Nanny McPhee

[magical tinkling]

[man] We must begin our story, sad to say,

with an empty chair.

If it were not empty,

we would not have a story.

But it is, and we do, and it is time to tell it.

[birds twitter]

[whooshing and tinkling]

This is the story of my family,

of my seven children, who are all very clever

but all very, very, very naughty.

Aaaaah! Aaaah! Aaaaa-aaaagh...!

This is Nanny Whetstone,

the th nanny I had hired

to look after my children.

- Aaaaagh...!

- She was the strictest, the toughest

and the most fearless nanny in all the land.

As I went to work that day

at the funeral parlour,

I was confident in the knowledge

that there was nothing, absolutely nothing

- that my children could do to upset her.

- [shrieking approaches]

They've eaten the baby!

Except that.

- [children] Quick! He's coming!

- Hide!

- Quiet!

- Stop it!

- Shh!

- [urgent whispering]

[child burps]

Children, where's Aggy?

- [baby gurgles happily]

- [bells jingle]

[rattle jingles]

- Look at you.

- [Aggy gurgles]

You're all cabbagey.

Oh...and you're all gravy-y.

As was your intention, Nanny Whetstone

has resigned from her post.

I shall go to the agency this afternoon

and hire a new nanny.

You will not drive her away

as you have done with her predecessors.

[Aggy gurgles joyfully]

Papa.

Can't catch me out.

That showed 'em who's boss.

Aaaagh! Whoa! Ooh! [grunts]

Three days, eight hours and minutes.

So that got rid of her...

hours and minutes

quicker than the last one.

I think the turning point was definitely

eating the baby. Well done, Eric.

Mr Brown, are you all right?

I'm perfectly all right.

Evangeline, could you let Cook know

that the new nanny has had to leave

and I'm off to the agency to find a new one?

Good. I'll just...

[rattles doorknob]

- Mrs Partridge?

- [woman] We're closed.

- There's been a tiny hiccup.

- We're not here.

- Please, let me in...

- Go away.

Listen, they didn't eat the baby.

It was a chicken, actually.

There's no more nannies! You've had your lot.

[slams door upstairs]

[hinge creaks]

[mysterious woman's voice]

The person you need is Nanny McPhee.

Is that you, Mrs Partridge?

The person you need is Nanny McPhee.

I need her to start right away.

I'm late for a vital tea dance.

Nanny McPhee is not on our books.

Nanny McPhee is not on anyone's books.

Nanny Whetstone's gone.

There's a surprise. Hurry it up there. Spuds.

Mr Brown's gone to the agency.

I said the children'll be fine with us.

They won't be fine with me.

I won't have them dirty blighters

in my kitchen, and that is that!

I have it in writing. In writing!

- [horrendous cacophony]

- [children shouting]

- Well, that's the final straw.

- Pa!

- There are no more nannies.

- Whoa!

None. All over, finished.

I've had to cancel my appointment

and that will cause trouble.

- I told them not to. It wasn't my idea.

- Don't look at me! It's not my fault.

Well, you seem intent on distressing me...

Er...don't do that, darling, please.

That's my sore bit.

You seem intent on distressing me,

so I'm going to distress you.

You are to...to go to bed immediately.

Before supper?

Without supper.

Did he say without supper?

Never mind that.

There's no more nannies.

Poor him...and poor them.

Poor them, my Aunt Fanny.

They're the worstest, nastiest, horriblest...

It'll be snow in August

before this family's straightened out.

"Dear Nanny Whetstone,

I'm so very sorry."

- "My children..."

- [children shout and fight]

[girl] Eric, give it back to her!

Give it back now! Stop it!

My children.

Eric! Eric, that's my teddy!

- Eric, stop doing this!

- Give it back!

- Stop fighting!

- Oi, you lot!

- Quiet!

- [Sebastian hits notes on piano]

You're driving your poor father

to distraction. Stop it.

Lily, what's this word?

Lovingly. "He took her lovingly by the hand."

What's your book about, Evangeline?

It's about the daughter of a nice man

who remarries after his wife dies

and the stepmother's horrid to her.

Why doesn't the man stop her being horrid?

Fathers all turn bad once their wives die.

They don't care any more.

Simon. Yours does.

No, he doesn't.

Does he read to Chrissie

or play cricket with us like he used to?

Rate this script:4.3 / 16 votes