All language subtitles for Drop The Dead Donkey s01e01 A New Dawn.eng

And now, another showing
of drop the dead donkey.

This first episode was originally
broadcast in a week when

sir alistair Burnett went
for a televised stroll

with the queen mother,
and petrol prices soared

as Iraq's invasion of Kuwait
prompted fears of war.

What's Hussein's latest
justification for going in?

He's still saying he
received an invitation.

Yes, a little card.

"You are cordially invited to
invade our country. Dress informal.

"Two-thirty for 3am. Please
bring a bottle and tank."

Could we be serious, please?

We could be on the brink
of a full-scale war here.

Marvellous, isn't it, hmm? What?

Well, this sort of crisis.

This sort of crisis is the ultimate
challenge for any decent newsreader.

You furrow the eyebrows slightly.

You drop the voice an extra
semitone, and you say,

"good evening. Tonight, the world
stands on the brink of war."

You scare the whole country shitless.

Now, that is real newsreading!

Not poncing around
behind the queen mother,

smelling of bloody rhododendrons.

Burbling about how all her trees
are her "personal friends".

Did you see that programme? He retches

it was just so unbelievably coy.

I was just praying that one
of the queen mum's corgis

would start shagging Burnett's leg.

Thank you, David. Now, are
there any other stories?

Yep. I might have a story on
some big new corn circles.

Good. All right, now,

the Tory backbenchers
have been on at us again,

so can we make sure we avoid

even the slightest hint
of irresponsibility?

Now, for instance,
this piece we're doing

on the state of our drinking water -

let's not frighten
people unnecessarily.

That's right. Let's stress
the positive side -

like how all the aluminium in the
water is killing off the worms.

What I'm saying is we have a resp...
phone rings

yes. Speaking.

No. No. No.

Nope. No, I don't want a personal
insurance plan, thank you.

No, not even with additional cover
against attack by chemical weapons.

How'd he get this number?
Where was I? Yes.

Now, I want someone to put
together a series of features

on a single European market in 1992.

All grumble no, no, no, come on.

1992 is a developing story.

Trade barriers are coming down.
Common European currency.

It's exciting, it's...
Both: It's boring.

Hard cheese. I want a
series of features on 1992.

And I shall be allocating it to
someone, so you'd better watch out.

Hang on. There's a late
story - a big takeover.

Takeovers are boring. Who's
being taken over this time?

We are.

What? Good god.

It's described as a "friendly
takeover" by sir roysten merchant.

Roysten merchant? God,
that ruthless bastard.

I met him once at a charity dinner.
He auctioned his chauffeur.

We all know what'll happen, don't we?

Exactly what's happened at all his
other TV stations and newspapers.

He'll just drag us downmarket.

It'll be, "good evening,
here is the news...

"Read by Samantha fox
in a wet t-shirt."

"President gorbachov says
that Elvis is alive and well

"and bonking princess Anne."

Hold it. We might be all right.

There's a bid from a rival consortium.

Now, they're saying that
merchant "is an unfit person

"to control a news organisation."
Surprise, surprise.

Of course he is. I mean,
they're obviously right.

They've got to win the day,
haven't they? Haven't they?

Oh, of course they have!
Come on, you lot.

Don't look so down in the dumps.

We've got a programme
to make, haven't we?

Let's show everyone what we're made of.

Let's jolly well go out
there and make television.

A fine orator, George, isn't he?
Reminds me of the great demosthenes.

Why, did he talk crap as well?

Roysten merchant? What a morning.
Roysten merchant!

Come on, George. You've just got to
show everybody what you're made of

and jolly well get on with it.
Damien! In here!

Damien? Oh, yes.

Ulcer? Mm. Well, I think so.

My gp says it's nerves. Mind you, he
puts all my symptoms down to nerves.

I can see him now at my funeral,

reassuring me that death
is only psychosomatic.

Standing. Yeah, well,
look, I'm in a hurry.

There's been a gas explosion.
All in good time.

Phone rings

Alex pates, yup.

George, it's for you. Douglas hurd.

Oh, god, what have we done now?

Hello, mr hurd.

Yes, mr hurd.

Well, I'm just not prepared
to talk about it, ok?

Well, I'm taking that attitude
because I was under the impression

you were Douglas hurd her
majesty's foreign secretary,

not Douglas hurd, insurance adviser.
Good day!

Got my private line now.

Where was I?

Oh, yes. Edited highlights -

the best of Damien day -
starting with June 1986.

And here, among the
ruins of west beirut,

lies perhaps the most
poignant testimony

to the tragedy of the Lebanon,

poking pathetically through the
rubble - a child's Teddy bear.

And now march 1989.

And buried inside the
remnants of this hospital,

devastated by the earthquake,

a sad symbol of tragedy
- a child's Teddy bear.

And finally, last month.

'A sad trail of destruction,
and, among the wreckage,

'a grim reminder of the human
cost of this air crash...'

hand it over.

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

Hand it over!

And the blood-stained plimsoll.

You've been warned about
this before, Damien.

Come on, you two. You know
what these stories are like.

You turn up and the emergency
services have cleared away

all the carnage, so
you've got no pictures.

These are just creative touches

to bring home the full drama
of the story to the viewer.

I've won three awards with dimbles.

All right. I concede that maybe
I've overused him a teensy bit.

A teensy bit?

This bear's visited more disaster
scenes than Margaret Thatcher.

It's the only cuddly toy to have
taken part in the Iran-Iraq war.

Where, as I recall, you
claimed it was a mascot

abandoned by martyrs of Allah.

Now, if there are any more
of these "creative touches",

you're gonna be out. Is that clear?
Yes, George.

Now, I mean it, Damien. Yes, George.
Look, can I go now,

because I am supposed to be
covering this gas explosion.

George, president bush
has made a major speech.

What's he said?

Well, the gist of it is, "go
ahead, punk. Make my day."

Bye, everybody.

Er, Damien, I think
you forgot something.

Oh, that? That's a present...

For my niece.

All right, I'll just read
this final paragraph back.

"As professional broadcasters,

"we feel most strongly that
an established news service

should not fall under the control
of an opportunist like merchant."

How about "ruthless opportunist"?

No, it's still too weak. How
about "ruthless megalomaniac"?

I'm not putting my name to that!

It's factual. He is a
ruthless megalomaniac.

Exactly. Which is why I don't want
to get the wrong side of him.

Yes, I think we'll just go
with "ruthless opportunist".

You're just being weak, George.
Phone rings

yes? No, go away!

Who was that? Stupid
pest, Douglas hurd.

Bloody hell, George, just cos
Alex said you were weak,

there's no need to go overboard.

He's not Douglas hurd the...
oh, it doesn't matter.

Look, I think the best thing
we could do is sign this thing

and then I'll get it biked
directly over to the guardian.

George, um, shouldn't my name
appear first, my dear fellow?

I mean, as far as Joe viewer is
concerned, I am the most well known.

Well, I am the editor. Within
the industry, I'm well known.

Quite well known, you say.

Do you ever get asked for your
autograph in restaurants?

Well, no, but, er... do
you appear on wogan?

No, but... do you receive letters

from a frustrated housewife,
offering oral sex

if you ever you're passing
through accrington?

No. I rest my case.

I just hope sir roysten doesn't win.
How do you mean?

Well, then we'd have all
signed a letter slagging off

our new boss. Wouldn't be
very pleased, would he?

I don't know, I think he'd admire
our integrity. And our frankness.

Perhaps "ruthless opportunist"
is too strong, actually.

How about just, er, "entrepreneur"?

I don't believe this! What
are you so scared of?

We're just speaking our minds.
Besides, there's absolutely no way

that the shareholders
will approve this bid.

She's right, of course.

There's no way the shareholders
would approve sir roysten's bid.

And when your shareholders
approved sir roysten's bid,

it was agreed by sir
roysten, and your directors,

at a meeting late last night,

that I should interface
with your team as,

for want of a better
label, "chief executive".

But, please, please, don't
think of me as that,

because I'm a teamwork person.

And initially, I just want to access
into your operational landscape

to get the feel, to get the
feel of your ballpark.

Basically, I'm very much
on a learning curve here.

Internally: 'He seems ok.
Saying all the right things.'

'not saying them in English,
but I can't complain.

'I was expecting a devious bastard.'

'he's a devious bastard.'

'people who use the term "learning
curve" are always devious bastards.'

'the man's a moron. How will he cope?

'Our business demands commitment,
professionalism and concentration...

'Hello, she's nice. Must be new.'

and I feel sure we're all
going to be one big,

happy, collective organism. Here, here!

As for me, well, I can
assure you Gus hedges

is very much a light-touch, hands-off,

arms-length executive bloke.

So you just carry on as normal.
I want everyone to ignore me.

Yes, well, thank you,
Gus, for those words.

All 3 million of them.

I'm sure you've calmed any fears we
might have had over this takeover.

Oh, please, not takeover -
change of management emphasis.

Yes, this, er, change of
management emphasis. Well, er...

Welcome aboard! All: Cheers.

Right, troops. Back to work.

Oh, George, George.

I have, er... I have something
very important to tell you.

Yes? I'm not here.

Right.

In other words, relax. Don't mind me.
Just carry on as normal.

I'll watch and learn from you, ok?
You're the boss.

Right. Thanks. It needed saying.

And I said the same thing to
sir roysten only this morning.

Right.

Yes. He was terribly interested
to know all about you.

Was he? Oh, yes, and I told him,

"I don't care what anyone says,

"George dent is obviously the
right man for this job."

He runs a tight ship. He knows
how to walk that tightrope

between populism and irresponsibility.

Right. I'm very strict
on irresponsibility.

Damien, Damien, there's
a farmer on the phone.

He says, "how big do you
want the corn circles?"

Oh, great.

Yes, I'm very hot on
that sort of thing.

The man's a monster! He's
a complete megalomaniac.

He's got all that money and power

and he's still not satisfied
with what he's got.

I think it would be better
if somebody just shot him.

Please can we stop going
on about Jeremy beadle

and get back to this meeting?

I know he was in the express at the
weekend, but nobody's had a good

TV interview with Ridley since he went.
Any joy on that front?

I'll try him again, George, but I
just keep getting his answer phone.

It's a sad day, isn't it,
when insulting Germans

is considered a resigning offence?

Yeah. Answer phone again.

Grunts guten tag, mr Ridley,

ve are on our vay!

Alex, I just wanted
to say, I'm not here.

Maybe none of us is here, Gus.

Maybe we're all just figments of
some alien being's imagination.

Nice use of humour. I like
to see that in a team-mate.

Now, um, I know there's some
nervousness here about sir roysten,

and I know he gets a bad
write-up in the papers.

Well, those he doesn't own.
Very good. But I, um...

I do want to reassure you, Alex,

I'm not gonna bring this
operation downmarket.

Good. George? George.

Which graphic do you want to accompany

the violence against the elderly story?

We've got the silhouette of
the granny being cudgelled

or the collage of cosh
mask and machete?

This is exactly what I'm talking about.

Cheap and sensationalist. Which
reminds me, where's Damien?

Have you seen him? Er,
no, I've been with Gus.

What do you make of Gus?

He's like... a eunuch's memories.

Eh? Full of bollocks.

He's rather supportive of me, actually.
Says I run a tight ship.

Told you. Full of bollocks.

Humming 'nessun dorma'

ah, ah, a quid, Henry.

What? Nessun dorma box.

How much have you made this week?

Er, 48 quid. Nearly enough
for a gallon of petrol.

TV: 'When we were asleep,
the river rose up.

'And when we got up, it was flowing
through the middle of the village.

Ah, there you are. Now,
about these corn circles...

Shh-shh-shh! Oh, sorry.

Crying: 'I lost all my family.'

what's this? Some stuff
on the floods in India.

'..Washed away.' She sobs

'i survived because I hung on
to the branches of a tree,

'but they've all died.'

poor woman.

This is very moving, isn't it? Yes.

But she was better in one of
the later takes, actually.

Later takes?

Yes, it was, er, take
nine, I think it was.

The crying was better.

How many takes did you record? 17.

You interviewed a woman
whose family had just died,

and you did 17 consecutive takes?!

Oh, look, of course I didn't.
What do you take me for?

I gave her a break in the middle
so she could take a breather.

Now, the best take's coming up,

I got her to say she was devastated
rather than just stunned.

Right, that does it.

This is definitely never,
ever being broadcast!

It was clearly obtained in the
most reprehensible manner.

And I'm issuing you a final warning.
Is that clear?

Yes, George. Now, this final warning,

do you want me to disregard the
four previous final warnings

I've had this month?
What are you suggesting?

Nothing.

Are you implying that I have
problems making decisions?

Well, are you? You're fired.

What?

Well, you heard me, er, you're fired.
Dismissed.

You don't mean it.

Well, George, I've
only been here one day

and you've already sacked
your best-known reporter.

What a little ball of fire you are.

You're positive it's
right to sack Damien?

Well, you did say you admired
my stand on responsibility.

Oh, absolutely. It's just that
research shows Damien's reports

have a high-response factor.

I mean, televisually speaking,
he's extremely viewer-friendly.

He's an animal.

He'd napalm his own granny if he
thought he's get good pictures.

He's got to go!

Whatever you say, coach. Damien goes...

..Even if he is sir
roysten's favourite.

How do you know he's sir
roysten's favourite?

Sir roysten mentioned it in passing

when he rang me about that
letter in the guardian.

Ah, er. How did he take that letter?

Sir roysten's not brilliant
at accepting criticism.

You know, I saw him head-butt a
speak-your-weight machine once.

But I explained to him
that the letter showed

you are a man of fierce,
fearless integrity.

Of course, he didn't see it quite
like that, but never mind.

He'll calm down... eventually.

Mind you, if, then, he
discovers you've sacked

his favourite reporter... well, I...

Yes, but he couldn't
dismiss me, could he?

He promised the authorities
he wouldn't interfere

on editorial matters. He
wouldn't dismiss you.

He might redefine you. Redefine me?

Perhaps if Damien was disciplined -
not that I want to call the shots...

I'm just lobbing ideas into your net.

Well, er, I've fired him now.

What if I disciplined him?
Oh, I'd be severe.

Wouldn't that undermine my credibility?

I think you'll find your credibility
will be the same as it always was.

Oh, well, all right, then.

By the way, incidentally, if you
should be speaking to sir roysten,

perhaps you could mention that
letter was a group effort.

But you were the brains
behind it, eh, George?

Who told you that?
Why, Dave, of course.

Of course.

You know what gets me
about this crisis?

I mean, let's face it. It's the
oldest trick in the book -

despotic ruler faced with a
declining economic situation

has a war to increase
personal popularity.

That's Thatcher's position dealt with.
What about Hussein's?

Moving on from that, please.

Ah, yes. Incidentally, I've had a
word with the graphics department.

I'm still not happy with them.

In fact, I've had to give
them a real talking to.

I've told them I don't
want any more graphics

that are sensationalist or cheap.

Well said, George. And I'd just
like to point out to staff

that as a result of a
disciplinary breach,

Damien is being taken
off big news stories.

In the meantime,

he'll be researching a
series of features on 1992.

All laugh

meeting adjourned.

There you are, you see? He
backed me up all the way.

Unlike some people we
could mention, eh, Judas?

Off-screen female: George! Telephone.

Why did he call you Judas?

You know what George
is like with names.

Probably mixed me up with that
bloke Judas in photocopying.

Excuse me.

I do not want special
cover against dog bites.

And b, how d'you know my
neighbour has a rottweiler?

Well, well, dear boy. The sin
bin for you. Tsk, tsk, tsk.

What are you doing?

I'm just writing a letter to
a housewife in accrington.

Not Sandra? Yeah.

She writes to you as well?
Henry, she writes to all of us.

She sent the weatherman
some lace panties.

That jezebel!

Well, Damien, what rotten luck.
1992, eh?

Yeah, yeah, pretty boring.
Though I am putting together

one programme looking at
transport across Europe.

Sounds riveting, Damien.

Mm. With a special emphasis on safety.

Go on.

Well, yeah, I'll be looking
at many of the most recent

European rail and road
disasters, examining the causes,

and of course interviewing
relatives of the deceased

to get their reactions. Gus,
I want a word with you!

She hums 'nessun dorma'

phone rings

speaking.

Oh, yes, I do need some
insurance, actually.

Have you got a policy which
covers me against breaking my leg

whilst kicking an
insurance man to death?

Gus, about Damien. Words fail me!

Oh, please, don't thank me.

Thank you?! You've just sent a vampire

on a tour of Europe's
freshest blood banks!

He's doing 1992 - a story he hates.

Covering it in a way he loves.
You've made an idiot of me, Gus,

and I am very, very angry! And
I respect your anger, George.

I feel sure we all respect your anger,

and I know your anger respects you.

Knock at door

George, revised graphics for the
crime against the elderly story.

I want a word with you later,
mr-it-was-all-George's-idea.

Yeah, all right. No, no, no.
I'm serious, Dave.

I'm fed up with people
not taking me seriously.

Sometimes I think that everyone
is just taking the Mickey.

Hello, Joyce?

Could you send the graphics
department up here, please?

George? Yeah?

British telecom have just announced
a profit of �741 million...

What?! ..For the last three months.

What?! Get bt on the phone for a quote.

How did they make �741 million?

I dunno, probably �200 million from
call boxes that eat your money,

�300 million from moronic chatlines
and the rest from wrong numbers.

Hello, is that bt?

Oh, sorry, I must have
been misconnected.

Bloody hell.

I know. Let's find out
Maureen lipman's address,

go round to her house and beat her up.

Hmm.

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