Original subtitles

Subtitles by explosiveskull

Ah. Ooh.

Oh, bollocks.

Uh, we've got a problem.

- A cyberattack? - Yes, Prime Minister.

Took me two bottles of wine

and half a packet of sleeping pills to finally nod off.

- Ah, oh... - And you wake me

because some fat-fingered hacker's

- pinched your PIN number. - Well, it's

a little more serious than that, Prime Minister.

- Mm! - The identities of every one

of our serving agents have been exposed.

What?!

- Who's doing this? - We're not sure, ma'am.

So one week before I host my first G12 summit,

Britain's entire security apparatus has been taken down,

and you know absolutely nothing?

That does pretty much sum up the situation,

- ma'am, yes. - Well, you'd better get someone

on it and find me some answers.

Yes, but that's the problem.

We don't have any agents left.

They've all been outed.

So bring back an old one!

All units, this is Juliet Echo.

Stand by for target coordinates.

Target acquired. Repeat:

target acquired.

Oh!

Now, then, what have we here?

Sorry, sir.

Never mind, Baggaley.

Your concealment and camouflage work is definitely improving.

- Thank you, sir. - Come on!

- You, too, Ibadulla. - We got him!

Excellent. That is a first-class mantrap.

Six house points.

Yes!

Right. Let's get back to school before matron notices

- you're missing. - Aw.

And don't worry, there aren't

any more booby traps.

- Aah! - Ooh.

Apart from this one, of course.

Excellent work. Okay, well done.

Come on, Frazer, keep up.

Mr. English?

We haven't seen him, sir.

Ah.

And that's camouflage.

- High five! - Hmm.

And go.

And go. And go.

The welfare of your children is our paramount concern.

They're never exposed to any unnecessary risk, I assure you.

I think that's an "F"

for your bomb disposal coursework, Hattersley.

You're looking particularly beautiful tonight.

You're looking particularly beautiful tonight.

Ching!

Ching!

- Have a good half-term, sir. - Thank you.

Thank you, sir.

Whew.

You're seriously telling me this is all we've got?

Uh, most of them are either dead, having hip operations,

or recovering from prostate surgery.

Okay.

Before your briefing,

we'll need you to re-sign

- the Official Secrets Act. - Thank you.

- Thank you. - Thank you.

Thank you very much.

Any of you gentlemen remember this?

- Ooh, the Montblanc Blaster. - Mm-hmm.

Haven't seen one of those for years.

Take the cap off, and, if memory serves,

you've 20 seconds

to replace it, or it detonates

with the force of a stun grenade.

Oh...

Ooh.

Mm, thank you.

Teas on the left, gentlemen,

and coffees on the right.

- Excellent. - Oh, damn it.

I forgot my pills.

Here, have some of mine.

Scotch whiskey single malt?

Thank you very much.

Coffee.

Ooh. Here, let me help you with that.

Tea?

Ooh, this one just needs

a little top-up of hot water.

I'll be right back.

Man's a divot of the first order.

- Someone should put him out of his misery. - Oh. Oh. Ah.

Along with whoever furnished

- this room. - Ooh.

Ah, good morning.

Sorry to keep you.

Are the others here?

Um...

Oh.

Mm, they, um...

they nodded off.

Right.

And who are you, exactly?

English.

- Johnny English. - Well.

English.

You'll leave immediately.

My people will give you the full briefing en route.

Oh, is there anything you need?

Yes. Nerve gas nasal spray,

a type four exoskeleton... you should probably start a list...

and a garroting watch,

with a rubber strap, not the steel bracelet,

'cause the links get caught in the little hairs on my wrist.

Oh, and I'll also need a Bough.

What's a Bough?

Sir!

Wonderful to see you!

Yes, all right, Bough.

We're going on a mission, not a honeymoon.

Yes, of course, sir.

Ah. I think it's the pin of your buckle, sir, it's caught

- on my jumper. - Yes, I can see what's wrong, Bough.

- Yeah. - If you go to your left,

and I'll go to my right...

I'm sorry, no. If you go to your right,

and I'll go to my left.

No. If I go clockwise,

and you go anticlockwise.

- Uh, no, I think that's making it worse, sir. - Hmm.

I'm surprised that didn't work.

Good morning, sir.

I have your Agent Activation pack here.

Department issue smartphone.

580-megapixel camera, 4.7-inch retina HD display.

Ingenious.

And what does it shoot?

Poison darts?

It... doesn't shoot anything.

It's a phone.

There's a Twitter handle, Instagram feed,

and secure login for the department Uber account.

What's he on about, Bough?

I need a weapon, not a box of gobbledygook.

I think, uh, wh-what Agent English is getting at, sir,

is all this is highly trackable.

But since we're dealing with a very sophisticated

digital target, we might be less visible

if we took a more analog, low-tech approach.

Exactly.

- I see. - Ah.

Is there anything else I can get you?

A gun?

We...

don't really do guns anymore.

Just...

get him a gun.

- Mm-hmm. - Right, a gun.

Right. Haven't actually...

done one of these before.

It is my obligation under section 14

of the Health and Safety Directive to inform you

that the equipment with which you are about to be issued

can cause injury and bodily harm.

Furthermore, any agents with nut allergies

- should be aware that traces of cashew oil... - Thank you.

Right, transport.

So, take any hybrid you want.

- I'll take this one. - Oh, don't be ridiculous, English.

This car's a relic.

Drinks petrol, leaks oil, has no passive, let alone active,

- safety features. - Do you know what else it doesn't have, sir?

Satellite navigation or a single computer chip.

Making it completely invisible to a digital enemy.

The equipment Agent English requested, sir.

Thank you.

- Phone, Bough? - Yeah.

That high-tech villain of yours will never see us coming.

Let's see what they've given us.

Exoskeleton.

Exploding cotton buds.

The old shoebox inflatable.

Hmm.

Ooh. What are these?

Instant Release Super High Energy Pills.

Like sticking your fingers in an electric socket.

- Highly recommended. - Right.

So the red ones must be the Total Knockout Sleeping Pills.

- Correct. - Oh.

Probably worth labeling these. Um...

Ooh.

Look, sir.

Sweeties.

Ooh.

Hang on a minute.

I always did love a Jelly Baby.

I wouldn't if I was you, Bough.

"Jelly" is short for gelignite. One bite, and it'll take

the top of your head off along with the roof of the car.

What does this do?

It's a mixtape, Bough.

So, destination?

South of France, sir. That cyberattack seems

to have been launched from the Wi-Fi signal

of a hotel in Antibes.

♪ Call me good

♪ Call me bad

♪ Call me anything you want to, baby ♪

♪ But I know, uh-huh

♪ That you're sad

♪ And I know I'll make you happy ♪

♪ With the one thing that you never had ♪

♪ Baby

♪ I'm your man

♪ Don't you know that?

♪ Baby

♪ I'm your man

♪ You bet!

♪ If you're gonna do it, do it right ♪

♪ Do it with me

♪ If you're gonna do it, do it right ♪

♪ Do it with me

♪ If you're gonna do it, do it right. ♪

Sir? Sir, I've just had a fax through from HQ.

Background checks on all the guests

that accessed the Wi-Fi network.

You see? Who needs e-mail?

Un peu de champagne, monsieurs?

Oh.

Danke schön.

Um... one name has raised a red flag, sir.

Sebastian Lynch, ex-Army and Military Intelligence.

Now selling his services to the highest bidder.

Where do we find him?

Directly ahead, sir.

He's got an 8:00 reservation

at the Côte de Roc restaurant.

- Your usual, Monsieur Lynch? - Champagne is great.

The problem is gonna be getting close enough

for a full surveillance, sir.

Not necessarily.

Viola, darling, I've just got to get this.

Two seconds.

Simple plan, two parts.

You provide the distraction, I'll get the phone.

- Yes, sir. - And from now on...

perhaps we should zound

like French waiters.

French waiters?

Yees.

Go on.

And... done.

Are you finished now?

Bread roll?

Yes, thank you.

Excellent choice, madame.

Good evening. How are you?

- Bread roll, sir? - Yes. Thank you.

One second.

Excuse me. Uh, would you mind?

Oh. Yees.

Evening.

Evening.

Yees.

Zank you.

Mm.

Where's my phone?

That is your phone.

Whew. Whew.

Thank you.

Monsieur. Uh, the, uh,

the shell on my wife's lobster, could you remove it, please?

Mm, yees.

Uh, um...

Hmm.

Uh...

Let me crack it for you.

- Oh! - Ooh!

Ow.

- Oh. - Qu'est-ce que tu fais?

Qu'est-ce que tu fais? Les crevettes...

Flambez. Flambez les crevettes.

- Ooh! - Ooh!

Oh, not again.

Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry.

Give me two seconds. Hello?

- Oh, God! - Steve, I'll have to call you back.

I'll call you back.

Give me a sec.

Sebastian, don't get involved.

Mm, mm.

What is he doing?

There we are.

Voilà.

Mm. Bon appétit.

I will talk to the manager.

Textbook, Bough.

Just holiday snaps, sir.

Wait a minute. This photo.

It was taken the same day our villain accessed the Wi-Fi.

And look.

Scarcely 50 feet from shore.

Whoever was on that yacht

could easily have used the hotel's Wi-Fi,

sent that signal, and then just sailed away.

I think it's time

we paid the Dot Calm a visit.

Algorithms.

We are surrounded by them.

Algorithms run our lives,

choose our TV shows, stream our music,

even find us a date.

Yeah, man!

I know this chap, don't I?

Yes, he's that Silicon Valley billionaire

who dated a Kardashian.

Two Kardashians.

And a Black Eyed Pea. Keep watching.

But supposing there was an algorithm

for an entire country.

A single algorithm that could be applied

to every one of its problems.

A single algorithm that could take a second-rate nation

and make it...

world-class.

Every nation is awash with data,

so now, more than ever,

we need to put that data to work

for the people.

These few lines of code will deliver the kind of change

they have been dreaming of their entire lives.

I am Xander. I love data.

He's so clever.

He's young, he's sexy, he's insanely successful.

Just the qualities we need people to associate with me.

- Yes, Prime Minister. - And they will do

when he starts working with us.

But why would a Silicon Valley billionaire work with us?

Just... get him into Number 10 and let me work on him.

- Yes, ma'am. - Go on.

Oh, God, now what?

There's been another attack, Prime Minister.

- Oh... - Air Traffic Control.

Someone's rerouted every flight in Europe to Luton.

For God's sake, tell me the agent you've got in the field

is making some progress.

So, how are we gonna find

the location of that yacht, sir?

Very easily, Bough.

We ring MI7.

Hello? Hello? Uh, yes, I need the location

of a boat called...

Hello?

Hello. Yes. Uh, a boat called the Dot Calm.

Yes, it's a play on words.

Yeah. Where?

Looks about half a mile out, sir.

Do we want to try and swim it, or...?

No, Bough.

This is a job for the shoebox inflatable.

No! Don't open it in the car, sir!

Can you reach your door handle?

Uh, no, sir.

I'll try my side.

Right, Bough, our aim is to get on board

without anyone noticing.

And how we're gonna do it:

- magnetic boots. - Brilliant, sir.

Simple mechanism.

Left switch activates left boot.

Right switch activates right.

Okay.

Let's go.

Remember, the absolutely vital element of this mission

is surprise.

Now, you have to get up pretty early in the morning

to outwit British Intelligence.

Quick.

Good evening, gentlemen.

Shall we start with your names?

Clearly you have no idea who you're dealing with.

That's why I'm starting with your names.

Actually, would you mind coming down here?

It's really hard to have a conversation like this.

I have a better idea.

It's no good. It won't move, sir.

We'll see about that.

Low-intensity exploding cotton bud.

That's quite a powerful charge

for such a small space, sir.

Oh, nonsense.

There'll just be a slight pop.

Shall we locate the hold

and look for the source of that signal?

I think we should locate the hold

and look for the source of that signal!

Shh, shh, shh.

- Come on! - Shh, shh, shh, shh.

I'd say we have our villain, Bough!

Shh, shh, shh. You need to keep your voice down, sir.

Ah. And we're not going to lose him.

Hand me the sherbet fountain.

Three sucks, and the location transmitter is activated.

This gin palace'll show up as a hostile from 30,000 feet.

Hmm.

This is now an enemy target.

Aniseed balls.

If you'd wanted to kill me, you would have already done so.

Till we meet again.

Ow...

Ooh...

Ooh. Ooh.

Well, that was sooner than I expected.

Ooh.

Ow. Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow.

Oh...

Who do you think she is, sir?

Well, if she's not the owner of that yacht,

then she knows who is.

Either way, she's the key to this case.

Is it true you were teaching, sir?

Before all this blew up?

If by "teaching," you mean scouting

for potential intelligence operatives, then...

- yes, I was. - Hmm.

I actually got married, sir.

I... well, I don't know if you heard.

No.

Hmm.

Yeah, Lydia.

Lovely girl.

You never think about getting hitched yourself, sir?

This is no life

for a married man, Bough. The danger,

- the constant travel... - Here you go, sir.

- Oh. - Thank you.

More Lydia's life than mine, sir.

She's in the Navy, you see.

What, as a cook? Or some kind of...

- seagoing secretary or...? - Oh, no, sir.

She's the captain of a nuclear submarine.

- Oh, right. - Mm.

D-Do you think we should get some petrol for the Aston, sir?

Nah. An Aston Martin is surprisingly economical, Bough.

Besides, it looks like we're in business.

Come on.

- Looks like an electric car, sir. - Yes,

and sounds like a nose hair trimmer.

A bunch of triple-A batteries

is no match for old-fashioned British horsepower.

Look at her cornering.

Seems so effortless, doesn't it, sir?

Arm the missile.

The wh-what?

The missile, Bough, the one with the tear gas warhead.

But they're just cyclists, sir.

I mean, w-we'll get past in a minute.

They're French cyclists, Bough, and they're obstructing

Her Majesty's Secret Service.

Wiper stalk is armed, sir.

Sorry. Terribly sorry.

- We do apologize. - Stop it, Bough.

You'll only encourage them.

- What are we gonna do now, sir? - Patience, Bough.

Driving like that, her battery will be dead any moment,

and she'll roll to a humiliating stop.

Bough, it is your job to keep an eye on the fuel gauge.

Very impressive driving, Mr....?

Golightly.

Basil Golightly.

And you're rather useful yourself, Miss...?

Bhuletova.

Ophelia Bhuletova.

Hmm.

And this is...?

Colin.

I thought we were using fake names.

That is a fake name.

Oh, right.

Yes, this is Colin.

And I'm...

Dasil.

Dasil.

Mm, Basil.

Well...

Basil...

maybe there's a simpler way of doing this.

Over a drink perhaps?

Well, that'd be lovely.

Shall we say...

the bar at the Hotel de Paris in Cagnes-sur-Mer? 8:00?

Hmm. It's a date.

Well... I think my "running out of fuel" ruse

worked pretty well.

Mm.

What?

Junior doctors... they've confirmed

they are going on strike,

and the tube drivers are coming out in support.

Oh, God. Leader of the Opposition,

has he come round from his heart surgery?

- Yes, Prime Minister. - Oh, Jesus Christ,

when will something go right for me? What do you want?

They've, uh, hit us again, Prime Minister.

- Huh? - Hacked into the Central Traffic Control System.

Yes, they've turned every traffic light in London to red.

Where's my bloody drink?

You've got to be joking. Vodka tonic, no ice, no tonic.

- Yes, ma'am. - Oh, and Mr. Volta's arrived, ma'am.

Mr. Volta.

Welcome to Downing Street.

I have read so much about this wonderful building.

Is this the stone triple staircase

- designed by William Kent? - Um...

yes, it probably... is. I can't swear to it.

- I mean, I'm not very good... - Can we do a quick...?

Needs Photoshop.

Oh, that's very...

- Uh, th-this way. - I am horribly late.

I do apologize. It's the traffic.

It's the one thing I don't love about London.

Yes, um, well, I must admit we are having a slight problem

with the lights at the moment,

- but nothing major. - If you wanted,

I could take a look; it is kind of what I do.

I think it, well, it's actually a little bit more complex

- than... - Xander, get a Web address

for London's traffic control center.

Here's the login page, Jason.

Do you have a password?

W... Um...

Uh, I-I...

I won't tell if you won't.

Right you are.

Bypassing security.

Security bypassed.

Oh, that's terrific.

Someone is hacking you.

Oh, I don't think so, no.

Denied service attack. Yeah.

Primitive but effective.

You know what we could try?

Rerouting all service requests to our server farm in Nevada.

Um...

I...

Rerouting, Jason.

Rerouting complete.

Oh, crikey.

So, what was it you wanted to talk to me about?

You, Jason.

I want to talk about you.

Excellent, Bough.

Nearly there.

Nearly there.

This is actually a really nice hotel, Bough.

I'm turning to the right...

Should one of us keep Miss Bhuletova busy

while the other one searches her room, sir?

Good idea, Bough.

Alert me if you find anything.

Mr. Golightly.

Oh.

Indeed.

I thought perhaps you weren't coming.

On the contrary.

Wild horses couldn't keep me away.

Madame? Monsieur?

Evening. What would you like?

I'm feeling a little homesick tonight.

I'll have a Moscow Mule.

And I'll have a London...

Lemming, please.

I'm not sure. What...?

It's, uh, gin...

vodka...

Armagnac...

sherry...

with just a little bit of Parmesan.

So...

what brings you to the South of France,

Miss Bhilli... Bholly...

- Bhuletova. - Bhuletova.

I'm just visiting a friend of mine.

Mm.

And would this friend be the owner of the Dot Calm?

Yes, he would.

And what about you...

- Basil? - Oh, I'm just here on business.

Although it's rapidly turning into pleasure.

Hmm.

Ooh. I love these.

Mmm.

They're really hot.

Mmm. Ooh. Ooh.

Oh. Oh.

Oh... oh...

- oh... oh... - Are you all right?

Yes, fine.

Ay, ay, ay, ay, ay,

ay, ay, ay, ay, ay, ay...

Merci.

Merci beaucou-pah.

Cheers.

I'm not sure I've ever met a man

quite like you, Basil.

Let me clear up the uncertainty for you.

You haven't.

I'm sorry, Basil,

I have to get up really early

- tomorrow morning. - Oh, that's a shame.

A demain, Basil.

How did you get on, sir?

Oh, gosh, what a wonderful woman, Bough. Wonderful!

- Right. - Charming, intelligent,

lovely sense of humor.

And obviously entirely innocent.

Although I broke into her room,

and she does have three passports, sir:

Romanian, Bulgarian, Russian,

different name in each.

So she's been married to three different people.

Not unusual in this day and age, Bough.

Oh, and I also found some garroting wire

- and two boxes of ammunition. - Well...

single woman traveling alone.

You can't be too careful.

You don't think...

she might be a spy, sir?

A spy?

I think I know what a spy looks like, Bough.

Ah.

Uh-huh.

Uh...

Yeah.

♪ If everything is changing

♪ And I know, yeah

♪ You gotta let go, oh-oh

♪ Oh, oh-oh, oh

♪ Oh, oh-oh, oh, oh-oh, oh

♪ Oh, oh-oh, oh, oh-oh, oh ♪

♪ Oh, oh-oh, oh, oh

♪ Got to let go

♪ Oh, oh-oh, oh

♪ Oh, oh-oh, oh, oh-oh, oh

♪ Oh, oh-oh, oh, oh-oh

♪ Got to let go...

♪ Wow! She's got it

♪ Yeah, baby, she's got it

Oh!

♪ I'm your Venus

♪ I'm your fire

♪ At your desire

♪ Well, I'm your Venus

♪ I'm your fire

♪ At your desire

Mmm... oh.

Ah.

♪ She's got it

♪ Yeah, baby, she's got it...

♪ Drop

♪ Yo, wha, bump and grind

♪ This one girl make you bump and grind ♪

♪ Move to the left, girl, move to the right... ♪

Sir?

Sir!

I just got off the phone to P in London.

He's found out who the owner of that yacht is. Jason Volta!

The world's most powerful Internet billionaire, sir.

And he's in London right now.

The prime minister is

personally negotiating a trade deal with him.

Well, what are we waiting for?

♪ Ha!

♪ When two tribes go to war

♪ A point is all that you can score ♪

♪ Score no more, score no more ♪

♪ When two tribes go to war

Hey!

D-D-Do you think we might slow down a little, sir?

What?!

Never mind!

♪ Yeah.

With what appears to be another cyberattack,

pressure is mounting on the prime minister.

- Every train in England? - Yes, sir. They're all trying

to terminate at Bristol Temple Meads.

Morning, sir.

You see this, English?

- Yes. - Right.

Please.

Whew!

Tell me you've got something

I can take to the prime minister.

Would the name of the man responsible do, sir?

Excellent, English, yes.

It's Jas...

Volta, sir.

- Uh, J-Jason Volta. - What?!

You're accusing the PM's knight in shining armor?

I'd need hard evidence.

Plap.

Uh, blap, plap, plap.

Which...

Is why Agent English is proposing a penetration

of Volta's country estate in Surrey.

Yes... yes...

yes, yes...

Well, do what you have to do, English.

But for God's sake, be discreet about it.

Oh!

Oh, good.

Oh. Oof.

Virtual reality?

That's right, sir. P's built a computer model

of the inside of Volta's mansion.

When you put on this headset, it will look and feel

as if you are inside the house. You'll be able

to open and close doors, walk up and down staircases,

completely familiarize yourself with its layout.

This floor moves in any direction.

Uh, so you can walk...

You can walk as far as you want

in the virtual world...

without ever actually leaving this room.

One thing, though, sir.

The experience

can be very disorientating.

It's completely immersive, and some people

lose all track of their actual surroundings.

I think we can pretty much guarantee

that's not gonna happen.

So I'll just need you to sign the health and safety releases.

Would you excuse me while I find an iPad.

Oh, go with him, Bough. If we don't chivy him along,

we'll be here all day.

Hmm.

Aha.

Watch out!

What the...?

Doors closing.

Going down.

- What on earth are you doing? - Hey.

- Hey! - Oh!

Sorry, sir, but you're going to have to leave.

Ow! Wha...?

Ow!

Don't...

Aah!

Ah...

So, we'll shortly be arriving

at Admiralty House, and that actually used to be

Oliver Cromwell's own house. Um...

Uh...

and then we'll be...

going to Horse Guards Parade.

Ah...

Perhaps you'd like to sit down, sir.

Aah! Ooh!

Ooh! Aah!

- Ooh! Aah! - Hey! Whoa!

Aah!

Ooh!

Ooh! Aah!

However, the agent we have on this mission

is confident he's making major progress, and, uh,

yes, we have a potential suspect who's been identified,

and... further covert investigations are now ongoing.

Yes, quite.

So I expect to have more to announce on this front...

shortly.

Oh.

Sir?

Hmm?

Uh, is everything all right, sir?

Yes, I've done it, Bough.

Child's play. Don't know what all the fuss was about.

Pleasure to see you again, Prime Minister.

Uh, it's a hologram.

Apparently, you just speak to it normally.

The pleasure's all mine.

Hate to rush you,

but was there something in particular

- you needed? - Actually, I was just calling,

really, to see if you had had a chance to think things over.

I have.

But the thing is, Fiona,

I just don't really do other people's security.

Not that I don't want to.

But your infrastructure is old.

Plus, the only way I could keep you secure in the meantime

would be by storing all your data on my own servers.

- Obviously, that would be... - Yes. Jason,

what I really want to do

is announce this tie-up at the G12 meeting.

Do we have a deal?

Good luck, sir.

Hey.

- Sir? - I said to get the chopper ready.

Right there.

Sir, right away, sir.

Thank you.

- Tyler, come in. - Copy.

Tyler, can you prepare the chopper now?

I'll have everything ready

- in a couple of minutes. - All right.

We can't keep meeting like this, Mr. Golightly.

- Oh, yes. - Or do you want to end this charade

and tell me your real name?

Uh...

Go.

Yeah, it's all good here.

There's so much you don't understand

about this world you've got caught up in.

Spare me the idiot act.

You're British Secret Service.

Impressive work in France, by the way.

When did you realize I was a spy, too?

Oh, pretty much straightaway.

- Mm. - Hmm.

I've spent two years undercover.

Simple operation until you showed up.

And I like to keep things simple.

Simple is my middle name.

Yeah, I hear you. Well, I'm gonna need about

- five minutes... - It would seem you've got a choice to make.

A temporary suspension of hostilities?

A short-term partnership?

Agreed.

Mm.

Hmm.

Politicians are even more gullible

- than venture capitalists. - That is correct.

Get me a copy of the target list.

We'll hit 'em once more just to be on the safe side.

Give me your phone.

You don't have a phone?

A phone will give anyone your precise location.

And yet they're so useful for making phone calls.

- Excellent. - I'm not phoning anyone.

I'm gathering evidence.

The target list, Jason.

Four iconic Central London landmarks.

- Make your selection. - Number three.

The London Eye?

This cyberattack could potentially impact

16,000 visitors.

♪ Ra, ra, Rasputin

♪ Lover of the Russian...

I found him

snooping around upstairs.

And who are you, exactly?

- I'm not telling you anything. - Hmm.

Face recognition software launched.

Johnny English is a geography teacher

from Lincolnshire.

Rather heavily armed for a lesson

on European capitals, Mr. English.

Any thoughts, sweetheart?

He's British Intelligence.

And there you have it:

two words that have no right

being in the same sentence together.

Do you really think I came here alone?

I have a team of crack operatives out there right now

just waiting to strike.

Uh-huh.

Aah!

What has happened to this country?

How is it possible that less than a century ago

the British Empire ruled a quarter of the globe,

and now it's relying

on someone...

like you?

Hey, stop!

Stop him?

Go.

- Close the gates. - Yes, sir.

Help! Stop!

Obstacle directly ahead, Mrs. Trattner.

Check your mirrors and bring the car to a stop.

Uh, excuse me?

Hey, oh, what did you... what have you...?

- Ooh. - Thank you.

Drive.

- Excuse me. - What? What do you think you're doing?

Excuse me! You are not a qualified instructor.

- But what about my instructor? - Turn left.

Oh!

Turn right.

For future reference,

I'm on your left.

Please, stop. I can't do this anymore!

Ah, I can't see anything now.

Good.

- When I say go, turn sharp right. - Uh-huh.

Three, two, one.

Go!

And straighten up.

Straighten up, straighten up.

And go!

Let's go, let's go.

Huh.

Oh, now just bear left a little. Good.

Straighten up, straighten up.

Good.

Well, that was very good, Mrs. Trattner.

I think you made some real progress today.

You're not hearing me, English.

Given the prime minister's new friendship with Volta,

the situation has changed.

But the facts haven't, sir.

That attack is Volta's responsibility.

According to you but not according to anyone else.

Is he here yet?

Good afternoon, Prime Minister.

- So, this is, uh... - English, Prime Minister.

Johnny English.

What exactly do you have to say for yourself?

Rather a lot, actually.

Ah.

However, men like me don't deal

in prevarication, Prime Minister.

So let me get straight to the point.

Jason Volta is the man behind these attacks,

and I have the evidence to prove it.

I managed to record this inside Volta's country lair.

But I should warn you, Prime Minister,

that what you're about to see is evil incarnate.

Mm.

Here we are at Fifi's third birthday,

and it's a very exciting day!

Hip hip hooray! Hip hip hooray!

Hooray!

♪ Happy birthday to you

♪ Happy birthday to you.

Thank you.

Can I just ask, what is wrong with you?

The country is in a state of complete chaos,

the press is wetting itself, and the only person

capable of saving us is the man you're accusing

of high treason.

I was in the room myself when he gave the order,

Prime Minister, but-but there was a,

- there's a, you know... - Do you know what I was

in the room with, English?

Your file, which I've read in its entirety.

And I have a few questions. Did you or did you not

burn the Côte de Roc restaurant in Antibes to the ground?

- Um... - And did you or did you not fire a guided missile

at a peloton of French cyclists?

- W-Well... - Before commandeering

an open-top bus and tossing the tour guide off the top deck

and then assaulting an 82-year-old grandmother

in a sandwich shop before battering

the employee of said sandwich shop

with two organic sourdough baguette?

Uh, I don't remember...

Do you have any idea how hard it is to be me?

- Uh... - Hmm?

Do you have even the foggiest notion

of how virtually impossible it is

to get anything done in the face of events

and facts and voters

and that tsunami of tosspots we call the national press?

Finally I get the chance to do something good for my country,

and what happens?

The universe sends me you.

Well, do you know what I say?

I say "up the universe's arse!"

And do you know what else I say?

You're fired with immediate effect.

Now get out!

And make sure I never clap eyes

on that imbecile ever again!

What are you doing, sir?

What do you think I'm doing, Bough?

I'm going home.

But the prime minister is finalizing her deal with Volta.

She's taking him to the G12 summit

in Scotland as her special guest.

It's over, Bough.

And there's absolutely nothing we can do about it.

But, sir, I have a plan.

Remember my wife?

Clear your baffles.

What?

- Mind your head, sir. - Ow! Ow.

- Ooh. - Oh.

This says we're sinking.

She's old and a little rusty, but...

she can put on a hell of a fireworks display.

Excellent work, Commander.

Jeremy has always spoken very highly of you, Agent English.

Who?

Oh. Oh, yes. Yes. Hmm.

I'm no fan of the pen pushers myself,

so when orders came through stationing us here

for the summit, well,

I thought a lift was the least I could do.

Right, let's get a move on, Bough.

Oh, if you wouldn't mind keeping your mobiles off

until you're well clear, gentlemen.

The launch systems on the missiles are a bit 1980s.

Gets a tad twitchy around microwave radiation.

No problem there, Commander.

We're doing this mission old-school.

This spot's perfect.

Come on.

Sorry, sir.

Come on, come on, come on, come on.

Right, Bough. Our mission here is simple.

Gain access to Volta's bedroom and take him out.

How are you going to get up there, though, sir?

A walk in the park for the exoskeleton.

Remotely operated neoprene bodysuit.

Increases the wearer's strength a hundred times.

- Huh. - Right.

Power it up.

Stick in the floppy disk and let's go.

Just, um...

Crikey, sir.

When will the weapon be ready?

As soon as the prime minister

signs the agreement, tonight.

- How do I fire it? - Press once

and the attack is launched.

After which, the data of every G12 country

will be transferred to the servers on board the Dot Calm.

Perfect.

Ah.

Cheers.

You're working for Russian Intelligence

and you have been from the start.

Which is why I've taken an antidote to the poison

you keep in your ring and which you've poured into this drink.

And removed the firing pin from that pistol.

Everyone has to make a life for themselves.

It's just sad that yours is...

- over. - Hmm.

Fresh from my 3-D printer. 100% plastic.

And 100% deadly.

Killing me won't save you.

Don't bet on it.

Dobryy vecher, Ms. Bhuletova.

Seriously, this cannot be happening.

Oh, but it is.

Drop the gun.

Get your hands in the air.

And you.

There's no time for this, Johnny.

Oh, it isn't possible.

You cannot be working with this English idiot.

Save the pillow talk for your prison cell, Volta.

Are you inside, sir?

Yes, yes, Bough, you can power down.

Everything's under control.

Shut down.

An historic venue for an historic meeting.

The delegates from each G12 member nation

will have their own priorities...

How do we get in now, sir?

Wh-What's the plan?

Hey, you! Hey!

Thank you very much.

I hope you have everything you need.

Ow.

On behalf of the United Kingdom,

may I welcome you here today to this ancient meeting chamber

where the great Scottish clans once settled their differences

and forged new alliances.

A place I have specifically chosen

in order to make a very special announcement.

- Oh. - Sir?

Ow. Ooh.

- A-Are you all right, sir? - No, I'm not all right.

Get me up, Bough.

It's very heavy, sir.

I know how heavy it is, Bough.

We've got to get to the conference...

...to the conference room before Volta tr...

before Volta triggers his weapon.

And so, with my signature on this agreement...

it gives me great pleasure...

oh... to welcome to you my guest, my friend,

Jason Volta.

Standing by to launch attack, Jason.

Damn it, get me out of this stuff.

- Johnny? - I can't see the join, sir.

It's the clasp. Release the clasp,

and the top and the bottom separate.

It must have jammed when you fell over, sir.

- For goodness' sake. - Wait.

Try this.

That is...

quite a lot of oil, sir.

Oh, come on.

Come on, come on, c...

Can you imagine what the world would look like

if it was run by Apple?

Or Google.

Or...

me.

Shh.

Do you think you'd have failing schools?

Do you think you'd have endless waiting in your hospitals?

No.

Think you'd have such long lines

in your airports?

- No. - No.

No, because all of these

are simple data management problems.

And people like me,

we love data.

We live for data.

- Ha! - My...

You know what I live for, Volta?

Oh, God.

Eliminating the threat that lying villains like you

pose to this country.

Oh, for God's sake.

Who is he?

- Arrest this wack job. - The only person ordering

an arrest around here will be me.

There's no cause for concern, ladies and gentlemen.

You are now in the capable hands

of Her Majesty's Secret Service.

And, you, my friend,

are in for an uncomfortable ride.

Aah!

Where was I?

Living for data.

Exactly.

My algorithms can solve

every one of your problems, as long as I have one thing:

control.

And that is what you are about to give me now.

Jason, I wonder if you

- could just clarify... - Shut up.

Now, hold on!

Castle now locked down...

and under your control, Jason.

The agreement this ignoramus

just signed didn't just give me access to all the U.K.'s data,

it also gave me access to a junction box

in North Ayrshire that connects the entire World Wide Web.

Disable the fiber-optic cables in that box,

and the Internet...

will cease to exist.

Johnny? Are you okay?

Have you got a phone?

We need to call for backup.

There's no time for backup.

I'm going after Volta.

And don't lose that one!

Do you understand

what it means if I turn the Internet off?

Cities will go dark.

Planes will fall out of the sky.

Trains will collide.

Law and order will break down,

and the world as you know it will be over.

Show...

don't tell, right?

Initiating attack, Jason.

Taking control of junction box.

Suspending Internet and electricity supply

across Britain and Europe.

Stage one of attack complete.

Ladies and gentlemen...

I can stop the attack, as long as each of you signs

the same agreement as the prime minister,

giving me complete control.

Your call.

Where's security?

Welcome to British Intelligence.

- Get me Pegasus. - For MI5, press one.

For MI6, press two.

For MI7, press three.

Eight G12 signatures now acquired.

Signal the chopper.

We're almost done here.

For accounts, press five.

- For childcare services, press six. - Oh, come on.

For more options, press seven.

What?

Only two further signatures required

to achieve control of G12 nations' data.

All U.K. data now successfully transferred

to the Dot Calm.

For Aphrodite, press one.

For Pegasus, press two.

Oh, my God.

Dive the submarine. Repeat:

Dive the submarine.

Director's office.

This is Johnny English.

I need to speak to Pegasus immediately.

It's a national emergency.

Uh, one moment, please, sir.

This is HMS Vengeance.

We have a full launch code.

Repeat: Launch code is locked.

Do I have your permission to fire?

Oh, my God. Would you hold on one moment, please?

Sir? Sir!

Hello? Hello?

Sir. HMS Vengeance here.

Do I have your permission to launch?

What? Listen, we have to call in an attack.

- Did you say attack, sir? - Yes, an attack. Attack.

General quarters. We are go for launch.

Target coordinates locked, Commander.

Hello?

Hello?

Whoa!

Commander, the missile's being redirected.

It seems to be locking on to a new hostile target.

What's a "Sherbet F"?

What was that?

Dot Calm appears to be off-line, Jason.

The cyberattack has been halted.

Did you...

make a call quite close to the submarine, sir?

Um...

Because, well...

you did it, sir.

Mission accomplished!

Well, exactly.

I am reevaluating our options, Jason.

Johnny! Johnny!

Volta is getting away! He's heading for his helicopter!

No, Bough.

This one's mine.

This way, sir. Sir?

Last two steps, sir.

Not so fast, Volta.

Is this supposed to scare me, Sir Lancelot?

- Take cover, Bough. - Ooh.

Don't worry, he's only got six bullets in that thing.

And, of course, the thing itself.

You've run out of options, Volta.

Oh, you think you've won?

Mm.

Rerouting the attack

to our Nevada servers, Jason.

The world's going down, English,

and I'll be the last man standing.

Good-bye, English.

Good-bye, Internet.

I've got it!

That's a Gazelle 341 light attack helicopter.

If we can hack into its operating system,

we can disable the drive function.

Here.

Look at you!

You couldn't use that thing if your life depended on it!

Let's get out of here. Let's get this bird

in the...

Rerouting complete.

Attack data now installed at our Nevada servers.

Should I initiate?

Jason?

Should I initiate the new attack?

Initiate...

this.

Ja-Ja-Ja-Ja-Ja-Ja-Jason.

Well, uh, ladies and gentlemen,

I think we can all agree that wasn't quite the evening

we were expecting.

I had hoped to present to you tonight a vision...

Thank you. - of what Britain

might be, but as it happens,

the man who saved us all this evening, the man who,

I might add, I personally assigned to this case,

has presented us with a different kind of vision,

a living embodiment, if you like,

of those fundamental British qualities

that have ensured that our beloved island nation endures:

courage under fire, endless ingenuity,

and, above all, a quiet...

unassailable dignity.

Oh.

Thank you.

Welcome back, Mr. English.

- Thank you, Headmaster. - Thank you for agreeing

to be our guest speaker. Now, the governors and staff

are all waiting for us in the rose garden.

Yes, if you could just excuse me

for a few minutes, Headmaster.

- What? - Sir?

Oh.

- Morning, sir! - Hello, sir!

- Welcome back, sir! - Welcome back, sir!

- Sir! - Hi, sir!

- Hello, sir! - Welcome back, sir!

Hi, sir!

Surprise.

Thank you.

Where's Straker?

Here, sir.

Good. And, of course...

Baggaley.

- Oh. - That was very good, very good.

All right, gather round, everyone, gather round.

- Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah. - What is it?

- What is it? - I've got some toys

- to show you. - Yes! - Cool!

Yes.

- There we are. There we are. - Ooh! - Jelly Babies!

Breadstick blowpipe, anyone?

- Me! Me! - There you go.

- Granny Smith hand grenade? - Mine! - Mine!

And what about a garroting watch?

- Here, sir. - There you go.

Aah!

- Ooh. - Here, let me take that.

Don't worry, it's only a mild sedative.

- Oh... - What?

Oh. That's just a five-second fuse.

Y-Yes, all right, we all know

what garroting looks like.

Whenever you're ready, Mr. English.

Oh, I'm sorry, Headmaster.

I'll just be one moment.

Just stick those back in place...

- Ooh. - Put that away, shall we?

Yeah? Um...

I always did love a Jelly Baby.

Subtitles by explosiveskull