Wednesday, December 10, 2008

Another YOA Flashback

... to the times when I was rubbish and but the plots weren't too bad. I'll be honest, anything that might reach the level of "merit" is by Damian. But Nigel's scene is all mine.


We see a huge movie poster showing a demonic sheep’s face rising out of the ocean into a thunderous sky. The title is GOAT SHIT. Zoom out to see that Andrew, Nigel, Dave and Eve are standing in a line.

ANDREW: It... SOUNDS interesting.

NIGEL: Andrew, anything would sound interesting compared to what we have to watch.

He indicates the poster above the theatre their line leads to: RASPUTIN GOES TO HAPPY-FLAPPY BURGERS! They both sigh.

NIGEL: Why are we even watching it, anyway?

ANDREW: Eve wants to and she needs us for a group discount.

DAVE: Why didn’t we tell her we couldn’t make it?

ANDREW: Well, I tried, but you kept hitting me over the head. You guys are scared of her, man. You’re wimps. WIMPS! Why can’t you be honest and objective, like me?

Eve moves up to them.

EVE: What do you think of my hair?

ANDREW: Damn it! Did a cat die up there?!

Eve rolls her eyes and heads back for the theatre. The guys are about to follow, when Andrew stops them. We see the theatre for GOAT SHIT is now open and the moviegoers are leaving – all are looking rather ill.

ANDREW: Dude! Escape route!

NIGEL: What? Go to that film instead?

ANDREW: Why not? We can just say we got lost!

DAVE: Andrew, that film is R-rated! It features gratuitous violence, nudity, adult themes, scenes that will disquiet people of nervous dispositions and erotic natures...

He realizes that the others are staring at him.

DAVE: All right. You’ve talked me into it.

They turn and hurry into the theatre opposite.


The guys find some seats. The place is filling up.

DAVE: [UNCERTAIN] We can take this, can’t we?

ANDREW: Of course we can. We’re old enough to watch it.

NIGEL: And we’re mature enough, aren’t we?

Dave is about to answer.

ANDREW: [INTERRUPTS] Of course we are. Heck, this stuff is for fluffy-cheeked amateurs considering the stuff Nigel keeps under his floorboards.

NIGEL: Exactl – wait. How did you know about it?

ANDREW: I didn’t. [GRINS EVILLY] But I do now.

DAVE: [TO HIMSELF] Yeah, we can take this.

ANDREW: You bet your ass, we can.

The lights dim. The movie starts. The guys are lit by a strange red glow. On the screen, two muppets are making out.

PUPPET: Havver froggin’ law onnum, shouldnum? Eh? Eh? Arn I? Oh ar?


We can hear the guys screaming. Continually.



Near the harbor, with a lot of derelict-looking warehouses dotted around the shore. We see an artist, wearing a painter’s smock, a beret and a long, multi-coloured scarf, stride confidently towards one particularly decrepit building. He carries a sculpture built out of old beer cans under one arm.


Lots of chain-link barrier block various doorways and holes in the walls. It looks like an abandoned construction site. The artist enters and heads up the only real doorway.


Bare, concrete walls mingling with boarded-up holes. Very dusty and dirty. The artist moves up them for a long time.


A bare chamber with grubby windows overlooking the harbor beyond. Most of the light comes from here. It is subdivided by arches and a run-down partition looks as though it was used as an the office once. The Artist arrives, looks around, and puts down the sculpture. He pulls out an envelope with RSVP written onto it.

ARTIST 1: ‘Gallery opens on 8/7/05.’

There is a pause. He looks at his watch: 8/7/05.

ARTIST 1: Where is everyone?

Fade to black.


Caption: 7/8/05. Fade up to show the place is now full of designs and designers. Artworks include paintings, sculptures, comic strips and a few video clips shown on wide-screen TV sets. We move past various pompous-looking artists.

ARTIST 2: So, Falstaff, you made it here after all?

ARTIST 3: Luckily. I realized the date was written in that horrible American style on the invite.

ARTIST 2: Oh, you mean Month/Day/Year and not Day/Month/Year?

ARTIST 3: Quite right. What do you call this costume again, Holmes?

ARTIST 2: The ‘Mini-Mini-Oh-Please-Bend-Over-And-Tell-Me-That-You-Love-Me Skirt’, Holmes. Note how it goes so well with the wombat-shaped haircut.

ARTIST 3: Yes, old bean. Not enough people go around wearing wombats on their heads these days. It’s a crying shame.

ARTIST 2: What, a man pretending to be a woman?

ARTIST 3: No, crying SHAME, old chap.

ARTIST 2: Ahh.

They move out of sight. We cut to Andrew and Katy wandering around the outer walls, pacing various Damien Hurst-style Dog-in-Concrete-type artworks.

ANDREW: [READS LABEL] ‘Exploiting The Typical Weakness Of Death Stars’.

KATY: Andrew, that stuff is just... inappropriate.

ANDREW: Well, yes.

KATY: Wildly inappropriate.

ANDREW: Indeed. But it’s also fantastic.

KATY: Fantastic?

ANDREW: In its realism. And accuracy.

We see there are staring at a painting of two Teletubbies firing guns at each other as they sink into quicksand. They move on, touring the art gallery.

KATY: Oh, why couldn’t we go to a proper art gallery?

ANDREW: Because Dave’s brother is running this and he needed our help with the catering. Besides, what’s wrong with this one? It’s the greatest art gallery I’ve seen.

KATY: What about the Stellarc Academy in Sydenham?

ANDREW: What about it?

KATY: It’s better than this stuff.

ANDREW: Perhaps, but you are absolutely not allowed to take pictures in the Academy. Here, people can take so many pictures the flashes could make you go blind.

KATY: What about the Glasshouse Pinocotheca in Surrey Hills?

ANDREW: No gift shops. Here, we can get any artwork of your choice on a T-shirt, mug, or even lighted-up Christmas card with tinny classical music.

He passes the ‘office’ with NOVELTY GIFTS in a lit sign above the door. Various artworks are displayed on T-shirts and posters.

KATY: What about the Guggenhiem? Huh? Beat that.

Andrew looks at her and takes a deep breath. He does not exhale. Katy rolls her eyes as Andrew begins stomping his feet. He is turning blue.

KATY: [SIGHS] OK, OK, I take it all back.

Andrew breathes out and coughs loudly.

ANDREW: [COUGHING] I knew I could convince you.

KATY: Why do you always do that when we argue?

ANDREW: It doesn’t matter how you play the game, as long as you win, Katy. Who told me that? What was his name? Base? Chase? Mace?

They wander off.

ANDREW: [VO] Skase! That’s it! Christo Skase the millionaire.

Another pair of artists, one dressed like Eddie Izzard, the other in black PVC. They stop by a sculpture.

ARTIST 4: Quite right. What do you make of this, Colon?

ARTIST 5: Hmm.

Another artist comes up to them.

ARTIST 6: Ah, admiring “Die, Sanity Clause, Die!”, I see?

ARTIST 4: This is your work?

ARTIST 6: That is true. I have spent four years designing it out of matchstick shavings, held together with Burmese adhesive and camel spit. It is my greatest achievement.

ARTIST 5: Yes, we can tell.

ARTIST 6: What do you think of it?

ARTIST 4: Well, it’s hard to put my opinion into actual words. Suffice it to say, your work is like watching paint dry...

ARTIST 5: ...while being whipped with barbed wire.

ARTIST 4 & 5: It’s immensely dull and painful at the same time.

They laugh sickeningly and then wander off. The sixth artist sobs sadly and walks off, shaking with emotion. He stops by a homemade lemonade stand with REF-RESHMONTS written above it. Dave sits behind it in a working-class manner.

DAVE: Fancy a drink, sport?

ARTIST 6: Only if it’s cyanide.

DAVE: How about some of Dave’s Patented Elixir? Or, as we call it, Bang-a-Jang-Bang?

Dave takes out a lab beaker full of what looks like snot. The artist takes it and looks it over, unimpressed.

ARTIST 6: What’s in it?

DAVE: It’s full of goodness... knows... what.

The artist downs the beaker, and lets out a mighty belch. He staggers slightly, and looks a lot more cheerful.

ARTIST 6: Wow... Pretty good. Tasty, too.

DAVE: Have another! Only five dollars a gulp.

The artist slugs back another and hands over his wallet.

ARTIST 6: [NOW VERY HAPPY] Tell me when it’s finished, minion.

DAVE: Yeah, sure – what did you call me?

ARTIST 6: You are all my subjects. Bow down before your King.

DAVE: [SLOWLY] You think you’re a king?

ARTIST 6: I AM your king and YOU will obey me!

Dave shrugs.

DAVE: [HANDS OVER ANOTHER GLASS] Have another tankard, your majesty.

The artist does so. He goes cross-eyed.

ARTIST 6: Majesty? MAJESTY! I am Emperor of the whole fricking world!

He takes two more of the beakers and drinks them both. There are now no more samples left. Staggering, the artist goes behind the stand and Dave leaps out of the way. The artist finds the keg-style dispenser and sucks the tap hungrily. Eve wanders up to some artists and bugs them.

ARTIST 3: Gurnica painted in fish scales. Very interesting...

EVE: Um, have you seen my pen at all?

ARTIST 2: What? Who are you?

EVE: I’m Eve Markson and you’re nobody. Now, have you or have you not seen my pen? You can’t miss it. It’s the size of a bumper-bar and made out of solid lead.

ARTIST 2: No, we haven’t so why don’t you...

ARTIST 3: Wait a minute, Holmes. Maybe she’s one of those performance artists that threatened to turn up today? [TO EVE] What’s your performance called, then, sweetie?

EVE: [ANNOYED] Look, buster, just tell me: have you seen my pen?

ARTIST 2: Staying in character like that, very good.

ARTIST 3: Very very VERY good.

EVE: Answer the smegging question, duckface!!!!

ARTIST 2: Look at that, Falstaff! Such passion! Much better than those idiots who paint themselves silver and stand in the middle of parks, not moving.

ARTIST 3: Mimes, you mean?

ARTIST 2: No, statues.

EVE: Either you tell me where my pen is or I do something... indescribable to your nostrils.

ARTIST 3: [TO EVE] I’d suggest you do that window-dummy crap. You know, stand in a shop window for two hours, then pretend to come to life in front of a crowd of bemused onlookers. It’s not original but, HAH, what is nowadays?

EVE: What I do to your genitals will be pretty original. Now, have your or have you not seen my pen?

ARTIST 2: I could watch her for hours, couldn’t you?

ARTIST 3: [THINKS ABOUT IT] No, she’s disgustingly fat.


ARTIST 2: Yes, she is a bit of a lard arse.

We zoom in on Eve’s angry face. She snarls.


An ambulance accelerates away from the warehouse.


There are now large bloodstains spattered around the area the artists were talking to Eve. Various other artists and critics look them over.

ARTIST 4: True genius. Exquisite. Don’t you think so, Francis?

ARTIST 5: Yes, indeed. How many annoyed artistes have thrown wine at reviewers who don’t like their work? But to attack critics that DO like their work? That takes imagination.

ARTIST 4: Or Apple Schnapps.

ARTIST 5: Yes, Colon. Apple Schnapps does that too.

We pan over to Andrew and Katy in front of a framed poster of Danger Mouse. Andrew is folding his arms and isn’t breathing again.

KATY: Look, I’m just saying that this can’t be the major exhibit... It’s not even a real artwork! OK, OK, I know about ‘art for art’s sake’ but, this... Doesn’t work for me. That’s ALL I’M SAYING.

Andrew rolls his eyes, but still isn’t breathing. A school teacher with some HSC students wander into view.

TEACHER: Excuse me? Excuse me?

Andrew turns to look at her. He is now purple.

TEACHER: Could you move along, please?

Andrew stares at her.

TEACHER: [SLIGHTLY FREAKED] Other people wish to enjoy this picture.

Andrew’s eyes start to bulge.

TEACHER: [MEEKLY] Maybe you could start breathing while you’re at it?

Andrew opens his mouth to speak – and promptly passes out. We cut back to Dave, who is bent over the drunken artist. Most of the ‘snot’ has covered his head. He is belching regularly.

DAVE: [SOFTLY] Who are you now?

ARTIST 6: Me? I’m... I’m the... the... Avenging Disco Godfather... Obey me... or I will go super-disco on your ass... Staying alive, staying alive... Ah, ah, ah, ah... glow-in-the-dark underwear... Oh, kill me now...

The artist passes out. Dave looks up as shouting fills the air. We see a deeply embarrassed Katy shouting angrily at Andrew, who is gasping for oxygen and making choking noises.

KATY: OKAY! It is the best art gallery in the entire FREAKING WORLD!! OKAY!? Even IF it’s star attraction is some freakish kiddy poster! [STAMPS FOOT] Just start breathing and act your age for once!

Against the far wall, between a mannequin in a phone booth and a camel with a clock for a face stands Nigel (in a bright red waistcoat) and an attractive bisexual artist in a tuxedo and red bow-tie. This is Virginia Braithwaite.

VIRGINIA: And you know what the scary thing is?

NIGEL: Tell me, sweetlips.

VIRGINIA: Just when the umbrella fell down and crushed the tourist into mushy red paste, on the exact other side of the world the OTHER umbrella fell down and crushed a different tourist into mushy red paste! I tell you, if you see Christo, run for a mile.

NIGEL: I know. What kind of idiot gift-wraps buildings? I mean, who is going to open them? And why do they want buildings as presents? Do you know anyone like that?

VIRGINIA: No. I mean, ‘Happy Birthday!’ and the guy unwraps the present to find the town hall building. What is that all about? But did I tell you about the Spiral Jetty?

NIGEL: Maybe. Tell me again, shnookums.

As she talks, Nigel takes out a deodorant can and sprays himself liberally. He then inhales some, like perfume.

VIRGINIA: This guy builds his first-ever artwork, a bright pink walkway just below the water, going round and round and round and round and round and round and round. He gets into a plane to take some photos of it and...


VIRGINIA: ...the plane crashes into the artwork and he drowns.

Nigel laughs bitterly – a sort of pained, coughing sound as he clears his throat. He leans against a doorway.

NIGEL: The fool. I can tell you, babe, I don’t go round making stupid mistakes like that -

The door swings open and Nigel falls through. We realize that there was nothing beyond the door as Nigel falls out of sight.


We see Nigel falling from the doorway in the side of the warehouse and plunging seven stories until crashing into the murky canal over which the warehouse looms. Seconds later, Andrew is thrown out of the foyer entrance. He shouts back angrily.

ANDREW: Fine! See if I care! It isn’t like this is the FIRST time!

He turns and notices Nigel struggling to surface from some sewage.

ANDREW: Hi, Nigel.

Nigel spits out some slime and screams in disgust.

ANDREW: Dude, it’s just water.

NIGEL: [SCREAMING HYSTERICALLY] My god, I’m wet! I’m soaked!! Oh, the humanity!!! Arrrrrgh!

ANDREW: Never mind.

With more melancholic pathos, Nigel sinks into the muck.


A crowd of people has gathered around the open doorway.

ARTIST 4: Spectacular. THAT is true performance art.

Everyone pretty much agrees. Dave’s mobile rings, so he heads over to answer it.

DAVE: Hello, Dave Restal speaking? Doug! How are you? Fine, fine. Yeah, the exhibition’s really kicked off. Manage to get one or two new exhibits. What? You mean your car’s broken down? And you’re stuck in Adelaide? And you can’t get back here in time for the speech? And you want me to do the speech? And while I’m at it, you want me to stop repeating everything you say? Oh, all right. But, I’ll need someone to cover me at the refreshment stand. Uh, no, Andrew’s been barred. Nigel? He’s... indisposed. All right! All right! I’ll think of something!

Annoyed, he hangs up.


An ambulance pulls up and two orderlies get out.

ORDERLY 1: Here again? Is this a slaughterhouse or something?

ORDERLY 2: So, where’s the victim?

Andrew moves into view, carrying a comotose-crap-smothered Nigel.

ANDREW: Over here. Bit of performance art got a bit out of hand.

They begin to dump Nigel’s body on a stretcher and do ER type stuff.

ORDERLY 2: Performance Art, eh? I was there at the Academy when Tommy Alcott finished his career. Shot himself in the foot, really, when you think about it.

ANDREW: Yes. Where did he get than gun from, anyway?

ORDERLY 2: No idea. Wonderful art, though.

ANDREW: I thought so, too.

They finish putting Nigel into the back of the ambulance.

ORDERLY 1: Right. Will you be accompanying [INDICATES NIGEL] to the hospital, Mr... er?

ANDREW: [SHAKES HIS HAND] Tindell Manx Harpooner Mootie Hubbub Smutch Garris Boker Grubby Martha Baltimore Prudent Forkit Nik Nak Tibbin Bantam Podger Mousepork Geerson Woolmicks.

ORDERLY 2: Um, Tindell?

ANDREW: Just call me the Glove Smuggler, thanks.

He scrambles into the back of the ambulance. He takes the oxygen mask and takes a long breath.

ANDREW: [SLIGHTLY DIZZY] Wow. This ambulance is a pretty colour, isn’t it? Um, right. Look after yourself, Nige. I’d help you but, er, I’ve got to cook dinner tonight – after YOU ruined my last attempt. Sweet dreams.

He stumbles out of the ambulance and away.

...hopefully not to be continued...

Dave looks around and spots Eve looking through a rubbish bin.

DAVE: Eve! Er, I mean, Miss! Hey!

Eve looks up at him as he goes over to her.

EVE: Dave, have you seen my pen anywhere?

DAVE: Um, no, sorry. Look, would you like to help me out at the refreshment stand tomorrow...

EVE: Only if you help me find my pen.

DAVE: But...

EVE: No pen, no help!

DAVE: [SIGHS] OK, when did you last have it?

EVE: When we were at Rasputin Goes To Happy-Flappy Burgers. I gave it to you in the scene before the E-Coli gets out of control and goes off hunting for new victims.

DAVE: Uh, you didn’t hand it to me, miss.

EVE: You were sitting next to me, weren’t you?

DAVE: Ah... [GRIMACES] Actually, I, well, I went to...

EVE: What?

Dave lets out a scared noise and runs away. Eve shrugs.

EVE: Men. Though, come to think of it, the guy who took didn’t look much like Dave. Hair was too long. And he was black. And he was wearing lipstick... [FROWNS] Why would Dave be wearing lipstick to the movies? Maybe, maybe so he could steal my pen without retribution! Nah, Eve, you’re getting carried away. He’s probably just a poofter.

She continues rummaging through the bin.


Jared "No Nickname" Hansen said...

Man, got so distracted with that KC bullshit forgot to give you my feedback. I have to say that I do actually really like the gags, it's just the lack of a plot that's distracting.

I gather this is back in the early days where Eve was a complete psycho bitch rather than the vacant minded, spoilt and impassive richie that we all know and love now?

The line about her pen being the size of a bumper bar and made of solid lead made me piss myself laughing.

Youth of Australia said...

I have to say that I do actually really like the gags, it's just the lack of a plot that's distracting.
Yeah. It was kind of deliberate (a dumb idea, but deliberate), of trying to start the story at a complete non-sequiter. Kind of like how it takes Homer in a computer showroom to lead to a parody of The Prisoner.

The whole point of the plot is to get Nigel in hospital (and I turned that into its own episode with a touch more success I believe). The rest was semi-autobiographic trips to art galleries as part of 2 Unit Arts. "Wouldn't it be cool if someone was selling alcohol here?" "Wouldn't it be cool if the artists beat up their critics?" stuff like that.

I gather this is back in the early days where Eve was a complete psycho bitch rather than the vacant minded, spoilt and impassive richie that we all know and love now?
Yep. It's odd that it was much harder to find a reason to include her in the stories back then. No one liked her, she liked no one, they had no reason to spend time with each other...

The line about her pen being the size of a bumper bar and made of solid lead made me piss myself laughing.
Damo's wit. Makes me giggle to this day.