No 3645 Set by John Crick
So Hollywood wants our soaps, sitcoms and popular series. We asked for Spielberg's Antiques Roadshow, Scorsese's Ground Force, Oliver Stone's Neighbours from Hell or Woody Allen's EastEnders.
Report by Ms de Meaner
You will note that I have graciously allowed you to pick'n'mix director and soap/sitcom/series (after some whimperingly abject phone calls), although I had intended that you choose only from the list. And you've done well, my children. Which is why it's sad that - due to the film format - I could only get three winners in this week. Hon menshes to: John O'Byrne for Woody Allen's EastEnders (Roy: "Hell is other people's drinks parties." Frank: "I'm a Camus man myself"); Adrian Fry for Allen's interview about his new film, Fawlty Towers ("We've got Dustin Hoffman for Manuel"); Basil Ransome-Davies for Martin Scorsese's Emmerdale (Kelly: "Aw, Roy . . . " Roy: "Wha'?" Kelly: "You know." Roy: "Wha'?"); and lastly G M Davis for Oliver Stone's Neighbours from Hell (Presenter: "Superficially, this is a story about a lawn-mover"). £20 to the winners; the vouchers go to Michael "There's No Such Thing As a Cock-up" Cregan.
Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?
by Quentin Tarantino
- Are you sure?
- Yeah, damn sure.
- I said are you fucking sure, you smart-ass bastard?
- Listen good, schmuck, I'm fucking sure.
- OK . . . Yeah . . . Wanna see the answer?
- Press the goddamn button, motherfucker.
- Yeah?
- Yeah. Know what a 9mm dumdum would do to your knee?
- . . . Yeah . . . Emily Dickinson lived at . . . Shit! . . . Amherst. Got that fucker, eh? Fucking lucky stronzo di merda. Thas two-fifty fucking grand . . . Wanna go on? Can you take it, you lard-assed wimp?
- Cut the bullshit.
- Oh, yeah? . . . Now . . . Like this. Get the next one, thas 500 Ks. Screw it up, and we have your fucking nose off with these garden shears. Comprende?
Andrew Wilcox
Ground Force
by Martin Scorsese
(Starring Joe Pesci as "Titch", Robert de Niro as Tommy "Two Days" and Sharon Stone as Charlie)
Scene: A desert strip outside Las Vegas. Titch's hydrangea seeds are missing. He is raging.
Titch: I'm gonna axe you nicely. Which one of you f***s has stolen the f***ing seeds?
Tommy: How can you axe me that? I'm your brother. Don't you believe me?
Titch: F***it, Tommy. You're my brother. I gotta believe you. But, if I find out you're lying, I'll stick those seeds so far up your ass you'll be sluicing with Baby Bio till Michaelmas.
Charlie: We're supposed to be here on business.
Titch: Who the f*** axed you? (He slaps her.) Bring me some Dundee cake and shut the f*** up.
Charlie: Titch, I'm sorry. Only, Mrs Prendergast will be back at 5.30 and we ain't even started her herbaceous border.
Titch: Oh yeah, Mrs Prendergast. She's in for a f***in' surprise. Tommy, dig a trench over there, six by three, and one over there, seven by four.
Tommy: OK Titch, but that f***in' pergola won't be up by 5.30.
Titch: Shut up and dig.
Tommy digs. Charlie paces distractedly. When her back is turned, Titch knifes Tommy in the back and kicks him into the newly dug trench. Charlie turns, witnesses Tommy falling into the grave and starts to run. A packet of seeds falls from her pocket and flies though the air in slow-mo. A car explodes. A gunshot.
Titch: It was you, Charlie. It was you. And we're back next week to transform a Bowery sidewalk into an urban oasis.
Fade. Credits.
John West
Neighbours from Hell
by Oliver Stone
Programme opens with a grainy, flickering video film of a man throwing bags of rubbish over a fence into the garden next door.
Voice-over: Just a bad neighbour causing trouble? Look at that long thin package propped against the shed door. Exactly the right shape and size to hold a Mannlicher-Carcano rifle of the sort that Oswald is supposed to have used when he supposedly killed JFK. Ask yourself: who benefits from that?
And that car you can see parked in the background. It's been positively identified as a Fiat Uno. And it was the rear light from just such a Fiat Uno that was found in the underpass where Princess Diana was killed. Don't look for the how - look for the why.
And beside the Uno stands a motorcycle, a veteran machine. It's a Brough; precisely the make of machine T E Lawrence was riding when he had his fatal accident - his fatal alleged accident - in Dorset. Who has the power to arrange a coincidence like that?
Screen changes to raddled, drunken old woman vomiting over the pavement.
Voice-over: Which brings us on to Marilyn Monroe . . .
Michael Cregan
No 3648 Set by George Cowley
Michael Atherton was quoted recently in the New Statesman (4 September): "I don't believe there's anybody who doesn't have a period of self-doubt." Let's eavesdrop on the innermost doubts of someone (alive and kicking) in the public eye. Max 200 words and in by 28 September.
E-mail: comp@newstatesman.co.uk
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