Original subtitles

[♪♪♪]

NARRATOR: In this picture, there are 47 people.

None of them can be seen.

In this film, we hope to show you how not to be seen.

This is Mr. E.R. Bradshaw of Napier Court, Black Lion Road, London S.E.14.

He cannot be seen. Now I'm gonna ask him to stand up.

Mr. Bradshaw, will you stand up, please?

[GUN FIRES]

This demonstrates the value of not being seen.

In this picture, we cannot see Mrs. B.J. Smegma

of 13 The Crescent, Belmont.

Mrs. Smegma, will you stand up, please?

[GUN FIRES]

This is Mr. Nesbitt of Harlow New Town. Mr. Nesbitt, will you stand up, please?

Mr. Nesbitt has learned the first lesson of not being seen:

Not to stand up.

However, he has chosen a very obvious piece of cover.

Mr. E.W. Lambert of Homeleigh, the boroughs, Oswestry

has presented us with a poser.

We do not know which bush he is behind, but we can soon find out.

[SCREAMS]

Yes, it was the middle one.

Mr. And Mrs. Watson of Hull chose a very cunning way of not being seen.

When we called at their house, we found

that they had gone away on two weeks' holiday.

However, a neighbour told us where they were.

And here is the neighbour who told us where they were.

And here is where he lived.

And this is where he was born.

[NARRATOR LAUGHS]

And now for something completely different.

[♪♪♪]

[COUGHS]

Good evening.

Ladies and gentlemen, we apologise.

The feature was not quite as long as we had anticipated.

Therefore, there will be a short interval.

In the meantime, we are pleased to be able to show you

a short film starring a man with a tape recorder up his nose.

[♪♪♪]

[♪ "LA MARSEILLAISE" PLAYS ♪]

[MUSIC STOPS]

[REWINDING NOISE]

And now a film starring a man with a tape recorder up his brother's nose.

[♪♪♪]

[♪ "LA MARSEILLAISE" PLAYS ♪]

[MUSIC STOPS]

[REWINDING NOISE]

ANNOUNCER: And now in stereo.

[♪ "LA MARSEILLAISE" PLAYS ♪]

[MUSIC STOPS]

Thank you. That was the end of the interval.

Will you kindly return to your seats?

We will now be proceeding with the program as advertised.

MAN 1: Darling, you were wonderful. MAN 2: Oh, really?

[COUGHING]

NARRATOR: In 1971, the British Empire lay in ruins.

Foreigners frequented the streets, many of them Hungarians.

Not the streets, the foreign nationals.

Anyway, many of these Hungarians went into tobacconists to buy cigarettes.

Here, sir. Thank you.

Morning, sir.

I will not buy this record. It is scratched.

I'm sorry?

I will not buy this record. It is scratched.

No, no, no. This is a tobacconist's. Tobacconist's.

Ah!

I will not buy this tobacconist's. It is scratched.

No, no. Tobacco. Cigarettes.

Cigarettes? Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Yes.

My hovercraft is full of eels.

What? My hovercraft is full of eels.

Matches. Yeah. Yeah, matches.

"Do you want...?" Do you want.

Want.

"Do you want to come back to my place? Bouncy, bouncy."

That'll be 6 shillings.

"If I said you had a beautiful body, would you hold it against me?"

"I am no longer infected."

May I? May I? Yeah, yeah.

It costs 6 shillings, costs 6 shillings.

Six shillings.

[SPEAKS IN HUNGARIAN]

SHOP OWNER: Help! Help!

[♪♪♪]

[BELL RINGS]

What's all this, then? "You have beautiful thighs."

What? He hit me.

"Drop your panties, Sir Arthur, I cannot wait till lunchtime."

Right! Oh, my nipples explode with delight!

NARRATOR: The Hungarian gentleman was subsequently released

but it was his information that lead to the arrest and trial of the real culprit.

MAN: I am.

You are hereby charged that on the 28th day of May

you did, willfully and with malice of forethought, publish an alleged

English-Hungarian phrase book with intent to cause a breach of the peace.

How do you plead?

Not guilty.

Mr. Yalk, on the 28th of May, you published this phrase book.

I did.

With Your Lordship's permission, I would like to pose an example.

The Hungarian phrase meaning:

"Can you direct me to the railway station?"

Is here translated by the English phrase, "Please fondle my buttocks."

"Please fondle my buttocks."

Oh, yes, it's past the post office, 200 yards down, then left at the lights.

TOURIST: Hm, left at lights.

[♪♪♪]

[QUACKING]

[HUMS]

NARRATOR: Not far away, Mr. And Mrs. Arthur Putey were about to enter an unfamiliar office.

Next.

Are you the marriage guidance counsellor?

Yes.

Good morning. Morning.

And...

Good morning to you, madam.

Name? Mr. And Mrs. Arthur Putey.

And what is the name of your...

ravishing wife? Wait.

Don't tell me. It's...

It's something to do with moonlight.

It goes with her eyes. It's soft and gentle...

warm and yielding...

deeply lyrical and yet tender and frightened like a tiny white rabbit.

It's Deirdre.

Deirdre.

What a beautiful name.

What a beautiful...

beautiful name.

And what seems to be the trouble with your marriage, Mr. Putey?

It all started when we first went to Brighton on holiday together.

Deirdre, that's my wife, and I have always been very close companions,

and I never particularly anticipated any marital strife.

Indeed the very idea of consulting a professional marital adviser

has always been of the greatest repugnance to me,

although far be it from me to impugn the nature of your trade or profession.

Do go on.

As I was saying, Deirdre and I have always been very close companions,

sharing the interests, the gardening, the sixpenny bottle for holiday money.

And indeed twice a month of an evening, settling down to do the accounts together,

something which Deirdre, that's my wife,

and I particularly look forward to on account of her feet.

I should've said at the outset I'm noted for having a grand sense of humour.

Although, I have kept myself much to myself

over the last couple of years.

It's only as comparatively recently as recently that I began to realise,

well, perhaps realise is too strong a word,

imagine that I was not the only thing in her life.

You suspected your wife? Oh, well...

Frankly, yes.

A bit.

Her behaviour did seem to me...

Her behaviour did seem to me,

who was, after all, there to see, to be a little odd.

Odd? Well, to a certain extent, yes.

Now, I'm not by nature a suspicious person, far from it.

In fact, I've got something of a reputation as an after-dinner speaker,

if you get my meaning.

Yes, I certainly do.

Indeed in the area where people know me, I'm, in fact, very well-known.

Fine. Would you? Yes, certainly.

So I decided it was time to face the facts, stop beating about the bush,

or I'd never be able to look myself in the bathroom mirror again.

Look, would you mind running along for 10, make it 20 minutes? All right?

Yes. I'll wait outside, shall I?

Yes, that's perhaps the best thing.

You've certainly set my mind at rest on one or two scores, then.

[♪♪♪]

[THUNDER ROLLS]

VOICE: Arthur Putey,

are you a man or a mouse?

You've been running too long, Arthur Putey. It's time to stop,

time to turn and fight like a man.

Go back in there, Arthur Putey. Go back in there and pull your finger out.

Yes. Yes, you're right.

This is it, Arthur Putey!

This is your moment, Arthur Putey! At last, you're a man!

Come out, Deirdre. I know you're in there.

COUNSELLOR: Go away. Right-o.

[LAUGHING]

Oh, what a lovely little...

[SCREAMING]

Oh, what a lovely little...

[SCREAMING]

[BELCHES]

Oh, what a lovely little... WOMAN: Stop it! Stop right there!

This is absolutely disgusting, and I'm not going to stand for it.

There. Kill.

[GROWLS]

[♪♪♪]

Ooh.

Oh.

[GRUNTING]

Cut. That's it. We're not going to allow this sort of smut on the screen.

This depraved and degrading spectacle is going to stop right now.

Do you hear me? Stop it.

MAN: Damn! Just when it was getting good.

Evening, squire.

Are you married?

Yes. I'm a bachelor myself.

Is? Is your wife a goer? Eh? Know what I mean? Know what I mean?

Nudge, nudge. Know what I mean? Say no more.

I beg your pardon? Your wife, does she go?

Know what I mean? Know what I mean? Does she go, eh?

She sometimes goes. I bet she does. I bet she does.

Say no more. Say no more. Know what I mean? Nudge, nudge.

I'm afraid I don't quite follow you. Follow me. Follow me. That's good.

That's good. A nod's as good as a wink to a blind bat.

Look, are you selling something? "Selling. Selling." Very good. Very good.

Know what I mean?

Oh, wicked. You're wicked. You're wicked, eh? Nudge, nudge.

A nod's as good as a wink to a blind bat.

But... Your wife a sport, eh?

She likes sport, yes. I bet she does. I bet she does.

Yes, she's very fond of cricket. Who isn't, eh? Who isn't?

Likes games? Knew she would. Knew she would. Who doesn't, eh?

She's been around a bit, eh? Been around.

Yes, she's travelled. She's from Purley. Oh, say no more. Say no more.

Say no more. Purley? Say no more. Know what I mean? Say no more.

Your wife interested in photography, eh?

Photographs, eh? "He asked him knowingly."

Photography?

Snap, snap. Grin, grin. Wink, wink. Nudge, nudge. Say no more.

Holiday snaps? Could be. Could be taken on holiday.

Could be swimming costumes. Nudge, nudge.

Candid. Candid photography. No, I'm afraid we don't have a camera.

Oh. Still. Whoa! Eh?

Eh? Whoa!

Look, are you trying to insinuate something?

No. No. No. No. No. No.

Yes.

Well? Well, I mean...

You're a man of the world, aren't you? I mean, you know...

You've been around. You've been there.

What do you mean? Well, I mean, like, you've, you know...

You've done it, uh...

with a lady. You've slept with a lady.

Yes.

What's it like?

WOMAN'S VOICE: Well, I think it's overrated.

Shut up, you!

Good evening, class. Good evening.

Where are all the others, then? They're not here.

I can see that! What's the matter with them?

Don't know. Perhaps they've got flu.

Flu!

They should eat more fresh fruit.

Right! Now! Self-defence!

Tonight, I shall be carrying on from where we got to last week,

when I was showing you how to defend yourselves against anyone

who attacks you armed with a piece of fresh fruit.

[GROANING]

You promised you wouldn't do fruit this week.

What do you mean?

We've done fresh fruit for the last nine weeks.

What's wrong with fruit?! You think you know it all, eh?!

Can't we try something else?

Like someone who attacks you with a pointed stick.

Pointed stick? Oh, oh, oh.

We want to learn to defend ourselves against pointed sticks, do we?

Getting all high-and-mighty, eh? Fresh fruit not good enough for you, eh?

Oh, oh, oh... Well, let me tell you something, my lad,

when you're walking home tonight and some great homicidal maniac

comes after you with a bunch of loganberries, don't come crying to me!

Right! And now the passion fruit!

When your assailant lunges at you with a passion fruit, like thus...

We've done the passion fruit. What?

We've done the passion fruit.

We've done oranges, apples, grapefruit... MAN 3: Whole and segments.

MAN 2: Greengages, pomegranates... MAN 1: Grapes, passion fruit...

MAN 2: Lemons. MAN 3: Plums.

MAN 4: And mangoes in syrup.

How about cherries? We've done them.

INSTRUCTOR: Red and black? Yes.

All right, then.

Bananas.

We haven't done bananas, have we? No.

Right! How to defend yourself against a man armed with a banana. Catch.

Now, it's quite simple to deal with a banana fiend.

First of all, you force him to drop the banana.

Then you eat the banana, thus disarming him.

You have now rendered him helpless.

Supposing he's got a bunch? Shut up!

Suppose he's got a pointed stick? Shut up!

Right. Now, you, Mr. Apricot! Harrison.

Sorry, Mr. Harrison. Come at me with that banana.

Come on. Be as vicious as you like with it.

Come on, attack me! Come on!

No. No. No. Put something into it. For God's sake, hold the banana like that!

That's better! Now scream! [SCREAMS]

Good! Right! Now attack me!

Come on, man, attack me!

[GUN FIRES]

Next, I eat the banana.

Now, I would just like to point out

that this film is displaying a distinct tendency to become silly.

Now, nobody likes a good laugh more than I do,

except perhaps my wife and some of her friends.

Oh, yes, and Capt. Johnson.

Come to think, most people like a good laugh more than I do,

but that's beside the point.

I'm warning this film not to get silly again. Right.

Now, director, on the command "cut," cut to the next scene.

Director...

NARRATOR: This is a frightened city... COLONEL: Wait for it.

Director, cut!

NARRATOR: This is a frightened city.

Over these streets, over these houses, hangs a pall of fear.

An ugly kind of violence is rife, stalking the town.

[SCREAMING]

Yes, gangs of old ladies attacking fit, defenceless young men.

[♪♪♪]

MAN: They just come up to you and push you, like,

you know, shove you off the pavement.

There's usually about four or five of them.

Yeah, sometimes there's three or four of them.

It's not even safe to go out down to the shops anymore.

NARRATOR: Grannies are no respecter of race, creed or sex.

Theirs is a harsh, ruthless world.

A tough world, a world in which the surgical stocking is king.

But what are they in it for? These senile delinquents, these layabouts in lace.

GRANNY 1: I like the violence. GRANNY 2: The prestige mainly.

GRANNY 3: The free gifts. GRANNY 4: Putting the knee in the groin.

GRANNY 3: We like pulling the heads off sheep.

GRANNY 2: And teacakes. GRANNIES: Yes.

We have a lot of trouble with these Grannies. Pension day is the worst.

Soon as they get it, they blow the lot on milk, tea, sugar,

a tin of meat for the cat.

The whole crux of the problem

lies in the basic dissatisfaction of these senile delinquents

with the world as they find it.

They begin to question the values of their society.

They see their sons and daughters growing up to become

accountants, solicitors, sociologists even,

and they begin to wonder, "Is it all worth it? Is it all...?"

[SCREAMS]

[LAUGHING]

NARRATOR: Another prime target for vandalism is telephone boxes.

[PHONE RINGS]

But mostly, they just live for kicks.

But there are other kinds of violence abroad.

Other gangs, equally vicious, equally determined,

such as The Baby-Snatchers.

[BABIES CRYING]

MAN: Hey!

What is this? Help!

Well, I left him outside for a few moments while I got some Brillo pads.

When I came back, he was gone. He was only 48.

NARRATOR: And also vicious gangs of "keep left" signs.

Right, stop that. It's silly.

Very silly indeed.

It started off as a nice little idea about old ladies attacking young men,

but now it's just got silly.

His hair's too long for a vicar too.

You can tell that those are not proper "keep left" signs.

Clear off, the lot of you!

You, come with me.

Right. Now let's see something decent and military.

Some precision drilling.

MAN: Squad, camp it up!

♪ Oh, get her I've got your number, ducky ♪

♪ You couldn't afford me, dear Two, three ♪

♪ I'll scratch your eyes out ♪

♪ Don't come the brigadier bit With us, dear ♪

♪ We all know where you've been You military fairy ♪

♪ Two, three One, two, three, four, five, six ♪

♪ Woops, don't look now, girls ♪

♪ The major's just minced in With that dolly colour sergeant ♪

♪ Two, three ♪

Right, Stop that! Silly.

And a bit suspect, I think.

Time for a cartoon.

WOMAN: Once upon a time, there was an enchanted prince

who ruled the land beyond the Wobbles.

One day, he discovered a spot on his face.

Foolishly, he ignored it, and three years later, he died of cancer.

The spot, however, flourished and soon set out to seek its fortune.

Blah-blah-blah-blah-blah Blah-blah-blah-blah-blah.

[LAUGHS]

[CRASHING]

Blah-blah-blah-blah-blah Blah-blah-blah-blah-blah.

[PANTS]

[KISSING]

WOMAN: Agnes, did you just see who moved in next door?

AGNES: Yes.

WOMAN: Black as the ace of spades they were.

Oh, well, there goes the neighbourhood.

AGNES: Oh, yes.

[CRACKING]

[FOOTSTEPS]

Next, please.

One at a time, please.

There is only me, sir.

So there is. Take a...

Seat? Seat. Seat. Take a seat.

So you want to join my mountaineering expedition, do you?

Who? Me, sir? Mm-hm.

Yes, I'd very much like to, sir. Jolly good. Jolly good.

And how about you?

There is only me, sir.

Well, bang goes his application, then.

Now, let me fill you in.

I'm leading this expedition,

and we're going to climb both peaks of Mount Kilimanjaro.

I thought there was only one peak, sir.

Well, that will save a bit of time. Well done.

Now, the object of this year's expedition,

is to see if we can find any trace of last year's expedition.

Last year's expedition? Yes. My brother was leading that.

They were going to build a bridge between the two peaks.

My idea, I'm afraid.

Now, I ought to tell you that I have practically everyone that I need

for this expedition, but what special qualifications do you have?

Well, sir... Yes, you first.

There is only me, sir. I wasn't talking to you.

Carry on.

Well, sir, I'm a fully qualified mountaineer.

Mountaineer?

Uh...

"Mouse..."

"Mountaineer:

Two men skilled at climbing a mountain."

By Jove, that will be useful. Well, you're in. Congratulations.

Both of you. Now, what are your names?

Arthur Wilson. Arthur Wilson.

Mm-hm.

Well, look, I'll call you Arthur Wilson 1 and you Arthur Wilson 2,

just to avoid confusion.

Are you actually leading this expedition, sir?

Yes, we are leading this expedition to Africa.

What routes will you both be following?

Good questions. Well, we'll be leaving on one or other of the January the 22nds,

and taking the following routes.

From Manchesters, down through Oxfords,

taking the M1 s through Londons to Purleys,

then the A25s from Purleys to Dovers.

Then Afrikish to Nairobis. Then we take the south roads out of Nairobis

for about 12 miles and then ask. Does anyone speak Swahili?

Yes, I think most of them do down there.

No, does anyone in our party speak Swahili, sir?

Well, matron's got a smattering. Apart from the two matrons?

I'd forgotten about her.

Well, apart from them, who else is coming on our expedition?

Well, we've got the Arthur Brown twins,

two botanists called Machin,

the William Johnston brothers. Two of them?

No, four of them, pair of identical twins.

Two of the Harry Baker quads and you two.

And none of these are mountaineers?

Well, you two are, and we've got a brace of guides called Jimmy Blenkinsop,

because Kilimanjaro is a pretty tricky climb.

Most of it's up, until you reach the very, very top.

And then it tends to slope away rather sharply.

But Jimmy's put his heads together and worked out a way up. Jimmy!

Jimmy Blenkinsop, Arthur Wilson. Arthur Wilson, Jimmy Blenkinsop.

Jimmy Blenkinsop 2, Arthur Wilson 2.

Arthur Wilson 2, Jimmy Blenkinsop 1.

Carry on, Jimmy.

Don't worry about the... We'll get him up all right.

Well, I suppose I'd better describe the route. Well, we start quite simply up Kilimanjaro.

It's quite simple. No problem there, basically.

And then we go on to the main face itself of Kilimanjaro.

It's difficult here because there's loose rock.

Once you get away through that, there's a difficult bit round here.

You've got to go from the end of the mantelpiece onto the coffee table,

which is difficult, but there's quite a good foothold.

Then we've got the rail here, which is quite a good foothold.

Then a terribly easy bit over the floor, up onto the chair.

And then we've got a layback.

We get down and go quite simply straight out to the stairs.

He'll be leading the first assault.

Well, I'm afraid I shan't be coming on your expedition, sir,

as I've absolutely no confidence in anyone involved in it.

Oh, dear.

Well, what about you? Well, I'm game, sir.

Jolly good! Jolly good!

Good Lord!

[MAN GRUNTING AND BREATHING]

MAN: Ugh.

And now for something completely different.

Inspector, inspector! Yes, sir.

I was sitting on a park bench just now and put my coat down.

When I picked it up again, I found my wallet was gone, and 15 pounds had been stolen.

Did you see anyone?

No, no one at all.

Well, there's very little we can do about that, sir.

Do you wanna come back to my place?

Yeah, all right.

[GASPS]

[MAN LAUGHS]

[GASPS]

[SCREAMS]

NARRATOR: And so Miss Spume returned to her typing and dreamed her little dreamy dreams,

unaware of the cruel trick fate had in store for her.

For Miss Spume was about to fall victim

of the dreaded international Chinese Communist conspiracy.

Yes, these fanatical fiends,

under the leadership of the so-called Mao Zedong,

had caught Miss Spume off guard for one brief but fatal moment

[WHIMPERS]

NARRATOR: And destroyed her.

Just as they are ready to do anytime, to free men anywhere

who waver in their defence of democracy.

[EXPLODING]

[♪ "THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER" PLAYS ♪]

Once again, American defence proves its effectiveness

against international communism.

Using this diagram of a tooth to represent any small country

we can see how international communism works

by eroding away from within.

When one country or tooth falls victim to international communism,

its neighbours soon follow.

In dentistry, this is known as the domino theory.

But with American defence, the decay is stopped before it starts.

That's why 9 out of 10 small countries choose American defence.

ANNOUNCER: Or Crelm toothpaste with the miracle ingredient, Fraudulin.

The white car represents Crelm toothpaste

with the miracle ingredient, Fraudulin.

The not-white car represents another toothpaste.

[GUN FIRES] [CAR ENGINES ROAR]

Yes, both cars provide 30 percent protection.

At 60 percent protection, both cars are doing well.

And now at 90 percent protection...

Wait! The not-white car is out,

and Crelm toothpaste goes on to win with 100 percent protection!

Yes, do like all smart motorists, choose Crelm toothpaste.

Or Shrill petrol with the new additive, GLC 9424075.

After 6 p.m., 9424047.

Using this white card to represent engine deposits

and this black card to represent Shrill's new additive, GLC 9424075.

After 6 p.m., 9424047.

We can see how the engine deposits are pushed off the face of the earth

by the superior qualities available to Shrill...

[GUN FIRES]

[GROANING]

[FOOTSTEPS]

[CRASHING]

OFFICER: This is the police.

We know you're in there, so come out with your hands up.

MAN: You'll never take me alive, copper.

OFFICER: All right, then. Sergeant!

[♪♪♪]

[BURPS]

ANNOUNCER: Conrad Poohs and His Dancing Teeth.

[BOOING]

[CLAPPING]

Thank you, thank you, Conrad Poohs and his exploding teeth.

A smile, two fangs and an "excuse me."

And next tonight, gentlemen and ladies

here at the Peep-hole Club for the very first time,

we're very proud to welcome Ken Ewing and his musical mice.

EWING: Thank you, thank you.

Ladies and gentlemen, I have in this box, 23 white mice.

Mice which I have painstakingly trained over the past few years

to squeak at a selected pitch.

This one is E sharp, and this one is G.

G, E sharp. You have the general idea.

Now, these mice are so arranged upon this rack

that when played in the correct order,

they will squeak "Three Blinded White Mice."

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you, on the mouse organ,

"Three Blinded White Mice." Thank you.

[SQUEAKING]

AUDIENCE: Oh, God! Stop him!

[CHATTERING]

Ten seconds, studio.

WOMAN: Stop him!

Hello, and welcome to another edition of It's the Arts.

And we kick off this evening with a look at the cinema.

One of the most prolific film directors of this age or indeed of any age

is Sir Edward Ross, back in this country for the first time for five years

to open a season of his films at the National Film Theatre.

And we are indeed fortunate to have him with us in the studio this evening.

Good evening.

Edward, you don't mind if I call you Edward?

No, not at all. It does seem to worry some people.

I'm not quite sure why. Perhaps they're sensitive, so I do take the precaution of asking on these occasions.

No, no, that's fine. So, Edward it is. Splendid.

I'm sorry to have brought it up.

No, no, Edward it is.

Well, thank you very much indeed for being so helpful.

Only sometimes, it's more than my job's worth.

Quite.

Makes it rather difficult to establish a rapport, to put the other person at his ease.

Quite. Quite.

Silly little point, but it does seem to matter.

Still, less said the better.

Ted, when you first went in the film... You don't mind if I call you Ted?

As opposed to Edward? No, everyone calls me Ted.

Splendid. Of course, it's much shorter, isn't it?

Yes, it is. Much less formal.

Yes. Ted, Edward, anything.

Splendid.

Incidentally, do call me Tom.

I don't want you bothering with any of this Thomas nonsense.

Um, where were we? Yes. Eddie baby, when you first started...

I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I don't like being called Eddie baby.

I beg your pardon? I don't like being called Eddie baby.

Now get on with the interview.

Did I call you Eddie baby? Yes, you did.

I don't think I called you Eddie baby. Did I call him Eddie baby?

CREW: Yes. Yes, you did. Yes, you did.

I didn't really call you Eddie baby, did I, sweetie?

Don't call me sweetie!

Can I call you sugarplum? No!

Pussycat? No!

Angel drawers? No, you may not. Now get on with it.

Can I call you Frank?

Why Frank?

Frank's a nice name.

President Nixon's got a hedgehog called Frank. Frank.

What is going on? Frank, Frankie, Fran, Frannie.

Little Frannie-pooh.

All right, that's it. I'm leaving.

I've had enough of this. I've never been so insulted.

Tell us about your latest film, Sir Edward.

What?

Tell us about your latest film, Sir Edward, if you'd be so kind.

None of this pussycat nonsense?

Promise.

Please, Sir Edward.

My latest film? Yes, Sir Edward.

I first had the idea, funnily enough, when I first joined the industry in 1919.

Of course, in those days, I was only a tea boy...

Oh, shut up!

MAN: There he is!

[CHATTERING]

[WHISTLING]

[♪♪♪]

SCRIBBLER: The room is full of milkmen,

some of whom are...

Are very old.

NARRATOR: This man is Ernest Scribbler, manufacturer of jokes.

In a few moments, he will think of the funniest joke in the world.

And as a result, he will die laughing.

[LAUGHING]

NARRATOR: It was obvious the joke was lethal.

No one could read it and live.

Scribbler's mother, alarmed by the unusual sounds of merriment,

entered the room and found what was, apparently, a suicide note.

[LAUGHING]

[♪♪♪]

ANNOUNCER: Yes, the war against the Hun continues.

And as Britain's brave boys battle against the Boche,

their leaders are on the lookout for new breakthroughs

that could provide the ultimate weapon in the war against the Hun.

And here, in this little house in Finchley,

they think maybe they've found it.

It's a joke so deadly that it could have Fritz's forces falling about.

[MOTORCYCLE STARTS]

NARRATOR: Tests on Salisbury Plain confirm the joke's devastating effectiveness

at a range of up to 50 yards.

[LAUGHS]

Fantastic!

All through the winter of '43,

we had translators working in joke-proof conditions

to try and manufacture a German version of the joke.

They worked on one word each for greater safety.

One of them saw two words by mistake,

and had to spend several weeks in hospital.

But apart from that, things went ahead pretty fast,

and by January, we had the joke in a form

which our troops couldn't understand

but which the Germans could.

NARRATOR: So on July the 8th, 1944,

the joke was first told to the enemy in the Ardennes.

Squad, tell the joke!

[YELLING IN GERMAN]

[SPEAKING IN GERMAN]

[LAUGHING]

NARRATOR: In action, it was deadly.

[YELLING IN GERMAN]

[LAUGHING]

The German casualties were appalling.

It was a fantastic success, over 80,000 times as powerful

as Britain's great prewar joke used at Munich.

And one which Hitler couldn't match.

[SPEAKING IN GERMAN]

I would like to apologise for the rather poor taste of the previous item.

Um, excuse me, please.

[LAUGHING]

[HUMS]

[ENGINE ROARS]

Oh.

[ENGINE ROARS]

Oh.

[ENGINE ROARS]

WOMAN: Fleet Street, please.

MAN: All right, stay close, stay together, don't lag behind.

Come on, keep together, everybody. Remember, watch out for the killer cars.

NARRATOR: Yes, the killer cars.

For years, the city had been plagued by ever-increasing pedestrian congestion.

In an attempt to eliminate this problem, certain fanatical cars,

had taken the law into their own hands.

[CAR GROWLS]

But the days of the killer cars were numbered,

thanks to the miracle of atomic mutation.

[THUMPING]

[CARS GROWLING]

[CAR ENGINES ROARING]

CIVILIAN: Thank you, thank you. You've saved our city.

NARRATOR: But at what cost?

[BELCHES]

MAN: Just then, as it looked for certain that the city was about to be eaten,

the earth trembled, and the sun was blotted out from the sky.

VOICE: Cripes!

Suddenly, swarms of giant bees filled the air,

and 300 million armoured horsemen, covered with coats of 1000 colours

appeared at every corner, attacking the monster cat

in a scene of such spectacular proportions that it could never in your life be seen

in a low-budget film like this.

If you notice, my mouth isn't moving either.

But just as the monster cat was starting to weaken,

the earth split apart with a deafening roar and...

[CAT MEOWS]

[♪♪♪]

[MUSIC SPEEDS UP]

Hello, I wish to register a complaint.

Hello, miss?

What do you mean, miss?

I'm sorry, I have a cold. I wish to make a complaint.

Sorry, we're closing for lunch.

Never mind that, my lad. I wish to complain about this parrot,

what I purchased not half an hour ago from this very boutique.

Yes, the Norwegian Blue. What's wrong with it?

I'll tell you what's wrong with it, my lad.

It's dead. That's what's wrong with it.

No, no, it's resting. Look.

Look, my lad, I know a dead parrot when I see one,

and I'm looking at one right now.

No, that's not dead. It's resting.

Resting?

Yeah, resting. Remarkable bird, the Norwegian Blue.

Beautiful plumage.

The plumage don't enter into it. It's stone dead.

No, it's resting.

All right, then. If it's resting, I'll wake it up.

Hello, Polly!

I've got a nice, fresh cuttlefish for you

if you wake up, Mr. Polly Parrot. There, he moved.

No he didn't. That was you pushing the cage!

I didn't! Yes, you did.

Hello, Polly!

Wakey-wakey!

Rise and shine!

This is your 9:00 alarm call!

Now, that's what I call a dead parrot.

No, he's stunned. Stunned!

Yeah, you stunned him just as he was waking up.

Norwegian Blues stun easily. Look, my lad, I've had enough of this.

That parrot is definitely deceased. And when I bought it,

not half an hour ago, you assured me that its total lack of movement

was due to it being tired and shagged-out after a long squawk.

Well, he's pining for the fjords.

"Pining for the fjords"?

What kind of talk is that?

Look, why did it fall flat on its back the moment I got it home?

Well, the Norwegian Blue prefers kipping on its back. Beautiful plumage.

Look, I took the liberty of examining that parrot,

and I discovered that the only reason

that it had been sitting on its perch in the first place

was that it had been nailed there.

Oh, but of course it was nailed there.

If I hadn't nailed it there, it would have muscled up to those bars and voom!

Look here, mate.

This parrot wouldn't voom if you put 4000 volts through it.

It's bleeding demised.

No, it's pining.

It's not pining. It's passed on.

This parrot is no more. It has ceased to be.

It's expired and gone to see its maker. This is a late parrot.

It's a stiff, bereft of life. It rests in peace.

If you hadn't nailed it to the perch, it would be pushing up the daisies.

It's rung down the curtain and joined the choir invisible.

This is an ex-parrot.

Well, I better replace it, then.

If you wanna get anything done in this country,

you've got to complain until you're blue in the mouth.

I've had a look. We're right out of parrots.

I see. I get the picture.

I've got a slug.

Does it talk?

Not really.

Well, it's scarcely a replacement, then, is it?

Listen, I didn't wanna work in a pet shop.

I wanted to be a lumberjack.

I'm sorry, this is irrelevant, isn't it?

Yes, a lumberjack leaping from tree to tree

as they float down the mighty rivers of British Columbia.

The giant redwood!

The larch!

The fir!

The mighty Scot's pine!

CUSTOMER: What about my bloody parrot?

The smell of fresh-cut timber!

The crash of mighty trees!

With my best girl by my side,

we'd sing, sing, sing!

♪ I'm a lumberjack and I'm okay ♪

♪ I sleep all night and I work all day ♪

♪ He's a lumberjack and he's okay ♪

♪ He sleeps all night and he works all day ♪

♪ I cut down trees, I eat my lunch I go to the lavatory ♪

♪ On Wednesday I go shopping And have buttered scones for tea ♪

♪ He cuts down trees, he eats his lunch He goes to the lavatory ♪

♪ On Wednesday he goes shopping And has buttered scones for tea ♪

♪ He's a lumberjack and he's okay ♪

♪ He sleeps all night and he works all day ♪

♪ I cut down trees I skip and jump ♪

♪ I like to press wild flowers ♪

♪ I put on women's clothing And hang around in bars ♪

♪ He cuts down trees He skips and jumps ♪

♪ He likes to press wild flowers ♪

♪ He puts on women's clothing And hangs around in bars ♪

♪ He's a lumberjack and he's okay ♪

♪ He sleeps all night and he works all day ♪

♪ I cut down trees I wear high heels ♪

♪ Suspenders and a bra ♪

♪ I wish I'd been a girly Just like my dear papa ♪

♪ He cuts down trees, he wears high heels ♪

♪ Suspenders and a bra ♪

♪ I wish I'd been a girly Just like my dear papa ♪

Oh, Bevis! And I thought you were so butch!

[MEN YELLING]

And now for something completely different.

Hello, darling, sorry I'm so late. That's all right, darling.

I'm 20 minutes late myself. Let's not start worrying about that yet.

It's nice here, isn't it? Oh, yes. It's a very good restaurant.

Five stars, you know. Oh, really?

Oh, yes. Terrific reputation. Good evening, madame.

Good evening. Good evening, sir.

Fine, thank you.

May I say, what a pleasure it is to see you here again, sir.

Thank you. Apparently, the Bœuf en Croûte is fantastic.

If I may recommend, sir, the Faisan à la Reine.

The sauce is one of the chef's most famous creations.

That sounds very good. Sounds lovely.

Anyway, darling, have a look at the menu. See what you want. Take your time.

By the way, I've got a bit of a dirty fork. Could you get me another one, please? Thank you.

I beg your pardon?

I've got a bit of a dirty fork. Could you get me another one, please?

Oh, sir, I do apologise.

No need to apologise. It doesn't worry me.

Oh, no, I do apologise, sir.

I will fetch the headwaiter immédiatement.

No, no, please. No need to do that.

No, no. I feel sure the headwaiter,

he will want to apologise to you himself, personally.

I cannot think how this has happened. I will fetch him at once.

Well, you certainly get good service here, don't you?

Yes, they really look after you here.

WOMAN: It all looks delicious.

Excuse me, sir and madame.

This is filthy. Who the hell washed it up?

Giuseppe, find out who washed this up and give them their cards immediately.

No, no, I tell you, we can't afford to take any chances!

Sack the entire washing-up staff! Please, I don't want to cause any trouble.

No, please. It's quite right that you bring this sort of thing to our attention.

Giuseppe! Ring the manager and tell him what has happened immediately!

Please. I don't want to make any fuss. Please. There's no fuss.

We simply wish to ensure that nothing interferes with your complete

enjoyment of the meal.

Well, I'm sure it won't. It was only a dirty fork.

I know, and I'm sorry. Bitterly sorry. But I know that nothing I can

say can alter the fact that in this restaurant,

you have been given a dirty, filthy, smelly piece of cutlery.

It wasn't smelly. It is smelly and obscene and disgusting.

And I hate it, I hate it! That's enough, Gilberto!

Dirty, nasty. Gilberto!

Good evening, sir. Good evening, madame.

I'm the manager, and I've only just heard what's happened. May I sit down?

Yes, yes, of course.

I want to apologise humbly, deeply and sincerely about the fork.

No, no, really, it was only a tiny piece of dirt. I mean, you could hardly see it anyway.

Oh, you're good, kind, fine people for saying that.

But I can see it. To me, it's like a boulder. A vast bowl of pus.

Oh, it's not that bad.

No! It gets me here. I can't give you any excuses. There are no excuses.

I've been meaning to spend more time in the restaurant, but I haven't been

too well recently, and things have been going very badly back there.

Poor old Mrs. Dalrymple, who prepares the salad,

can hardly move her poor swollen fingers.

And then, of course, there's Gilberto's war wound.

But they're good people, and they're fine people.

And together, we were beginning to get over this bad patch.

There was light at the end of the tunnel,

when this... When this happened!

Can I get you some water? It's the end of the road!

You bastards!

You mean us?

You vicious, heartless bastards!

Look what you've done to him!

He's worked his fingers to the bone to make this place what it is,

and you come in here with your petty, vicious, heartless quibbling

and you grind him into the dirt!

This fine, honourable man, whose boots you are not worthy to kiss.

Oh, it makes me mad!

[GROANS]

Easy, Mungo. Easy!

Stark staring mad!

No, Mungo! Oh, the wound.

They've destroyed him!

It's the end! The end!

He's dead!

They killed him! Revenge!

Revenge!

No, Mungo! Never kill a customer! Oh, the wound again!

Lucky I didn't tell him about the dirty knife.

[♪♪♪]

[♪ FLUTE PLAYS ♪]

[ENGINE ROARS]

[CLEARS THROAT]

Good morning, I am a bank robber.

Please don't panic, just hand over all the money.

This is a lingerie shop, sir.

Fine, fine. Um...

Adopt, adapt and improve.

Well, what have you got?

We've got corsets, stockings, suspender belts, tights,

bras, slips, petticoats, knickers, socks and garters, sir.

Fine, fine, fine.

No large quantities of money in safes?

No, sir.

No piles of cash in easy-to-carry bags? No, sir.

Fine, fine.

[SIGHS]

Well, just a pair of panties, then, please.

And now for something completely different.

Hey, did you see that?

Hm?

Did you see something go past the window?

What? Somebody just went past

that window, downwards.

Oh. Oh.

Another one!

Hm?

Another one just went past, downwards.

What?

Two people have just fallen past that window.

Fine, fine.

Look, two people, three people have just fallen past that window.

Must be a board meeting.

Oh, yeah.

That was Wilkins of finance.

No, that was Robertson.

Wilkins.

It was Robertson. Wilkins.

It was Robertson.

That was Wilkins. Oh, yeah.

It'll be Parkinson next.

Bet you it won't.

How much?

What? How much do you bet it won't?

Fiver? Yeah, all right.

Right, done. You're on.

Parkinson next.

Come on, Parky!

Don't be silly, Parky! Come on, Parky!

Don't be stupid, man. Come on, lad, jump!

MAN: Dear sir, I would like to complain about that last scene

about people falling out of high buildings.

I myself have worked all my life in such a building and have never once...

[SCREAMS]

[♪♪♪]

[MUTTERING]

[SNORING]

[ALARM SOUNDS]

[♪♪♪]

[MUTTERING]

MAN: Psst. All clear.

[MUMBLING]

♪ Vocational guidance counsellor ♪

MAN: Ah, Mr. Anchovy.

Do sit down. Thank you.

Takes the weight off the feet, eh? Yes.

Lovely weather for the time of year, I must say.

Enough of this gay banter.

Now, Mr. Anchovy, you asked us to advise you which job in life you were best suited for.

That is correct. Well, I have the results here

of all the interviews and the aptitude tests that you took last week, and from them

we've built up a pretty clear impression of the sort of person that you are.

And I think I can say without fear of contradiction

that the ideal job for you is accountancy.

But I am an accountant. Jolly good.

Well, back to the office with you, then.

No, no. You don't understand.

I've been an accountant for the last 20 years, but I want a new job.

Something exciting that will let me live!

But accountancy is quite exciting, isn't it?

Exciting! No, it's not. It's dull, dull, dull.

My God, it's dull!

It's so deadly dull and tedious and stuffy

and boring and desperately dull.

I can't stand it any longer. I want to live.

Well, yes, Mr. Anchovy, but you see, in your report here,

it says that you are an extremely dull person.

Our experts describe you as "an appallingly dull fellow,

unimaginative, timid, spineless, easily dominated,

no sense of humour, tedious company and irrepressibly drab and awful."

And whereas in most professions these would be considerable drawbacks,

in accountancy, they are a positive boon.

Yes, but don't you see? I'm only as awful as this because accountancy does this to people.

Can't you help me?

Well, do you have any idea of what you want to be?

Yes, yes, I have. What is it?

A lion tamer!

Yes. It's a bit of a jump, isn't it? Accountancy to lion taming in one go.

You don't think to work your way towards lion taming, say, via banking

or insurance? No, no. I don't want to wait.

I want to start immediately. Tomorrow morning at 9,

I want to be in there, taming.

Yes, but what qualifications do you have?

I've got a hat.

A hat? Yes, a lion-taming hat.

A hat with "lion tamer" written on it. It lights up saying, "lion tamer," in big, red, neon letters

so you can tame them after dark when they're less stroppy.

I see. During the day, you can switch it off,

and you can claim it as reasonable wear and tear under allowable professional expenses.

Under Paragraph 335...

Yes, I follow. But you see, the snag is, if I now call the circus and say to them:

"Look here, I've got a 45-year-old accountant

with me who wants to become a lion tamer",

their first question is not going to be, " Does he have his own hat?"

They're more likely to ask what experience you've had with lions.

Well, I've seen them at the zoo. Good.

Yes, little, brown, furry creatures with short, stumpy legs and great, long noses.

I could tame one of those. I don't know what all the fuss is about.

They look pretty tame to start with.

And these lions, how high are they?

Oh, about so high. They don't frighten me at all.

And do these lions eat ants? Yes, that's right.

Well, I'm afraid what you've got hold of there, Mr. Anchovy, is an anteater.

A what? An anteater, not a lion.

You see, a lion is a huge, savage beast about 10 foot long, 5 foot high,

with masses of sharp, pointy teeth and nasty, long, razor-sharp claws.

It looks like this:

[SCREAMS]

Now, shall I call the circus? No!

No. No. I like your idea of making the move to lion taming by easy stages,

say, via insurance or banking.

Banking, yes, banking. I see it. It's a man's life, isn't it?

Travel, excitement, decisions affecting people's lives, romance, thrills.

I'll put you in touch with a bank. Yes.

Probably. Probably, you know. I'd like a couple days to think about it,

because it is a big decision.

Or maybe a week at most, you know, but I do want

to make this decision to be the right one. I'd like to do banking, obviously, but...

It's sad, isn't it? But this is what accountancy does to people.

The only way we can fight this terrible, debilitating social disease...

I only want to be famous! I only want to see my name in lights!

And so you shall.

MAN: Cue.

[♪♪♪]

Hello, good evening and welcome to Blackmail.

To start tonight's program, we go north to Preston

in Lancashire and Mrs. Betty Teal.

Hello, Mrs. Teal.

Now, Mrs. Teal, this is for £15, and it's to stop us from revealing

the name of your lover in Bolton.

So, Mrs. Teal, send us £15 by return of post please, and your husband Trevor

and your lovely children, Diane, Janice and Julian, need never know

the name of your lover in Bolton.

And now a letter, a series of photographs and a hotel registration book

which could add up to divorce, premature retirement and possible

criminal proceedings for a company director in Bromsgrove.

He's a Freemason and a conservative MP.

So, Mr. S of Bromsgrove, that's £3000, please,

to stop us revealing your name, the name of the three other people involved,

the youth organization to which they belong,

and the shop where you bought the equipment.

Well, we'll be showing you more of that photograph later in the program,

unless we hear from Charles or Michael.

Now it's time for our Stop the Film spot.

The rules are simple. We have taken a film which contains compromising

scenes and unpleasant details which could wreck a man's career.

But the victim may phone me at any time and stop the film.

But don't forget, the money increases as the film goes on.

So the longer you leave it, the more you have to pay.

So with the clock at £300, this week's Stop the Film visited Stansted.

[♪♪♪]

He's a very brave man.

[PHONE RINGS]

No, sir. No. I'm sure you didn't, sir.

No, that's all right. We don't morally censure. We just want the money.

And here's the address to send it to.

Thank you, sir.

Ah, there you are. Well, that's quite enough of that.

And now...

"A local civic group re-enacts a famous scene from history.

This week, the Townswomen's Guild of Sheffield in Yorkshire."

MAN: Miss Rita Fairbanks, you organised

this representation of the Battle of Pearl Harbour. Why?

Well, we've always been extremely interested in modern works.

We were the first Townswomen's Guild to perform Camp on Blood Island.

And, of course, last year we did our extremely popular

re-enactment of Nazi war atrocities.

So this year, we thought we'd do something in a much lighter vein.

MAN: I can see you're all ready to go, so I'll wish you luck in your latest venture,

the Battle of Pearl Harbour.

Thank you very much indeed, young man.

[WHISTLE BLOWS]

[YELLING]

[MOANING]

Brian! Oh, Elspeth!

Oh, Brian! Oh, Elspeth.

Oh, Brian. Oh, Elspeth.

Be gentle with me.

[♪♪♪]

Oh, Brian! Are you going to do anything, or are you just going to

show me films all evening? Just one more, dear.

[♪♪♪]

ANNOUNCER: Good afternoon and welcome to Banby Park.

You join us as the competitors are running out onto the field on this lovely

winter's afternoon, with the going firm underfoot and little sign of rain.

And it looks as though we're in for a splendid afternoon sport, on this

127th Upper-Class Twit of the Year show.

And there's a big crowd here today to see these prize idiots in action.

Vivien Smith-Smythe-Smith. He's in the Grenadier Guards and he can count up to four.

Simon Zinc-Trumpet-Harris. He's an old Etonian,

and married to a very attractive table lamp.

Nigel Incubator-Jones. His best friend is a tree,

and in his spare time, he's a stockbroker.

Gervaise Brook-Hamster. He's in the wine trade,

and his father uses him as a wastepaper basket.

And finally, Oliver St. John Mollest, another old Etonian.

His father was Cabinet minister, and his mother won the derby,

and he's thought by many to be this year's outstanding twit.

Now the twits are moving up to the starting line, and any moment now,

they'll be under starter's orders.

I'm afraid they're facing the wrong way at the moment, but the starter will soon sort this out.

And any moment now, they're going to have the big off.

This is always a tense moment...

[GUN FIRES]

And they're off!

No, no, they're not. They didn't realise they had to start when the gun went.

Never mind, I think the starter's explained to them now.

Yes, several of them are beginning to point, and they're off again.

This time, yes, a really fast start. It's Vivien going straight to the lead.

Oliver is running round wide to the right. Where's he going? There he is. And to the left, picking up the line.

There we are and into the first event, which is Walking Along the Straight Line.

The twits have to walk along these lines without falling over.

This is Oliver's worst event. He's having a little trouble in the back.

Simon's coming through fast. Nigel's coming through. Vivien. And now Oliver's over.

Oliver's over at the back. Never mind. He'll get up and have another go.

He's a great fighter, this lad. He's having... Oh, dear. Never mind.

We're coming to the second event, the Matchbox Jump.

Two rows of matchboxes for the twits to clear.

Nigel's over, and Simon's over. A wonderful jump! And Vivien...

Vivien has refused!

And now it's Kicking the Beggar.

And Nigel to put the brogue in there.

Beautifully placed. Another one and the beggar is down, and the crowd loves that.

Here, it's Oliver. He hasn't cleared the jump yet.

He's having a little trouble with the old brain problem.

If only his father understood. Now it's Running Over the Old Lady.

It's Simon in the lead, and he's got her right in the midriff.

Accelerating forward now. Back to Oliver.

Oh, he's magnificent, this man.

He doesn't know when he's beaten. He doesn't know when he's winning.

He has no sort of sensory apparatus known to man. Sad. Good luck, Oliver.

Now it's Waking the Neighbour. Simon's there at the front of the field,

and he's slamming that door, and he's woken the neighbour.

Simon moves clearly into first place, and the crowd is really excited at this moment.

And now it's Shooting the Rabbit.

These rabbits have been carefully spaced out on the ground so that they can't move around too much.

And this is only a one-day event.

There's a bit of mist there, which I think is causing the twits a bit of trouble.

And Gervaise is using the butt of his rifle,

and Vivien's going with a fist, and Gervaise is first away...

And Oliver has run himself over. What a great twit.

And now it's Taking the Bras Off the Debutantes from the Back.

This is a particularly difficult event for most of the twits.

One of the ones that takes the most time on this extremely exacting course.

And the crowd is getting excited, and I think some of the twits are getting rather excited too.

And it's Simon. It's Simon into the lead, closely followed by Nigel.

And it's the final event now. They have to shoot themselves if they can.

Upper-Class Twit of the Year. Simon can't get the bra off his finger.

It's Nigel there. Nigel misses. Simon misses.

Nigel misses again, and Gervaise has shot himself.

Gervaise is Upper-Class Twit of the Year.

Vivien is there. He's not having any of that.

Simon shoots. Simon has shot Vivien!

Simon has shot Vivien into second place, and Simon shoots himself.

Simon is third, and Nigel... Nigel clubs himself into fourth place.

And so the final result.

First and Upper-Class Twit of the Year:

Gervaise Brook-Hamster of Kensington.

Runner-up, Vivien Smith-Smythe-Smith of Mayfair,

and third, Simon Zinc-Trumpet-Harris of Kensington.

Well, there will certainly be some car-door slamming

in the streets of Kensington tonight.

[♪♪♪]

[CHICKEN CLUCKING]

[BELL RINGS]

[♪♪♪]

[FARTING]

[LAUGHING]

[♪♪♪]

[ENGINE ROARS]

[FOOTSTEPS APPROACHING]

[PIG SNORTS]

[♪♪♪]

[FARTING]

Subtitles by: SDI Media Group