I reeled them in.

I had that glassy, unfocused look. You know?

Oh, I do.

You're looking at me with the air of a man
refusing an overdraft.

Roddy Growse and the utter unreconstructed
stiffs of Upper Brook Street?

The utter unreconstructed rich stiffs.

The Real Country Union -
a new political party.

Roddy's not in charge.
They're fielding Harry Harcourt.

- Oh, God!
- What?

Martin, if I may casually ejaculate,

Roddy Growse is an author of political
thrillers. He is not a politician.

Lord Harcourt is an old imbecile
who sits with his arse in a bucket of cream

at his estate in Oxfordshire,
writing letters to the "Times" about voles.

Harcourt and his party are now our clients.

Fighting for the unfetterment
of the farmer in the field.

- Saucy alliteration.
- "Unfetterment" is not a word.

- This is excellent.
- Not bad, is it?

He's never going to be Pierce Brosnan.

Jamie, must you broadcast to the world

exactly where
you stick your colossal salary?

In at the start. Prentiss McCabe can put
its imprimatur on this one from the top.

- We are doing the job.
- So it would seem.

So what's the foreplay?

- It's er... What is it, Jamie?
- A phase one chemistry meet.

One of those.

No, we're really not being obstructive.
Honestly.

No. We just think that entering
a Peter Stringfellow lookalike contest

won't necessarily
bring you closer to the people.

And I must say, I think the palace will take
a rather dim view on it, Mrs Parker-Bowles.

Gentlemen. Now... One of you I've met before
and the other one has the brains.

Which is which? You must be Jimmy.

Charles, sir. A bit like Jimmy,
but all the letters are different.

You'll have to speak up.
I've got aids in both ears.

I said... You've got what?

What's a fellow have to do
to get a bloody drink?

- Harry? Harry. We're in the agency now.
- I'm deaf, Roddy, not stupid.

I want to know if they have the wherewithal
to wet my tyrannous whistle.

I'm sure we have. I was just
saying to Tit Face here, my partner,

it would be a good idea
to have some champagne.

Champagne makes me fart. I'll drink beer.

- Absolutely. Alison?
- It doesn't do that to me.

(LAUGHS) Sorry, I... I'd love
some champagne if you're opening it.

- Thanks.
- Fetch some beer.

Right. Yup. Good.

Harry, let's go to my office. Charles
has some rather clever ideas to share.

Who's Charles?

He's Charles? Why did he tell me
his name was Jimmy?

Martin, you made this bed...

prepare to eat it.

For three generations, country people
have been taking it up the arse -

saving your presence, my dear -
from ministry men

who'd burst into tears if they were left
alone in a field with a cow.

Talk to the people who work the land.

There's only the dimmest flicker of hope
left in them.

Our task, gentlemen, is to coax
that flicker to a life-sustaining blaze.

Are you fit for it? "Have the best
or go without", my father used to say.

I'm told that you two
are undoubtedly the best.

Are you good enough for us?

No. The question is
are you good enough for us?

- How much do you pay the estate carpenter?
- None of your damn business.

It will be if you found this party -
everybody's business.

The truth is you don't even know yourself,
do you?

- I suppose you're all fox hunters.
- Oh, no. Hunting's a lost cause.

It's a poisoned chalice from which
no ambitious party can afford to drink.

I'm certain that it's television
that would be my undoing.

I'm not immense
at speaking on the wireless either,

though one's done a bit of it.

I tend to put on altogether too much dog.
I sound like Lord Emsworth. Nerves.

Television, though, I think I'd clam up.

If Paxman got hold of me, I'd sit there
with a grin like a wanking chap.

Certainly vocabulary
is something we could work on.

"Wireless", for instance,
is not altogether current.

Good! You see, Rodders,
that's the stuff one needs to know.

(RADl0) So, Jim Moore,
Controller of all good things BBC,,,

One last question about the future
of this fine vessel in which we sail.

What about the old hands like yours truly?

Is there still room for us aboard the good
ship Auntie or shall we walk the plank?

What a terrible thought. I can't imagine
the BBC without Sandy Morters.

- Don't say it...
- You're like the Queen Mother,

The Queen Mother's dead.

(MOBILE RINGS)

Hello? Jim? How are you?

Yes, as a matter of fact, I was listening.

Thanks very much.
There is a bit of a problem though.

Johnny Vegas has just signed.
Yeah. Paw actually to paper.

No. I couldn't tell him on the air.
He'd have had a coronary.

Who's going to tell him?
I thought you might. He's your client.

We're putting out a press release tomorrow.

Good old Dire Straits with "Tunnel of Love".

(OPERA ON RADIO)

Come on, Charles, don't be such a Sulky Sue.
This is the country.

This frail and vulnerable commodity
is our client.

Well, it could do with a haircut.

Roddy and the Union want you.
They need you.

They see that what's been missing
in the presentation of rural grievances

is the metropolitan sheen.

The urban edge
without which no Whitehall ice is cut.

Am I an edge or a sheen, Martin? Do let me
know so I can comport myself accordingly.

(RADl0) This is the Sandy Morters Show,
I've had a letter about a beastie from,,,

(ALISON) I'd better get that.
(JAMIE) Leave that.

- It's my phone.
- What I have to say may frighten you.

While they're out of the office,

Martin wants you to compose
an election-winning slogan

for the Real Country Union. All right?

- (PHONE RINGS)
- Fine. Certainly.

Political. Not what I normally do. Any clues?

Sometimes you just have
to come up with that little bit extra.

If you can't squeeze it out,
it's time to get off the potty.

Alison, Charles, Just a gentle reminder,

Do explain to Rigor Morters he's finished
before the old duffer sees it on the news,

Oh, Cat? Pick this up, will you?

- What is it?
- Don't ask questions. Just get it.

Barnes? Can I take a cab?

If you think you can afford it.

- Christ! What's that?
- That is the seat of our host.

And that is the seat of his daughter
Virginia - Party Treasurer.

How was the motorway? Was it bloody?

- Moderately bloody, thank you.
- Ginny Harcourt.

Haven't you got warm hands?

- Warm hands, cold heart.
- I like to think so.

Everyone else is here, I think.

My father will probably
have them all pissed as farts by now.

Somebody's bound to get shot.

This little flag indicates
that a joke was intended.

- Today's rough, by the way. Is that OK?
- Er... excellent.

Charles hasn't been a gun before.

Ah. A virgin for Virginia.

A rough shoot means no beaters.

You haven't got the faintest idea
what I'm talking about.

Don't worry, darling. I'll hold your hand.

(PHONE RINGS)

- Pick it up, Ali.
- You pick it up.

I'm creative. I don't do physical.

Right.

- You have four messages,,,
- OK, Jamie. How about this?

Take a good look at your breakfast.

That muesli comes straight
from the heart of Britain.

Alison, the one you just came up with
about putting the "tree" in "country"?

That I said wasn't a winner
because it draws attention to the syllables

- and it might backfire...
- You said it was shite.

- This is worse.
- Why?

One, it's got too many words.
Two, it's too specific.

Three, nobody wants to be nagged
over breakfast. Four...

Shit. Charles. Have we told Rigor? They're
announcing his retirement on the news.

- That's more your sort of thing.
- I've got to do this.

- You've got to do both.
- Why can't you do Rigor?

'Cause I am waiting for a ley to open
and while I am waiting I am thinking.

- Ah...
- Silently.

So, are the people here a representative
cross-section of country dwellers?

They've had privileges of education
and upbringing

but decided to use those privileges
for the benefit of less fortunate rural people.

- I think that's admirable.
- Harcourt, you bastard! Get off my line!

Yes. The problem is a tone of voice -
a manner that the public finds resistible.

I don't give a fish's tit! My covey!

When did you last see politicians
actually relaxing and having fun

without fretting
about how they looked or sounded?

Honest men. Couldn't that be represented
to the public as a virtue?

Yes. But they're not politicians yet, are they?

- I'm not sure you could afford my fee.
- Try me.

In my capacity as Treasurer.

If I were to see the campaign through,
you'd be looking at ?180-190,000.

- Plus expenses.
- Done.

What? Let's say 200,000.

Let's say that, then.
That wasn't too distressing, was it?

- Not to me.
- Nor me. I'd budgeted quarter of a million.

- (SQUAWK!)
- Christ on a bike!

He shot a bloody peacock!

- Is that a bad thing?
- It's unusual.

Quite right. Can't stand peacocks.

I'm going to have to call Rigor
and explain the situation myself.

That's what's happening.

Now, I am going to pretend that I am
Charles and do exactly what he would.

- (MOBILE RINGS)
- Cat here.

- Cat, Rigor's been sacked
- What?

He's been sacked and no one has told him.

- Oh, God. That's awful.
- I know,

- That mustn't happen.
- I'm not sure what to do,

I'll get this bloody package
and get straight on to Rigor.

- Are you sure?
- I'll deal with it. What's his number?

- Are you quite ready for this?
- When have I ever let you down?

Chronologically or in order of seriousness?

- Gentlemen...
- Speak up.

Gentlemen, my colleague Martin and I

have been privy
to the birth of several political parties -

the UK Independence, the SDP,

the Jimmy Goldsmith and Taki one,
whatever that was called -

and we declined to represent any of them.

They were all doing whatever they felt like
and passing it off as principle.

Fumbling that old whore Parliament,
rummaging in her tired and tattered gusset

for the keys to power.

We could have told them, gentlemen,
the keys aren't in there.

The keys are in the grip of the ordinary people.

You know, we all of us contain a chord
that others must strike.

You have struck mine

and I believe you can strike those
of the common folk.

Martin and I are proud
to have you as our clients.

We will serve you to the best of our ability
and you shall triumph.

Gentlemen, a toast.

To a cleaner, fresher, invigorated,

more English rural England.

(ALL) To England!

Yes, I'll hold.

I'm looking for Jacksons. I don't
know if it's an edit facilities place...

- It's a heel bar.
- I'm sorry?

- 6.99
- He's on what?

- He's on air.
- Please put me through,

So, Father, whither the Church
in the age of virtual marriage?

I have a caller from Barnes, West London.
Yes, Catherine?

Meet me at Prentiss McCabe after the show,
It's very important,

Taxi!

I want you to tell me
what you think our problems are.

Very well. Allow me to demonstrate
by means of an exercise.

Simple word association can be illuminating.

- Shell.
- What's he say?

He says, "Shell", you say...

Oh, like word association?

You say, "Shell",
I say, "Already on the board, old boy".

- Chelsea and Westminster.
- Residents' parking.

- European Union.
- Wog trouble.

- Rape.
- Er... seed.

- Seed.
- Wimbledon.

- Money.
- Trees.

Thank you. I rest my case.

All right, there's an image problem,
but are you two truly onside?

Do you believe that in, say, five years
we would have wrought significant change?

Tell us where you want to be in five years
and we'll make sure you get there.

Show us the enemy, we'll take him on.

These are difficult questions.

Not at all. They're not difficult... at all.

- You have our attention.
- But do we have your absolute discretion?

If we're going to begin by not trusting each
other, by keeping secrets from each other,

this relationship is mortally undermined.

I wonder if this is entirely wise.

Daddy wouldn't do it if it wasn't.
And we have to know.

Now...

So... er... paintings...

in the style of John Sell Cotman,

Tom Girtin, Turner...

The great tradition of English watercolourists

and by extension, therefore,
your enemy is...

painters who prefer to use acrylics?

Um... help me out.

Um... right.

"A.H."

They're all signed A.H. Er...

That would be Alice? Agatha?
Give me a clue.

Adolf Hitler.

The Commandant's desk from Auschwitz.

His chair.

This key once unlocked
the main gate at Belsen.

And over here -
and this is particularly recherche -

a little canister, unused... marked "Zyklon".

Could you spare us a moment, please?

Oh, yes, of course.
It is a bit overwhelming.

Take your time.

God forgive me, Charles. We've got to get
out of here. This is quite impossible.

Nothing's impossible, Martin,
if we've set our mind to it.

- We don't falter.
- What?

When Edwina revealed so vividly to us
that she was actually a man,

did we hesitate in promoting her memoir?

Charles, we need to get you back to London.

If I want your opinion,
Martin, I'll give it to me.

No. We took the client.

We're not about to ditch the client
because things have got a bit eggy.

A bit eggy? Charles, they're fucking Nazis.

That's the ultimate PR challenge, isn't it?

Decades of terrible press,
but what did they actually achieve?

Apart from the slaughter of millions
of Jews? I can't believe I'm hearing this!

You cannot spin the Final Solution.

They gave us Gewurztraminer, Riefenstahl...
the Autobahn, the Volkswagen,

the iconic use of dark leathers
and they made the sausages run on time.

You cannot spin the Holocaust.

Well, 20 years ago you couldn't pay people
to have an Alsatian. Devil dogs.

Then rebrand them
as German Shepherds - German -

and suddenly, bingo,
they're top of the poochy pops.

You don't have to "buy" the video,
you can "own" it.

See? All in a word.

Poochy pops?

Above all, Martin, think of the money.
The money's going to be bloody outrageous.

- Where's Rigor? Is he here yet?
- Martin's office.

We've had a lot of rain,
We had some across the country yesterday,,,

- Catherine?
- Rigor...

People call me that behind my back,
but never mind.

You have something pressing to say to me
and here I am.

Yes, um...

You look agitated. Perhaps we should
have a cup of tea and then you can tell me.

Yes. Yes, tea.

I'll be right back.

The Hebrew - it's always him.
2,000 years and nothing's changed.

Yes. I've never really understood this thing
about the Jews, why they're such a menace.

They look and behave just like us.

Exactly.

I'm a Jew.

Never, never, never let us do
anything like that, Martin, ever again.

("SIX O'CLOCK NEWS" THEME ON TV)

Last call for Sandy,

Veteran broadcaster Sandy Morters
says it's time to call it a day,

BBC spokesmen are "amazed and dismayed"
that radio legend Sandy resigned

only hours after supremo Jim Moore
appeared to confirm

that Mr Morters' career as the BBC's
longest-serving broadcaster was secure,

We'll release later today the name of the
lucky man or woman chosen to take the reins

of one of broadcasting's most celebrated voices,

Oh, shit!

- It's a dandy. Jamie puts his feet up.
- Actually, I was...

At Prentiss McCabe we find it useful
not to speak when others are doing so.

- It can be a teeny bit confusing.
- Round room now. I want an update.

- Charles...
- Mouth closed. Stops the drivel coming out.

Come on, everybody. Chop chop.

Where's the servant? I want a pint
of gin and tonic and then another one!

Why doesn't anybody do
any bloody work around here?

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