Red Dwarf 04x06 - Meltdown
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.. so there we were at 2.30am. I was wishing I'd never come to cadet training school.
To the south lay water. We couldn't cross that.
East and west, two armies squeezed us in a pincer.
The only way was north. I had to go for it and pray the gods were smiling on me.
I picked up the dice and threw two sixes.
Caldicott couldn't believe it. My go again. Another two sixes!
Rimmer, don't you realise that no one is slightly interested in anything you say?
You've got this psychological defect
which blinds you to the fact that you're boring people to death.
How come you can't sense that?
Anyway, I picked up the dice again...
Unbelievable! Another two sixes!
Rimmer! No one wants to know some stupid story
about how you beat your cadet school training officer at "Risk".
Then disaster! I threw a two and a three.
Caldicott threw snake eyes. I was still in it!
- Cat, can you talk to him? - What?
Anyway, to cut a long story short, I threw a five and a four, another double six,
followed by a double five, then a six and a three.
This guy could bore for his country.
How can you remember what dice you threw in a game you played when you were 17?
I jotted it down in my "Risk" campaign book.
I always did that so I could replay my moments of glory
over a glass of brandy in the sleeping quarters.
- What better way to spend a Saturday night? - You got me.
So, he came back with a three and a two...
Rimmer, can't you tell the story is not gripping me?
I'm in a state of non-grippedness. I am completely smegging ungripped.
Shut the smeg up!
Don't you want to hear the "Risk" story?
That's what I've been saying for 15 minutes.
I haven't got to the really interesting bit.
- What really interesting bit? - Ah, well, that was about two hours later,
after I'd thrown a four and a one.
- I picked up the dice... - Hang on.
- This is the same as the dull bit. - You don't know what I did with the dice.
I could have jammed them up his nostrils and they could have blasted out of his ears.
- That would've been interesting. - OK. What did you do with the dice?
I threw a five and a two.
- And that's the really interesting bit? - Well, it got me into Irkutsk.
What a truly copasetic piece of machinery.
- What is it? - It appears to be a device
that converts an individual into digital information
and then transmits him as light beams to another point in space.
Essentially, it's a matter... transporter.
It's pretty neat... huh?
- Where'd you get it? - It must be a prototype.
I found it in the research labs on Z Deck.
I cobbled together the missing circuitry and it appears to be fully functional.
Theoretically, it can transport several people at once.
Would you like to grip a paddle, sir?
We'll meet you by the navicomp in Starbug.
I'm sorry about that, sir. I neglected to engage the depth function.
We'll walk, Kryten. We'll walk.
So, besides cutting down on shoe leather, what good is it?
Exploration. It can take you anywhere.
It homes in on atmosphere-bearing planets within a range of 500,000 light years.
If there are life forms nearby, this'll take you straight to 'em.
Are there planets with an atmosphere in range?
Several, according to the paddle's scanners,
but the most interesting prospect appears to be 200,000 light years away.
It would take Starbug several billion years to reach it.
It wouldn't be so bad. Rimmer could finish his "Risk" story.
Travelling sub-space via the paddle, we would reach it almost instantaneously.
- What are we waiting for? - Hey, hey!
- Nobody's rearranging MY molecules. - It's perfectly safe, sir,
but I suggest that Mr Rimmer and I form a scout party.
If the atmosphere isn't breathable, we won't be affected.
If it is, we send the paddle to pick you up.
The thing is, I'd love to be in the scout party,
facing all those thrilling unknown dangers with you,
fighting a frontiersman's path of discovery, but you're forgetting one thing.
No, sir. I've taken your congenital cowardice into consideration.
I'm a hologram. I can't touch the thing.
Well, you do have a small physical presence.
- Holly, give me Mr Rimmer's light-bee. - Wait a minute...
- Where am I? - This is Rimmer?
Yeah, it buzzes around inside him and projects his image.
My God! That was disgusting!
Please, sir, that's a sophisticated piece of hardware.
- Really? Anyone fancy a game of squash? - Sir!
Thank you. Now, if all goes well, the paddle will rematerialise here.
Press this key and you'll be transported to the planet, a safe distance from us.
- What is this place? - I can't pinpoint our location precisely,
but the atmosphere is indeed breathable.
I'll return the paddle.
- What now? - I suggest we run, sir.
I suggest we ambulate as fast as the local gravity will allow.
- Why? - Because of them, sir.
Must be safe. Let's go.
This will be ze final push, mein Kamerads,
Their resources are poor. Their vill is veek!
We can crush zem. We can grind zem into ze dirt!
We can chew up their bodies and spit zem out as if zey are sauerkraut!
Intruders! Seize zem!
Dummkopfs! Arrest zem!
- Get us out of here! - Don't panic me! I'm doing my best!
- Where are we? - Don't know.
Stone. We're in some sort of narrow stone passageway.
- So what do we do? - I can see daylight.
We'll just stay here till we work out where we are.
At least we're out of trouble.
Who were those guys?
The short one with the stupid tash was Hitler.
The jerky one with the child molester glasses was Goebbels.
The fat bastard must have been Goering.
He was a cocaine addict and a transvestite.
If things had worked out different, he had the makings of a movie star.
Hands up, pig dogs!
- I've just worked out were we are. - Get ze machine!
You seriously telling me he's a transvestite?
- Yeah. - With those hips?!
- I think we've lost them. - I can't believe how feeble they were.
I've seen more convincing dinosaurs inside a packet of Wheaty Flakes.
There's something wrong here.
Reach for the sky, boys! Thank you very much. Thank you.
Lets take it-a nice and easy or I splash-a your guts around like communion wine.
- OK, get moving. Thank you very much. - Which way?
- What do you think they'll do? - Whatever it takes to understand the paddle.
Hey, if you mean torture, then say the word "torture".
- I can take it. - OK. They may torture us.
- Torture us! - They probably won't, man.
They're probably not interested in the paddle. They'll probably just execute us.
You're just saying that to make me feel better.
Those guys are fiends. They instantly know your weak spots.
They only have to force me into platform shoes and flared trousers,
and I'll sing like Tweety Pie.
Dunno what the smeg went wrong.
Kryten never mentioned travelling back in time.
It was just supposed to find a breathable atmosphere.
How did we wind up in the Third Reich?
What are those guys doing out there?
- Building something. - What?
Oh, nothing. Nothing. Just a sculpture, you know. A modern art job.
- The kind you get in shopping malls. - What's it made of?
Wood. It's a sort of inverted L shape in wood.
Does it have a kind of rope motif?
There's a sort of noosey theme to it, yeah.
It's gallows, right? Look, if it's gallows, say it's gallows.
- I can take it. - OK, it's gallows.
They're gonna hang us!
Look, man, don't panic. We're gonna escape.
- How? - Just...
Hijack the guards, nick their uniforms and stroll out.
Are you insane? You seriously expect me to wear grey out of season?
- I'd rather hang. - Hang on! Hang on! Something's happening.
Some kind of parade or drill, but...
- But what? - Hang on.
These guys aren't Nazis. They're all wearing different period costumes.
There's one looks like Al Capone. There's another like Mussolini.
Richard III, Napoleon...
Smeg! It's like all the worst people in history brought together in one place.
Oh, my God! There's James Last!
I recognise him from Rimmer's record collection.
- What are they doing? - Just lining up... some kind of firing squad.
Whoa! Hang on! Someone's being brought out.
They're tying him to a stake.
It's Winnie the Pooh.
- What? - Winnie the Pooh, I swear!
He's refusing the blindfold.
They're tying Winnie the Pooh to the stake?
That's something no one should ever have to see!
My God, sirs! You may break our bones, but you will never break our spirits!
Good day, good sirs. The name's Lincoln. Abraham Lincoln.
We have to face facts - the war is lost.
What are we gonna do?
I don't know. I still feel there's a solution probably involving triangles.
Pythagoras, what is it with you? Always the triangles.
Your solution to everything is triangles! Some problems can't be solved by triangles.
Hey, we got us some prisoners.
Anybody got a burger? I haven't eaten in five minutes. Thank you very much.
- Could someone tell me what's going on? - These people aren't waxdroids.
- Waxdroids? - Of course!
This whole place, the entire complex, is a colossal waxdroid theme park.
See? "Prehistoric World" - where we materialised.
On either side, "Villain World" and "Hero World".
I thought waxdroids were programmed to repeat a sequence of routines over and over?
They must have broken their programming. Now they're running amok.
We've been left here all alone for millions of years...
We learned to break our programs.
And we've been fighting this idiotic war ever since.
- A war? - Good versus evil, sugar.
- Where's the rest of your army? - They've all been killed...
All our best warriors are gone, man - John Wayne, Joan of Arc,
Nelson, Wellington... Hell, baby, even Doris Day.
They've all died in battle, man.
And you're all that's left, a smattering of intellectuals, pacifists and celebrities?
We number less than 20.
If only we numbered 21, then we could form an equilateral triangle.
Will you shut up already with the triangles?! You're driving me crazy!
Er, who do the enemy have?
The cream of evil - Hitler, Napoleon, Messalina,
Caligula, the Boston Strangler, dozens of them.
And we don't even have a leader. We haven't really got a chance!
My God, Kryten! This is my destiny!
- I was born for this moment! - I'm not following you, sir.
Across that valley lies an army of darkness such as mankind has never seen.
The only thing between them and total victory is this pathetic pocket of resistance,
without a leader, without a plan.
Into this bleak arena steps a man - the man for the moment.
- Oh. Who? - Me! Who do you think? Pat Boone?
Gentlemen, ladies, assemble your troops for inspection at 1500 hours.
Together with my valiant adjutant, Kryten,
I'm gonna turn you into the meanest fighting machine that ever graced a battlefield.
Come on, Kryten.
I don't want to fight! I might get killed!
.. and we've been fighting the Wax War ever since.
- What's the point of this war? - They want to melt us down,
insert new programs and turn us into their own kind.
That's why we're becoming so hopelessly outnumbered.
- On your feet, pigs! - Hey, buddy, we just...
Do you not bow in the presence of the Emperor Caligula?
- Who is this guy? - He was a famous Roman emperor.
He slept with his mother and sisters and ate his son.
A little advice - we all feel peckish after making love, but most of us settle for pizza.
You are an impudent fool!
- Don't know who the other one is. - That's Rasputin,
the most despised man of his era.
This machine, how does it work?
- I don't know. If I did, I wouldn't be here. - Very well.
Rasputin, bring in the bucket of soapy frogs and remove his trousers!
It's to do with travelling across sub-space.
- Demonstrate. - Well, like I said, I don't really know.
Very well. Rasputin, bring hither the skin-diving suit with the bottom cut out
and unleash the rampant wildebeest.
Hang on! I'll try my best. Just give it here.
- Ah! You think I'm insane? - Shall we take a vote?
We'll all hold on to it.
Come on! Let's get out of here.
Rasputin, I'm very cross indeed! Guards!
This way! If we make good time, we'll be back at HQ by sunset.
What a challenge! The greatest minds in military history against me!
- Let's pray they're up to it. - Is your sanity chip working, sir?
Have you any conception of what's lining up for inspection?
I'll soon shake them up. By God, I wish the lo Amateur Wargamers
and Battle of Neasden Recreators Society could see me now.
- They'd choke on their pikestaffs. - Thank you very much, sir. Thank you.
- As you were, Sergeant Presley. - Guys are awaiting inspection. Thank you.
- Well done, Presley. - Uh-huh-huh.
- After you, sir. - Kryten, let's see what we've got.
- What's your name, soldier? - His name's Gandhi, sir. Mahatma Ghandi.
Well, get him out of that damn nappy and into a uniform. Have you no pride, man?
Don't you want to win this war? Don't eyeball me, Ghandi.
Get on the floor and give me 50. Now!
Teresa, sir. Mother Teresa.
Assisi, sir. St Francis of Assisi.
There's only two kinds from Assisi - steers and queers. Which are you, boy?
Moving hastily on, sir.
- What's he doing here? - He was posted from the fiction section.
The Dalai Lama.
Mr Noel Coward, sir.
- Delighted to meet you, dear boy. - Shut up.
- Monsieur Jean-Paul Sartre, sir. - Who?
He's a philosopher, sir, an existentialist.
Well, Sartre, we don't like existentialists around here,
and we certainly don't like French philosophers poncing around in polo necks,
filling everyone's heads with their theories about the bleakness of existence. Clear?
Well, you're quite the worst bunch of famous historical waxdroids
I've ever had the misfortune to clap my eyes on!
You're a total bloody shambles, and if we're gonna win this war,
someone is gonna have to turn you into soldiers!
And that someone, ladies and gentlemen, is me!
Over to you, Kryten.
I'm watching you, Gandhi.
# We are tough and we are mean
# Arnie Rimmer's death machine
# All we do is kill and slay
# Don't care if we get blown away
# Arnie Rimmer's Death machiiiiiine!
# Hey! Hey! #
You're driving them too hard, sir.
- It's my job to drive them hard. - Three of them have melted.
Perhaps I've been too tough, but it's for their own good.
- You're killing them for their own good? - Look, the enemy will try and kill them.
They won't need to. You'll have wiped them out first.
I know what I'm doing, Kryten. We attack tomorrow under cover of daylight.
- Daylight, sir? - It's the last thing they'll expect,
a daylight charge over the minefield.
- The what-field?! - I'll coordinate things from here. Now...
- Rimmer! - Thank you, sir. People say they know you.
Listy! Welcome to Command Centre.
Rimmer, what's going on out there? Isn't that Mahatma Gandhi?
What's he doing practising hand-to-hand combat with a nun?
That's not a nun, Listy.
That's Lieutenant Colonel Mother Teresa. She's a soldier now.
- What are you doing, buddy? - I'm winning this war, "buddy".
You won't believe what a ragamuffin bunch of lefty, wishy-washy liberals they were
before I knocked some good old-fashioned death-or-glory bloodlust into them.
You've turned a group of holy men and pacifists into the Dirty Dozen!
I can't take all the credit. I couldn't have done it without Kryten.
I'm sorry, sirs. I'm programmed to obey, no matter how deranged the human order.
Rimmer, you're gonna get these guys wiped out. They're not soldiers!
- He's flipped. - With respect, sir, he's right.
- I beg you to reconsider. - They're only waxdroids.
Rimmer, they've broken their programming. They're capable of independent thought.
That makes them alive, practically people. I'm not gonna let you do it.
- Pardon me? - You heard me!
- You talked 'em into it. I'll talk 'em out. - I see. Sergeant Presley?
- Thank you very much, sir. - Place these gentlemen under arrest.
- If they resist, shoot them. - OK, boys. Let me see them understains.
Come on, Kryten.
He's acting strangely. It might have affected his mind when you chewed his light-bee.
I'll do more than chew his light-bee when we get out!
Thank you very much. You've been wonderful prisoners, you really have.
Well, I don't know about the enemy, but you certainly scare the hell out of me!
Let's get this show on the road.
You know what you have to do.
- Let's go, Holly. - OK, matey.
Destroy them! Shoot them!
Iron Duke? Iron Duke? This is Pawn Sacrifice.
- Come in, please. - Kryten, how's it going?
I'm in the Third Reich building. Minimal resistance.
Just as you planned, the decoy charge has drawn their fire.
OK, Now find the boiler room and hit the thermostat,
They'll melt once it hits 100 degrees,
I'm on my way, sir.
Victory, gentlemen! The fascists have fallen.
- May I untie them now, sir? - Rejoice. We conquer!
Victory on Waxworld! It's VW Day!
- So you wiped them all out? - To a droid.
- It's true. All melted. - What about Arnie's army?
- Yeah, how many of them made it back? - There are always casualties in war,
otherwise it wouldn't be war, just a nasty argument with pushing and shoving.
- How many survived? - Well, we haven't made a full estimate,
but at a rough guess - and obviously this is subject to alteration -
round about none of them.
You wiped out the population of this planet?
You make it sound so negative. Don't you see?
The deranged menace that threatened this world is vanquished.
No, it isn't, pal. You're still here.
I brought about peace. Peace, freedom and democracy.
Yeah, Rimmer. Right. Absolutely.
Now those corpses can lie there, safe in the knowledge that they snuffed it for peace,
and can now happily decompose in a land of freedom... you smeg-head.
There's no pleasing some people, is there?
At least we got the Matter Paddle back.
Well, there's nothing to stay here for. Let's get back.
Shouldn't we go and bask in the glow of victory?
Holly, give me his light-bee.
- See you, Rimmer. - Sir! What are you thinking of?
It's OK. He'll come out in a couple a days...
.. and he'll have been through what he put us through.
Does any one fancy a vindaloo?
# It's cold outside, there's no kind of atmosphere
# I'm all alone, more or less
# Let me fly far away from here
# Fun, fun, fun
# In the sun, sun, sun
# I want to lie shipwrecked and comatose
# Drinking fresh mango juice
# Goldfish shoals nibbling at my toes
# Fun, fun, fun
# In the sun, sun, sun
# I said fun, fun, fun
# In the sun, sun, sun #
Huh! Great to be back!
Thank you very much,
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