Beautiful People (2008–…): Season 1, Episode 2 - How I Got My Nose - full transcript
Simon tells assistant Sasha how he and Kylie once auditioned for the school production of 'Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat' but lost out on the part of Joseph to the drama teacher's god-daughter Imelda, as a result of which Debbie assaulted the teacher in the local shopping centre. A change of plan sees 'Joseph' replaced by a talent show, where Simon and Kylie sabotage Imelda by tipping a bucket of red dye on her,in the style of the horror film 'Carrie' which they had been watching. Imelda transfers to a stage school but does not forget the incident as, years later,she breaks Simon's nose.
ENJOY! Do not miss
this tomorrow!
D Ah-ah
d Don't let them go,
don't let them go
d Take a beautiful
dream and let it show
d Don't let them go,
don't let them go
d Take a beautiful dream and let
it grow, grow, grow, grow, grow
d Na-na-na-na-na-na,
na, na-na-na
d Let it grow, grow,
grow, grow, grow d
It is a truth universally
acknowledged
that I am spectacularly
easy on the eye.
You are stunning. Cheekbones
like wing mirrors.
But those lucky enough to get up close and
personal with this particular work of art
will sometimes notice
a flaw in the canvas.
From this angle you have,
curiously, an ever so slightly...
broken nose.
All my life, I'd wanted
to be on the stage.
D Another opening, another show
d In Philly, Boston to Baltimo'
d A chance for stage
folks to say hello
Pack it in, Simon!
- Trying to sleep here!
- Simon, shut up!
Shut up, Simon!
D Another opening
of another show
That boy came out of the womb
wearing tap shoes and a top hat.
No wonder you needed stitches.
And then, when I was 13,
the chance to be the next Bonnie
Langford came a-tapping at my cat flap.
Oh, bollocks.
They've opened a theatre school in Reading?
What's it called?
Madame Darcy's school
for burgeoning theatricals.
Why can't I go?
Because we can't fecking
afford it, that's why.
Language, Andy.
Simon, you're blocking my view.
Just because you two
can't be bothered
to go out and get decent Jobs, I
have to be denied my destiny?
- Simon!
- We have got decent Jobs.
Er, plumber, barmaid.
I wonder if that's what Huge
Grant's folks did for a living.
It's Hugh Grant, Simon.
Stop showing off. And,
anyway, there's no such
thing as a destiny.
- Er, Joan of Arc had a destiny.
- To be burnt at the stake? Big deal.
Imagine if her parents had
turned round and said,
"Guess what, Joan? We can't
afford the matches."
- What's this rubbish?
- Wash your mouth out, Simon Doonan.
This is Carrie, a seminal
horror flick about an
isolated girl with strange,
telekinetic powers.
Sissy Spacek was nominated
for an Oscar for it.
They turned it into a
musical in the '80s.
- Was it fabulous?
- Nah. It was shite.
Your ma and I left
at the overture.
Aw, look, Simon. Two
sissies in one room.
Ashlene.
God, I hate my life.
I hate that none of you have got
any imagination but, most of all,
I hate that, of all the places you chose
to run away to, you chose bloody Reading!
- Ooh, sorry.
- Look where you're going!
- Has she been covered in pig's blood yet?
- Oi!
- Sorry.
- God.
As they would say years
later on The X Factor,
nothing was going to get in the
way of following my dream.
I bet they do nonstop
shuffle ball change...
even in maths.
Right, there's money
on the bar for chips.
I'm going to a fancy-dress
party, innit?
What as, a prostitute?
I'm the lady in red and your
Uncle Clint's Chris de Burgh.
- Come, on, sweetheart.
- Uh. More like Chris de Burger.
It's always hard being a parent.
Ask Britney Spears.
Are we doing the right thing?
Big Mick across the road,
I mean, he's an actor.
He never went to
no drama school.
He's a kids' entertainer, Andy. He
makes bicycles out of balloons.
Well, he tries. He only ever gets as
far as the handle bars, then pop.
No, he's better off getting
a decent education.
He's 63 and borderline
schizophrenic, Andy.
I wonder what my destiny is?
Mine obviously isn't to
finish Flowers In The Attic.
You think about things too much.
Should I be like every other
Stepford Wife on the street?
One topic of conversation.
EastEnders.
The only one I really like's Roly the
poodle and even he's mildly annoying.
Are you not happy with your lot?
Are you?
Well, I'm married to
a gorgeous woman,
I've got two brilliant kids,
we've a roof over our
heads, booze on tap.
If that's destiny,
well, fair play to it.
Destiny rocks.
Destiny sucks.
You think of all the old
people in this country,
sitting around in rest
homes, dribbling.
If that's destiny, you can stick it in
a bag and file it under FI. Forget it.
- Well, your mum does all right.
- With wooden teeth?
You sure these aren't too long?
Nah.
What's more important, yeah, is purpose.
And you've found yours.
Have I?
You're a wife and mother,
you lucky old cow.
Who's gonna wanna
bang a blind bird?
- Debbie, what you doing?
- Thinking.
- Well don't. That's my knuckle.
- Sorry.
Uh. Who needs an
epidermis anyway?
What happens when the kids leave home,
though, Hayley? Cos one day they will.
Simon'll be a big West End star.
Ashlene'll be married to
a drug dealer in Penge.
What's my purpose then?
Who knows, babe?
It's as Hattie McDaniel once said, "It's
Just sometin' de angels done plan."
- Did she?
- I might have made that up.
Oh.
Fortunately, my mother was saved from
her existential angst by the bell.
- Mr Bell?
- Our drama teacher.
Never heard of him.
Does he have one eye
bigger than the other,
- huge sideboards and a Mallen streak?
- Yep.
Nah, don't know him. I'm
thinking of Dickie Davis.
He's our drama teacher and
he handed these out today.
- Not condoms, are they?
- Leaflets. Don't get excited.
Mr Bell's a pervert, man. He's always
in the girls' changing rooms after PE.
- I thought you liked PE?
- Who said I was complaining?
- Hayley.
- What?
This year's school play is Joseph And
The Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat.
Oh, I love that. Come on, Ands. d
Ease on down, ease on down the road d
Hayley, any eeJit knows that's from the
seminal blaxploitation hitfest The Wiz.
Music by Andrew Lloyd
Webber, book by God.
See. You don't have to go to no Madame
Darcy's to prove your prowess on the stage.
- When are the auditions, lover?
- After school tomorrow
in the Terry Waite annex.
That reminds me, that
radiator's playing up.
- Ooh, and listen to this...
- Could all girls please wear short skirts
and see-through bras?
No. Please could plenty of boys attend.
We don't want a repeat of last year.
- What did they do last year?
- Seven Brides For Seven Brides.
Oh, yeah? It was like
fecking do-si-do night
- at Greenham Common.
- Hey, Ands, don't knock the sisterhood.
- We did a lot of good work in them tents.
- Hayley, you grew a beard.
Mm. I only have to sniff a
dungaree and I'm back there.
D Only women bleed
d Only women bleed
Hayley, I'm trying to think.
And can you stop strumming?
Now, come on, how are we gonna give Simon
the edge over all the other auditionees?
Debbie, what you doing
under my skirt?
D I close my eyes
d Drew back the curtains
d Ah-ah, to... Ow.
- Oh!
- For now it would appear
that my mother's
purpose in life...
- Help... was to be the
ultimate showbiz mum.
Gate, Ashlene.
Walk on, Simon.
But what she hadn't
bargained for was all the
other kids in our street
auditioning as well.
D The sun'll come out tomorrow
d Bet your bottom
dollar that tomorrow
- d There'll be sun - Here, batty
boy, d'you want your gym bag?
D Just thinking about tomorrow
d Clears away the
cobwebs and the sorrow
d Till there's none
d When I'm stuck in a day
that's grey and lonely
d I Just stick out my chin
d And grin and say...
- Come on, Simon, practise.
- D Oh
- d Take that look off your face...
- Join in, Ashlene.
- Piss of.
- D I can see through your smile
d I can see through your smile
d You would love to be right I bet
you didn't sleep good last night
d Couldn't wait to bring all of
that bad news d I love ya tomorrow
d To my door, well I've got news
for you d You're only a day away
- d Tomorrow - I'm not with you.
D Don't tell me not to
live, Just sit and putter
d Life's candy and the
sun's a ball of butter
d Don't bring around a
cloud to rain on my parade
Sing out, Imelda.
D Don't tell me not to fly,
I've simply got to d Tomorrow
d If someone takes a
spill, it's me and not you
- d Who told you you're allowed
- Sandy.
D To rain on my parade d
Take that look off your face
d Only women bleed d I can
see through your smile
d Only women bleed,
only women bleed
d I simply gotta march, my heart's a
drummer d Take that look off your face
d To rain on my parade d I
can see through your smile
d Tomorrow there'll be sun d Don't tell
me not to live, Just sit and putter
d Ease on down, ease
on down the road
d Ease on down, ease
on down the road
d Ease on down, ease
on down the road
d Ease on down, ease
on down the road
Fuck me. All we need's the yellow taxi.
It'd be like the kids from frigging Fame.
D... down the road
d Ease on down, ease
on down the road
Mr Bell, the drama teacher was
light years ahead of his time.
So, who's got through?
Who's going to be... my Joseph?
Jasbinda Sahota, step forward.
Useless waste of space, get out of my
face, you talentless piece of shit!
Pastel Blue Cummings,
step forward.
See, I think my Kyle's
gonna play Joseph
on account of he's actually
a direct descendent
of Old Man River
himself, Paul Robeson.
Ain't never even heard
of Paul Robeson, Debbie?
You is either hignarant
or a racist.
Well, I ain't no racist, Reba.
Well, I guess that
makes you a hignarant.
Oh, I ain't a hignarant, Reba.
You're the one who's a hignarant.
- Is that a-right?
- Yeah. You ever heard of a-Hattie Jacques?
Course I have, Debbie. You is
wearing one of her dresses, innit?
- Here they come!
- How d'you get on?
- Are you Joseph?
- No.
- Are you Joseph?
- No.
- Well who is, then?
- D I close my eyes d
You wanna suck on
a Trebor, love.
- A girl's playing Joseph?
- Who does this Mr Bell think he is?
Does he not know that you stayed up half
the night, ripping up my old gypsy skirt
to make a, by all accounts,
stunning coat of many colours?
Simon's playing one of
Potiphar's servants.
- I lost my virginity in that skirt.
- A glorified extra.
- Back of a Ford Capri.
- I feel like putting a gun to my head.
Well, he said it was a Ford Capri. I
think it had a whiff of Fiat Panda.
- Nice furry dice, though. Big...
- Shut up, Hayley.
Uh, it's like that
film the other day.
When we're older, we're
gonna move where?
- Ah. London.
- And move amongst what?
The beautiful people.
And we'll be top West End stars
in our own top West End show,
that we've written, showing
off all of our talents,
called, called...
Ab Fab, The Musical.
I'll be Joanna Lumley, shweetie.
And you can be June Whitfield.
And Imelda will be
bottom of the bill.
And while we were realising
that being usurped by a diva
was going to be our destiny...
Hurry up, Mother. You
are making me late.
Mum was having a
mid-life crisis.
- Sorry, baby.
- Should she be a charity worker?
You know, low lights would really
bring out the shape of your face.
An intellectual? Or maybe
even a food critic.
Mr Popodopolis's latest endeavour
certainly gets the taste buds tingling.
But those of sensitive
aesthetic tendencies
may mourn the absence
of a shiny banquette.
And those with false nails may
struggle with the cutlery.
I told you they were too long.
Oh, that girl's wearing
sunglasses indoors.
God, that is so pretentious.
Or is she blind?
Nah. She's pretentious.
- Oh, it's her.
- Who?
Joseph.
"If you can read this,
thank a teacher."
Are you taking the piss?
I didn't know Imelda's dad was a teacher.
Didn't know she had a dad.
She hasn't. He died of
diphtheria in the Dordogne.
She says it's what
makes her an artiste.
She was with a bloke.
He had a sticker on his
bag. "If you can read
this, thank a teacher."
Mr Bell's got one of those.
On his bag?
- He was probably giving her notes.
- Notes?
On her performance.
- He was giving her more than bloody notes,
He was giving her a kiss.
Up straighter, point towards the gods. OK.
Up, up, I want palm trees quivering...
Finally, my mother had
found her purpose in life.
Did they have inhalers in Joseph's day, hm?
No. It looks ridiculous.
Method, method, method. Come on.
To be an interventionist
social worker.
Or, in other words, a
common or garden fish wife.
Oh, so it is you.
You and your bloody briefcase.
I've seen you.
- And you are?
- Doonan. Debbie Doonan.
Mother of one of
Potiphar's servants.
I've been demoted to
quivering palm tree.
Yes, and how can I help you,
mother of quivering palm tree?
I know exactly why you cast that
talentless Jailbait as Joseph.
- Because she's good?
- Because you're grooming her.
For stardom?
Don't get funny with
me, Roger De Courcey.
I've got your number and I'll be
onto Social Services about you.
- What are you on about, Mrs Doonan.
- That poor, innocent child.
Mrs Doonan, I have no idea
what you're talking about.
- I saw you.
- Saw me what?
Kissing her, touching her up the greasy
spoon. What kind of man are you?
Oh, how does your
sordid mind work?
You can't fool me. I've put
a note through her door.
Her mother'll know what's going on when she
gets back from her macramé convention.
I beg your pardon?
A macramé convention in Slough.
Don't ask.
My relationship with Imelda is
not inappropriate, Mrs Doonan.
You think it's normal?
I'm sorry but I'm gonna
heave. My daughter
warned me about you.
Imelda is my goddaughter.
- Beg pardon?
- My goddaughter.
Her father, Colin, was my
best friend at University
until he died of pancreatitis
in the Pyrenees.
I thought it was diphtheria
in the Dordogne?
- Sorry?
- Nothing.
I don't even know why I'm telling you this.
Suffice it to say what you saw
in the greasy spoon was completely
innocent and above board.
A hug and a kiss?
It was the anniversary
of her father's death
- and she was upset.
- Oh, yeah?
Yes. You ask her mother
if you don't believe me.
I'll see myself out.
As you were.
And the next time you wish to make
slanderous accusations about me,
I suggest you consult a
lawyer and the facts first.
Oh, well, at least we got to the bottom of
why you cast her in the role of Joseph.
Nepotism is alive and well
and living in Reading.
I cast her because she's the
best person for the Job.
What's wrong with my son?
He's too effeminate.
So he called your
son effeminate?
- Yes.
- And is he?
Effeminate schmeminate.
I always thought my
mother was Jewish.
D Papa, can you hear me?
D Papa, can you see me?
D Papa, can you find
me in the night? d
Calling him that in front of the other
kids, what sort of example's that?
And the example you set?
Bit of an old hand at this,
aren't you, Mrs Doonan?
- You tell me, Julian Bravo.
- Quite a lot of notes on your file.
I'm a fine, outstanding
member of the community.
Which one? The Mafia?
Says here you were
involved in an incident a
few years back, at the
Oracle shopping centre.
Oracle schmoracle.
Stop that. We know
you're not Jewish.
You're anti-semantic. You'll be
saying there was no holocaust next.
Shame on you, PC Plod.
Care to recall what happened at the
Oracle schmoracle shopping centre?
I threw an egg at Margaret Thatcher.
Big deal.
But you missed, didn't
you, and hit a policeman?
You win some, you lose some.
- This policeman.
- Thought I recognised that dandruff.
And it wasn't any
old egg, was it?
It was a Cadbury's Cream Egg
and they're quite hard.
- And his eye came up like a football.
- A golf ball, the Judge said.
Kinda like a... satsuma.
- You gonna charge me or not?
- That's kind of up to Mr Bell.
I'll sort it. I'm very close with all
my neighbours. First name terms.
Abigail Jo.
Abigail Jo.
- It's Kathy, Brenda.
- I'm Debbie.
I know.
Anyway, Kelly, can
I have a word?
You know what they're
calling you, don't you?
Mike Tyson in a skirt.
It's a skort, actually.
A cross between a
skirt and shorts.
Functional yet forgiving.
Mitzi-Lou, I Just
wanna say I'm sorry.
I was completely out of order thumping your
friend and I, I got you this, actually.
Thought you might be interested. It's
called Making Friends With Macramé.
Only problem is, it is a library
book so I will need it back.
But if it's any good, I thought
I could buy you a copy.
I've already got it, actually.
I got the wrong end of the
schtick, Donna Marie.
I'm sorry. I thought
he was abusing her.
Oh, well, I suppose I should
appreciate your concern, Magda Jane,
although you do have a bit of a
roundabout way of expressing it.
I'll have a word with Tristram.
Great. Who's Tristram?
- Mr Bell.
- Oh.
It's weird when you find out
teachers' first names, innit?
Yeah. We had this
once, Miss MaJaksi.
And we found out her
first name was Pat.
Pat MaJaksi.
Which is weird cos she did actually
once pat my Jacksie after netball.
Anyway, Cherish Anita.
I'll see you.
Oh, Sapphire Griselda,
you always look so fabulous.
Never a hair out of place.
Got that right, babes.
I might be a bit more inclined
to have a word with Tristram
if you gave me a make-over
in time for the first night?
Oh, OK. Then maybe we could all
go and see Joseph together.
Oh, didn't you hear? Joseph's off. He's
quite highly strung, old Tristram.
Right. That's it! As of
now, the show is off.
Screw you and your sodding parents.
Screw the lot of you. I quit.
So there's no school play,
Jemima... Anoushka?
Got it in one,
Frogmella Umbonga.
It's all right, though, because the new
PE teacher's come up with this idea
of putting on a talent evening, so my
baby will have her moment in the sun.
- Oh.
- You might know her, actually,
this new PE teacher.
Older lady. Quite Asian.
Miss MaJaksi.
Imelda.
I'm sorry... about
my mum and that.
I'm sorry you've got
a mum like that.
What are you going to
do for talent night?
The Magic Of The Musicals. A
Journey through the West End.
If you're going to do
something from Joseph...
- do you want this?
- It couture.
I'd rather eat my
own body weight
in razor blades.
And, in case you were wondering,
yes, that did hurt.
I'm sure she didn't
do it on purpose.
This is all my fault for
smacking that teacher.
Let's see?
- Oh, my God. Oh, my God.
- Can't look that bad, surely?
Put it this way, I don't think you're
gonna be making opening night.
Fetch me a looking glass.
- What?
- He means mirror. Hurry up.
- Oh, my beautiful baby boy.
- He's 13, Tabitha. Don't infantalise him.
God, you lot don't
half overreact.
Right.
Take a deep breath, kidder.
And in that moment, I discovered
what it's actually like...
to be sick at the
sight of yourself.
I can't get up on stage in front
of people like this, Kylie.
Oh, you can.
You make sure you can.
The show must go on, girlfriend.
And we'll make sure bitch
face gets her Just deserts.
Thanks to Imelda's mum, my mum had
finally found her true purpose in life,
to look fabulous at all times and inspire
others with her unique sense of style.
And Aunty Hayley
discovered that, if you
wear six inch nails, you
can't read Braille.
Kylie and I, on the other hand,
discovered our inner Barbie.
D I'm a Barbie girl
d In a Barbie world
d Life in plastic
d It's fantastic
d Come on, Barbie,
let's go party
d Ha ha ha yeah
d Come on, Barbie,
let's go party
d Oh-woh, oh-woh d
Tss!
- You must be so proud, Libby Labilia.
- Ha.
D May I return
d To the beginning
d The light is dimming
d And the dream is too
d The world and I... d
- Y'all right, Miss MaJaksi?
- D We are still waiting
d Still hesitating
d Any dream will do... d
I also discovered Kylie
was a true friend.
D Give me my coloured coat
d My amazing coloured coat
d Give me my coloured coat
d My amazing
d Coloured coat d
Extra strong mint, Sammy Fan?
You traumatised her.
She's had to change
school's cos of you.
Oh, lucky bitch.
We all, of course, learnt that
everything comes to those who grate.
My face soon cleared up
and my nose was fine.
It was years later I got it broken, when I
was a set dresser on Live With Loretta...
Hiya and welcome back.
In a few minutes, we're gonna meet the
actress who this year won the Olivier Award
for her portrayal as president's wife,
Laura Bush, in the brand-new musical,
Your America, My Bush.
That's Imelda Brownlow.
When a blast from the past came back to
slap me in my hitherto flawless face...
Oi, Barbie girl.
Imelda.
Have you had some work?
Literally.
D Ah-ah
d Don't let them go,
don't let them go
d Take a beautiful dream and let
it grow, grow, grow, grow, grow
d Na-na-na-na-na-na,
na, na-na-na
d Let it grow, grow,
grow, grow, grow
d Na-na-na-na-na-na,
na, na-na-na d
ENJOY! Do not miss
this tomorrow!
this tomorrow!
D Ah-ah
d Don't let them go,
don't let them go
d Take a beautiful
dream and let it show
d Don't let them go,
don't let them go
d Take a beautiful dream and let
it grow, grow, grow, grow, grow
d Na-na-na-na-na-na,
na, na-na-na
d Let it grow, grow,
grow, grow, grow d
It is a truth universally
acknowledged
that I am spectacularly
easy on the eye.
You are stunning. Cheekbones
like wing mirrors.
But those lucky enough to get up close and
personal with this particular work of art
will sometimes notice
a flaw in the canvas.
From this angle you have,
curiously, an ever so slightly...
broken nose.
All my life, I'd wanted
to be on the stage.
D Another opening, another show
d In Philly, Boston to Baltimo'
d A chance for stage
folks to say hello
Pack it in, Simon!
- Trying to sleep here!
- Simon, shut up!
Shut up, Simon!
D Another opening
of another show
That boy came out of the womb
wearing tap shoes and a top hat.
No wonder you needed stitches.
And then, when I was 13,
the chance to be the next Bonnie
Langford came a-tapping at my cat flap.
Oh, bollocks.
They've opened a theatre school in Reading?
What's it called?
Madame Darcy's school
for burgeoning theatricals.
Why can't I go?
Because we can't fecking
afford it, that's why.
Language, Andy.
Simon, you're blocking my view.
Just because you two
can't be bothered
to go out and get decent Jobs, I
have to be denied my destiny?
- Simon!
- We have got decent Jobs.
Er, plumber, barmaid.
I wonder if that's what Huge
Grant's folks did for a living.
It's Hugh Grant, Simon.
Stop showing off. And,
anyway, there's no such
thing as a destiny.
- Er, Joan of Arc had a destiny.
- To be burnt at the stake? Big deal.
Imagine if her parents had
turned round and said,
"Guess what, Joan? We can't
afford the matches."
- What's this rubbish?
- Wash your mouth out, Simon Doonan.
This is Carrie, a seminal
horror flick about an
isolated girl with strange,
telekinetic powers.
Sissy Spacek was nominated
for an Oscar for it.
They turned it into a
musical in the '80s.
- Was it fabulous?
- Nah. It was shite.
Your ma and I left
at the overture.
Aw, look, Simon. Two
sissies in one room.
Ashlene.
God, I hate my life.
I hate that none of you have got
any imagination but, most of all,
I hate that, of all the places you chose
to run away to, you chose bloody Reading!
- Ooh, sorry.
- Look where you're going!
- Has she been covered in pig's blood yet?
- Oi!
- Sorry.
- God.
As they would say years
later on The X Factor,
nothing was going to get in the
way of following my dream.
I bet they do nonstop
shuffle ball change...
even in maths.
Right, there's money
on the bar for chips.
I'm going to a fancy-dress
party, innit?
What as, a prostitute?
I'm the lady in red and your
Uncle Clint's Chris de Burgh.
- Come, on, sweetheart.
- Uh. More like Chris de Burger.
It's always hard being a parent.
Ask Britney Spears.
Are we doing the right thing?
Big Mick across the road,
I mean, he's an actor.
He never went to
no drama school.
He's a kids' entertainer, Andy. He
makes bicycles out of balloons.
Well, he tries. He only ever gets as
far as the handle bars, then pop.
No, he's better off getting
a decent education.
He's 63 and borderline
schizophrenic, Andy.
I wonder what my destiny is?
Mine obviously isn't to
finish Flowers In The Attic.
You think about things too much.
Should I be like every other
Stepford Wife on the street?
One topic of conversation.
EastEnders.
The only one I really like's Roly the
poodle and even he's mildly annoying.
Are you not happy with your lot?
Are you?
Well, I'm married to
a gorgeous woman,
I've got two brilliant kids,
we've a roof over our
heads, booze on tap.
If that's destiny,
well, fair play to it.
Destiny rocks.
Destiny sucks.
You think of all the old
people in this country,
sitting around in rest
homes, dribbling.
If that's destiny, you can stick it in
a bag and file it under FI. Forget it.
- Well, your mum does all right.
- With wooden teeth?
You sure these aren't too long?
Nah.
What's more important, yeah, is purpose.
And you've found yours.
Have I?
You're a wife and mother,
you lucky old cow.
Who's gonna wanna
bang a blind bird?
- Debbie, what you doing?
- Thinking.
- Well don't. That's my knuckle.
- Sorry.
Uh. Who needs an
epidermis anyway?
What happens when the kids leave home,
though, Hayley? Cos one day they will.
Simon'll be a big West End star.
Ashlene'll be married to
a drug dealer in Penge.
What's my purpose then?
Who knows, babe?
It's as Hattie McDaniel once said, "It's
Just sometin' de angels done plan."
- Did she?
- I might have made that up.
Oh.
Fortunately, my mother was saved from
her existential angst by the bell.
- Mr Bell?
- Our drama teacher.
Never heard of him.
Does he have one eye
bigger than the other,
- huge sideboards and a Mallen streak?
- Yep.
Nah, don't know him. I'm
thinking of Dickie Davis.
He's our drama teacher and
he handed these out today.
- Not condoms, are they?
- Leaflets. Don't get excited.
Mr Bell's a pervert, man. He's always
in the girls' changing rooms after PE.
- I thought you liked PE?
- Who said I was complaining?
- Hayley.
- What?
This year's school play is Joseph And
The Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat.
Oh, I love that. Come on, Ands. d
Ease on down, ease on down the road d
Hayley, any eeJit knows that's from the
seminal blaxploitation hitfest The Wiz.
Music by Andrew Lloyd
Webber, book by God.
See. You don't have to go to no Madame
Darcy's to prove your prowess on the stage.
- When are the auditions, lover?
- After school tomorrow
in the Terry Waite annex.
That reminds me, that
radiator's playing up.
- Ooh, and listen to this...
- Could all girls please wear short skirts
and see-through bras?
No. Please could plenty of boys attend.
We don't want a repeat of last year.
- What did they do last year?
- Seven Brides For Seven Brides.
Oh, yeah? It was like
fecking do-si-do night
- at Greenham Common.
- Hey, Ands, don't knock the sisterhood.
- We did a lot of good work in them tents.
- Hayley, you grew a beard.
Mm. I only have to sniff a
dungaree and I'm back there.
D Only women bleed
d Only women bleed
Hayley, I'm trying to think.
And can you stop strumming?
Now, come on, how are we gonna give Simon
the edge over all the other auditionees?
Debbie, what you doing
under my skirt?
D I close my eyes
d Drew back the curtains
d Ah-ah, to... Ow.
- Oh!
- For now it would appear
that my mother's
purpose in life...
- Help... was to be the
ultimate showbiz mum.
Gate, Ashlene.
Walk on, Simon.
But what she hadn't
bargained for was all the
other kids in our street
auditioning as well.
D The sun'll come out tomorrow
d Bet your bottom
dollar that tomorrow
- d There'll be sun - Here, batty
boy, d'you want your gym bag?
D Just thinking about tomorrow
d Clears away the
cobwebs and the sorrow
d Till there's none
d When I'm stuck in a day
that's grey and lonely
d I Just stick out my chin
d And grin and say...
- Come on, Simon, practise.
- D Oh
- d Take that look off your face...
- Join in, Ashlene.
- Piss of.
- D I can see through your smile
d I can see through your smile
d You would love to be right I bet
you didn't sleep good last night
d Couldn't wait to bring all of
that bad news d I love ya tomorrow
d To my door, well I've got news
for you d You're only a day away
- d Tomorrow - I'm not with you.
D Don't tell me not to
live, Just sit and putter
d Life's candy and the
sun's a ball of butter
d Don't bring around a
cloud to rain on my parade
Sing out, Imelda.
D Don't tell me not to fly,
I've simply got to d Tomorrow
d If someone takes a
spill, it's me and not you
- d Who told you you're allowed
- Sandy.
D To rain on my parade d
Take that look off your face
d Only women bleed d I can
see through your smile
d Only women bleed,
only women bleed
d I simply gotta march, my heart's a
drummer d Take that look off your face
d To rain on my parade d I
can see through your smile
d Tomorrow there'll be sun d Don't tell
me not to live, Just sit and putter
d Ease on down, ease
on down the road
d Ease on down, ease
on down the road
d Ease on down, ease
on down the road
d Ease on down, ease
on down the road
Fuck me. All we need's the yellow taxi.
It'd be like the kids from frigging Fame.
D... down the road
d Ease on down, ease
on down the road
Mr Bell, the drama teacher was
light years ahead of his time.
So, who's got through?
Who's going to be... my Joseph?
Jasbinda Sahota, step forward.
Useless waste of space, get out of my
face, you talentless piece of shit!
Pastel Blue Cummings,
step forward.
See, I think my Kyle's
gonna play Joseph
on account of he's actually
a direct descendent
of Old Man River
himself, Paul Robeson.
Ain't never even heard
of Paul Robeson, Debbie?
You is either hignarant
or a racist.
Well, I ain't no racist, Reba.
Well, I guess that
makes you a hignarant.
Oh, I ain't a hignarant, Reba.
You're the one who's a hignarant.
- Is that a-right?
- Yeah. You ever heard of a-Hattie Jacques?
Course I have, Debbie. You is
wearing one of her dresses, innit?
- Here they come!
- How d'you get on?
- Are you Joseph?
- No.
- Are you Joseph?
- No.
- Well who is, then?
- D I close my eyes d
You wanna suck on
a Trebor, love.
- A girl's playing Joseph?
- Who does this Mr Bell think he is?
Does he not know that you stayed up half
the night, ripping up my old gypsy skirt
to make a, by all accounts,
stunning coat of many colours?
Simon's playing one of
Potiphar's servants.
- I lost my virginity in that skirt.
- A glorified extra.
- Back of a Ford Capri.
- I feel like putting a gun to my head.
Well, he said it was a Ford Capri. I
think it had a whiff of Fiat Panda.
- Nice furry dice, though. Big...
- Shut up, Hayley.
Uh, it's like that
film the other day.
When we're older, we're
gonna move where?
- Ah. London.
- And move amongst what?
The beautiful people.
And we'll be top West End stars
in our own top West End show,
that we've written, showing
off all of our talents,
called, called...
Ab Fab, The Musical.
I'll be Joanna Lumley, shweetie.
And you can be June Whitfield.
And Imelda will be
bottom of the bill.
And while we were realising
that being usurped by a diva
was going to be our destiny...
Hurry up, Mother. You
are making me late.
Mum was having a
mid-life crisis.
- Sorry, baby.
- Should she be a charity worker?
You know, low lights would really
bring out the shape of your face.
An intellectual? Or maybe
even a food critic.
Mr Popodopolis's latest endeavour
certainly gets the taste buds tingling.
But those of sensitive
aesthetic tendencies
may mourn the absence
of a shiny banquette.
And those with false nails may
struggle with the cutlery.
I told you they were too long.
Oh, that girl's wearing
sunglasses indoors.
God, that is so pretentious.
Or is she blind?
Nah. She's pretentious.
- Oh, it's her.
- Who?
Joseph.
"If you can read this,
thank a teacher."
Are you taking the piss?
I didn't know Imelda's dad was a teacher.
Didn't know she had a dad.
She hasn't. He died of
diphtheria in the Dordogne.
She says it's what
makes her an artiste.
She was with a bloke.
He had a sticker on his
bag. "If you can read
this, thank a teacher."
Mr Bell's got one of those.
On his bag?
- He was probably giving her notes.
- Notes?
On her performance.
- He was giving her more than bloody notes,
He was giving her a kiss.
Up straighter, point towards the gods. OK.
Up, up, I want palm trees quivering...
Finally, my mother had
found her purpose in life.
Did they have inhalers in Joseph's day, hm?
No. It looks ridiculous.
Method, method, method. Come on.
To be an interventionist
social worker.
Or, in other words, a
common or garden fish wife.
Oh, so it is you.
You and your bloody briefcase.
I've seen you.
- And you are?
- Doonan. Debbie Doonan.
Mother of one of
Potiphar's servants.
I've been demoted to
quivering palm tree.
Yes, and how can I help you,
mother of quivering palm tree?
I know exactly why you cast that
talentless Jailbait as Joseph.
- Because she's good?
- Because you're grooming her.
For stardom?
Don't get funny with
me, Roger De Courcey.
I've got your number and I'll be
onto Social Services about you.
- What are you on about, Mrs Doonan.
- That poor, innocent child.
Mrs Doonan, I have no idea
what you're talking about.
- I saw you.
- Saw me what?
Kissing her, touching her up the greasy
spoon. What kind of man are you?
Oh, how does your
sordid mind work?
You can't fool me. I've put
a note through her door.
Her mother'll know what's going on when she
gets back from her macramé convention.
I beg your pardon?
A macramé convention in Slough.
Don't ask.
My relationship with Imelda is
not inappropriate, Mrs Doonan.
You think it's normal?
I'm sorry but I'm gonna
heave. My daughter
warned me about you.
Imelda is my goddaughter.
- Beg pardon?
- My goddaughter.
Her father, Colin, was my
best friend at University
until he died of pancreatitis
in the Pyrenees.
I thought it was diphtheria
in the Dordogne?
- Sorry?
- Nothing.
I don't even know why I'm telling you this.
Suffice it to say what you saw
in the greasy spoon was completely
innocent and above board.
A hug and a kiss?
It was the anniversary
of her father's death
- and she was upset.
- Oh, yeah?
Yes. You ask her mother
if you don't believe me.
I'll see myself out.
As you were.
And the next time you wish to make
slanderous accusations about me,
I suggest you consult a
lawyer and the facts first.
Oh, well, at least we got to the bottom of
why you cast her in the role of Joseph.
Nepotism is alive and well
and living in Reading.
I cast her because she's the
best person for the Job.
What's wrong with my son?
He's too effeminate.
So he called your
son effeminate?
- Yes.
- And is he?
Effeminate schmeminate.
I always thought my
mother was Jewish.
D Papa, can you hear me?
D Papa, can you see me?
D Papa, can you find
me in the night? d
Calling him that in front of the other
kids, what sort of example's that?
And the example you set?
Bit of an old hand at this,
aren't you, Mrs Doonan?
- You tell me, Julian Bravo.
- Quite a lot of notes on your file.
I'm a fine, outstanding
member of the community.
Which one? The Mafia?
Says here you were
involved in an incident a
few years back, at the
Oracle shopping centre.
Oracle schmoracle.
Stop that. We know
you're not Jewish.
You're anti-semantic. You'll be
saying there was no holocaust next.
Shame on you, PC Plod.
Care to recall what happened at the
Oracle schmoracle shopping centre?
I threw an egg at Margaret Thatcher.
Big deal.
But you missed, didn't
you, and hit a policeman?
You win some, you lose some.
- This policeman.
- Thought I recognised that dandruff.
And it wasn't any
old egg, was it?
It was a Cadbury's Cream Egg
and they're quite hard.
- And his eye came up like a football.
- A golf ball, the Judge said.
Kinda like a... satsuma.
- You gonna charge me or not?
- That's kind of up to Mr Bell.
I'll sort it. I'm very close with all
my neighbours. First name terms.
Abigail Jo.
Abigail Jo.
- It's Kathy, Brenda.
- I'm Debbie.
I know.
Anyway, Kelly, can
I have a word?
You know what they're
calling you, don't you?
Mike Tyson in a skirt.
It's a skort, actually.
A cross between a
skirt and shorts.
Functional yet forgiving.
Mitzi-Lou, I Just
wanna say I'm sorry.
I was completely out of order thumping your
friend and I, I got you this, actually.
Thought you might be interested. It's
called Making Friends With Macramé.
Only problem is, it is a library
book so I will need it back.
But if it's any good, I thought
I could buy you a copy.
I've already got it, actually.
I got the wrong end of the
schtick, Donna Marie.
I'm sorry. I thought
he was abusing her.
Oh, well, I suppose I should
appreciate your concern, Magda Jane,
although you do have a bit of a
roundabout way of expressing it.
I'll have a word with Tristram.
Great. Who's Tristram?
- Mr Bell.
- Oh.
It's weird when you find out
teachers' first names, innit?
Yeah. We had this
once, Miss MaJaksi.
And we found out her
first name was Pat.
Pat MaJaksi.
Which is weird cos she did actually
once pat my Jacksie after netball.
Anyway, Cherish Anita.
I'll see you.
Oh, Sapphire Griselda,
you always look so fabulous.
Never a hair out of place.
Got that right, babes.
I might be a bit more inclined
to have a word with Tristram
if you gave me a make-over
in time for the first night?
Oh, OK. Then maybe we could all
go and see Joseph together.
Oh, didn't you hear? Joseph's off. He's
quite highly strung, old Tristram.
Right. That's it! As of
now, the show is off.
Screw you and your sodding parents.
Screw the lot of you. I quit.
So there's no school play,
Jemima... Anoushka?
Got it in one,
Frogmella Umbonga.
It's all right, though, because the new
PE teacher's come up with this idea
of putting on a talent evening, so my
baby will have her moment in the sun.
- Oh.
- You might know her, actually,
this new PE teacher.
Older lady. Quite Asian.
Miss MaJaksi.
Imelda.
I'm sorry... about
my mum and that.
I'm sorry you've got
a mum like that.
What are you going to
do for talent night?
The Magic Of The Musicals. A
Journey through the West End.
If you're going to do
something from Joseph...
- do you want this?
- It couture.
I'd rather eat my
own body weight
in razor blades.
And, in case you were wondering,
yes, that did hurt.
I'm sure she didn't
do it on purpose.
This is all my fault for
smacking that teacher.
Let's see?
- Oh, my God. Oh, my God.
- Can't look that bad, surely?
Put it this way, I don't think you're
gonna be making opening night.
Fetch me a looking glass.
- What?
- He means mirror. Hurry up.
- Oh, my beautiful baby boy.
- He's 13, Tabitha. Don't infantalise him.
God, you lot don't
half overreact.
Right.
Take a deep breath, kidder.
And in that moment, I discovered
what it's actually like...
to be sick at the
sight of yourself.
I can't get up on stage in front
of people like this, Kylie.
Oh, you can.
You make sure you can.
The show must go on, girlfriend.
And we'll make sure bitch
face gets her Just deserts.
Thanks to Imelda's mum, my mum had
finally found her true purpose in life,
to look fabulous at all times and inspire
others with her unique sense of style.
And Aunty Hayley
discovered that, if you
wear six inch nails, you
can't read Braille.
Kylie and I, on the other hand,
discovered our inner Barbie.
D I'm a Barbie girl
d In a Barbie world
d Life in plastic
d It's fantastic
d Come on, Barbie,
let's go party
d Ha ha ha yeah
d Come on, Barbie,
let's go party
d Oh-woh, oh-woh d
Tss!
- You must be so proud, Libby Labilia.
- Ha.
D May I return
d To the beginning
d The light is dimming
d And the dream is too
d The world and I... d
- Y'all right, Miss MaJaksi?
- D We are still waiting
d Still hesitating
d Any dream will do... d
I also discovered Kylie
was a true friend.
D Give me my coloured coat
d My amazing coloured coat
d Give me my coloured coat
d My amazing
d Coloured coat d
Extra strong mint, Sammy Fan?
You traumatised her.
She's had to change
school's cos of you.
Oh, lucky bitch.
We all, of course, learnt that
everything comes to those who grate.
My face soon cleared up
and my nose was fine.
It was years later I got it broken, when I
was a set dresser on Live With Loretta...
Hiya and welcome back.
In a few minutes, we're gonna meet the
actress who this year won the Olivier Award
for her portrayal as president's wife,
Laura Bush, in the brand-new musical,
Your America, My Bush.
That's Imelda Brownlow.
When a blast from the past came back to
slap me in my hitherto flawless face...
Oi, Barbie girl.
Imelda.
Have you had some work?
Literally.
D Ah-ah
d Don't let them go,
don't let them go
d Take a beautiful dream and let
it grow, grow, grow, grow, grow
d Na-na-na-na-na-na,
na, na-na-na
d Let it grow, grow,
grow, grow, grow
d Na-na-na-na-na-na,
na, na-na-na d
ENJOY! Do not miss
this tomorrow!