Original subtitles

By the centre, quick march!

(MARCHING MUSIC PLAYING)

Eyes right!

Eyes right!

(MUSIC PLAYING ON RECORD PLAYER)

(RECORD PLAYER TURNING OFF)

Baldrick!

What are you doing out there?

I'm carving something on this bullet, sir.

What are you carving?

I'm carving "Baldrick", sir.

- Why? - It's a cunning plan actually!

Of course it is.

You see, you know they say

that somewhere there's a bullet with your name on it.

Yes.

Well, I thought if I owned the bullet with my name on it,

I'd never get hit by it.

Cos I won't ever shoot myself.

Oh, shame.

The chances of there being two bullets with my name on them

are very small indeed.

It's not the only thing around here that's very small indeed.

Your brain, for example.

It's so minute, Baldrick,

that if a hungry cannibal cracked your head open,

there wouldn't be enough inside to cover a small water biscuit!

Tally-ho, pip-pip, and Bernard's your uncle!

In English we say, "good morning".

- Look what I've got for you, sir. - What?

It's the latest issue of King and Country.

Oh, damn inspiring stuff.

"The magazine that tells the Tommies the truth about the war!"

Or, alternatively, the greatest work of fiction since

vows of fidelity were included in the French marriage service.

Come, come, Sir.

Now you can't deny that this fine newspaper

- is good for the morale of the men! - Certainly not.

I just think that more can be achieved by giving them some real toilet paper.

Not with you at all, sir.

What could any patriotic chap have against this magnificent mag?

- Apart from his bottom? - Yes, sir.

Well, look at it!

I mean the stuffs about as convincing as Dr Crippen's defence lawyer!

The British Tommies are all portrayed as 6'6"

with biceps the size of Bournemouth.

Thoroughly inspiring stuff.

And look, sir, this also just arrived for you this morning.

- Do you know what this is, Lieutenant? - A good old service revolver.

Wrong. It's a brand new service revolver

which I've suspiciously been sent without asking for it.

I smell something fishy,

and I'm not talking about the contents of Baldrick's apple crumble.

That's funny sir, because

we didn't order those new trench-climbing ladders either.

- New ladders? - Yeah, came yesterday.

I issued them to the men and they were absolutely thrilled!

Isn't that right, men?

Yes sir, first solid fuel we've had since we burned the cat.

Something's going on,

and I think I can make an educated guess what it is.

Something which you, George, would find hard to do.

Ah, true, true. Where I was at school,

education could go hang, as long as a boy could hit a six,

sing the school song very loud,

and take a hot crumpet from behind without blubbing.

I, on the other hand, am a fully rounded human being

with a degree from the University of Life,

a diploma from the school of hard knocks,

and three gold stars from the kindergarten

of getting-the-shit-kicked-out-of-me.

My instincts lead me to deduce

that we are at last about to go "over the top".

Great Scott! You mean, the moment's finally arrived for us to give

Harry Hun a darned good British style thrashing,

six of the best, trousers down?

If you mean "Are we all going to get killed?" Yes.

Clearly, Field Marshal Haig is about to make

yet another gargantuan effort to move

his drinks cabinet six inches closer to Berlin.

Right! Bravo-issimo! Well let's make a start, eh,

up and over to glory, last one in Berlin's a rotten egg.

Give me your helmet, Lieutenant.

(MACHINE GUN FIRING)

Yes, some sort of clever hat-camouflage might be in order.

Permission to speak, sir!

Granted...with a due sense of exhaustion and dread.

I have a cunning plan to get us out of getting killed, sir.

Yes, what is it?

- Cooking! - I see.

You know staff HQ is always on the lookout for good cooks?

Well, we go over there, we cook them something,

and we get out of the trenches that way.

Baldrick, it's a brilliant plan.

- Is it? - Yes, it's superb.

Permission to write home immediately sir,

this is the first brilliant plan a Baldrick's ever had!

For centuries we've tried,

and they've always turned out to be total pigswill!

My mother will be as pleased as punch.

Hmm, if only she were as good-looking as Punch, Baldrick.

There is, however, one slight flaw in the plan

Oh.

You're the worst cook in the entire world.

Oh, yeah. That's right.

There are amoeba on Saturn who can boil a better egg than you.

Your fillet mignon in sauce Béarnaise looked like dog turds in glue!

That's because they are.

Your plum duff tastes like it's a molehill

decorated with rabbit-droppings.

I thought you wouldn't notice.

And your cream custard has the texture of cat vomit.

Again, it's...

If you were to serve up one of your meals in staff HQ

you'd be arrested for the greatest mass poisoning

since Lucrezia Borgia invited 500 of her close friends around

for a wine-and-anthrax party!

No, we'll have to think of a better plan than that.

Right, how about a nice meal, while you chew it over?

What's on the menu?

Rat. Sauté or fricassee?

Oh, the agony of choice!

Sauteed involves...

Well, you take the freshly shaved rat

and you marinade it in a puddle for a while.

- Mmm-hmm. For how long? - Till it's drowned.

Then you stretch it out under a hot light bulb,

then you get within dashing distance of the latrine,

and scoff it right down.

So that's sautéing, and fricasseeing?

Exactly the same. Just a slightly bigger rat.

Well, call me Old Mr Unadventurous,

but I think I'll give it a miss this once.

Fair enough, sir, more for the rest of us. Eh, sir?

Absolutely, Private! Tally-ho! Barf, Barf!

- (TELEPHONE RINGING) - Hello. The Savoy Grill.

Oh, it's you.

Yes. Yes, I'll be over in 40 minutes.

Who was it then, sir?

Strangely enough Baldrick, it was Pope Gregory IX,

inviting me for drinks aboard his steam yacht, 7he Saucy Sue,

currently wintering in Montego Bay with the England Cricket team

and the Balinese goddess of plenty.

- Really? - No, not really.

I've been ordered to HQ.

No doubt that idiot General Melchett

is about to offer me some attractive new opportunities

to have my brains blown out for Britain.

What do you want, Darling?

It's Captain Darling to you!

General Melchett wants to see you about a highly important secret mission.

- What's going on, Darling? - Captain Blackadder to see you, sir.

Ah, excellent.

Just a short back and sides today I think, please.

That's Corporal Black, sir.

Captain Blackadder is here about the other matter, sir.

The secret matter.

Ah, yes, the special mission.

At ease, Blackadder.

Now, what I'm about to tell you

is absolutely tip-top-secret, is that clear?

- It is. - Now, I've compiled a list of those

with security clearance.

- Have you got it Darling? - Yes, sir.

Read it, please.

It's top security, sir.

I think that's all the Captain needs to know.

Nonsense! Let's hear the list in full!

Very well, sir.

"List of personnel cleared for Mission Gainsborough,

"as dictated by General C. H. Melchett.

"You and me, Darling, obviously.

"Field Marshal Haig, Field Marshal Haig's wife,

"all Field Marshal Haig's wife's friends,

"their families, their families' servants,

"their families' servants' tennis partners,

"and some chap I bumped into in the mess the other day called Bernard."

So, it's maximum security. Is that clear?

Quite clear sir, only myself

and the rest of the English-speaking world is to know.

Good man. Now, Field Marshal Haig

has formulated a brilliant new technical plan

to ensure final victory in the field.

Ah, would this brilliant plan

involve us climbing out of our trenches

and walking very slowly toward the enemy, sir?

How can you possibly know that Blackadder?

It's classified information.

It's the same plan that we used last time,

and the 17 times before that.

Exactly! And that is what's so brilliant about it!

It will catch the watchful Hun totally off guard!

Doing precisely what we've done 18 times before

is exactly the last thing they'll expect us to do this time!

There is however one small problem.

That everyone always gets slaughtered in the first ten seconds.

That's right! And Field Marshal Haig

is worried that this may be depressing the men a tad.

So, he's looking to find a way to cheer them up.

Well, his resignation and suicide would seem the obvious answer.

Interesting thought. Make a note of it, Darling.

Take a look at this. I'm sure you know it.

King and Country.

Ah, yes, without question my favourite magazine.

Soft, strong, and thoroughly absorbent.

Top-hole Blackadder, I thought it'd be right up your alley!

Now, Field Marshal Haig's plan is this,

to commission a man to do an especially stirring painting

for the cover of the next issue,

so as to really inspire the men for the final push.

What I want you to do, Blackadder,

is to labour night and day to find a first-rate artist

from amongst your men.

Impossible, sir.

I know from long experience that my men have all the artistic talent

of a cluster of colourblind hedgehogs,

in a bag.

Hmm. That's a bit of a blow.

We needed a man to leave the trenches immediately.

- Leave the trenches? - Mmm.

Yes, I wonder

if you've enjoyed, as I have sir,

that marvellous painting in the National Portrait Gallery

"Bag Interior",

by the Colour-blind Hedgehog Workshop of Sienna?

I'm sorry, are you saying you can find this man?

I think I can,

and might I suggest, sir, that having left the trenches,

It might be a good idea to post our man to Paris,

in order to soak up a little of the artistic atmosphere.

Perhaps even Tahiti,

so as to produce a real masterpiece.

Yes, yes! But can you find the man?

Now, I know I can, sir.

Before you can say "Sunflowers",

I'll have Vincent van Gogh standing before you.

No, don't stop sir. It's coming, it's definitely coming.

(STAMMERING)

I just wonder whether two socks and a hand-grenade

is really the sort of thing

the covers of King and Country are made of.

They will be when I've painted them being shoved up the Kaiser's backside.

- Ah, now, this is interesting! - What is?

Well, Private Baldrick is obviously a bit of an impressionist!

The only decent impression he can do is of a man with no talent.

What's it called Baldrick, "The Vomiting Cavalier"?

No, sir. That's not supposed to be vomit.

It's dabs of light.

No. It's vomit.

- So why did you choose that? - You told me to, sir.

- Did I? - Yeah.

You told me to paint whatever comes from within.

So I did my breakfast.

Look. There's a little tomato!

Hopeless. If only I'd paid attention in nursery art class,

instead of spending my entire time manufacturing papier-maché willies

to frighten Sarah Wallis.

You know it's funny, but painting was the only thing I was ever any good at.

Pity you didn't keep it up.

Well, as a matter of fact I did, actually.

I mean normally, of course, I wouldn't show them to anyone,

because they're just embarrassing daubs, really, but you know, ah,

they give me pleasure.

I'm embarrassed to show them to you now, as it happens,

but there you go... For what they're worth...

To be honest, I should have my hands cut off, I mean...

George, these are brilliant!

Why didn't you tell us about these before?

Well, you know, don't like to blow one's own trumpet!

You might at least have told us you had a trumpet.

These paintings could spell my way out of the trenches.

Yours?

That's right, ours.

All you have to do is paint something heroic

to appeal to the simple-minded Tommy.

Over to you, Baldrick.

How about a noble Tommy standing with a look of horror and disgust

over the body of a murdered nun

who's been brutally done over by a nasty old German.

Excellent! I can see it now.

- "The Nun and the Hun"! - Splendid.

No time to lose. George, set up your easel.

Baldrick and I will pose.

This is going to be art's greatest moment

since Mona Lisa sat down and told Leonardo da Vinci

that she was in a slightly odd mood.

Baldrick, you lie down in the mud and be the nun.

I'm not lying down there, it's all wet.

Well, let's put it this way, either you lie down and get wet

or you're knocked down and get a broken nose.

- Actually, it's not that wet, is it? - No.

(MUD SPLATTING)

Who are you going to be then sir? The noble Tommy?

Precisely, standing over the body of the ravaged nun.

I want a wimple!

You should have gone before we started the picture.

You know, the funny thing is, my father was a nun.

- No, he wasn't. - He was so sir!

I know, cos whenever he was up in court,

and the judge used to say "occupation”, he'd say "none".

- Right. You're ready? - Just about sir, yes.

Erm, if you'd just like to pop your clothes on the stool.

I'm sorry?

Just pop your clothes on the stool over there.

You mean, you want me, tackle out?

Well, I thought so, sir. Yes.

If I can remind you of the realities of battle, George

one of the first things that everyone notices

is that all the protagonists have got their clothes on.

Neither we, nor the Hun, favour fighting our battles "au naturel”.

Sir, it's artistic licence!

It's willing suspension of disbelief!

Well, I'm not having anyone staring in disbelief at my willie suspension.

Now get on and paint the bloody thing! Sharpish.

Brilliant, George. It's a masterpiece.

The wimple suits you, Baldrick.

But it completely covers my face.

Exactly.

Now then, General Melchett will be here at any moment.

When he arrives, leave the talking to me, all right?

I like to keep an informal trench, as you know,

but today you must only speak with my express permission. Is that clear?

Is that clear?

- Permission to speak. - BOTH: Yes! Yes! Absolutely, sir.

DARLING: Attention!

Dug-out. Attention!

Excellent. At ease.

Now then, Blackadder, where would you like me to sit?

I thought just a simple trim of the moustache today. Nothing drastic.

No sir. We're here about the painting, sir.

Oh, yes. Of course.

Good Lord! George! (LAUGHING HEARTILY)

How are you, my boy?

- I said, how are you? - Permission to speak.

Absolutely, top-hole, sir!

With a ying, and a yang, and a yippedy-do!

Splendid.

And your uncle Bertie sends his regards.

I told him you could have a week off in April.

We don't want you missing the boat race, do we?

- Permission to speak. - Certainly not.

Permission to sing boisterously sir?

If you must.

- # Row, row, row your punt # - BOTH: # Gently down the stream #

# Belts off, trousers down Isn't life a scream? #

Fabulous. University education, you can't beat it!

Bravo. Now, what have we here?

Name?

- Permission to speak. - Baldrick, sir.

Ah, tally-ho, yippety-dip, and zing zang spillip.

Looking forward to bullying off for the final chukka?

Permission to speak.

Answer the General, Baldrick.

I can't answer him sir, I don't know what he's talking about.

(LAUGHING) Are you looking forward to the big push?

No, sir. I'm absolutely terrified.

The healthy humour of the honest Tommy! (LAUGHING)

Don't worry, my boy. If you should falter,

remember that Captain Darling and I are behind you.

About 35 miles behind you!

Right, well stand by your beds.

Let's have a look at this artist of yours, Blackadder.

- Next to me, Darling. - Thank you sir.

So, er, have you found someone?

Yes sir, I think I have. None other than young George here.

Oh, bravo.

Well, let's have a shufti then.

It's simply called "War".

Damn silly title, George!

Looks more like a couple of socks and a stick of pineapple to me!

Permission to speak, sir!

I think not, actually.

Quite right, if what happens when you open your mouth is

anything like what happens when you open your paintbox,

we'd all be drenched in phlegm.

Oh no, this isn't what we're looking for at all, is it Darling?

- No, sir. - No, sir!

There is this sir, it's Private Baldrick's.

He's called it, "My Family And Other Animals."

Oh, good Lord, no!

Well, I'm afraid that's about it, sir.

Apart from... This little thing.

Ah, now, that's more like it!

Who painted this, Blackadder?

Well, actually it was me.

Permission to speak, really quite urgently, sir!

Damn and blast your goggly eyes!

Will you stop interrupting, George!

Now, this is excellent! Congratulations man!

It's totally inspiring.

Makes you want to jump over the top and yell

"Yah-boo, sucks to you, Fritzie."

Thank you, sir.

Are you sure you did this, Blackadder?

Of course I'm sure.

I'm afraid I don't believe you.

How dare you, Darling!

You know I can't let that slur pass, sir...

What possible low, suspicious, slanderous reasons

could this office-boy have for thinking

that I didn't paint the picture?

Three reasons as a matter of fact.

Firstly, you're in it.

It's a self-portrait!

Secondly, you told us you couldn't paint.

Well, one doesn't like to blow one's own trumpet.

- Permission... - Denied!

And thirdly, it's signed "George".

Well spotted. But not signed George,

dedicated to George.

King George! Gentlemen,

- the King! - ALL: The King!

Where?

Bravo, Blackadder, I have absolutely no hesitation

in appointing you our official regimental artist.

You're a damned fine chap.

Not a pen-pushing, desk-sucking, blotter-jotter

like Darling here, eh Darling?

- No, sir. - No, sir!

Well, accompany us back to HQ immediately.

Attention!

Permission to jolly well speak right now sir, otherwise I might just

burst like a bloody balloon.

Later, George. Much later.

Congratulations on your new appointment, Blackadder.

- Thank you, sir. - And may I say, Blackadder,

I'm particularly pleased about it.

- Are you? - Oh, yes.

Now that you are our official war-artist,

we can give you the full briefing.

The fact is, Blackadder, that the King and Country cover story

was just a cover story.

We want you, as our top painting bard, to leave the trenches...

- Good. - Tonight.

Suits me.

And go out into no-man's land!

- No-man's land? - Yes.

- Not Paris? - No.

We want you to come back with accurate drawings of the enemy positions.

You want me to sit in no-man's land

painting pictures of the Germans?

Precisely! Good man!

Well, it's a very attractive proposition, gentlemen,

but unfortunately not practical.

You see, my medium is light. It'll be pitch dark.

I won't be able to see a thing.

Ah, that is a point.

I tell you what. We'll send up a couple of flares.

You'll be lit up like a Christmas tree.

Oh, excellent, excellent, glad I checked.

All right. Total and utter quiet. You understand?

So for instance if any of us crawl over any barbed wire they must on no account

go... Argh!

Did you just crawl over some barbed wire, sir?

No Baldrick, I just put my elbow in a blob of ice-cream.

That's all right.

Now, where the hell are we?

Well, it's a bit difficult to say,

we appear to have crawled into an area marked with mushrooms.

What do those symbols denote?

That we're in a field of mushrooms?

Lieutenant, that is a military map,

it is unlikely to list interesting flora and fungi.

Look at the key and you'll discover that those mushrooms aren't for picking.

Good Lord! You're quite right, sir. It says "mine".

So these mushrooms must belong

to the man who made the map.

Either that, or we're in the middle of a minefield.

Oh dear.

So he owns the field, as well.

(MACHINE GUN FIRING)

(SHOUTING) They're firing, sir! They're firing.

Ah yes, thank you Lieutenant.

If they hit me you'll be sure to point it out, won't you?

Now come on, get on with your drawing and let's get out of here.

Well, surely we ought to wait for the flare, sir?

You see, my medium is light...

Just use your imagination for heaven's sake!

- Wait a minute, that's the answer. - What?

I can't believe I've been so stupid.

Yeah, that is unusual, cos usually I'm the stupid one.

Well, I'm not over-furnished in the brain department.

Yes, well, on this occasion I've been stupidest of all.

Oh, now, sir! I will not have that!

Baldrick and I will always be more stupid than you.

Isn't that right Baldrick? Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Yeah! Stupidey, stupidey, stupidey.

Stupidest stupids in the whole history of stupidityness.

(MACHINE GUN FIRING)

Finished?

I think the obvious point is this,

we'll go straight back to the dugout and do the painting from there.

You do the most imaginative, most exciting

possible drawing of German defences from your imagination.

Oh I see, now that is a challenge.

Quite. Come on, let's get out of here.

Oh, sir, just one thing.

If we should happen to tread on a mine, what do we do?

Well, normal procedure, Lieutenant,

is to jump 200 feet into the air

and scatter yourself over a wide area.

Thanks.

Are you sure this is what you saw, Blackadder?

Absolutely.

I mean there may have been a few more armament factories,

and not quite as many elephants, but...

Well, you know what this means...

If it's true sir, we'll have to cancel the push.

Exactly.

- Damn! - What a nuisance!

Exactly what the enemy would expect us to do,

and therefore exactly what we shan't do!

- Ah, now... - If we attack,

where the line is strongest,

then Fritz will think that our reconnaissance is a total shamble.

This will lull him into a sense of false security,

and then next week we can attack

where the line is actually badly defended.

And win the greatest victory

since the Winchester flower-arranging team

beat Harrow by 12 sore bottoms to one!

Tell me, have you ever visited the planet Earth, sir?

So, best fighting trousers on, Blackadder!

Permission to shout "Bravo" at an annoyingly loud volume, sir?

Permission granted.

(SHOUTING) Bravo!

That's the spirit. Just your kind of caper, eh, Blackadder?

- Oh, yes. - Good luck against those elephants.

Get me a chisel and some marble, will you, Baldrick.

Oh, you're taking up sculpture now, sir?

No, I thought I'd get my headstone done.

- What are you going to put on it? - "Here lies Edmund Blackadder,

"and he's bloody annoyed!"

Are we going over, sir?

Yes we are.

Unless I can think of some brilliant plan.

Would you like some "rat au van" to help you think?

- Rat au vin? - It's rat that's been...

BOTH: That's been run over by a van.

No, thank you, Baldrick. Although it gives me an idea.

Telephone, please.

I suppose Blackadder and his boys will have gone over the top by now, sir.

Yes. God, I wish I was out there with them,

dodging bullets, instead of having to sit here

drinking Chateau Lafite and eating these fillet mignon with sauce Béarnaise.

My thoughts exactly, sir.

Damn this Chateau Lafite.

He's a very brave man, Blackadder.

And of course that Lieutenant of his, George.

Cambridge man, you know.

His Uncle Bertie and I used to break wind for our college.

Slightly unusual taste, this sauce Beéarnaise...

Yes. And, to be quite frank, these mignon are a little...

- Well... - What?

Well... Dungy.

What on earth's wrong with our cook?

Well, it's a rather strange story, sir.

Oh? Tell, tell.

Well, sir, I received a phone call this afternoon from Pope Gregory IX,

telling me that our cook

had been selected for the England Cricket team

and must set sail for the West Indies immediately.

Really?

Barely a moment later, the phone rang again.

It was a trio of wandering Italian chefs who happened to be in the area,

offering their services.

So I had the quartermaster take them on at once.

(EXCLAIMING)

Oh! Jumping giblets!

Are you sure these are real raisins in this plum-duff?

Oh, yes. I'm sure they are, sir.

Everything will be all right once the cream custard arrives.

That was all jolly good fun, sir,

But dash it all, we appear to have missed the big push.

Oh, damn, so we have.

One thing puzzles me, Baldrick.

How did you manage to get so much custard

out of such a small cat?

(THEME MUSIC PLAYING)