Читать книгу Bigger than Hitler – Better than Christ - Rik Mayall - Страница 17

I invented the word “radical.” That’s right. I made it up. It’s no coincidence that the word radical begins with R. In fact, it is almost an anagram of Rik. It’s got an R and an I in it. That’s 66.6666666% reoccurring there. Which is pretty good in anyone’s book. Especially mine. And what you must remember in a Rik Mayall book is never look down, never go back, never leave the boat. Just keep pushing forward into the jungle. I’m with you all the way, viewer, holding your hand and not giving you a feel up –remember my promise?

So there I was wandering in the West Midlands which is in the middle of England but which is not Middle England. Which is an interesting concept in itself. Think of all those working class people who are ignored because they are not what is considered Middle England but actually do live in the middle of England. There’s a hole ethnic group right there who have been ignored and disenfranchised for years. Well, that’s what alternative comedy is all about. The eighties were hard times. There were no mobile phones, no eye pods [pads?], no laptops, no speed bumps, no boy bands, and to make matters worse, there was a war going on in Vietnam.

I’d never done television on this scale before. But I was sure I could make it work. I was Rik Mayall after all – I still am – I could make anything work. I knew The Young Ones was a good idea. It was what I wanted to see on the television. That’s how I knew it was a good idea. And it was produced by the Variety Department at the BBC because if you wanted music – rock ‘n’ roll – in your programme you had to go to the Variety Department instead of the Comedy Department. Which was great because they had more cash. And it just felt right – like The Goons who had Max Geldray in the middle. Only instead of Max Geldray, we had Motorhead.

During the filming of the second series of The Young Ones, an assassination attempt was made on my life. You might think I’m joking here. I can almost hear you viewer, laughing and saying, “Ha ha, great gag, wild one, I love you and so do all my friends – the ones that I admire anyway.” But no, viewer, you’re wrong. You’re all wrong. It’s not a joke. It’s a fact. An assassination attempt was made on my life in 1983. Someone, somewhere, wanted me dead. Unseen forces within the British broadcasting establishment realised that once the show hit the television screens, the world would never be the same again. The old order was being swept away but it didn’t want to go without a fight. As noble rebel leader and figurehead of the new wave of comedy genius that was coming up from the streets, I was targeted. I’ll tell you what happened. Right now.

You know how people come up to you sometimes and say, “Hey Rik…” Actually, you probably don’t but people are always coming up to me and saying, “Hey Rik, The Young Ones is the best television programme ever made.” Well, they can fuck off because it’s better than that. You’re my public aren’t you, viewer? So, if anyone comes up to you and says that to you, then punch them in the face and go into their house and meddle with their wiring. Remember, you and me are wild anarchists who live on the edge and we don’t care whether we live or die. Go into their houses and do it now. Done it? Cool. Move on. You’re one of mine now. Or I’m one of yours. Whichever you like better. There’s no authoritarian structure in our movement. We are all equal. They are few, we are many.

So, what happened was, I had written The Young Ones, right? I wrote it and I’d like to see someone who says that I didn’t because they’d be seriously big time wrong, right? Because I did and my name’s at the end of it. If you go out and buy a tape or a DeeVeeDee right now from a shop – I don’t know, any type of shop – you just go to the sort of shop that sells it and you put it on the tape or your telly thing – whatever kind of telly thing you’ve got – I don’t care what type you’ve got – just put it on and you watch one of the episodes – whichever one you want, it’s not important – just put it on and watch it and then where it says who it’s written by well that’s where my bloody name is, isn’t it? Right? So, tell me I’m wrong. Right, so, I wrote it, okay? And I want to say here and now that I never saw the copy of the script that said that Alexei, who was playing dangerous escaped criminal madman Brian Damage Bolowski in the episode entitled Sick (correct? hardcore fans^*), was to smash me in the face with the butt of his shotgun. This mysterious little extra piece of action was added in a covert and highly suspicious manor. There I was acting out the scene as written – or scripted as we say in the acting world – when suddenly, Alexei smashed me in the face as hard as he could, knocking me completely unconscious. It was all made to look as though it was in the script and I had just mistimed it (and the actual shot of my character Rick coming round and recovering in the episode is me coming round and recovering genuinely. This, viewer, is a fact and would make an amusing little anecdote in its own right were it not for the fact that all was not what it seemed.)

To this day, I am convinced that insidious elements had infiltrated us and brainwashed Alexei Sayle and the others. Earlier on that day I had just happened to see my great friend and fellow Sex Pistol of comedy, Adrian Edmondson, giving fifty quid to Alexei with the words, “as hard as you can right in the face,” but this was a false trail, a smokescreen, conjured up by the shadowy forces who wanted me to think that my fellow anarchists and crazy good time compadrays had decided to have me whacked. It was an elaborate sting and from then on, I knew that I had to be careful.

Later, I decided to ask a few questions, see if I could russell a few feathers. First off, I spoke to friend and fellow cast member, Nigel Planer, about what happened when I was unconscious.

“Oh, were you unconscious?” he said.

“This afternoon, I was lying on the floor next to you.”

“When was that?”

“When we were filming.”

“Filming?”

“Making the television programme.”

“When was I watching television?”

“You weren’t watching it, you were on it.”

“Did I climb on it when I was drunk?”

“No, Nige, you’re an acter.”

“What?”

“Nigel!”

“Who’s that?”

“It’s you.”

“Who?”

“You.”

“Who’s you?”

“Your name is Nigel Planer.”

“I thought I was Anne Acter.”

“Yes you are.”

“So what’s my character called?”

“No, just concentrate, I’m talking to you.”

“So I don’t have a character?”

“No.”

“Don’t I have a job?”

“Yes, you’re an…Oh God, never mind.”

“So I’m not getting paid. That’s a bummer. I’m going to call my agent. Oh, wait a minute.”

“What?”

“What should I call him?”

“It’s a woman.”

“I’ll call him a woman, that’s a good idea.”

So it wasn’t Nigel who had been brainwashed, he was behaving normally. Although it was always difficult to tell with Nige.

I never did find out who was behind the attempt on my life, but what was clear was that I had to watch my back (which means be very cautious) as my work was entering a dangerous phase. I had created a legend with The Young Ones. Let’s face it, you’ve probably got married to it. You’ve probably conceived to it. It has probably revolutionised your entire concept of society. You are probably wearing different clothes because of me. I, Richard Mayall, had televised the revolution. I was in danger, but I had arrived.

Bob Geldof

Basement Flat

126b Kilburn High Road

London NW8

26th November 1984

Dear Bob,

Love you work – or I did until I turned up yesterday at Air Studios to do my bit for Band Aid. What in the name of sweet Fanny fucking Nightingale is going on? All I wanted to do was join my pier group of international stars from the world of pop and rock and record a simple tune which might bring much needed food and provisions to the starving in Africa. But oh no. No, no, no, no, no. Absolutely ruddy bloomin’ well not.

Picture the scene. That’s the one. There I am walking towards Air Studios just as that Phil Collins is going in. I called to him but he pretended not to hear me. Between you and me Bob, I’ve never liked him. There’s something a bit seedy about him. Something not quite right. And those bloody awful records. Anyway, I was on my way in after him when this enormous bloke in a bomber jacket blocked my passage. Ooer I thought but figured this was probably just some sort of joke dreamt up by one of my great popstar mates like Francis Rossi or Kool from Kool and the Gang. The bloke said, “We don’t want your sort around here.” I laughed knowingly but he was deadly serious. I told him to go and tell you that I had arrived and that I had come to do my bit. When he came back a few minutes later, he lied and said that he had spoken to you and you had told him to tell me to fuck off.

It was then that Simon Le Bon arrived with his all-girl backing band. I called across to him and told him there had been a horrible mix up but he pretended he didn’t recognise me. What is wrong with these people? So then I spoke to the big bloke in the bomber jacket again and it was then that he beat me up. Yes Bob, perhaps you should read that sentence again. That’s right, I was beaten up at a charity recording. Your charity recording. How’s that make you feel?

So there I was lying on the pavement when a limo pulls up next to me and out climbs Boy George with George Michael and Bananarama and they all definitely recognised me as they stepped over me and went inside, even though they pretended that they didn’t. You can just tell.