All language subtitles for Penny Dreadful - S01E01 - Night Work

Mum?

Mum?

Mum?

Soon, child, soon.

I'm hungry.

Just about then
I seen big old Crazy Horse himself,

riding up with his band
of bloodthirsty Sioux killers.

General Custer gave the word,

his blond hair flapping in the breeze
like something from myth.

Says he, "Stand here and fight, boys!
Fight for your very lives!"

And so fight I did.

One of the few survivors

who lived to bring you
this tale of pluck and daring.

Thanks for coming out today,

and I hope that I have found some
favour among you estimable gentlemen.

And ladies.

Will I see you again?

No.

Would that I could.

Show's heading off to Paris.

So many details to attend to.
You understand.

The life of a theatrical gentleman
is peripatetic, darlin'.

But I was under...

Just know that you have made
my visit here truly memorable.

I shall never forget you.

Perhaps you'd like to
know my name then.

You didn't tell the truth.

By my reckoning, you were a boy
when General Custer died,

and 'tis well known
there were no survivors.

What we call a tall tale, darlin'.

Exceedingly tall.

Vice of my nation. We're storytellers.
Join me, won't you?

You saw my exhibition?

Highly impressive,

especially your finale.

Well, you gotta leave them wanting
more, as we say in show business.

And what might I do for you?

I have a need for some night work.

Honey, don't we all?

I have a need for a gentleman
who's comfortable with firearms

and not hesitant
to engage in dangerous endeavours.

Or was all that a tall tale as well?

What do you think?

Expensive watch,
but thread bare jacket.

Sentimental about the money
you used to have.

Your eye is steady,
but your left hand tremors.

That's the drink.

So you keep it below the table,
hoping I won't notice.

You have a contusion
healing on your other hand,

the result of a recent brawl
with a jealous husband, no doubt.

Your boots are good quality leather,
but have been resoled more than once.

I see a man who's been
accustomed to wealth,

but has given himself to excess
and the unbridled pleasures of youth.

A man much more complicated
than he likes to appear.

So, it's a job, this night work?

Yes.

Something of a criminal setup?

- Would it matter?
- Not at all.

Then why ask?

Show's heading off
to Paris pretty soon.

The job's tonight.

- Is it a murder?
- Would it matter?

One smile and I say yes.

Meet me at this address at 11:00.

I don't know London.

Then ask a policeman.

You have a name?

Yes.

Mr Chandler.

I didn't expect you to be on time.

I never keep a lady waitin'.

Very wise.

This way, please.

This is the individual?

Yes.

Did you bring your weapons?

One minute.

- What're we doing here?
- We're looking for someone.

More than that,
you don't need to know.

Do not be amazed at anything you see,

and don't hesitate.

Who exactly are we looking for?

Someone very dear to me
who's been taken.

That which you serve, we seek.

Where is she?

Little girls shouldn't play
with toys like that.

Where is your master?

Closer than you think.

Would you like to meet him?

It's not her.

She's not here.

- There must be another.
- Another creature?

Is there another?

Is there another creature like that?

Jesus Christ!

Don't move, Mr Chandler.
This night's not over.

Help us, please.

What is this place?

Where the resurrection men
ply their trade.

The surgeons must supply
their students with ample subjects.

When the legal channels are exhausted,

they're forced to
resort to other means.

I'm in need of your services, sir.

'Tisn't from the river?

They're useless
once them fishes got 'em.

Not the river, no.

Well, that's a blessing.

Bring it round the back
and see if my assistant can take it.

Your master said you might assist us.

I have no master.

- The proprietor out front, I mean.
- Go away.

- I'll pay you for your time.
- You'd not afford it.

You're very proud.

Take it to a slaughterhouse.

I'm not a medical practitioner.
I'm engaged in research.

You're a man with a bloody knife
like everybody else out there,

so stop putting on airs.

- American?
- You are clever.

Do you know anything
about electrical currents?

Your country is making such strides

as we labour in the Dark Ages
of coal and peat.

Have you any experience

with the principles and applications
of galvanism?

The usual.

Sir, I have urgent need of a necropsy.
Will you assist us?

I am occupied solely in research.

I'll not bore myself with explanations
you could not possibly understand.

Now, kindly,
stop wasting my time and get out.

My God.

Lividity, null.

Rigor mortis, null.

Notable ocular hyperaemia.

Ocular reaction, null.

Dental malformation, not naturally
occurring due to the isotropy.

Nature's rarely so neat.
Nature abhors symmetry.

Trauma and penetration of
the chest cavity through the manubrium

seems the likely cause of death,
but I expect you know that.

Age of the subject
is impossible to determine.

The teeth seem barely used,

which seems unlikely
given the muscular development.

The dermis is unusual.

Seems to lack the normal
cutaneous eccrine pores.

Hand me that.

Well, I know why
the skin seems peculiar.

- Why?
- Forceps.

Because it isn't skin.

Not as we know it.

It's more like a tensile exoskeleton,

along the lines of
an insect or crustacean.

He must have been a hearty devil.

You're not kidding.

Hold on, what's this?

Fascinating.

Hieroglyphics.

Egyptian?

Undoubtedly.

Well, it would appear you have
an Egyptian man of no particular age,

who, at some point
in his indeterminate lifespan,

decided to sharpen his teeth,
cover himself in hieroglyphics,

and grow an exoskeleton.

Or you have something else altogether.

Who the fuck are you people?

Do you know Grandage Place
in Westminster?

I can find it.

Number eight. Come at noon tomorrow.

Unless you'd rather spend
the rest of your life

shooting clay targets
and telling lies.

No, no, she's gone!

Carnage.

Sir?

It's like a battlefield.

You want it all?

Everything-

- Even her?
- Especially her.

Doesn't seem right.

Where's the dignity in that?

We'll get her dignity back
when we've caught this monster.

Ethan Chandler to see Sir Malcolm.
I'm expected.

Come in.

Wait here, please.

Not what you expected?

You've a light step, miss.

Or is it "ma'am"?

Miss Vanessa Ives.

Come this way, won't you?

May I offer you some tea?

No thanks.

- So you're a fortune reader?
- The term is inadequate.

- Spiritualist?
- If you like.

Rapping on the table?
Voices from the great beyond?

Not precisely.

- You're a sceptic.
- Not about everything.

Last night, for example.

And you want an explanation?

I think I should see Sir Malcolm.

I can speak for him.

Do you believe there is a demimonde,
Mr Chandler?

A half-world between what we know
and what we fear?

A place in the shadows,
rarely seen, but deeply felt.

Do you believe that?

Yes.

That's where we were last night,

where some unfortunate souls
are cursed to live always.

If you believe in curses, that is.

Are you a wise man, Mr Chandler?

Not especially.

A wise man would
walk away from this house

and make a concerted effort to forget
everything that occurred last night.

He would not look back.

That sounds like a warning.

It's an invitation.

Should you be so unwise
as to entertain the idea,

we have continued use
of a man of your skills.

Your kind of man.

And what kind is that?

One of great violence
and hidden depths.

You play your role well, Mr Chandler,
but this is not who you are.

Tell me what this is all about.

Sir Malcolm's daughter was taken by
a creature such as the one we killed.

We didn't suspect there was another.

There's much we don't know
and must discover.

And what's your part in all this?

MY Dart is my own.

I've been a hired gun before.

Doesn't suit me.

There's no exaltation
in killing for gold.

A wise man after all.

Sembene has your money at the door.
He'll show you out.

I hope you enjoy
your life as an actor.

It seems to be what you're suited for.

But

if you find yourself
in that demimonde we spoke of

and seek to escape it,

you know my address.

And what do you seek to escape?

Perhaps the same thing you do.

We all have our curses, don't we?

Good day, Mr Chandler.

Miss Ives.

Before you go,

one last task, if you'll indulge me.

Pick a card.

No, no, not like that.

Not impulsively, not without thought.

Let them work on you.

Look into my eyes.

Believe.

Was he tempted?

- Intrigued, I would say.
- Then he'll be back.

- He's intending to leave town.
- He won't. We won't let him.

I'll require you in an hour.

We have an appointment.

Where are we going?

Amongst dead things.

Mother and daughter
butchered in East End horror!

Westminster Guardians! Only a penny!

Bloodbath in Spitalfields!

Police fear Ripper is back!

Sir.

Sir Malcolm Murray is outside.

The Malcolm Murray?

I am extravagantly pleased.
Do show him in.

And stand up straight, Felix.

You look like an orangutan.

Mr Lyle.

Sir Malcolm. It is you.

The photograph in your book
does you no justice, but do they ever?

Say you will inscribe it for me.
Say you will. Your book, I mean.

- And something deeply personal.
- It would be a pleasure.

This is Miss Vanessa Ives.

Could I be more charmed?

No, I could not.

And what brings you
to the humble confines

of the Department of
Egyptian and Assyrian Antiquities?

Though, really, it's only Egyptian.

We don't quite approve
the Assyrians, do we?

Sit down, do.

What are these?

Carrion beetles.

We employ them when the usual solvents
are deemed too abrasive.

They eat the flesh, don't you know.

Sorry, my dear,
it's a bit ghoulish to the layperson.

Very exotic. Where do they come from?

Actually, Waveney, in Suffolk.

Not exotic at all.

Mr Lyle, I was hoping
you could assist me.

I've a bit of hieroglyphics
in need of translating.

These aren't from a scroll.
What are they?

They're from a tattoo on a corpse.

That's outré.

What have you got for me then?

Late hieratic script.

Eighteenth Dynasty, perhaps earlier.

It's a standard funerary text.

Conjoined in this fashion,
they translate roughly to

an idea meaning "blood cure"
or "blood transformation."

Although there's a theory

it's something more
along the lines of a malediction,

a "blood curse."

Trust me, those Egyptians were a bit
madcap when it came to specifics.

It's all very metaphoric.

Are there more of these?

Yes.

I should like to see them.

But not here.

The British Museum is no place
for actual scholarship, after all.

Perish the thought.

And before I engage
in professional matters,

I feel it is vital to
engage in social congress.

Get to know the sort of people
one is working with, you understand?

My wife and I entertain on occasion.

Lavishly, you can be sure,
as she's absurdly rich.

We're having a little fete,
Friday next.

Perhaps you and Miss Ives
could join us?

This is a matter of some urgency.

Good heavens, Sir Malcolm,

there hasn't been anything urgent
about the Egyptians for 2,000 years.

And I'm dreadfully busy now,
you understand.

Ever so many papyri to translate.

Isn't that a delicious word?

"Papyri."

Sounds like something eaten
by little Persian boys, doesn't it?

So I shall see you Friday next.

As you say.

Grand. It's resolved.

Bring the rest of the photographs
with you and we'll take a peek.

Entre nous, don't you know?

Such an infinite pleasure
meeting you both.

Our pleasure, Mr Lyle.

Good day, good day.

I do assume you know
the source of the writing?

No.

It's from the Egyptian
Book of the Dead.

Keep clear.

Stay there.

Look at that blood.
Think they suffered much?

Bloody right, they did.
And that little girl, too.

She was expecting another, you know.

- Stand back.
- Don't say it.

Just starting to show.
Picking out names, she was.

Is it the Ripper come back?

Who else but old Jack?

Damn him that did it. Right to hell.

A delivery for you.

From Sir Malcolm Murray.

Sir Malcolm.

Doctor.

So, you're the explorer?

I've made one or two
modest discoveries.

There's a Murray Mountain in the
eastern regions of the Belgian Congo,

if you're ever in the vicinity.

Not the tallest mountain, to be sure,
but not the smallest either.

I've spent most of my life in Africa,
beholding wonders.

I was surprised to get your note.

You seem a man
who holds his secrets fast.

I wasn't going to come.

But you couldn't resist.

When you see a river,

you must follow it to its source,

no matter the perils, no matter those
comrades that fall along the way.

You must know how things work.

You must unlock.

You are dissatisfied always.

Are you dissatisfied?

I'm seeking.

What?

Perhaps the same as you.

I seek the truth.

You're a very young man.

I've long since learned
that truth is mutable.

- Perhaps we view science differently.
- Do we?

I would never
chart a river or scale a peak

to take its measure or plant a flag.
There's no point.

It's solipsistic self-aggrandisement.

So, too, those scientists
who study the planets

seeking astronomical enlightenment
for its own sake.

The botanist studying
the variegation of an Amazonian fern.

The zoologist caught up in the endless
fascination of an adder's coils.

And for what?

Knowledge for itself alone?

The elation of discovery?

Plant your flag on the truth?

There is only one worthy goal
for scientific exploration.

Piercing the tissue
that separates life from death.

Everything else,
from the deep bottom of the sea

to the top of the highest mountain
on the farthest planet,

is insignificant.

Life and death, Sir Malcolm.

The flicker that separates
one from the other,

fast as a bat's wing,
more beautiful than any sonnet.

That is my river.

That is my mountain.

There I will plant my flag.

You have the soul of a poet, sir.

And the bank account to match.

Now, why did you want to see me,
Sir Malcolm?

You tell me.

Last night, of course.

The body you brought was not,
strictly speaking, human.

No.

- Did you kill him?
- Yes.

- Are there more?
- At least one.

And what is your goal?

To find a cure
for a most rare disease.

Hence, I'm in a position
to offer you employment.

You seem to be a freethinker
who might imagine a world

less constrained by what
we think we know of as truth.

You mean the supernatural?

I mean that place where science
and superstition walk hand-in-hand.

An anatomist of your skill
would be invaluable to my work.

You'll be well paid.

I have no interest in joining
an amateur occultist society.

Nor I in forming one!

It is not a game for me.

Then stop playing as if it were.

What are you after?

I'm trying to rescue my daughter.

To save her, I would murder the world.

Join me, Doctor.

With me, you will behold
terrible wonders.

And how much of the world
will we have to murder?

Do you care?

I've only one other question.

Why me?

Because you were unafraid to
pull back the skin and look beneath.

Mina?

Oh, my God.

Mina.

- You've no doubt?
- It was her.

Was it an appeal?

I don't know.

At first,

there was such a need in her eyes,

and then something

monstrous.

My true friend would do you no harm.

Our nature doesn't change,
only our circumstance.

You don't know.

Don't I?

Was I not responsible?

But for my transgression,
would any of this have occurred?

We cannot unmake the past.

We shall live with our guilt,
you and l.

After all this time, she came to me.

I Will find her.

There was another thought
when she was so very close to me,

a strange working of memory.

I thought of a particular lion hunt
many years ago.

Moving through the tall grass,
getting a glimpse of the prey,

the shoulders mostly, the mane.

You prepare your rifle.
You're very quiet.

And then there's a moment.

The wind changes,

the grass stops swaying.

The lion turns,

looks at you.

The moment you realise you are no
longer the hunter, you are the prey.

Damn it!

Can you hear?

My name

is Victor Frankenstein.