Head Blackadder

Right, Baldrick. Let's try again, shall we?

This is called "ADDING".

If I have two beans,

and then, I add two more beans, what do I have?

Some beans.

Yes...and no.

Let's try again, shall we? I have two beans,

then I add two more beans. What does that make?

A very small casserole.

Baldrick, the ape-creatures of the Indus have mastered this. Try again.

One, two, three, FOUR! So, how many are there?

-Three.

-What?

-And that one.

-Three and that one!

So, if I add that one, what will I have?

OH! Some beans.

The Renaissance was something that happened to other people, wasn't it?

-Edmund, the Queen wants to see you.

-WHAT...

-I said, "Edmund, the Queen wants..."

-Let me finish!

-What is that round your neck?

-My new ruff!

-You look like a bird who's swallowed a plate.

-It's the fashion, actually. It makes me look RATHER sexy!

To another plate-swallowing bird, perhaps,

-if it was blind and hadn't had it in months.

-I think you may be wrong.

-You're a laughable figure, Percy. What do you think of Percy's ruff?

-Four.

-What?

Some beans and some beans is four.

No, we've moved from advanced maths to dress-making. What do you think of Percy's ruff?

-He looks like a bird who's swallowed a plate.

-That's what

-I

-thought. Think on your own.

-Thinking is SO important. What do YOU think?

-I think thinking is SO important, my lord.

-I give up!

-I'm off to see the Queen.

-Shall I come too?

Best not. People might think we're friends. Stay here. Bird-neck and bird-brain. Should get on.

Grey, I suspect, Majesty.

-I THINK you'll find it was orange, Lord Melchett!

-Grey IS more usual.

Who's Queen?

As you say, Majesty, there were these magnificent ORANGE elephants...

-Milady. You wished to see me.

-Yes, Edmund, Lord Melchett has BAD news.

-Lord Melchett IS bad news.

-No, be SERIOUS! Melchett!

Unhappily, Blackadder, the Lord High Executioner

is dead.

Oh, woe (!)

-Murdered?

-No, they usually are. This one just got careless and signed his name on the wrong dotted line.

-He should have said they had the wrong man.

-He did, but they had the right man and the form to prove it.

Tsk! Bloody red tape, heh?

-And the bad news?

-The bad news is there are hundreds of Catholics

who desperately want their heads snicked off but no-one to do it.

-I pity the sod who gets the job. No-one ever survives.

-I have drawn up a list of suitable candidates.

Oh, good-oh! Let's hear it!

List for the post of Lord High Executioner.

Lord Blackadder...

Ah-ha!

Right, let's take a look, shall we?

Who's first into the head-basket?

Admiral Lord Effingham and Sir Francis Drake on Monday.

-That should draw a crowd.

-Hm?

Well, sailing enthusiasts.

-Better make sure there's anchors and things on the souvenir stall.

-Aye-aye, sir.

Never, EVER try to be funny in my presence again, Percy.

Right, Buckingham and Ponsonby on Friday.

-Farrow on Wednesday? Who's he when he's not having his head cut off?

-Pleasant bloke from Dorchester.

Don't know him. Never will, either.

-And he goes on Wednesday.

-Hm.

-It's not right, though, is it?

No. Now you mention it, there was absolutely NO evidence against young Farrow. It's a TRAVESTY of justice!

No! I mean we could stick him in on Monday and have half the week off.

-Oh, I see, that's fine.

-Pop him in on Monday.

Good. Five dead in two days. Not a bad start. Oh Percy, the new ruff!

-Better?

-Worse.

Fashion today is towards the tiny.

In that case, Percy, you have the most fashionable brain in London.

Right, good morning, team. My name is Edmund Blackadder and I'm the new minister for religious genocide.

Play straight and I'm considerate.

But cross me, and you'll soon find out that under this playful, boyish exterior,

beats the heart of a ruthless, sadistic maniac!

-Now, my man, you are?

-Jailer, sir.

-Good. Well done. And your name is?

-Ploppy, sir.

-Ploppy?

-Yes, sir.

Ploppy, the jailer.

That's right, sir. Ploppy, son of Ploppy.

Ploppy, son of Ploppy, the jailer.

Ach, no, sir. I am the first Ploppy to rise to be jailer.

My father, Daddy Ploppy, was known as Ploppy the slopper.

-It was from him that I inherited my fascinating skin diseases.

-Yes.

You are to be congratulated. We live in an age where deformity is commonplace,

and yet, Ploppy, you are the most repulsive individual I've ever met.

I would shake your hand but I fear it would come off.

-There's no many bosses so thoughtful.

-Thank you, Ploppy, I do my best.

Now then, woman, if indeed, you ARE a woman,

-what is your function on death row?

-I'm the last meal cook, sir.

-The prisoners ask me for what they fancy.

-And you cook what they desire.

Oh, yes, sir. Provided they ask for sausages.

Otherwise, they get a tiny bit disappointed. Sausages is all I got.

-You are a woman of compassion, Mistress...

-Ploppy, sir.

-So you are married to...

No! Many people think that, butit'sPURE coincidence.

We did laugh whenfirstwefoundout.

"Good morning, Mistress Ploppy", he'dsay,

and I'd say, "Good morning, Mr Ploppy"!

The long winter evenings must just fly by.

Ah! And you must be the boy who makes the tea.

No, no, sir. He's the executioner. But he does sometimes make the tea.

And your name is?

-Baldrick.I'llchangeittoPloppy if you want.

-I CANcopewithmore than one name. Why are you here?

Well, it's a hobby.

It would be more fun ifhechangedhis name.

Give the place a family atmosphere.

-Familyatmosphere? Thisisaplace of pain and misery.

-That's what I mean, sir.

Mistress Ploppy's a bit of a social realist, sir.

Now, we're going to run an efficient operation

and I intend to do as little as possible. My deputy will explain.

Ahem!

Good afternoon, staff. My name is Lord Percy,

and if you play fair, you'll find me a considerate employer,

but if you cross me, by JOVE...

Just tell 'em the plan, duck-face.

-My Lord, not in front of the staff.

-Get on with it.

Right, as you know, we are scheduled to execute Drake and Effingham on Monday, Lord Farrow on Wednesday,

and Buckingham and Ponsonby on Friday.

But, to give us time off, Lord Blackadder has decided to move Farrow to Monday.

Let's just say he's got time off for good behaviour.

-Your Majesty!

-Yes, Lady Farrow?

My husband dies tomorrow. I beseech you, even if you cannot save him...

-Which I don't think we want, as he's a HORRIBLE traitor.

-Of course not, your Majesty.

But if he must die, may I see him?

But, of COURSE!

Why's she asking me? Why doesn't she go to the execution with everyone else?

No, your Majesty, I don't believe she wants to see him DIE. She wants to see him BEFORE he dies.

-How odd!

-Majesty?

She's not seen him. I wouldn't marry someone I hadn't seen.

Take it more seriously next time.

Come now, Lady Farrow, crying isn't going to help your husband now.

No, ointment. That's what you need when your head's been cut off.

That's what I gave your sister, Mary.

"There, there," I said. "You'll grow a new one."

Shut up, Nursie! Of course you may see your husband, my dear,

and if that horrid Edmund tries to stop you, GIVE HIM this.

A warrant for his own execution.

Thank you, Ma'am. May flights of angels sing you to your rest.

Yes, I'm sure they will.

Hup, hup, hup, hup, hup, hup, hup!

Hup!

-So, they're all dead, are they?

-Yep! All three. Drake, Effingham, Farrow.

Splendid. Any good last words?

Well, Farrow was rather moving, my lord. A strong man, he stood there, gaunt and noble in the morning mist,

and in a clear voice he cried out,

"My wife might have bloody well turned up!"

She's probably shacked up with some new pair of tights already.

Unless Percy has anything to add, you can amuse yourselves in whatever foul way you want.

Thank you, sir.

Well, staff, I've got a few notes on today's show.

-On the whole, I was impressed.

-They've gone, Percy.

Er...er...team, TEAM?

-My lord, a lady to see you.

-Pretty?

-I don't know. What do you think?

I don't know! I haven't seen her!

-Make yourself scarce, Baldrick.

-Oh, all right.

Good evening, Lord Blackadder.

Well, it certainly is now.

Perhaps you'd like to slip into something more comfortable

No, my lord, there is a great pain in my heart.

-Probably indigestion. I'll take your mind off that.

-It is my husband!

-He's got indigestion! He won't bother us, then.

-No!

-He dies tomorrow.

-You can't die of indigestion. You're over-dramatic.

He is to be executed at your order.

-I

-am Lady Farrow.

Ah! And what exactly did you want of me?

I wish to see my husband tonight.

Not really possible, actually.

Excuse me, just a second. Baldrick!

That Farrow bloke you executed. Is he dead?

-I chopped his head off. That usually does it.

-Don't get clever. You might have lopped off a leg by mistake.

-No, it had a nose.

-Fine.

I'm so sorry. I've just been consulting my legal people and there really is no chance of a meeting.

-But the Queen told me it would be allowed.

-Really?

-Yes, and that if you said no, I should give you this.

Fine! Fine! Absolutely!

Why not?!

-Right, Baldrick. Is that ALL clear?

-I killed someone I shouldn't have,

-and you want me to put a lady on my head and talk to his old bag.

-No!

A bag on your head and talk to his old lady.

-Why do I want a bag on my head?

-So, nin-com-poop, she thinks you're her husband.

-Did HE wear a bag?

Young Ploppy has a point, my lord. Lord Farrow never wore a bag.

He was an old-fashioned sort of gent.

-Look...

-Well, my lord. I had been wondering all along why you think Baldrick with a bag on his head

is a dead ringer for Farrow, because he's NOT!

Look, cretins, the bag is there to obscure Baldrick's own features,

which many would find reason enough for him to wear it.

Before I bring in Lady Farrow, I shall explain, inventing some cunning excuse,

that her husband has taken to wearing a bag.

She can then chat to Baldrick, thinking he's her husband and the Queen need never know.

-A brilliant plan.

-Foolproof!

-Very kind.

-Though there is something lurking at the back of my head.

It's probably a flea.

-My lord, Lady Farrow awaits your pleasure.

-All right, OK. Quick! Ah!

Lady Farrow! What a pleasure it is to see you!

It is my beloved I shall be pleased to see.

Quite, quite. But I should warn you he is not QUITE as you knew him.

You FIEND! What have you done to him?

We have put...A BAG over his head!

-Why?

-Well, you see, none of the other prisoners have such shapely widows,

er...wives, I should say.

So, in their interests, your husband nobly agreed to wear a bag,

or you'd have the other prisoners in there too.

How like him to make such a gesture!

Yes, yes. Well, I'll just go check he's bagged up. Won't be a minute.

Right, Balders, this is it!

-My lord!

-Oh, what is it now, Ploppy?

I have located my nagging doubt.

It's a small point, but I do now recall that Lord Farrow was considerably taller,

more than a yard taller than young Ploppy here.

NUR-R! If you want something done, you've got to do it yourself! Anything else I should know.

-Yes, he had a very deep voice, big, deep, booming voice.

-Quite like mine, then.

-No, a deep, booming voice.

-Mine's quite deep.

Not like his. And, Lord Farrow was taller even than you, my lord.

-A giant of a man.

-All right, don't rub it in.

-Percy, you'd better go and have another word with her. Go on, go on!

-Er...er...

Er...sorry about the delay, madam.

As you know, you are about to meet your husband,

whom you will recognise by the fact that he has a bag over his head.

-I would know my darling anywhere!

-There are a couple of other things.

I am aware that he may have lost some weight.

Yes...and some height.

That's the interesting thing. You probably won't recognise him!

You'll be telling me his arm's grown back next.

'Scuse, just for a sec!

He's only got one arm.

Oh well, I'll just have to stick it inside the shirt. Which one?

-Which one?

-ER...

-Which one?

-Hang on!

Er...er...how do we know you're his wife?

-What?

-Er...well, you know, you could be a gloater.

-I beg pardon?

You know, a gloater, come to gloat over the condemned man.

We're up to our ears in gloaters.

"Can I come in to gloat?" they say. We shout, "You heartless gloaters!"

All right. All right.

Tell you what. I'll believe you're not a gloater if you tell me which arm he hasn't got.

-His left, of course! NOW LET ME SEE MY HUSBAND!

-Right!

-It's the left! Good luck!

-Gloaters! You really are a PRAT, aren't you?

Right, in two minutes you interrupt me, no more, or I'm in real trouble, and don't forget because...?

-..Because we're not at home to Mr Cock-up.

-Correct.

-Remember the voice, my lord.

-Yes, yes, yes.

-IN DEEP VOICE:

-Enter!

-James?

-My darling.

-How are you?

-Oh, fine, fine.

Food's not bad, apart from the sausages.

Your voice is somehow different.

-Oh? How?

-Somehow...lighter! Not as deep nor booming as once it was.

-EVEN DEEPER:

-Is that better?

-Darling!

Call me by that name you always called me to show your love is still strong.

-Look, do you think this is quite the time and the place for that sort of thing?

-Please!

The specific, secret little name I used to call you. You want to be called it now, right?

Yes, the one like "your little pumpkin".

The one LIKE "your little pumpkin". Not actually "your little pumpkin".

-No.

-Right then, my little pumpkinny-whumpkinny!

Oh, my darling! OH! Your ARM!

-What's wrong?

-What happened to it?

-I'm rather hurt you don't remember.

-It was only cut off at the elbow!

-Ah-h!

-What happened to the rest?

I got into a scrap with a fellow who called you "a nosey little strumpet who's always blubbing to the Queen".

-We got into a fight and he cut off the top half.

-Alas!

I think you'd better be going. Lord Blackadder said he would send his servant Baldrick to collect me.

Perhaps, my lord, he is leaving us a little longer.

-I shouldn't think so. BALDRICK! He's very punctual.

-Perhaps this Baldrick is doing it out of kindness.

Oh no! BALDRICK! He's a very unkind person.

-Then let us use this moment to its full.

-What?

-Let me do this last thing for you. What wife could do more?

What? Oh, I see-ee-EE!

-Right, time's up!

-No it isn't!

-It is.

Come on, out you go! We've had so little time!

May we finish this in paradise. Farewell.

Farewell.

Baldrick, you BASTARD!

Utter bastard!

That was the first time ever, in my whole life.

I've been on this paltry planet for 30 years, and that's the first time anyone has...

Do not despair, my lord. Your brother petitions the Queen tomorrow morning. There may still be hope.

What?!

Shall I prepare the guest room for Mr Cock-up, my lord?

Oh, all right, then. Let him off. He probably is innocent, anyway.

My lady! May the heavens rain radiant jewels and sweetmeats upon you!

-Yes, yes, yes, YES!

-And may cherubim and seraphim...

-Out!

-My lady, about Lord Farrow...

-Eek!

-I've let him off.

-No, you can't. He's a cad of the first water.

-"Can't" is not a word for princes.

-How very true, your Majesty!

-Anyway, I won't be argued with, will I?

-Sometimes, when you want something naughty...

-No, you won't, absolutely not.

-Precisely! So, Lord Blackadder, I want to see Lord Farrow in one hour.

Meanwhile, I shall spend the time visiting my friend, Lord Ponsonby, who I'm having killed on Friday.

Come on, Nursie. Let's see if there are any good heads in Traitor's cloister on the way.

-Percy, this is a very difficult situation.

-Yes, my lord.

-Someone's for the chop. You or me, in fact.

-Er...yes.

Let's face facts, Perce. It's you!

-Except...except I may have a plan.

-Oh, yes?

How about if we take Lord Farrow's head and body to the Queen,

except, exc-ept, just before we get in, we start shouting and screaming,

and we come in saying, "We were on our way, when he said something traitorous so we cut his head off."

Pathetic! Absolutely pathetic! Contemptible!

Worth a try! Where's the head?

-Traitor's cloister.

-That's where the Queen is! Did she know Farrow?

-Yes, they were childhood friends.

Well, if she sees his head on a spike, she'll realise he's DEAD!

-Yes.

-You fix the body. I'll cover the head.

Oh! Hello, Edmund.

Look, I'm sorry I snapped at you just now.

-Oh.

-You know I'm very keen on you, don't you?

-Yes! As you were on Essex.

-Exactly!

-Until you had his head cut off.

He didn't mind! He knew it was only little me.

And I must say, his head did look jolly super on its spike.

-Are there no heads on spikes today?

-Um...no.

NO!

We're training a new executioner. It takes him forever. Slash, slash!

When he's finished, you don't so much need a spike as a toast-rack.

I like toast. Still, must be off to say bye-bye to Ponsonby.

Would you care to stroll with me? If you're not too busy.

Sorry, Ma'am, affairs of...

-I said, "Would you care to stroll with me? If you're not too BUSY!"

-It would make the decade worthwhile!

And in Genoa, 'tis now the fashion to pin a live frog to the shoulder,

stand on a bucket and go, "Bibble!" at passers-by.

-Our Italian cousins!

-If you'll excuse me, I have work to attend to.

-Certainly! But first, Edmund,

take my hand! Tell me you'll forgive my former sharpness.

Er...

Milady!

Sweet Lord Blackadder!

Well, I've got the body and you've got the head.

But no-one's going to believe we've just cut it off. It's gone GREEN!

-We're doomed.

-DOOMED!

-Wait a moment! That's not Farrow!

-Isn't it?

-That's Ponsonby!

-My God! Ponsonby!

-That genius Baldrick killed the wrong bloke. We're saved!

-Saved!

-Farrow's alive! We're saved!

-Hooray!

When the Queen gets back from seeing Ponsonby...

OH, GOD!

We're doomed! We're doomed!

It's not very nice here, is it?

It's not meant to be, my pikelet. It's for people who don't like you.

I suppose so. It's a bit smelly too, isn't it?

Of course, I'm used to that. In the mornings when you was a baby...

Shut up!

You! Not you, you're too repulsive. YOU! Bring in Lord Ponsonby!

Yes, your royal, majestic...thing.

So strange Ponsonby turned out to be a traitor.

You'd have thought he had problems enough, what with that hunch,

-and only having one leg.

-Yes and that terrible speech problem.

Your Majesty, Lord Ponsonby.

LOUD CRASH

-SLURRED VOICE:

-Your Majesty. Sorry about the bag! Didn't have time to shave!

# His great-grandfather was a king

# Although for only 30 seconds

# When put in charge of beheadING

# He felt that fame and glory beckoned

# Blackadder, Blackadder

# No such blooming luck!

# Blackadder, Blackadder

# Elizabethan schmuck!

# Blackadder, Blackadder

# Nothing goes as planned

# Blackadder, Blackadder

# Life deals him a bum hand. #

Subtitles by David Padmore 1994