Original subtitles

Hello, I'm American treasure, Mel Brooks.

To some of you, I'm a hero.

To others, merely a legend.

Over 40 years ago, I wrote and directed

History of the World, Part One,

a sketch comedy movie that showed

the real side of history.

I also starred in it.

Maybe a mistake.

So when I was approached by somebody named Hulu

to make a sequel, I had two conditions.

One, they had to make me look exactly how I did in 1981.

And here I am.

Exactly what I looked like.

Who knew there were muscles here.

Anyway, my other stipulation was all original material,

nothing from Part One, no repeats.

So without further ado,

I present to you History of the World, Part Two.

Hey guys, look at me, I'm swol.

Hitler on Ice.

And Adolf Hitler,

not giving the performance he had hoped for tonight.

Mm.

The master race isn't lookin' so masterful.

Very hard to perform at a high level

when you are losing a two front war.

- Oh. - Oh, no.

- Wow! - You know, it really hurts

when you fall on the ice like that.

- Absolutely, Trish. - It does.

And that's gonna wrap it up for Adolf Hitler.

Let's go to the floor and see some scores.

And we're gonna follow him

into the kiss and cry booth.

And here he is with his longtime coach,

Joseph Goebbels and his new bride, Eva Braun,

and they are throwing things at him in the audience.

They are throwing dead flowers.

And he is waitin' for the scores. Here they are.

- Wow. - Wow.

As expected, it's a festival of zeros,

except for the French who gave him a ten,

-those Vichy cowards. - Wow.

He got a straight up fuck you from Poland.

I've said it before, I'll say it again,

if you put concentration camps in people's countries,

you better be flawless on the ice.

- Look at how hysterical he is. See? - Wow.

this is what happens when men are in charge.

I don't know about you guys.

I think this is gonna turn into one of those Hitler memes.

Have you guys seen those?

- Mm-hmm, and oh. - I see a Luger.

- I see a Luger. Wow. - There's the Luger.

Uh-oh, looks like he's heading back to the bunker

with Eva Braun to blow his psychopathic brains

right out of his shit head.

Yeah, I have to imagine that this is his last competition,

and I, for one am glad about it.

He's a thug and bad for the sport.

And humanity.

Mm, greasy head motherfucker.

Ho-ho, we're gonna get some letters about that one,

but hashtag I stand with Trish.

Hashtag me too.

I don't know about that one.

Absolutely.

And coming up next,

we've got men's downhill

with Benito Mussolini.

He can make the trains run on time,

but can he beat his own time on the slopes?

Let's hope he falls down

and breaks both of his fuckin' legs.

History of the World, Part Two.

The Civil War.

The Civil War was in its final days.

We're talking about the one in the 1860s,

not the one coming up in 2024.

The South was on its last legs as the Union Army closed in,

and at the head of that army

was the lushly-bearded Ulysses S. Grant,

who was also a bit of a lush.

General Grant.

- Hi, Pam, how are ya? -Big win out there.

What is going through your mind right now?

Well, we lost 4,000 men out there.

They're dead.

But we did kill 6,000 of their guys,

but a lot of their guys were related to our guys,

so it's a lot of mixed emotions right now for them.

They say the war is almost over.

If the North wins, will you go to Disneyland?

Well, that depends, do they have a bar? (laughing) JK.

I'll hang you both, if you dump that on me.

Great to see you, Pam, take care.

Please don't take my arm, sir.

I'm a drummer.

Can I get a dull saw?

Tell me, doc, will it hurt?

When we amputate your head? Yea.

Play Devil Went Down to Georgia.

We don't have the rights.

Then just do a sound alike.

Hold on, everyone.

Daddy's comin'.

Daddy's home. Come to Papa.

- Sir. - What is it?

President Lincoln is in your quarters, sir.

I know.

Dismissed.

Damn it.

Mr. President.

Oh, there he is.

Hey, oh.

Stephen Douglas's dick hole.

Are you okay, sir?

Yes, I'm fine.

Have a seat, Ulysses, have a seat.

Oh.

Mr. President, you look exhausted.

This war has taken a toll on you, sir.

It's not the war.

It's my height.

I mean, look at me.

They don't make things for a big boy like me.

I mean, ugh.

Look at these pants, Ulysses.

Look at that.

They're basically capris.

I'm a big boy. I need big boy pants.

I will say they look kind of fun,

somethin' you could wear at a summer party, maybe.

Look, anyways, I have heard some grumblings

and that your imbibing has gotten a bit out of control.

My imbibing?

- Mm-hmm. - Who told you that?

Was it Sheridan?

Because he's addicted to laudanum.

Look, I don't drink a lot, you know.

Like maybe like a little bit like on a holiday or some--

I believe today is what the Hebrews call Pesach, sir.

No more alcohol until the war is over.

Do you understand me, Ulysses?

Yeah, sure, fine.

I don't need a drink.

Good. All right, there is one more thing

that I need to talk to you about.

It's about my son, Robert Todd.

Your son.

He has been begging me to enlist.

And now that the war is nearly over,

I feel like this is the perfect time

to just get him in there.

Once all the regular fighters have-

- Yes, yes, abs- - Given their lives

and bled and lost their legs,

now you wanna sneak in your little Harvard boy

for a couple days in the course.

Yes, no, you understand, absolutely.

- Gotcha, yeah, okay. - He's a good boy.

You know, I want you to look after him.

Mr. President, I want you to know,

I won't let the boy out my sight.

Oh, good, good, good. Robert Todd-

Oh, Jesus, God.

- Good Lord. - Dammit.

I have legs for arms.

That was a gift from my wife, sir.

Ow, god dammit.

R.T.

General Grant, sir.

It is an honor, sir.

I have been a huge fan my entire life.

And how long is that, young man?

One score and two years.

That means 22 in our secret language.

- Come on over here, come over here. - Right here.

There's my big, strong boy.

Watch this, I trained him well.

- Yes. - What do I have?

- You've trained for this. What do I have? - My nose.

Yes, can you get it?

Can you reattach it?

First try.

Good job, son.

Seems like a great kid.

He's in good hands, Mr. President.

All right.

The union state is in your hands, Ulysses.

End this war.

Yes, Mr. President.

And I have every soldier in the entire state of Virginia

on orders to deny you alcohol.

Is that understood?

Yes, sir.

Good.

God dammit.

That is gonna be the worst thing

that's gonna happen to my head all year.

Thanks for comin' by, sir.

- Sir, yes sir. - Good to see you.

You leaving, sir?

General Grant, sir.

Would you do me the honor of regaling me

with your most horrifying war stories?

I mean,

I really wanna know what it's like

to see the light drain out of a man's eye by your own hand.

General, no.

Dammit.

Who drank all my gun whiskey?

Okay. Think, Ulysses, think.

I have decided that you are ready to join me

on a top secret mission, but I'm warning you right now,

it's gonna be very, very whiskey, risky. Are you in?

I will follow you to the gates of Hell, sir.

It's worse than that, son.

We're goin' to West Virginia.

No.

No!

The Kama Sutra.

Thank you for having me to pitch my new book idea.

Well, thank for coming. We're big fans.

- Ugh. - I'm a simple guy.

I like eating soup.

I like having sex.

If I'm not going slurp, slurp, slurp,

I'm eating soup.

I like that.

And so this really brings my two passions together.

I have created hundreds of tasty soup recipes

and paired them

with the perfect corresponding sexual position.

I call it Kama Souptra, From Soup to Nuts.

From soup to nuts.

Oh, okay, well, that's very clever.

All right, here we go.

First one, lamb stew,

paired with a simple missionary.

It's warm. It's comforting. Everyone likes it.

Now we're getting a little more fun.

Leek soup.

For obvious reasons you're gonna need a tarp for this one.

Ooh, love this one, summer gazpacho.

That's when you and you lover share a chilled soup

while fucking on a cold tiled counter.

Wait, that looks so much like your wife.

That is my wife, and that's my neighbor Prakash.

- Oh. - VĀTSYĀYANA: Moving on.

Let me guess, that's chowder.

That's exactly right.

And before you ask, this position pairs

just as well with New England or Manhattan chowder.

Spinach artichoke.

It's vegan, pairs well with a nice light choking.

See, I've always been a little reluctant to go there.

Oh yeah, people are afraid to go vegan,

but it's very satisfying.

Ooh, this is a slow cook recipe

for a tantric mushroom and barley soup,

for one you wanna take 12 hours to climax.

- Oh. - Who does that?

What does that taste like?

It tastes like your wife fucking the neighbor.

Oh, Prakash.

- Prakash. - Yeah, Prakash sucks.

Anyways, since we don't want

this to be a tantric meeting,

should I just fly through a bunch of 'em?

VĀTSYĀYANA: Keep it moving? Here we go.

- Here we go. - Egg drop soup. No muss, no fuss,

for when you wanna make a baby.

This is a simple recipe for tortellini,

the butthole of pastas.

It's fun, but you're gonna need some oil

and good communication.

Italian wedding.

That's when fuck your aunt

while she yells at your cousin

for not becoming a cop.

Butternut squash.

That's when she butters you nuts till you squash.

I have many more.

Should I keep going or...

I don't think that's gonna be necessary.

Because we love it.

- You do? - We just have one little note.

- Yes. - Okay, we don't want the soup.

We just want the sex positions.

Okay, that's actually crazy,

because the soup is what's gonna make this book

a best seller for a thousand years.

Mm.

You know what? I am not a pornographer.

I do not make art to get people off.

I make art to get people off and fill their bellies

with a nice bowl of soup, stew, chowder, or bisque.

If you don't get that, maybe this is not the place for me.

Oh, oh.

So we're just gonna

steal the idea, right?

Absolutely.

The Russian Revolution.

Russia, 1918, the Romanov family

clings to power as Vlad Lenin

and the Bolsheviks lead the communist revolution.

Meanwhile, in the countryside,

my people did what they had done for centuries.

Be poor Jews.

Real estate, real estate.

Get your dream hut from Property Brothers (inaudible).

Bot seeds, bot seeds.

You can't have a Russian bot farm without bot seeds.

Serf boards.

Put your serf on a board.

Mud pies, get your mud pies.

Get your mud pies from me, Schmuck Mudman.

Made with the abject suffering

and eczema of the Jewish diaspora.

All you need to do is add water.

Joshy, my sweet son,

Come, come help me with the family business.

I don't care about the family business, Dad.

All I care about is falling in love,

and I'll never meet the girl of my dreams

if I'm selling mud pies.

That's not true.

I met your mother selling mud pies.

Her father came in, bought one,

got absolutely horrible food poisoning,

and as punishment he made me marry

his most difficult daughter.

I don't want an arranged marriage.

I can arrange that.

Joshy, don't you see,

that when you submit to a higher force

good things can happen.

It's all about submission.

♪ Submission, submission ♪

♪ When you yield to a superior force ♪

Hey, shut up, Schmuck, Schmuck.

-♪ Sub-- ♪ - Stop the song.

We need to talk. Go inside now.

And so the song has come to its natural conclusion.

Right behind you, my sour pickle.

Bert, watch my mud pies.

- Sure. - Thank you.

Look.

Oh no. Mets continue slump?

No, the idiot Tsar and his parasitic family

have been executed.

Ugh, this is like really when I miss my servants.

Okay.

Anastasia, your lunch is here.

You guys!

You're being so loud right now.

I'm recording.

Ah, kids, why the long faces?

We are not inbred like the Hapsburgs.

We are the Romanovs.

We only sleep with beautiful relatives.

Ew, dad, boundaries.

How long is this revolution gonna last?

I wanna go back to the winter palace.

This merchant's house is so last season.

It just be a matter of time before

we are reinstated as the rightful rulers of Russia.

The people love us.

And what's not the love

with our leaky blood and weak bones?

Oh Lord, the Prince is getting sicker.

What else are we gonna do?

We wrapped his scrotum in garlic bulbs,

like our family doctor prescribed.

Speaking of, where the Devil is he?

Did someone say the Devil?

Who farted?

Oh!

Yes.

My dear Rasputin.

The only mystic in Russia

that I trust with my medical and political advice.

Ah, Rasputin, I heard some noble stabbed you.

A mere tickle.

Rasputin, our son Alexi's health declines,

and we're in desperate need of your healing powers.

Huh. Okay, up.

Follow my hand.

Okay, so my diagnosis is that your son's body

is being haunted by Moldavian demons.

Fucking Moldavian.

Anything else?

That about covers it.

I'm off.

Long live the Ramonovs.

Ew, Ras-pee-you-tin.

Who'da known he'd be my favorite Putin.

Ah, the White Army.

It's about time.

You've come to escort us to the winter palace?

Wee.

The Discovery of Fire.

Stephanie.

Spow pow.

Wait, now that I'm looking at that painting,

I like really get it.

Wait, can I just say something?

It is so funny they call us cave people.

I've never been in a cave.

Oh, me neither.

- Yeah, same. - I don't even know

where there is one.

Hey, do you guys ever feel like your life is a movie?

More like a TV show.

Oh, yeah.

Look, there's a whole crew right there.

You can see it in the reflection of my glasses.

William Shakespeare.

Such as dirty, murky trough water

with a little bit of lemon.

And then I don't eat till,

my first meal is lunch.

Hey, uh, is this the writer's room for Shakespeare?

Uh, yeah, you the new guy?

Yes, I am.

I'm a man, as evidenced by my low voice.

Sorry, I'm late.

Sorry, I'm late, everyone.

Nanny called in sick.

She's got the plague.

So, read the latest draft of Hamlet.

Some good stuff, some good stuff.

Does Shakespeare like it?

Yeah.

Is Shakespeare in love?

No, no, not yet.

Keep pushing.

Yes, oh, hello.

Who are you? Have we met?

Oh, I'm a writer from the Oxford Lampoon.

I'm a man.

My penis itches.

Mm, I was skeptical until he said that.

Okay, so here's what I'd like to do.

I would like to gray sky for a bit.

Just throw some ideas around.

See what sticks.

No judgments.

Francis Bacon, take us on our journey.

Oh, okay, it's pretty crazy.

But what if we do a play,

okay, but it's got music and singing.

So what you're suggesting, if I'm hearing it right,

is that people stop in the middle of a show

and start singing something to the equivalent of...

♪ I'm so sad because my uncle killed my dad ♪

♪ Hamlet ♪

That's fucking awful.

Okay, anyone else have a pitch?

Maybe a good idea, per chance.

What about an interracial love story?

An English lady and a Black guy,

but it's not about race.

And we called it, I don't know, Othello.

Oh, let me start off by saying this.

I am an ally, but I don't think it's my story to tell.

So if you wanna develop it, I would absolutely support that.

But just remember, it was conceived in this room,

was it not?

Yes, t'was.

So technically I own it.

It's a Shakespeare.

- This motherfucker. - Anything else?

Um, I have a love story.

It's about two White people.

See, now that's relatable.

So they're star crossed lovers,

and they're in a small town like Verona.

Ooh, Italy is hot right now.

And their houses hate each other,

but they fall in love anyway.

And then they die tragically in the end.

Okay, that's not quite working for me yet,

but let me just spitball on it for a second.

Okay, what if they're ill-fated paramours

from two different families and they come from,

I want to say, Verona, maybe?

Right?

And they die in a sad way.

And we shall call it Friends with Benefits.

- I love that. - Thank you.

- Dynamite idea, boss. - Thank you.

But isn't that what I just pitched?

No, you pitched me a lump of coal, and I,

out of the kindness of my heart,

took it and made it into a diamond.

Okay, what you actually did was,

I said an idea, then you repeated it

as if it was your own idea.

You don't understand the pressure I'm under.

I have to produce.

I have to make sure the costumes are hot and heavy.

I have to cast men that look like pretty little women.

Ooh, little women, that could be something.

That could be something awful.

You know what?

I'm sorry.

I'm just...

Ugh, I'm rife with hunger.

What are we doing for lunch?

Uh, we ordered Chipotle.

God dammit.

Alas, poor Uric.

It's fine, I barely knew him anyway.

Rasputin.

The mystical Russian priest

who had a powerful mental hold on the Romanov family.

This didn't sit well with some of the Nobles,

so they decided to kill him,

which by the way, wasn't so easy.

I'm Rasputin, and this is getting stabbed in the back

and thrown in the River Neva.

Oh, oh, fuck, fuck, fuck.

Throw him in.

The Russian Revolution.

Now back in the shtetl...

Isn't it great?

Those Romanov pigs are dead.

The proletariat rules Russia.

We must go to Moscow and join the revolution.

My beautiful absolutely faithful wife,

have you lost your mind?

How could we leave all of this behind?

Nice, Dad just rhymed.

Here comes another song.

♪ We'll pack our bag and move off to the city ♪

♪ Where a dream life in the ghetto waits for you ♪

♪ Let the Goyim have this rural life so shitty ♪

What?

♪ This shtetl stinks ♪

♪ It's no place for a Jew ♪

♪ I rather like the easy lifestyle of the shtetl ♪

♪ Where every murderous cossack knows your name ♪

♪ Why seek out that thin fear ♪

♪ We've got plenty of it here ♪

♪ My dear, the city's no place for a Jew ♪

There's no place for you.

Well, that could be.

♪ Schuck, you're a schmendrik, you're a putz ♪

♪ You've got more mud than brains or guts ♪

♪ Better a living shtetl schmendrik ♪

♪ Than a dead big city Bolshevik ♪

Bullshit.

- Fanny, language. - Sorry.

♪ See, this is what I'm saying ♪

♪ This cossack wants us dead ♪

♪ This cossack has a name, his name is Fred ♪

- Hi, Fred. - Hi.

♪ I've known this anti-Semite ♪

♪ for most of my whole life ♪

♪ He's the one who stabbed your father ♪

♪ I stabbed him with my knife ♪

♪ Stabbed him with his knife ♪

♪ This cossacks not a killer ♪

♪ Just peckish, the poor guy ♪

♪ Keep your hands of me you filthy stinking Jew ♪

See?

♪ But I've got just the ticket ♪

♪ The delicious Mudman pie ♪

♪ A little nosh to brighten up your genocidal mood ♪

Oh, charades.

He wants to do charades, okay.

Okay.

First word.

- I. - I.

Joshy, you're so smart.

And don't get me started on that body.

Second word.

Uh, oh.

Kill, kill, kill, kill, kill.

Good job, Joshy.

Third word.

Uh... oh, a sheep?

Yes, oh, but a female sheep.

- Ewe. - Yes, a ewe.

- You. - I kill you.

Fourth word.

- Shoe? - Shoe.

I kill you shoes.

- He hates shoes. - I kill you shoes.

Oh, oh, oh, I kill you Jews.

- There it is. - I told you, see?

Yeah, you were right, okay.

Oh.

All right.

Oh.

Well, let's pack our one bag.

♪ The city is the right place for these Jews ♪

But honestly we should get going if we wanna beat traffic.

Let's go.

I'm so happy.

Captioned by Point.360