All language subtitles for Toast Of London s02e02 sures.eng

Steven, ready to go?

Oh, have I introduced you
to our client, Nick Swivney?

Yeah, whatever. Can we just get on
with this, please?

Uh, Steven. This is Clem Fandango.

Yeah. I know who you are.

- Can you hear me?
- Yeah, I can hear you, Clem Fandango

- What do you want?
- Just letting you know we're ready to go.

He just said that!

You two are unbelievable!

"The smooth taste of
Red Carpet cigarettes is coming

"to the Democratic Republic of Congo.

"Everybody knows that cigarettes are
good for you.

"Red Carpet cigarettes,
once you smoke one,

"you'll want more, and more, and more,
and more, and more, and more,

"and more."

NICK: Yes! (LAUGHING)

No!

That went well. The lady, Jane,
she's a fine, fine woman.

She's your agent, yes?

Yeah, she's my agent.

You are fucking her, yes? Eh?

No, I'm not. Look, am I done here?

Tell Jane hello from me.

(LAUGHS)

(LAUGHING)

Eh?

(THEME MUSIC PLAYING)

India, which bloody button do I press?

- You just press play.
- Yes, I know!

- Killer whales?
- Well, I'm sure they train you.

Couple of hours in the morning,

you'd be performing with them
in the pool by lunchtime.

Why would you even suggest this, Jane?

I'm an actor, not a bloody whale charmer,
for Christ's sake.

You might want to watch your language
and remember who you're talking to, Toast.

(SLAMS LAPTOP SHUT)

Ah, murder mystery. Vengeful husband.

Rula Lenska's already said yes to the wife.

Cats.

Children's television.

(TO HIMSELF) Good God, never again.

So who's going on their holidays this
week? That's right, it's Jennifer.

Off you go, Steven.

(INHALES DEEPLY)

I wonder where Jennifer's going?

Oh shit, man, you're fucking kidding.

(SCREAMING)

How did you get on with Nick Swivney?

You know he's trying to flog cigarettes
to the Congo?

The poorest people in the world.

Yes. They're rather tasty, actually.

Why would you put me up
for something like that?

You're concerned for ethical reasons or

because someone might find out about it?

Because someone might find out about it.

Why can't you find me something decent?

I suggest a little rethink
on the Norris Flipjack advert.

Mmm-mmm.

You'll be shooting it
at his extensive woodland estate.

- No, I won't. Mmm-mmm.
- It's mega money, Toast.

And any advert directed by Flipjack
has quality written all over it.

Nope.

Fantastic! This is going to be great.

Now, where's my star?

There he is. Fashionably late.

Hey Jackie, how you doing?

Phil, you old tiger! Barry! Chris!
Hey, Maxine, you're looking good!

MAXINE: Thanks, Ray.

- Ray bloody Purchase.
- Toast.

- How you feeling this morning, Ray?
- Well, what a night.

I tell you what, this cat really knows
how to throw a party.

- (CHUCKLES)
- But you wouldn't know about that,

would you, Toast?

Because you weren't invited.
How embarrassing.

Right. Let's make an advert.

I'm ready, let's go.

You heard him. Let's go.
Okay, first positions.

Turnover. Cue travellator, and...

Action!

('60s MUSIC PLAYING)

Okay, cut. Cut!

(GRUNTING)

Right, that's lunch.

You jumped-up prick.

Whatever petty crap exists between
you and Ray Purchase

is of no interest to me.

But if it starts to jeopardise
the making of my advert...

I've gotta be honest with you, Flipjack,
I hate everything about your advert.

What kind of arsehole doesn't
like my adverts?

(SNORTS)

This kind of arsehole.

(COCKS GUN)

It's clearly a prop gun, Flipjack.

Really? Well, let's see, shall we?

If you don't say,
"I'm sorry, Norris, I love your adverts."

I... Put down that fox!

Barbequing defenceless animals.
You're insane!

Go on, fella, run for your life.

He's dead, you idiot.

(FIRES GUN)

Ah, didn't expect that, did you, Flipjack?

You see, Toast, what you don't know.

You see, Flipjack, what you don't know.

How's the barbeque going, guys?

He was barbequing a fox!

I wasn't barbequing it.
I was roasting it on a spit.

It's the kind of thing that goes on all
the time in the countryside, Toast.

Get used to it.

- Now I fancy a fox burger.
- Tuck in, Ray.

- There you go, Toast.
- What's this for?

Bus fare. Don't bother coming back
after lunch.

(LAUGHING EVILLY)

(BOTH LAUGHING)

(LAUGHING EVILLY)

- And he was barbequing foxes, you say?
- He was. He had one on a spit.

I believe he's in the Countryside Alliance.
He can do what he likes.

But as I told you, best not
to cross Norris Flipjack.

He will crush you like that.

(GLASS SHATTERING)

Yes. Well, I'm done with
all these shit jobs, Jane.

I've got a few quid in the bank.

It's not like I'm facing a massive
tax bill any time soon.

RAY: Good afternoon, I'd like to report
Steven Gonville Toast for tax evasion.

Unfortunately, Ray Purchase has reported
you to the tax people.

Why is he such a grass? You know,
I could kill him with a spoon.

Well, that may be so,
but brace yourself, Toast.

You now owe the tax people ?250,000.

(WHEEZES) Oh, God!

I thought you took care of
all the tax stuff, Jane!

Jane!

Look, you may have to take a few jobs
that don't particularly appeal for a while,

but this Harry Potter show will be great.

When I got into this profession, I had
no intention of entertaining anybody.

Least of all, children.

Actors can't always pick and choose,
Toast. Even very successful ones.

I know when things were a little lax
for John Nettles last year,

- he turned to a spot of poaching.
- Poaching?

Yes. Just to put food on the table
before his next job at the National.

- Really?
- Shall we?

Everything going well, Eric?
Still on the EastEnders?

(IMITATING) Leave it, aaaht, Pat.
(CHUCKLES)

(CLANGING)

- What the hell was that?
- Sounds like the back door.

(PANTING)

30 quid, the lot.

- How many rabbits?
- Three.

That's not a rabbit, it looks more
like a squirrel.

It's a rabbit.

I don't think so, John. We'd have to skin
them and all that.

But Juliet Stevenson could do all that
for you for an extra tenner.

Not really that keen.

Oh, right. Well, I'll try Tim Pigott-Smith.

Oh, God. You can't help yourself, can you?

- What do you mean, can't help myself?
- Name drop.

You can't get a sentence out
without "John Mills this

"or Tim Pigott-Smith that".

Go easy, Toast. Poor man's on his uppers.

Ah, you're right. I'm sorry, Nettles.

Good luck with your rabbits. And er,
give my love to the family.

I'll try Hugh fucking Bonneville.

I hope I never have to do anything
like that, Ed.

Well, looks like we're on for another
train strike, Toast.

Tell you, Thatcher would have sorted
that out with a single phone call to COBRA.

Indeed.

Hope you're not thinking of going anywhere.

That's the least of my troubles, Ed.

Jane's got me doing these shitty jobs to
pay off that tax bill.

How was that Harry Potter show?

The director was a wanker.
They're all useless.

I don't respect any of them. In fact,
I don't respect anybody.

- Really?
- Yeah, I can't think of a single person

on this earth that I have any respect for.

Have you ever thought of directing, Toast?

(GASPS)

Well, that's not a bad idea.

I think I'd be an excellent director,
now you mention it, Ed.

It might not be as easy as it looks, Toast.

Some actors can be a little difficult.

(PHONE RINGING)

- Toast.
- Calendar Girls.

What's that?

Oh, you must know about it, Toast.
A load of prim, middle-aged women

pose nude for a calendar
to raise money for charity.

- They pose nude for a calendar?
- That's correct.

- The Women's Institute?
- Indeed.

There's one thing I don't get, Jane.

Who the fuck would want
to buy something like that?

How dare you be so rude
about the WI, Toast.

Anyway, the producer and the
director for some reason

are very keen to meet you.

I suggested The Colonial Club
tomorrow afternoon.

- Who are they?
- Duncan Clench and Bob Fennison.

Never heard of them.

Oh, one tiny thing. Bob Fennison has a
very minor facial blemish.

Well, what's the matter with him?

Do you know, it's so minor
I don't even remember.

Anyway, we are well on the way

to paying off your
?250,000 tax bill. Toodle-oo.

- So, what was that, Toast?
- That was Jane.

She's got me a part in something
called Calendar Girls.

Mmm. The Women's Institute. Yes, I have
one of those calendars.

Ah, sounds weird. Like niche porn.

The ladies, mostly of the mature
variety and somewhat out of shape,

- are totally nude.
- Yeah, so I gather.

However, homemade cupcakes
and jars of chutney

discreetly obscure the more
intimate parts of their bodies,

leaving the viewers' imagination to picture
the erotic delights concealed beneath.

I might just go and see if
I can find my calendar.

- To check some dates.
- Yeah.

(SCOFFS)

Steven, I'm Duncan Clench, producer.

And er, this is Bob Fennison, our director.

- Hi, Steven.
- Something to eat?

Oh, erm, there's a menu.

Oh. Er, club sandwich for me, I think. Bob?

What has Jane told you
about Calendar Girls?

I presume you're
familiar with the production?

It's been touring constantly since 2008.

So everything's running very smoothly
at this stage.

You'll be playing the part
of the photographer,

which is an absolutely key role.

I can't operate a camera, does that matter?

Oh no, no, no, no. You won't be actually
taking any photographs.

So it's... No, what, what?
Erm, sorry about this, Steven.

We'll be back in a moment.

(INAUDIBLE)

- Sorry about that, Steven.
- Everything all right?

Oh no, it's just... Well, Bob was a bit upset.

He thought he should be included
more in the, in the conversation.

Maybe we should include him more?

So, where will we be rehearsing
the play, Bob?

Er, Eastbourne. Tomorrow. We've got a
fantastic bunch of actors.

- Shit.
- Oh. Er, sorry about this.

Steven, we're going to have to go.
I didn't let him answer your question

about meeting the cast and now he's furious.

- You probably noticed he's, erm...
- His erm...

- What?
- His...

- He's quite shy.
- Oh.

Doesn't really like being out in company.

Anyway, it's been very nice meeting you.

Oh, come on!

And we'll speak soon.

Fucking hell.

Anything can happen now.

Dead?

- Yes.
- What, both of them?

Yes. The police located their empty car
and two pairs of pyjamas at Beachy Head.

- Good God.
- They're working on a theory that they

went for a dip and whilst in the water,
Bob drowned Duncan

and then drowned himself. There was
a really sad suicide note.

What? The police went for a dip
with Bob and Duncan?

- No!
- Well, wouldn't the police

have tried to stop Bob from drowning
Duncan before Bob drowned himself?

I wish you'd listen. Just Bob
and Duncan went for a dip.

So the police were watching from the shore?

No, the police weren't involved at this point!

- Ah-ha! Maybe it was an accident.
- There was a suicide note!

- Maybe it wasn't an accident.
- Bob was fiercely jealous of Duncan.

And according to the suicide note,
believed that Duncan was in love with you.

Did anything happen between
you and Duncan?

Did it fuck! No! We just went for a
drink. In fact, only I had a drink.

They had to rush off for a train.

Now the show's missing a producer
and a director.

I mean, producer doesn't matter,

but they really need a strong director
to break in the new cast.

- Yes.
- Sorry?

- I'll do it. Opportunity knocks.
- You want to be a director?

Yes, I would like to be a director.
And I think I'd be pretty good at it.

- Don't you?
- Well, it's not just the technical skills,

you need people skills as well, Toast.

I've got people skills,
and a very good sense of humour.

(LAUGHING)

If you're directing, will you be able to
take on the role of the photographer?

It's a shit role, anyway.
Any halfwit could do it.

This Ed Howzer-Black and he'll be
playing the part of the photographer.

Yes. Now, the first scene we're going to
have a look at is...

Sorry to immediately interrupt, Toast.

Did you plan to have the ladies undressed
for this scene?

- This is just the rehearsal, Ed.
- I know. Wouldn't it help at all?

There might be something more
natural about it.

You're not even in this scene.

Why don't you go to your dressing room
and I'll see you at lunch.

No, I think I'll stay around
if you don't mind.

I'd quite like to see your directing style.

Well, I can tell you my directing style

will be very forceful indeed. Yes, I
intend to treat these people as cattle.

- Quite so, quite so.
- Yes.

All right, ladies, we need the
actresses called Jennifer and Alexandra.

Right.

Okay, this is the scene where you're
both worried about telling your husbands

that you're going to do
a nude calendar shoot.

Here we go... And...

Action!

Ooh, I am slightly worried about telling
my Burt. What are his mates

down the pub going to think? I...

Sorry, I forgot my line.

(LAUGHING)

You've forgotten your line?

I just assumed you'd be a bit
better prepared than that.

Okay, let's go again. Action!

Ooh, I am slightly worried about telling
my Burt.

What are his mates down the pub
going to think? I...

- Sorry, I... I forgot my line.
- You did what?

- I forgot my line.
- (SHOUTS) What the fuck is wrong with you?

- Show her, her line.
- Erm...

And concentrate! And don't fuck it up!
Action!

Ooh, I am slightly worried about telling
my Burt.

What are his mates down the pub
going to think? I...

- Sorry, I...
- (IMITATING) I forgot my line.

Are you fucking retarded?
What the shit is between your ears?

Can I, erm, sorry, she's not really
responding to your direction.

- May I suggest a small piece of advice?
- What?

I think you could possibly be a little
more forceful with her.

- More forceful?
- Yes. A tad more aggressive.

- I'd give that a go. May well work.
- Okay.

Jennifer, I'll be to the point.
If you knacker this scene again,

I'll fucking fire you from this production.

And I'll replace you with an actress who can
actually act.

Action!

Ooh, I... I am slightly worried about telling
my Burt.

(NERVOUSLY) What are his mates
down the pub going to think? I...

(EXHALES HEAVILY)

- I...
- (INHALES ANGRILY)

- I... (WHIMPERS)
- (EXHALING CONTINUES)

Okay. So, Sally's just given you the news.

What's needed here is a small reaction,

because you don't want Sally to know
that you're upset. Right?

Action!

(SOBBING LOUDLY)

What the hell are you doing? I said a
small reaction, you fucking doughnut!

Let's give it one more try before I replace
you with a chimpanzee. Right?

Now pull yourself together! Action!

(CONTINUES SOBBING LOUDLY)

No! No, no, no!

I say! You can't speak to our actors like that!

Is that Clench? Hang on, I thought
you were dead.

There was an incident. With Bob.
He tried to drown me.

- Ah.
- I drifted out to sea, but luckily I was

washed up just outside the theatre.
Why are you directing this production?

- I think you should leave this show!
- Well, screw you, sailor.

It's a shit show anyway.

Bunch of middle-aged tarts,
hiding their tits behind flower pots.

I can do much better than this. Come on,
Ed, we're going. Where is he?

- (CAMERA SNAPPING)
- What are you doing, Ed?

Just rehearsing a photography scene
with Alison here.

Never mind that. We've got to get back
to London.

- Unlikely, Toast.
- Why?

- Rail strike has gone ahead.
- Oh.

Anyway, Alison has just offered to put
me up for the night.

Really?

I could give you a lift back if you like.

- Great, where's your car?
- Oh, I... (STAMMERS) don't have a car.

What do you have?

Oh!

- What's the problem?
- It's...

I found the day's rehearsals very distressing.

You're an extremely aggressive director

and because I was a bit upset,
I may have forgotten

to put fuel into the tank.

(ALARM SOUNDING)

Oh, for fuck's sake!

(EXPLODING)

(TOAST COUGHING)

Good God.

God. Sorry about earlier.

I may have been a tad over the top.
No hard feelings.

MAN: Okay, stop there. Don't move,
whoever you are.

You know this is private land. Show
your face, ya bastard!

Toast? What the hell are you doing here?

I was in a plane that just crashed in
this wood.

A likely story. Is that really the best
you can come up with, Toast?

Oh, you'll be pleased to hear that my
advert that you hate so much

will be playing in over 100,000
cinemas across the world.

So your decision to walk
means zero royalties for you, fucknut!

(GROWLS)

And now I see you're reduced
to poaching.

The last resort of the out-of-work actor.

What are you talking about?

What's the quickest way back
to London, from here?

I'd say it's to run!

What the... Nettles? Again?

Yes. Unfortunately he's just been
in a plane crash.

No, it wasn't serious.
Only one person was killed.

I'm sure we can come to
a satisfactory resolution, Mr Cockatip.

Cockatip?

Oh, it's the tax man. Luckily
something's come in. Something big.

Big enough to pay off your tax bill
in one swoop.

What's the product?

Never mind what the fucking product is,
Toast.

You have no choice in this.
Here are your plane tickets.

Aeroplane tickets. Where am I going?

Okay, boys. Let's take a break.
Red Carpet cigarettes

is the number one brand in
the Democratic Republic of Congo.

Everybody loves the silky smooth taste
of the Red Carpet.

(BOTH) Red Carpet cigarettes,

the Democratic Republic of Congo's
number one favourite.

I'll have one, please.

Only 10 Congolese francs a packet.

Once you've smoked one, you'll want more
and more and more and more.

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