And now, DreamWorks' "The Penguins of Madagascar."
[bell chimes]
[brassy detective music]
♪ ♪
Hit it! ♪ Hey-oh, yah, hah ♪
♪ Oh, hey-oh ♪ Yeah.
♪ Hey-oh Yeah, oh-hey-oh ♪
[camera shutter clicks]
Cute and cuddly, boys.
[dramatic music]
♪ ♪
[sneaky music]
♪ ♪
[clang]
Hey, you wanna try and be inconspicuous,
- and whatnot? - Why?
I'm a gorilla, huh?
Aha!
Late night sneak-out with a large sack.
- Mighty suspicious, primates. - What, this?
We need it for playing gabagool-go.
Perhaps it's a regional game
- specific to-- - Gabagool!
Go!
So it's a rough game.
- Well, two can play-- - [laughs dopily]
Just get the gorillas.
[clucking]
both: [laugh dopily]
[Kung Fu yelps]
What, you think we're gonna be scared of a little--
[retches] Oh, nah, nah.
Don't hurt the banana.
Are you all right, miss?
[clucks]
What have you simian sickos done to this chicken?
We didn't do nothing.
The blue hen just don't talk.
Part of her psychic chicken mystique.
[grunts]
Psychic chicken?
You didn't hear nothing.
Well, you better say something,
or Rico starts mashing his own baby food.
Baby banana! [both protesting]
Okay. What we got here
is a genuine psychic winner-pickin' chicken.
Observe and such.
In tomorrow's minor-league action,
the Brooklyn Buccaneers
play the Long Island Lady Lumberjacks.
Whichever bowl the blue hen pecks--
bada-bam, lay your bets.
- Ooh. - Preposterous.
Psychic powers are pure pseudoscience bunk.
Just because some chicken makes a few lucky guesses--
Whoa, whoa, more like 122 straight lucky guesses
across every major sport, baseball, football,
- Norwegian toilet tossing. - Hey, yo.
Blue hen ain't missed a pick yet.
[clucks loudly]
- Thanks, psychic chicken. - [makes chicken sounds]
Psychic chicken. Can you imagine--
- Mm. - Um, Skipper...
surely you're not--
I'd given up on the psy-ops program.
Was that where we tried to teach Rico
how to shove things with his mind?
[straining grunts]
- Ah, whatever. - Oof!
But with a real psychic on board--
There is no such thing as a real psychic.
Skipper, I'm a man of sound scientific principals.
You dropped your shrink ray.
Just put it by the love-u-lazer
and the watch that stops time.
Supernatural psychic mumbo jumbo is a personal insult
to everything I stand for.
Yeah, great.
Do you think she can predict anything besides sports?
Oh, well, let's just find out, hmm?
All right, blue hen, which one's the jack of clubs?
[clucks]
- Wow. - Impressive.
Come on. Anyone can beat 50/50 odds.
Try finding the ace of spades in this mess.
[clucks]
Ha! Nothing but a two-bit sideshow.
- Whoa. - That was amazing.
Who's the psychic chicken?
Aah! Outrage!
Oh, the scream to action.
Ready for psychic duty, mental hen?
No such thing as psychic powers.
[angry cluck]
Did anybody else just see that?
I demand to know who painted this swirly-cued defacement
of the king's lips.
You don't know who drew on your own face?
I was having a royal nap when it happened.
But the way my eyeballs are seeing things,
there are only two possible face painters.
They are standing right there.
I like moustaches.
Oh, but today, I do not.
Rico, deploy psychic operative.
All you, baby.
[clucks]
Neither one? Then who?
Skipper, look.
[laughs] What?
That is the outragiest, most stupidy thing
I have ever--it's true!
[sobs]
I thought it would make me look like a French superhero.
How did she know?
- Psychic chicken. - Or is she?
Any moron can pick from a given set of options.
Isn't that what you do?
I do it with science!
But now, a tougher test.
Somewhere in this zoo, I've placed a single red crayon.
Only I know its hiding--
- [squawks] - [screams]
Do you think he's all right, Skipper?
What am I, a mind reader?
So another big game this weekend
for the Lady Lumberjacks, hmm?
Who's the blue hen like in that one?
[clucks]
[squawks]
Smile, you clucking con artist.
You're about to be all over the internet.
- [squawks] - Pfft.
Some psychic. You have fallen right into my trap.
Yo, I'm feeling kind of used here.
Now people around the globe
will see your phony psychic act.
You may have stumped me, but somewhere,
somebody's going to spot the gimmick to your game.
You can't fool an entire planet, baby.
Can you? [laughs maniacally]
It's the viral video that's sweeping the internet,
the psychic sports-pickin' chicken.
- Whoo-hoo! - All right!
I love that chicken!
- I hate this planet. - Blast!
Our psychic secret weapon's gone public, boys.
No such thing as psychic powers!
Huh?
Notebooks... filled with sports data, probability generators,
psychological dossiers on every animal in the zoo.
De-nerd and repeat.
This is the proof, Skipper.
Everything the blue hen predicted
was the result of flawless study and logic.
She's no psychic,
she's just 20 times smarter
than all the rest of us combined.
Wait, that's much more disturbing.
Isn't it?
- Gee! - Hey!
- [babbles] - What, what, what, what?
- You can talk? - Wow.
Are you sure you're not the genius?
Sarcasm doesn't make one look smarter.
- It doesn't? - Well, maybe a little.
Pardon the dumb clucking act.
I find it really sells the imbecile psychic angle.
Who are you?
Oh, could you not encourage the origin speech?
Born on a humble Delaware farm,
I soon discovered I had a gift for analysis and manipulation.
[sheep bleats]
I conned my way onto the county fair circuit,
then straight to the children's zoo.
From here, it was a simple matter
of goading some jealous subgenius
into putting me on the internet.
Why would you want to be exposed on the internet?
Why would you call me a subgenius?
I've just been informed that action news
is in negotiations to buy the psychic chicken
for a new segment, "Sports Before They Happen."
I want a suitcase of small bills,
my own reality series, and five minutes alone
with sportscaster Scooter Alvarez.
[growls]
Today I become a local TV star.
Soon I will control the news media
of America's largest metropolitan area.
And then it's on to the White House.
- [squawks] - A chicken president.
Can you imagine Barnyard Jane
with her finger on the doomsday button?
- [phone rings] - [unintelligible shouts]
- [alarm sounds] - [squawks]
Initiate end of the world.
Is that really likely to happen?
Not on my watch.
- Hiyah! - Argh!
- Aah! - Ack! Ow!
Please. I've spent months analyzing every one of you.
I know you better than you know yourselves.
blue hen and Skipper: That's ridiculous.
Private and blue hen: You don't know me.
[blue hen and Rico babble nonsense]
blue hen and Kowalski: Dainty melon baller ding-dong.
[groans]
And now, my public awaits.
Kowalski...
are you gonna let some cock-a-doodle dame
show you up like that?
I can't outgenius her, Skipper.
She wields the awesome might of rational prediction.
Then hit her with something irrational,
like a fist.
There's no logic to those babies.
No, this requires the most irrational weapon of all.
Is he gonna finish that sentence, then?
It's a "Live at Five" exclusive.
In moments, heavyweight champ neckless Jim Torso
takes on lightweight challenger Slim Ruffles
in the boxing match of the decade.
But why wait when a psychic chicken
can tell us the winner right now?
Child's play. Neckless Jim in the first.
- [upbeat music plays] - Hmm?
What the--
♪ ♪
This one goes out to all the fine chicken ladies.
Kowalski, what?
♪ Put down that chicken feed ♪
♪ 'Cause I got what you need ♪
♪ The Kowalski ♪
Uh, what are you doing?
Somehow I always knew he'd go out like this.
Rico, put the man out of his misery.
No, Skipper, this is it.
The most irrational weapon of all...
- l'amour. - That--that's idiotic.
Tell it to the swagger end, baby.
♪ Darlin' I'ma start a scandal ♪
♪ 'Cause you know that you can't handle ♪
♪ The Kowalski ♪
No, I am above this.
The brain is stronger than desire.
♪ Ain't nothing stronger than desire ♪
♪ Cerebral poultry sista ♪
♪ I'll put you on my sultry list-a ♪
♪ The Kowalski ♪
♪ Mm, sing it with me now ♪
- Oof! - Gotcha!
[squawks] Ha, ha!
Did you really think a few hip shakes
- could stop me? - No...
I just hoped it would distract you long enough
for Rico to switch bowls.
- Yoo-hoo, sucker. - You picked Slim.
[gasps] No!
And the chicken likes the upset.
We'll see if--wait, I-- I'm being informed
that, as expected, neckless Jim Torso has won
in a first-round knockout. all: Aww.
- Hey, wait a minute. - But the chicken said--
It appears our so-called psychic
was just a chicken with "dumb cluck."
[laughs]
Wait, tell Scooter he can still call me.
- Yes! - Yay!
- [angry cluck] - Uh...
no hard feelings?
You've meddled with mental powers
you can't begin to comprehend, Kowalski.
My wrath will be fierce!
But, by golly, you're one saucy dancer.
- Oh, you like-- - [smooches]
[grunts]
- Aw! - Ooh!
[mysterious music]
♪ ♪
Bon appetit.
[sighs]
Bon appe--what?
Huh, could've sworn we had chameleons.
Ah, who can keep track?
How does that woman keep her job?
We've got to do something.
The chameleons will starve.
All we gotta do is raid the food shed
and grab some lizard chow.
That's easy peasy.
Huh... well, that's new.
A thumbprint I.D. pad.
Evidently Alice has noticed our previous pantry raids.
No regrets.
Good news... this is yet another chance
to use my new smartphone.
Ooh, nice weather in Miami this week.
- Kowalski. - Uh, right.
I can hack into the network,
and get the pad to take any old thumbprint.
- But-- - We'll still need...
any old thumb.
That might be a problem.
Not to worry.
I know a certain pair of thumbed primates
who just love to help.
Sorry, chaps. Tickets to Figaro.
Uh, okay, well, uh...
I know another pair of thumbed primates.
[grunts, sniffs]
- Ooh. - Okay...
thumbs down on those.
Looks like we're at the digits of last resort.
No, no. You cannot have Maurice...
or his thumbs. Now shoo.
Shoo, you stinky flightless birds.
Yeah, sorry, guys, but the king needs me around.
Uh, uh, uh, wait. What is this you're saying?
Uh, you--you need me.
You--you--you're helpless without me.
I need you? [laughs]
I am king, and thusly, I am needing of nothing.
It is you, Maurice, who are needing of me.
Uh-huh. So you don't mind if I go.
I am insisting on it. Right on top of it.
All over that.
I am covering it with insisting.
Perfect. Move out.
Humph, I will show Maurice
just how self-sufficient I can be.
Mort, make my hand do the bye-bye wave.
[whines]
See, Maurice?
I asked Mort to do this all by myself.
[chuckles]
Network hacked. I am so "leet."
[snorts]
Now, Maurice, your thumb, if you please.
Thumbprint confirmed.
Beautiful job, lemur. You are dismissed.
That's it? Well--well, come on.
Don't send me back to King Julien just yet.
- I'm just getting started. - Got the chameleon food--
[gasps] Alice!
- We need a distraction ASAP. - On it.
- What are you doing? - Sending a text.
You can read and write?
Nah, I just like pushing the buttons.
[phone beeps]
What's that mean?
Guys, this was a kick and a half.
I can't remember the last time I felt so alive.
Maurice, you're a good egg.
You kept a cool head under fire.
And you've also got thumbs.
Skipper, he's got thumbs!
Yeah, I believe we've adequately covered that,
- Kowalski. - But don't you see?
With his thumbs, we can finally
get into the secret government weapons lab.
Is--is--is that a government lab that is secret
or the lab of a secret government?
Well, it's a bit of both actually.
But it's chock-full
of delicious devices of destruction.
We're going on a shopping spree!
Yes, but let's wait till Thursday night.
That's when they restock the shelves.
Maurice, you in?
- Ooh, that'd be a gas. - [crashing sounds]
- Aah! - Too bad I gotta go.
I was gone for, like, 15 minutes.
What did you do?
Oh, you know, just... made some smoothies.
This is just sad.
Oh, no, I--I, uh, I redecorated.
- You like it? - You were not redecorating.
Mort's got a blender on his head.
Aah!
No, no, Mort's playing spaceonaut.
What an imagination on that guy, right?
Ground control to major Mort.
You are a go for extra imagination time.
[whimpers]
So you're saying you did all this intentionally?
Uh-huh.
You're saying you like it this way.
- Yepper. - So...
I don't have to clean it up then, right?
Ri--uh, oh, well, now I--
No, no, I think that's exactly what you're saying.
You got this, right?
- Well, yes, I-- - Right.
So it's totally cool if I go hang
with the penguins then, right?
I have to say yes, or I look like a stooge, right?
If you need me, just whistle.
Ooh, not that you'll need me, right?
- [chuckles] - Pfft.
Played him like a second fiddle.
Guess who's got two thumbs and is looking for action!
all: Maurice!
[alarm buzzes]
- Waaaah! - [groans]
[bell dings]
[cheers and applause]
You know, all these missions,
I'm starting to feel like I'm almost one of you guys.
- Roger that, Maurice. - Lunch!
[exclaims] Fish!
[all gobble]
Uh, almost one of you guys.
[chuckles]
Fish, uh-uh. Gotta draw a line somewhere.
Aah!
Your majesty, you all right?
- [coughs] - Oof!
Ah, Maurice, what's up, buddy?
I was just, uh, whipping up some lunch.
Fruit salad. Want some?
- Um-- - I do, I do, I do.
Mm, so fruity!
And... oh, and salady!
You know what? The guys had some fish.
I think I'll get some fish. With the guys.
They got some fish.
Mm, oh, you can really, um, taste the mesquite.
[sighs]
It is kind of a little horrible, isn't it?
Yes, it is a little bit very horrible.
Ooh-di-lally, that was some good grouper.
Skipper, I have to resign.
- What? Rico, roll me. - [sighs]
Now what's all this about quitting?
I told you there's only two ways out of this unit.
- The way Manfredi took. - [makes explosion noise]
- And the way Johnson took. - [makes chainsaw noise]
[imitates machine gun, car-like screech]
[hums lullaby, makes explosion noise]
Yup, like that.
But king Julien needs me.
He's all sorts of messed up.
Rico, sit me up.
[groans]
Maurice, I respect your loyalty.
But still, I have to ask you to stay on for one last mission.
Tomorrow night's weapons lab raid?
We need your magically magnificent thumbs.
Now come on, that clown with a crown
can muddle on without you.
Well, Skipper, all I can say to that is...
big thumbs up!
[chuckles]
This mission is just the opportunity
- we are needing. - Um, okay, but...
why don't we just ask Maurice to come home?
Yeah, right, and admit I was wrong?
[laughs] Oh, you're so right.
Forget I ever said words.
[dramatic music]
♪ ♪
Aah!
Thumbprint confirmed.
Take it in, boys.
Pulse rifles, plasma cannons.
Disintegration rays.
[squeals] It's my birthday, oh, yeah!
Maurice, I salute you. You and your glorious grasp.
My pleasure. Anything else I should do?
Nah, you just sit back and twiddle those thumbs.
You've earned it.
Dibs on the bazooka!
Twiddle my thumbs. Heh, he's so funny.
Ah, now I will show Maurice just how dangerous
these dangerous penguin missions can be.
Oh? How?
The same way I do everything, Mort.
With the booty.
Thumbprint not recognized.
- [alarm sounds] - What the deviled ham?
Oh, hey, Maurice.
Uh, I was just out, doing a little cardio,
when I hear all the-- [imitates alarm]
Wow, that sounds dangerous, right?
You better come home now.
Security protocols engaged.
Eh, who-what-now got engaged?
Eliminating intruders.
Um, is spooky 'puter voice talking about--
Evasive!
Aah! Who put such dangerous weapons
in the weapons lab?
No, not the pulse rifles!
- Aah, the plasma cannons! - Aah!
Ringtail, you've disintegrated
the disintegration rays!
Kowalski, shut down this chamber of chaos.
Would if I could, Skipper,
but I seem to have dropped my smartphone.
Yes, you can be my friend, and you can be my friend.
Ooh, and you can be my friend too.
Ideas, anybody. Outside the box?
Inside the box? On top of the box?
Without a box!
That tank doesn't seem to be doing anything.
Aah!
It's a remote control robo-tank, Skipper.
Get on it, Kowalski. Hop to.
Love to, but, uh, you need thumbs
to operate the controller.
And I was this close to retirement.
Let me get this straight: you sabotaged this mission,
and endangered all our lives just so I would come home?
Ha, see, Maurice, without you there to tell me,
how was I to know it was a bad idea--
All right. Let's roll.
Ka-pow, in your face!
Maurice, you saved me.
Come home. I stink at self-sufficiencies.
Yeah, all right, your highness.
Let's go home.
- Carry me? - No.
Okay, that's cool too.
We lost a good operative
and fried every last weapon in this joint.
Someone please find a silver lining to this fiasco.
Not every last weapon, Skipper.
We did save one.
No, no, no, Rico, left.
- [grunts] - My left.
- [grunts] - The other left!
- Ow. - [moans]
Never mind. It was an utter fiasco.
[brassy detective music]
♪ ♪