Original subtitles

Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.

Welcome to another edition of Aural Cinema,

- our popular series of Movies for the Ears.

Well, we'll be going on air live in just a couple of minutes,

- so please may we first of all test the applause level?

Thank you.

Excellent, thank you very much.

Well, tonight's Cinema for Sound features What About Dick?

An emotion picture for radio, which tells the story of the decline and fall-

- of the British Empire as seen through the eyes of a piano.

So will you welcome, please,

- tonight's fantastic cast!

♪ From the Orpheum ♪ ♪ Theatre in downtown L.A. ♪

♪ Tonight we invite you ♪ ♪ to picture a play ♪

♪ A radio screenplay ♪ ♪ A film for your ears ♪

♪ Aural Movies, ♪ ♪ welcome, my dears ♪

Yes, it's time once again for the Cinema of Sound-

- to transport you across the radio waves to bring you What About Dick?

♪ It's Aural Cinema! ♪

Once upon a time, there were two sisters-

- who lived with their Aunt Maggie-

- in a rambling old Edwardian novel in Kensington.

Emma, the older, was an emotionally repressed English girl,

- who spent all day staring out of the window dreaming of a submissive role-

- in a sick relationship with an older sadomasochistic Englishman.

Helena, her younger sister was a dark-haired, foxy minx-

- who stole umbrellas to repress her sexual urges.

What's a minx? Is it an Egyptian thing?

No, dear, that's the Sphinx.

Oh, I thought that was the backside of something.

No, dear, that's the sphincter.

Ah.

Anyway, these two sisters lived together-

- in a two-story novel with their Aunt Maggie,

- an amateur dipsomaniac, who spent the afternoons in Hampstead-

- under a young Austrian doctor.

His name is Freud. Roger Freud.

He's licensed in massage and colonics.

And who exactly are you?

I am the narrator of this tale.

Everyone in this story has touched me,

- and played with me and run their fingers over me until I rang with joy.

For you see, I am a Piano.

- A piano narrating the story? - Yes.

Furniture doesn't narrate stories.

I'm not furniture, I'm an instrument.

Well, that's stupid. Are we to have Macbeth narrated by the bagpipes?

Or Les Mis told by the French horns?

Look, it's my fucking play and I'll play a piano if I want to.

Anyway, this is the story of a piano.

Heavens, is that the time? The third of August, 1910?

Evening Star and Standard. Read all about it.

Anuver 'eadless 'uman found 'alf eaten in 'Oundsditch.

Oh, dear, not the Ripper again.

No, this one's the Mutilator. Apparently, he eats his victims.

Oh, how disgusting.

Just then, the Reverend Whoopsie walked into the door.

Ouch.

Walked into the doorway.

Oh, sorry.

Hello, ladies. Do I intrude?

Not from this angle, Mr Whoopsie.

The Reverend Whoopsie-

- is a... Well, he's a...

He is a single clergyman, who's kindly disposed to all men.

Especially working men, who I adore above all-

- and put on a pedestal and offer five shillings to.

Your Christianity does you credit, Whoopsie.

Let us not forget, our Lord Himself-

- had twelve little male friends,

- all sailors, and nobody said a word.

- Have you seen Dick? - Not for ages, Mr Whoopsie.

Not since a Coming Out Ball turned unexpectedly fruity...

No, I think he means your nephew Dick.

Oh! Oh, dear.

Yes... Oh, he's coming down today from Oxford.

I wondered if he'd like to come camping with me?

I'd love a weekend of Dick.

I always found 20 minutes quite sufficient.

Ah! Helena, why don't you play something for Mr Whoopsie on your harp?

I hate the harp. I'm sick of plucking.

Well you should try a mouth organ.

Like Dick. So you can suck and blow...

Yes, yes, yes, yes. Thank you, Emma.

Why don't you sing us one of your Victorian ballads?

Right-o.

♪ Blow me ♪

♪ A kiss in the moonlight ♪

♪ Blow me ♪

♪ A kiss in the dawn ♪

♪ Blow me down ♪

♪ I never knew I would dare ♪

♪ Now must I swallow ♪

♪ My pride while I'm there ♪

♪ Heavens, he's coming ♪

♪ Inside now ♪

♪ He's coming ♪

♪ To make me his own ♪

♪ In these cold marble halls ♪

♪ Where the men hold their balls ♪

♪ Why must I always be all alone? ♪

Lovely, dear. Just lovely.

At that moment, they spotted Dick.

A young man with floppy hair, bee-stung lips-

- and a strangely ambivalent sexuality.

One of those impossibly pretty English boys with ravish-me bedroom eyes-

- and bathroom legs and drawing room thighs...

Yes, thank you, Piano. I think we get it.

- Dick! - Hello, everybody.

- Hello, Whoopsie. Hello, Emma, old sausage. - Hello, Dick.

What are you reading at Oxford, Dick?

Beauty On The Mountie.

That's Mutiny On The Bounty.

Sorry. How's the umbrella thing, Helena?

Oh, Dick!

Why does she take umbrellas?

Well, it's just female hysteria, dear.

She needs a little Rogering in Hampstead.

Ooh, he has a new machine called the Happy Chappy,

- which relieves all my female tension.

How does it work? Well, I lie down, and he attaches it to me.

Where?

Well, in Hampstead.

I say, Dick, do you fancy a weekend in Norfolk?

Golly. Sounds a bit dull.

Well, yes, it is a bit dull. But we can play tiddlywinks.

Oh, yes, that sounds spiffing.

Splendid. If you'll excuse me.

Mind the umbrellas...

Ouch.

Good heavens, look, it's Mr Hudson coming here,

- to this very house, to meet me for the very first time,

- and perhaps to fall hopelessly in love with me,

- which he will not be able to express because-

- he is English and cannot mention emotions-

- and has a beastly sick wife,

- who cannot satisfy his perfectly normal manly urges,

- which could very easily be satisfied-

- with some cold cream, a hand towel-

- and a copy of the Guinness Book Of Records.

Thank you, Aunt Maggie.

I hope I don't disturb you ladies.

Hey, you, visitor, I'm not a Lady.

Oh, forgive me. It is your hairstyle.

My name is Hudson. I am in rubber.

Ooh, really? Are you wearing it?

No, no, not wearing it, it is my business.

Well, of course it's your business what you wear.

No, no, no, it is my business, my business.

Mr Hudson is the owner of the Hudson Rubber Company.

Oh, the manufacturer of the Happy Chappy?

Well, I find it most satisfactory.

Although, occasionally, I do miss the disappointment of a real man.

Mr Hudson discovered those gadgets in India.

He saw the future of rubber and embraced it.

How precisely this woman understands me.

And how perfectly lovely she is, with her warm eyes,

- her rosy lips and her firm, welcoming, cuddly, bouncy...

I can hear you, Mr Hudson.

I'm very sorry, Miss Schlegel.

Have you seen Dick, Mr Hudson?

Yes, quite a lot in India...

No, no. This is Dick. He's at Oxford.

Oh, oh, what is he reading?

The Three Musty Queers.

The Three Musketeers.

- Sorry. - Yes, no.

I read French philosophy. Trouble was it was all in French.

Didn't get a word of it.

Oh, Mr Hudson. You're such a card.

Yes.

Yes, yes, well... Well, we mustn't spend all day doing that.

No.

This isn't America.

How very witty Mr Hudson is,

- and he has such lovely eyes and such manly thighs,

- and such eloquent hips, and such-

- a big... - I can hear you, Miss Schlegel.

Oh, so sorry.

Well, I must be off, I need to lubricate a new oiler for my jigger.

I have no idea how that sounds.

It sounds so romantic.

♪ Dick, Dick, ♪ ♪ What about Dick? ♪

♪ Is there some ♪ ♪ Dreadful mystery ♪

♪ Hidden in his history? ♪

♪ Dick, Dick, ♪ ♪ His mile is short of yards ♪

♪ I don't think he is playing ♪ ♪ From a full deck of cards ♪

♪ Everybody likes Dick ♪

♪ Everybody wants Dick ♪

♪ Though he seems to be a ♪ ♪ Sandwich short of a full picnic ♪

♪ Dick, Dick's a cappuccino ♪ ♪ With no foam ♪

♪ The lights are on but is ♪ ♪ There really anybody home? ♪

Those boys in the pub seemed to take a real shine to you, Dick.

Dick, has anyone ever told you about the birds and the bees?

- I'm 26. - Oh.

Ah.

But did anybody ever tell you about the birds-

- and the birds?

No.

Well, Dick...

...remember when we were very young in the nursery with Nanny,

- being violently incontinent,

- and we were like Peter Pan, we never wanted to grow up.

Yes.

Well, when Peter comes fluttering in-

- through the bedroom window, he wants Wendy,

- but not for a wife.

He's looking for a mummy for the Lost Boys.

You are one of the Lost Boys, Dick. Mmm.

Because I have no mummy?

Because you are different, Dick.

Lost Boys are not so much lost as hiding.

- From whom? - From the cruel world, Dick,

- which frowns on boys trying on Tiger Lily's flimsy dresses.

Or borrowing makeup from Tinker Bell,

- or going out hunting for rough male pirates...

Let me put it another way.

When Oscar Wilde talks of a love-

- that dare not speak its name...

What's that?

Well, it's male love.

No, no, not that. That!

There, on the beach.

Oh, good heavens. It's a piano.

What's it doing on the beach?

Sounds like Rachmaninov.

I am going to give this piano to the working classes.

- Why? - Because they need some new instruments.

But I saw it first.

Then we shall call it The Dick Piano for the Working Classes!

- Hey, Bert? - Yes, Ken.

- See that pianer? - Yeah.

What's it doing on the beach?

Perhaps it fell off the back of the Titanic.

Maybe it's a symbol.

No, it's definitely a piano.

- Hey, you two idiots. - Yes, guv.

- What's your name? - Bertrand Russell.

The philosopher?

No, sir, Bertrand Russell the furniture remover.

Oh, well, I want you to remove this piano to London.

I am going to give it to the working classes.

Wow. I'm sure they'll be thrilled.

All 25 million of them.

You okay, Ken? You've gone a bit pale.

Oh, there's something oddly familiar about this piano, Bert.

- What? - I've seen it before.

- Where? - In India.

When I was in the regiment.

It was August 1898, a stinking hot day in Shagistan...

- What's going on? - He's having a flashback.

Oh, dear.

- Can you stop him? - Too late, sir. It's started.

I was in British India, in Shagistan,

- with the Queen's Own Gay Gordons,

- a cross-dressing British regiment-

- sent to raise morale on the North West frontier.

We were a hundred men under Lord Darling.

Guarding the back passage to India.

One day, I came across a local man,

- by the name of Deepak Rushdie Obi Ben Kingsley,

And he was making something rather special.

There. That is it. It is finished.

- What is it, Deepak? - Well, what does it look like?

Well, looks like a dick.

Exactly. In fact, it is a dick. But a toy one. For women.

- What kind of toy? - A toy women can play with.

- Where? - In their privates.

But what would they do with it?

Well, er, they could, er, sit on it.

You mean...

- Yes. - Good grief. You're a monster.

No, rest assured, Sergeant. Women will enjoy this little toy.

Well, I can't believe any woman would ever...

Oh, yes, they will. You may be shocked, Sergeant,

- but you are looking here at the future.

Hitherto, these little private toys-

- have been made only in merchant ivory,

- but now, look you, rubber.

Much more flexible, much more easily sat upon.

- Good God. - You are very naive, Sergeant.

There is a shining future for the personal stimulator.

You see, I believe that one day-

- every woman will have one of these things.

They'll have models in all shapes and sizes that'll make different things-

- and they will shake and they will vibrate and they will buzz.

They will be called The American Happy Boy. The Old Colonial.

Ghetto Blaster. Slippery Sid. Black Beauty. Oh, Calcutta...

And your dick will be useful for a little while yet, Sergeant,

- but when push comes to shove it will be nothing compared to one of these-

- little rubber things. And that...

That is the future and then-

- the Hudson Rubber Company will be worth a fortune.

And I will get a proper Indian accent.

This...

- Yes. This, I believe. - Thank you.

Morning, Colonel Darling.

Morning, Sergeant.

How's Drag Night coming along?

Ah, the men are very much looking forward to it, sir.

They've been up all night sewing their frocks.

Is there any finer sight-

- than a regiment of young British men in full drag?

By God, it must terrify the enemy.

Scares the shit out of me, sir.

- Good grief. - What is it, Sergeant?

Over there, sir. In the scrub.

What is that?

Looks like a piano, sir.

Beware, sir, my Lord Darling.

This piano could well bring about the collapse-

- of the entire British Empire. - What?

Oh, don't mind Deepak, sir. He's always predicting the future.

Last week, he foresaw Sarah Palin.

- What's that? - Some kind of British comedian, I think, sir.

And then only last night he foresaw the Kardashians.

Is that some kind of disease?

Yes, it is.

And you should see his little dick.

I beg your pardon.

He's got a little rubber toy, sir,

- that apparently women will put up their hoochy coochy...

That's quite enough of that.

Take this piano back to camp.

It will make its debut tonight at the Regimental Fancy Dress Ball.

Oh, no, sahib, I beg you. Rivers will run with blood,

- the wren will leave its nest,

- frogs will fall from the sky and lambs will give birth to little tadpoles,

- and the owl will hoot at night... - The owl always hoots at night.

This one will hoot in French!

- Oh, shut up, Deepak, and Sergeant... - Sir.

I want to see you in my tent, the minute we get back.

- Uh, might a few minutes after, sir. - Why?

- I have to take a "Donald". - A what?

A Donald Trump.

Ohhh... a dump.

So I was taken back to camp by the piano wallers,

- a small hill tribe used by the Scots Gays for moving furniture,

- while Sergeant Russell took a Donald-

- and hurried off to meet Lord Darling...

It's a tent.

Oh, sorry.

- You wanted to see me, sir? - Ah, yes, Sergeant.

Come in. The thing is, I wanted a little talk with you-

- because there's something I want to get off my chest.

That ugly picture of your wife, sir?

No, my own chest, not off the furniture.

Yeah, perhaps it's just a bad angle, sir.

- It's from the front. - Exactly.

Sergeant, I'm trying to tell you something personal,

- but you know how we English people are with emotions.

We don't have any, sir.

No, we have some, but we don't share them.

We're not a touchy-feely race.

Like the Nigerians.

What?

Look, this may just be sentimental tosh,

- but I have been having feelings-

- about something, well, a little private.

Any little private we know, sir?

It feels a bit awkward, I mean, after all, we're in the Army.

Yes, it's fairly common in the Navy, sir.

It's just that if anything should happen to me, Sergeant,

- and this is really important,

I should like you to...

What? What did he say?

That's just it. I can't remember.

You can't remember?

Just that it was very important.

Well, how could you possibly forget?

Because that night, when the piano appeared-

- at the Regimental Transvestite Ball,

- something terrible happened...

Good evening, Major Dickhead.

That... That's D'Hard.

What?

It's spelt "Dickhead," but it's pronounced "D'Hard."

Oh, sorry.

Splendid sight, isn't it, all these chaps in their frocks?

Stimulating.

- Fancy a stiff one? - I already have one.

- Lovely gown. - Thank you.

Sorry to interrupt this gay banter, sir.

But there is a bit of trouble in the camp.

What sort of trouble?

One of the civilians has been eaten.

- Beaten? - No, sir. Eaten.

Eton as in the public school,

- founded in 1440 by Henry 6th, Part 3?

No, sir, eaten as in tucked into a nice sandwich,

- nibble, nibble, nibble, part chewed.

- Good grief! - Shall I cancel the ball?

Good Lord, no need to do that, the chaps have been up all night-

- sewing their dresses.

Right-o, sir.

But I wish I had, because shortly after the Spot Dance-

- when Corporal Higgins had just won best frock,

- for a beautiful hand-embroidered ball gown,

- all hell broke loose.

It should have been me.

- It was mine. - My frock was much better than yours.

No, mine had no holes in it.

Look at yours, it's still rubbish.

I don't know what you're...

But this terrible bickering was soon silenced...

...by a deadly attack.

What sort of enemy attacks during Drag Night?

And I'll tell you one thing, Sergeant.

Before I die...

...there is a place far off in the future,

- where the wind blows off the mountains,

- and people will be kind and good-

- and respect one another and be decent and fair...

America, sir?

No, not America.

Holland.

- But there aren't any mountains in Holland. - What?

Well there's canals and dykes and red light districts with hookers in the windows,

- but no mountains.

The mountains are a metaphor.

But Holland is noted for being flat.

It doesn't matter.

Well, it matters because if the metaphor is to signify it,

- it must be appropriate to the comparison.

No, no, you see,

- a metaphor is by definition a comparison-

- between two different things. - That's a simile.

But the argument was never resolved.

Lord Darling took a terrible wound.

I'm done for, Sergeant.

- Don't forget your promise. - Oh, I won't, sir.

But I did.

In the morning, there were only three survivors,

- me, Deepak and this piano.

Look, there's Helena Schlegel walking down Bond Street.

- Helena! - Hello, Reverend Whoopsie.

Is the flashback over?

Yes, thank God.

How was the weekend with Dick?

- Marvellous, we played games. - Who won?

Dick came first.

It was such fun, Helena. I hardly knew I had it in me.

Then Dick found this piano on the beach.

- Oh, it's a beauty. - Isn't it?

We are giving it to the workers.

Oh. Not to me, Dick?

Mr Whoopsie says the workers need some new instruments.

But it's such a beautiful PNO. You might have thought of me.

Whoopsie was very insistent. Apparently, he has a young man in mind.

Why don't you come along and meet him tonight-

- at The Royal Working Men's Club.

Oh, dear God. Oh, sweet Jesus.

Shit. Christ. Hell. Fuck. Will it never end?

I am very pleased to present The Dick Piano for the Working Classes-

- to Leonard Bastard.

So, what do you think, Helena?

I think it's monstrous, why on earth did you choose him?

Well, look at him, he's beautiful.

But he can't play the PNO to save his life.

Congratulations, Lenny.

Thank you very much, Reverend.

Leonard, this is Helena Schlegel.

Very nice to meet you, Miss Schlegel.

How much do you want for the PNO?

Oh, no. I couldn't possibly part with it.

I'll give you a hundred guineas.

Heavens, that's more than me wife makes in a year.

You're married?

Oo's a clever little ducky-wucky?

Come on, Lenny, give us a smacker, then.

This is Enid.

- Who's Enid? - I'm Enid.

- She's your mother? - No, she's me wife.

Oh, I'm sorry. It's the light in here.

Don't worry, vicar, if it weren't for me, Lenny would starve.

Why, what is it you do, Mrs Bastard?

She has men over.

And what does she do with them?

None of your business.

I make them happy. You should try it some time.

- Enid! - What!

Little stuck up git.

She's looking down her nose at us, Lenny.

Golly. How awkward.

Well, I must be off to play Hunt the Thimble with the Bishop of Taunton.

Enjoy the piano, Lenny.

'Ow we ever gonna get that pianer into our place?

We'll manage somehow.

We'll have to get a saw, and cut it in half.

A hundred and fifty guineas.

I can't. I'd like to, miss. But it's more than me life's worth.

- Give me the address, then. - It's at the bottom of Glenn Close.

I'll tell the Russell brothers.

That's in 'Oundsditch, miss.

But you probably won't never 'ave 'eard of it.

- Enid. - What!

She is only trying to help, girl.

I don't trust her, Lenny.

I don't like the way she is looking.

- At me? - No, at the piano.

- Hey, you two idiots? - Yes, miss.

You're to take this PNO to Kensington Gardens.

This what? I think she means the pianer.

Well, why doesn't she fucking well say so?

- Oh, she's a toff. But she has very nice... - Oh, she certainly does...

Hurry up, you two working-class wankers, to Kensington.

Kensington? I thought it was going to Houndsditch.

No. It's written "Houndsditch"-

- but it's pronounced "Kensington."

Oh, I see, that's why she's a toff and I'm just a cunt...

...try boy.

Come on then, Warhorse.

Look, Lenny, there's the cart wiv our pianer.

That's not the way to 'Oundsditch. I knew it.

They're 'eading for Kensington.

Perhaps there's a mistake.

Yeah, accepting pianers from Whoopsie vicars is the mistake.

- Quick, after them. - I'll call the police.

No, no, no, no, not the police, Lenny.

Think of my work.

What is it exactly that you do?

I've told you, Lenny, it's... It's a kind of therapy.

But must they take their trousers off?

We'll talk about that later, Lenny.

- No, I want to talk about it now. - Oh!

All right, Leonard, I'm an Ass Reader.

You what?

I tell people's fortunes. It's like palm reading, only I read their asses.

Asstrology?

Exactly.

Why do you have to work all the time?

Because...

♪ I'm a simple girl ♪ ♪ From 'Oundsditch ♪

♪ Arse reading's what I do ♪

♪ Bend over, ♪ ♪ Drop your trousers, Len ♪

♪ I'll read your future, too ♪

No!

♪ Each spotty little botty ♪

♪ Speaks volumes like a book ♪

♪ Bend over, ♪ ♪ My sweet Lenny dear ♪

♪ And let me take a look ♪

Get out of it.

♪ Asstrology ♪

♪ Asstrology ♪

♪ As old as the hills ♪ ♪ Like geology ♪

♪ All that is written ♪ ♪ And will come to pass ♪

♪ Is buried down ♪ ♪ Deep in your arse ♪

Ugh!

♪ Each little wrinkle ♪ ♪ And crinkle and dimple ♪

♪ Will foretell the future ♪ ♪ It's really that simple ♪

♪ Look on the light side ♪ ♪ And not on the black side ♪

♪ Your face is your fortune ♪ ♪ But so is your backside ♪

Come on, Lenny.

♪ Asstrology ♪

♪ Asstrology ♪

♪ It all sounds like hogwash ♪ ♪ And hoo-hah to me ♪

♪ I prefer psychology ♪

♪ Shut up and let me ♪ ♪ Read your arse ♪

♪ So each little problem ♪ ♪ That's found on me mind ♪

♪ Is written down ♪ ♪ Neatly upon my behind ♪

♪ The past though completely ♪ ♪ And utterly gone ♪

♪ Is plainly still ♪ ♪ Writ upon my sit-upon ♪

♪ Asstrology ♪

♪ Asstrology ♪

♪ They say that ♪ ♪ Whatever will be ♪

♪ Will be ♪

♪ But whatever happens ♪ ♪ When shove comes to push ♪

♪ The future is ♪ ♪ Found in your tush ♪

♪ Tush! Tush! ♪

It's very late, where can that neurotic girl be?

Don't worry, Aunt Maggie. Here's Helena now.

- On a cart. - Hey, Emma, look what I've got.

Not more umbrellas?

She's got a piano!

Where on earth did you get it?

Uh, Dick found it and gave it to me.

Out of breath, out of breath. Excuse me.

- Yes? - That's my piano.

- No, it's not. - Oh, Helena, don't tell me...

It's mine, Emma.

Give it back to me or I shall call the police.

Yeah, you tell her, Lenny.

What exactly do you want?

We want his piano, Miss 'Oity Toity.

Stand aside, you ruffians.

Why, Mr Hudson.

May I be of some assistance?

This Lady is nicking my piano.

How dare you make scurrilous aspersions-

- about a young, neurotic upper-class woman.

I shall thrash you, sir. With my umbrella.

- Ooh, I will take that. - Thank you. - Oh, here.

Um...

Please, Mr Hudson. Do not thrash him. He is working-class.

Oh, no, he fucking ain't. He ain't even working.

I mean, Leonard's unemployed,

- and we'll be forced to fetch the police-

- if you don't give me that pianer back.

Stealin' a pianer in broad daylight, oh...

Why, I never heard the like of it. Oh, so help me.

I never did in all of my born days... Cor blimey!

Lawks amercy, cross me heart and hope to die.

What is she, some kind of Dickens festival?

She is on crack cocaine.

Get this woman out of here.

Ooh, hello, cuddle-butt.

- Do you know her? - Er, no.

Absolutely not. Never seen her before in my life.

- You know this man, Enid? - Yeah, he's a regular.

Saturday's at 8:00.

What is she talking about?

- The woman's mad. - Come on, Enid.

Let's fetch the coppers. You haven't 'eard the last of this.

See you Saturday as usual, dimple butt.

Can I ask you a favour, Mr Hudson?

That man Leonard, who was just here, would you go after him?

Go after him and offer to beat his lights out?

No, offer him a job.

Oh, whatever for?

The piano was his. Helena took it.

Oh, dear. The umbrella thing is getting much worse.

Yes. And soon the police will be here, and there'll be an awful stink.

Where is this piano?

Over there on the cart.

- Hey, you two idiots. - Yes, guv.

- What's your name? - Ken Russell.

- Don't I know you? - No idea, guv.

His memory's gone, sir. He can't remember anything since the Shagistan Massacre.

Oh. I see. Right. Well, I want you to take this piano-

- over to Trevor Howard's End.

That is my country cottage in Norfolk. The piano will be safe there.

Right-o, Guv. Come on, Warhorse.

And now, Emma, I will make my excuses,

- and I shall pursue Leonard Bastard to offer-

- him a job in the accounting department.

Oh, I don't know how to thank you, Mr Hudson.

You do not need to thank me unless, perhaps, do you have a hairbrush?

Yes, why?

Oh, nothing.

She detains me with her eyes.

I have a strong compulsion towards her. It is as if...

It is as if I can read his thoughts.

It is as if she can read my thoughts.

That's because we are speaking out loud.

Oh, yes, I suppose so.

- So we are, still... - Exactly.

- It's not as if... - No, hardly at all.

And just to think, if something doesn't...

- No, of course, it doesn't. - What's the harm in that?

- Simply thinking. - And fantasizing.

- Perfectly normal. - You know what I'd like to do?

I have an idea.

I'd like to be a butler.

- A butler? - In a great house.

How odd. I too dream of serving.

As a housekeeper? To serve alongside a man-

- who likes order and discipline.

Wearing a simple black dress of silk, maybe?

Yes.

With a tightly laced black corset underneath.

Yes.

- Perhaps, regulation black stockings... - Oh, certainly.

Forgive me, Miss Schlegel. I must just go and rearrange my furniture.

Oh, heavens.

These are new trousers. I'm just breaking them in for a friend...

- So I see. - Excuse me.

Not so fast yer Upper Middley Classy ponangers.

Allow may tae introduceay mayself.

I'm a Private Dick by the name of Inspector McGuffin, o' New Scotland Yard,

Missing Furniture Division, including instruments, mouth organs,

- banjos and other such items lost from time to time and reported-

- by the public to the police.

Well, how do you do?

Aye'll ask the fecking questions.

Well, Inspector, I am a very busy man-

- could you possibly tell me what this is all about?

Schertley.

Er youngy man fra the workers, Lennordy Bastard,

- was given ay pianey frae errrr the Reverend Whoopsie...

I'm sorry, what?

A pianey. Young laddie fra the working class,

- apparently playin pianey id de Royal Macworkey class Enstaychute.

Yon laddie wi great big hairstool tookey thi pianey contray ter all law to...

...The Kensington Gardens -

- where a man identified later to be of the Hudson Rubbery Company,

- ter wit yersen wishty take aweay-

- pianey and secreting eh the same pianey-

- far away fra'distant place-

- arousing the sushpicions of the Metropolitan Opera and Politze,

- namely Inschpector McGuffin, who is demanding of the same eh Mr Hudson,

- the return of or any eh en-formation-

- regarding the arrest of the said pianey.

Could you just run that by me again?

- Mishter Hudson... - Yes, I got that bit.

Doo ye, or doo yee not, have taken possession-

- of the same youngy man Lenny Bastard's pianey,

- purloining in the same said pianey forte contray-

- tay al usages and practices for yer own self abuse.

In yer own werds, plese.

I can honestly assure you, Inspector,

- I have no idea what you are talking about.

Oh, ya, havnae wishty wishty nae clue nay conceptuality-

- of whatsomeer aye be talking aboot?

Ah, are you offering us a holiday in Scotland?

Ahm no offering ye a holiday in Schotland yer daft tit.

Do ye no understand any English?

Where is day feckin' piana?

What feckin' piana?

Don't come the raw prawn with me, sonny.

I think he means piano.

Oh, thank ye for the transliteration,

- ye upper tighty, upper classy emotionally retarded twatty.

Do you honestly see any piano, Inspector?

Don't be too fecking clever wiv Inspector MaGuffin, son.

Fer the noo...

Fer the noo, I'll trouble ye nay further.

But ahm nay through with you, big boy.

So cheerio the noo, my kenspeckle neebur!

And when the wee moose visits your bag of oatmeal-

- may it no' return empty-handed.

The more you know, the less the better!

Bee Baw Babbity, Aye Cockalorum!

What an odd person.

Miss Schlegel, are you hungry? Would you like some dinner?

Oh, gosh, yes, I'm starving.

Well then let's say tomorrow, say,

- at my country house in Norfolk?

Oh... Okay.

Next day while I was on the cart, being driven up to Norfolk,

- Emma took the train to dine at Trevor Howard's End.

I was as excited as a little girl.

To be going up alone to visit the man of my dreams!

I was as giggly as a giddy goose.

To get away from my family and friends,

- I was feeling so very grown up when...

- Hello Emma. - Reverend Whoopsie!

Surprise!

What are you doing on this train?

Aunt Maggie wanted to make sure you were safe.

Oh I'll be perfectly safe alone in a bedroom in a country cottage-

- with an unhappily married man.

Think of your reputation dear.

Aunt Maggie, you're here too?

I love a train journey.

All the jiggling about. It's like the Happy Boy.

Is that you Dick?

Hello, Emma. I've brought me mouth organ.

And I can't wait to play my piano.

Helena, you as well?

I'm so excited, I've already found three umbrellas on the train.

- Give them back. - No!

The owners got off ages ago and we're here now.

Spiggy Junction, Spiggy Junction.

All change for Cobblers Bottom,

Wriggley in the Wart, Cuddlestrum under Pratt,

- Lower Neathsbucket,

- Buttholes Landing,

- Downton Abbey...

Upper Prostate,

- Bingley Bongly,

- Lower Forking and Spunky cum Snotterwold.

Emma! Welcome to Trevor Howard's End.

Mister Hudson, how kind of you to invite me.

Us!

- What? - Hello.

- Hello, Mister H. - Hello, there.

Oh. I didn't expect the bloody Spanish Inquisition.

No, no, neither did I.

They insisted on chaperoning me.

Good grief. What do they think is going to happen?

It's not as if we're going to run off into the woods-

- and start playing vicars and nurses.

No. Though I hear the woods can be very lovely this time of year.

Especially with a picnic and some extra virgin olive oil. Mmm.

Well, look, please, all of you, why don't you-

- just go and play with the farm machinery?

Um, I have to go and poison some rats.

May I help you poison rats, Mr Hudson?

Very kind of you, Emma, but it's best left to a man, this job.

Yes, what's more natural on a Saturday afternoon-

- than a good game of poisoning rats?

- Especially if you can't... - Well, precisely. It's very...

- Healthy. - Exactly. It takes my mind off...

- Other things. - Quite. Otherwise, a man can get very...

- Whimsical. - Without a regular...

- Regime. - It's hard for a man to...

- Fulfil himself. - Quite.

Mr Hudson, may I help you finish your sentences this weekend?

At the weekend, yes, Miss Schlegel,

- that would be so very... Very...

Fuck.

Whatever was that?

I don't know, um, that's just...

I think it's my wife. She's dying.

Oh, dear.

No need to worry. She usually dies about this time of day.

You can set your watch by it. It's a form of wisteria.

- Hysteria? - No, wisteria, she's allergic to it.

She was touched incorrectly in a cave in India.

Ever since then the sight of wisteria makes her wisterical.

You do not trust your emotions, do you, Mr Hudson?

I believe emotions are like rats,

- they should be poisoned at birth.

Mr Hudson...

...do you know what a hooded clitoris is?

Yes, It is a kind of snake with a cap on.

- No, It is found in the vulva. - Ah, Argentina.

Have you any idea what the vagina is?

Well, that's a river in the Belgian Congo.

Oh, Mister Hudson, do not toy with me.

My gynaecologist tells me I may-

-never be able to have an emotion.

Do not despair, Miss Schlegel, these days,

- we can do wonderful things with rubber.

And now if you'll excuse me, I have to hit Tracey, and...

But more to the point, my wife is dying again. I must go and give her sugar.

What a strange man he is.

But I believe he understands me-

- despite his attempts to distract me-

- with interesting discourse about rat poison.

- I can still hear you. - Oh, sorry.

Whoa, there. Look at that house, Ken.

Blimey. Anne fucking Hathaway's fucking cottage.

Last time I saw so much thatch,

- it was on a stripper in Belgium.

Ere Bert see that bloke lurking in the window?

- The one watching us? - Yeah. Do I know him?

- Yeah, it's Mister Hudson. - He looks familiar.

You saw him yesterday when he told us to bring the piano here.

Oh, yeah.

He thought he knew you.

- From where? - He didn't say.

Look, Dick, my PNO is here.

You're jolly fond of that piano, aren't you?

I love it, Dick.

Thank you ever so.

Hey, you wouldn't marry me, would you?

- What? - Become my awful wedded wife.

That's lawful, Dick.

- Oh. - And it's not lawful, we're cousins.

Doesn't stop the Royal Family.

Yes, but they're all bonkers.

Dick, you are very beautiful, but you are a little bit...

- Am I? - Yes... - Am I? -Yes, Dick. Just a tad.

I'm so sorry, I don't care for you in that way.

I can't marry you.

- Well, never mind. I'm gay anyway. - What?

He's different. That's all.

♪ He's different ♪

♪ So very different ♪

♪ Oh, very different ♪

♪ In every way ♪

♪ That's right, I'm different ♪

♪ So very different ♪

♪ Oh, very different ♪

♪ Not gay ♪

♪ He's not the same as other boys ♪

♪ He likes to play ♪ ♪ With different toys ♪

♪ I like to stay out late ♪ ♪ And dress in fancy things ♪

♪ Of course you do ♪

♪ He's not the only one ♪ ♪ There's been ♪

♪ I'm not the first king ♪ Who is a queen ♪

♪ But it's illegal still ♪

♪ So that is why we sing ♪

♪ That he is different ♪

♪ Oh, very different ♪

♪ So very different ♪

♪ Not...♪

♪ ...Gay ♪

Helena played'with me all afternoon,

- tickling my ivories with her lovely fingers.

I must say she has a lovely touch.

Meanwhile, Whoopsie and Dick disappeared into the woods,

- Maggie and Emma went for a walk amongst the bluebells,

- and Hudson busied himself poisoning rats until around 3:00, when...

I say, has anyone seen Dick?

- What about Dick? - I've lost him.

What?

One minute, we were playing hide and seek,

- and the next he'd gone.

He's probably playing a game on you.

Oh, yes, of course, I'm sure he'll be back for dinner.

It's a lovely dinner, Mister Hudson.

The curried goat is delicious.

Yes, it's something my wife picked up in India.

- How is your wife? - Oh, still off her tits.

Still no sign of Dick. It's very worrying.

Perhaps we should call the police.

Too late. We're here.

Oh, shit.

My PNO! Um, I'm sorry, Inspector,

- you can't come in here, we're having dinner.

Ahm warnin ye. All o' ye, everay singley wan o ye toffee nosed gits,

- sittin around wi ye chips, lestning to yer Showpan-

- and yer Beethoven after yer suppers with yer kippers-

- and lungs and reekies, lissen nao to me wordies-

- that fra me lips an mooth are droppet like the rain-

- fallin fa thae glen that softly swells tha glistening burns-

- and rivulets and streams of bonnie Scotland.

Is this something about a holiday?

Ye've no won a holiday, ye stupidgits.

Wait a ticketyboo. May I ask who owns that piano?

Oh, that's mine.

Oh, es that reet?

- It's yure pianey? - Been in the family for years.

Matter of fact, it belongs to my wife.

Yer wife is as mad as a hatter. Coo-koo. Bonkers.

And she has nae got a pianey.

This pianey was stolen from Leonard Bastard.

No, no, Inspector, you are mistaken.

That is Helena's piano. I gave it her.

Leonard Bastard, what are you doing here-

- just in time to confirm a most unlikely story?

I came here to thank you for getting me the job with Mister Hudson-

- and to give you the piano you love so much.

How on earth did you get here?

I walked.

All the way from Houndsditch?

Yes.

- But that's a hundred miles. - Yes.

Would you like a glass of water?

Seeing you is refreshment enough for me.

Oh, golly gosh, blush, blush, blush.

So you see, Inspector, it is Helena's piano.

How very touching. It reminds me of a wee ballad-

- from my childhood called The Lonely Trout.

♪ From the heelan hills ♪ ♪ And rills o bonnie Scotland ♪

♪ Fra the bogs and fogs ♪ ♪ And soggy lochs and braes ♪

♪ From the moontin tops where ♪ ♪ Lonely jocks drink whiskey ♪

♪ To the dingy pond ♪ ♪ Wherein the lone trout plays ♪

♪ There was once a laddie ♪ ♪ Wandered wi his lassie ♪

♪ When she told him that ♪ ♪ Her love for him was dead ♪

♪ As she left this lonely boy ♪

♪ Who'd now lost his only joy ♪

♪ The trout raised his head ♪ ♪ And this is what he said ♪

♪ Oh ♪

♪ Rum ti tumti ♪

♪ Tickle yer monkey ♪

♪ Tickle di didle doo ♪

♪ Rumpy pumpy ♪ ♪ Humpty dumpty ♪

♪ Tickle yer tivey too ♪

♪ Hankie pankie ♪ ♪ Winkie wankie ♪

♪ Diddle de didle doo ♪

♪ Rinky dinky ♪ ♪ Tiddley winky ♪

♪ Nicky nacky noo ♪

♪ The noo, the noo, ♪ ♪ The noo, the noo ♪

♪ Oh, muckert buckerty ♪ ♪ Shmackerty crackety ♪

♪ Sings the lonely trout ♪

♪ Tiggly wiggly ♪ ♪ Higgly piggly ♪

♪ What is life about? ♪

♪ Mickety pickety ♪ ♪ Wickety pickety ♪

♪ She was just a slut ♪

♪ Find yourself another lass ♪

♪ A nicer piece of butt ♪

♪ Oh, Packety wackety ♪ ♪ Nickety nackety ♪

♪ Sings the lonely trout ♪

♪ Splickety wickety ♪ ♪ Pickety nickety ♪

♪ What is life about? ♪

♪ Shackety mackety ♪ ♪ Thwackety crackety ♪

♪ She was just a slut ♪

♪ Find yourself another lass ♪

♪ A nicer piece of butt ♪

♪ Oh, Packety wackety ♪ ♪ Nickety nackety ♪

♪ Sings the lonely trout ♪

♪ Splickety wickety ♪ ♪ Pickety nickety ♪

♪ What is life about? ♪

♪ Shackety mackety ♪ ♪ Thwackety crackety ♪

♪ She was just a slut ♪

♪ Find yourself another lass ♪

♪ A nicer piece of butt ♪

♪ Oh, packety ♪ ♪ Wackety nickety nackety ♪

♪ Sings the lonely trout ♪

♪ Splickety wickety ♪ ♪ Pickety nickety ♪

♪ What is life about? ♪

♪ Shackety mackety ♪ ♪ Thwackety crackety ♪

♪ She was just a slut ♪

♪ Find yourself another lass ♪ ♪ A nicer piece of butt ♪

♪ Oh, Packety wackety ♪ ♪ Nickety nackety ♪

Uh, no, I think, I think that's quite enough of that, Inspector!

I think... Come on, off! Off, come on you, off, off, off!

Take your boobs with you.

And what about Dick?

Heavens, I completely forgot about wee Dickie.

My nephew is missing.

No, he's not.

Oh, you've found Dick. Oh, thank heaven.

Oh, shut yer drivel, ye big wittering Jessie.

Yer a disgrace tae the wee free cloth frolicin about in ponds-

- wi naked laddies wi nae troosers on.

We have indeed found Dick.

And he told me a joke. We found him in the woods.

In the woods... Is he dead?

Not quite, but severely blooded.

He was attacked by some hungry bampot-

- who tried to eat him all up and do him like a dinner.

Great Scott!

Thank you.

But who would want to harm Dick?

Somebody who wanted to shut 'is face.

But Dick knows nothing about everything.

Do you know, we have a wee saying in Scotland...

Oh!

"Oh weemon drocketen drenkit and up wayhay"

"and tek it all doon in the nuts."

One can only imagine what that means.

Sometimes the things we don't know are the unknown knowns-

- that we don't know we think we know but others think we do.

Well, that's easy for you to say, Inspector.

But it is idle to speculate since Dick can no longer speak.

I have an Indian gentleman who specialises in recovering memories,

- by the name of Deepak Rushdie Obi Ben Kingsley.

Perhaps wee Dickie may remember-

- something when he comes out of his coma.

But when will he wake up?

Who knows? A few weeks,

- a few months, a few years perchance.

Years? Whatever shall we do?

We must all go to Italy at once.

♪ To Italy, to Italy ♪

♪ Oh, yes, let's go to Italy ♪

♪ Where painters paint so ♪ ♪ Prettily on ceilings there ♪

♪ Where everyone ♪ Talks wittily ♪

♪ And no one argues bitterly ♪

♪ And we'll be free to really ♪ ♪ Have some feelings there ♪

♪ Let's leave this ♪ ♪ Soggy English rain ♪

♪ And go to Italy by train ♪

♪ To visit Florence, Venice ♪ ♪ And then Rome again ♪

♪ We'll wine and dine ♪ ♪ Till we are sick ♪

♪ And we won't have to ♪ think of Dick ♪

♪ At least until we ♪ ♪ Finally come home again ♪

♪ Italia ♪

♪ La-la, la-la, ♪ ♪ La-la, la-la, la-la, laaa ♪

♪ Italia ♪

♪ Ya-ya, ya-ya, ♪ ♪ Ya-ya, ya-ya, ya-ya, yaaa ♪

♪ Though I cannot ♪ ♪ Stand Italians ♪

♪ They wear big ♪ ♪ Gold medallions ♪

♪ And act like ♪ ♪ Bloody stallions ♪

♪ All the waiters there ♪

♪ Tagliatelle, vermicelli ♪

♪ It all gets on my nelly ♪

♪ And as far as I'm concerned ♪

♪ They're pastabaters there ♪

♪ Italia ♪

♪ La-la, la-la, ♪ ♪ La-la, la-la, la-la, laaa ♪

♪ Italia ♪

♪ Ya-ya, ya-ya, ♪ ya-ya, ya-ya, ya-ya, yaaa ♪

♪ Italian men are gorgeous ♪

♪ If you don't ♪ ♪ Include the Borgias ♪

♪ For they make me slightly ♪ ♪ Nauseous when I read of them ♪

♪ Romeos and Cinderellas ♪

♪ Say bon giorno and ciao bellas ♪

♪ And they have umbrellas ♪ ♪ Should I feel the need of them ♪

♪ Italia ♪

♪ La-la, la-la, ♪ ♪ La-la, la-la, la-la, laaa ♪

♪ Italia ♪

♪ Ya-ya, ya-ya, ♪ ♪ Ya-ya, ya-ya, ya-ya, yaaa ♪

♪ Rome was not built in a day ♪

♪ Though actually ♪ ♪ It looks that way ♪

♪ The Roman Empire ♪ ♪ Was of course ♪

♪ The power there ♪

♪ There's a geezer came from ♪ ♪ Pisa, by the name of Julius Caesar ♪

♪ He was a little bent but ♪ ♪ Then so is the tower there ♪

♪ Italia ♪

♪ La-la, la-la, ♪ ♪ La-la, la-la, la-la, laaa ♪

♪ Italia ♪

♪ Ya-ya, ya-ya, ♪ ♪ Ya-ya, ya-ya, ya-ya, yaaa ♪

♪ Italia ♪

♪ La-la, la-la, ♪ ♪ La-la, la-la, la-la, laaa ♪

♪ Italia ♪

♪ Ya-ya, ya-ya, ♪ ♪ Ya-ya, ya-ya, ya-ya, yaaa ♪

I was on the move again.

This time to Italy, where English people go to have emotions.

Consequently, Emma remained behind.

Meanwhile, the party arrived in Florence.

The traveling party arrived in Florence.

Sorry.

What joy to be in Italy,

- with these friendly men and their encouragingly lax morals.

Aunt Maggie. Why is that statue not wearing any underpants?

Because it's so terribly hot, dear.

Ah, and what is that little thing...

Well, it's an umbrella symbol.

- Oh... - Oh, here we are...

The Pensione Berlusconi.

Bon giorno, Signore.

Bunga bunga, Signor Pederasti Inglesi.

Oh, Signor Berlusconi, how nice to see you.

Ah, Signora Decrepit Inglesi.

I have reserved for you and your niece a room with a no view.

Thank you so much, dear Fascisti.

Helena is allergic to views.

Particularly right-wing views.

Well, welcome to our Pensione,

- where emotionally repressed English people can learn to enjoy themselves.

How to chew on the pizza, how to nibble on the pasta-

- how to swallow salami.

Yes...

Yes, I think that's quite enough-

- single entendres for now, signor.

Come on, Helena, lets freshen up while they unload our baggage.

Blimey, look at that statue, Ken.

That bloke's not wearing any underpants.

That's Michelangelo's David.

Michelangelo's Dick, more like.

Scusi, signore.

Your deliveries round the back.

Oh, charming. You bloody Italians should be ashamed of yourselves,

- all these naked statues.

Have you Eyeties never heard of underpants?

Brutti Inglesi bastardi vanagloriosi!

What's he say?

He says, "You condescending, English bastards."

"I invite you to pull your foreskin over your heads,"-

- "and give yourselves an enema with a wine bottle."

"May you sleep in sheep shit and your sphincter"-

- "become a highway for Australian rugby players."

Blimey. I never knew you spoke Italian.

I learned it on the train.

What is it you two idiots want?

Eh, don't you get lippy with us, mate.

Who do you think you are?

You arrogant, English pigs.

You come from a miserable island where it rains every day,

- where the men are all pederasts-

- and all the women are frozen from the waist down.

You have no cheese, you have no wine,

- no olive oil, no garlic, you cannot play football-

- and your music is all poo.

Oh, yeah. Yeah, well that's where you're wrong,

- Mister ice-cream selling, bloody fascist wop,

- 'cause we have brought a piano for Miss Helena to play.

What? The bella signorina, with the lovely squishy...

Yeah, that's the one.

Oh. Mia apologia.

I invite you to stay there for dinner-

- and anal sex.

Ken?

- Dinner would be nice. - Yeah.

Oh, I am so very happy, at last I have my own PNO.

♪ One day some lovely fella's ♪ ♪ Going to show me his umbrella ♪

♪ But until that day ♪ ♪ I'll play upon my P N O ♪

♪ If he's jealous of the fellas ♪

♪ Who have shown ♪ ♪ Me their umbrellas ♪

♪ He'll be happy when I let him touch my P N O ♪

♪ My P N O ♪

♪ My P N O ♪

♪ It's such a lovely instrument ♪

♪ I really love it so ♪

♪ My P N O ♪

♪ My P N O ♪

♪ Who wouldn't like ♪ ♪ To play upon my P N O ♪

♪ From Florence down to Napoli ♪ ♪ The men behave unhappily ♪

♪ If they can't get a glimpse ♪ ♪ Of my sweet P N O ♪

♪ The Frenchmen and the Dutchmen ♪

♪ Always shout and yell ♪ ♪ How much then? ♪

♪ But I won't let them touch ♪ ♪ When I've my P N O ♪

♪ My P N O ♪

♪ My P N O ♪

♪ Tickling the ivories ♪ ♪ I really love it so ♪

♪ My P N O ♪

♪ I so adore ♪

♪ I'll play with it all night ♪ ♪ And day until I get too sore ♪

Thank you.

♪ Her P N O ♪

♪ Her P N O ♪

♪ Who wouldn't like a go ♪ ♪ Upon her P N O ♪

♪ The British upper classes ♪ ♪ Can all shove it up their arses ♪

♪ For the poor and struggling ♪ ♪ Masses have no P N O ♪

What a lucky, lucky old piano.

Leonard Bastard! What on earth are you doing in Italy?

- I walked. - But that's...

That's almost 900 miles.

Nine hundred and three actually.

Is your wife here?

No, she couldn't get away.

You tied her up?

No, she's helping McGuffin with his Dick problem.

How?

Well, she's a professional Ass Reader,

- and she has some information that may be helpful to the police.

Oh, gosh. Really?

I have judged her too harshly as a worthless slut-

- who trapped you into an unhappy marriage.

No, no. She is a worthless slut-

- who trapped me into an unhappy marriage,

- but she is a very fine Ass Reader.

Leonard, I have been less than generous with you.

I want you to play with me.

- What? - On the piano.

- When? - Right now!

Let's go.

Oh, good grief.

Close your eyes, Mr Whoopsie, you are a clergyman.

What is going on?

Helena is playing a piano in public,

- with a married man of the working classes!

How shameful!

Unprotected Beethoven.

Whatever are we to do?

Russell brothers. Pick up the piano.

We must all go home at once.

Who is it?

Open the... Open the door, open the door, Emma.

I must see you at once.

Hang on a minute.

Why, Mr Hudson.

Thank God, you're here.

Mister Hudson, you are in a state of some emotion.

I'm sorry, these are new trousers.

Just breaking them in for a friend.

What are you doing alone in a house with a young woman-

- whose aunt and sister have not yet returned from Italy-

- with no one around to notice-

- if we were to accidentally slip upstairs with a hairbrush?

No, I have something terribly serious to tell you.

My wife is dead.

- For real? - Yeah.

How did she die?

An unfortunate brush with rat poison.

She apparently mistook it for sugar.

- It's easily done. - I blame myself.

Oh, it could happen to anyone's unwanted wife.

I wasn't there, you see. I was in Manchester, it was a rubber thing.

A perfectly reasonable alibi.

Yes, the police suspect foul play.

They think the same man what done it for Dick-

- is gone and... What done it for her.

I'm sorry, I seem to have lost control of my tongue.

- Am I making you nervous? -Standing in the doorway in a nightie-

- with the light behind you... Nervous isn't quite the word.

- I know what you'd like. - Really?

A nice cup of tea.

Uh, close.

Oh, I love the way he stares at me when we're making tea.

I know exactly what he's thinking.

I know exactly what I'm thinking.

He can read me like a book. I can read her like a book.

The Big Boys Book Of Fairies.

- 107 Nasty Positions To Do It. - He seems to know exactly what I'd like.

I know exactly what she'd like.

- I'd like to play tiddley winks. - She wants to be shagged senseless.

Then supper at The Ritz and afterwards dancing...

And then up to the bathroom for a good scrubbing.

- What? - With a stiff loofah,

- rubbing and scrubbing in a soapy tub of water-

- till she blushes naked all over with that pale delicate skin.

Good heavens.

- I want to kiss your warm soapy buttocks, - Oh. - probing deeper and deeper...

- Oh. - Stroking and spanking-

- and kneading and plunging and thrusting... - Ah.

Turning you over and then plunging - and thrusting you like a-

- giant glob of internal combustion engine-

- buzzing helplessly like a bee in a bottle and screaming like a monkey on speed.

- Emma, dear, we're back from Italy. - Ah...

- Emma, Emma, good grief. - What's happening?

- Ahhh... - Is she all right?

Ooh, I'd say so.

Ah...

What is happening to her?

Emma is having an emotion.

Italy had worked its gay magic,

- and the English were now all caring and sensitive.

Dick was on everyone's lips.

We shall skip World War One,

- which was mainly about a horse,

- and move on to August...

- 1929, when Aunt Maggie went to visit Dick.

But when she arrived at The Royal Hospital for the Extremely Mad,

- she was in for a surprise.

You have a visitor, Dick. Is there any change in his condition?

Alas, Madam, there is none.

Allow me to present Deepak Rushdie Obi Ben Kingsley,

- Visiting Professor of Psychobabble-

- at the University of Virginia Woolf.

Oh, I have read about him in the, uh, Rubber Ware News.

It seems you are the inventor of the American Happy Boy.

That is I myself, good Lady.

Ooh, it has relieved many of my emotions.

Well, I'm proud to have had a hand in that.

We are going to seek the assistance of a professional arse reader.

But first, we have a wee surprise.

Mr Russell, bring in the piano.

In 'ere, Guv?

Good heavens, it is the piano from Shagistan.

This piano has been close to the scene of all these violent attacks.

You suspect the piano?

Of course, I don't fucking suspect the pianey,

- ye weird Indian psychobabbly chapatimuncher.

I thought it might help to jog his memory.

If only this piano could talk, Inspector.

Pianeys don't fucking talk, yer silly touchy-

- willy wackedout son of a bloody-minded ejit.

That's pure gobbledy shittey crappy slappy touchy feely bollocks.

But since Dick found it at the beach,

- I thought it might help him to remember a happier time.

This where you wanted the piano, guv?

Just drop it right here.

Thank you. The piano is at the heart of the mystery.

- Will that be all, sir? - Good heavens, is that you, Sergeant?

Do I know you, sir?

Sergeant Ken Russell of the 13th Foot and Mouth.

You do not remember me? I am Deepak from Shagistan?

Alas, sir, he can remember nothing since the massacre.

Lord Darling told him something important but he's forgotten it.

Do not worry, Inspector, I'll put him in a trance.

Now, Ken, listen to me, you are going to relax,

- you are going into a deep sleep.

Not you, Inspector.

Oh, sorry. Sorry.

Just relax Ken, Kenneth...

Now, five, four, three, two, one, you're gone.

Where am I?

You're in Shagistan, Sergeant.

Oh, yeah. Bloody hot, innit?

It's very hot, Ken.

And all these bloody flies.

All these bloody flies.

Now, you are with Lord Darling and he's talking to you.

What is Lord Darling saying?

He is telling me a very disturbing tale, sir. He's saying...

"There are some things I am not proud of in my life, Sergeant."

"There was a young governess I met at a Coming Out Ball."

"Her name was Margaret",

"- she was beautiful and I couldn't help myself."

"I plied her with gin, and I took advantage of her."

"Too late I learned that nine months later..."

"She had a child",

"- but by then, my regiment had shipped out."

"I still don't know the name of that child."

The child's name was Dick.

How could you know that?

Because I was that governess. Margaret was me.

This is my Dick.

He's your son?

Yes, Inspector.

Oh, Mummy. I'm coming out of my coma.

There, there, Dick. Mummy's here.

Mummy, can I have a little suck on your breasts, please?

Well, I suppose a little wouldn't hurt.

See if I can still lactate. Ooh, yes, I can.

Ooh, yes, it's happening. Ooh, Russell...

Sergeant, control... Control your images.

Sergeant, for fuck's sake, control the images in your head.

Very difficult, sir, very difficult, sir.

What else is Lord Darling saying to you, Sergeant?

It's all coming back now, sir.

It's a little bit misty, but it's coming back. He says...

"Take this piano to my son Dick, at Darling Hall."

Very well. And so you have done.

Your task is complete, Sergeant.

Dick has the piano and he has a mummy.

But we still don't know who attacked him, and why.

That's true, Inspector. It's time for the Ass Reader, I think.

Who is it?

Oh, it's you. Come on in, yeah.

Come to have your botty read again have you?

You're a right naughty boy, ain't ya?

I saw it in your bum the other day.

I said to myself, I said, there's violence in that bottom, Enid, my love?

Those cheeks have seen more than their fair share of sorrow.

A deep dark secret is hidden in that derriere.

But I 'aven't told no one, guv, so help me-

- and I wouldn't tell Inspector McGuffin nuffin.

As long as you brought me that little bit of money you promised me.

'Ere, 'ere, what's that? No, no, please don't.

Stop! Aahhh!

'Oundsditch Mutilator strikes again!

Ass Reader Assassinated!

Damn it, Deepak, we're too late.

Police working on the theory-

- that they have no idea what's going on!

Watch it you.

This is most unfortunate.

I had high hopes that she might see-

- something useful in Dick's behind.

Who assassinates an arse reader and why?

Uh... Maybe the King of Sweden for shits and giggles.

What!

No, she knew something. She knew the identity of the Mutilator.

Well, how could that be so?

She opened the door in her pyjamas.

She had a door in her pyjamas?

This had to be...

This had to be somebody she knows well.

And her husband has disappeared.

We must find Leonard Bastard immediately.

Who is it?

Open the door, Emma. I must see you at once.

Hang on a minute.

Emma, is there a window I could just...

Why, Mr Hudson. I'm here all alone.

I have something, I have something to tell you.

I have a hairbrush upstairs...

Something terrible has happened.

Leonard Bastard's wife has been murdered?

No, worse than that.

What could possibly be worse than that?

- I am bankrupt. - Oh, dear.

This afternoon the Hudson Rubber Company just collapsed.

Into the Thames?

Financially, you see.

Someone in the accounts department was speculating huge sums-

- against the future price of rubber, and now I am utterly ruined.

Oh, crikey.

The name of the young man who made these speculations-

- was Leonard Bastard.

The very man you begged me to employ.

Oh. Oops.

Well, "oops" doesn't quite hack it actually, Emma.

So, because of this, I have decided to-

- accept the job of a butler in the West Country.

Ohh. Well, have a good one.

Yes, ta very much.

No. Wait. I am an Englishwoman of a certain age.

You are the only man who ever gave me an emotion.

I am going to do something utterly improper.

Oh, yes?

I am going to pack some hankies and come with you.

Ah, Darling Hall, doesn't it look great in the rain, Butler?

Ah, yes, my Lord.

Butler, what time is it?

1935, my Lord.

Who is that woman in the tight black dress?

That is the housekeeper, Miss Schlegel, sir.

Fine figure of a woman.

Yes, sir, she does her job very well.

This weekend, I'm having a Nazi party.

The usual thing, you know, uniforms, speeches, searchlights, discipline,

- boots, bondage, Wagner and tight leather trousers.

Very good, my Lord.

This will be the first Nazi party ever held in England,

- and here's the order of events.

There'll be Heil and Hello getting-to-know-you cocktails,

- with a few introductory remarks about the Third Reich,

- what happened to the other two Reichs,

- and why this one will last ever so much longer.

Very good, my Lord.

Mr Hudson, might I have a word with you?

Yes, of course, Miss Emma.

- There is to be a Nazi party here? - Just a very small one.

And why have you been avoiding me?

Because I am a butler and you are a housekeeper,

- and in this country, any contact-

- is not only immoral but it is also illegal,

- contrary to the Naughty Behaviours Act with Servants 1932.

- But surely... - No...

- Not even if... - No...

- But suppose we were to... - No...

- On our own time... - Impossible.

- At weekends? - No.

In the garage? Out of the question. This is England.

We must have no more emotions.

But I have brought this hairbrush...

Shit.

Come here, woman.

Get on my springy thing... go on.

What on earth is going on, Emma?

Aunt Maggie, Whoopsie, Helena, and Dick!

What on earth are they doing, Mummy? I'm scared.

Miss Emma was merely helping me-

- clean the floor with her posterior...

No, Henry, no more lies.

I am a fully grown woman and I am entitled to an emotion now and again.

Good heavens, this isn't America.

What on earth is going on, Butler?

Who are all these people?

Lord Darling, this is your long-lost brother, Dick.

Hello, bro. Want to see my mouth organ?

Good heavens. It's the Nazis.

Hello, Darling!

Countess Von Kunst, welcome to Darling Hall.

It is important that you English understand-

- that we Nazis are a Party.

It's a fun thing. Meine uber Butler...

Yes, Countess.

- Do you have a piano? - No, Countess. No piano at Darling Hall.

Then what is das?

Good heavens. That... is a piano.

Good grief, it is "The Piano".

It is Lord Darling's, a gift from his dead daddy.

Deepak, is that you?

Hello, Mr Hudson sahib. Long time, no see.

What on earth are you doing here?

Well, I am just, I am just talking to you at the moment.

Yes, I can see that, but why?

Because they think it's funny, sir.

It is a bit confusing.

Yes, it is...

Well, I would like to play a little song about the Führer.

But first...

...I shall warm up with the diva scale.

♪ Do, re, me, me, me, me, me, me! ♪

♪ Me, me, me, me, me, me, me... ♪

Oh! Was its das? What is wrong with this piano?

It is like England, it does not work.

There is something trapped inside it.

But what is a vibrator doing inside a piano?

That's rather a long story.

Who are you?

A rather long story teller.

Ooh...

This is Inspector McGuffin.

Not in fact so, madam. I am a Private Dick.

My real name is Holmes.

Good heavens. Sherlock Holmes!

No, Shylock Holmes. His Jewish cousin.

Why is zere a dildo schtuck in zis piano?

It was hidden there, madam, by someone in this room.

What does it matter?

It matters because it reveals the identity of a murderer.

Butler, I arrest you for the murder of Henry Hudson.

But this is Henry Hudson, Inspector.

No, sir. This man is called Hopkins,

- who killed the original Hudson,

- who gained control of the rubber market.

He attacked little Dickie in the woods and poisoned his wife-

- who saw him attacking Dick from her window,

- and he bludgeoned poor Enid to death-

- when she threatened to reveal what she read in his backside,

- that he is the Houndsditch Mutilator.

Butler, I arrest you for the murder of Henry Hudson.

Oh, Henry, they will hang you.

I'm already hung, Emma.

I know that. I am bearing your child.

Then leave this soggy island.

England is finished. The future is Holland.

- America? - Yeah, America, yeah.

Where they are more respectful of personal violence,

- where they won't stop children having automatic weapons-

- just because they're insane.

So, the butler was arrested-

- and sentenced to be hanged by the neck until he wasn't at all well.

Leonard Bastard married Helena,

- and together they opened an umbrella shop.

The Reverend Whoopsie became the Archbishop of Canterbury.

Aunt Maggie moved to Holland where she demonstrates personal vibrators.

And as for me, the Piano...

...I was bought by Elton John.

And I'm currently starring in Las Vegas...

...where I made this, one of Elton John's finest hits.

♪ O Rum ti tumti ♪

♪ Tickle yer monkey ♪ ♪ Tickle di didle doo ♪

♪ Rumpy pumpy ♪ ♪ Humpty dumpty ♪

♪ Tickle yer tivey too ♪

♪ Oh, Hankie pankie ♪ ♪ Winkie wankie ♪

♪ Diddle de didle doo ♪

♪ Rinky dinky ♪ ♪ Tiddley winky ♪

♪ Nicky nacky noo ♪

♪ Oh, Packety wackety ♪ ♪ Nickety nackety ♪

♪ Sings the lonely trout ♪

♪ Splickety wickety ♪ ♪ Pickety nickety ♪

♪ What is life about? ♪

♪ Shackety mackety ♪ ♪ Thwackety crackety ♪

♪ She was just a slut ♪

♪ Find yourself another lass ♪

♪ A nicer piece of butt ♪

♪ Oh, Packety wackety ♪ ♪ Nickety nackety ♪

♪ Sings the lonely trout ♪

♪ Splickety wickety ♪ ♪ Pickety nickety ♪

♪ What is life about? ♪

♪ Shackety mackety ♪ ♪ Thwackety crackety ♪

♪ She was just a slut ♪

♪ Find yourself another lass ♪

♪ A nicer piece of butt ♪

♪ From the Orpheum Theatre ♪ ♪ In downtown L.A. ♪

♪ Tonight we invite you ♪ ♪ To picture a play ♪

♪ A radio screenplay ♪ ♪ A film for your ears ♪

♪ It's Aural Cinema! ♪

♪ From the Orpheum Theatre ♪ ♪ In downtown L.A. ♪

♪ Tonight we invite you ♪ ♪ To picture a play ♪

♪ A radio screenplay ♪ ♪ A film for your ears ♪

♪ It's Aural Cinema! ♪