Original subtitles

(RED DWARF THEME)

OK, OK...

Uphill, slight burrow to the left.

Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Ow!

(APPLAUSE, CHEERING AND WHISTLING)

(STOPS)

Hey! Four up with six to play! This guy is hot, hot, hot, hot!

OK, hole 13.

What am I doing? What am I doing?!

You're not following through. Keep your head down and follow through!

- Why am I playing this? - Because it's Sunday.

Time to relax. Time to chill. Lighten up!

I can't lighten up. I hate my life!

We spend every day devising more ingenious ways of wasting time.

I'm sick of it. I'm sick of table golf. I'm sick of tiddlywinks show jumping.

I'm sick of stretching a pair of tights across the room to play Durex volleyball.

If you like, we'll kick the golf in the head, OK?

How about a game of Junior Angler?

All the thrills of freshwater fly-fishing from the comfort of your living room.

No.

Got it. Unicycle Polo. We could have a quick chukka on floor 14.

It's smeggin' stupid. Two grown men on unicycles,

belting a beach ball up and down a corridor with French loaves?!

It's pathetic. It's idiotic. It's... It's... It's puerile.

- Well, you invented it. - I want a life.

This is worse than prison. In prison, you can look forward to getting out.

I want to live. I want to meet people. I want to meet girls. I want to make love.

Well, Junior Angler is the best you're gonna get out of me, buddy!

Just get out of my face.

OK. OK.

But don't ask me when you want someone to play soapsud slalom down the cargo ramp.

You can carry your own damn flags.

(ROCK MUSIC)

(RUMBLING)

(MUSIC STOPS, RUMBLING CONTINUES)

(LAUGHTER)

(SQUEAKS)

(VOICES SING) Happy birthday to you

Happy birthday, dear Kryten

Happy birthday to you

OhI What a lovely surprise.

(RIMMER HUMS)

Lovely service, Lister. You should have come. Most uplifting.

What's wrong with you? Ah! It's November.

Nearly time for your bath.

Please, just spare me the good mood, OK?

- What happened? - I'm sick of it, that's what.

I'm just totally, totally sick of it.

- Sick of what? - Sick of you and your green suits.

Sick of your stupid flared nostrils.

Sick of how you smile when you're being insulted.

I'm sick of the Cat, sick of Holly,

sick of you, sick of me, and as for Kryten...

I'm sick of him. I'm sick of this ship, sick of this life. I'm just sick of it.

You're unhappy, aren't you?

Joining the Space Corps, that's when it all went wrong.

If I hadn't, things could have worked out for me.

That's a tension sheet, isn't it?

I went to school with the guy who invented those.

Things certainly worked out for him, all right. A millionaire at 26.

Fred Holden. He was in our dorm.

God, he was thick. ''Thickie'' Holden, we called him.

''Hello, Thickie. How's your acne?'' He always came bottom in geography.

He thought a glacier was a bloke who fixed windows.

He did invent the tension sheet.

It's just the stuff they used for packing. All he did was paint it red.

And you know who he married? Sabrina Mulholland-JJones.

- The model? - How can that be?

The most desirable woman in the world and Thickie Holden,

a spotty gimp who'd blow off the bedcovers whenever we had cauliflower cheese.

- He had a break. He got lucky. - I suppose so.

- Did you know anyone famous? - Charles Keenan. He was famous.

- What did he do? - Ate his wife.

Sorry to interrupt, but I think you should come to the photo lab.

Something quite strange is happening.

- (RIMMER) These are ordinary photographs? - What did you do?

I just developed the film, and they came to life.

It's the developing fluid. It must have mutated.

At first, I thought it was just my film, but it works on any negative.

There's others I've developed as slides.

- Go for it. - Lights!

That's Frank! It's my brother's wedding!

- Yo! I'm in the photograph! - (FRANK) Excuse me. Stand aside, please.

- I'm actually IN the photograph! - You're blocking the shot.

I'm actually at a smeggin' wedding!

- Are you trying to make trouble? - Wow! I'm back on Earth!

- I'm in a photograph! - Look, will you clear off?

- Look! He can touch me! - Hop it.

(GROANS) He can punch me! This is brilliant!

He's punching me again. Fantastic. All right! All right! OK. I'm going.

I can't walk out of the edge.

In-smeggin'...

- ..credible. - Try another one.

(CAT) What's this? (KRYTEN) It's one of Lister's.

I don't recognise this.

- Who are they? - I don't know.

Oh, I remember. I sent away some snaps of me 18th birthday

and got someone's skiing holiday back.

- It's amazing. We're really here. - I know. Check this.

It even works in black and white. I tried a really old one, too.

That's Adolf Hitler, leader of the runners-up in World War II.

I copied it from one of your magazines - ''Fascist Dictator Monthly''.

He was Mr October.

(HITLER SPEAKS GERMAN)

Ignore him. He's a complete and total nutter. And he's only got one testicle.

What's he doing?! He's scuffling with Adolf Hitler!

You can't just stick one on the leader of the Third Reich.

I nicked his briefcase!

Banana and crisps?

- His diary! - Allow me.

I'll switch to translation mode. (BLEEPS)

''Things to remember - stop milk, pay papers, invade Czechoslovakia.''

A present here. ''To Adolf. Love, Staff Colonel Count von Stauffenberg.''

That rings a bell. Von Stauffenberg... He's famous for something.

Wait a minute, he tried to assassinate Hitler

by putting a bomb in his briefcase.

How could I forget that?

Yes! We've got ourselves a smeggin' time machine.

- So we can go absolutely anywhere? - Providing we have a photograph.

So if I had a photograph of a female-only naturist beach in Acapulco,

full of bronzed, naked teenage temptresses, we could go for a holiday?

- I suppose. - Kryten, get my photo album.

Hang on. We can't move outside the confines of the photograph.

- What we see is all we get. - Meaning?

We can't just get a picture of Earth. We'd stay inside the photograph.

This beach shot in Acapulco, you wouldn't want to leave the photograph.

- So it's useless, then? - No, not entirely.

Think of the famous places we could go.

We could go to Dallas in November 1963,

stand on the grassy knoll and shout, ''Duck!''

I'm sorry, I must have bypassed my good-taste chip.

The possibilities are enormous, mind-numbing.

We could go back and avert major disasters.

Like persuade Dustin Hoffman not to make ''Ishtar''?

What about determinism? Causality? You can't just mess about with history.

- We'll just do something small. - No such thing when you change time.

- Only so we don't get marooned in space. - Such as?

If I fix it so I don't sign up with Red Dwarf,

I can create an alternate existence on Earth.

I won't be stuck here for three million years.

- How can you do that? - With this...

and this.

It's ready.

(TUNELESS RACKET)

Om

Om

Om...

(CRASH OF DRUMS)

Om...

What is this? Who is that jerk?

- It's me. - You?!

Aged 17. That's me first band, Smeg and the Heads.

- What are you wearing? - It was all the rage. ''Sham glam''.

Look at that collar! You could go hang-gliding.

I used to think it was so cool. Come on.

Om

Om...

This is one of the first songs I ever wrote.

It was called ''Om''.

Nothing like a good old-fashioned love song, eh?

I genuinely thought we were gonna be massive. God, I was stupid.

- Who are the other two? - The hippy drummer's called Dobbin.

He joined the police. Became a grand wizard in the Freemasons.

The bassist's called Gazza. He was a neo-Marxist nihilistic anarchist.

He joined a large insurance company and got a parking space.

Om

Wooh! Yeah!

Rock and roll! Thank you very much.

For those who are interested, there are official T-shirts

and signed Polaroids on sale in the back of Dobbin's car.

It's the orange Ford with the bald tyres and no windscreen.

We'll be back in 20 minutes, so from me, Smeg,

and from Dobbin and Gazza, the Heads, I'll see you later.

I'll catch you guys later.

(KRYTEN) What is this place? (RIMMER) It's a pub.

''Pub''. Ah, yes. A meeting place

where people attempt to achieve advanced states of mental incompetence

by the repeated consumption of fermented vegetable drinks.

Guys, guys. I'd like you to meet me, aged 17.

Sha-dy! This is totally shady. It's beyond shady, it's surreal.

- These your mates, then? - Yeah. That's Cat, Kryten, and...Rimmer.

Brilliant tattoo! What's it stand for? Heavy metal?

- Yes, indeed. - And what's happened to his face?!

It's grotesque, isn't it? Has he had an accident?

He looks like he had his head jammed in a lift. It's totally shady!

Just sit down and shut up.

- So, what do you want? - I've come to change our future.

Aren't you happy being a rock star? Those groupies getting you down?

- We don't make it as a rock star. - That's impossible. It cannot be.

How can I put this? You don't make it 'cause...you're crap.

How would you know, grandad? You're too old for what we transmit.

- I'm you, you dork! - Too old and too crypto-fascist.

Will you shut up? I'm trying to make you rich.

Just go down to the patent office and register this as your invention.

- It's called a tension sheet. - Uh-uh. That's immoral.

- That's Thickie Holden's invention. - Uh-uh. Was.

This is just packing stuff, painted red with writing on it.

- I know. - It's crypto-fascist bourgeois crap.

It'll make you a multi-multi-multi-millionaire.

But I'm not into dosh. I loathe possessions.

It's just so...so crypto-fascist.

Stop saying everything's crypto-fascist! You make me sound like a complete git!

I'm not breaking up the band. Music is me life.

He's right. He can't give up his music. You heard ''Om''. It's a masterpiece!

- See? - Back off. I'm giving you a break.

Oh, give up. The guy's an idiot.

- He's me! - Exactly.

I don't want a break. I'll take me own chances.

If you do, you'll be stuck on a spaceship with them for the rest of eternity.

You won't have a future. You think about it. C'mon.

You haven't got a copy of ''Om'', have you?

- They're in the car. - What a pity.

I just can't get it out of my head. Om...

Keep writing those hits, kid.

Om... Om...

What a nice guy!

Om... Om...

- Om... - What now?

Once the timelines sort themselves out, we'll see if it's worked.

It's happening! I'm disappearing!

- What happened? - Lister altered the timelines

and lived an entirely different life.

He didn't join Red Dwarf, so the Cat race never existed

and we never rescued Kryten, so they've disappeared, too.

- So it's just you and me? - For eternity.

No, thanks! Find him and bring him back.

- Anything? - Got him.

- And? - Tension sheet. Inventor, D Lister, 17.

- Damn! - He died in a plane crash, aged 98.

- 98?! - His own fault, apparently.

He was making love to his 14th wife and lost control of the plane.

- Have you got any photographs? - Not of that, no.

No, so I can bring him back.

There's one picture reference, but you won't like it.

- Put it on. - Now it's the stairway to the stars.

- Heeeeeere's BlaizeI - Hello.

Welcome to ''Lifestyles of the Disgustingly Rich and Famous.''

Tonight, we look at the world's youngest billionaire, Dave ''Tension Sheet'' Lister.

Behind me, Mr Lister's English mansion.

He had the whole building transported brick by brick

from down the road, just to get away from the neighbours.

Now that's the kind of cash that opens anybody's legs.

The gravel in his drive came from Buckingham Palace.

Dave bought Buck Palace and had it ground down just to line his drive.

This man has a wad so thick, you could use it to beat whales to death.

He calls his home ''Xanadu'', not in reference to ''Citizen Kane'',

but as tribute to the hit single by Dave Dee, Dozy, Beaky, Mick & Tich.

But Dave has musical aspirations of his own.

Only last year, his first single, ''Om'', shot to Number One

when he personally purchased three million copies.

You'll never be short of an ashtray in his house.

Like many people who have everything, Dave's life has been tinged with tragedy.

Well, actually, it hasn't, but we can only hope.

Now Dr Bob Porkman, father of the condom that calls you back...

Freeze. I've seen enough.

- What do you want to do? - I'm going in.

- I'm going in to rescue him. - Rescue him (?)

It's my duty. My duty as a complete and utter bastard.

He's got a Swatch watch and a Filofax

So that he can correlate his facts, he's got cash

He's got money

He's got cash

He's got money

Yow!

Mr Lister, sir. What a delight it is to welcome you home.

Gilbert, my man! You're looking bad, baby!

- Indeed, sir. - You're my main, main, main, main man!

I am awfully sorry about the statue, sir.

The contractors still haven't devised a way

of making it urinate champagne into the courtyard,

although I am assured that it will be functional for the royal visit.

Oh, get outta town! This is gonna slay 'em.

Indeed, sir. I am only just recovering from the hilarity of the gag myself.

Almost Swiftian in its rapier-like subtlety.

(CLASSICAL MUSIC: VIVALDI)

I told Daddy today. About us, I mean.

- How did the old codger take it? - Not terribly well, actually.

He perched on top of his clay pigeon launcher and shouted, ''Pull!''

For madam, Lobster a la Grecque.

For sir, a sausage and onion gravy sandwich on white bread

with a glass of sterilised milk.

Brilliant. We lived on these when I was in the band.

As requested, sir, it was helicoptered in from Luigi's Fish 'n' Chip Emporium.

An artist beyond comparison, sir.

Excuse me, sir, but a gentleman appears to have appeared in the room.

Listy, it's me. It's me, Rimmer.

Rimmsy. Arnie Rimmer. Arnie. Old Iron Balls. Rimmer. Rimmer!

Apparently, the gentleman's name is Rimmer, sir.

- Have we met? - Have we met? We're like brothers.

We were shipmates. Red Dwarf.

- You don't remember, do you? - Remember what?

Of course. It hasn't happened, has it?

- What hasn't happened? - Sabrina Mulholland-JJones!

- Yes? - THE Sabrina Mulholland-JJones?

Model, best-selling novelist and international jet-setter?

Yeah. She's me bird.

''She's me bird.''

You call the Duke of Lincoln's eldest daughter ''me bird''?

Gilbert, escort Mr Rumour to the door?

- But I came here to save you. - Throw him out, Gilbert. He's a nutter.

- Step this way, sir. - But we were friends, buddies!

Let's not have a scene, sir.

You call this happiness? Surrounded by toadying lackeys and paid sycophants?

Living with a love goddess sex-bomb? You call this contentment?

You know, I look at the two of us and I ask one simple question...

Who is the rich man? You, with your 58 houses,

your private island in the Bahamas,

your multi-billion-pound business empire,

or me with... with...with what I've got.

It's you, isn't it?

Yes, it's all clear to me now. You...richer and happier.

This way, sir.

I should have thought a bit harder about that speech. I cocked it up a bit.

- (HOLLY) Any luck? - Useless.

Didn't listen. Didn't even recognise me.

He just thought I was some deranged madman.

You sure he didn't recognise you?

Wait a tension-popping minute. If Lister can do it, why can't I?

These photographs, there's one here of me at boarding school, aged eight.

I can invent the tension sheet first.

But you'll disappear and become incredibly wealthy,

and Lister will be sent hurtling back.

Yes, and Cat and Kryten will be brought back into existence.

True, as a by-product, I'll become mega-rich

and be forced to have constant sex with that JJones woman,

but that's a sacrifice I'm prepared to make.

Holly, torch.

- Pssst! Wake up. - What is it?

- Who are you? - Look, don't be afraid.

I'm going to make you rich.

All you've got to do is listen very, very carefully.

Right, this is the plan. You will invent a thing called the tension sheet.

- Pension sheet? - T. T. Tension.

Tension sheet. Shut up. I'm talking.

Are you listening? They're sheets of paper with air bubbles in them.

- Like you get in packing paper? - Look, Holden, go back to sleep.

They're exactly the same as the ones in packing paper, but you paint them red.

- Why red? - Because it helps people relax.

Shut up. I'm trying to make him rich.

You'd write better if you took off your boxing gloves.

- Now, have you got all that? - I think so.

First thing tomorrow, take the idea to the patent office.

I can't. Not first thing. I've got extra rugby practice because I'm so wet.

All right, lunchtime. Take it at lunchtime, OK?

I've got to go now.

Oi. Don't mess this up.

No, sir.

Oh, yes! Oh, yes! Oh, yes! If I were a rich man

Dubba dubba dubba dubba dubba dum...

- Worked, did it? - Though it pains me dearly,

I'll be having to say ta-ta to your gormless face.

Ta-ta, poverty. Ta-ta, failure.

Hello, Sabrina. Hello, sexual ecstasy.

A-ha. Here they come, bang on time.

Well, gentlemen, just enough time for me to say toodly-pipski.

- I'll disappear any moment now. - What happened?

Here it comes... Any moment.

What's he talking about?

Any moment... Any moment now.

It hasn't worked. According to our data, you didn't invent the tension sheet.

It was invented by a gentleman named ''Thickie'' Holden.

- What? - You've put things back as they were.

Why does nothing ever go right for me?

Every time I get so much as a snifter of a break,

a glimpse of happiness, something inexplicably cruel and horrible happens,

- and it blows up in my face. - Hang on.

Something is different. Somehow, you're no longer a hologram.

- You're alive. - What?

I'm alive!

I'm alive!

Mmmm!

I'm alive!

Kryten, unpack Rachel and get out the puncture repair kit.

I'm alive!

I'm alive. I can touch, I can feel, I can fondle.

I'm alive! Don't you think it's incredible? I am ali...

What was he saying?

It's cold outside There's no kind of atmosphere

I'm all alone, more or less

Let me fly far away from here

Fun, fun, fun

In the sun, sun, sun

I want to lie, shipwrecked and comatose

Drinking fresh mango juice

Goldfish shoals, nibbling at my toes

Fun, fun, fun

In the sun, sun, sun

Fun, fun, fun

In the sun, sun, sun

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