COCKEREL CROWS
Ah, Beach. Brisk this morning, eh?
Have we still got, um, Lady Constance's new friend with us?
Er...?
Lady Cloughley, my lord. We do.
I cannot understand why my sister won't let me meet her.
Making me have my dinner up here.
I cannot imagine, m'lord.
Is it still your lordship's intention to travel to London this morning?
What?
Where..where...where...where....
Who... Who says I have to go to London?
Lady Constance has arranged for his lordship to stay at his club.
Has she, forsooth? Well, His lordship isn't ruddy going.
She can stick that in her pope and smike it.
London. Hah!
Heinous metropolis!
Glory be to God for dappled things!
I do look forward to meeting Clarence.
- It's so sad he couldn't dine with us last night. - Yes.
The Arch told me he was such fun at school.
The Archbishop. Gerald. My brother.
Ha-ha! Well, I fear, Drusilla,
you may be denied that pleasure altogether.
Clarence is away this week. On retreat.
Is he? Oh, bully for him.
The Arch approves of prayer in isolation.
Denying pleasure is for me, of course, a way of life.
What is more, dear, I thoroughly endorse the heating arrangements.
There are none.
Precisely.
Yes, this "central heating" that people have - I think it decadent.
I feel sure that it inspires all manner of immoderate
communion between the sexes.
I am well insulated from such corruption.
Good.
By my leathern gusset.
Now - come along.
CAR HORN
Oh! Company.
I hear the crunch of gravel.
Here we are - Blandings Castle!
Oh, my goodness. This is just so cute.
Don't you think it's cute, Mr Grumman?
As hell. Are we going in, or what?
Of course. All very jolly inside.
Guaranteed a warm welcome here.
Hello?
Shop?
Oh!
Ah, Beach. Didn't recognise you with a sock on your head.
This is Mr Jerry Grumman, visiting us from Hollywood.
And Miss Pauline Petite, also of that parish.
Observe the puceness of the butlerly pate. He's a fan.
Indeed, Mr Frederick. I have the lady's pantograph in my photry.
Oh, that's swell.
Let's all buy each other flowers.
Freddie, the talent is icing up.
Even her goose bumps are getting goose bumps.
Yes, Brynhilde must be up to her usual nonsense.
The boiler.
Oh, Beach.
On the QT, I've written a scenario.
It's called A Woman's Price.
Grumman's minded to make the picture with Miss Petite as the star.
You may well gasp!
And I'm trying to flog him the family shack as the backdrop.
He's agreed to do a bit of a camera test. Script fee, location fee.
Ker-ching!
Pull this off and crinkle-wise, I'll be sitting in a bucket of cream.
Oh, also, I might be in with a yodel with Miss Petite.
Really rather gone on her. Beach?
Sorry, sir. When did you last see your father?
Eh?
Oh, no. He hasn't still got the face fungus, has he?
Look, just draw the guv'nor aside and tell him
the whole of Shropshire is sniggering up its sleeve.
I cannot, Mr Frederick.
It is without my mandate to remark on his lordship's appearance.
Oh, yes, yes, of course, I see that. Without your what?
To venture such a criticism, I should first have to resign my position.
Good God, you can't do that!
You've got to coax Brynhilde into fiery glory!
And Miss Petite's alabaster skin is horripilating.
Frederick? Who are all these unlikely people?
Oh, they're making, um...
Um...come to fix the heating.
Is it your intention to make a feature film here, Mr Frederick,
without anybody finding out?
Brilliant. As ever, Beach, top advice. Thank you.
Benedicas benedicat, per Jesum Christum, Dominum nostrum. Amen.
Amen.
Have you considered giving yourself to Jesus?
Well, we've never actually discussed it specifically.
Who are you?
Is this catering?
Where are the franks?
They are, I believe, a loose confederation of Germanic peoples.
So... Germany, one hopes.
Who's in charge around here?
Ah... Beach.
Beach, eh?
Hey, baby. You Beach?
Generally later in the day.
# My heart was free
# I rose, went forth
# And followed Thee. #
I thought you'd gone. What on earth are you doing?
We're giving ourself to Jesus.
I see. Well, would you mind awfully just going somewhere else?
No. Not at all. Excuse me.
That bearded person is very odd.
Yes. Yes, he is, isn't he?
In fact, he's a tramp.
His name...
..is Whiffle.
And you allow this Whiffle the run of the house? Oh, Constance.
What a remarkable kindness to the disadvantaged.
I think I shall make Mr Whiffle my project.
No, I really wouldn't bother, dear.
No, I insist. I shall gather this lost lamb unto my bosom.
There's some interesting fungus in the shrubbery.
So is your father really a lord?
I mean, that's like a king or something. Do I have to curtsy when I speak to him?
No. No. But you may have to say things twice.
Is he hard of hearing?
Bit hard of thinking.
- Huh. I bet he's a very wise man. - Hey!
This guy, the Duck of Warlow.
The Duck, yes. The Vile Seducer.
He's the babe hound.
So what we need is some schmo already to stand in for the action.
- Oh, well... - Not you. Somebody older.
Like me.
Er, Mr Grumman? I have just the man.
Freddie! Freddie, now listen to me.
Lady Cloughley must not discover that your father is your father.
Right. Who is he?
Your father. But she must not know this.
Do you see?
- Um... - The beard, Freddie. Heavens above!
Are you on top of all these plumbers?
What plumbers?
Oh, the plumbers. Absolutely.
Hullo, Frederick.
- I have no idea who you are. - What?
- That the sort of thing you mean? - Yes. You said you were going to your club!
No, no - YOU said I was going to my club. Not the same thing at all.
The members are already dead.
You could've sat there completely happily, completely unnoticed.
- Oh, go and play with your pig. - Capital idea.
Anything to prevent any further intercourse with Drusilla Cloughley.
I will not have this friendship compromised by your ludicrous facial growth.
The third and fourth earl both wore facial hair.
And look what happened to them. They died.
Is everything all right?
No cause for alarm, Lady Fluffly. I'm just going to see my pig.
The pig lives in the house?
And you allow the village idiot the run of the place, out of charity.
Oh, Connie, you are magnificent.
Come. You are my special project.
Let us go into the drawing room.
No - you can't! It's full of plumbers.
Now, you need to arrange the servants' shoes.
- Connie? - He'll be quite happy in there.
Now Drusilla, this time of day,
I like to fall to my knees and give thanks.
Hallelujah! Let us do so.
On my own. Do excuse me.
Connie?
Oh! Right. That's it. I resign!
I did not come into butling to suffer beards, spanners and viscous slime.
No, no, no. Beach! You don't understand.
Miss Petite needs to be morally tormented.
And you...are just the man to do it. Come on.
Hey, honey!
Goodness. Such apparatus.
These are the basics, doll. For a test we travel light.
You make a "kinema" picture of your work?
You find that helps?
Yeah. It helps.
Well, I trust you'll make it really hot.
A broad who likes it hot.
We'll do our best, lady.
Freddie is so charming, you know.
Of course he's charming. He's a swish.
You're kidding me. Freddie shoots mink from the hip?
All Englishmen is the same. It's a miracle they can breed.
Er, Miss Petite? I have your Vile Seducer!
But sir, you do not understand.
My aunt is a toboggan-faced old trout who is bound to cut up rough!
Is this really how they spoke in medieval England?
Oh, take it from me. And you're doing it perfectly.
Oh, Freddie. You don't have to pretend with me.
Just be true to yourself, huh?
I tell you - men, I've had 'em up to here.
It's so rare to meet a guy who doesn't want to, you know...
No! No!
But I do want to, "you know".
Even the feeblest amount of "you know" would sustain me for years.
- Dolores? Let's go already. - Come on, out you go.
Places, c'mon. Quiet. All right. We're going to rehearse.
OK.
Cue the Duck.
And the Duck speaks.
All the time, you poke me.
- Provoke me. - Provoke me. You pittle lopsy.
Erm...would you put your back into it, Beach?
- Would you like to put your arm around my waist? - Yes, please. - I was addressing Mr Beach.
C'mon, Duck, put some gas into it.
On page two you're gonna tear her buttons off.
And try not to go puce.
Just say the damn line like you mean it.
But all the time you provoke me! You little popsy!
Ahhhhh!
Now her, I like. Does she have an agent?
Freddie, do something!
You snake in the grass!
Your father - the Lord of Emsworth - would be so ashamed of you.
There is every precedent for a bearded Emsworth.
Granted, it would be unusual for Connie to grow a beard of any great substance,
but should she choose to do so, I would refrain from adverse comment.
I mean, if you yourself felt disposed to have a beard...
Guv'nor! Desperate times require desperate measures, you'll agree?
Not in the least. Am I going to require my chequebook, Frederick?
No, no, no, no.
I am in love.
Naturally. How much d'you need?
No, what I need, old horror, is for you to accost Miss Petite
and tell her what a marvellous specimen of manhood is your son.
- Specimen of what? - Manhood. - Who is? - Your son.
- But you're my son. - Guv'nor. Concentrate. Look. This is my best shot.
If I bag Pauline Petite, I am off to Hollywood.
Shazam! I shall never darken your bank account again.
- Hmm. You have my attention. - It's blissfully simple.
Miss P, you see, is putty in your lordly paws.
All you have to do is go to her pretending to be my father...
- But I am your father. - And plead my case. Ham it up a bit.
Play the dear old crock with one foot in the grave, sort of thing.
- The girl is charmed, the star-crossed lovers are united... - Frederick.
I am not an "old crock".
Guv'nor, please. Just speak on my behalf.
- Old crock... Ruddy insolence! - Right then, old girl. Plan B.
PIG GRUNTS
I saw him, Constance...
ravishing the American girl.
What American girl? I don't understand at all, Drusilla.
I shall call Beach. He can get you a glass of brandy.
I hardly think that the witnessing of a grievous assault
warrants the consumption of alcohol.
Whiffle?
Oh!
Whiffle does rather like to dress up.
Clarence and I indulge him. And photograph him.
Ah, Beach.
Aghhhhhh!
For heaven's sake,
is everyone in Blandings now obliged to grow facial hair?
I do apologize, your ladyship,
but must hasten to reassure you that the moustache is false.
Why might that reassure me?
It is the glue, my lady...
Beach. If I was to ask you what was going on in this house,
would I get a sensible reply?
Alas not, your ladyship. Mr Frederick...
Enough. I haven't got the energy.
The plumbers have failed to produce even the smallest
amount of heat necessary to sustain life.
As always, we rely on you, Beach.
I will do my best, your ladyship.
In the meantime, Lady Cloughley appears to have fainted.
Do you think you could put her into a reclining position?
You have my permission to handle her person. Go on!
Come now, Lady Cloughley.
You raise me up.
SHE SCREAMS
Would you fetch a very large glass of brandy?
- Would Lady Cloughley...? - Not for Lady Cloughley, it's for me.
I am going to my room.
One foot in the ruddy grave...!
Blasted infernal impertinence.
Hollywood!
Hmm.
Hollywood is quite possibly in North America.
Ah, Beach, capital.
It is imperative that Mr Frederick lives in Hollywood.
Very good, my lord.
By the way, Beach, your solidarity has been noted. Good man.
I've had the strangest dream.
I have them all the time. Fancy a snifter?
Oh, no. Set down that filthy decoction!
It's not that filthy. A rather tolerable nose.
There is something profoundly queer about this house.
Well, you're on the money there.
I haven't given up on you, my man.
I must find Lady Constance.
You'll find her in her bedroom, scoffing Turkish delights.
If you do go up there, you'll find an altogether better class of cognac.
She conceals it in her scent bottle.
She thinks I don't know about it, bless her. Funny old girl.
We'll have to see about that!
Hollywood!
Bingo!
Right, missy.
All right, let's get ready. That's enough, Dolores.
We tried the swish, we tried the stiff in the vest.
We tried everything.
Now it's time to try it with a real man.
Can we move on from the seduction scene?
The seduction scene is fine.
OK, let's go, everybody.
All right.
Lights.
Camera.
Cue the Duck.
Camera test. Seduction scene. Take one.
All the time, you provoke me, my little popsy!
- Miss Petty Patootie? - Yes!
- Am I disturbing you? - No.
What? Who is this bum? CUT!
I'm the Earl of Emsworth.
Yeah, like I'm the Duck of Warlow.
Good gracious!
Well, well, what a pleasure.
Look, I don't need to detain you.
I just wanted a quick word with Miss Plankton O'Porpoise.
- It can wait. - No, it can't. Please sir, sit down next to me.
If he's the Earl of Emsworth, I'll eat my pants.
Good heavens.
"Pants" in American doesn't mean "pants".
It means "trousers".
My dear fellow, you can't go about the place eating your trousers.
You'll have yourself arrested.
Oh, swell, another music hall geriatric.
Who the hell are you?
What? What? What was that?
I said - who the hell are you?
Nearly time for luncheon.
Who are you?
Monday is generally spotted dick.
What?
Ah! How d'you do?
I'm the... I'm the...
I'm the Earl of Emsworth, don't you know?
Might I have a chinwag with Miss Petite?
Frederick?
Oh, my God.
Is this some sort of game of charades? I'm a little bit confused.
LOUD RUMBLING
Suet and sultanas.
And let that be a lesson to you!
So both you bozos is Earl Emsworth
and both of you want to wag Miss Petite's chin.
This is nuts.
Frederick, my dear boy, what was it you wanted me
to say to Miss Bovine de Witt?
She's right here, look.
- You're the Earl of Emsworth. - Indeed I am, my dear,
and I'd appreciate a brief word with you about my son.
That one there.
It's a fair cop.
Freddie!
I thought you said you wouldn't do it.
Ah, but then, y'see - deucedest thing - I thought of you
and Miss Pamplemousse being married and living in Hollywood...
Oh, Freddie!
I pretended to be him, you see.
To convince you of my bona fides.
Never mind your bonas.
- What's happening? - Freddie, was that supposed to be me?
But I don't have an ear strumpet.
You don't have a silly beard, either.
- No. - Oh, you do.
Yes.
As a matter of purely academic interest, Drusilla,
why are you pouring eau de cologne all over the carpet?
Eau de diable, more like!
You think I hallucinate?
You want scenes of hideous sordidness and squalor?
Not especially, no.
Come with me. Come on.
Ah, Lady Muffley...
I have considered giving myself to Jesus,
and on the whole I have decided to shave my beard off.
Hallelujah. What's that awful groaning? Are the plumbers leaving?
Connie, you're daft as a brush. These people aren't plumbers.
They're making a film.
What? Clarence, what the...
Clarence? You...are the Earl of Emsworth?
Of course I'm the Earl of Emsworth, madam. Who are you?
Constance? You have deceived me.
You have presenting your own brother as a vagrant.
You have called him "Whiffle".
Constance, you are a glutton and a slattern and a drinker
and I don't believe you pray.
I shall never set foot in this godless house again.
What've you got to say for yourself?
SHE BLOWS A RASPBERRY
Ladies and gentlemen, the central heating is now working.
Beach! You're a man in a million.
I endeavour to give service, my lord.
Moreover, summon a barber, for the both of us.
Your moustache is ridiculous.
I will not tolerate facial foliage at Blandings.
Very good, my lord.
TREMENDOUS RUMBLING
Is that supposed to happen?
Hey, you - Constanza.
If any of my equipment is damaged,
I sure hope you're insured for sue-age.
Clarence, would you kindly go to your study and fetch your assegai.
Oh, splendid.
What? His assy-what?
A Zulu spear. Fascinating artefact. Terrifyingly sharp.
I fear you are about to feel its presence in your person.
So I guess I'll see you around, Freddie.
And when I do...
SHE WHISPERS INAUDIBLY
Oh!
Ah! Thank you, Beach.
The plumbers appear to be departing.
Indeed, my lord.
Would you recommend them? People are bound to ask.
They have been most entertaining, my lord.
Good. Oh look, look, there's Miss Pansy Petticoat.
There, the one temporarily attached to Frederick's face.
For a minute there I thought she was going to whisk him away to Holloway, but not to be.
One presses on in hope, eh, Beach?
One does, my lord.
I've been giving a bit of thought to...to growing a beard...
HE MUTTERS TO HIMSELF
Cut!