02x16 - The Dead Ringers

[bunniefuu]

We have already seen the great
maestro of the keyboard, Chandell.

att*cked by phantoms
at Wayne Manor.

Catastrophe.

Batman on
vacation, out of touch.

Chandell demand protection.

Tricky Chandell, who was
also the criminal fingers.

Blackmailed into a life of
crime by twin brother Harry.

Police precautions at a concert.

In vain, Chandell struck
by a remote piano control.

But wait, way off in the wilderness,
Bruce Wayne hears a false note.

A call to d*ck Grayson.

Chandell in hot pursuit.

Why, what could he be up to?

A false att*ck.

A devilish clue.

Into a trap.

The Dynamic Duo about to be
perforated into human piano rolls.

Disaster. Which way out?

The most dreadful music is
yet to come in just one minute.

Holy metronome, what a fate.

Punched into player piano rolls.

True, Robin, scarcely an
end I'd ever anticipated.

Life, a cupful of
surprises to the last drop.

- See any way out, Batman?
- Frankly, from this perspective, no.

- Wait a minute.
- A minute's too long.

My toes are almost
in the puncher.

Robin, with every ounce
of breath that's left in you...

sing along with me.

Sing what?

Don t ask questions, Robin.
Sing each note precisely as I do.

When I sing, you sing.

Ready, Robin? Sing.

Will that terrible
sound never stop?

Death squeals
of a brace of bats.

Nice singing, Robin.

It saved our lives.

Holy Caruso, how?

Observe how this machine works.

Music from the master piano is
picked up by this microphone...

and transmitted to the perforating cylinders
which reproduce the chords perfectly.

We outshouted the
piano, don't you see?

How come we didn't
get punched full of holes?

Because of the notes I selected.

They were calculated to make the punches fall
precisely around the outlines of our bodies.

I visualized the
chords in my mind.

Holy perfect pitch.

Yes, it's useful sometimes.

However, no time
for self-congratulation.

- Let's burst in and bag those birds.
- Roger.

Poor bats, they squeak no more.

Truly spoken...

you vile criminal twin.

Girls, run for your lives.

- I'll round up those crooked cookies.
- No, Robin, wait.

Batman to police.

There's a knocked-out
criminal at 20-B Front Street.

Zip code 9999979.

Come, pick him up. Batman out.

Holy fugitives, you mean
we're gonna let those girls go?

Yes, Robin, as part of a plan.

The infamy of it, attacking your own brother, the
great artist Chandell, with a root beer bottle.

- What's behind all this?
- I don't know.

All right, canary,
start talking.

It's somebody called Fingers.

- Fingers?
- Yeah, he's behind it all.

He's got a plot to get his mitts on the
entire fortune of millionaire Bruce Wayne.

Okay, pal, button up.

My name is Alfred Slye, sir.

I'm a noted criminal attorney.

Very incautious of you to begin this
interrogation without my presence, wasn't it?

Chief.

A most unwelcome arrival.
The fellow was beginning to talk.

- Want me to toss the mouthpiece out?
- Heaven forbid, Chief O'Hara.

In today's climate, that
could land us behind bars.

Then what'll we do?

Patience and subtlety, the
honest policeman's only aids.

Turn up the lights a notch.

No law against making
this villain sweat.

Excuse us, it was
a trifle dark in here.

Here you are, pal.

- That's too much.
- Indeed.

Talk about crude, naked
police brutality. Tsk, tsk, tsk.

Are you gonna charge
my client or aren't you?

I hereby charge him with a felonious
attempt to perforate the Dynamic Duo...

- into player piano
music rolls, - Ha, ha.

Very amusing. Where
are your witnesses?

- Witnesses?
- I order a countercharge, sir.

I accuse Batman and
Robin of malicious mischief.

To wit, the damage of a
licensed perforating machine...

by introducing foreign
objects into same.

Said objects being themselves.

Saints alive.

The world's gone mad,
the whole planet lunatic.

Come along, Harry.

You don't have to
listen to this raving.

A new super-criminal with a plan
for getting the entire Wayne fortune.

To put it pithily, this
Fingers fits like a glove.

Fits what, Batman?

The musical theme that's
run through this entire affair.

Holy greed, how could a crook hope
to get ahold of the Wayne fortune?

A good question,
Robin, pursue it.

It's impossible, Batman, your assets
are tied up by a hundred ironclad trusts.

Precisely.

At the risk of alarming
you, I can see only one...

What would happen to
Bruce Wayne's fortune...

if he suffered a fatal accident?

Gosh, I guess I, d*ck
Grayson, would inherit it.

Right again.

And if d*ck's life were snuffed
out in that same accident?

It would all go to Aunt Harriet.

Um, excuse me, sir.

Will you be wishing my
services for the next few hours?

Not that I know
about, Alfred, why?

Mrs. Cooper has requested
me to drive her into the city, sir.

It appears she has another,
um, ahem, secret rendezvous...

with the Maestro Chandell
in his dressing room, sir...

atop the Gotham City
Town Hall. Good day, sir.

Holy Bluebeard.

You mean Fingers and
Chandell are the same guy?

I fear it's a
dreadful probability.

He's gonna bump us off in
our guise of Bruce and d*ck...

then vamp Aunt Harriet,
marry the Wayne fortune.

A clever and diabolical scheme.

This Chandell is a
deucedly attractive fellow.

He could pull it off.

Gosh, Batman.

How could a man like Chandell,
the world's greatest pianist...

take up a life of
murderous crime?

I think I've guessed
that too, Robin.

Close your eyes. Summon up every
ounce of your super-keen musical memory.

Okay, Batman, my eyes
are shut, I'm summoning.

Remember that concert Chandell
gave at the White House some time ago?

We listened to it
together, you recall?

Sure, that was the concert
which made him famous.

I remember every note.

Excellent.

Concentrate on the andante
passage in his first selection...

about the 12th bar...

from the top of
page 17 of the score.

I'm with you. Page 17.

Listen to it.

Savor the maestro's
interpretation.

Oh, beautiful.

Such feeling.

And I recall, he...

Holy Paderewski.

Good boy, Robin.
You've caught it.

It was exactly the same
as the Paderewski version.

So exactly that I can
draw only one conclusion.

He used a player
piano at that concert...

with the music roll cut
by Paderewski himself.

Precisely.

A roll undoubtedly secured from
twin brother Harry's music roll factory.

To the Batmobile.

Come let us stroll
down lover's lane

And let me kiss you once again

Soon we must say:

"Auf wiedersehen

Auf Wiedersehen, my dear"

I know my heart won't b*at again

Until the day we meet again

Sweetheart, goodbye

Auf wiedersehen

Auf wiedersehen, my dear

The softness of these hands...

are made mindful of
a night moth's wings.

Oh, you're simply
a poet, maestro.

Like a night moth's
wings, they're dusted.

Dusted with the stuff
that dreams are made of.

Oh, Chandell.

Oh, Chandell.

The masher, I'll fix him.

Hold it, old chum. We
mustn't give ourselves away.

Self-control is sure
tough sometimes, Batman.

All virtues are, old chum.
Indeed, that's why they're virtues.

However, all philosophy aside...

it looks like Chandell has Aunt
Harriet quite thoroughly in his fingers...

so to speak...

which isn't a bad thing, Robin.

It sets the stage for
our next startling move.

- What, Batman?
- Back to Wayne Manor...

to that photographic darkroom
we built in the hall closet.

I have a little plan of my own.

Good heavens.
Mr. Bruce? Master d*ck?

Fantastic. I couldn't have
arranged it any better myself.

Are you going to marry
her, Chandell, darling?

Of course, I'll marry her.

Then I'll sneak 5 million out
of our joint checking account...

and pay off my
blackmailing brother, Harry.

Imagine, farewell, Chandell.

I'll cast off my criminal
skin like a molting butterfly.

Hold the phone, butterfly.

After you marry that rich old
dame, where does that leave us?

We've slaved for you, Chandell.

We've given you the best
years of our criminal lives.

Dear Doe...

ravishing Rae...

marvelous Mimi...

you don't dream I'd
cast you off, I hope.

I have plans for you.

I'll bet you do.

Oh, my ears.

Hey, kiddies.

What's going on here?

That genius twin brother of
yours, I had to cool him, Harry.

Take our word, he's
planning to go straight.

And double-cross us all.

Wouldn't surprise me a bit.

He never was much good.

Mr. Slye?

Yes, amigo?

A legal question.

Say this Cooper dame
does marry this boob...

how long before the will is
settled and he gets the dough?

Considering the crowded
state of our courts...

- I'd say about 11 years.
- Eleven years?

With the Dynamic Duo on our
tails, we'll be lucky if we last 11 hours.

Which reminds me, Harry, my bill
for springing you from the hoosegow.

A hundred thousand bucks,
payable by midnight tonight...

or else ethics demand
that I turn you back in.

You're a charming
fellow, Mr. Slye.

I'm a criminal attorney. It
says so on my letterhead.

Music, dreamboat.

No, no, please!

Dig out that costume
of my twin brother's...

the one he wore at Queen
Elizabeth's coronation.

I've just thought of
a beautiful new plan.

When that awful expl*si*n
happened, they were...

They were enlarging
a photograph of me.

Sweet Harriet, please, don't
engulf yourself in foolish guilt.

Control yourself, listen to me.

I have a proposal to make.

A proposal?

Holy heartbreak, how
can he at a time like this?

I propose to perform a memorial
concert at Gotham Town Hall tonight.

Strange.

Hardly the proposal I expected.

Oh, maestro, how
generous of you.

Do me a great honor,
appear with me on-stage...

and sing some sweet song
in your incomparable voice.

Oh, yes.

I know just the thing.

Wonderful, dear Harriet.

Drop by my dressing room
at 7 and we'll rehearse a bit.

Until tonight at 7.

Farewell, adieu.

Alfred! Oh, Alfred.

You called, madam?

Alfred, will you please bring me
a tiny glass of blackberry brandy?

Begging your pardon, madam, but this
unprecedented request for strong spirits...

is something amiss?

It not amiss, Alfred,
it's a nightmare.

That man who was
just here is an imposter.

- He was not Chandell.
- Oh, dear me.

How bizarre.

- Are you certain, madam?
- Oh, yes, Alfred, I'm quite certain.

When a man whom I know
as well as I know Chandell...

gives my hand a kiss...

Well, Alfred, there's
an old saying:

"A girl can tell."

I know that life's
the secret of it all

All the longing, working,
waiting Burning, turn...

Oh, dear.

Mercy me, I'm an
old fool, aren't I?

Oh, don't say it, dear lady.

It's your hat brim.

It obscures the sheet music.

Perhaps if you
removed your chapeau.

That's a good idea.

As they say in the movies,
"Stick up your mitts."

Come on, out.

You're not the great Chandell.

You must be that awful twin
brother I read about in the papers.

Your name is Harry, is it not?

Your cleverness
outdoes itself, sweet lady.

Don't you "sweet lady"
me, you common crook.

What's the plot? Were you
going to marry me for my money?

I'll admit that was one notion,
but it's been revised however.

The current plot is to lure you here
and hold you for a gigantic ransom.

Oh, fiddlesticks, who'd pay
a gigantic ransom for me?

The trustees of the Wayne
Foundation, naturally.

As sole heiress to millionaire
Bruce Wayne's vast fortune...

you have to sign the papers
or they can't spend a nickel.

What stupid, ugly greed.

I'm delivering
you to the police.

Start moving.

Moving, at a time like this, when
my scheme is working so perfectly?

Look around you, sweet fool.

Oh, sha...

You think I'd fall for
that old chestnut?

Sleep tight, won't you?

Quick, the chauffeur's outside.

- Blow him a lullaby.
- Right, Harry doll.

Harry to piano movers.

Get over here and put the old
lady and her chauffeur in the trunk.

Set up to the docks
and stand back.

Too bad. She was a
sweet old lady in her way.

Not just sweet, Harry.

One of the bravest
women ever born.

We've been tracking you via a secret
radio placed in Mrs. Cooper's handbag.

We rescued her and the
chauffeur on the sidewalk.

Now, it's lucky for us that we
brought our bulletproof Bat Shield...

but it is time to end
this criminal symphony.

Poor deluded females.

And you, you nasty old man...

have a whiff of Bat-gas.

Gosh, Batman, maybe we don't know
how to turn this murderous machine off.

It is a thought, Robin. It's not
much more than they deserve.

Is there anything lower than
a lawyer who mocks the law?

Or an artist who takes up crime?

I'm afraid there is.

A sworn crime-fighter who tries
to take justice in his own hands.

With my profoundest
admiration, Mrs. Cooper...

a Citizen's Special
Anti-Crime Award.

Oh.

Heh. A person just
does what he has to do...

and that's what makes
America great, isn't it?

If only there were
more like her.

That's enough about silly me.

Where is Mr. Chandell?

A note for you, madam. The
maestro asked me to deliver it to you.

Oh.

"Dear sweet Harriet.

It's better this way.

I'm not worthy of you.

I must leave this morning
on a long, long tour.

Goodbye.

Your Chandell."

A long, long tour?

With the usual time off
for good, uh, performance...

I expect it will last
about three years.

Oh, if I had the
wings like an angel

Over these prison
walls I would fly

And I'd fly to the arms

Of my poor darlin'

And there I'd be willing to die

Listen, you bulls, I'm
busting out of here, see?

And ain't nobody gonna stop me.

Next week the
Penguin waddles again.