All language subtitles for Jonathan Creek s02e02 Time Waits For Norman.eng

Thank you.

Barry! You're looking florid.

- Florid or horrid? I'm not sure.
- Both, I think.

- Hello, Madeline.
- Sorry about last time. I'd had...

No problem. Come through.
Coffee's just brewed.

Make yourselves at home.

I love this... to bits!

What is it? Some kind of...?

From the old village hall at Chetsford.
Saved it from the wrecking ball.

Amazing!

- Isn't there...?
- Something missing?

One of life's ironies, I'm afraid.
I spend my life collecting clocks,

- then marry someone temporophobic.
- Temporary what?

- Fear of time.
- More accurately, fear of time passing.

The feeling that the
years are hurtling past.

With Norman, it's an
almost clinical neurosis.

He can't relax at all, with minutes,
seconds, visibly ticking by around him -

a morbid reminder that his
life is slowly ebbing away.

I get that watching televised snooker.

I hope Barry's passed on our
excitement at your manuscript.

It could revitalise
the true crime market.

Magic and mystery.
Houdini meets whodunnits.

Let me feed you a few ideas
from our art department.

- Who's this?
- That's just one idea.

Or he could be black... to
give it a more ethnic tone.

- Who could be?
- The magician, Jonathan Creek.

He's not a magician.
He works for a magician.

He's not black and
doesn't look like that.

- I'm sorry, I...
- There may be some confusion here.

You're saying there's
actually a real Jonathan Creek?

He's not just a narrative conceit?

All that stuff... He
invents all those tricks.

And he lives in a
windmill. It's all for real.

Right. Isn't that funny?

- What?
- Suddenly, I find him less believable.

I'm not sure we can allow
this as a business expense.

2nd April '95, bill
for emergency plumber?

Oh, that was a routine -

a rabbit in a washing machine
turns into an angora sweater.

Slightly ballsed up the timing.

Five to five and I'm barely half way.

Which would you prefer? I come back
tomorrow or... shall we keep at it?

OK. Where will I find
the invoice for this one?

Try the previous tax year.
It's in that case, I think.

No, you have to...

Well, there we are, Mad. That's
why I'll never be a great publisher,

because I can't say things like, "His
existence poses a credibility hurdle. "

Or roughly translated, "Jonathan
Creek is beyond belief. "

- Things on the turn with you two?
- Oh, I don't know.

It's that we never actually do
anything, but still don't feel single.

As a result, we both deny
ourselves sex with other partners.

I mean, I'm not that fussed, but I
just don't think it's fair on Jonathan,

to feel he has to save himself for me.

Tell me to stop now!

Who'd have thought that
was going to happen?

Life's full of surprises.

Sweetheart?

Success on that new Tom Clancy.

They said it wouldn't be on sale on
this side of the pond for three months...

Antonia. What's wrong?

Nothing, I hope. I got
some chilli in my eyes.

- How was New York?
- Usual round of lunches, meetings, cabs.

- What's going on?
- Mr...?

Lewis French.

Mr French works in a burger
restaurant in Bishop's Stortford.

He's brought your wallet back.

Found it under a table.
I could've posted it,

but you don't know
what can happen, so...

Right. No.

Gosh, that's really splendid of you.

You lose something like this, you
never know if you'll see it again.

The biggest mystery is how it got there.

No, Norman. That is
not the biggest mystery.

- I'm sorry?
- You dropped it, Mr Stangerson.

Yesterday morning, when you
came in for breakfast about 9.15.

You had a quarter-pounder with
fries to eat in and sat by the door.

I think that's a little
unlikely, Mr French.

At 9.15 yesterday, I was asleep
in bed in a hotel in Manhattan.

Now, whoever found this wallet or
stole it before I left five days ago...

I don't know... Maybe
they looked like me...

Maybe I should get a new guide dog.
It was you. Don't try and freak me.

- I saw you as plain as I see you now.
- All right. Thank you for your honesty

and for coming all this way.

I don't forget faces

or a guy who spills hot
coffee over his foot.

I had to clean it up.

Check him out. Unless your
husband's got a twin brother,

no way was he in New
York Thursday morning.

Justine Bailey's office.

She's in a meeting right
now. Can I take a mess...?

Sorry?

OK, relax. Relax. I'll go check.

Mr Stangerson's wife in England.

It sounds like her
colon's just exploded.

Thank you, Bernice.

Mrs Stangerson, how are you?

Pardon me?

Of course he's been here all
week. What a strange question.

Did this man's voice sound muffled,
like it was coming from another orifice?

Thursday, 9.15 would
have been 4.15 here.

Wednesday night, Jack and Ted and I
had dinner with Norman till about 1.30.

Next morning, he showed up bright
as a button when we opened at nine.

What can say? He was sitting
where Carol is now, eating a bagel,

beneath the clock so he
doesn't have to see the hands.

No problem. Give him our love, and
we'll see him again Tuesday. Bye.

Was that a weird one or what?

She says that someone
saw Norman in London.

Are you OK?

Yes. I'm fine.

What's happened to your foot.
It looks like it's been scalded.

Right. You know, I may sue that hotel.

Those showers are a death trap.

So, what are we saying? Somehow, your
husband managed to leave his hotel

in New York in the middle of the night,

fly all the way to
England to buy a hamburger,

then fly back in time for a breakfast
meeting, all in the space of seven hours.

Who was the pilot? Father Christmas?

Well, it's not humanly possible...

unless he's somehow managed
to defy the laws of time.

I don't see your problem. There's
people he's known for years

who were with him till he went to
bed, then again the next morning.

There was just... I don't know...
such certainty in his voice.

When Norman suggested he
was mistaken, he went mad.

And that story about spilling coffee?
How could he know about that scald mark?

So, how often does he go to New York?

Two or three times a month is average.

What with my work taking me away, our
moments together are very precious.

- We've only been married 18 months.
- You're kidding?!

We met late in life. We'd both
had everlasting relationships.

And I've got to ask, no brothers
who are the spitting image?

Norman's an only child like me.

Mmm... Let me do some digging,
see what I can turn up.

In fact, I wouldn't mind
a shufti around his room.

Will you, um... get our lunch on?

You won't get it to stand up.

- Sorry?
- This man's story.

Didn't my wife tell you?
I don't even eat red meat.

Why on earth would I
be buying a hamburger?

Norman and I have no
secrets from each other.

It was his suggestion to call you in.

What do you think? An innocent mistake?

Someone deliberately
impersonating me for some reason?

- Only time will tell, I suppose.
- Time...

spilling through our fingers,
Madeline, with every heartbeat.

Even as we stand here doing absolutely
nothing, our lives, existence,

everything is being
voraciously consumed.

Time can never be reclaimed.

Where is it?

Where does the past go when
it's no longer the present?

Yes, can we skip metaphysical
discourse and strain the carrots?

This wallet he brought back,

you reckon you lost it at the
airport or it could have been stolen.

And yet when it turned up at that
burger joint, nothing had been taken.

Well, my credit cards
I keep with my passport.

The rest is pretty
supplementary. Nothing of value.

Stangerson and Porthropp,
that your company?

Was my company. Our company.
Computer graphic design.

Mel Porthropp and I,

spent nine years carving out
our own share of the market,

till the recession drew
blood and we had to fold.

There weren't too many openings
for people with our experience.

I was lucky to get the position
of Anglo-American sales liaison

for a software manufacturer.

Like coming back from the dead.

And when, a year later, I met Antonia...

you think, "Well, the best things
in life are worth waiting for. "

So what became of your
former partner Mr Porthropp?

You know what it's like.

You move on, form new alliances.
I'm afraid we've rather lost touch.

Well, I think this is... Hello?

Where did that come from?

It had been slipped
inside between two cards.

What the hell do you think it means?

Don't know.

But if anyone can tell us...

At first, I thought it
was some cryptic threat,

like in that Sherlock Holmes story,
"The Pictures of Matchstick Men".

- "The Problem of the Dancing Men".
- Was it?

"Pictures of Matchstick Men"
was a song by Status Quo.

The thing is, the words
themselves appear meaningless,

but put all the initial
letters together.

"Owiktfhtsno. "

Exactly. Total gibberish. No
wonder I'm getting a migraine.

I don't know. What do you make of it?

Jonathan?

- Jonathan?
- I'm sorry.

Shirty? Who's getting shirty?

I'm just not sure it's legal,
making love to a VAT inspector.

I think you'll find that's classed
as an unnatural act. Excuse me.

It was just one of those
stupid, irresistible moments.

And on the kitchen table!

What did you use as a
contraceptive? Napkin rings?

She made all the
moves. Now I'm boxed in.

We've got nothing whatsoever in common,

and if I break it off, she'll think
it's because of... you know what,

which she's very sensitive about.

I'm not surprised.
Didn't you get suspicious

when you ran your fingers through
her hair and she wasn't in the room?

I don't know why I expected
any sympathy from you.

Are we going over this Stangerson thing?

What's to go over? I've told
you all there is to tell.

If we're on for tomorrow, I'd
prefer an early night, actually.

- I'll meet you. What time?
- Nine o'clock too early?

- Not for me.
- Let's say eight, then.

- 10.20?! Thanks.
- It's a bad time of the month.

- You said that 13 days ago.
- OK! I overslept!

Trust you to keep count.

You know, I'm gonna have to
be straight with you guys.

I couldn't be that sure now.

- Excuse me.
- You couldn't be...?! Hang about. Lewis?

Lewis?

- Lewis?
- Yes, can I help you?

It's... I dunno. I had a bad day.
I just wanted a fight with someone.

It stands to reason. The
guy's just got off a plane.

- I was full of crap.
- Yeah, but you said...

Now I think about it, the guy
was taller. Yeah, and older.

Listen, you see this Mr Stangerson
again, tell him I'm sorry, OK?

For giving him a hard time. I'm sorry.

OK. What's happened? Has someone paid you
off or threatened you? You can't just...

Yes. All right. Never
seen a transvestite before?

I don't believe this.

No question. Thursday
morning. This is the guy.

- He sent that coffee flying.
- You can't go wrong. It's him.

- Definitely.
- You're absolutely positive?

Mmm.

- Has he robbed a bank?
- Or killed an old lady? Look at his eyes.

I had my doubts when he came in.

Interesting. This is a
photo of Newt Gingrich,

the speaker of the American
House of Representatives.

- Brilliant!
- In our Wimpy?

How about this man?

Hmm...

Yep. He was here as well...

with this first bloke.

Or was it just on his own?

You know, you've got me wondering now.

I think that proves my point.

You go about it scientifically,
the results are meaningless.

I don't know. This all
gets dodgier by the minute.

Something happened in
there, and that guy saw it.

Only now someone's got to
him to keep his mouth shut.

Why?

Middle-aged with glasses? I see
plenty of them. What's it worth?

He might have been... I don't know...
limping or something when he left,

like his foot was playing up.

Oh, the fella in the window,
knocked his coffee over?

This ring any bells?

It certainly does.

Though Newt Gingrich would be an
unlikely customer at that time.

Now you're talking. Spot on.

Thanks. You've been really helpful.

To be certain, there's
always the photograph.

Yeah, I suppo... Photograph?

See that place next door?

Thursday morning, there's a guy from
the letting agency with his camera.

Every time he tries to take a picture,

people keep walking
through, wasting his film.

I'll go to hell if your
guy wasn't on one of them.

Thursday morning, the
photographer was in no doubt,

between 9.30 and 10.00.

The kind of evidence
that's hard to argue with.

Hmm... Can I have a
closer look at that one?

No, no, the wide one.

That right you're an only
child, same as your husband?

- What's that got to do with anything?
- Just curious.

Yes, like I told his wife,
I saw him last week...

Yes, he was here last week...

The whole week...

Positive, absolutely...

Thanks for your help. Thank you.

- Jonathan Creek?
- Hi. Sorry to ring in the evening.

You're probably enjoying an
intimate moment with Rebecca,

spraying her head with
beeswax or something.

I can't talk long. I've
got someone coming round,

so lots to prepare.

He's rather special.

I, um... just thought I'd
fill you in on New York.

I've had a pretty thorough ring-around.

The meal broke up at around 1.30,
they all said their goodnights,

Norman went up to his room, and he's
in his office the next morning at nine.

You want my view? It's down
to some wind-up merchant.

I think I've wasted enough
time. I'm gonna drop it.

Really? Right. Good decision.

- Jonathan Creek?
- If you've got something to say, say it.

Suppose Norman Stangerson
was planning to kill his wife?

He flies out to New York, as
per his usual business trip,

he's gonna be gone five days...

It'd be one hell of an alibi.

Somehow, he manages to fool everyone,
pulls off this trick with the times.

Only while he's back here,
something goes wrong...

and the murder never takes place.

So, what, he gives up and drives 35 miles
to Bishop's Stortford for a cheeseburger?

- I thought it was a
quarter-pounder? - All right.

A quarter-pounder with cheese.
Is that of vital significance?

Depends. You said he
didn't eat red meat.

I mean... I'm sorry. It would tax
anyone's ingenuity - even yours -

to cross the Atlantic twice between
everyone going to bed and getting up.

The guy's not Superman.
Quite the reverse.

I ask myself how I'd react if someone
swore blind they'd seen me on 5th Avenue

at 9.30am yesterday, then produced a
photo of me walking past Macy's window!

What do you think?

It could be some sort of creepy
mind game to screw up his brain.

Jonathan? Are you still there?

Who's doing this to me?

Why are they doing this to me?

God knows, we've little enough
to cling onto in this life.

But we fight it...

together.

- Yes?
- Jonathan! How are you doing?

Look, I just wanted to say... Oh, yes!

Rupert, that's incredible! You
beast! What are you doing to me?!

Oh, go on. Take me.
I'm powerless to resist.

- How many men left?
- Four pawns and a bishop.

Resign.

All right. Stangerson's former business
partner in the firm that collapsed

is the one link we haven't checked out.

How are you fixed tomorrow?

Right now? Not a clue,

but how many Melvin Porthropps
can be in the phone book?

I feel I've run out of things to say.

There's only one thing
I can say that matters.

I love you.

I just... beg that you'll trust me.

If I thought you were keeping
something back from me...

Would that be so terrible...

if it was something
I knew would harm you?

What we have is so valuable...

our time together... so short.

Now you're frightening me.

I must go. Check-in's at two.

I'll ring you tonight.

Birch View. Now, then...

- Which one is Birch View?
- What'll it be this time?

The old "Can I use your lavatory
and also ransack the premises" ploy?

- Right, but it's your turn.
- You what?!

- I wouldn't have a clue what to look for.
- Use some initiative, for goodness' sake.

Oh, excuse me. Do you know which
house Mr Porthropp lives in?

I'm Mr Porthropp.

- Can I help you?
- I'm wondering if you can.

I'm Madeline Magellan. I'm writing a book
for a publisher named Antonia Stangerson,

whose husband, I believe, was
your former business partner.

A few days ago, something very strange
happened, which none of us can explain.

Hello?

Yes, nine years. Nearly ten.

The Rolls and Royce, Mercedes and Benz.

We had... I don't know... a commercial
chemistry that was very rare.

Till it went tits-up, and
you had to find new jobs?

Mr Porthropp. This might be a long shot,

but there's something
I'd like you to look at.

No. Sorry. I can't help you on that.

Ah, Mrs Loxley.

All finished. I'll do the
back next week if I get time.

- Thank you very much.
- Better dash.

Sorry I wasn't much help.
Good luck with it, anyway.

Stop whimpering! What's
the worst that can happen?

- You get rabies?
- Yes!

Know what? I swear he
knew what that meant.

Acted like he was baffled, but
his eyes said something else.

Jonathan Creek. Rebecca, hi.

Sorry? No, I'm not avoiding
you. I've just had a lot on.

Oh, give it here. I'll tell her.

Tomorrow? I can't, but...

Sorry?

OK. That'd be great.

See you then. Bye.

Wednesday afternoon, taking
me to meet her parents.

All in good time. I'll tell her.

This is where you grew up?

- It's great.
- With my sister and two brothers.

Dairy herd, of course. How anyone can
eat them is beyond my comprehension.

Right.

- Unless they had a good reason.
- Beg your pardon?

Who makes all the chutney and
mayonnaise around here? Your mother?

Yes. All home-grown produce.

I'd leave that one. It's bull semen.

Mrs Stangerson?

It's Justine...

That's Lucy.

And this is Marilyn. She's
a dreamboat, I tell you.

Er, I know your folks'll
be back soon, so...

I know. Talk about a long lunch.

Still, it's their anniversary. You should
be honoured they're spending it with you.

- They can be funny about my boyfriends.
- That right? Er...

July 5th. Do you know how my
father always remembers it?

The day before was July
4th, Independence Day.

The day after, he was a married man.

Terrible memory he's got
for dates and figures.

Do you understand?

- I think I'm beginning to.
- Now, this is Georgina,

who I helped deliver myself.

I think of her sometimes as the
product of my own womb. Is that silly?

Porthropp still hates
him for severing the link?

But he wants to free
himself of that hate?

Do you know what made it so
incredibly hard to work out?

The fact that it's so incredibly easy.

- You know what a mnemonic is?
- A thing to help you remember something.

All the hours I spent on this, I
could have solved it in a second.

I never read it out loud.

What's hard to remember that you
might not want someone else to see?

It's a phone number.

"Oh, when I know... "

0190.

".. to free hate... "

238.

- ".. to sever no one. "
- 2701.

That's bleeding brilliant!

You rung it yet?

Because I know who'll
be at the other end.

Because I can see it
now, the whole thing.

The guy's not Superman.
He doesn't eat red meat.

He's terrified of the past tense.

Hello?

Antonia! I was just about to...

Oh, my God!

When? How?

They were holding... I don't
know... some big party or other.

July 4th.

One of the pyrotechnics hadn't
been secured properly or something.

It just went off in his face.

He was rushed to hospital,
but by the time they got...

Norman Stangerson.

He's dead.

I think we better ring this number.

I know this seems like totally
the wrong moment, Antonia, but...

we've picked our way through it all now,
and it's not what you'll want to hear.

A man who can't bear the
thought of time slipping away,

desperate to claw back the
past, but cling to the present.

We should have seen it coming.

The, um... funny message
on this piece of paper

was actually a phone number written
phonetically by your husband.

A few hours ago, just after we
spoke, I checked it out, and, er...

How about I, er... pour you a drink?

God help me. What
have I put you through?

They told me you were dead.

They were lying all along, those people.

They had no reason to lie about
Norman's death or anything else.

What was it you said to me on the
phone? "The guy's not Superman. "

Which something told me
was exactly the point.

If we weren't looking at
a man with two identities,

how about two men with one identity.

Two men who for the past three
years were both Norman Stangerson.

When Mel and I went bust,

it was like the sky
fell in for both of us.

In the end, I landed on my feet.

Mel couldn't get arrested.

But maybe we didn't
need two jobs between us.

The way mine was structured,
there was enough money

and more than enough pressure
to split down the middle, so...

we arrived at a dream solution.

I'd work the UK end and,
er... he'd be me in New York.

We'd collaborated so closely for so long,
lived and breathed the same instincts,

so long as we kept the other
posted and covered our tracks,

no one upstairs would ever know.

Of course, the upshot of
it all was... more time.

While Porthropp was in the States, you
were free to pursue... other interests.

You want to tell your wife
about Gillian, Mr Stangerson,

or shall we just ring her up
and let her hear it for herself?

Gillian was... was the
first girl I ever...

Go on.

When I was 19, she was 17.

We'd grown up in the same part
of the world, near Shrewsbury.

We hadn't seen each other for 25 years.

And then one day... it
doesn't matter how...

our lives suddenly collided again.

She'd been through a desperate
marriage and I'm still single.

- It was like we'd both...
- Turned the clock back.

Yeah...

Then a year after that, you met
Antonia, fell emphatically in love

and, this time, got married, only
there was one small snag, wasn't there?

- You couldn't let go of Gillian.
- Tell me this isn't true.

I'm afraid it's the old double
life with another woman routine...

with the neat twist that every time
he was away feathering his other nest,

there were witnesses to
swear he was in New York.

They weren't to know their Norman
Stangerson was really Melvin Porthropp.

If it sounds like a
complex enterprise...

then it wasn't.

It didn't take long with our graphics
contacts to sort the passport out.

The rest... became quite routine.

I'd park at the airport,
hand over to Mel...

and then complete my
journey in a rented car.

And from that moment on, he became me.

He learned to copy my signature.

If anyone phoned from
England, he had my voice pat.

Usually, I'd phone
Antonia in the evenings,

but if she called Mel, he'd ask to call
her back, then tip me off at Gill's.

Personality traits like,
er... my problem with clocks,

he began to weave into his performance.

I think he got quite a kick
from those little details.

Thank you.

Then, er... when he got
back, I'd be there waiting...

to debrief.

I never realised till
now how close we were.

Now it's like I've
sent him over there...

to his death.

Next to which, dropping your
wallet in that hamburger joint,

paying Lewis French to keep
his mouth shut, is incidental.

Unusually, I, um... I had
a lot of work to catch up on,

so I left a day early
and checked into a hotel.

I'd had an early start, and by
the time I got near the airport,

I was ready for breakfast.

You never finished that hamburger.

But then you never intended to.

You'd got the coupon,
which you ordered it for.

Coupon?

Collect five and get a
free soccer wall chart.

Somewhere behind this was
a young football fan...

but you had no children of your own,
no brothers and sisters, so no nephews,

so whose child would he go
to that much trouble for?

It was one of the reasons I
couldn't stop it, I couldn't end it.

Nothing had changed, as far as they
knew. Why did they need to know?

And then when your call
came this afternoon...

Norman.

I've messed up so many lives.

This is my crime.

I've tried to love too many people.

Maybe your crime is you
don't know who to love.

If you ever decide,
Norman, let me know...

because time's running
out faster than you think.

By the way, I meant to say,
did you see "Kojak" last night?

You never give it a rest, do you?

I said I'd end it and I ended it.

When we were all sitting
there, finally, having dinner,

I said that Rebecca's a lovely girl,
but one misguided act of passion

on a kitchen table didn't mean
we were romantically suited.

It ended very amicably when her father
threw me out in a waitress trolley.

Actually, I was just asking
if you saw "Kojak" last night.

It was a really old one about some
bloke in Utah with three wives.

Oh.

Right. Well... I just...

- What the hell's this?
- What's what?

There are no depths you
won't sink to, are there?

Oh, that's just some stupid thing
their art department came back with

as some kind of ball-park cover design.

"Ball-park cover design"?!
Where did you get this photo?

- If you think I'll let this loose...
- Of course not!

I'd never give my approval
to a thing like that.

- "Thank you for giving your approval... "
- Yes. All right.

Consider it spiked.

Jonathan... Seriously...

You and me, we're a team.

We don't need that kind of friction.

A little friction can
be quite nice... Hey...

Seen the time?

You've missed your last train.

We both know what this means.

Do we?

Six-hour wait at that
sodding station. Oh, well.

Find a nice bench. Try not to
sit in any vomit. It'll soon go.

Isn't that what they say,
Jonathan... time flies?

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