Once upon a time...
or maybe twice, there was an unearthly paradise called...
Pepperland.
80,000 leagues beneath the sea it lay,
or lie, I'm not too sure.
Pepperland is a tickle of joy on the blue belly of the universe.
It must be scratched.
Right, Max?
- Yes, Your Blueness. - What?!
We Meanies only take no for an answer.
Is that understood, Max?
No, Your Blueness.
That's better.
Are the troops in readiness?
No, your Blueness.
- The Bonkers? - No.
- Clowns? - No.
- Snapping Turks? - No.
- Anti-music missiles? - No.
- The dreadful Flying Glove? - No.
Splendid!
Today, Pepperland goes bluely!
Fire!
The Meanies are coming! The Meanies are coming!
Glove, Glove, come here, Glove!
Look out there, and what do you see?
- Tell him, Max. - Someone running, Glove.
Well, you'll soon put a stop to that, won't you, Glovey?
Go, Glove, point!
And having pointed, pounce down!
I haven't laughed so much since Pompeii!
What?! What?! The Glove is losing his touch.
Do your worst!
Explode them!
It's not polite to point!
Thing of beauty... destroy it for ever!
Sir, Sir, the Blue Meanies are coming!
Not here, Young Fred. They wouldn't dare.
They would. They are. What are you going to do?
Finish the quartet.
Fire!
Trio, sir?
Duet, sir?
Duet?
Solo!
Young Fred, the Blue Meanies are coming!
4 scores and 32 bars ago,
- our forefathers... - Our quartet?
- and foremothers... - Another quartet?
made it in this yellow submarine...
- What, that little thing? - to Pepperland.
Climb aboard, Young Fred.
But, sir, I can't even make my soap float.
I'm appointing you Lord Admiral.
Lord Admiral? In that event, yes.
Hurry, Young Fred. Go! Get help!
Where should I go?
No time for trivialities.
Woe... is me.
Liverpool can be a lonely place on a Saturday night.
And this is only Thursday morning.
Compared with my life, Eleanor Rigby's was a gay, mad whirl.
Nothing ever happens to me.
I feel like an old, splintered drumstick.
I'd jump into the River Mersey, but it looks like rain.
Nothing ever happens to me.
Puss, puss-puss. Puss, puss, puss. Here, pussy.
Here, pussy, pussy, pussy. Here, pussy, pussy.
Ahem, er...
Would you believe me if I told you I was being followed by a yellow submarine?
No, I would not.
Oh yeah, I didn't think you would.
I could have sworn there was a yellow submarine.
But that isn't logical, is it?
It must have been one of them unidentified flying cupcakes
or a figment of my imagination.
But I don't have an imagination.
Help, help, help!
Thanks, I don't need any.
Help! Won't you please, please help me?
Be specific.
...Blue Meanies!
What you need is...
'H' for hurry, 'E' for ergent,
'L' for love me and 'P' for p-p-please help.
Hiya, baby!
Your story has touched my heart.
Jump in, we'll get my friends.
- Bless you! - Did I sneeze?
- Just park it here. - I'll just park it here.
What would your friends be doing here?
Displaying.
- Displaying what? - Displaying around.
Can't we take one of these?
No. I only work with my mates.
Frankenstein?
I used to go out with his sister.
- His sister? - Yeah. Phyllis.
Hey, I wonder what would happen if I pulled this lever.
You mustn't do that.
Can't help it. I'm a born lever-puller.
Ringo, I've just had the strangest dream.
I warned you not to eat on an empty stomach.
Now listen to Old Fred.
...Blue Meanies!
What do you think?
I think he needs a rehearsal.
When do we leave?
Let's get the other two, John.
- What day is it? - Sitarday.
Then George will be here.
George, what are you doing up there?
Now, what is it, Ringo?
Is there a matter you'd like to take up
or down?
This chap here...
...Blue Meanies!
You're nuts, the pair of you.
Wait a minute, that's my car.
- How do you know it's your car? - I'd know it anywhere.
- What's it look like, then? - It's red with yellow wheels.
I mean, blue with orange wheels.
It's all in the mind.
- Move over, I'm driving. - I got here first.
- I'll drive, if you like. - No, you sit in the middle.
- I'm sitting in the middle. - You said you were driving.
- I am driving. - I'll get in the back, then.
Do you think we're interrupting something?
I think so.
We'd better find Paul, hadn't we?
It's all in the mind.
Try one of those doors.
Yes, they do look very nice, don't they?
Yes, they do.
- They do, though, don't they? - Yes, they do.
- Don't dey, dough? - Dough?
- Don't ask. - Dat's dough.
What's the matter, fellas? Blue Meanies?
Well, lads, what do you think?
I think that...
Remember, there'll be rough seas ahead.
So, what do you think?
Well, then, um...
Pounding, overwhelming waves. What do you think of that?
- Well, I think that... - As a matter of fact, I...
I think...
- Well? - I've forgotten.
Right, then, let's get this vessel shipshape.
I kind of like the way it is, submarine shape.
So, this is a submarine.
Soft, isn't it?
Not if you're on the bottom.
All right, lads, time to stow the gab and turn to.
Groovy. How do you start this thing?
It starts with a Blue Meanie attack.
Supposing there's no Blue Meanies in the neighbourhood?
Then you start looking for a switch.
Perhaps this is it.
What time is it?
It's time for time.
Look, the hands are slowing down.
- Do you ever get the feeling... - Yeah.
that things aren't as rosy as they appear to be under the surface?
What's happening, John?
In my humble opinion, we've become involved
in Einstein's time-space continuum theory.
- Relatively speaking, that is. - Of course.
- Maybe time's gone on strike. - What for?
- Shorter hours. - I don't blame it.
It must be very tiring being time, mustn't it?
- Why? - It's a twenty-four hour day, isn't it?
- You surprise me, Ringo. - Why?
- Dealing in abstracts. - Just because I'm a drummer...
- I don't half feel funny. - You're not half the lad you used to be.
Look, everything's getting bigger.
It's not. It's us that are getting smaller...
- I want my mam. - and younger.
There you are, lads. Old Fred will get you out of all this.
Look at that!
- It's all a load of Father Xmas's. - It's not. It's Father Time.
- How do you know? - I read it in a book.
I don't want to alarm you, but the years are going backwards.
What's that mean, Old Fred?
If we slip back through time at this rate,
very soon we'll all disappear up our own existence.
- What are we gonna do, then? - We could always try a few buttons.
I want my mam.
Time's fast running out for us, I'm afraid.
- Can't we do something to the clock? - What do you mean, John?
Move the hands forward, see what happens.
Clever lad.
Something strange is happening.
It's speeding up now.
Funny... a submarine remarkably like our own.
Uncannily.
There's someone in it. Look.
- And they're waving. - It's a group of fellas.
Wave back.
Maybe we're both part of a vast yellow submarine fleet.
There's only two of us.
Then I would suggest that yonder yellow submarine is ourselves
- going backwards... - ...in time!
Look at Ringo.
Oh dear, we're all the same.
Senile delinquents.
And I can hear my beard growing.
We'd better do something.
Well, correct me if I'm wrong, gentlemen,
but would you agree that we have been passing through the Sea of Time?
That would explain a few things.
I'm glad I'm not young any more.
Or was it old?
- What kind of a sea is this? - The Sea of Science.
Oh, yeah.
- He looks wrong. - He doesn't look at all well.
In fact, he's horrible.
He's so ugly.
Really ugly!
Somebody push a button.
- There's a Cyclops. - Can't be. He's got two eyes.
Then it must be a bi-Cyclops.
- There's another one. - A whole cyclopedia.
There's a school of whales.
- They look a bit old for school. - University, then.
- University of Whales. - They look like dropouts to me.
You've got to steer clear.
- Steer clear? - Yes, steer. Clear?
Yes, dear.
Now, whatever you do, don't touch that button.
- Which button? - That one.
This one?
That was the panic button.
- Poor Ringo. - Poor lad.
Never did no harm to no-one.
Lads, now Ringo's gone, what are we gonna do?
Learn to sing trios.
No, let's save the poor devil.
I see footsteps.
- It's a pair of kinky boot-beasts. - Preparing to attack.
- I don't half miss Ringo. - He's far out there.
Always was.
- Here comes Ringo! - 'H' is for hurry...!
There goes Ringo.
It's seen us.
Find a boxing button.
Whoever heard of a boxing button?
Who cares? Find one.
Fire one!
Uh-oh, wrong one.
That.
There goes Ringo again.
- Rides well, doesn't he? - 'E' is for ergent...
Oh no, not the dreaded vacuum flask again.
- We'll be sucked into oblivion. - Or even further.
Put her in reverse.
So long, sucker.
- Too much. - Too soon.
Reverse! Reverse!
- Ringo time. - 'L' is for love me...
Indians!
Help! Help!
'P' is for please...
So, press a button.
- How was it, Ringo? - 'Arrowing.
Look who's back. Full speed ahead.
- Oh, no. - The motor's packing in.
By all the sea nymphets, we're losing power.
We're being swallowed. What shall we do?
- Serve tea. - Lovely.
By Neptune's knickerbockers, she's puttered out.
- Maybe we should call a road service. - Can't. No road.
And we're not sub-scribers.
Subscribers...!
I know something about motors. Let me have a look.
- Here. - Is that the motor?
Can't you tell one when you see one?
Of course I can. Let me peruse it.
- What do you think? - I think I burned my finger.
Here, lads. Look at this.
- What do you think it is? - Nothing.
Looks like nothing.
It's a local inhabitant.
He's probably one of the nothings.
At least that's something.
- Let's show him our motor. - Steady on.
You don't want to show your motor to just anybody.
But this is a nobody.
Medic, pedic, zed oblique, orphic, morphic, dorphic, Greek.
Ad hoc, ad loc and quid pro quo.
So little time, so much to know.
Can you tell us where we're at?
A true Socratic query, that.
And who the Billy Shears are you?
Who? Who indeed am I?
Jeremy?
Hillary?
Boob?
- Ph.D.? - Who?
Eminent physicist, polyglot, classicist,
prize-winning botanist, hard biting satirist,
- talented pianist, good dentist, too. - Lousy poet.
Critic's voice, take your choice.
- Must be one of them angry young men. - Or a daffy old creep.
I, daffy old creep?
- Do you speak English? - Old English, middle, a dialect, pure...
- Well, do you speak English? - You know, I'm not sure.
He's so smart, he doesn't even remember what he knows.
Why don't we show him our motor?
Should we really... show him our motor?
He may not have seen one before.
Turbo-prop, super-combustible spring.
Metrocyclonic and stereophonic,
this motor, I see, has a broken down thing.
- He fixed it. - He fixed it?
Great. Let's go.
I must complete my bust, two novels, finish my blueprints, begin my beguine.
Must you always talk in rhyme?
If I spoke prose, you'd all find out, I don't know what I talk about.
Ad hoc, ad loc and quid pro quo.
So little time, so much to know.
Hey, fellas. Look.
The footnotes for my 19th book.
This is my standard procedure for doing it.
And while I compose it, I'm also reviewing it.
- A boob for all seasons. - How can he lose?
Were your notices good?
It's my policy never to read my reviews.
There must be a word for what he is.
Okay, men, all aboard. Let's go somewhere.
What about him?
He's happy enough going around in circles.
Poor little fella.
I don't know. Ringo's just a sentimentalist.
Look at him. Can't he come with us?
Mr. Boob, you can come with us, if you like.
You mean, you'd take a Nowhere Man?
Come on, we'll take you somewhere.
Okay, Booby. Down the hatch.
Down the hatch. A quite curious phrase.
The middle South Midlands Victorian phase.
Its usage undoubtedly on the increase.
I must work it into my New Statesman piece.
- That's the hatch, friend. - Indeed.
Steady now, crew. Prepare to go forward.
- Forward. - Forward.
Forward!
It's awfully quiet. What shall we do, Jeremy?
Repair, revive, revamp, renew. Ipse dixit, just turn the screw.
- Log sign, clog sign, big thingamabob. - What's he saying?
- What's he doing? - Chewing gum will do the job.
A turn of the screw, and all is...
...and all is new.
I can't stop her.
'H' is for hurry, 'E' is for ergent, 'L' is for love me...
'P' is for... goodbye?
- That was lovely, Jeremy. - We've lost the sub for good.
- Or for bad. - Or for worse.
- I'm sorry about that. - But he did fix the motor.
- Where are we? - It looks like the foothills.
- The foothills of what? - The foothills of the headlands.
- Carry on, lads, carry on. - Certainly was carrying on.
- I feel a draft. - We must be near the Sea of Holes.
Don't you think we should ask somebody for directions?
Excuse us...
Can you tell us the way to Pepperland?
Thanks.
Gosh, look at all this dust!
Where did it come from?
A chemical error and quite imprecise. This is a condiment...
- Condi... - A spice.
- He's right, you know. It's pepper. - Pepper?
Pepper.
John?
Paul?
George?
Is anybody home?
- Where are we? - A holey sea.
This place reminds me of Blackburn, Lancashire.
Oh, boy...
How many do you think there are in all?
Enough to fill the Albert Hall.
Didn't Old Fred mention something about the Sea of Holes
- just before the Sea of Green? - Yeah.
Through one of them slots must be the Sea of Green.
But which? Which one?
Thesis, antithesis, synthesis,
causes of causal causation.
Jeremy, what do you know about holes?
There are simply no holes in my education.
You mean you haven't composed a whole book?
Great. What shall we do?
Be empirical. Look.
The booby's making more and more sense.
It's getting better all the time.
Great. Come on, let's all look for the Sea of Green.
The Sea of Holes... into the Sea of Green.
Hydrolate, verdant chrysodine.
I think we're near the Sea of Green.
I've got a hole in my pocket.
Where's Jeremy?
He was over there.
- He's not here now. - He must have jumped ship, then.
He wouldn't do that. He's our friend.
Booby, Jeremy, Hillary, where are you?
Pepperland. A bit salty around the edges.
- Looks all dingy. - And drab.
And quiet.
Safe at last.
And none the worse for our adventures.
Reminiscent in many ways of the late Mr. Ulysses.
There's an eye in the apples.
There she blows!
Lord Mayor, sir... I've made it, I'm back.
- Who's this? - Our Lord Mayor.
He's been bonked.
Lord Mayor, sir... unbonk yourself.
Even a little snatch of a tune might get him up again.
All right, let's sing.
Do I hear music?
Do I see... Young Fred?
You do, Lord Mayor.
Bless my metronome.
And did you bring help?
Yes, yes. Look.
Holy pizzicato, Young Fred.
It's quite uncanny, your faces...
We're quite cute, really.
You could pass for the originals.
We are the originals.
No, no... Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band.
They couldn't be much with a name like that.
Sergeant Pepper?
You could impersonate them and rally the land to rebellion.
Where are your instruments?
- Lost in the Monstrous Sea. - Sea of Monsters.
We'll get other instruments, Lord Mayor.
Not a chance.
The Meanies captured everything that maketh music.
They hate music that much, do they?
They shrink at the very sound.
Okay, you guys. It's shrinking time in Pepperland.
Aim, fire!
He reminds me of my old English teacher.
Look, if you must shout, shout quietly.
- What do we do? - Coagulate with the crowd.
Cut-outs at the ready. Then let's cut out.
What a grand bandstand.
That's where the gear's kept. Come on.
Cavey, cavey.
All right, the coast is clear.
Now's our chance.
- But how'll we get over...? - Easy. Follow me.
A-ha! You fools!
It's not very light in here, is it?
Shh! Keep the noise down.
- Look what I found. - It's their uniforms.
- Nice bit of gear, that. - They'll look great on, eh?
- Dey will, won't dey? - Won't dey, dough.
- How do I look? - Groovy. How about me?
- Bad scene, lads. We're surrounded. - Oh, heck.
A million billion Meanies.
They're coming this way.
Hide!
- Do you think they heard us? - I hope not.
- What did you say? - Shh!
Good plan.
Look. They're all asleep.
They look cute when they're asleep. Almost human.
- Come on. Let's get out of here. - On tiptoe.
- Tiptoe through the Meanies... - Shh!
Let's exude.
Relax, lads. Not a Meanie in sight.
- Not even a teeny Meanie. - Not even a teeny-weeny Meanie.
- Look. Breakfast. - I'm dying for a bit of brekky.
Look out.
Sound off, one, two, three, four...
- One, two, three, four... - Five.
Five?
- Sound off, one, two, three... - Four.
- One, two, three... - Four.
- One, two... - Three.
- Three? - Two.
- Two? - One.
One?
Are you Bluish?
You don't look Bluish.
Run for it.
Right, men. We've made it.
- Instruments at the ready. - Okay, on the beat.
A-one, a-two, a-three, a-four, a-five, a-six.
- Can't you make it three? - All right.
On the beat of three... A-one, a-two, a-three...
It's wonderful to be here, it's certainly a thrill.
You're such a lovely audience,
we'd like to take you home with us.
We'd love to take you home.
- The hills are alive... - ...with the sound of music.
Who is responsible for this?
Rimsky Korsakov?
Guy Lombardo?
My dear friend...
let us not forget that heaven is blue.
Tomorrow, the world!
Bring in my Bloobers.
- Who? - Who?
There you are,
my little Glovey-dovey.
Go get thee hence
and destroy yon upstarts.
Smash them! Squash them!
Crash them!
Oblue-terate them!
Here, your Blueness, have some nasty medicine.
The Glove, the Glove, the Glove!
- Glove? - Glove?
He's a clever lad, isn't he?
Open your mouth, it won't hurt.
John, you haven't half got a big mouth, haven't you?
It's easy. All you need is love.
Go, Glove, lovely Glove.
You took the words right out of my mouth, John.
Hey, wait, and watch.
It's all in the mind, you know.
Hey, that's a funny place to leave a goldfish bowl.
In Pepperland, all things are possible.
- It's not a goldfish bowl. - Just a big glass bowl, then.
- It's blue glass. - It must be from Kentucky.
There's something inside.
- Four fellas. - What are they doing there?
They're not having a ball, that's for sure.
- It can't be. - It's us.
- But we're here. - It's Sgt. Pepper's...
- Lonely... - Hearts Club...
Band.
The resemblance is truly striking.
If I could come in here...
I think the theory put forward by Einstein could well be applied here.
The people in the ball are obviously extensions of our own personalities,
suspended, as it were, in time,
frozen in space, according to the now famous Theory of Relativity,
which, briefly explained, is simply a matter of taking two eggs...
- John! - ...beating lightly
and adding a little salt and pepper...
- John! - George?
- How do we get them out? - Break the glass.
- We can't. It's Beatle-proof. - Nothing is Beatle-proof.
Have you got your drumsticks with you? A drum break might shatter it.
- No, I haven't. - Have a look in your pocket.
I've got a hole in my pocket.
I wonder if... Yeah, it still works.
Ringo, we take back all we said.
You're a genius, a sheer genius.
I know, I know, I know.
- Like coloured telly. - Like crystal.
They're decanting.
Hello, brother.
Yeah, without a doubt.
- We're the spitting image of each other. - Golly, yeah.
I'm led to believe that you're an extension of my personality.
- Yes, I'm the alter-ego man. - And I'm the ego man, goo goo, g'joob.
I'm glad you asked me that.
Because as a matter of fact there's a war on.
Then, brothers in war, to the skirmish must we hence.
Shall we hence?
Let's not waste time sitting on the hence.
Beatles to battle. Charge!
- We're surrounded. - Nice dog, though.
What do you say? Sing it.
Do you know any more?
Play it!
Jeremy, can it be you?
Can it be me? I think you'd better inquire of the guards,
for when I was captured, they took all my cards.
Shh, that's enough, Jeremy.
- The whole world's being attacked. - What do you want me to do?
Do you recommend fisticuffs versus the guard?
Oh, guard!
Blue Meanio!
Left to the nostril, right uppercut,
right to the eyebrow, left to the gut.
Jeremy!
Come on, Ringo!
Get back! Get back!
Once more unto the breach, dear Meanies!
You're advancing the wrong way! Retreat backwards!
Get back there now!
My kingdom for a horse!
I think I'll tear him up into little pieces.
He does, does he?
Yes, I think I'll make a blueburger out of him.
Ha-ha, I don't care what you think.
You don't, eh?
We'll soon see about that.
He does in truth seem quite annoyed,
some reference material before I'm destroyed.
Where ground is soft most often grows,
Arise, arise, arouse, a rose.
A rosy nose?
Speak your last piece!
Peace, peace, supplant the doom and the gloom.
Turn off what is sour,
turn into a flower and bloom, bloom.
Ha-ha, bloom, ha-ha, bloom, bloom, bloom...
First time I saw that Nowhere Man, that nobody,
- I knew he was somebody. - You're right.
Hello there, blue people.
Won't you join us?
Buck up, and otherwise go mingle.
- What do you say? - Max?
Your Blue...
I mean, your Newness!
It's no longer a blue world, Max.
Where could we go?
Argentina?
Are you with us?
Will you join?
- Shall we? - No!
Yes, your Newness!
- Yes, Max... - Yes.
Oh, yes is a word with a glorious ring,
A true, universal, euphonious thing.
In genders embracing and chasing of blues,
the very best word for the whole world to use. Ha-ha!
Yes, let us mix, Max.
I've never admitted it before,
but my cousin is the Bluebird of Happiness.
- Catchy tune, that. - I can't seem to get it out of my head.
- Then shake it. - That's what we've been doing all night.
Yeah, it was a great party.
And we brought back lots of lovely souvenirs.
- Here is the motor. - And I've got a little love.
- And I've got a hole in my pocket. - A hole?
Half a hole, anyway. I gave the rest to Jeremy.
What can he do with half a hole?
Fix it to keep his mind from wandering.
Look at John, will you?
What's the matter, John? Blue Meanies?
Newer and bluer Meanies have been sighted
within the vicinity of this theatre.
There's only one way to go out.
- How's that? - Singing.
One... two... three... four