Pirate Radio (2009)
Minister Dormandy: You see, that's the whole point of being the government. If you don't like something you simply make up a new law that makes it illegal. Speaking of which, Mr...
Minister Dormandy: Fredericks.
Fredericks: Yes, sir?
Minister Dormandy: I think we might also start working on legislation to outlaw that haircut of yours.
Fredericks: You don't like it, sir?
Minister Dormandy: No one likes it. Apart from blind people; and I'm sure even they can sense its profound ugliness as it passes by.
The Count: To all our listeners, this is what I have to say - God bless you all. And as for you bastards in charge, don't dream it's over. Years will come, years will go, and politicians will do fuck all to make the world a better place. But all over the world, young men and young women will always dream dreams and put those dreams into song. Nothing important dies tonight, just a few ugly guys on a crappy ship. The only sadness tonight is that, in future years, there'll be so many fantastic songs that it will not be our privilege to play. But, believe you me, they will still be written, they will still be sung and they will be the wonder of the world.
Gavin Cavanagh: Hit it!
The Count: You know, a few months ago, I made a terrible mistake. I realized something, and instead of crushing the thought the moment it came I... I let it hang on, and now I know it to be true. And I'm afraid it's stuck in my head forever. These are the best days of our lives. It's a terrible thing to know, but I know it.
The Count: This was the deal: I asked all of you to demand of me to do a very foolish thing, and you sent in ideas in their millions. But one idea has defeated them all, so I'm proud to announce I will soon be the first person to say the "F" word on rock 'n' roll radio in the United Kingdom of Great Britain. But my aim is not to offend, it is to entertain. But also, perhaps, to educate a little. Cuz if you shoot a bullet, someone dies. When you drop a bomb, many die. You hit a woman, love dies. But... if you say the f-word, nothing actually happens. So here it comes. Especially for you, the "F" word.
The Count: First, though, this very fine piece of music.
[Puts on a record]
Quentin: You can't do this.
The Count: Why not? It's just a word!
Quentin: Charming thought, but here's the simple situation. The authorities already dislike us. If you do this they will hate us, and by hook or by crook, they'll find a way to close us down.
The Count: They can't close us down. We're pirates. That's why we're sitting out here in the middle of the freaking ocean.
Quentin: Believe me, they will find a way. Governments loathe people being free.
The Count: Okay, I'm thinking about it.
[to the listeners]
The Count: My dear comrades, I have some sad news. The powers that be have decreed that the "F" word is a word too far. But at least for now, even though our dreams of freedom have died a tragic death, the Hollies are still alive. Thank you.
[Back to Quentin]
The Count: I don't know why you did that. I was just gonna say "fuck" once. You know, one tiny little "fuck."
Quentin: There's no such thing as a tiny little "fuck."
The Count: Yeah there is. You should ask Angus' girlfriend.
Quentin: Be that as it may, there's no "fuck" so small it won't fuck us up. One day, in a world of dreams, you'll be able to say "wank" or "bollocks" or even "cock" on the radio. But "fuck," never.
Harold: [In the control room] Excuse me, my Lordship?
The Count: Yes, Harold?
Harold: You've left your mike up in the studio.
The Count: [Looks] So I have.
[His conversation with the count has been broadcasting the whole time]
The Count: [laughs] I do apologise to everyone out there for the four... Or was it five "F" words, Quentin? The Hollies will continue undisturbed. I'm so sorry about that, Quentin, but you know, I thought you sounded good. You have a lovely voice for radio.
Quentin: Fuck off.
The Count: That makes it six, Quentin.
Dave: So tell us Mark, now at the very end - what was your secret? How did you get all them girls?
Mark: Simple. Don't say anything at all.
'Young' Carl: Nothing?
Mark: Nothing. Then, when the tension becomes too much to bear, you finally, finally, you just say: "How about it, then?"
Quentin: So... expelled?
'Young' Carl: That's right.
Quentin: What for?
'Young' Carl: I suppose smoking was the clincher.
Quentin: Drugs or cigarettes?
'Young' Carl: Well, both.
Quentin: Well done! Proud of you. So your mum sent you here in the hope that a little bracing sea air would sort you out?
'Young' Carl: Something like that.
Quentin: Spectacular mistake.
Angus: The way I look at it, the world couldn't survive without my comedy, and who's going to have the moral backbone to play the Seekers when the mood is right?
Dave: They've split up.
Angus: I intend to celebrate the back catalogue.
Dave: I intend to stop you doing so.
Mark: [silently stands up and lights a cigarette]
Simon: As some of you know, my wife left me after 17 hours of marriage, but I survived that because I live for music. And now, with nothing else to live for, I'm willing to die for it as well.
'On-The-Hour' John: I've always lived for news and weather. Happy to die for them, too. Especially the weather.
Bob Silver 'the Dawn Treader': I've got nowhere else to go.
Harold: I have somewhere else to go, but it's Peckham. So I think I'll stick around.
Felicity: Can't let everyone starve. And I'm slightly worried where my increasingly powerful sexuality will take me when I return to normal life.
Thick Kevin: I've got a very strong suspicion that Felicity fancies me. Not about to go anywhere, just when I'm in with a chance.
'Young' Carl: Obviously, I'm in. You're the only people in the world who like me.
Gavin Cavanagh: Are you doing something dirty? Are you doing something your parents don't know about? Are you breaking the law? Are you breaking the rules?
Gavin Cavanagh: Open your knees and feel the breeze, because Gavin's back to stay!
Gavin Cavanagh: Now it's just you and me, and I'm looking right up your skirt.
The Count: Gentlemen, I'd consider it an honor if you'd join me on this historic night... in a salute... to The Fabulous Four; the glories of our age; the bringers of joy... to our future generations... cause' there will always be poverty and pain and war and justice in this world, but there will, thank the Lord, always be... the Beatles.
Quentin: The day has come. Tonight pirate radio dies. From midnight, we are a ghost ship floating without hope on cold and dark waters. You have done almighty work here. Thank you. But your work is done.
The Count: Not mine, sir. I'm an American citizen and I don't give a hootenanny God damn about your nitpicking limey laws. I intend to broadcast from this ship 24 hours a day until the day I die. And then for a couple days after that.
Gavin Cavanagh: Not wanting to sound rude or anything, but don't you think that might be an ever so slightly monotonous experience for the listener? What do you say to 12 hours each, noble sir?
Simon: Remember folks, "It ain't simple bein' cool, but it's cool bein' simple."
Simon: I believe the technical term is a *fuckload* of boats!
Harold: [the crew has decided to stay on the ship and keep broadcasting having nowhere else to go, Harold is the last one left] I *do* have somewhere else to go
[pause as crew looks at him. Quentin gives an "alright" shrug]
Harold: But it's Peckham so I'm staying
[all start backslapping and saluting]
Quentin: Thank you gentlemen, lady, strange bearded thing.
The Count: Arrhh, Jesus, I don't even like Simon! Fucking cry-baby!
Dave: Walk this way.
Simon: Don't walk that way!
'Young' Carl: I'm just gonna...
Simon: Walk woodpecker way.
Thick Kevin: It's type of bird, but it's wearing a hat. Not so much a hat. Something that's at the top of a coat and attached to the coat and covers the head, but is not a hat.
'Young' Carl: A hood?
Thick Kevin: Yes, and now the first name, type of bird. It's a something hood.
'Young' Carl: Robin Hood! Why didn't you just say he lived in Sherwood Forest and has a bow and an arrow?
Thick Kevin: Yeah? What? Who are you talking about?
'Young' Carl: Robin Hood.
Thick Kevin: I didn't know that.
Quentin: Gentlemen, I have some good news and some bad news. Which would you prefer?
Thick Kevin: Good news.
Quentin: Okay. The good news is the engine has exploded and we're all going to die.
Dave: Hello, Dr Dave, Radio Rock. How is that good news?
Quentin: I haven't yet told you how we're going to die. That's the bad news.
Simon: How are we gonna die?
Quentin: We're going to drown in the freezing waters of the North Sea.
Felicity: Dearie me.
Quentin: There is a huge hole in the side of the boat and in an unfortunate development, it transpires that the lifeboats are useless.
Thick Kevin: [to Angus] Actually, that's quite good for you, isn't it? 'Cause you can't swim, so you'll die quicker.
Thick Kevin: My theory is that you're here because it's exactly the right time for a young man like you to get to know his dad.
'Young' Carl: And?
Thick Kevin: I therefore think that your dad is on this boat. And since he's definitely not me, I think he's probably Quentin.
Angus: Official sources word today sad to announce this separation of Simon and Eleanor, after 17 hours of marriage. It is understood due to musical differences.
The Count: Here's a rather long record. I hope I'm here at the end of it.
Minister Dormandy: [referring to Radio Rock] We have their testicles in our hands, Twatt, and it feels good.
Angus: 'How about it?' How about this? Try and fuck your way out of this one Mark!
Angus: And the bride is blushing now as the groom is gazing into her eyes. You can almost see Cupid fluttering his wings above their heads
[imitating wings flapping, then cawing]
Angus: No, that was a seagull.
Dave: Sure throwing him in is the best way to get him to learn how to swim?
The Count: Absolutely.
The Count: On second thought, it might just be for kids.
Angus: I can't touch the bottom!
The Count: Yeah, that's right. Throw a baby in, it floats. Instinctively, naturally. It's a beautiful thing. I think if you throw in an adult, doesn't work that way.
Quentin: Your mother is dropping by to pay us a visit before Christmas.
'Young' Carl: You're kidding? When does she arrive?
Quentin: Tomorrow. She was always very impromptu. Anyway, I thought you might like to know, in case you want to brush your hair or hide the large stack of pornography you keep on that shelf.
Minister Dormandy: No one likes it, apart from blind people, and I'm sure even they can sense it profound ugliness as it passes by.
Simon: [to his bride, Elenore] Wow. You look like a unicorn... in a negligee.