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Practice English Speaking&Listening with: Mystery Science Theater 3000: Hamlet

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- ♪ In the not too distant Future

Somewhere in time and space

Mike Nelson And his robot pals

Are caught in a nasty place

They try to survive The wrath of Pearl

Just an evil gal Who wants to rule the world

From her castle below She sets her sights above

Just to torture All the captives

On the Satellite of Love

MIKE: Get Me Down!

- ♪ I'll send him Cheesy movies

The worst I can find La la la

He'll have to sit And watch them all

And I'll monitor his mind La la la

- ♪ Now keep in mind Mike can't control

Where the movies begin or end La la la

He'll try to keep his sanity

With the help Of his robot friends

Robot roll call Cambot! ♪

- ♪ Gypsy! ♪

- ♪ Tom Servo! ♪ SERVO: Check me out.

- ♪ Croooooow! ♪

- ♪ If you're wondering how He eats and breathes

And other science facts La la la

Just repeat to yourself "It's just a show

I should really just relax

For Mystery Science Theater 3000" ♪

Hi, everyone. Welcome to the Satellite of Love.

Mike Nelson here, along with Gypsy,

Crow T. Robot... - Hi.

- ...and Servo. - It-- it's Serveaux.

- Yeah, that's what I said, Servo.

- Oh, no. See, I changed my name.

It's not Servo anymore, it's Sirveaux.

It sounds the same, only it's spelled S-I-R-V-E-A-U-X,

"Sirveaux." Well, just grab that visual aid down there.

- Okay.

- So, you want us to call you Sirveaux from now on?

- Yeah, I'd prefer it.

- What if we called you Servo?

- I won't respond.

- Hmm. - Anyway, we'll be right back.

- Oh, oh, and I added an H to my first name,

so you can call me...

- Oh, okay, let me guess. It's T-H-O-M, Thom.

- Oh, no, no.

The H is at the beginning, so it's Htom.

- Well, Htom, why don't you hlick me?

- Ooh, that's a good one!

- Okay. Sorry about this.

We'll be right back.


- No, no, no. It's Croe.

- Croeee. - It's very simple: Croe.

- Croee. Krr?

- No, no, no. Purse your beak, Mike.

- Krrw. Krrw.

Oh, Pearl's calling.

I'll purse your beak!

- Krw. - Stop it.

- My friends, this is it.

Future generations may damn me,

but in moments, the world will be mine,

for I have created a mutant virus

so insidious, yet so destructive

that by morning,

half the planet's population will be dead.


MIKE: Never mind that.

Find the lady! Come on, let's go.

Find the lady.

- Fool! This is no time for games.

You will be the first to die.

- Never mind that. Find the lady.

Come on, find the lady.

It's easy. Anyone can do it.

Find the lady.

Nothin' to watch, a buck to play.

Find the lady.

- Don't you see that I have the power to...

kill... uh, the middle one.

The middle one!

- Sorry. Costs a buck to play.

Come on now. Find the lady.

Find the lady.

- Okay, here's a buck.

- It's a setup. You can't win.

It's a setup.

- Shut up. Um, the left.

- No! I'm sorry.

Here she is.

Come on, now. Find the lady.

Easy to do. Come on.

Let's play.

- [GROWLING] Llllll--


- You are exactly... wrong!

Here she was.

Okay, Pearl, let's raise the stakes a little bit.

Now, if we win, we get to choose the movie we watch.

If you win, we'll watch two movies.

Now, you think you can take me?

Go ahead on.

It's your move.

- Okay, Nelson, I pick...

- Pick the middle! Pick the middle.

No, wait. It's the left.

No, right! Right!

Right! It's the right one.

Wait, wait. It's the queen.

The queen is the lady, right?

- Drink this. - Oh, okay.

- Milk bag, you're omniscient. What do you think?

- It's a scam. You can't win.

- Oh, I forgot. You're also a puss.

I pick middle.

- Hmm, yes, yes.

Let's see. Yes, yes, yes...

- No! - We win!

We get any movie we want.

- Mike, you're da bomb, man.

What are you gonna pick?

- Oh, let's see.

Something I like.

Say, the greatest drama of all time.

Pearl, send me Hamlet...

...Branagh, Zeferelli, Olivier, it's your choice.

- [WHISPERING] ... Hamlet...

[indistinct] ... German...

[indistinct] ... bratwurst...

- [GIGGLING] Perfect.

You win. Fine.

You get Hamlet.

Oh, boy do you get Hamlet!

A dark, dreary dubbed version

made in 1960 for German television.


God am I good!

- Girlie, you are the best.

- Send it up, Cream Cheese and choke it down, schnitzel box.


- We won. Follow the...


uh... we...

- Put it away, honey. Come on.

- Time for starchy, pork-filled German Hamlet.

[BUZZING] - Movie sign!


MIKE: Ooh, look at that.

Umlaut shoobee doobee daa hmm hmm

SERVO: If there's a Reich Furher, I'm leaving.

CROW: That means this version

is deep-fried and served with spaetzle.


MIKE: San Quentin Prison presents Shakespeare.

SERVO: God! There's going to be railing kills.

Hee hee hee hee!


CROW: Why am I not getting results from my power walks?

MIKE: Is that Hamlet?

CROW: No, that's his friend Riblet.


SERVO: ♪ Brush up your Shakespeare Hmm hmm hmm hmm

- Halt! Who's there?

Stand and unfold yourself.

- Long live the King.

- Bernardo?

- Himself.

MIKE: Wow, good thing he unfolded himself.

He was pretty creased up there.

- 'Tis bitter cold and I'm sick at heart.

- Have you had quiet guard?

- Not a mouse stirring.

CROW: Use my head as a toilet brush.

- Halt, who's there?

MIKE: Unstaple yourself.

- Friend to this ground and liegemen to the Dane.

- Is Horatio there?

- A piece of him.

SERVO: I have his pancreas in my pocket.

Hey, any Danish left?

Heh heh heh.

MIKE: So, uh, how's the play going?

- What?

CROW: I didn't say anything.

- Has this thing appeared again tonight?

- I have seen nothing.

- Horatio says 'tis but our fantasy,

and will not let belief take hold of him

touching this dreaded sight, twice seen of us.

- Tush, tush, 'twill not appear.

- Last night of all, Francisco and myself,

the bell then beating one.

SERVO: You're getting a ticket!

- In the same figure, like the King that's dead.

MIKE: And, uh, get your head off my head.

- It would be spoke to.

- Horatio, speak to it.

SERVO: His royal majesty, Rip Taylor!

- What art thou...

CROW: Moe, Larry, and Horatio.

- ...that usurps this time of night...

MIKE: Oh, it's probably Bob

usurping this time of night.

- ...together with that fair and warlike form

in which the majesty of buried Denmark did sometimes march?

SERVO: Woob woob woob woob woob!

- Stay!


I charge thee, speak!

I'll cross it though it blast me.

- Stay, illusion!

CROW: Ladies and gentlemen, Patti LaBelle!

- If thou hast any sound or use of voice, speak to me.

If there be any good thing to be done that may to thee

do ease and grace to me, speak to me.

MIKE: I don't think so, breeder.

SERVO: Hell?

- Stop it, Francisco!

CROW: He's headed for the Ladies' Room!

- 'Tis here!


- 'Tis here!

MIKE: Let us to brunch.

- 'Tis gone.

CROW: Cute, though.

SERVO: What?

- How now, Horatio?

Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.

MIKE: Yeah, I didn't have

any clean pantaloons or hose this morning.

- Break we our watch up,

and by my advice let us impart

what we have seen tonight unto young Hamlet,

for upon my life,

this spirit, dumb to us, will speak to him.


CROW: ♪ Night fever night fever We know how to do it... ♪


CROW: To be or... SERVO: No, no! Not yet.

CROW: Oh, sorry.


MIKE: Hey, how ya doing, Debbie?

CROW: When Danish flirting falls flat.

SERVO: Your loss, babe.


SERVO: So? I don't even care.

MIKE: Oh! Someone dropped a sardine.


CROW: Censors were shocked

by the blatant carnality in this film.


SERVO: Her card tricks really aren't that impressive

with sleeves like that now.

MIKE: Wow.

- Though yet of Hamlet our dear brother's death

the memory be green, and that it us befitted

to bear our hearts in grief and our whole kingdom,

yet so far hath discretion fought with nature

that we with wisest sorrow think on him,

together with remembrance of ourselves.

MIKE: That's enough, Claude.

- Therefore, our sometime sister...

SERVO: Oh, baby!

- our queen...

SERVO: Juicy got me crazy!

- ...have we, as 'twere, with a defeated joy -

with an auspicious and a drooping eye,

with mirth in funeral and with dirge in marriage

in equal scale weighing delight and dole -

taken to wife.

CROW: Gertrude's hair by Bozo.

- Nor have we herein barred your better wisdoms,

which have freely gone with this affair along.

For all, our thanks.

MIKE: Try the Vienna sausages.

CROW: Stepdad, will you help me

with my science fair project?

- And now, Laertes, what's the news with you?

You told us of some suit.

What is it, Laertes?

What wouldst thou beg that shall not be my offer,

not thy asking?

What wouldst thou have, Laertes?

SERVO: Let me check with my lawyer.

- My lord, your leave and favor to return to France,

from whence, though willingly,

I came to Denmark to show my duty in your coronation,

yet now I must confess, that duty done,

my thoughts and wishes bend again towards France

and bow them to your gracious leave and pardon.

- Have you your father's leave?

What says Polonius?

- I do beseech you, give him leave to go.

SERVO: Huh! How do you even rule this clown?

- Laertes, time be thine.

Take thy fair hour and spend it at they will.

MIKE: Tsk! Ring-licker.

SERVO: Tonight I'm gonna unleash the great Dane!

Heh heh.

- But now, my cousin Hamlet, and my son...

MIKE: You're not my real dad.

- A little more than kin, and less than kind.

CROW: [GASPS] That's from Hamlet, isn't it?


- Hamlet, how is it

that the clouds still hang on you?

- Not so, my lord.

I am too much in the sun.


MIKE: Honey, can you get mommy a fresh margarita?

CROW: Face it, son.

I'm gonna rock your uncle's world.

- Let not thy mother lose her prayers, Hamlet.

MIKE: Trollope. I mean, what?

- I pray thee, stay with us.

Go not to Wittenberg.

SERVO: There's plenty of good state schools here.

- I shall in all my best obey you, madam.

- Good.

'Tis a loving and a fair reply.

MIKE: Now go mow the lawn.

- Be as ourself in Denmark.

CROW: Eww, your breath smells like Havarti.

- Come, madam.

SERVO: We'll be on the throne.


CROW: Okay, closing time, people.

Back door out.

- Oh, that this too, too solid flesh would melt,

thaw, and resolve itself into a dew,

or that the Everlasting had not fixed his cannon

'gainst self-slaughter.

Oh, God!

How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable

seem to me all the uses of the world.


'Tis an unweeded garden.

Things rank and gross possess it merely.

That it should come to this!

But two months dead.

Nay, not so much; not two.

SERVO: Wait. Is it Saturday today?

- So excellent a king,

that was to this Hyperion to a satyr,

so loving to my mother that he might not

beteem the winds of heaven visit her face too roughly,

and yet within a month...

MIKE: I don't know.

Maybe it's just me.

- Frailty, thy name is woman.

CROW: I thought Frailty's name was Carl.

- A little month...

SERVO: Oh! Didn't see the post there.

- ...or ere those shoes were old with which

she followed my poor father's body,

like Niobe, all tears.

Why she - Oh, god!

A beast that wants discourse of reason

would have mourned longer.

Within a month,

ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears

had left the flushing in her galled eyes, she married.

CROW: Plus, she's marrying Uncle Creepy.

- Oh, wicked speed to post with such dexterity

to incestuous sheets!

It is not nor it cannot come to good.

MIKE: Well, I'd better go get

that Fieldcrest blanket they registered for.

- But break, my heart, for I must hold my tongue.

- Hail to your lordship.

- Good evening, sir.

CROW: You can brood here. I'm done.

- Horatio!

- Horatio!

CROW: How's it hanging, you son-of-a...?


- My good friend, what make you here from Wittenberg?

- A truant disposition, good my lord.

- I would not hear your enemy say so.

I know you are no truant.

But what is your affair in Elsinore?

We'll teach you to drink deep ere you depart.

- I came to see your father's funeral.

- I pray thee, do not mock me, fellow-student.

I think it was to see my mother's wedding.

- Indeed, my lord, it followed hard upon.

MIKE: So, it worked out all right.

- Thrift, Horatio!


The funeral baked meats did coldly furnish forth

the marriage tables.

Would I had met my dearest foe in heaven

or ever I had seen that day, Horatio.

My father!

- He was a goodly king.

SERVO: I mean, he tried.

- He was a man.

Take him for all in all,

I shall not look upon his like again.

CROW: Why were you lookin' at his like?

- My lord...

I think I saw him yesternight.

- Saw who?

- My lord, the king, your father.

- The king, my...

for God's love, let me hear!

- And these few precepts in thy memory

give thy thoughts no tongue.

SERVO: Oh, he's memorizing Tim Allen's book.

- Give thy thoughts no tongue

nor any unproportioned thought his act.

MIKE: Hi, Pops! CROW: It's a swell day!

- Yet here, Laertes?

SERVO: Observe my lice.

- A double blessing is a double grace.

- Aboard, aboard!

The wind sits in the shoulder of your sail

and you are stayed for.

MIKE: Dad likes me better.

- Now these few precepts in thy memory:

give thy thoughts no tongue

nor any unproportioned thought his act.

CROW: Wow. This place could use a shrub or, hell,

even a stick would cheer it up.

MIKE: Hey, come on, man.

We've seen, like, eight ghosts.

None of them have been even close to my dad.

- What hour now?

SERVO: Time for you to buy a watch.

- I think it lacks of twelve.

- No, it is struck. - Indeed?

CROW: The great "what time is it" argument from Hamlet.

- Then it draws near the season wherein

the spirit held his wont to walk.

SERVO: You got that right, buddy.


MIKE: Trick or treat for nipples.


- What does this mean, my lord?

SERVO: And now, My Little Margie.

- The king...

CROW: The big number one.

- ...doth wake tonight, takes his rouse, keeps wassail,

and the swaggering upspring reels,

and as he drains his draughts of Rhenish down,

the kettledrum and trumpet thus bray out

the triumph of his pledge.


CROW: Let there be Sunny D for everyone!


MIKE: Oh, they hired the all-fanfare DJ.

CROW: Hooray! Garrison Keillor's leaving Denmark!

ALL: Yay!

SERVO: Hee hee! I got a stick.

Hee hee!

- My lord, it comes.

CROW: Scrooge! Oh, wrong story.

MIKE: Meet the Beatles.

- Angels and ministers of grace defend us.

SERVO: Move thine ass.

- It beckons you to go away with it.

- But do not go with it! - No! By no means.

- Why? What would be the fear?

I do not set my life at a pin's fee and for my soul,

what can it do to that,

being a thing immortal as itself?

It waves me forth again.

I'll follow it.

- You shall not go, my lord.

- Hold off your hands.

My fate cries out.

Unhand me, by heaven.

I'll make a ghost of him that lets me.

CROW: Yeah, get him, Ham.

Kick his ass!

SERVO: Go! CROW: Alright!

MIKE: Now, this is an action scene for this movie.

SERVO: Oh, he's doing the

"I was told to report to the Principal's office" walk.

CROW: I'm on my way to a costume party.

I'm going as Rosalind Russell.


- Whither would thou lead me?


I'll go no further.

MIKE: That's not what I hear, Sunshine.

- Speak.


- I am bound to hear.

- So art thou to revenge when thou shalt hear.

- What?

- I am thy father's spirit.

CROW: I've got a bit of the flu.

- But that I am forbid to tell the secrets of my prison-house,

I could a tale unfold whose lightest word

would harrow up thy soul.

But this eternal blazon must not be

to ears of flesh and blood.

MIKE: Camera two! Cut to camera two!

- List, list, oh, list!

CROW: Dress for less?

Did I...?

- If thou didst ever thy dear father love...

- Oh, heaven!

- ...revenge his murder.

- Murder!

- Murder most foul.

CROW: He killed a chicken? - Haste me to know it

that I, with wings as swift as meditation

or the thoughts of love,

may sweep to my revenge.

- 'Tis given out that, sleeping in my orchard,

a serpent stung me...

SERVO: Cut to the ghost.

The ghost! Cut to the ghost!

- ...thy father's life now wears his crown.

- Oh, my prophetic soul!

My uncle.

- Aye, that incestuous beast won to his shameful lust

the will of my most seeming-virtuous queen.

CROW: That's what I am.

- Sleeping within my orchard upon my secure hour,

thy uncle stole with juice of cursed hebenon

in a vial and in the porches of my ears...

CROW: To the ghost! - ...poured leprous distilment.

MIKE: Oh, hang on. I'm passin' a stone. Ooh.

- Thus was I, sleeping, by a brother's hand of life...

SERVO: Oh, boy, this "ghost of Mike's father"

gag is too good!

CROW: Yep, no question, a brilliantly conceived,

perfectly executed bit of tomfoolery.

- Hello? SERVO: Aaah! A ghost! Help me!

CROW: Servo, it's just Mike.

SERVO: Oh, okay.


Mark me, for I am your father's ghost

come to tell you... - Whoa, wait a minute.

No. Can't be my father.

He's alive and well.

Owns a mail-order burlap store out in Minong, Wisconsin.

SERVO: D'oh! We didn't check on that.

Ugh. Okay, okay, try his Uncle Les.

I'm pretty sure he's dead.

CROW: I'm your Uncle Les, come to...

- Oh, no, no. Retired.

Lives in McAllen, Texas.

You know, Pearl just forwarded

another of his delightful Christmas letters.

SERVO: Cousin Al! Cousin Al!

CROW: Okay. I'm your cousin Al, dead more these two months...

- Oh, no, no. He's alive.

He rebuilds carburetors out of a pole shed

in Sauk Rapids, Minnesota.

Just sent me a price list.

You know, you can get a pretty good deal...

- Any leads there, other part of the ghost?

SERVO: Uh, uh, uh... okay, okay, okay.

Brother-in-law's ex-wife Wanda?

CROW: Okay. I am your brother-in-laws...

- Oh, no. Not Wanda.

She works a pit crew up to Brainerd.

She can hurl a tire 35 feet without even breathing hard.

CROW: [SIGHS] Don't your relatives ever die?

It's over. Hit it, Cousin Wanda.

SERVO: First try his brother Ron's

karate teacher Herb Dowdy.

CROW: Put a sock in it. SERVO: No! Let me go. Watch it!

CROW: You cut it out. SERVO: Ow! Ow!

- We'll be right back.



MIKE: It's supposed to be a duck.

CROW: I love life.

Oh, yeah, that was hilarious.

Any way.

MIKE: She stitched her hand to her knee.

CROW: [GROWLING] Mmm, friend, huh.

SERVO: Oh, I stuck a fork in the outlet.

MIKE: How 'bout some spiral-cut Hamlet?

CROW: Get thee to a bakery.

No wait... - [GASPS]


He's doing a Danish mind meld.

CROW: Don't look. It's your Christmas present.

MIKE: Oh, man! Me and Horatio

got blasted on Aquavit,

woke up on the express bus to Copenhagen.


SERVO: What is it, boy?

Uncle killed dad?


MIKE: Well, I'm gonna take off, I guess.

So, okay then.

CROW: Dad! Hamlet's looking at me.

- How now, Ophelia! What's the matter?

- I have been so affrighted.

- With what, in the name of God?

SERVO: Your hair.

- As I was sewing in my closet, my lord, Hamlet...

MIKE: She was sewing in her closet?

- ...with his doublet all unbraced, pale as his shirt,

his knees knocking each other,

and with a look so piteous in purport,

he comes before me.

CROW: No one likes a tattletale, Ophelia.

- Mad for thy love?

- My lord, I do not know, but truly I do fear it.

SERVO: I'm gonna get my hair re-lumped.

CROW: Honey, what happened to all the ear poison?

MIKE: Boom!

SERVO: Yeah.

CROW: What is it, Cold Water on the Groin...

I mean, Polonius?

- My lord, I do think that I have found the very cause

of Hamlet's lunacy.

MIKE: He's insane.

- Oh, speak of that.

That do I long to hear.

Thou still has been the father of good news.

- Have I, my lord?

I assure my good liege.

I hold my duty as I hold my soul

both to my God and to my gracious king.

SERVO: I know nothing.

- He tells me, my dear Gertrude, he hath found

the source of all your son's distemper.

- I doubt it is no other but the main:

his father's death and our o'er hasty marriage.

MIKE: Hi! - My liege and madam,

your noble son is mad.

Mad call I it for to define true madness what is't

but to be nothing else but mad.

- More matter with less art.

- Madam, I use no art at all.

That he is mad 'tis true.

'Tis true, 'tis pity, and pity 'tis 'tis true.

Thus it remains...

CROW: They had huge balance beams back then.

Look at that.

MIKE: Ah, she's logging names into her Palm Pilot.

SERVO: Honey, check this out.

'Ah, so. I Japanese.'

Huh! Sorry.

CROW: Please pray for me while I shower.

SERVO: What the Shroud of Turin sees.

CROW: The nuns sent me home.

My skirt is too short.

- Nymph, in thy orisons be all my sins remembered.

MIKE: Whoo!

The "orison" line sucked the air out of the room.


- My prince...

SERVO: ...are back from Photo Mat.

- How does your honor for this many a day?

CROW: I don't know.

Okay, I guess.

- I humbly thank you. Well.

MIKE: But could you please return my pants?

- My prince...

SERVO: ...didn't come out that well.

MIKE: Ooh, the bench smells funny.

- ...I have remembrances of yours

that I have longed long to re-deliver.

I pray you now receive them.

- Not I. I never gave you aught.

CROW: Tcha!

- My honored prince, you know right well you did...

SERVO: Right well did not.

- words of so sweet breath composed

as made the things more rich, their perfume lost.

Take these again, for to the noble mind

rich gifts wax poor when givers prove unkind.

There my lord.

MIKE: Okay, fine.

I'll throw them away.

- Are you honest? CROW: Yes. No. I lied!

- Are you honest?

- My lord?

- Are you fair?

- What means your lordship?

- That if you be honest and fair,

your honesty should admit no discourse to your beauty.

- Could beauty have better commerce,

my prince, than with honesty?

- Aye, truly...

CROW: Yeah, you know, what you said.

- ...for the power of beauty will sooner transform honesty

from what it is to a bawd

than the force of honesty can translate beauty

into his likeness.

This was sometime a paradox,

but now the time gives it proof.

MIKE: Huh? What do you think of them apples?


- I did love you once.

- Aye, my prince.

You made me believe so.

- You should not have believed me.

I loved you not.

MIKE: Well, I always thought you were gay.

- I was the more deceived.

- Get thee to a nunnery.

Why wouldst thou be a breeder of sinners?

CROW: Be a breeder of schnauzers.

- I am myself indifferent honest,

but yet I could accuse me of such things

that it were better my mother had not borne me.

I am very proud, revengeful, ambitious.

SERVO: Ooh, he's Republican.

- We are errant knaves, all.

Believe none of us.

MIKE: Can you set me up with Horatio?

CROW: Heh! I shut her down, man.

- [WHISPERING] Where's your father?

SERVO: [WHISPERING] Bastard owes me ten kronors.

- At home, my lord.

CROW: Ophelia, Sam Wainwright's on the phone!

- Let the doors be shut upon him

that he may play the fool nowhere but in his own house!


MIKE: Whoa. Jackson Browne-let.


CROW: Thank you, but I don't need CPR.

Thank you.


- If thou dost marry,

I'll give thee this plague for thy dowry:

be thou as chaste as ice, as pure as snow,

thou shall not escape calumny.

Get thee to a nunnery.

Go! Farewell!

SERVO: You're doing fine, honey!

He's all yours. You got him.


- Or if thou wilt needs marry, marry a fool

for wise men know well enough what monsters you make of them.

To a nunnery go. Farewell!

MIKE: Gah! Just gets my tights in a bundle.

- Oh, heavenly powers restore him!

- I've heard of your paintings too, well enough.

God has given you one face

and you make yourselves another.

You jig, you amble, and you lisp,

you nickname God's creatures...

and make your wantonness your ignorance.

Go to, I'll no more on't.

It hath made me mad.

That hath made me mad!

CROW: I'm not here!

- I say we will have no more marriages.

Those that are married,

all - all but one - shall long live.

The rest shall keep as they are.

CROW: I am back. You miss me?

- To a nunnery go.

MIKE: Well, actually, I may go to grad school.


Oh, what a noble mind is here o'er thrown.

The courtier's, soldier's, scholar's eye,

tongue, sword, expectancy and rose of the fair state!

Glass of fashion and the mould of form all down.

Oh, woe!

MIKE: Whoa!

- Woe is me to have seen what I have seen,

see what I-- what I see.


SERVO: Thank you for cooperating

with the Copenhagen police.

You can take off the wire now.

- How now, Ophelia?

You did not tell us what Lord Hamlet said.

We heard it all.

- He's far gone.

Far gone.

And truly in my youth I suffered much extremity

for love very near this.

- Love? CROW: Here? Now?

- No, his affections do not that way tend,

nor what he speak,

though it lacked form a little, was not like madness.

- I'll speak to him.

MIKE: I'm just gonna run to the pop machine first.


SERVO: Rap artist Notorious K-I-N-G.


CROW: Hi, I'm an Oliver Reed stand-in.

- Woe is me...

SERVO: Woe is me!

- have seen what I have seen...

MIKE: Mary Pickford as Ophelia.

- ...see what I see.

CROW: Stupid, stupid Hamlet!

What was I thinking?

SERVO: Hey, Kilroy!

- To be or not to be?

MIKE: The verbal equivalent of

Dun dun dun daaa

- That is the question.

CROW: I'll take "To Be" for fifty, Alex.

- Whether 'tis nobler in the mind

to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune...

SERVO: Starring Shelley Long and Bette Middler.

- ...or to take arms against a sea of troubles,

and by opposing, end them.

MIKE: Ow! My shin's right on the edge of a stair.

Oh! - To die...

to sleep.

CROW: Yeah, that's what we're doin' right now, bub.

- No more...

and by a sleep to say we end the heartache

and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to...

MIKE: Okay, we need a predicate now.

- ...'tis a consummation devoutly to be wished.

CROW: Especially with Ophelia, man!


- To die...

to sleep...

SERVO: To sleeeep! MIKE: Whoa!

CROW: That's an old chestnut.

- sleep...



- ...a chance to dream.

CROW: ...the impossible dream!

- Aye, there's the rub!

MIKE: I knew I had some rub left.

- For in that sleep of death, what dreams may come

when we have shuffled off this mortal coil

must give us pause.

There's the respect that makes calamity of so long life,

for who would bear the whips and scorns of time,

the oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,

the pangs of despised love,

the law's delay, the insolence of office,

and the spurns that patient merit of the unworthy takes

when he himself might his quietus make with a bare bodkin?

CROW: [CHUCKLING] He said bare bodkin!


- Who would fardels bear...

MIKE: Fardels!

- grunt and sweat under a weary life

but that the dread of something after death,

the undiscovered country from whose bourn

no traveler returns puzzles the will

and makes us rather bear those ills we have

than fly to others...

SERVO: Sum up!

- ...that we know not of?

Thus conscience does make cowards of us all,

and thus the native hue of resolution

is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,

and enterprises of great pith and moment

with this regard their currents turn awry

and lose the name of action.

MIKE: So, I'm a chicken for not stabbing myself.

That's all you needed to say!

SERVO: D'oh! CROW: Oh!

MIKE: Whoa!

SERVO: What's worse than clowns?

Danish clowns.

CROW: Danish clowns, the damp, smelly,

silverfish-infested basement of the clown world.


MIKE: Okay, out. Out! Out!

All of you, get out. You, get out! Out!


SERVO: It's a herd of Hamlets!

CROW: We can't get rid of them. It's hopeless.

SERVO: It's Hamlet Man!

CROW: Daa daa daa daaaa!

- Welcome, masters.

Welcome all.

CROW: Except you, condom-hat there.


- I am glad to see you well.

Welcome good friends.

SERVO: Nice to see the Hostess Sno Balls.

- Old friend, thy face is valanced

since I saw thee last.


- What, my young lady!

Your ladyship...

MIKE: How's lesbianism going?

- nearer to heaven by the altitude of a chopine

than when I saw you last.

Pray God, your voice like a piece of uncurrent gold

be not cracked within the ring.

- I hope not so, my lord.

- Welcome all.

We'll e'en to it like French falconers,

fly at anything we see.

We'll have a speech straight.

Come, give us a taste of your quality.

CROW: I said 'quality' not 'idiocy.'


- Well?

A passionate speech.

SERVO: Come here. We gotta talk.

- Can you play The Murder of Gonzago?

- Aye, my lord.

- We'll have that tomorrow night.

You could, for a need...

CROW: Lose the clowns.

- a speech of some dozen or 16 lines,

which I would set down and insert in it.

Could you not? CROW: Hey! Hey! Hey!

- Aye, my lord. - Very well.

MIKE: Yeah, and I want Elizabeth Berkeley

to play the lead, okay?


- That's an excellent idea.

- Well, thank you. - Hey, where have you guys been?

I haven't seen you around at all.

- Oh, sorry Mike.

We've been in the middle of rehearsals

for our own version of Hamlet.

It's gonna be sort of a modern abstract interpretation

sort of thing, you know.

- Oh, so kind of like the works

of Richard Schechner or Heiner Muller

or, well, countless college troupes.

- Oh, yeah. It's a timeless drama, Mike.

Everyone should take a shot at it.

- Yeah, there's just so many ways

to render the play, Mike.

- We even got as far as

story boarding a few ideas.

- Now, Mike, help us out there.

Would you get those? - Yeah, sure.

- Now, here's what we came up with

for our scuba diving version.

Pretty powerful stuff, huh?

SERVO: Then we considered a bucket-head Hamlet.

CROW: The buckets, of course,

symbolizing modern man's faceless conformity.

SERVO: Yeah, but it didn't really pan out.

Well, then we were right in the middle of rehearsals

with our all-furniture version.

- Oh, we were having so much fun!

The sofa that was playing Gertrude was a delight!

- Yes, but then our backers

pulled out just days before the opening.

The footstools were pretty upset.

- Well, I think all the furniture was.

- Yeah, they were.

But-- but that brings us

to our percussion version of Hamlet.

The bongos here represent Ophelia.

- And obviously, these maracas are Hamlet.

Now, allow us to perform a part of Act III, Scene 1.

Thank you. - Thank you.





- Oh, excuse me... we got movie sign.

We can pick this up later.

- We're just getting to the murder, Mike.

Hang on.

CROW: Now is the winter of our...

Damn, wrong play.

- About, my brains!

CROW: Upon which I sit. [CHUCKLING]

- I'll have these players

play something like the murder of my father

before mine uncle.

I'll observe his looks, I'll tent him to the quick.

If he but blench, I'll know my course.

MIKE: If he but parboil, well...

- The spirit that I've seen may be a devil

and perhaps out of my weakness and my melancholy

abuses me to damn me.

I'll have grounds more relative than this.

SERVO: He should start journaling.

- The play is the thing...

CROW: A badda badda badda bing.

- ...wherein I'll catch the conscience of the king.

SERVO: A ring-a-ding ding ding ding.

MIKE: Let's see. Boy, girl, boy, girl, me.


CROW: Whoa! The dinner rush is here.

Look lively, people.

MIKE: It's the slow-walking race.

In the front, Lillian and Bob are losing.

SERVO: Listen.

The Hamlets always have a kick-ass party table.

MIKE: Yeah!


CROW: Um, they can see you, Hamlet.

MIKE: Oh, shoot. Frank Rich is out there.

- Come! 'Tis ready.

SERVO: We have a small but spirited house.

- Horatio!

- Here, sweet lord, at your service.

CROW: Good. Go wash my car.

- There's a play tonight before the king.

One scene of it comes near the circumstance

which I've told you of my father's death.

With the very comment of thy soul,

observe mine uncle.

If his occulted guilt do not unkennel in one speech,

it is a damned ghost that we have seen.

SERVO: I suppose there's no chance

there's going to be a jet ski chase

in this movie, is there, Mike?


CROW: Look! Polonius is riding in my sleeve.

MIKE: Ick. Mom's wearing Arpege.

I can smell it from here.

SERVO: And now, live from Elsinore...

CROW: I guess. Heh-heh.


MIKE: Hey, how's everyone doing tonight?

Good to see ya.

Hey! I need a volunteer from the audience.

- Come hither, my dear Hamlet.

Sit by me.

SERVO: Thanks, my hose-bag...

I mean, mom.

- No, good mother.

Here's metal more attractive.

CROW: You are made out of metal, right Ophelia?

MIKE: Did you hear that?

Totally dusted my mom.

- Lady, shall I lie in your lap?

- No, my prince.

- I mean my head in your lap.

- Aye, my prince.

CROW: Okay, now it's just creepy.

Forget it.

- Do you think I meant country matters?

- I think nothing, my prince.

CROW: Shakespeare blue!

- That's a fair thought, to lie between maids' legs.

- What is, my prince?

MIKE: A complete perv.

- Nothing.

- You are merry, my prince.

- Who, I?

- Aye, my prince.

- Oh God! Your only jig-maker.

What should a man do but be merry,

for look you how cheerfully my mother looks,

and my father died within these two hours.

- Nay, 'tis twice two months, my prince.

- So long?

SERVO: Is that 32, Mike?

- Die two months ago and not forgotten yet?

CROW: We totally rule, man!

MIKE: Run DMC Everett Koop!

- For us and for our tragedy,

here stooping to your clemency,

we beg your hearing patiently.

- Is this a prologue or the posy of a ring?

- 'Tis brief, my prince.

- As a woman's love.

SERVO: And now, the tragedy of King Vita Man.

- Full thirty times...

ALL: Boo! You suck!

Off the stage! Boo!

- ...and Tell us' orbed ground,

since love our hearts and Hymen did our hands unite

co-mutual in most sacred bands.

- So many journeys may the sun...

MIKE: Let's sneak out for some cabaret.

CROW: I think so!

- ...but woe is me, you are so sick of late,

so far from cheer and from your former state

that I distrust you.

Yet, though I distrust, discomfort you,

my lord, it nothing must.

...For women's fear and love...


- neither aught or... SERVO: Rock it!

CROW: Take it home now! Do it!

- Faith, I must leave thee, love, and shortly too.

My operant power their functions leave to do

and thou shalt live in this fair world behind...

SERVO: The hell?

MIKE: A production that likes to show

people watching other people.

- Oh, confound the rest!

Such love must needs be treason in my breast.

In second husband let me be accursed.

SERVO: I think it's pretty funny.

- None wed the second but who killed the first.

- That's wormwood.

SERVO: It is not wormwood.

Would you shut up?

- ...marriage move are base respects of thrift,

but none of love,

nor earth to give me food nor heaven light.

Sport and repose lock from me day and night.

MIKE: Man, at least they get to drink at The Globe.

- Hence pursue me lasting strife,

if once a widow ever I be wife.

- If she should... CROW: Shhh!

You'll be unwrapping candies next.

- Sweet, leave me here awhile.

My spirits grow dull and faint

I would beguile the tedious day with sleep.

SERVO: My geometrically perfect

neck boils are hurting.

- ...and never come mischance between us twain.


MIKE: Great! Good droning.


CROW: Entertainment was much easier

back then, Mike.


- Madam, how like you this play?


The lady doth protest too much, methinks.

- Oh? But she'll keep her word.

- Have you heard the argument?

Is there no offence in it?

- No, no. They do but jest, poison in jest,

no offence in the world.

MIKE: Hey, there's gum back here.

- What do you call the play?

- The Mousetrap.



- This play's the image of a murder done in Vienna.

You shall see anon 'tis a knavish piece of work.

But what of that?

Your majesty and we that have free souls,

it touches us not.

Let the galled jade wince, our withers are un wrung.


- This one is Lucianus, nephew to the king.

Begin, murderer!

Leave thy damnable faces and begin.

CROW: Anyway, enjoy the show.

- The croaking raven doth bellow for revenge.

- Thoughts black, hands apt, drugs fit, and time agreeing.

Confederate season, else no creature seeing.


- Thou mixture rank of midnight weeds collected,

with Hecate's ban...

MIKE: Woof! He's eatin' it.

- ...infected.

Thy natural magic and dire property

on wholesome life usurps immediately.

- He poisons him in the garden for his estate.

His name's Gonzago.

The story is extant and written in very choice Italian.

You shall see anon how the murder

gets the love of Gonzago's wife.

SERVO: You get it? Huh? Huh?

You get it? Huh?

- Lights! Lights!

MIKE: Camera! Soliloquy!

- What, frightened with false fire?

CROW: Careful with that,

I have a ton of Final Net in my hair.

MIKE: Can't I pee in peace?

- I like him not...

CROW: I like him. Not!

- ...nor stands it safe with us

to let his madness range...

SERVO: With rich Corinthian leather.

- ...therefore, prepare you.

I you commission will forthwith dispatch...

MIKE: Yeah, but I'm drawing against commission.

- ...and he to England shall along with you.

The terms of our estate may not endure hazards

so near as doth hourly grow out of his brain.

CROW: Now, which one of you is Squiggy?

- Arm you, I pray you, to this speedy voyage.

CROW: Scram! Beat it.

MIKE: They gotta be gay.

- For we will fetters put about

this fear which now goes too free-footed.


- My good lord!

CROW: I'm out of styling mousse.

- He's going to his mother's closet.

Behind the arras I'll convey myself to hear the process.

Fare you well my liege.

Ere you go to bed,

I'll call upon you and tell you what I know.

SERVO: I saw this on Three's Company once.

- Thanks dear my lord.

CROW: Um, he's already gone.

MIKE: To be or not...

Oh, sorry.

CROW: Wrong character.

- Oh, my offence is rank.

SERVO: Yeah, your tunic's rank too. Woof!

- It smells to heaven.

It hath the primal eldest curse upon it...

a brother's murder.

CROW: Somehow, I feel partially responsible.

- Pray, can I not...

though inclination be as sharp as will.

SERVO: Wheaton.

- My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent.

CROW: Huh. I must be Catholic.

- And like a man to double business bound,

I stand in pause

where I should first begin and both neglect.

What if...

CROW: Nah, that'll be like the fifth time today.

- ...if this cursed hand were thicker than itself

with brother's blood?

SERVO: Well, thin it with a little chicken stock.

- Is there not rain enough in the sweet heavens

to wash it white as snow?

CROW: Uh, hey, the clowns need their money.

Can I get a check?

- Oh, what form of prayer can serve my turn...

MIKE: Oh, what fun it is to ride.

- ...forgive me my foul murder?

CROW: It's just, that turkey was mouthing off to me.

- That cannot be,

since I am still possessed of those effects

for which I did the murder:

my crown, my own ambition, and my queen.

SERVO: My Queen albums, I mean.

- May one be pardoned and retain the offence?

- Now might I do it but pat...

CROW: This play's losing me.

Now who's Pat? - He is praying.

And now I'll do it.

SERVO: I'm just going to lightly stab him.


MIKE: Nosferatu!

CROW: Wow! My uncle's got a great ass.

No wonder mom's into him.

SERVO: You know, he's just beating back

a monologue right now.

CROW: Oh yeah.

- And so he goes to heaven, and so am I revenged.

Oh, this is hire and salary, not revenge.

When he is drunk asleep or in his rage

or the incestuous pleasure of his bed,

then trip him that his heels may kick at heaven

and his soul may be as damned and black as hell

whereto it goes.

MIKE: Damn, I'm interesting.

- My mother stays.

This physic but prolongs thy sickly days.

SERVO: That's Sickly Days, downtown Copenhagen.

CROW: I'll come back later,

see if he's drinkin' and whorin'.

Then I'll kill him.

SERVO: ♪ Doo dee dee doo da dum

- Tell him his pranks have been

too broad to bear with

and that your grace has screened

and stood between much heat and him.

SERVO: Hogan!

- I'll silence me in here and shall overhear his speech.

Pray you, be round with him.

- Mother!

MIKE: You used my razor.

- I'll warrant you, fear me not.

Withdraw. He is coming.

SERVO: Fran Allison, Queen of Denmark.

CROW: She's got Maude wear on.

MIKE: Hey! Your occasional chair

just found an occasion.

SERVO: Hmm! Whatdya know!

- Now, mother, what's the matter?

- Hamlet, thou hast thy father much offended.

- Mother, you have my father much offended.

- Come, come. You answer with an idle tongue.

- Go, go. You question with a wicked tongue.

- Why, how now, Hamlet?

- What's the matter now?

SERVO: Don't you sass me or you're grounded.

- Have you forgotten me?

- No, by the rood!

You are the queen,

your husband's brother's wife and -

would it were not so - you are my mother.

- Good.

I'll set those to you that can speak.

- Come! CROW: Let's tango!

- You shall not budge.

You go not 'til I set you up a glass

where you may see the inmost part of you.

- What wilt thou do?

Thou will not murder me.

Help! Help!

- Help! Help!

- How now?

A rat?

MIKE: No! No! Not the Service Master guy!


- Dead! SERVO: Shame.

Dead, for a ducat. Dead!

- What hast thou done?

- Nay, I know not.

Is it the king?

- Oh, what a rash and bloody deed is this!

- Aye, a bloody deed.

Almost as bad, good mother,

as kill a king and marry with his brother.

CROW: Oh, bring that up again.

- As kill a king? - Aye, t'was my word.

MIKE: [indistinct] my son.

SERVO: [CHOKING] Oh, the candied sardines

are repeating on me.

- Thou wretched, rash, intruding fool.

CROW: Oh, right. It's my fault you killed me.

- I took thee for thy better.

Take thy fortune.

MIKE: Well, we need a new Polonius.


SERVO: That was the royal antechamber.

Stay together, people.

There's the throne room.

Oh, and we're in luck.

The king's here.

CROW: Couldst thou walk slower?


- Now, Hamlet...

MIKE: About your report card.

- ...where is Polonius?

- At supper.

- At supper? Where?

- Not where he eats but where he's eaten.

A certain convocation of politic worms are even at him.


SERVO: Ooh, mood swing.

- Your worm is your only emperor for diet.

A man may fish with the worm that hath eat of a king

and eat of the fish that fed of that worm.

- What dost thou mean by this?

- Nothing but to show you how a king

may go a progress through the guts of a beggar.

That is the end.

CROW: That was directed at me, wasn't it?

MIKE: Get the belt.

- Where is Polonius?

SERVO: He came down

with an unexpected case of murder.

- In heaven.

Send thither to see.

If your messenger find him not there,

seek him yourself in the other place.

MIKE: H-E double toothpicks.

- But indeed, if you find him not within this month...

CROW: King Richard Thompson.

- shall nose him

as you go up the stairs into the lobby.

MIKE: ♪ Let's go up to the lobby... ♪

- Go. Seek him there.

- He will stay till you come.

SERVO: Oh! Ice cream headache.


Ow! Ow!


MIKE: He just started his estrogen.

CROW: Hey, come on you wuss.

I didn't cry after I killed your dad.

- Hamlet... SERVO: Yeah?


- For thine special safety which we do tender...

SERVO: Uh huh?

- we dearly grieve for that which thou hast done...


- ...must send thee hence with fiery quickness.

SERVO: Quickness.

- Prepare thyself.

The bark is ready and the wind at help.

The associates tend

and everything is bent for England.

SERVO: Bent for England?


- For England.

- Aye, Hamlet.

- Good.

- So is it if thou knewest our purposes.

- I see a cherub...

CROW: In thy nose.

- ...that sees them.

Come, for England.

SERVO: Oh, I'll need some money.

- Goodnight, dear mother.

- Thy loving father, Hamlet.

- My mother.

Father and mother is man and wife,

man and wife is one flesh,

and so my mother.

MIKE: Ugh, yeah.

Go a lot to England, okay?

- Come! For England.

CROW: Rrawr!


SERVO: Would you just get over there?


MIKE: Those thrones need some Lime-A-Way.

SERVO: Hi, guys. Where's my dad?


MIKE: Hail, Queen Dilbert's Boss.

CROW: What, is he dressing up

for Charlie Sheen?

SERVO: Taa daa!


- Oh, thou vile king!

Give me my father.

MIKE: Oh, my goodness.

- Where are my Switzers?

- Good Laertes! Calmly!

- Let him go.

CROW: Your mother's drunk. Sorry.

- Yet we do not fear our person.

SERVO: Yum! Dane kebabs.

- There is such divinity doth hedge a king

that treason can but peep to what it would

acts little of his will.

Tell me, Laertes, why are thou thus incensed?

Let him go, Gertrude.

Speak, man.

- Where's my father? - Dead.

- But not by him. - Let him demand his fill.

- How came he dead?

I'll not be juggled with.

CROW: I'm not a small sack of beans.

- To hell, allegiance.

Vows to the blackest devil.

I dare damnation.

To this point I stand,

that both the worlds I give to negligence,

let come what comes, only I'll be revenged

most thoroughly for my father.

- Who shall stay you?

SERVO: Don't tell him that, you idiot!

- Good Laertes, if you desire to know

the certainty of your dear father,

is writ in your revenge that swoop stake you will draw

both friend and foe, winner and loser?

- None but his enemies. - Ah!

Now you speak like a good child and a true gentleman.

That I am guiltless of your father's death, Laertes...

MIKE: He's wearing dental x-rays around his neck.

- ...and am most sensible in grief for it.

It shall as level to your judgment pierce

as day does to your eye.

CROW: Okay, Gertrude! Tackle him!

SERVO: New King Claudius with kung fu grip.

MIKE: Whoo! Get the net, huh?

- ♪ They bore him barefaced On the bier

CROW: Oh, no. It's Jewel.

Get her out of here.

- ♪ Hi diddle doo

SERVO: ♪ I've got a brand new pair Of roller skates

- ♪ And in his grave Rained many a tear

MIKE: She's totin' around a big bok choy.

- ♪ Fare you well my dove


CROW: She's trying to Section 8 her way out of the movie.


- By heaven!

Thy madness shall be paid by weight.

SERVO: So, about 110 pounds of madness?

- Beloved sister...

MIKE: He looks like a cheerleader

for a Southern football team.

- ...hadst thou thy wits and didst persuade revenge

it could not move thus.

- There's rosemary.

SERVO: And Maury Amsterdam.

- That's for remembrance.

Pray you, my love, remember.

And there's pansies.

That's for thoughts.

CROW: Try to get one. Ha ha!

People love my wheat act.


SERVO: Huh? Oh, yeah,

you're gluten intolerant.


- There's fennel for you and columbines.

We may call it herb-o-grace on Sundays.

There's rue for you and some for me.

MIKE: No, really, I ate before I came.

- Oh, you must wear your rue with a difference.



- I would give you some violets,

but they withered all when my father died.

They say he made a good end.

And will he not come again?

MIKE: Uh-huh. Hey, what do you have in a rye?

- And will he not come again?

SERVO: So, you didn't take your Zoloft, huh?

[CHUCKLING] He is gone.

He is gone and we cast away moan.

God have mercy on his soul and of all Christian souls,

I pray God.

God be with you.


- Do you see this?

Oh God.

MIKE: I'm going over to Lady MacBeth's.

- Laertes, I must commune with your grief...

SERVO: Would you stop rubbing my nipples?

- ...or you deny me right.

Make choice from your wisest friends you will

and they shall judge twixt you and me...

CROW: Don't get a boner.

- ...and where the offence is, let the great axe fall.

MIKE: So we're going to chop wood.

Do you have to be so dramatic?

- There's a letter for you, sir.

It came from the ambassador that was bound for England.

MIKE: Um, there's postage due.

SERVO: Ophelia invoiced me for the wheat!

- 'Ere we were two days old at sea,

a pirate of very warlike appointment

gave us chase.

Finding ourselves too slow of sail,

we put on compelled valor and in the grapple

I boarded them on the instant they got clear of our ship

so I alone became their prisoner.

CROW: Hamlet faxed me a soliloquy.

- They have dealt with my like thieves of mercy,

but they knew what they did.

Let the king have the letters I have sent

and repair thou to me as quickly as thou wouldst fly death.

These good fellows...

MIKE: Hmm, I don't know about that.

- ...will bring thee where I am.

I have words to speak in thine ear

will make thee dumb. Farewell.

He that thou knowest thine, Hamlet.

SERVO: I could crap a better letter than this.


MIKE: Oh, man! I just played handball.


CROW: My contacts are fine.

- Laertes...

your sister is drowned.

- Drowned, you say?


SERVO: Well, she jumped in a lake

trying to save some wheat.

- There is a willow grows aslant a brook

that shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream.

There did she come with fantastic garlands...

MIKE: So, the creek?

MIKE: Hey! Hey, do I rock the Slurpee machine

when you're trying to work?

- How long will a man lie in the earth ere he rot?

- Sir, if he be not rotten before he die,

he will last you some eight or nine year.

SERVO: Bleh bleh bleh bleh bleh...

- A tanner will last you nine year.

- Why he more than another?

- Why sir, his hide is so tanned with his trade

that he will keep out water a great while...

...and your water is a sore decayer

of your whoreson dead body.

Here's a skull...

CROW: Not a bad skull. Good starter skull.

- has lain in the earth three and twenty years.

SERVO: Bleh bleh bleh...

- Whose was it?

- A pestilence on him for a mad rogue!

CROW: Why I oughtta...!

- Poured a flagon of Rhenish on my head once.


- This same skull, sir, was Sir Yorick's skull,

the king's jester.

- This?

MIKE: I just saw him at the Chuckle Hut.

- Aye, aye.

E'en that.

- Let me see.

CROW: Mmm! Nice zygomatic arch.

SERVO: I remember him

in his big, pointy shoes, stupid hat.

He had the worst act, I swear.

- Alas, poor Yorick.

MIKE: Hey, I did alright for myself.

- I knew him, Horatio.

CROW: I sat next to him in Trig.

- A fellow of infinite jest...

...of most excellent fancy.

He hath borne me on his back a thousand times.

SERVO: 'Course I bored him a lot too.

Heh heh.

- And now how abhorred in my imagination it is.

MIKE: Wait.

This isn't Yorick, this is George Gobel.

- Here hung those lips that I have kissed

I know not how oft.

CROW: You're a little cutie pie skull,

aren't you, with your button nose?

You little cutie skull.

- Where be your jibes now?

You gamboled...

SERVO: So they banned you from jesting.

- Your songs?

Your flashes of merriment

that were wont to set the table on a roar?

Not one now to mock your own grinning.

MIKE: Well, there was that one mouth that mocked it.

- Quite chap fallen.

Now get you to my lady's chamber

and tell her let her paint an inch thick,

to this favor she must come.


Make her laugh at that.

CROW: Uh, please speak up.

My tympanic membrane rotted away some years ago.

- Horatio, tell me one thing.

Dost thou think Alexander

looked 'o this fashion in the earth?

SERVO: I don't know, man.

Let's go to the tavern.

- E'en so.

- And smelled so?

MIKE: Always did too. Huh!

- E'en so.

CROW: Ah, forget it. I never knew him.

I made it all up.

- To what base uses we return, Horatio.

SERVO: My god, that's not dirt!

- Why may not imagination

trace the noble dust of Alexander

'til he find it stopping a bung-hole?

MIKE: Dude! CROW: Right.

- 'Twere to consider too curiously to consider so.

- No. No.

Alexander died, Alexander was buried,

Alexander returneth to dust,

dust is earth, of earth we make loam...

SERVO: Tch! Yeah.

- ...and why of that loam, whereto he was converted,

might they not stop a beer barrel?


CROW: It's the ice cream man!

SERVO: Here comes my cow.

I gotta go.


- Hello and welcome to "Alas Poor Who?"

Now as you know,

last week our reigning champion, Mister Tom Servo,

won the fortnight's supply of mutton

and he's back this week to face another challenger.


- Thanks, Mike. Thanks, everyone.

- Tom, remind the folks at home what you do again.

- Mike, I am a small robot who lives with you.

- Robot who lives with me. That's interesting.

Okay, and your challenger, Crow T. Robot.

How are you, sir?

- Ah, feelin' good, Mike. Thanks.

- Mmm-hmm, and what do you do, sir?

- I am also a small robot who lives with you.

- Wow. Seems to be a popular job these days.



- Let's get down to action.

Okay, for you folks at home, the object of the game

is to visually identify a person

by some part of his or her skeletal system,

and Servo, you'll be starting with this lovely femur.

Okay, you have ten seconds. Go.

- Let's see. Alas, poor Larry Hagman?

Oh, no, no. Alas, poor Katherine Graham.

No. Alas, poor... oh, shoot.

Oh, I got it! Alas, poor Biz Markie.


- Exactly! Biz Markie!


This is his femur.

Surprisingly delicate, isn't it?

[ALL LAUGHING] Alright, well played.

Now, Crow, you ready to give it a whirl?

- Oh, I sure am, Mike.

- Okay, then.

Here's a clavicle.

Whose is it?

- Wow. I wanna say Tim Conway, but no,

more like Doctor Dean Ornish.

Uh, Germaine Greer, Peter Cetera.

Geez. No, no!

I'm gonna go with Nancy Allen, Mike.

- Please state it in "Alas Poor" form.

- Oh, yeah. Alas, poor Nancy Allen.

- Is right!

[DINGING] - Yeah!

- That's a fine clavicle she has there.

Must have drank lots of milk.


- Okay, it's all tied up.

Servo, who belongs to this ileum?

- Oh, that's easy, Mike.

Alas, poor Alaska Senator Ted Stevens.

Oh, oh, wait, no!

I'm sorry. Alas, poor Roland Gift.

Yeah, yeah.

I'm gonna go with "Alas, poor Roland Gift."

[BUZZING] - Ooh. No, I'm sorry.

Alas, poor Alaska Senator Ted Stevens.

- Oh, darn.

[CHUCKLING] - Close though.

Okay, Crow, now you could win with this one so...

watch carefully.

Whose are these series of metatarsal bones?

- Ooh! Ooh! I know this one.

Easy. Ralph Waite.

- They are indeed the metatarsals of Ralph Waite...

- Yay!

- ...but, alas, incorrect form for the second time...

[BUZZING] you don't get the points

and so nobody wins and you both lose...

...and that's all the time we have. Ha ha!


We'll be back next week with another edition

of "Alas, Poor Who?"


- Uh, Mike we won't really be back

next week, will we?

- Not unless I get a codpiece.




MIKE: Ah! Saint Olaf's Day parade is pretty dour this year.

SERVO: Hey, kid, you wanna speed it up?

We got three of these today.

MIKE: Ugh, I can barely keep my head cake on.

- What ceremony else?

CROW: Shut up.

- Her obsequies have been as far enlarged

as we have warranty.

Her death was doubtful.

SERVO: Well, shouldn't we check then?

- Must there no more be done?

- No more.

MIKE: Gee, your tunic smells terrific.

SERVO: Ah! With the legs.

We do not have time to take a Beefeater to the hospital.


CROW: Oh, man! I was invited to this.

I forgot.

- Farewell.

MIKE: Wow.

That's really an all-purpose dress.

- I hoped thou shouldst have been my Hamlet's wife.


- I thought thy bride-bed to have decked, sweet maid...


- ...and not have strewed thy grave.

- Ophelia!

CROW: I wonder what her skull is like.

- Hold off the earth awhile.

SERVO: Stop the world.

I wanna get off.

Even in death, he just goes in her room.

- Now pile your dust upon the quick and dead

'til of this flat a mountain you have made

to o'er top old Pelion...


- ...or the skyish head of blue Olympus.

- What is he whose grief bears such an emphasis,

whose phrase of sorrow conjures the wandering stars

and makes them stand like wonder-wounded hearers?

It is I, Hamlet, the Dane.

The devil take thy soul.

I pray thee, take thy fingers from my throat.

Hold off thy hand, I say.

- Pluck them asunder.

- Good my lord, be quiet.

SERVO: This must be an Irish funeral.

They're both drunk and fighting.

- Why, I will fight with him upon this theme

until my eyelids will no longer wag.

I loved Ophelia!

MIKE: We went steady!

- Forty thousand brothers could not,

with all their quantity of love, make up my sum.

MIKE: Fifty thousand, maybe.

- What wilt thou do for her?

'Wounds, show me what thou'llt do.

CROW: Boomp, boomp.

SERVO: I'm trying to be dead in here.

- Would weep? Would fight?

Would fast? Would tear thyself?

Would drink up eisel or eat a crocodile?

I'll do it. Dost thou come here to whine,

to outface me with leaping in her grave?

MIKE: He's getting German-er.

- Be buried quick with her and so will I

and thou'lt mouth I'll rant as well as thou.

- This is mere madness.

Oh, my son!

CROW: Loser-tes!

SERVO: Crap-let! - Hear you, sir.

What is the reason that you use me thus?

I loved you ever...

MIKE: Okay, was it her or me?

- ...but it is no matter.

The cat will mew and dog will have his day.

CROW: Pomeranian Day,

Dachshund Day, Lhasa Apso Day.

SERVO: Wait, wait! I'm supposed to be in front of you.

Hold up.

MIKE: Hey, Laertes, lean on a headstone.

It's fun.

- Will you be ruled by me?

CROW: Well, I've got an attractive offer

from the king of Flanders.

- Aye, my lord, so you will not overrule me to a peace.

- To thine own peace.

SERVO: Hey, listen.

I've got some Cuban cigars, man.

- I will work him to an exploit

under the which he shall not choose but fall

and for his death no wind of blame

shall breathe but even his mother shall

uncharged the practice and call it accident.

- My lord, I will be ruled.

CROW: Wide rule or college rule?

- The rather if you could devise it so

that I might be the organ.

- It falls right.


- What would you undertake to show yourself

in deed more your father's son than in words?

- To cut his throat in the church.

MIKE: Now, see, that's a little over the top.

- No place indeed, should murder sanctuarize.

Revenge should have no bounds.

But good Laertes,

we'll put on those shall praise your excellence...

SERVO: What about my church idea?

- ...and set a double varnish on the fame,

bring you in fine together and wager on your heads.

He, being free from all contriving,

will not peruse the foils

so that with ease or with a little shuffling

you may choose a sword un bated

and in a pass of practice

requite him for your father.

- I will do it.

CROW: I'll cut his throat in a church.

- And for that purpose, I'll anoint my sword.

MIKE: Well, that's up to you.

- I bought an unction of a mountebank.


- I'll touch the point with this contagion...

...that, if... SERVO: Yes!

- ...I gall him slightly...

SERVO: I'm getting it! Yes, yes.

Go on! - may be death.

CROW: And cut his throat in a church.

SERVO: No! Grr. Tch!

- If this should fail...

MIKE: We're boned, man.

- I have it!

CROW: Cut his throat in a church!

- When in your motion you are hot and dry

as make your bouts more violent

to that end and that he calls for drink,

I'll have prepared for him a chalice for the nonce,

whereon but sipping,

if he by chance escape your venomed stuck...


- ...our purpose may hold there.

SERVO: Um, there's a phone call.

MIKE: Cut his throat in a church.

I oughtta smack him.

CROW: Would you just get over here?



MIKE: Group lice check.

CROW: Hey, band's got a new song.

I like this song.

MIKE: Yeah.

CROW: Yeah!

SERVO: I haven't gotten my tax agenda yet.


This Hamlet thing's been tying me all up.


CROW: Synchronize royal asses

and... yes.

SERVO: We decided to cut his throat in a church.


MIKE: ♪ This is the theme To Hamlet Show! ♪

The Hamlet Show theme! ♪

SERVO: Good luck.

- Come. Hamlet, come.

SERVO: Sit, stay. Good Hamlet.

- Take this hand from me.

CROW: Wipe spit on it, man.


MIKE: Ha ha ha! Face!

- Give me your pardon, sir.

SERVO: What are you, Nixon?

- I've done you wrong, but pardoned as a gentleman.

This presence knows, and you must needs have heard,

how I am punished with a sore distraction.

What I have done I here proclaimed was madness.

Was it Hamlet wronged, Laertes?

No. MIKE: Not even close.

- His madness is poor Hamlet's enemy.

CROW: I hate that "Our House" song, you know.

MIKE: Wow! That was the limpest, wettest handshake ever.

- Give us the foils.

SERVO: We shall some potatoes bake.

CROW: Wow! That's not a widow's peak that guy has,

it's a peninsula.

MIKE: Alright, give me my gun.


SERVO: Ooh, there's a bee! Ooh!

- This is too heavy.

Let me see another.

CROW: Yeah, real smooth.

MIKE: Hamlet's parents in the stand.

Give 'em a hand.

- If Hamlet hits... SERVO: We'll do a sequel.

- ...let all the battlements their ordnance fire.

The king shall drink to Hamlet's better breath...

CROW: Thank you, Corpse-io.

SERVO: Here, sir.

- ...and in the cup an union shall he throw,

richer than that which four successive kings

in Denmark's crown have worn.

MIKE: Here, there's a little schmutz on that.

- ...and let the kettle to the trumpet speak...

SERVO: Mmm hmm.

- ...the trumpet to the cannoneer without,

the cannons to the heavens,

the heavens to earth.

Now the king drinks to Hamlet.

SERVO: Hell, the king drinks to anything.

CROW: Glug, glug.

Ah! I got the worm.

- Come, begin, and you, the judges, bear a wary eye.

MIKE: Our celebrity judges

from the cast of Bay watch.

SERVO: Alright, I'm gonna toss the coin, Laertes.

If you will call?

MIKE: Mmm-hmm.

SERVO: Huh. MIKE: Mmm-hmm.

CROW: Would you just fight?


MIKE: And the round's over.

SERVO: D'oh! Tsk.

SERVO: Laertes immediately bites his ear off.


CROW: Wait, huh? Wait. What?

Catch... watch it.

Hey, hey!

None of that. Wait!


- One? - No.

- Judgment?

- A hit.

A palpable hit.

SERVO: Hmm-hmm!

MIKE: Well, what do you know?

A chance to drink!

[BOOM] ALL: Aaugh!

SERVO: A Finnish scud missile just exploded.


CROW: So, when do they start selling stolen merchandise?

MIKE: That's a different kind of fencing.

CROW: Oh, okay.


SERVO: I am so baked. Ugh.


CROW: There isn't a bad seat in the arena.

You're right on top of the action.

SERVO: Mmm hmm.

- A hit on neither side.

MIKE: Man, I'm Simon Le Bon.

SERVO: Pssh. I suck.

- Stay! SERVO: Hmm?

- Give me drink.

CROW: You, give me drink too.

- Hamlet, this pearl is thine.

MIKE: Sir, you dropped a huge tablet in your cup.

- Here, to thy health.

SERVO: Coming to a sudden end.

- I'll play this bout first.

CROW: But it's cherry-flavored kids' poison.

He should love it.


MIKE: Hello everybody.

Take me out To the sword fight

SERVO: [CHANTING] We want a fencer,

not a belly... fencer...


- Another hit.

What say you?

- A touch, a touch. I do confess it.

MIKE: We are to be married.

CROW: Let me have a go!

I'll fence your ass back to the Stone Age.

- Come, Hamlet.

Let me wipe thy face.

SERVO: I hope the next poison is for me.

- Our son shall win.

MIKE: Ooh, booze. Gimme.

- The queen carouses to thy fortune, Hamlet.

CROW: Whatever!

- Gertrude... not drink!

SERVO: What are you, stupid?

- I will, my lord.

I pray you, pardon me.

MIKE: Ah, the queen's suicide fanfare.

SERVO: ♪ Daa daa daa

Oh, so you didn't get the poison memo, huh?

MIKE: Ah, great.

Well, I'm not looking forward

to the Danish singles' scene again.

- My lord, I'll hit him now.

SERVO: Aw, forget it, Lame-ertes.

MIKE: Boy, I drank a lot of that.

It was really good.

CROW: Look, shut up.

SERVO: Come on. Bring it on, sweetmeat.

Come on.


- Laertes, come! You but dally.

I pray you, pass with your best violence.

I'm afeard you make a wanton of me.

- Say you so?

Come on.

CROW: They're femme-cing.


SERVO: The royal Bactine!

MIKE: That's cool.

CROW: My nipple came off, you jerk!


MIKE: You've got pine tar on yours.

SERVO: Uh, the king told me to.

MIKE: Man, I'm hungry.


CROW: Yeah, see, see I don't trust

a sporting event done in tights and puffy shirts.

MIKE: Yeah.

SERVO: And now my patented spaz move.

- Aiee! CROW: Oh, hi.

- They bleed on both sides.

How is it, my lord?

MIKE: Perhaps my impending baldness can help.

- I'm justly killed with mine own treachery.

CROW: Don't eat the green sardines.


- How does the queen?

SERVO: Oy! They call it DayQuil, but still!

Hoo, boy!

- She swoons to see them bleed.

- No, no.

The drink.

The drink.

MIKE: One last Old Fashioned before I die.

- Oh, my dear Hamlet.

CROW: The hair mold is in the...


- Hamlet! SERVO: Get off your mom.

- Thou art slain.

No medicine in the world can do thee good.

In thee there is not half an hour's life.

The treacherous instrument is in thy hand...

MIKE: You mean, mom?

- ...unbated and envenomed.

Thy mother's poisoned.

I can no more.

The king's to blame.

The king.

CROW: Long blame the king!


- Envenomed.

SERVO: Whoa! Just had that sharpened.

- Then, venom, to thy work.

MIKE: You're under Danish arrest.

CROW: Okay, okay.

Mistakes were made.

SERVO: Uh-huh.

Now the king peels off his skin

and becomes a dinosaur from Mars!

CROW: Yeah!

SERVO: Or, I guess not.

MIKE: Oh, come on, Hammy.


CROW: Gee, the music!

Something's gonna happen.

I can't stand it!

It's really building up to something!


That's it?


- Defend me, friends.

I am but wounded.


- Here, incestuous, murderous, damned Dane.

Drink off this potion.

MIKE: Okay, better make out a will.

I, Claudius...

Ha ha ha!

I always tell that joke when I'm dying.

CROW: Hey, Hamlet.

Why don't you Ram-let?

SERVO: Yeah? Shut up, Claudi-ass!

- Is thy union here?

MIKE: Federation of Kings, Local 12?

- Follow my mother.

CROW: She called for directions.

SERVO: Ooh. Too bad he's poison intolerant.

MIKE: Check out our Pieta impression.

- Exchange forgiveness with me, noble Hamlet.

SERVO: Sure. You got a receipt? Heh heh.

- Mine and my father's death come not upon thee...

CROW: Although, you did stab him and all.

- ...nor thine on me.

SERVO: Oh, let's have coffee next week.

Oh, yeah. We'll be dead.

That's right.

- Heaven make thee free of it.

I follow thee.

MIKE: Hold me, elongated Phil Collins.


SERVO: He died with a booger on his forehead.

MIKE: You gonna be needing a second,

'cause my guy died, so...

CROW: Well, we'll be seeking

volunteers to rule Denmark now.

SERVO: I've been taking echinacea and Vitamin C,

so I should be okay.

MIKE: Cha! Who died and made you king?

- Horatio...

CROW: You're standing on my foot.

- ...I am dead.

MIKE: I had to work through lunch today. Ugh.

- Had I but time...

SERVO: I would've painted the garage.

- this fell sergeant death is strict in his arrest.

MIKE: Sergeant Death.

He's WWF, right?

CROW: Right.

- Oh, I could tell you...

CROW: Is there a word in the English language

he hasn't said?

- ...but let it be.

SERVO: Wait, what was I talking about?

- Horatio...

MIKE: What a stupid name.

- ...thou livest.

Report me and my cause.

CROW: Yeah, the Globe crowd

is just waiting for the bear-baiting to start.

- Never believe it.

Here's yet some liquor left.

- Thy hand, let go.

MIKE: Whoo!

Thanks, 'cause it was really kind of an empty gesture.

- What a wounded name, friend.

Things standing thus unknown shall live behind me.

SERVO: Mmm-hmm.

- If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart...

CROW: Right.

- this harsh world

draw thy breath in pain...

CROW: Yeah, yeah.

- tell my story.

SERVO: Okay, die now.

Boo! Boo!

You're dead. You're dying now.

CROW: Boo! Boo! Die! - Horatio...

SERVO: And, dead!

MIKE: Die!

CROW: Rrargh!

- ...I am dead.

MIKE: Forgot to do that paper.

I am so dead.

SERVO: Maybe. I think...

CROW: Aw, come on!

- ...fate...

SERVO: Groundlings are all hitting the exits by now.

CROW: Boy!

- The rest is silence.

MIKE: Yeah, I wish.

CROW: Could be. What do you think?

SERVO: I don't believe it.

CROW: Deadness?


CROW: Have we achieved deadness?

Yo, Hamlet.

- Goodnight, sweet prince...

SERVO: Night!

- ...and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.

CROW: Unfortunately, they're Northwest

flights of angels, so they'll be late.

SERVO: Before you die, does my palm smell like Cheetos?

MIKE: You know, they better get him out of there

before he melts, thaws,

and resolves himself into a dew.

CROW: Yeah, that can be a problem.

- Let four captains bear Hamlet like a soldier to the stage,

CROW: Captain Spaulding, Captain Kangaroo,

Captain Crunch...

- ...for he was likely, had he been put on,

to have proved most royal.


SERVO: Sounds like Mister Peabody's about to start.



MIKE: Hamlet will be back in "Thunderball."


CROW: Well, Mike, this has convinced me

not to kill your dad and marry your mom.


SERVO: Well, at least when the Germans are doing this,

they can't be up to any mischief.


CROW: So, spaetzle, the Katzenjammer Kids, and this.

Thanks, Germany!

MIKE: Hmm!

Filthy misogynist Paul Verhoeven played the gravedigger.

What do you know?

SERVO: ♪ Doo doo doo doo Doo doo doo doo doo

CROW: With Adolf Schlyssenshyssenseddleschly

SERVO: ...der.

MIKE: Danish consultant, Victor Borge.

SERVO: Sardines courtesy King Oscar.

Look for special "Hamlet" promotional cans.

CROW: Also try Rosencrantz

and Guildenstern kipper snacks,

and Laertes packed in heavy oil.


MIKE: Hey, I tell you,

between this movie and the heating system

on the Volkswagen...

CROW: Tch! Ick.



MIKE: Thanks, Franz.

CROW: Oh, yeah, this was munchen all right. Huh!

MIKE: Nice play, Shakespeare.


- So, you guys made a Hamlet action figure, huh?

- Yup. - Uh-huh.

- Anything remarkable about it?

Typical action figure?

You just kind of move it around, that's the action?

- Yeah, that's about it. - Pretty much.

- Well, you might want to pull the string there.

- Oh, yeah. - That's kind of nice.

- Oh, it talks. - Uh-huh.

- Well, say. Well, wow.

Kind of a long string.

- Well, that's what makes it such a great action figure.

- Yeah.

- I know, but most action figures with a string,

you know, you pull it, it's like 18 inches long.

- It is a bit longer on this one, I grant you.

- Mmm-hmm.

- Yeah, I know, but I mean, it's really a lot longer.

- Well, Hamlet does have some long speeches, Mike.

Oh, watch the umbrella stand.

- Ow! Ooh!

- Okay, keep going, honey.

It can't be too much more.

See, Mike, what I'd do is go up those stairs there.

- Up the stairs, right. - No, no, behind that.

MIKE: I didn't even know we had stairs here.

Never been over to this part of the ship.

- Heh-heh.

MIKE: Hey, how much longer is it?

- Not much! Uh-oh. Uh-oh.

Pearl's calling.

MIKE: I didn't know there was

a squash court up here.

- Yes, Pearl? - Keep going.

- Look, I don't care if you're small but pivotal.

You just can't waltz in here and... hang on.

Hi, guys.

Got a little bit of a situation here.

Apparently in Hamlet, there's a character

named Fountainbras...

- Ah, it's Fortinbras. - Yes.

- That's what I said.

- No, no, no, actually you said...


- So, anyway he claims he's in the original Hamlet

but he's not in this movie...

- Yes, and I'm not leaving

until I'm allowed to play my role.

Am I simply to hang about in limbo?

Or perhaps I should force myself on another play, hmm?

Walk up to American Buffalo and say,

"Hello, have you a need for a Norwegian nobleman

to arrange for bodies to be carted away?"

I don't think I'm being unreasonable here.

- Play the part.

- Really? - Sure. Go ahead.

Play the part.

- Well, I'll need two English ambassadors.

- Will you?

- Yes, and the Horatio and a band of soldiers

and drums at the beginning and at the end

and a peal of ordnance and, of course, a body.

- Oh, golly.

Where can I find a body on such short notice? Hmm.

I wonder where.

Say, could you pour this in your ear

for me for just a minute?

- Certainly. - A body, a body...


Well, hey!

There's a body.

You're in luck.

Is it me?

Am I a magnet for these idiots?

- He made me look butch.

SERVO: Okay, let 'er go, Mike.


- To be, or not to be: that is the question.

Whether 'tis nobler in the mind

to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,

or to take arms against a sea of troubles,

and by opposing end them?

To die; to sleep;

no more;

and by a sleep to say we end the heart-ache

and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to,

'tis a consummation devoutly to be wish'd.

To die,

to sleep.

To sleep,

perchance to dream.

Aye, there's the rub!


The Description of Mystery Science Theater 3000: Hamlet