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Blackadder's Christmas Carol Page #3
- Year:
- 1988
- 43 min
- 1,721 Views
- Happy days!
- Yes. Maybe I was a little rash.
Ah, boys, welcome back!
But, Melchett, what have you got under your coat?
Is it a present?
A present, Majesty? But of course!
You're so painfully transparent, Blackadder.
Am I?
That's fab! I love presents.
For a moment, I took against Christmas,
but now I'm dippy about it again.
In fact, I'd like to marry you.
If you weren't as unattractive as a giant slug.
Oh, pish, Majesty!
Anyway, to reward you,
I'm going to give you lots of presents.
Fancy a castle?
- Windsor, Majesty?
- Title?
- Duke of Kent?
- Anything else?
A devilish saucy wife would be fun.
- Lady Jane Pottle.
- Oh, yummy!
I think she's Blackadder's girl,
but that doesn't matter, does it, Blacky?
No, of course not, ma'am.
to whip me naked through Aberdeen?
- We needn't go that far.
- Oh, too kind.
No, Aylesbury's quite far enough.
Super. Well done, Melchy.
Now, Blackadder, what have you got me?
- Erm...
- I want a pressie!
Give me something nice and shiny.
If you don't, I've got something
nice and shiny for you: an axe!
- Erm, well..
- Right, that's it!
Any last requests before I chop
your block off for the Chrimble tree?
Erm, well there is one, actually, ma'am.
You know how I've always been
I was wondering if I could have your autographs
to keep me company
during the final tragic, lonely hours.
- Oh, all right.
- Thank you, ma'am.
And Lord Melchett. Just there. Thank you.
- Oh, dear me!
- What is it?
Why, this piece of paper
that Your Majesty has just signed
turns out to be some sort of death warrant.
Oops!
And I can't retract it without destroying
the whole basis of the British Constitution.
I fear not.
- Is there a name on it?
- Yes, actually, it says "Lord..."
Oh, I can't read this terrible childish writing.
"Lord Melchett." Lord Melchett, that's it.
Ma'am, it's a trick! You've been tricked.
Oh, good!
Christmas is a time for tricks
and japes and larks of all kinds.
Tell you what, that's so brilliant
I'll execute Melchett instead.
You're very kind, ma'am.
I suppose that means that everything
of Lord Melchett's becomes yours.
I suppose it does.
Merry Christmas, ma'am.
Good Lord!
Horrible, eh? What a pig!
Yes, but clearly quite a clever, charming pig.
But no, as you say, his behaviour, disgraceful.
You're a great improvement on them all
You're a good boy.
Them? Are there more?
Oh, yes. Have a shufty at this.
Right, Balders.
I'm sick of the Prince Regent
getting all the presents.
So here's the plan:
we play our traditional game of charades,
and when he gets bored and asks for a story,
you stick the dress and the hat on
and knock on the door.
- Got it?
- Got it.
You certainly will get it if you mess this up.
Hurrah! Welcome, lads! This is the stuff, eh?
Christmas sherry and charades
with honest, manly fellows.
What can I do with a girl I can't do with you, eh?
I cannot conceive, sir.
There's that, of course. Now, who's first?
I'd ask Horatio, but he's out of it.
So it's the little monkey fellow first, is it?
- It is indeed.
- Excellent. I love charades.
OK. Off you go, Baldrick.
- A book.
- Well done.
Didn't think you'd get it that quickly.
Yes, I must say that was damn clever.
Another great Christmas tradition.
Explaining the rules eight times
to the Thicky Twins.
It must be a specific book.
For the Bible, I'd do that
to indicate it has two syllables...
- Two what?
- Two syllables.
"Two silly bulls"? I don't think so, not in the Bible.
but that was a sensible animal.
Ah-ha, yah, is it Noah's Ark?
With the two pigs, two ants and two silly bulls...
- Two syll-a-bles?
- What?
We're getting confused. Let's start again.
No, let's not. I think the whole game's
getting a bit syll-a.
What a good idea.
I'll get rid of the servant, shall I?
There's a limit to how long roasting chestnuts
can blot out the aroma of Baldrick's trousers.
Don't forget the dress and the hat, Baldrick.
- Shall I begin the Christmas story?
- Absolutely.
Provided it's not that depressing one
about the chap born on Christmas Day
then comes a cropper with some rum coves
on a hill in Johnny Arab land.
- You mean, Jesus?
- Yes, that's the bloke.
He always spoils the Xmas atmos.
Instead, I shall tell you a story...
Ah! Oh, my God, I've gone blind! Blind!
That's better.
As I was saying, this is a story
about a handsome young prince.
This is more like it. What?
Good-looking, lovely hair perched on his head
like an exceptionally attractive loaf of bread?
- Exactly.
- I can imagine him. Excellent fellow.
It's a tale about him and a sad, lonely old granny
who's dying of cold on a cruel Christmas night.
- Not a comedy, then?
- No, sir.
When she thought
that she'd die on Christmas night
and be swept up on Boxing Day morning,
mistaken for a huge dirty handkerchief...
..then she knocked on the door
of a handsome young prince named George,
who gave her all his massive
collection of Christmas presents,
and she lived happily ever after.
Oh, by Satan's sausage,
Bladder, what a fine tale!
Oh, good.
On a cold, dark, cruel Christmas night, tricky one.
Could be a robin.
Why, rather coincidentally,
it is a sad, lonely old granny dying of cold.
Shall I fling her out saying
there's no room in our Christmas
for a sad, virtuous, silver-haired
No, Blackadder, you swine, bring her in!
- The trolley's a nice touch.
- Take all you want.
You've found Georgy-Porgy, a handsome prince.
Thank you, sir.
Shall I make sure she doesn't steal the silver?
- No, no. Tell her to take it.
- You're very generous, sir.
Excellent, excellent, Baldrick, a triumph.
Baldrick? Baldrick!
Sorry, Mr B. I was just showing
a sweet old granny to the door.
- Are we ready yet, sir?
- What?
I answered the door and it was
this sweet granny collecting for charity.
- So I let her in.
- Ahh.
Something wrong, Mr B?
No. I shouldn't have trusted a man
with the mental agility of a rabbit dropping.
- Sorry, Mr B.
- It's all right.
It's not your fault.
Still I fear for a frail, elderly woman
Iaden with valuables, travelling
the inadequately-lit London streets.
- Yes, she's not safe, sir.
- Well not from me, certainly.
- Very amusing!
- In what way?
The wigs. Very amusing wigs.
But his behaviour, as you say, disgraceful.
But... But he actually got the presents.
Y... Y... Yes.
So there is something
to be made out of being bad.
Technically, yes. But that's not the point, is it?
It's the soul, the soul.
As a matter of interest, what would
happen in the future if I was bad?
Erm... Is that the time? I must be off.
I'd love to see Christmas Future.
No, no, no, it's terribly melodramatic.
Look, just show it, please.
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"Blackadder's Christmas Carol" Scripts.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 1 Sep. 2024. <https://www.scripts.com/script/blackadder's_christmas_carol_4216>.
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