- Good evening, ladies and gentleman and welcome
to another edition of oral cinema.
A popular series of movies for the ears.
Well, we'll be going on air live in just a couple
of minutes, so please, may we first of all test
the applause level?
Thank you.
Excellent, thank you very much.
Well, tonight's cinema for sound features,
What about Dick?
An emotion picture for radio which tells the story
of the decline and fall of the British Empire as
seen through the eyes of a piano.
So, will you welcome please, tonight's fantastic cast.
♫ Oh the Orpheum Theatre theater in downtown LA
♫ Tonight we invite you to picture a play
♫ A radio screenplay approved for your ears
♫ Oral movies, pluck up my ears
♫ Yes, it's time once again for the cinema of sound
♫ To transport you across the radio waves
♫ To bring you, What about Dick
♫ It's oral cinema ♫
Once upon a time there were two sisters who lived
with their Aunt Maggie in a rambling old Edwardian
Novel in Kensington.
Emma, the older, was an emotionally repressed English
girl, who spent all day staring out of the window,
dreaming of a submissive role in a sick relationship
with an older sadomasochistic Englishmen.
Helena, her younger sister, was a dark-haired
foxy minx, who stole umbrellas to repress her
sexual urges.
- What's a minx, is it an Egyptian thing?
- No dear, that's a sphinx.
- Oh, I thought that was the backside of something.
- No dear, that's the sphincter.
- Ah!
- Anyways, these two sisters lived together
in a two-story Novel with their Aunt Maggie,
an amateur dipsomaniac who spent the afternoons
in Hampstead under a young Austrian doctor.
- His name is Freud, Roger Freud.
He's licensed in Massage and colonics.
- And who exactly are you?
- I am the narrator of this tale.
Everyone in the story has touched me and played
with me and run their fingers over me until I
rang with joy.
For you see, I, am a piano.
- A piano narrating a story?
- Yes!
- Furniture doesn't narrate stories.
- I'm not furniture, I'm an instrument.
- Well, that's stupid.
Are we to have Macbeth narrated by the bagpipes?
- Or Les Misérables by the french horn?
- Look, it's my fucking play and I'll play a
piano if I want to.
Anyway, this is the story of a piano.
- Heavens, is that the time, the 3rd of August, 1910?
- Evening Star and Standard, read all about it!
Another English human found half-eaten in Houndsditch.
- Oh dear, not the reaper again.
- No, this one's the mutilator, apparently he eats
his victim.
- Ew, how disgusting!
Just then, the Reverend Whoopsie walked into the door.
- Ouch!
- Walked into the doorway.
- Oh sorry!
Hello ladies, do I intrude?
- Not from this angle, Mr. Whoopsie.
- The Reverend Whoopsie is a, well he's a--
- He's a single clergyman who's kindly disposed
toward men.
- Especially working men, who I adore above all and
put on a pedestal and offer five shillings to.
- Your Christianity does you credit, Whoopsie.
- Let us not forget our Lord himself had 12
little male friends, all sailors and nobody said a word.
Have you seen, Dick?
- Not for ages, Mr. Whoopsie.
Not since the coming out ball turned unexpectedly fruity--
- No, I think he means your Nephew, dear.
- Oh, dear, yes. Oh, he's coming down today from Oxford.
- I wondered if he'd like to come camping with me.
I'd love a weekend of Dick.
- I've always found 20 minutes quite sufficient.
Helena, why don't you play something for
Mr. Whoopsie on your harp?
- I hate the harp, I'm sick of plucking.
- Well you should try a mouth organ like Dick,
so you can suck and blow--
- Yes, yes, yes, yes, thank you, Emma.
Why don't you sing us one of your Victorian
ballads?
- Righto.
♫ Blow me
♫ A kiss in the moonlight
♫ Blow me
♫ A kiss in the dawn
♫ Blow me down, I never knew I would dare
♫ Now must I swallow
♫ My pride while I'm there
♫ Heavens, he's coming
♫ Inside now
♫ He's coming to make me his own
♫ In these cold marble halls
♫ Where the men hold their balls
♫ Why must I always be all alone ♫
- Lovely dear, just lovely.
- At that moment they spotted Dick.
A young man with floppy hair, bee-stung lips and
a strangely ambivalent sexuality.
One of those impossibly pretty English boys
with ravish me bedroom eyes and bathroom legs
and drawing room thighs--
- Yes, thank you piano but I think we get it.
Dick!
- Hello everybody!
Hello Whoopsie!
Hello Emma, old sausage!
- Hello, Dick!
- What are you reading at Oxford, Dick?
- Beauty on the Mountain.
- That's Mutiny on the Bounty.
- Sorry.
How's the umbrella thing, Helena?
- Oh, Dick...
- Why does she take umbrellas?
- Well, it's just female hysteria, dear.
She needs a little rogering in Hampstead.
Ew, he has a new machine called the Happy Trappy,
which relieves all my female tension.
- How does it work?
- Well, I lie down, he attaches it to me--
- Where?
- Well, in Hampstead.
- I say, Dick.
Do you fancy a weekend in Norfolk?
- Golly, it sounds a bit dull.
- Well, yes it is a bit dull, but we can play Tiddlywinks.
- Oh yes, that's sounds spiffing.
- Splendid!
If you'll excuse me.
- Mind the umbrellas.
- Ouch!
- Good heavens, look it's Mr. Hudson coming here
to this very house to meet me for the very first time
and perhaps fall hopelessly in love with me which
he will not be able to express because he is
English and cannot mention emotions and has
a beastly wife who cannot satisfy his perfectly
normal manly urges which would very easily be
satisfied with some cold cream, a hand towel
and a copy of the Guinness Book of Records.
Thank you, Aunt Maggie.
- I hope I don't disturb you ladies.
- Hey you, visitor, I'm not a lady.
- Oh, forgive me, it is your hairstyle.
My name is Hudson, I am in rubber.
- Oh really, are you wearing it?
- No, no, not wearing it, it is my business.
- Well, of course it's your business what you wear.
- No, no, no, it's my business, my business.
- Mr. Hudson is the owner of the Hudson Rubber Company.
- Oh, the manufacturer of the Happy Trappy.
Well, I find it most satisfactory, although
occasionally I do miss the disappointment of a
real man.
- Mr. Hudson discovered those gadgets in India.
He saw the future of rubber and embraced it.
- How precisely this woman understands me.
And how perfectly lovely she is with her warm eyes,
her rosy lips and her firm, welcoming curtly, bouncy--
- I can hear you, Mr. Hudson.
- Very sorry, Miss Schlegel.
- Have you seen Dick, Mr. Hudson?
- Yes, quite a lot in India.
- No, no, this is Dick, he's at Oxford.
- Oh, well what is he reading?
- The Three Musty Queers.
- The Three Musketeers.
- Sorry, yes, no.
- I read French Philosophy, trouble was it was
all in French, didn't get a word of it.
- Mr. Hudson, you're such a card
- Yes, yes, well, well we mustn't spend all day
doing that.
This isn't America.
- How very witty Mr. Hudson is and he has
such lovely eyes and such manly thighs and such
eloquent hips and--
- I can hear you, Miss Schlegel.
- Oh, I'm sorry.
- Well, I must be off, I need to lubricate a
new oiler for my jigger, I have no idea how that sounded.
- It sounds so romantic.
♫ Dick, Dick, what about Dick
♫ Is there some dreadful mystery
♫ Hidden in his history
♫ Dick, Dick his light is short of gas
♫ I don't think he is playing from a full deck of cards
♫ Everybody likes Dick
♫ Everybody wants Dick
♫ Though he seems to be a sandwich short of a full picnic
♫ Dick, Dick's a cappuccino with no foam
♫ The lights are on but is there really anybody home ♫
- Those boys in the pub seemed to take a real
shine to you, Dick.
- Mm.
- Dick, has anyone ever told you about the
birds and the bees?
- I'm 26.
- Oh, but did anybody ever tell you
about the birds and the birds?
- No!
- Well, Dick, remember when we were very young in
the nursery with nanny, being violently incontinent
and we were like Peter Pan, we never wanted to
grow up?
- Yes.
- Well, when Peter comes fluttering in through
the bedroom window, he wants Wendy, but not
for a wife.
- He's looking for a Mommy for the lost boys.
- You are one of the lost boys, Dick.
- Mm, because I have no mommy.
- Because you are different, Dick.
Lost boys are not so much as lost as hiding.
- From whom?
- From the cruel world, Dick, which frowns on
boys trying on Tigerlilie's flimsy dresses or
borrowing makeup from Tinkerbell, or going out
hunting for rough, male pirates.
Let me put it another way, when Oscar Wilde
talks of a love that dare not speak its name--
- What's that?
- Well, it's male love.
- No, no, not that, that, there on the beach.
- Oh good heavens, it's a piano.
What's it doing on the beach.
- Sounds like Rat Maninoff.
- I'm going to give this piano to the working
classes.
- Why?
- Because they need some new instruments.
- But I saw it first.
- Then we shall call it the Dick piano for the
working classes.
- Hey Burt.
- Yes, Ken.
- See that piano?
- Yeah.
- What's it doing on the beach?
- Well perhaps it fell off the back of the Titanic.
- Maybe its a symbol.
- Nah, it's definitely a piano.
- Hey you two idiots.
- Yes, Gov?
- What's your name?
- Burton Russell.
- The Philosopher?
- No Sir, Burton Russell the furniture remover.
- Oh, well, I want you to remove this piano to
London, I'm going to give it to The Working Classes.
- Wow, I'm sure they'll be thrilled,
all 25 million of 'em.
You okay, Ken, you got a bit pale.
- There's something oddly familiar about this piano, Burt.
- What?
- I've seen it before.
- Where?
- In India.
When I was in the regiment.
It was August 1898, a stinking hot day in Shagistan.
- What's going on?
- He's having a flashback.
- Oh dear, can you stop him?
- Too late, Sir, it's started.
- I was in British India in Shagistan with
the Queen's Armed Gay Gordon's,
a cross-dressing British regiment sent to
raise morale on the Northwest Front Yard.
We were a hundred men under Lord Darling,
guarding the back passage to India.
One day, I came across a local man by the
name of Deepak Rushdie Obi Ben Kingsley.
He was making something rather special.
- There, that is it.
It is finished.
- What is it, Deepak?
- Well, what does it look like?
- Well, it looks like a dick.
- Exactly, in fact, it is a dick, but a toy one
for the women.
- What kind of toy.
- A toy women can play with.
- Where?
- in their privates.
- Well, what will they do with it?
- Well, they could, sit on it.
- You mean--
- Yes.
- Good grief! You're a monster.
- No, that's just shortsighted, women will enjoy
this little toy.
- But, I can't believe that any woman--
- Oh, yes, they will, you will be shocked, Sergeant
but you're looking at the future.
Hitherto, these little private toys have been
made only in merchant ivory but now,
look, you, rubber, much more flexible,
much more easily sat upon.
- Good God!
- You are very naïve, Sergeant, there is a
shining future for the personal stimulator.
You see, I believe that one day every woman will
have one of these things, they'll have models
of all shapes and sizes, they will make different
things and they will shake and they will vibrate
and they will buzz.
They will be called The American Happy Boy,
the Old Colonial Ghetto Blaster, Slippery Sid,
Black Beauty, Ol' Calcutta, and your dick will
be useful for a little while yet, Sergeant but
when push comes to shove, it will be nothing
better than one of these little rubber things,
and that is the future then.
And then the Hudson Rubber Company will be
worth a fortune and I will get a proper Indian
accent.
This...
Yes, this I believe.
Thank you.
- Morning, Colonel Darling.
- Morning, Sergeant.
How's drag night coming along?
- Well, I mean, I'm very much looking forward
to it, Sir.
I've been up all night sewing their frocks.
- Is there any finer sight than a regiment of
young, British men in full drag?
By God, it must terrify the enemy.
- Scares the shit outta me, Sir.
Good grief!
- What is it, Sergeant?
- Over there, Sir, in the scruff.
- What is that?
- It looks like a piano, Sir.
- Beware, Sir, my Lord Darling, this piano
could very well bring about the collapse of the
entire British Empire.
- What?
- Oh, don't mind Deepak, Sir.
He always predicting the future.
Last week he foresaw Sarah Palin.
- What's that?
- Some kind of British comedian, I think, Sir.
And then only last night, he foresaw the Kardashian's.
- Is that some kind of disease?
- Yes it is.
- And you should see his little dick.
- I beg your pardon.
- He's got a little rubber toy, Sir.
Apparently, women will put it up their hoochie coo--
- That's quite enough of that.
Take this piano back to camp, it will make its
debut tonight at the regimental fancy dress ball.
- Oh no, Sir, I beg you, the rivers will run with
blood, the wren will leave its nest, the frogs will
fall from the sky and lambs will give birth to
little tadpoles.
And the owl will hoot at night and--
- The owl always hoots at night.
- This one will hoot in French.
- Oh, shut up, Deepak!
And Sergeant?
- Sir?
- I want to see you in my tent the minute we get back.
- It might be a few minutes after, Sir.
- Why?
- Well, I have to take a Donald.
- A what?
- A Donald Trump.
- Oh, a dump!
- So I was taken back to camp by the piano warriors,
a small hill tribe used by the Scot's Gays for
moving furniture.
While Sergeant Russell took a Donald and hurried off
to meet Lord Darling.
It's a tent.
- Oh, sorry
- You wanted to see me, Sir.
- Ah, yes, Sergeant.
Come in!
The thing is, I wanted a little talk with you,
because there's something that I want to get off
my chest.
- That ugly picture of your wife, Sir?
- No, my own chest, not off the furniture.
- Perhaps it's just a bad angle, Sir.
- It's from the front.
- Exactly.
- Sergeant, I'm trying to tell you something
personal, but you know how we English people are
with emotions.
- We don't have any, Sir?
- No, we have some but we don't share them.
We're not a touchy-feely race.
- Like the Nigerians.
- What?
Look, this may just be sentimental tosh, but I
have been having feelings about something, well
a little private.
- Any little private we know, Sir?
- It feels a bit awkward, I mean, after all, we're
in the Army.
- It's fairly common in the Navy, Sir.
- It's just that if anything should happen to me,
Sergeant, and this is really important, I should
like you to--
- What, what did he say?
- That's just it, I can't remember.
- You can't remember.
- Just that it was very important.
- But, how could you possibly forget?
- It was that night, when the piano appeared,
that the Regimental Transvestite Ball,
something terrible happened.
- Good evening, Major Dickhead.
- That's Dihard.
- What?
- It's spelled Dickhead but it's pronounced Duh hard.
- Oh, sorry.
Splendid sight isn't it, all these chaps in their
frocks.
- Stimulating!
- Fancy a stiff one?
- I already have one.
- Lovely gown.
- Thank you.
- Sorry to interrupt this gay banter, Sir,
but there's a bit of trouble in the camp.
- What sort of trouble?
- One of the civilians has been eaten.
- Beaten?
- No, Sir, eaten.
- Eton as in the public school founded in 1440
by Henry the VI part three?
- No, Sir.
Eatin' as in tucked into a nice sandwich,
nibble, nibble, nibble part chewed.
- Good grief!
- Shall I cancel the ball?
- Good Lord, no need to do that.
The chaps have been up all night sewing their dresses.
- Righto, Sir.
But I wish I had,
because shortly after the spot dance,
we cut right in to who just won best frock for
a beautiful hand embroidered ballgown,
all hell broke loose.
- It should have been me.
- It was mine.
- My frock was much better than yours--
- No, mine had no holes in it--
- Look, yours is Bastille rubbish--
- I don't know what your--
- But this terrible bickering was soon silenced.
by a deadly attack.
- What sort of enemy attacks during drag night?
And I'll tell you one thing, Sergeant,
before I die, there is a place far off in the
future where the wind blows off of the mountains,
and people will be kind and good,
and respect one another and be descent and fair.
- America, Sir?
- No, not America, Holland.
- But there aren't any mountains in Holland.
- What?
- Well, there's canals, and dykes and red light
districts with hookers in the windows but no
mountains.
- The mountains are a metaphor.
- But Holland is known for being flat.
- It doesn't matter.
- Well, it matters because if the metaphor is
to signify it, it must be appropriate to the
comparison.
- No, no, you see, a metaphor is by definition
a comparison between two different things.
- That's a simile.
But the argument was never resolved.
Lord Darling took a terrible wound.
- I'm done for, Sergeant.
Don't forget your promise.
- Oh I won't, Sir.
But I did.
In the morning, there were only three survivors,
me, Deepak and this piano.
- Look, there's Helena Schlegel walking down Bond Street.
Helena!
- Hello, Reverend Whoopsie.
Is the flashback over?
- Yes, thank God!
- How was the weekend with Dick?
- Marvelous!
We played games.
- Who won?
- Dick came first.
- It was such fun, Helena.
I hardly knew I had it in me.
- Then Dick found this piano on the beach.
- Oh, it's a beauty.
- Isn't it?
- We're giving it to the Workers.
- Oh, not to me, Dick?
- Mr. Whoopsie says The Workers need some new
instruments.
- But such a beautiful piano, you might have
thought of me.
- Whoopsie was very insistent and apparently
has a young man in mind.
- Why don't you come along and meet him tonight
at The Royal Working Men's Club.
- Oh, Dear God!
Oh, sweet Jesus!
Shit, Christ, hell, fuck, will it never end.
- I am very pleased to present The Dick Piano for the
Working Classes to Leonard the Bastard.
So what do you think, Helena?
- I think it's monstrous.
Why on earth did you choose him?
- Well, look at him.
He's beautiful.
- But he can't play the piano to save his life.
- Congratulations, Lennie.
- Thank you very much, Reverend.
- Leonard, this is Helena Schlegel.
- Very nice to meet ya, Miss Schlegel.
- How much do you want for the piano?
- Oh no, I couldn't possibly part with it.
- I'll give you a hundred guineas.
- Heavens, that's more than my wife makes in a year.
- You're married?
- Who's the clever little ducky wucky?
Come on, Lenny give us a smackening,
muah, muah, muah, muah, muah, muah.
- This is Enid.
- Who's Enid?
- I'm Enid.
- She's your mother?
- No, she's me wife.
- Oh, sorry, it's the light in here.
- Don't worry Vicar, if it weren't for me,
Lennie would starve.
- Why, what is it you do, Mrs. Bastard?
- She has men over.
- And what does she do with them?
- None of your business.
I make them happy.
You should try it sometime.
- Enid!
- What?
You're a stuck up git!
She's looking down her nose at us, Lennie.
- Golly, how awkward.
Well, I must be off to play hunt the thimble,
with the Bishop of Thornton.
Enjoy the piano, Lennie.
- How are we ever going to get that piano into our place?
- We'll manage somehow.
- Well, we'll have to get a saw and cut it in half.
- 150 guineas.
- I cannot lie to you miss but it's more than me
life's worth.
- Give me the address then.
- It's at the bottom of Glenn Close.
- I'll tell the Russell brothers.
- That's in Houndsditch, miss.
But you've probably never won't have heard of it.
- Enid!
- What?
- She's only trying to help, girl.
- Well, I don't trust her, Lennie.
I don't like the way she's looking.
- At me?
- No, at the piano.
- Hey, you two idiots.
- Yes, miss.
- You're to take this piano to Kensington Gardens.
- This what?
- I think she means the piano.
- Well, why didn't she fucking well say so?
- Well, she's a toff but she has very nice--
- Oh, she certainly does, yeah.
- Hurry up you two Working Class wankers, to Kensington.
- Kensington, I thought it was going to Houndsditch.
- No, it's written Houndsditch but it's pronounced
Kensington.
- Oh see, that's why she's a toff and I'm
just a cunt--
- Tree boy.
Come on in, Warhorse.
- Look, Lennie, there's a cart with our piano,
that's not the way to Houndsditch.
I knew it, they're heading for Kensington.
- Perhaps there's a mistake.
- Yeah, accepting pianos from Whoopsie Dick 'cause
he's a mistake, quick after 'em.
- I'll call the police.
- No, no, no, no, not the police, Lennie.
Think of my work.
- What is it exactly that you do?
- I told you, Lennie.
It's a kind of therapy.
- But must they take their trousers off?
- We'll talk about that later, Lennie.
- No, I want to talk about it now.
- Alright, Leonard.
I'm an ass reader.
- You what?
- I tell peoples fortunes.
It's like palm reading.
Only I read their asses.
- Ass-trology.
- Exactly.
- But why do you work all the time?
- Because.
♫ I'm a simple girl from Houndsditch
♫ Ass readings what I do
♫ Bend over, drop your trousers Len
♫ I'll read your future too
♫ No!
♫ It's part of your body
♫ Speaks volumes like a book
♫ Bend over, my sweet Lennie dear
♫ And let me take a look
♫ Can't have it
♫ Asstrology
♫ As sound as the hills like Geology
♫ All that is written and will come to pass
♫ Is buried down deep in your ass
♫ Ugh
♫ Each little wrinkle and crinkle and dimple
♫ Will foretell the future it's really that simple
♫ Look on the night side and not on the black side
♫ Your face is your fortune but so is your backside
♫ Come on, Lennie
♫ Asstrology
♫ It all sounds like hogwash and doorah to me
♫ I prefer Psychology
♫ Shut up and let me read your ass
♫ Slight little problem that's found on me ninth
♫ Is written down neatly upon my behind
♫ The past so completely and utterly gone
♫ Is plainly still writ upon my sit upon
♫ Asstrology
♫ They say that whatever will be will be
♫ But whatever happens When shove comes to push
♫ A future is read in your tush, tush, tush ♫
- It's very late.
Where can that neurotic girl be?
- Don't worry, Aunt Maggie.
Here's Helena now, on a cart.
- Hey, Emma, look what I've got.
- Not more umbrellas.
- She's got a piano.
- Where on earth did you get it?
- Dick found it and gave it to me.
- Out of breath, out of breath.
Excuse me.
- Yes?
- That's my piano.
- No it's not.
- Oh Helena don't tell me--
- It's mine, Emma.
- Give it back to me or else she'll call the police.
- You tell her, Lennie.
- What exactly do you want?
- We want his piano miss hoity toity.
- Stand aside you ruffians.
- Why, Mr. Hudson--
- May I be of some assistance.
- This lady is Nickin' my piano.
- How dare you make scandalous aspersions about a young
neurotic upper class woman.
I shall thrash you, Sir with my umbrella.
- Oh, I will take that, thank you.
- Please, Mr. Hudson, do not thrash him.
He is Working Class.
- No, no. He fucking ain't.
He ain't even working.
I mean, Leonard's unemployed, everyone will be
forced to fetch the police, so give me that piano back.
Stealing a piano in broad daylight.
Oh, why, I never heard the like of it,
oh so help me, I've never did, in all of my born
days, oh blimey, Lord's have mercy, cross me
heart and hope to die.
- What is she, some kind of Dickens Festival?
- She's on crack cocaine.
Get this woman out of here.
- Eww, hello cuddle butt.
- Do you know her?
- Uh, no, absolutely not, never seen her before
in my life.
- You know this man, Enid?
- Yeah, he's a regular, Saturdays at eight.
- What is she talking about?
- Woman's mad.
- Come on, Enid, let's fetch the coppers.
- You haven't heard the last of this.
See you Saturday as usual, dimple butt.
- Can I ask you a favor, Mr. Hudson?
That man Leonard that was just here,
would you go after him?
- Yeah, go after him and then offer to beat his lights out?
- No, offer him a job.
- Oh, whatever for?
- The piano was his, Helena took it.
- Oh dear, that umbrella thing is getting much worse.
- Yes and soon the police will be here and there'll
be an awful scene.
- Where is this piano?
- Over there on the cart.
- Hey, you two idiots.
- Yes, Gov?
- What's your name?
- Ken Russell.
- Don't I know you?
- No idea, Gov.
- His memories gone, Sir, he can't remember anything
since the Shagistan massacre.
- I see, right.
Well, I want you to take this piano over to
Trevor Howard's End.
That is my country cottage at Norfolk.
The piano will be safe there.
- Alright, Gov.
Come on, warhorse.
- And now, Emma, I will make my excuses and I
shall pursue Leonard Bastard to offer him a job
in the Accounting Department.
- I don't know how to thank you, Mr. Hudson.
- You don't need to thank me unless, perhaps, do
have a hairbrush?
- Yes, why?
- Oh, nothing.
She detains me with her eyes.
I have a strong compulsion towards her.
It's as if--
- It's as if I could read his thoughts.
- It's as if she could read my thoughts.
- That's because we are speaking out loud.
- Yes, I suppose so.
So here we are still--
- Exactly--
- It's not as if--
- no, hardly at all--
- And just to think if something doesn't--
- No, of course it doesn't--
- What's the harm in that?
- Simply thinking.
- And fantasizing.
- Perfectly normal.
- You know what I'd like to do?
- I have and idea.
- I'd like to be a Butler.
- A Butler?
- In a great house.
- How odd, I too dream of serving.
- Of housekeeping?
- To serve alongside a man who likes order and
discipline.
- Wearing a simple black dress of silk maybe.
- Yes.
- With tightly laced black corset underneath?
- Yes.
- Perhaps regulation black stockings.
- Oh, certainly.
- Forgive me, Miss Schlegel, I must just go and
rearrange my furniture.
- Oh heavens.
- These are new trousers, I'm just breaking them
in for a friend.
- So I see.
- Excuse me.
- Not so fast upper class, middling class,
poor n high class.
Allow me to introduce myself.
I'm a private dick by the name of Inspector McGuffin
in New Scotland Yard, missing furniture division,
including instruments, mouth organs, banjos and other
such items lost from time to time and reported
by the public to the police.
- Well, how do you do?
- I'll ask the fucking questions.
- Well, Inspector, I'm a very busy man could you
possibly tell me what all this is about?
- Certainly.
A young man from The Workers, Leonard the Bastard
was given a piano from the Reverend Whoopsie.
- I'm sorry, what?
- A piano.
A young laddie for The Working Class apparently playing
piano in the Royal McMurkett Class Institute.
Young laddie with a great bit hairstyle took a piano
country...
to the Kensington Gardens,
where a man identified later to be Hudson Rubbery Company
to, wish to take away the piano in secret
and the same piano is far away in a far distant place,
arousing the suspicions of the Metropolitan Opera
and the police, namely Inspector McGuffin,
who's demanding the same of Mr. Hudson return
information regarding of the same piano.
- Could you just run that by me again?
- Mr. Hudson--
- Yes I got that bit.
- Do you or do you know these have taken possession
of the same young man, Lenny Bastard's piano
the same said piano for the country to all uses and
practices for your own self abuse and your
, please?
- I can honestly assure you Inspector, I have no
idea what you're talking about.
Oh yeah,
what I be talking about?
- Ah, are you offering us a holiday in Scotland?
- I'm not offering you a holiday in Scotland, you
daft tit.
Do you no understand any English?
Where's the fucking piano?
- What fucking piano?
- Don't with me, Sonny.
- I think he means piano.
- Oh thanks for the translatoration you upper
tightly, upper classy emotionally retarded twat.
- Well, do you honestly see any piano, Inspector?
- Don't be so fucking clever with Inspector McGuffin,
son.
From the loo...
From the loo, I'll trouble you no further, but I'm
not through with you big boy so cheerio the loo,
my kind speckled neighbor and when the
bag of oatmeal, empty-handed,
the more you know the less the better.
Bebo bobbity,
- What an odd person.
Miss Schlegel are you hungry, would you like some dinner?
- Oh gosh, yes, I'm starving.
- Well, let's eat tomorrow, say at my country house
in Norfolk.
- Oh, okay.
- Next day while I was on the cart, being driven up
to Norfolk, Emma took the train to dine at Trevor
Howard's End.
- I'm just as excited as a little girl, to be going
off alone to visit the man of my dreams
I was as giggly as a giddy goose, to get away from my
family and friends, I was feeling so very grown up
when--
- Hello, Emma.
- Reverend Whoopsie.
- Surprise!
- What are you doing on this train?
- Aunt Maggie wants to make sure you were safe.
- Oh, I'll be perfectly safe alone in a bedroom
in a country cottage with an unhappily married man.
- Think of your reputation, dear.
- Aunt Maggie, you're here too?
- I love a train journey. All the jiggling about,
it's like the Happy Boy.
- Is that you, Dick?
- Hello, Emma.
I bought me a mouth organ.
- And I can't wait to play my piano.
- Helena, you as well?
- I'm so excited, I've already found three
umbrellas on the train.
- Give them back.
- No, the owners got off ages ago and we're here now.
- Spiggy Junction, Spiggy Junction, all change for
Coupler's bottom, Wrigley in the Watch, Colonel
Strummond Duprat, Lord Dee's Forget, Butthole's Landing,
Downton Abbey, Upper Prostate,
Fingley Bongley, Lower Forking,
and Spunky Cumsnotoil.
- Emma, welcome to Trevor Howard's End.
- Mr. Hudson, how kind of you to invite me.
- Ass!
- What?
- Hello.
- Hello, Mr. H.
- Hello there.
- Oh, I didn't expect the bloody Spanish Inquisition.
- No, no, neither did I.
They insisted on chaperoning me.
- Well, good grief, what did they thinks
gonna happen?
It's not as if we're gonna run off into the woods and
start playing vicars and nurses.
- No, no, I hear the woods can be really lovely
this time of year.
- Especially with a pig leg and some extra virgin
olive oil.
Well, look, please, all of you, why don't you
just go and play with the farm machinery.
I have to go and poison some rats.
- May I help you poison rats, Mr. Hudson?
- Very kind of you, Emma, but it's best
left to a man, this job.
- What's more natural on a Saturday afternoon than
a good game of poisoning rats?
Especially if you can't--
- Well, precisely, it's very--
- Healthy--
- Exactly, it takes my mind off--
- Other things--
- Quite, otherwise mind can get very--
- Whimsical--
- No, regular--
- Regime--
- It's hard for a man to--
- Fulfill himself--
- Quite.
- Mr. Hudson, may I help you finish
your sentences this weekend?
At the weekend dance, Miss Schlegel, that would be
so very, very--
- Fuck.
- Whatever was that?
- It's just, it's my wife, she's dying.
- Oh dear.
- No need to worry, she usually dies about this time
of day.
You can set your watch by it.
It's from wisteria.
- Hysteria?
- No, wisteria, she's allergic to it.
- She was touched incorrectly in a cave in India.
Ever since then the sight of wisteria makes
her wisterical.
- You do not trust your emotions do you, Mr. Hudson?
- I believe emotions are like rats, they should
be poisoned at birth.
- Mr. Hudson, do you know what a hooded clitoris is?
- Yes, it's a kind of snake with a cap on.
- No, it is found in the vulva.
- Ah Argentina.
- Have you any idea what the vagina is?
- Well, that's a river in the Belgian Congo.
- Oh, Mr. Hudson do not toy with me.
My gynecologist tells me I may never be able
to have an emotion.
- Do not despair, Miss Schlegel, these days we
can do wonderful things with the rubber.
And now if you'll excuse me, I have to hit
Tracey and...
But more to the point, my wife is dying again.
I must go and give her sugar.
- What a strange man he is but I believe he
understands me despite his attempts to distract
me with interesting discourse about rat poison.
- I can still hear you.
- Oh, sorry.
- Whoa there, look at that house, Ken.
- Blimey.
Anne fuckin' Hathaway's fucking cottage.
- The last time I saw so much thatch it was on a
stripper in Belgium.
- Hey Burt, see that bloke lurking in the window.
- The one watching us?
- Yeah, do I know him?
- Yes, Mr. Hudson.
- He looks familiar.
- Yeah, you saw him yesterday when he told us
to bring the piano here.
- Oh yeah.
- He thought he knew you.
- From where?
- He didn't say.
- Look, Dick.
My piano is here.
- You're jolly fond of that piano aren't you?
- I love it, Dick.
Thank you ever so.
- Hey, you wouldn't marry me would ya?
- What?
- Become my awful wedded wife.
- That's lawful, Dick, and it's not lawful,
we're cousins.
- Doesn't stop the Royal family.
- Yes but they're all bonkers.
- Dick, you are very beautiful but you are a little bit--
- Am I, am I?
- Yes, yes, Dick, Just a tad.
I'm so sorry, I don't care for you in that way.
I can't marry you.
- Well, nevermind, I'm gay anyway.
- What?
- He's different, that's all.
♫ He's different
♫ So very different
♫ Oh, very different
♫ In every way
♫ That's right, I'm different
♫ So very different
♫ Oh, very different
♫ Not gay
♫ He's not the same as other boys
♫ He likes to play with different toys
♫ I like to stay out late and dress in fancy things
♫ Of course you do
♫ He's not the only one there's been
♫ I'm not the first King who is a Queen
♫ But it's illegal still
♫ So that is why we sing
♫ That he is different
♫ Oh very different
♫ So very different
♫ Not gay ♫
- Helena played with me all afternoon
tickling my ivories with her lovely fingers.
I must say, she has a lovely touch.
Meanwhile, Whoopsie and Dick disappeared
into the woods.
Maggie and Emma went for a walk amongst the
bluebells, and Hudson busied himself poisoning
rats until around three when...
- I say, has anyone seen Dick?
- What about Dick?
- I've lost him.
- What?
- One minute we were playing hide and seek,
and the next he had gone.
- He's probably playing a game on you.
- Oh, yes, of course.
I'm sure he'll be back for dinner.
- It's a lovely dinner, Mr. Hudson.
- The curry goat is delicious.
- Yes, it's something my wife picked up in India.
- How is your wife?
- Oh, still off her tits.
- Still no sign of Dick, it's very worrying.
- Perhaps we should call the police.
- Too late, we're here.
- Oh shit.
- My piano, um I'm sorry Inspector,
you can't come in here, we're having dinner.
- I'm warning ya's, all of ya's, every single one of
you toffee-nosed gits, sittin' round with your chips,
listening to your Chopin and your Beethoven, after
your suppers we have kippers and lungs and requiche.
Listen that frame my lips and mouth and
drop a little rain, falling from the gland that
softly quells the glistening buns and rivulets and
streams of Bonnie Scotland.
- Is this something about a holiday?
- You've not won a holiday, you stupid gits,
we're tickety boom, may I ask who owns this piano?
- Oh, that's mine.
- Oh, is that right?
It's your piano?
- Been in the family for years, matter of fact,
belongs to my wife.
- Your wife's as mad as a hatter, coo coo,
bonkers.
She hasn't got a piano.
This piano was stolen from Leonard Bastard.
- No, no, Inspector, you are mistaken, that's
his Helena's piano, I give it her.
- Leonard Bastard, what are you doing here,
just in time to confirm a most unlikely story?
- I come here to thank you for getting me the
job with Mr. Hudson and to give you the piano
you love so much.
- How on earth did you get here?
- I walked.
- All the way from Houndsditch?
- Yes.
- But that's a hundred miles.
- Yes.
- Would you like a glass of water?
- Seeing you is refreshment enough for me.
- Oh golly gosh, blush, blush, blush.
- So you see Inspector, it is Helena's piano.
- How very touching, it reminds me of a wee ballad
from my childhood, called The Lonely Trout.
♫ From the heelan hills and rills o bonnie Scotland
♫ Fra the bogs and fogs and soggy lochs and braes
♫ From the moontin tops where lonely jocks drink whiskey
♫ To the dingy pond wherein the lone trout plays.
♫ There was once a laddie wandered wi his lassie
♫ When she told him that her love for him was dead.
♫ As she left this lonely boy
♫ Who’d now lost his only joy
♫ The trout raised his head and this is what he said
♫ O rum ti tumti
♫ TTckle yer monkey
♫ Tickle di didle doo
♫ Rumpy pumpy
♫ Humpty dumpty
♫ Tickle yer tivey too
♫ Oh hankie pankie
♫ Winkie wankie
♫ Diddle de didle doo
♫ Rinky dinky
♫ Tiddley winky
♫ Nicky nacky noo
♫ the noo the noo the noo the noo the noo
♫ O Winkie wankie
♫ Nickety nackety
♫ Sings the lonely trout
♫ Tiggly wiggly
♫ Higgly piggly
♫ What is life about?
♫ Mickety pickety
♫ Wickety lickety
♫ She was just a slut
♫ Find yourself another lass
♫ A nicer piece of butt.
♫ Oh packety wackety
♫ Nickety nackety
♫ Sings the lonely trout
♫ Splickety wickety
♫ Pickety nickety
♫ What is life about?
♫ Shackety mackety
♫ Thwackety crackety
♫ She was just a slut
♫ Find yourself another lass
♫ A nicer piece of butt.
♫ Splickety wickety
♫ Pickety nickety
♫ What is life about
♫ Shackety mackety
♫ Thwackety crackety
♫ What is life about?
♫ Shackety mackety
♫ Thwackety crackety
♫ She was just a slut
♫ Find yourself another lass
♫ A nicer piece of butt.
♫ Oh packety wackety
♫ Nickety nackety
♫ Sings the lonely trout
♫ Splickety wickety
♫ Pickety nickety
♫ What is life about?
♫ Shackety mackety
♫ Thwackety crackety
♫S he was just a slut
♫ Find yourself another lass
♫ A nicer piece of butt.
♫ Oh, packety wackety
♫ Nickety nackety
♫ Sings the lonely trout ♫
- I think that's quite enough of that, Inspector.
I said come on, off, off, come on, you.
Off, off, off, take your boobs with you.
And what about Dick?
- I completely forgot about wee Dickie.
- My nephew is missing.
- No he's not.
- Oh you found Dick.
Oh thank heaven.
- Oh, shut your dribble, you big.
You're a disgrace to the We Free course frolicking
about in pines with naked laddies beneath.
We have indeed found him and he told me a joke.
We found him in the woods.
- In the woods, is he dead?
- Not quite but severely blootered.
He was attacked by some hungry vampire who
tried to eat him all up and do him like a dinner.
- Great Scott!
- Thank you.
- But who would want to harm Dick?
- Somebody who wanted to shut his face.
- But Dick knows nothing about everything.
- Do you know we have a wee saying in Scotland,
we men in the nuts.
- One can only imagine what that means.
- Sometimes the things we don't know are the
unknown knowns that we don't know we think we know
but others think we do.
- Well, that's easy for you to say, Inspector.
But it is idle to speculate, since Dick can
no longer speak.
- I have an Indian gentleman who specializes
recovering memories by the name of
Deepak Rushdie Obi Ben Kingsley.
Perhaps wee Dickie might remember something
when he comes out of his coma.
- But when will he wake up?
- Who knows, a few weeks, a few months, a few
years per chance.
- Years, but whatever shall we do?
- We must all go to Italy at once.
♫ To Italy
♫ Oh yes, let's go to Italy
♫ Where painters paint so prettily
♫ On ceilings there
♫ Where everyone talks wittily
♫ And no one argues bitterly
♫ And we'll free to really have some feelings there
♫ Let's leave the soggy English rain
♫ And go to Italy by train
♫ To visit Florence, Venice and then Rome again
♫ We'll wine and dine 'til we are sick
♫ And we won't have to think of Dick
♫ At least until we finally come home again
♫ Italia
♫ La, la la, la la, la la, la la, la la, la
♫ Italia
♫ Ya, ya ya, ya ya, ya ya, ya ya, ya ya, ya
♫ No, I cannot stand Italians
♫ They wear the gold medallions
♫ And act like bloody stallions
♫ All the waiters there
♫ Telly, telly, dirty telly
♫ It all gets on my nelly
♫ As far as I'm concerned
♫ They're pasterbators there
♫ Italia
♫ La, la la, la la, la la, la la, la la, la
♫ Italia
♫ Ya, ya ya, ya ya, ya ya, ya ya, ya ya, ya
♫ Italian men are gorgeous
♫ If you don't include the Borgias
♫ For they make me slightly nauseous
♫ When I read of them
♫ Romeo's and Cinderella's
♫ Say buon giorno and ciao bella
♫ And they have umbrella's
♫ Should I feel the need of them
♫ Italia
♫ La, la la, la la, la la, la la, la la, la
♫ Italia
♫ Ya, ya ya, ya ya, ya ya, ya ya, ya ya, ya
♫ Rome was not built in a day
♫ Though actually it looks that way
♫ The Roman Empire, of course
♫ Was the power there
♫ There's a geezer came from Pisa
♫ By the name of Julius Caesar
♫ He was a little bent
♫ But then, so is the tower there
♫ Italia
♫ La, la la, la la, la la, la la, la la, la
♫ Italia
♫ Ya, ya ya, ya ya, ya ya, ya ya, ya ya, ya
♫ Italia
♫ La, la la, la la, la la, la la, la la, la
♫ Italia
♫ Ya, ya ya, ya ya, ya ya, ya ya, ya ya, ya ♫
- I was on the move again.
This time to Italy where English people go
to have emotions.
Consequently, Emma remained behind.
Meanwhile, the party arrived in Florence.
The traveling party arrived in Florence.
- Sorry.
- What joy to be in Italy with these friendly
men and their encouragingly lax morals.
- Aunt Maggie, why is that statue not wearing
any underpants?
- I suppose because it's so terribly hot dear.
- Amd what is that little thing?
- Well, it's an umbrella symbol.
Oh, here we are, the Pensione Berlusconi.
- Buon giorno, Signore.
- Bunga bunga, Signor pederasty Inglesi.
- Oh, Signor Berlusconi, how nice to see you.
- Ah, Signora De Clepa Inglesi.
I have reserved for you and your niece,
a room with no view.
- Thank you so much, dear.
Helena is allergic to views.
- Particularly right wing views.
- Well, welcome to Pensione where emotionally
repressed English people can learn to enjoy
themselves.
How to chew the pizza, how to nibble on the pasta,
how to swallow salami--
- Yes, yes, I think that's quite enough
single entendre's for now, Signor.
Come on, Helena, let's freshen up while they
unload our baggage.
- Blimey!
Look at that statue, Ken.
- That bloke's not wearing any underpants.
- That's Michaelangelo's David.
- Michaelangelo's dick, more like.
- Yeah.
Scusi, Signore.
- Yeah, delivery's are around the back.
- Oh, charming.
- You bloody Italians, should be ashamed of
yourselves, all these naked statues.
Have you Italians never heard of underpants?
- What's he saying?
- He says you condescending English bastards,
I invite you to pull your foreskin over your heads
and give yourself an enema with a wine bottle.
May you sleep in sheep shit and your sphincter become
a highway for Australian rugby players.
- Blimey, I never knew you spoke Italian.
- I learned it on the train.
- What is it you two idiots want?
- Oy, don't you get lippy with us, mate.
Who do you think you are?
- You arrogant, English pigs.
You come from a miserable island,
it rains every day where the men are pederasts
and the women are frozen from the waist down.
You have no cheese, you have no wine, no olive oil,
no garlic, you cannot play football and your
music is all poo.
- Oh yeah, yeah well, that's where you're wrong,
Mister, ice cream selling bloody fascist wop.
Cause we have brought a piano for Miss Helena to play.
- What?
The bella signorina with the lovely swishy hair?
- That's the one.
- Well, oh, mi apologia, I invite you to stay,
for dinner and anal sex.
- Ken?
- Dinner would be nice.
- Yeah.
- Oh, I am so very happy.
At last I have my own piano.
♫ One day some lovely fellas
♫ Going too show me his umbrella
♫ But until that day
♫ Ill play upon my pi-an-o
♫ If he's jealous
♫ Of the fellas
♫ Who have shown me their umbrellas
♫ He'll be happy when I let him
♫ Touch my pi-an-o
♫ My Pi-an-o
♫ My pi-an-o
♫ It's such a lovely instrument
♫ And I really love it so
♫ My pi-an-o
♫ Who wouldn't like to play
♫ Upon my pi-an-o
♫ From Florence down to Napoli
♫ The men behave unhappily
♫ If they can't get a glimpse of my sweet pi-an-o
♫ The Frenchmen and the Dutchmen
♫ Always shout and yell
♫ How much then
♫ But I won't let them touch me
♫ Like my pi-an-o
♫ My pi-an-o
♫ Tickling the ivories
♫ I really love it so
♫ My pi-an-o
♫ I so adore
♫ I'll play with it all night and day
♫ Until I get too sore ♫
♫ Her pi-an-o
♫ Who wouldn't like a go
♫ Upon her piano
♫ The British upper classes
♫ Can all shove it up their asses
♫ For the poor and struggling masses
♫ Have no pi-an-o ♫
- What a lucky, lucky old piano
- Leonard Bastard.
What on earth are you doing in Italy?
- I walked.
- But, that's almost 900 miles.
- 903, actually.
- Is your wife here?
- No, she couldn't get away.
- You tied her up.
- No, she's helping McGuffin with his Dick problem.
- How?
- Well, she's a professional ass reader
and she has some information that may be
helpful to the police.
- Oh gosh, really?
I have judged her too harshly as a
worthless slut who trapped you into an
unhappy marriage.
- No, no.
She is a worthless slut who trapped me
into an unhappy marriage but she is a very
fine ass reader.
- Leonard, I have been less than generous with you.
I want you to play with me.
- What?
- On the piano.
- When?
- Right now.
- Let's go.
- Oh, good grief.
Close your eyes Mr. Whoopsie.
You're a clergyman.
- What is going on?
- Helena is playing a piano in public with
a mad man of The Working Classes.
- How shameful!
Unprotected Beethoven.
- Whatever are we to do?
- Russell brothers, pick up the piano.
We must all go home at once.
- Who is it?
- Open the door, Emma.
I must see you at once.
- Hang on a minute.
Why, Mr. Hudson.
- Thank God, you're here.
- Mr. Hudson, you're in a state of some emotion.
- I'm sorry, these are new trousers,
just breaking them in for a friend.
- What are you doing in a house, alone,
with a woman whose Aunt and Sister have not
yet returned from Italy and with no one around to
notice if you were to accidentally slip upstairs
with a hair brush?
- No, I have something terribly serious to tell you.
My wife is dead.
- For real?
- Yeah.
- How did she die?
- An unfortunate brush with rat poison.
She apparently mistook it for sugar.
- It's easily done.
- I blame myself.
- Oh, it could happen to anyone with an unwanted wife.
- I wasn't there, you see.
I was in Manchester.
It was a rubber thing.
- A perfectly reasonable alibis.
- Yes, the police suspect foul play.
They think the same man who had done it to
Dick has gone and done it to her.
I'm sorry, I seem to have lost control
of my tongue.
- Am I making you nervous?
- Standing in the doorway in a nightie with
a light behind you, nervous isn't quite the word.
- I know what you'd like.
- Really?
- A nice cup of tea.
- Uh, it's close.
- Oh I love the way he stares at me when we're
making tea.
I know exactly what he's thinking.
- I know exactly what I'm thinking.
- He can read me like a book.
- I can read her like a book.
- The Big Boy's Book of Fairies.
- 107 nasty positions to do it.
- He seems to know exactly what I'd like.
- I know exactly what she'd like.
- I'd like to play tiddlywinks.
- She wants to be shagged senseless.
- Then supper at the Ritz and afterwards, dancing.
- Then up to the bathroom for a good scrubbing.
- What?
- With a stiff Loofah rag and scrubbing with
a soapy tub of water til she blushes naked all
over with that pale, delicate skin.
- Good heavens.
- I wanna kiss your warm, soapy buttocks,
- Oh!
- probing deeper and deeper--
- Oh!
- Stroking and spanking and kneading and plunging
- and thrusting. - Oh!
Turn you over then plunging and thrusting you
- Oh!
- like a giant glob of internal combustion engine
- oh, oh.
- buzzing haplessly like a bee in a bottle and
- Ohhhh!
- screaming like a monkey on speed.
- Ooooohhhhh!
- Emma, dear! - Oh!
- We're back from Italy. - Oh!
- Emma, Emma!
- Good grief! - Ohhh!
- what's happening? - Oooh ooooh!
- Is she alright?
- Oh, I'd say so.
- Ohhhhhh!
- What is happening to her?
- Emma is having an emotion.
Italy had worked it's gay magic.
And the English were now all caring and sensitive.
Dick was on everyone's lips.
We shall skip World War I, which was mainly
about a horse and move on to August...
1929 when Aunt Maggie went to visit Dick.
But when she arrived at the Royal Hospital
for the Extremely Mad, she was in for a surprise.
- You've a visitor, Dick.
- Has there been any change in his condition?
- Alas, Madam, there is none.
- Allow me to present Deepak Rushdie Obi Ben Kingsley.
Visiting professor of psycho babble at the University
of Virginia Woolf.
- Oh, I read about him in the rubber ware news.
It seems you are the inventor of the American
Happy Boy.
- That is I, myself, good lady.
- Oh, it has relieved many of my emotions.
- Well, I am proud to have had a hand in that.
- We're going to seek the assistance of a
professional ass reader.
But first, we have wee surprise.
Mr. Russell, bring in the piano.
- Here ya go.
- Good heavens, it is the piano from Shagistan.
- This piano has been close to the scene of
all these violent attacks.
- You suspect the piano?
- Of course I don't fuckin' suspect the piano,
you weird Indian psycho babbling Chapati muncher.
I thought it may help to jog his memory.
- If only this piano could talk, Inspector.
- Piano's don't fucking talk, you silly touchy-feely wanked
out son of a bloody.
You gobbledy shaky sloppy sloppy touchy-feely bullocks.
But since Dick found it on the beach I thought it
might help him to remember a happier time.
- This where you wanted the piano, Gov?
- Just drop it right here.
Thank you.
The piano's at the heart of the mystery.
- Will that be all, Sir?
- Good heavens, is that you, Sergeant?
- Do I kbow you, Sir?
- Sergeant Ken Russell of the 13th foot and mouth.
Do you not remember me, I am Deepak from Shagistan?
- Alas Sir, he can remember nothing since the
massacre.
- Well, Darling told him something important
but he's forgot it.
- Do not worry, Inspector.
I will put him in a trance.
Now, Ken, listen to me, you're going to relax,
you're going into a deep sleep,
not you, Inspector.
- Oh, sorry, sorry.
- Just relax, Ken, Kenneth.
Now, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1.
You're gone.
- Where am I?
- You are in Shagistan, Sergeant.
- Oh, yeah.
Bloody hot, innit?
- It's very hot, Ken.
- Lord, these bloody flies.
- Oh, these bloody flies.
Now you're with Lord Darling and he is talking
to you.
What is Lord Darling saying?
- He is telling me a very disturbing tale, Sir.
He's saying...
- There are some things I am not proud of in
my life, Sergeant.
There was a young governess I met at a coming out
ball , her name was Margaret.
She was beautiful and I couldn't help myself,
I plied her with Gin and I took advantage of her.
Too late I learned that nine months later,
she had a child, but by then, my regiment had
shipped out.
I still don't know the name of that child.
- The child's name was Dick.
- How could you know that?
Because I was that Governess.
Margaret was me.
This is my Dick.
- He's your son?
- Yes, Inspector.
- Oh, mommy, I'm coming out of my coma.
- There, there, Dick, mommy's here.
- Mommy, can I have a little suck on your breast, please?
- Well, I suppose a little wouldn't hurt.
See if I can still lactate.
Oh, yes I can. - Sergeant.
- Oh, yes, it's happening.
- Sergeant. - Oh, Russell likes it, ew.
- Sergeant, control, control your energies.
- Eww!
- Sergeant, for fucks sake, control the energies
in your head.
- Very difficult, very difficult, Sir.
- What else is Lord Darling saying to you?
- It's all coming back to me now, Sir.
It's a little bit misty but it's coming back.
He says--
- Take this piano to my son, Dick, at Darling Hall.
- Very well, and so you have done, your task is complete
Sergeant, Dick has the piano and he has a mommy.
- But we still don't know who attacked him and why?
- That is true, Inspector, it is time for the
ass reading, I think.
- Who is it?
Oh, it's you, come on in, yeah,
come to have your body read again, have ya?
- You're a right naughty boy ain't ya,
I saw it in your bum the other day.
I said to myself, I said there's violence
in that bottom, Enid my love, those cheeks have
seen more than their fair share of sorrow and
a deep dark secret is hidden in that derriere
but I haven't told no one, Gov, so help me,
I wouldn't tell Inspector McGuffin nothing,
as long as you brought me that little bit of
money you promised me.
Dear, dear, what's that?
No, no, please, don't, stop!
- Houndsditch mutilator strikes again!
Ass reader ass-assinated!
- Dammit, Deepak, we're too late.
- Police working on the theory that they have no idea
what's going on!
- Watch to, you.
- This is most unfortunate.
I had high hopes that she might see something useful
in Dick's behind.
- Who assassinates an ass reader and why?
- Maybe the King of Sweden for shits and giggles.
- What?
- No, she knew something, she knew the identity of
the mutilator.
- Well, how could that be so>
- She opened the door in her pajamas.
- She had a door in her pajamas?
- It has to be somebody she knows well.
Her husband has disappeared.
We must find Leonard Bastard immediately.
- Who is it?
- Open the door, Emma.
I must see you at once.
- Hang on a minute.
- Emma, is there a window I can just--
- Why, Mr. Hudson, I'm here all alone.
- I have something to tell you.
- I have a hair brush upstairs.
- Something terrible has happened.
- Leonard Bastard's wife has been murdered.
- No, worse than that.
- What could possibly be worse than that?
- I am bankrupt.
- Oh dear!
- This afternoon the Hudson Rubber Company just
collapsed.
- Into the Thames?
- Financially, you see.
Someone in the Accounts Department was speculating huge sums
against the future price of rubber and now
I'm utterly ruined.
- Oh, crikey!
Maybe the young man who made these speculations
was Leonard Bastard, the very man you begged
me to employ.
- Oh!
Oops!
- Well, oops doesn't quite hack it actually, Emma.
So, because of this, I have decided to accept the
job of a Butler in the West country.
- Oh, well have a good one.
- Yes, ta very much.
- No, wait.
I am an Englishwoman of a certain age.
You are the only man who ever gave me an emotion.
I am going to do something utterly improper.
- Oh yes?
- I am going to pack some hankies and come with you.
- Darling Hall, doesn't it look great in the rain, Butler?
- Uh, yes, my lord.
- Butler, what time is it?
19:35, by the way.
- Who is that woman in the giant black dress?
- That is the housekeeper, Miss Schlegel, Sir.
- Fine figure of a woman.
- Yes, Sir, she does her job very well.
- This weekend, I'm having a Nazi party, the usual
thing, you know, uniforms, speeches, search lights,
discipline, boots, bondage, Vodka, and tight leather
trousers.
- Very good, my lord.
- This will be the first Nazi party ever held in
England and here's the order of events.
There'll be hi and hello, getting to know you cocktails,
with a few introductory remarks about the Third Reich,
what happened to the other two reich's and why
this one will last, ever so much longer.
- Very good, my lord.
- Mr. Hudson, might I have a word with you?
- Yes, of course, Miss Emma.
- There is to be a Nazi party here?
- Just a very small one.
- And why have you been avoiding me?
- Because I am a Butler and you are a housekeeper
and in this country, any contact is not only
immoral but it is also illegal contrary to
the naughty behaviors Act with servants
1932.
- But surely-- - No.
- Not even if-- - No.
- But suppose we were to-- - No.
- On our own time-- - Impossible.
- At weekends-- - No.
- In the garage-- - Out of the question.
This is England, we must
have no more emotions.
- But I have brought this hairbrush.
- Shit.
Come here, woman.
Get on my springy thing.
Come on.
- What on earth is going on, Emma?
- Aunt Maggie, Whoopsie, Helena and Dick.
- What on earth are they doing, mommy, I'm scared.
- Miss Emma was merely helping me clean the
floor with her posterior.
- No, Henry, no more lies, I'm a fully grown woman
and I am entitled to an emotion now and again.
- Good heavens, this isn't America.
- What on earth is going on, Butler?
Who are all these people?
- Lord Darling, this is your long lost brother,
Dick.
- Hello, Bro.
Want to see my mouth organ?
- Good heavens, it's the Nazi's.
- Hello, Darling.
- Countess Von Kunst, welcome to Darling Hall.
- It's important that you English understand
when Nazi's have a party, it's a fun thing.
Mein über Butler?
- Yes, Countess?
- Do you have a piano?
- No, Countess, no piano at Darling Hall.
- Then what Is that?
- Good heavens, that is a piano.
- Good grief, it is the piano.
- It is Lord Darling's, a gift from his dead daddy.
- Deepak, is that you?
- Hello, Mr. Hudson, long time no see.
- What on earth are you doing here?
- Well, I'm just talking to you at the moment.
- Yes, I can see that, but why?
- Because they think it's funny, Sir.
- It is a bit confusing.
- Yes, it is.
- I would like to play a song about the fuhrer,
but first I should warm up with the diva scale.
♫ Do Re Mi Mi Mi Mi Mi Mi ♫
♫ Mi Mi Mi Mi Mi Mi Mi Mi ♫
What is that, what is wrong with this piano,
it is like England, it doesn't work.
There's something trapped inside it.
- What is a vibrator doing inside a piano?
- That's a rather long story.
- Who are you?
- A rather long story teller.
- This is Inspector McGuffin.
- Not in fact so, madam, I'm a private dick,
my real name is Holmes.
- Good heavens, Sherlock Holmes?
- No, Shylock Holmes, his Jewish cousin.
- Why is there a dildo shtook in this piano?
- It was hidden there madam by someone in
this room
- What does it matter?
- It matters because it reveals the identity of a
murderer, Butler, I arrest you for the murder of
Henry Hudson.
- But this is Henry Hudson, Inspector.
- No, Sir.
- This man is called Hopkins, who killed
the original Hudson to gain control of
the rubber market.
He attacked little Dicky in the woods and
poisoned his wife for seeing him attack Dick
from a window.
And he bludgeoned poor Enid to death
when she planned to reveal that she read his backside
that he is the Houndsditch mutilator.
Butler, I arrest you for the murder of Henry Hudson.
- Oh, Henry, they will hang you.
- I'm already hung, Emma.
- I know that.
I'm bearing your child.
- Then leave this sorry island, England is
finished, the future is Holland.
- America?
- Yeah, in America, yeah.
Where they have more respect for a person of
violence and they won't stop short of having
automatic weapons just because they're insane.
So the Butler was arrested and sentenced to be
hanged by the neck until he wasn't at all well.
Leonard Bastard married Helena and together they
opened an umbrella shop.
Reverend Whoopsie became the Arch Bishop of
Canterbury.
Aunt Maggie moved to Holland where she demonstrates
personal vibrators.
And as for me, the piano, I was bought by
Elton John.
And I'm currently starring in Las Vegas where I
made this, one of Elton John's finest hits.
♫ O rum ti tumti
♫ Tickle yer monkey
♫ Tickle di didle doo
♫ Rumpy pumpy
♫ Humpty dumpty
♫ Tickle yer tivey too
♫ Oh hankie pankie
♫ Winkie wankie
♫ Diddle de didle doo
♫ Rinky dinky
♫ Tiddley winky
♫ Nicky nacky noo
♫ the noo the noo the noo the noo the noo
♫ O muckety buckety
♫ Shmackety crackety
♫ Sings the lonely trout
♫ Tiggly wiggly
♫ Higgly piggly
♫ What is life about
♫ Mickety pickety
♫ Wickety lickety
♫ She was just a slut
♫ Find yourself another lass
♫ A nicer piece of butt.
♫ Oh packety wackety
♫ Nickety nackety
♫ Sings the lonely trout
♫ Splickety wickety
♫ Pickety nickety
♫ What is life about?
♫ Shackety mackety
♫ Thwackety crackety
♫ She was just a slut
♫ Find yourself another lass
♫ A nicer piece of butt ♫