All language subtitles for Colins.Sandwich.2E04

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'And now the latest news.

The hunt for the so-called
"Midnight Killer" continues.

Detectives have admitted that
the recent series of murders,

which have all taken place just after
midnight, the victims all young women,

has left them with no clear leads.

They have appealed to the public
not to go out alone at night,

keep their houses secure
and report anything suspicious.

Shot it in a semi in Hatch End
two weeks ago.

Girl works part-time
selling nappies in John Lewis.

So...

that's it then.

And that sequence is going to be
the curtain raiser to all four films.

What do you think of the title?

What, Countdown To Midnight? I like it.

- It's crap.
- Yeah.

Try and come up with
something better, will you?

I want to go through your story again,
so take it from the top, will you?

OK. "Harry Watson sat
at his desk on the 15th..."

- No, go on. Go on.
- I'm sorry.

Right. "Harry Watson sat at his desk
on the 15th floor, Regal Insurance,

looking at the curdled milk
in his cold coffee.

He'd been sitting at that desk for 30 years.

'Watson," a voice barked. It was
Henshaw, the regional manager.

- "Late again this morning..."
- Congratulations.

Eight million people have just
turned over to Newsnight.

Now look, I know that this placid little
office worker is going to turn into a psycho.

I know that there's going to be corpses
stretched from here to Staples Corner

by the end of the film - but they don't
and they're not going to wait.

This is television, Colin.

People have got the attention span
of a brain-damaged stick insect.

You've got to have them jumping out
of their skin in the first minute. Right?

Right.

Naff off and come back in
a fortnight with your first draft.

A fortnight.

- And, Colin...
- Yeah?

Scare the shit out of me. That's an order.

Right. Yeah.

I mean, the bloke is just sitting there
in his office feeling browned off.

The story's got to start that way.
How the hell do I make it scary?

Atmosphere.

Surprise. That's what it's all about,
I suppose - surprise.

Nah, it's no good. I saw it coming.

I've got to get myself in the mood.

Halloween. Dressed To Kill.

Jagged Edge.

When A Stranger Calls.

Psycho.

Psycho?

Psycho?

Sod that for a lark!

- Hi, Jen.
- 'Yes? '

- It's me.
- 'I know. What? '

I'm bored.

You woke me up
to tell me you're bored?!

Woke up? You're not in bed, are you?
It's 9:30!

Oh, I'm so sorry!
Next time I'll get your permission.

Look, this drive to work
is knackering me.

- Look, I want to come over and pester you.
- 'No. I have to get up at six.'

I won't stay long. I promise.

It's nothing, Watkins.

A tree, a bush,

a bit of waste paper.

That's it! It's just a moggie.

Good old sounds of the night.

Leaves, pussy cat, bike...

police siren.

Twig being trodden on. Aah!

Oh, Watkins, this is absurd!
You hear one simple, innocent noise,

you conjure up visions of psychopaths
hammering at the French windows. Grow up!

Colin, there's someone in the garden.

Aaaah!!

- What are you talking about?
- I heard something moving!

- Don't be ridiculous. It's your imagination.
- Colin, there is someone out there.

No, there is not. You've been
watching too many films, Jen!

You feel so vulnerable.
I mean, what chance have you got?

He'll be 6'3".

He'll have spent an entire lifetime
developing twisted aggressive instincts.

He'll be armed to the teeth.

And there's you - staggering out of bed,
bleary-eyed,

with your willy hanging
out of your pyjama fronts.

Colin, there's someone out there.
Go and have a look!

Why am I doing this?

This is a hell of a script, Colin.

Thanks.

I love the change of focus.

Now we can see what goes on in
Henshaw's mind as well as Watson's.

That gives your opening scene
so much more balls. Congratulations.

This script has improved by 100 per cent.

You know what I'm going
to do with this? This...

- What are we doing here, Colin?
- Throwing my script in the bin.

We are writing a film.
We are talking images.

You're not poncing around with
the Langley Book of Horror any more.

All right, it's a good idea, but you've
got to show us what happens, not tell us.

Page two. "Henshaw tosses the
covers aside and gets out of bed.

As he moves slowly towards
the window, a cold spasm of fear

swells in the pit of his stomach..."

What would you like me to do?
Send camera crew up his backside?

If you mean that the guy's spooked,
then show it to us.

Give me... the sweat on his face,
give me his hands shaking.

Page 96 - "All those years of
being shunned by his father,

all those cold, loveless years
come flooding out like..."

Well, what are we going to do, eh?
Give out leaflets, eh?

Stop the programme halfway through
and have a lecture on Watson's childhood?

If Watson's old man has been treating him
like a dog in a tripe shop, then show it.

Give us a flashback. This is a
screenplay, Colin, a screenplay. Got it?

- Screenplay, yeah.
- You do know what that means, don't you?

Yeah!

- No, I don't. I haven't a clue!
- Good. I want it by Wednesday.

Screenplay.

Screenplay.

Screenplay.

"Establishing shot of Henshaw
getting out of bed.

Close-up of right foot going into slipper.

Close-up of left foot going into slipper.

Medium shot of both feet
now fully slippered.

Establishing shot of bead of
perspiration on Henshaw's upper lip.

Tracking shot following bead of perspiration
as it trickles on to Henshaw's lower lip..."?

What is all this garbage, Colin?

Well, it's a screenplay.
I got this book out of the library...

How do you expect me to wade through
all this, eh? I don't want a shooting script.

- I want it in your own words.
- My own words?

- Yeah, simple and visual.
- Simple and visual.

Right - got it this time?
I want it by Monday.

Simple and visual.

Simple and bloody visual!

OK, Colin.

This is a hell of a lot better.

It's simple, it's visual,
it's in your own words.

In fact, you've done everything I asked.

But...

we're going to have to
come at this again.

Again?

The whole idea needs re-working.

Haaa!

I can't send this to Mort Chambers
at LTV.

He'll just fling it straight back at me,
and you know what he'll say?

- No.
- He'll say there's no focus.

- No focus?
- No emotional focus.

- No emotional focus.
- OK.

- So by this Friday, then.
- Friday?

Oh, all right - 8:30 Monday morning,
but not a moment later.

Emotional focus, I?

Emotional focus?

Who's got our sympathy?

Now, we've got a clever script
with a double point of view -

Henshaw and Watson -
but who are we rooting for?

One of them? Both of them?
Henshaw's wife? Watson's father?

The sideboard? Diego Maradona?

Oh, come on, Watkins!
Who are we rooting for?

I don't know any more.

I've lost all sense of perspective.

I can't do this by Monday!

I can't remember the last time I slept.

Christ, I haven't eaten either!

Oh, yes, I have!

I had a Kit Kat yesterday morning.

- Are you happy here, Colin?
- Yes.

Salary OK, things like that?

Yes. Why do you ask?

The only person I've seen with rings under
their eyes like yours was a friend of mine

who worked as an air traffic controller during
the day and for a minicab company at night.

It got to him in the end - he once sent
an Alitalia 747 to a stag night in Enfield.

Really?

It was a joke, Colin. Look, I asked
to see you because, as you know,

we've been getting a lot of flak following
the Birmingham-Euston hijack incident.

We're to have right of reply by doing
a round of television and radio interviews.

Would you be willing to go on the air, Colin?

Of course, if you're feeling a bit below par at
the moment, I can always find someone else.

No, no, I'd be delighted, Mr Travers.

Well, basically, I need someone who doesn't
get in a flap and can present a positive image.

Now, I've got a live London Programme
at Thames on Wednesday

and a Channel Four News
Special on Friday,

so I was wondering if you could step
in on Thursday and give me a break.

- No problem.
- Good man!

It's a phone-in programme
for Radio Dartford.

It's their early morning slot, so you'll
have to be there at quarter to seven.

With all due respect, madam, on a short
journey like Bexley to Charing Cross,

it would be impractical
to create a separate carriage...

- Have you ever had to breastfeed?
- Well, no...

Exactly! No nappy-changing area,
no games, no soft toys.

Have you any idea of what women
like me have to go through?

A top-floor window would be nice.
Keep cool, Watkins.

Right, well, it's Stanley next on the
line. And what's your gripe then, Stanley?

I've got two gripes, actually.
Firstly, like the caller before last,

I want to know what a signals failure
at Cricklewood's

got to do with the 9:32
from Dartford to London Bridge?

- Well, the reason for that...
- Secondly...

these one-man operated trains -
there's now no guard's van.

So there's nowhere to keep my bike and you've
taken the tables out from the carriages,

so me and my mates
can't play chess like we used to...

Right, OK, if I can
just take that second question.

As I did say to someone earlier, with
the rapid growth in passenger traffic,

our priority at the moment is to
accommodate as many passengers we can.

You're reading this from a script,
aren't you? Just answer my question!

Look, by taking off the guard's van, we
replace it with another passenger carriage.

- I said just answer my question!
- Right.

Right. I'll answer your question.
Yes, you're absolutely right.

It's time to completely redesign the trains.
We'll have separate carriages for bikes,

chess players, breast-feeders,
natural childbirth fanatics, bassoonists,

Lithuanian dance ensembles
and the rest of the passengers

can run along behind on the tracks!
Actually, no, I've got a better idea.

We'll create the carriage especially for you.

What was your name again?
Stanley? Yes, yes.

We'll have a Stanley carriage.
Where do you live?

It doesn't matter. We'll blast a cutting
straight through to your front door.

There won't be a timetable.
Just pick up your phone,

we'll have an Intercity 125
waiting in the sidings for you.

- Time to move on now to our next caller.
- Oh, stuff your next caller!

Look, when will you people get it into
your thick skulls? Engines break down,

staff get sick, people have off-days,
man is mortal, flowers wilt,

life is not sodding perfect!

There is only one thing in
the entire universe which is eternal,

dependable and totally indestructible.

And what would that be then, Mr Watkins?

It's a Pyrex tumbler I got from
an Esso garage about 15 years ago.

We'll be back after this.

'... Punctual, clean and the staff
invariably polite and helpful.

I think Mr Watkins and his colleagues
have a difficult task

and deserve far more support
from the public.

Oh, yes! Very funny!

I haven't dragged myself out to this backwater
to have some brain donor take the piss! '

I'm really sorry, Mr Travers. I don't what
to say. I was totally unprofessional.

Unlike you, Colin.
Completely unlike you.

Your time-keeping has been
getting erratic recently as well.

Are you you sure everything's
all right at the moment?

Yeah, fine, fine.

You know I'm under pressure
to give you an official caution?

I just can't bring myself to do it.
Your record here has been impeccable.

I'll just have to stick my neck out with the
Board and persuade them this is a one-off.

- Right, Colin, that'll be all.
- Thank you.

And, Colin, try and get some sleep
at nights. You look hideous.

Thank you.

There!

126 pages of pure cinema.

It's simple. It's visual.
It's got emotional focus.

What's he going to throw at me now?

"It's on paper, Colin!

All screenplays are written on papyrus,
you should know that.

And where's the moose?
I want a moose in this script, Colin,

a bad-tempered one called Lionel
with huge antlers and a furry bottom."

Right, come on, Watkins!

Five past seven. What are you going
to do? Go to bed for fifteen minutes?

No, come on, you owe Travers one.
Get into work early for once.

Twenty minutes early. First one in.

Right, what's on the agenda today?

Sunday the 17th...

I've come into work on a bloody Sunday!

I'm cracking up!
Well, look on the bright side -

at least you didn't have a problem
getting a seat on the Tube.

It's not funny. It's tragic.
I can't go on like this.

Why don't you give up the job?

- What?
- Hand in your notice. Make the break.

Hello?

Give up the job?
What you mean forever?

- How much will you make from this TV film?
- About ten grand after the final draft.

- That should tide you over for a while.
- Yeah, and what then?

Well, you don't know yet, do you?
I mean, it's part of being freelance.

With any luck, the offers will start
coming in after the film goes out.

Yeah, "with any luck". You try telling
that to the building society.

Try telling that to Brent Council.
Try telling that to Oddbins.

No, not yet. It's just too risky.

Well, it's your decision.

Oh, sorry!

That's it, is it?

- What?
- "Hmm, it's your decision!"

- Is that all you've got to say?
- What more do you want me to say?

I don't know - follow it up! Try and persuade
me. This is important! It's momentous.

- Don't just grunt and go back to sleep.
- Look, I've told you what I think.

- Don't snap!
- I'm not snapping. I'm just tired.

You're snappy these days.
You're brusque. You're short.

It's this new job of yours -
it's changing you.

Look, my alarm goes off at quarter to six
I leave the flat at half past six,

- I travel 40...
- I know, I know!

No, you don't know!
You haven't a clue!

You know what you said to me when I told
you in graphic detail how that Range Rover

went into the back of me on the M4 and how
I waited three hours before I was towed home?

- Do you know what you said to me?
- Erm?

"Mmm?" And then you carried on typing.

Oh, hell!

What do I do?

Franz Kafka went through the same,
didn't he? Worked in legal insurance.

Richard Adams scribbling another page of
Watership Down in the Civil Service canteen.

Shakespeare probably had to teach
English to foreigners.

But they all ended up with blockbusters.

They earnt enough cash to see them through.

Erm...

Jen...

Have you ever thought
about selling your flat?

If you want me to be
brutally honest, Col...

- Yeah.
- I think you're balmy even thinking of it.

- You don't think I should jack it in, then?
- No. Definitely not.

But I'd get by. I'd have other cash
coming in, wouldn't I?

- Yeah, but that's not the point, is it?
- Isn't it?

You don't just do it cos you need the money.

- Well, what else?
- Well, cos you enjoy it.

- Enjoy it?
- Yeah.

I mean, let's face it, Col,
it's part of you, isn't it?

- Eh?
- You need it. It keeps you sane.

Keeps me sane? It's a suppository.
It drives me bananas!

- Only recently.
- Always?

You know, Col, sometimes I don't
understand you at all. I really don't.

When have I ever given you
the impression that I enjoyed it?

- All the bloody time!
- I don't think we live on the same planet.

Fine! Well, you asked me
for my opinion.

I gave it. Now I'm going.

No, you're not!

I want to know how you, of all people,
who's been to school with me,

who's known me for all this time,
could possibly construe in a million years

that I derive an ounce of satisfaction from
hauling my carcass to Waterloo day in, day out.

- I haven't.
- Yes, you have!

- I have not!
- What are you on about, then?

- What are you on about?
- I'm talking about giving up my job.

Oh, well, I thought you were
talking giving up the writing.

Well, there's five minutes of our lives
down the drain. Coffee?

Yes, all right.

- Well, so? What do you think, then?
- About what?

About me giving up my job.
Should I or shouldn't I?

Yeah, go for it!

You reckon?
Can I survive on ten grand?

- This is new, isn't it?
- Yes, it's a present from Jen.

- Blimey! Do you know how to use it then?
- Yes, I do.

Look, Des, I asked you a question.

You can always moonlight
if you need money, Col.

- Moonlight?
- Yeah, get the odd job, cash in hand.

- Big screen, isn't it?
- Like what?

I don't know. Bunging leaflets
through letterboxes.

Dishing out magazines at Tube stations,
even gardening - that pays good money.

- Sleek little number this.
- Gardening?!

I don't know the first flipping thing
about gardening!

Nothing to it. You just do a bit of
weeding and push a Flymo about.

Do you know? I've had one of these
on my desk for two years now.

Haven't even switched it on once.
What do they do exactly, Col?

- Oh, all sorts of things.
- Show us then.

- Not now.
- Just quickly.

You can store things in it, move
documents about, things like that.

Go on then. Move something about.

All right. Well, this is the script
I've done for Alan Hunter.

- Ah, the masterpiece, eh, Col?
- Yeah. Yeah, that's right.

Now supposing I want to move that
to the top of the page, OK?

I just press "copy" and "paste".
See? There you go.

- My Louie!
- If I want to embolden, I just go "copy bold".

Enter. You see? Er...

If I want to centre the whole thing up,
"copy centre" and enter. You see?

Underline...

Er, justify...

Erase.

Oh, my God!

Oh, my God!
It's got to be in tomorrow morning!

Here's another one, Col. Page 56.

Scenes 23 and 24,
covered in taramasalata.

There. Right!
That's page 34 back together.

Only another 64 to go.

"Outside Paddington Station,
a dark and windy night.

Henshaw runs out of station
and hails a taxi.

He opens the door and climbs
into a foaming mass of hot bubbles,

easing off the bikini
with consummate sensuality."

I've made it! The top of Everest.

My oxygen's gone... half my
Sherpas have kicked the bucket...

but I've made it!

I can plonk me flag down.

Eight hours sleep! I'm actually
going to get eight hours sleep.

This script's a turkey, Colin!

Now get out of this office
and never show your face in here again!

You can't just waltz in here like this
expecting your old job back, Colin.

In fact, it's a bit of a cheek
if you ask me.

Colin, perhaps it's best if we stop
seeing each other for a while...

Just to take stock of things.

Sorry, er, this is Matthew.
Have you two met?

OK! OK, so the worst
comes to the worst.

The Salvation Army kick you out
cos you snore too much.

Mother Teresa thinks you're the ugliest
thing on two legs and sends you packing.

You've got to learn to suffer.

I mean... Keats had a battle
against consumption.

Byron had to go off and
fight in the Turkish Wars.

What have you done?

Oh, yes! "I Ran The World".

Turned up at Hyde Park
one Sunday afternoon,

ran 200 yards and took a taxi home.

And still got the cheek
to wear the T-shirt.

You're a writer, Watkins.
You take the package as it comes.

Now you've got to get some sleep!

Thanks, lads! Thanks a bunch!

Hello.

Yeah?

- The script. 8:30 on the dot.
- Hello, mate. Great!

- Bung it down there, will you?
- Yes.

Hello, love. Yeah, can I have
that cab now. I'm ready.

Oh, and if Mort Chambers calls, tell him
he can fax me at the Miami Hilton, all right?

- I'll be back in about ten days.
- You going away, Alan?

Yeah, just thought I'd grab a few days
before things got hectic, you know.

Right, well, I'll see you next week then.

Yeah. Alan, you've left the script.

Oh, yeah. I know.
I'll read that when I get back.

'Ere, you don't know anything
about windsurfing, do you?

- No. You said you wanted it today.
- Yeah.

I mean, 8:30, Monday morning.
That was the deadline.

- I know.
- If you're not going to read it, what was...

If I don't sent deadlines, Colin,
nothing gets done.

It's the only way to get people
to move their arses.

Be in touch when I get back.

BASTARD!!!

I bust a bloody gut!
I worked day and night!

How dare he?!

Colin...

I've been in this business 20 years.

And most of that time
has been spent waiting -

waiting for agents, waiting for actors,

waiting for the sun to come out.

Or for the sun to go in again.

And waiting for writers too.

- Do you know who wrote Dark Window?
- Erm... Pete Hughes.

I did...

in the end.

I planned it as a nice, laid-back project.

I gave everybody a long leash.
I never shouted.

I bust a gut to have
a good working atmosphere.

And on the first day of shooting,
I still had no script.

On the second day, my leading actor
gets alcohol poisoning.

Two weeks in and I'm acting, writing,

auditioning, everything, except direct.

I saw the Oscar ceremony
from an hospital bed.

Never, never again! So I've learned.

You hold a pistol to people's heads and
you get results and that includes you, Colin.

I know, it's just with the day job...

I said that includes you!

Anyway...

...I shall need some holiday reading.

There's only one thing for it, Watkins.

This has come as a hell of a shock, Colin.

I mean, you've been here, what?
Nearly five years.

Of course, I'm very pleased for you.

But we'll miss you.

You're a decent, conscientious guy

that's held this department together
in difficult times.

We were thinking of creating
a new position for you here.

Deputy manager with a secondment
to the Marketing Department.

It would have meant a company car,
a salary rise

and some travel abroad.

A writing career is exciting,
but it's unpredictable.

I don't think you're the type
to starve in a garret!

I'd hate to lose you, Colin.

Look, would you...
Well, at least think it over, hm?

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