Bow to the board.
This is the boy.
Born here in the workhouse. Moved to the parish farm.
Nine years old today. Time to be moved back here.
What's your name, boy?
- Oliver Twist. - What?
- That boy's a fool. - Boy. Listen to me.
You know you are an orphan, I suppose.
- What's that? - The boy is a fool. I thought he was.
You know you've got no father or mother...
...and that you were brought up by the parish, don't you?
- Yes, sir. - What are you crying for?
I hope you say your prayers every night.
Pray for those that feed you and take care of you...
...like a Christian.
- Yes, sir. - Well...
...you have come here to be educated...
...and to be taught a useful trade.
Here, where do you want these?
Learn from the boy next to you.
- What am I to learn, sir? - Learn to pick out the oakum.
What's oakum, sir?
Stop asking so many questions.
Oakum's the fibers you unpick from the old rope.
Then it's used again for the ships of Her Majesty's navy.
You're serving your country.
Now, get on with it.
Tom, give it a rest, will you? We're trying to sleep.
- Can't sleep, too hungry. - We're all hungry.
Yes, but I'm frightened.
Frightened? Why?
Why? Why?
I'm so hungry, I'm frightened I might eat the lad that sleeps next to me.
O Lord God...
...for the blessing of this generous and bountiful meal...
...that thou hast placed before us...
...we give thanks. Amen.
Amen.
Please, sir. I want some more.
What?
Please, sir, I want some more.
Fetch the beadle!
Mr. Limbkins.
I beg your pardon, sir.
Oliver Twist has asked for more.
For more?!
Compose yourself, Mr. Bumble, and answer me distinctly.
Do I understand that he asked for more after he had eaten his supper?
He did, sir.
That boy will be hanged.
"Five pounds and a b..."
When I says "whoa," I means "whoa"!
"Health... Healthy...
...appren... apprentice.
Five pounds."
Chimney sweeping is a nasty trade.
Young boys have been smothered in chimneys before now.
That's because they damp the straw afore they light it in the chimney...
...to make them come out again. Damp straw makes smoke.
Smoke sends a boy to sleep, and that's what he wants.
Boys is very lazy, gentlemen.
But there's nothing like a good hot blaze to make them come out in a run.
It's humane too. Yes.
Because even if they've stuck in the chimney...
...roasting their feet makes them struggle to extricate theirselves.
Yes.
I suppose he's fond of chimney sweeping?
He dotes on it, Your Worship.
Very well. I will sign the indentures...
...to make him Mr...
Mr. Gamfield's apprentice.
My boy.
My boy, you look pale and alarmed.
What's the matter?
Please, sir. Please, sir.
What is it, my boy?
- Don't... - Now then.
Don't... Don't...
Go on, my boy. Don't what?
Please don't send me away with this dreadful man, sir.
Of all the designing orphans that I've ever seen...
- Hold your tongue, beadle. - Did Your Worship speak to me?
Yes, hold your tongue.
No. No, out of the question.
We refuse to sanction these indentures.
Take the boy away.
And treat him kindly.
He seems to want it.
I've just taken the measure of the two women that died last night.
You'll make your fortune, Mr. Sowerberry.
Think so?
The prices allowed by the board are very small.
So are the coffins.
By the by, you don't know anybody who wants a boy, do you?
Liberal terms, Mr. Sowerberry. Liberal terms.
Now, as you are to meet your new master...
...pull that cap off your eyes.
Hold your head up, sir.
Dry your eyes, sir.
- Is that you, Bumble? - No one else, Mr. Sowerberry.
I've brought the orphan, Oliver Twist.
So this is the orphan, is it?
Mrs. Sowerberry...
...will you have the goodness to come here a moment, my dear?
Oliver Twist.
How comes an orphan to have any name at all?
- I invented it. - You, Mr. Bumble?
I, Mr. Sowerberry.
I name all our foundlings in alphabetical order.
The last was S.
Swubble, I named him.
This was a T. Twist, I named him.
Next one as comes will be Unwin...
...and the next, Vilkins.
I've got names ready all through the alphabet, right up to Z.
Why, you're quite a literary character, sir.
Well, well...
...perhaps I may be. - Mrs. Sowerberry...
...this is the orphan from the workhouse.
Dear me, he's very small.
But he'll grow, Mrs. Sowerberry. He'll grow.
Yes, I daresay he will. On our food and drink.
Workhouse boys always cost more to keep than they're worth.
Get downstairs, you bag of bones.
Here, Charlotte...
...give this boy some of the cold bits that were put by for the dog.
You don't mind sleeping among the coffins, I suppose.
Well, it doesn't much matter whether you do or don't...
...for you can't sleep anywhere else.
Open the door, will you?
- You the new boy? - Yes, sir.
- How old are you? - Ten, sir.
Then I'll whop you one when I get in, you workhouse brat.
I beg your pardon, sir. Did you knock?
I kicked.
Did you want a coffin, sir?
- You don't know who I am, I suppose. - No, sir.
Well, I'm Mr. Noah Claypole. And you're under me.
Now, take down the shutters.
Saved a nice little bit of bacon for you from the master's breakfast.
In the corner with you. And be quick about it.
They'll want you to mind the shop. Do you hear?
Do you hear, Workhouse? In the corner.
Oh, Lord, Noah, let the boy alone.
Let him alone?
Why, everybody's let him alone.
His mother, father and all his relations has let him alone.
So he needs someone who don't.
Supper.
Oliver, ain't you done yet?
I've never known such an idle boy. Get down them stairs.
Mr. Sowerberry...
...supper.
- I've had a thought, my dear. - Had a thought?
You want to be careful, Mr. Sowerberry, you'll get brain fever.
- It's about young Twist. - What about him?
- A very good-looking boy. - He will be. He eats enough.
There's an expression of melancholy in his face, my dear.
He would make a delightful mute, my love.
I... I don't mean a regular mute to attend grown-up funerals, my dear...
...but only for children's practice.
Look at him.
A workhouse boy and a sneak. Look at him.
Mark my words, I'll see him hung.
Can't be too soon.
Workhouse, how's your mother?
She's dead.
What'd she die of, Workhouse?
You gonna cry, Workhouse?
- What set you off? - Not you.
- Not me, eh? - No, not you.
And you better not say anything about my mother.
Better not?
About your mother?
Well, I'm very sorry, and I pity you very much.
But you must know, Workhouse...
...your mother was a regular right-down bad one.
- What did you say? - A regular right-down bad one.
It's a good thing she died when she did...
...or she'd be hard laboring or transported.
Or hung. Which is most likely, isn't it, Workhouse?
Help, Mrs. Charlotte!
He'll murder me. Help!
Help. Get off!
For God's sake, help me!
My missus, he's murdering me!
- Get off. Get off me now! - Get him, Charlotte.
Get him now. Go out with him. Come on.
- Workhouse devil. - I'll learn you!
- You brat! - Get the door, Charlotte.
In with him. In.
Very violent indeed, sir.
And the missus said...
...if Mr. Bumble can spare the time...
...then Mr. Bumble's to flog him...
...because the master's out.
- In there. - Oliver?
Let me out of here!
- Do you know this here voice, Oliver? - Yes.
Ain't you afraid of it, sir?
Ain't you trembling while I speak, sir?
No!
- He must be mad. - It's not madness, ma'am, it's meat.
- Meat? - Meat, ma'am, meat.
You've overfed him.
If you'd kept this boy on gruel, this would never have happened.
Dear, dear. This comes of being liberal.
What's all this?
Oliver Twist has turned violent, Mr. Sowerberry.
Look what he's done to my eye, sir.
Now then. Now then.
- You're a nice young fellow, ain't you? - He called my mother names.
Well, and what if he did, you little ungrateful wretch!
She deserved what he said and worse.
- She didn't! - She did!
It's a lie!
Do something, Mr. Sowerberry. He called me a liar.
Do something!
I beg your pardon, miss...
...but would you be so kind..?
Get off my land.
I don't want no beggars here. Go on!
Get off! Or I'll put the dog on you!
I haven't much, but you're more than welcome to it.
Be careful, it's hot.
Seeing you gave me such a turn.
My eyes ain't what they were. But...
...I just thought for a moment...
Why are you on the road at all, a little mite like you?
- Where are you headed? - London, ma'am.
London?
London.
Dear, oh, dear, oh, dear.
Hello, my man.
And what's your game?
You're not from these parts?
Where you from, then?
I've been walking. Seven days.
Seven days? Cor.
I expect you want grub?
And you shall have it.
I'm at a low-water mark meself just at the moment...
...but I'll fork out and stump.
Come on, up with you, on your pins.
And these won't get out again?
Thank you very much.
Oh, by the by...
...my name is Jack Dawkins, better known as the Artful Dodger.
Oliver Twist.
Why are you known as the Artful Dodger?
That's why.
Got any lodgings?
Money?
I suppose you want someplace to sleep tonight, don't you?
Baby newt.
Buy a baby newt, 4 pennies.
I expect you walking for so long was a beak's order.
- What does that mean? - Don't you know what a beak is?
- A bird's mouth, isn't it? - Cor, you are green.
A beak's a magistrate, my son. Where you been all your life?
Get off me, you!
That's it, you asked for it.
Come back here. I wanna talk to you.
Lucky heather.
- From where I am, mate, I'm telling you.
Go home!
Get off of that!
Go back home!
- Now then. - Plummy and slam.
- There's two of you. Who's he? - A new pal.
- Where'd he come from? - Greenland.
- Is the old one there? - Upstairs, sorting the wipes.
This is him, Fagin. My new friend, Oliver Twist.
Well, well, Oliver Twist.
I hope I have the honor of a more intimate acquaintance.
We're very glad to see you, Oliver. Very.
Dodger, take off the sausages...
...and let's make a space at the table for Oliver.
You were staring at the pocket handkerchiefs, eh, my dear?
There's a good many of them, ain't there?
We've just looked them out, ready for the wash.
That's all, my dear.
Blow it.
Hot. Blow it.
Now then, Oliver, what you must have...
...is a hot gin and water. Warms the cockles.
Only, drink it quick because another of these gentlemen wants the tumbler.
He's such a nice lad.
I have a feeling he'll turn out a hard worker.
Yeah, a hard worker.
Oliver?
Clever dogs.
Fine fellows.
All fine fellows.
Fine fellows.
What do you watch me for? Why are you awake?
What have you seen? Speak out, boy!
Quick. Quick, or it's your life!
I wasn't able to sleep any longer, sir.
I'm very sorry if I disturbed you.
- You were not awake a moment ago? - No, sir.
- You sure? - Yes, sir.
Of course you were asleep, my dear. I know that.
I only tried to frighten you.
You're a brave boy, Oliver.
Did you see any of those pretty things, my dear?
Yes, sir.
They...
They're mine, Oliver. My little property.
For my old age.
It's our secret.
- You understand, my dear? - Yes, sir.
Can I go up now, sir?
Now...
I hope you've been at work this morning, my dears.
- Hard. - As nails.
Good boys.
- What you got, Dodger? - Couple of pocketbooks.
- Lined? - Pretty well.
Yeah.
Dodge.
I don't know, Dodge.
Well...
...not as heavy as they might be...
...but very neat...
...and nicely made.
Ingenious workman, ain't he, Oliver?
Indeed, sir.
And, Charley, what have you got, my dear?
- Wipes. - Wipes?
They're very good ones.
Very.
You haven't marked them well.
The marks should be picked out with a needle. And we'll...
We'll teach Oliver how to do it.
- Shall us, Oliver? - If you please, sir.
You'd like to make handkerchiefs as easy as Charley Bates, wouldn't you?
Very much indeed, if you'll teach me, sir.
I've never met anyone so green.
Now then, boys...
...the game.
We'll show Oliver...
...how to make pocket handkerchiefs.
You'd like to play a game, wouldn't you?
Yes, sir.
- Got the time, guv? - It's...
...8:00.
- Playing the game, were we, Fagin? - As is our custom, my dear.
- He's new. Who's he? - Oh, this is Oliver.
Oliver...
...these are our very good friends Bet and Nancy.
See, Dodger, you wanna learn from him.
He's got manners, he has. A proper gentleman.
We popped in because we were that cold inside.
As is your custom, my dear.
- Charley. - Come on, Oliver. Join us.
Or don't you sit with the common folk?
Now, you wanna be careful of this lot, Oliver.
- They'll have you picking... - Picking out the marks.
Just what we was teaching him, ain't it, Oliver, my dear?
- Yes, sir. - "Yes, sir"?
You know who you're talking to, do you?
What's your mother got to say about you being here?
I haven't got a mother. I'm an orphan.
You're in the right company, then.
Come on, Oliver, I'll teach you how to play.
It's called Spec or Speculation.
Three cards each, and then the one he turns up...
...is trumps.
This is a pleasant life, ain't it, my dear?
- When can I go out, sir? - Soon. Soon.
Let's...
Let's see what you've learned.
- Would you like that? - Oh, yes, sir.
See if you can take this out...
...without my feeling it.
Is it gone?
You're a clever boy, my dear.
I never saw a sharper lad.
Here's a shilling for you.
Make the Dodger and Charley your models.
Especially the Dodger, my dear.
He'll be a great man himself, make you one too.
You go on this way...
...you'll be the greatest man of the time.
Thank you very much, sir.
Lovely white apples. Get your lovely apples.
Biggest cabbages in town. Come on.
You mean that one with the wide rim?
Too expensive.
Thief! Your handkerchief, sir.
Stop, thief!
Stop!
Thief!
- You're a thief! - Get him!
- Stop him! - Stop that boy!
Thief!
Stop, thief!
Thief!
Stop him!
Mind out.
Stop, thief!
There, over there.
That way!
- Stop, thief! Stop! - Thief!
- What's your name, boy? - Give him some air.
He's scared to death.
- Where's the gentleman? - Here's the gentleman now.
- Is this the boy, sir? - Yes, I'm afraid it is.
That's a good one. Did you hear him, "afraid it is"?
- Poor fellow's hurt himself. - Yeah, I did that, sir.
Hurt me knuckle against his mouth. But I stopped him.
- Get up! - It wasn't me, sir. It wasn't me.
Of course it wasn't. It never is.
- Now get up. - Don't hurt him.
Oh, no, sir, I won't hurt him.
This way, gentlemen.
- What's next? - That is my name and address, sir.
Officer, who is this fellow?
- My name is Brownlow. - Hold your tongue.
Officer, what's this fellow charged with?
Oh, no, no. He's not charged, Your Worship.
He appears against the boy.
- Swear him. - Before I am sworn...
...I must beg to say one word. - Hold your tongue, sir.
- I will not, sir! - Hold your tongue this instant.
You're an insolent, impertinent fellow.
- How dare you bully a magistrate. - What?
Swear this person. I'll not hear another word. Swear him.
"I do solemnly swear to tell the whole truth, so help me God."
- What's the charge against the boy? - I was at a bookstore when...
Hold your tongue! Where's the policeman?
Policeman, what is this? Are there any witnesses?
- None, Your Worship. - The boy is ill.
Oh, yes, I daresay.
Come along, you vagabond. None of your tricks here.
What's your name?
What's your name, you hardened scoundrel?
- Officer, what's his name? - What's your name, boy?
Some water. Some water.
He says his name is Sam Waters, Your Worship.
- Where does he live? - Where do you live?
- Anywhere he can, Your Worship. - Stuff and nonsense.
Don't try to make a fool out of me.
No, I think he really is ill, Your Worship.
I know better, or my name's not Fang.
Stand away, officer. He's shamming.
He stands committed for three months.
Hard labor, of course. Clear the office.
Stop. Stop, stop! Don't take him away.
What is this? Who is this? Turn this man out.
- Clear the office. - I will not be turned out! I will speak!
I saw it all. I own the bookshop.
- I demand to be heard. - What have you got to say?
- It was not this boy. - Not this boy? Who was it, then?
The robbery was committed by two others while the man was reading.
I saw it done. I saw that this boy was perfectly amazed by it.
Why didn't you come before?
- I hadn't a soul to mind the shop. - Reading, you say?
A book, I suppose.
Yes, the very one he has in his hand.
Oh, dear me, I forgot all about it.
Well, you're a nice one.
To prefer a charge against an innocent boy.
I consider, sir, that you've obtained that book...
...under very suspicious and disreputable circumstances.
- Damn me! - Bookseller...
...do you want to press charges against him?
- Certainly not. - Well...
...think yourself fortunate...
...that the owner of the book declines to prosecute.
The boy is discharged.
- Clear the office. - Damn me.
Clear the office! Clear the office!
Next case.
Come on. Move along, sir, please. Just move along, sir.
There's a good gentleman, sir.
Hold on, Harry. I'll give you a hand.
Mind that step. Just mind that step there.
Make way for the law, sir.
- Careful. Careful with him. - He seems very young too.
Call a coach, pray.
- Yeah, right away, sir. - I'm sorry.
Poor boy.
- Mind yourself, madam. - Thank you, sir.
- Got one, sir. - Thank you, officer.
Let me, sir.
There we go.
- Will you drop me off, sir? - Of course.
All right.
If you could just take his head, sir.
- Where to, sir? - Pentonville.
- Yes.
Answer me! Where is he?
What's become of the boy? Speak out, or I'll throttle you!
The traps have got him! Let go of me, will you?!
Bullseye!
Who pitched this here at me? Who done it?
Bullseye. Come in, you sneaking warmint.
What you stopping outside for?
Lay down.
What you up to, Fagin? Ill-treating the boys again?
A wonder they don't murder you. I would, if I was them.
Don't speak so loud. You seem out of sorts, Bill.
Give us a drink. And mind you don't poison it.
Charley.
Good stuff, Bill.
So, Dodger...
...what's it all about? - A new boy.
Come out with us afore he was rightly up to it.
- Got nabbed by the traps. - You see, Bill...
...I�m afraid he may say something which will get us into trouble.
You were blowed upon, Fagin.
And about time.
And I'm afraid, you see, Bill, that if the game was up with us...
...it would come out rather worse for you than it would for me, my dear.
There's only one thing for it.
Somebody's gotta find out at the office what's being done to him.
Somebody's gotta get hold of him somehow.
I ain't going near no police office. Not for nobody, nohow.
I have it, the very thing. Bet will go.
- Won't you, my dear? - I'm blessed if I will.
Nancy, my dear, what do you say?
It won't do. There's no use in trying it on, Fagin.
- What do you mean by that? - What I say.
Why, you're just the very person for it.
Nobody about here knows anything about you.
And as I don't want them to neither.
It's rather more "no" than "yes" with me, Bill.
- She'll go, Fagin. - No, she won't, Fagin.
Yes, she will, Fagin.
- Can I help you, miss? - I'm looking for my little brother.
- Now, who would he be? - A lovely little boy.
Lovely manners. Gentle as falling snow.
We don't get many of those.
I think you'll be wanting Mr. Fang's court.
George, this here young lady is looking for her brother.
The one that fainted and got away with it.
Oh, yeah. Gentleman took him away.
What gentleman? Gracious heavens, what gentleman?
Well, lives in Pentonville, I believe.
Oh, my God.
No, no. Wait, wait, wait.
His card's here somewhere.
Here we are.
Thank you, sir.
Mr. Brownlow.
There's something in him...
...that touched my heart, Mrs. Bedwin.
Can't explain it.
I feel the same, sir.
Who is he? What is he?
You know nothing of him.
He had a fever. What of that?
Bad people have fevers sometimes.
I knew a man in Jamaica who was hanged for murdering his master.
He had a fever six times.
- I know there is goodness in him. - How do you know it?
Goodness and innocence.
- I knew it the first moment I saw him. - He'll deceive you.
Let you down at the first opportunity...
...like all your other good and innocent causes.
If that boy's good and innocent, I'll eat my own head, sir.
How do you feel, my dear?
Very happy, sir.
- And very grateful to you indeed, sir. - Good boy.
Have you given him any nourishment, Bedwin? Any slops?
Not slops, sir. Broth.
A couple of glasses of port wine...
...would have done him a great deal more good.
Wouldn't they, Sam?
My name is Oliver, sir.
Oliver?
- Oliver what? Oliver Waters? - No, sir. Twist. Oliver Twist.
Why did you tell the magistrate your name was Waters?
I never told him so, sir.
- You did not? - No, sir.
- You're not angry with me, are you? - No, no.
Queer name.
Oliver Twist.
There are a great many books, are there not, my boy?
A great number, sir.
Never saw so many.
How would you like to grow up a clever man...
...and write books?
I think I'd rather read them, sir.
Wouldn't you like to be a book writer?
I think it'd be a better thing to be a bookseller, sir.
You have said a very good thing.
Well, well.
We won't make an author of you while there's an honest trade to be learned...
...or brickmaking to turn to.
- Are you going to send me away, sir? - No, my dear child.
You need not be afraid that I am going to desert you...
...unless you give me cause. - I never, never will, sir.
I hope not...
...because I feel strongly disposed to trust you.
Thank you, sir.
I'm pleased I won't have to wear those again.
So are we all, my dear.
There.
Hello.
What's that?
This is young Oliver Twist.
The bookseller's boy brought a package.
Oh, stop him, Oliver. There's some books to go back.