Great tackle though, wasn't it?

-Actually, it was a foul.

You tackled me around the neck.

-Oh.

I'll never make the rugby team.

-I'm surprised your father's allowing you to take part.

-Hello.

Favorite child, son and heir.

-So you haven't asked him yet, have you?

-I'm waited for the right moment.

-(WHISPERING) This probably isn't it.

-I thought a mob of peasants was trying

to break into the castle.

What's with all the noise?

ZOLTAN: Master Vladimir wants to play a game with the breathers.

THE COUNT: Oh.

Like a see who can get the most screaming

villagers on a spike kind of game?

-No, dad.

It's called rugby.

THE COUNT: The rugby players huddle together, toss the ball

around, and pat each other on the back for being good sports.

Good sports.

I didn't impale half of Wallachia,

so you could be a good sport.

-But all the other boys play rugby.

Please let me try out for the team.

THE COUNT: No.

You mustn't play with your food.

You'll spoil your appetite.

VLAD: Please, Dad.

Please, please, please, please, please,

please, please, please---

-No, no, no, no, no.

This is not happening.

-It's no good.

Does he look like a rugby player to you?

-Thanks, Chloe.

I think.

MR. BRANAGH: You know if he took off that cloak.

Got a bit of sun on his face.

He might look quite normal.

ROBIN: Hello.

I'm right here, Dad.

-Oh, we're sorry, love.

It's only because we care about you.

-And yet, you want me to get my teeth knocked out.

-Come on, Robin.

You'll learn to love it.

You're a Branagh after all.

ROBIN: Read my lips, N-O way.

-This is not up for discussion.

You're playing rugby, and that's final.

-Hey, cool rugby top.

-No, it's not cool.

My parents made me wear it.

-They said I have to try out for the rugby team.

-They want me to join in and look normal.

-Those barbarians.

Forcing their beloved child to turn against his own nature.

A boy should be free to follow the desires

pulsing in his heart.

-Exactly, so can I play rugby, dad, please?

-Absolutely not.

ROBIN: Are you mad?

Rugby's a horrible, brutal sport.

-It is?

-The teachers actually encourage the players

to push each other in the mud.

And then they huddle up close before they push the other team

and stamp on their heads.

-And my Vladimir wants to partake.

Why didn't you tell me before?

-I did.

Wait.

I can play?

-Of course, you can.

I'm proud of you, boy.

At last, you're showing an interest

in violence and cruelty.

INGRID: I'm violent and cruel, Dad.

Look.

-Ow.

THE COUNT: Ingrid, of course you are, but there's something

very important you've overlooked.

-What?

-It's Vlad that I'm interested in.

Finally, you're going to bring glory to the family name.

-Whoa, Dad.

Slow down.

I may not get picked.

-You shall triumph with my help, of course.

I will teach you a few vampire tricks that never fail.

-Yes.

I can't wait.

THE COUNT: Ingrid, Ingrid, Ingrid.

When are you going to accept that you're a girl.

You don't need to learn any tricks.

Now go bother yourself with-- oh,

I don't know, dusting skulls, polishing coffins, whatever.

INGRID: You can't ignore me for the rest of my life.

-Yes, I can, and I will.

And then one day, your husband will ignore you instead.

INGRID: We've been over this. I don't need a husband.

-Of course, you do.

Someone has to tell you what to do.

-Wait a minute.

Are you saying that once I married,

you won't tell me what to do?

-I won't even have to talk to you.

-Fine.

I'll go and get myself a husband then.

THE COUNT: And you're getting that fixed, young lady.

-What delusion of grandeur made you think I would pick you?

You're pathetic, talentless, and your blood

type doesn't go with anything.

-Next.

-Ugh.

His hairline is all wrong.

-Next.

-Branagh.

Ian Branagh.

License to thrill.

I've entitled this poem, "An Ode to Ingrid." [clears throat]

I wandered lonely as a dog that hasn't found his owner yet.

When all at once, I saw Ingrid, and I

knew she would want a pet.

-Groveling.

Pathetic.

I kind of like that.

Write his name down.

-Move on, loser.

It's time for rock.

(SINGING) It's about Ingrid.

It's about Ingrid, baby.

It's about Ingrid.

-Great.

More wailing.

-(SINGING) It's about Ingrid.

Yeah.

-So when's the good bit?

Write his name down.

He's as ugly as the other one.

FRIEND: Next.

-Wait.

I don't suppose either of you is any good at carpentry.

-Why?

-I broke a table at the castle, and someone needs to fix it.

-Oh.

I'm ace at woodwork.

Well, quite talented.

Average-ish.

OK.

I'm pants.

-Next.

-Hi, Ingrid.

I know someone who can--

-I've told you a million times, Jonathan.

I am never, ever going to go out with you.

-Now, into the center.

Go on.

Right.

Repeat it back to me.

-I must not bite ears, kick shins,

or elbow the other players.

-Until?

-Until I'm sure the referee can't see me.

-Now, we're talking rugby.

-But Dad, it's cheating.

-I know.

Isn't it fun?

Right.

Let's try some offensive play.

I'll tackle.

Renfield!

-You two, try and block me.

-Tackle me?

-Ready.

One, two, three-- Go!

-Mommy!

Oh.

-For the dead travel fast as they say in my homeland.

I know.

I know I-- I make it look so easy.

ROBIN: That was brilliant.

-I thought you didn't like rugby.

-I don't.

This is evil.

-What are you doing?

-I got great idea, Jonno.

I'm going to snap that parasitic vampire in action.

Show the pictures to the world.

-Dad, vampires don't exist.

-Don't exist?

There's one in this very town, Jonathan.

He wears a cloak.

He lives in a castle.

What more proof do you need?

Now, where's my dynamite?

-Dynamite?

-Well, I got to get into the castle somehow.

-Oh, brilliant plan, Dad.

Very under cover.

Because no one will know it's a massive explosion, will they?

-Trust me, son.

I've been doing this a long time.

Dynamite has never let me down before.

-You won't need dynamite, Dad.

Ingrid broke a table at the castle,

and they need a carpenter.

Why don't you offer to mend it?

-Jonathan, is it really you speaking?

I'm proud of you, my boy.

We'll make a vampire slayer of you yet.

-Right, Vlad.

Now it's your turn.

Renfield, stand over there.

Renfield!

-Mes, Yaster.

-Try to stop Vlad from getting past you.

Now, Vlad, to the attack.

-No one gets past, Renfield the Repulsive.

-This is useless.

I'm never going to get on the team.

-Don't be ridiculous.

Of course, you will.

He'll never get on the team.

What's wrong with him?

-He needs to get a thirst for it, your evilness.

-Ah, thirst to succeed. Come think to think of it.

All this violent exercise has given me a thirst.

-Whoops.

-Vlad, your dad's got that funny look in his eyes again.

-No.

Don't worry.

You won't feel a thing, not after you're dead anyway.

-Vlad!

-Dad, stop!

Friends are not food.

Remember.

-There.

I knew you could do it.

-What?

Was all that a trick?

-Of course, a trick.

Very funny.

-How could you?

-Just proving a point.

You see.

You can use your powers when you want to.

-But Dad, I didn't use any powers.

-Well, then how did you get past Renfield the Repulsive?

-(SQUEAKY) With a well-aimed tackle.

-Oh, I'm proud of you, my son.

What a vampire I'll make of you yet.

ROBIN: No.

No!

Don't pass it to me.

CHLOE: Robin, Robin, wake up.

Wake up.

-I just had a terrible nightmare.

I was playing rugby.

CHLOE: And?

-No, that's it.

Help me get out of the trials tomorrow.

I'm begging you.

CHLOE: Well, I might have one idea that might help.

-Thanks, Chloe.

You're a genius.

-A child prodigy actually.

But let's not split hairs.

THE COUNT: Remember, the pride of our house is your pride.

Our glory is your glory.

The family reputation rests on your shoulders.

Now, have you got your orange for half-time?

-Yes, dad.

-Renfield, attire my son and heir for battle.

Give him his kit, his kit.

-A new kit.

Thanks, dad.

-Now, go and shed the blood of our enemies.

-Good luck, young master.

-Thank you, Zoltan.

-Make me proud, son.