[intriguing celeste music]
Okay, Steven. Ready to go?
Oh, have I introduced you to our client, Nick Swivney?
Yeah, whatever. Can we just get on with this please?
Steven, this is Clem Fandango.
Yeah. I know who you are.
Can you hear me?
Yeah, I can hear you, Clem Fandango.
What do you want?
Just letting you know we're ready to go.
He just said that! You two are unbelievable.
The smooth taste of Red Carpet Cigarettes
is coming to the Democratic Republic of Congo.
Everybody knows that cigarettes are good for you.
Red Carpet Cigarettes, once you smoke one, you'll want more,
and more, and more, and more, and more, and more, and more.
[Nick Swivney] Yes. [laughs]
No.
That went well. The lady, Jane, she's a fine, fine woman.
She's your agent, yes?
Yeah, she's my agent.
You are fucking her, yes? Eh?
No, I'm not. Look, am I done here?
Tell Jane, "Hello," from me.
[laughs]
[all laughing]
Eh? [laughs]
[elegant piano music]
India, which bloody button do I press?
[India] You just press play.
Yes, I know!
[cheering and clapping]
Killer whales?
Well, I'm sure they train you,
couple of hours in the morning,
you'd be performing with them in the pool by lunchtime.
Why would you even suggest this, Jane?
I'm an actor, not a bloody whale charmer for Christ's sake.
You might want to watch your language
and remember who you're talking to, Toast.
[laptop slams shut]
Ah, murder mystery! Vengeful husband.
Rula Lenska's already said, "Yes," to the wife.
Cats.
Children's television!
[Steven Voiceover] Good God, never again.
So who's going on their holidays this week?
That's right, it's Jennifer. Off you go, Steven.
[peaceful celeste music]
I wonder where Jennifer's going.
[sparks and burning]
Shit, man, you're fucking...
[scream is cut off]
[fire extinguisher spraying]
How did you get on with Nick Swivney?
You know he's trying to flog cigarettes to the Congo?
The poorest people in the world.
Yeah. They're rather tasty, actually.
Why would you put me up for something like that?
You're concerned for ethical reasons,
or because someone might find out about it?
Because someone might find out about it.
Why can't you find me something decent?
I suggest a little rethink on the Norris Flipjack advert.
Mm-mm.
You'll be shooting it at his extensive woodland estate.
No I won't.
-It's mega money, Toast. -Mm-mm.
And any advert directed by Flipjack
has quality written all over it.
Nope.
[upbeat guitar riff]
Fantastic. This is going to be great.
Now, where's my star?
There he is, fashionably late.
Hey Jackie, how you doing? Hey Phil, you old tiger!
Barry. Chris. Hey Maxine! You're looking good!
[Maxine] Thanks, Ray.
Ray bloody Purchase.
Toast.
How you feeling this morning, Ray?
Wow, what a night!
I tell you what, this cat really knows how to throw a party.
[laughs]
But you wouldn't know about that would you, Toast?
Because you weren't invited. How embarrassing.
Right! Let's make an advert!
I'm ready, let's go!
[Norris Flipjack] You heard him, let's go!
Okay, first positions. Turn over.
Cue travelator, and...
[travelator whirring]
Action!
[groovy music]
* 081 *
[clapping]
* 666 *
[clapping]
* 081 *
[clapping]
* 666 *
Okay, cut! Cut!
[travelator beeping]
[Ray Purchase grunting]
Right, that's lunch.
You jumped-up prick.
Whatever petty crap exists between you and Ray Purchase
is of no interest to me.
But if it starts to jeopardise the making of my advert--
I've gotta be honest with you, Flipjack.
I hate everything about your advert.
What kind of arsehole doesn't like my adverts!
This kind of arsehole!
[gun cocking]
That's clearly a prop gun, Flipjack.
Really? Well let's see, shall we? If you don't say,
"I'm sorry, Norris. I love your adverts, I--"
[metal clinking]
Put down that fox.
Barbecuing defenceless animals, you're insane!
Go on, fella. Run for your life.
He's dead, you idiot!
[gunshot]
Ah, didn't expect that, did you Flipjack?
You see, Toast, what you don't know--
You see, Flipjack, what you don't know--
How's the barbecue going, guys?
He was barbecuing a fox!
I wasn't barbecuing it, I was roasting it on a spit.
It's the kind of thing that goes on
all the time in the countryside, Toast. Get used to it.
Now I fancy a fox burger.
Tuck in, Ray.
There you go, Toast.
What's this for?
Bus fare. Don't bother coming back after lunch. [laughs]
[both laughing]
[groovy music]
* You're crass and so obscene *
* You're the man who has got everything *
* Without a sense of it all *
* How dare you speak to me *
* You're nothing but an amateur *
* Who sits and waits by the phone *
* I wish I was dead or on TV *
* Well that's the kind of success that you will never see *
* You really are a joke *
* I fail to see the humour *
* 'Cause you've no sense of it all *
[both laughing]
[sombre guitar riff]
He was barbecuing foxes, you say?
He was, he had one on a spit.
I believe he's in the Countryside Alliance,
he can do what he likes.
But as I told you, best not to cross Norris Flipjack.
He will crush you like that.
[mug crunching and shattering]
[splashing]
Yes. Well, I'm done with all these shit jobs, Jane.
I got a few quid in the bank.
It's not like I'm facing a massive tax bill anytime soon.
[jaunty music]
[Ray Purchase] Good afternoon,
I'd like to report Steven Gonville Toast for tax evasion.
[cars honking]
Unfortunately, Ray Purchase
has reported you to the tax people.
[Toast scoffs]
Why is he such a grass? I could kill him with a spoon.
Well, that may be so, but brace yourself, Toast.
You now owe the tax people a quarter of a million pounds.
[Toast wheezes]
God. I thought you took care of all the tax stuff, Jane!
Jane!
Look, you may have to take a few jobs
that don't particularly appeal for a while,
but this Harry Potter show will be great.
When I got into this profession,
I had no intention of entertaining anybody.
Least of all, children.
Actors can't always pick and choose, Toast.
Even very successful ones.
I know, when things were a little lax
for John Nettles last year, he turned to a spot of poaching.
Poaching?
Yes. Just to put food on the table
before his next job at the Nash.
Really?
Shall we?
[jaunty music]
Everything going well, Eric?
Still on the EastEnders?
"Leave it out, Pat!" [laughs]
[door slamming]
What the hell was that?
Sounds like the back door.
[John Nettles panting]
30 quid, the lot.
How many rabbits?
Three.
That's not a rabbit, looks more like a squirrel.
It's a rabbit.
I don't think so, John.
We'd have to skin them and all that.
Juliet Stevenson could do all that for you
for extra tenner.
Not really that keen.
Oh, right. Well, I'll try Tim Pigott-Smith.
[Toast scoffs]
You can't help yourself, can you?
What do you mean, can't help myself?
Name drop.
You can't get a sentence out without John Mills this,
or Tim Pigott-Smith that.
Go easy, Toast. Poor man's on his uppers.
No, you're right. I'm sorry, Nettles.
Good luck with your rabbits.
And give my love to the family.
[John Nettles muttering]
Try Hugh fucking Bonneville.
[door slams]
I hope I never have to do anything like that, Ed.
No.
Oh, looks like we're on for another train strike, Toast.
Tell you, Thatcher would've sorted that out
with a single phone call to Cobra.
Indeed.
Hope you're not thinking of going anywhere.
That's the least of my troubles, Ed.
Jane's got me doing these shitty jobs
to pay off that tax bill.
How was that Harry Potter show?
The director was a wanker! They're all useless.
I don't respect any of them.
In fact, I don't respect anybody.
Really?
Yeah, I can't think of a single person on this earth
that I have any respect for.
Have you ever thought of directing, Toast?
[Toast gasps]
Well, that's not a bad idea.
I think I'd be an excellent director now you mention it, Ed.
Might not be as easy as it looks, Toast.
Some actors can be a little difficult.
[phone ringing]
Toast.
Calendar Girls.
What's that?
Oh you must know about it, Toast.
A load of prim, middle-aged women pose nude for a calendar
to raise money for charity.
They pose nude for a calendar?
That's correct.
The Women's Institute?
Indeed.
There's one thing I don't get, Jane.
Who the fuck would wanna buy something like that?
How dare you'll be so rude about the WI, Toast.
Anyway, the producer and a director, for some reason,
are very keen to meet you.
I suggested the Colonial Club tomorrow afternoon.
Who are they?
Duncan Clench and Bob Fennison.
Never heard of them.
Oh, one tiny thing.
Bob Fennison has a very minor facial blemish.
Well, what's the matter with him?
Do you know, it's so minor I don't even remember.
Anyway, we are well on the way to paying off
your quarter of a million pound tax bill! Toodaloo.
So what was that, Toast?
That was Jane!
She's got me a part in something called Calendar Girls.
Hmm. The Women's Institute. Yes.
I have one of those calendars.
Ah. Sounds weird. Like niche porn.
The ladies, mostly of the mature variety,
and somewhat out of shape, are totally nude.
Yeah, so I gather.
However, homemade cupcakes and jars of chutney
discreetly obscure the more intimate parts of their bodies,
leaving the viewer's imagination
to picture the erotic delights concealed beneath.
I might just go and see if I can find my calendar.
Just check some dates.
[Toast groans and scoffs]
[upbeat guitar riff]
Steven. I'm Duncan Clench, producer.
And this is Bob Fennison, our director.
Hi, Steven.
Something to eat?
Oh, there's a menu.
Oh.
A club sandwich for me, I think. Bob?
What has Jane told you about Calendar Girls?
I presume you're familiar with the production?
It's been touring constantly since 2008,
So everything's running very smoothly at this stage.
You'll be playing the part of the photographer,
which is an absolutely key role.
I can't operate a camera, does that matter?
No, you won't be actually taking any photographs,
so it's no...
What? Sorry about this, Steven. Be back in the moment.
Sorry about that, Steven.
Everything all right?
Oh no, it's just that... Well, Bob was a bit upset.
He thought he should be included more in the conversation.
Maybe we should include him more.
So, where will we be rehearsing the play, Bob?
Eastbourne, tomorrow.
We've got a fantastic bunch of actors. [laughs]
[Toast] Shit.
Oh, Sorry about this.
Steven, we're gonna have to go.
I didn't let him answer your question about meeting the cast
and now he's furious. [chuckles]
You've probably noticed he's...
His...
What?
His...
He's quite shy.
Oh.
Doesn't really like being out in company.
Anyway, it's been very nice meeting you.
Oh, come on!
And we'll speak soon.
[jaunty music]
Fucking hell.
Anything could happen now.
Dead?
Yes.
What, both of them?
Yes. The police located their empty car
and two pairs of pyjamas at Beachy Head.
Good God.
They're working on a theory that they went for a dip,
and whilst in the water, Bob drowned Duncan,
and then drowned himself!
There was a really sad suicide note.
What, the police went for a dip with Bob and Duncan?
No.
But wouldn't the police had tried to stop
Bob from drowning Duncan before Bob drowned himself?
I wish you'd listen, just Bob and Duncan went for a dip.
So the police were watching from the shore?
No, the police weren't involved at this point!
Ah. Maybe it was an accident.
God, there was a suicide note!
Maybe it wasn't an accident.
[Jane sighs]
Bob was fiercely jealous of Duncan.
And according to the suicide note,
believed that Duncan was in love with you.
Did anything happen between you and Duncan?
Did it fuck! No. We just went for a drink.
In fact, only I had a drink.
They had to rush off for a train.
Now the show's missing a producer and a director.
I mean, producer doesn't matter,
but they really need a strong director
to break in the new cast.
Yes.
Sorry?
I'll do it. Opportunity knocks.
You want to be a director?
Yes, I would like to be a director,
and I think I'd be pretty good at it, don't you?
Well it's not just the technical skills,
you need people skills as well, Toast.
I've got people skills.
[Jane scoffs]
And a very good sense of humour.
[Jane laughs]
If you are directing,
will you be able to take on the role of the photographer?
It's a shit role anyway. Any halfwit could do it.
[upbeat guitar riff]
This is Ed Howzer-Black,
and he'll be playing the part of the photographer.
[all clapping]
Yes. Now, the first thing we're going to have a look at is--
Sorry to immediately interrupt, Toast.
Did you plan to have the ladies undressed for this scene?
This is just the rehearsal, Ed.
Wouldn't it help at all?
There might be something more natural about it.
You're not even in this scene.
Why don't you go to your dressing room
and I'll see you at lunch?
No, I think I'll stay around if you don't mind.
I'd quite like to see your directing style.
Well I can tell you,
my directing style will be very forceful indeed.
Yes. I intend to treat these people as cattle.
Quite so.
Yes.
All right, ladies.
We need the actresses called Jennifer and Alexandra.
Right.
Okay, this is the scene where you're both
worried about telling your husbands
that you're going to do a nude calendar shoot.
Here we go. And, action!
Ooh, I am slightly worried about telling my Bert.
What are his mates down the pub going to think? I...
Sorry. [giggles] I forgot my line.
[Toast giggles]
You've forgotten your line?
I just assumed you'd be a bit better prepared than that.
Okay, let's go again.
Action!
Ooh, I am slightly worried about telling my Bert.
What are his mates down the pub going to think? I...
Sorry, I forgot my line. [giggles]
You did what?
I forgot my line.
What the fuck is wrong with you! Show her her line!
And concentrate, and don't fuck it up! Action!
Ooh, I am slightly worried about telling my Bert.
What are his mates down the pub going to think? I...
Sorry, I've--
[mocking] "I've forgotten my line."
Are you fucking retarded!
What the shit is between your ears!
Can I...
Sorry. She's not really responding to your direction.
May I suggest a small piece of advice?
What?
I think you could possibly be
a little more forceful with her.
More forceful?
Yes. A tad more aggressive.
I'd give that a go. May well work.
Okay.
Jennifer, I'll be to the point,
if you knacker this scene again
I'll fucking fire you from this production!
And I'll replace you with an actress who can actually act!
Action!
Ooh, I am slightly worried about telling my Bert.
What are his mates down the pub going to think? I...
[Toast breathes threateningly]
[jaunty music]
Okay. So, Sally's just given you the news.
What's needed here is a small reaction,
because you don't want Sally to know that you're upset.
Right?
Action.
[cries hysterically]
What the hell are you doing?
I said a small reaction, you fucking donut!
Let's give it one more try
before I replace you with a chimpanzee. Right?
Now pull yourself together! Action!
[sobbing uncontrollably]
No! No, no, no!
I say! You can't speak to our actors like that!
Is that Clench? Hang on, I thought you were dead!
There was an incident, with Bob. He tried to drown me.
I drifted out to sea.
But luckily, I was washed up just outside the theatre.
Why are you directing this production?
I think you should leave this show.
Well screw you, sailor. It's a shit show, anyway.
Bunch of middle-aged tarts,
hiding their tits behind flowerpots.
Well I can do much better than this.
Come on Ed, we're going. Where is he?
[camera clicking]
What are you doing, Ed?
Just rehearsing a photography scene with Alison here.
Never mind that, we gotta get back to London.
Unlikely, Toast.
Why?
That rail strike has gone ahead.
[Toast sighs]
Anyway, Alison has just offered
to put me up for the night.
Really?
I could give you a lift back if you like.
Great. Where's your car?
Oh, I don't have a car.
What do you have?
Oh.
What's the problem?
It's... I found the day's rehearsals very distressing.
You're an extremely aggressive director,
and because I was a bit upset,
I may have forgotten to put fuel into the tank.
[engine cluttering and alarms blaring]
Oh, for fuck's sake!
[plane crashing and exploding]
[Toast coughing]
Good God.
God, sorry about earlier.
I may have been a tad over the top. No hard feelings, and--
Okay. Stop there, don't move, whoever you are.
[rifle cocking]
You know this is private land. Show your face, you bastard.
Toast? What the hell are you doing here?
I was in a plane that just crashed in this wood.
A likely story.
Is that really the best you can come up with, Toast?
Oh. [laughs] You'll be pleased to hear that my advert,
that you hate so much,
will be playing in over 100,000 cinemas across the world.
So your decision to walk means zero royalties for you!
Fucknut!
Yeah!
And now I see, you're reduced to poaching.
The last resort of the out-of-work actor.
What are you talking about?
What's the quickest way back to London from here?
I'd say it's to run!
[gunshot]
What the... Nettles? Again?
[repeated gunshots]
[jazzy guitar riff]
Yes.
Unfortunately, he's just been in a plane crash.
No, it wasn't serious. Only one person was killed.
I'm sure we can come to a satisfactory resolution,
Mr. Cockertip.
Cockertip?
[Jane sighs]
The tax man. Luckily, something's come in. Something big.
Big enough to pay off your tax bill in one swoop.
What's the product?
Nevermind what the fucking product is, Toast.
You have no choice in this. Here are your plane tickets.
Aeroplane tickets? Where am I going?
[upbeat swanky music]
Okay, boys. Let's take a break.
Red Carpet Cigarettes is the number one brand
in the Democratic Republic of Congo.
Everybody loves the silky smooth taste of a Red Carpet.
Red Carpet Cigarettes.
The Democratic Republic of Congo's number one favourite.
I'll have one please.
Only 10 Congolese Franks a packet.
Once you smoke one,
you'll want more, and more, and more, and more.
* So take my hand *
* We'll disappear to above the sun *
* To far from here *
* No I don't know you and you don't know me *
* I just had to talk to you, you see *
* So say you'll come, please come girl *
* You could be the one for all I know *