Original subtitles

Ripped By mstoll

Dearly beloved,

we are gathered together here in the sight of God,

and in the face of this congregation,

to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony,

which is an honourable estate,

instituted of God in the time of man's innocency,

signifying unto us the mystical union that is betwixt Christ and his Church;

which holy estate Christ adorned and beautified with His presence.

I've got this irresistible urge to shout the word "buttocks".

And is commanded of St Paul to be honourable among all men...

Or "bottoms".

And therefore is not by any to be enterprised...

Or "bosoms".

...nor taken in hand to satisfy men's carnal lust and appetites...

Nah, no! "Buttocks" is better than "bosoms".

...but reverently, discreetly, advisedly,

soberly and in the fear of God...

And bottoms.

...duly considering the causes for which matrimony was ordained.

Eeegh, look at them all, it's like the first day of Ascot.

Look at him over there - any old excuse to dress up like a stuffed aubergine.

This lot couldn't give a monkey's whose wedding it is.

Wait a minute - whose wedding is it?

Oh, yes! Guy and Helen.

Guy Thorncroft- shared a room with me once on a school cruise.

I've been penalised for it ever since.

Oh, come on! Get it over with.

One more hymn and we can all clear off.

One more ten-verse Sahara desert of melody to crawl across.

Oh, no, there's more! Four more bloody hymns! It's interminable.

...Thirdly, it was ordained for the mutual society, help and comfort

that the one ought to have of the other.

Oh, God! I feel so anarchic.

I want to let rip. I want to stand on a pew and howl at the top of my voice.

I want to run up to the altar and do an Egyptian belly dance.

Oh, God! It's so tempting I'm getting dizzy.

Calm down, Watkins. It'll be over soon.

Therefore if any man can show any just cause

why they may not lawfully be joined together, let him now speak

or else, hereafter, forever hold his peace.

Erm, well, now you mention it, I...

Oh, God! Er, I'm sorry, sorry...

Well, that's us off the Christmas card list.

Oh, dear! I still actually feel a bit guilty, you know.

I shouldn't worry. Guy's not exactly world famous for his sense of humour.

Did you actually get to speak to them?

I got a grunt from Helen when I gave her our present

and I was about to say hello to Guy when I was route-marched by one of the ushers

- into the queue for the buffet. - Yes.

What an epicurean extravaganza that was. What a spread, eh?

Seafood cocktail - hack a Web's Wonder to shreds, swamp it in thousand island dressing

and defrost a prawn.

Gammon Hawaiian - I love that word "Hawaiian", don't you?

Bung a pineapple ring on top and Bob's your uncle.

It's inspired, isn't it? I mean, who thought that one up, eh? Albert Roux?

Robert Carrier? Jack Lord?

Do you know, the photographer actually told me to shut up and stop giggling?

Weddings, weddings, weddings.

Weddings, weddings, weddings, weddings!

Weddings. Weddings. Ah!

"Wedding. Old English. 1. The action of marrying; marriage, espousal.

2. The performance of the marriage rite;

the ceremony of a marriage with its attendant festivities."

3. A ten-hour marathon spent milling around in a damp marquee,

having wodges of marzipan thrust at you

and a video camera poked in your eye, while some blotchy faced git

gets up and vomits out some half-baked eulogy of his offspring -

all costing some punter half the annual trade deficit.

But never mind, a jolly good time had by all. Well, never, never again!

What's the matter?

"Mr and Mrs Kenneth Wiggins request the pleasure of your company

at the wedding of their daughter Heather Valerie to Trevor David Blacklock

at All Souls Church, Braintree, Essex,

and then afterwards for a reception at the Cherry Tree Motel."

- That's Trevor from work, isn't it? - I'm not going! I'm not going!

We're going to go away. Fly away somewhere remote. Somewhere they can't find us.

What's the name of that place they refuel on the way to the Falklands?

- Guildford? - Ascension Island.

Sure you don't mind being best man, Col?

No...

- If you want to back out, I'll understand. - Oh, no, no!

To be honest, I was going to ask my brother, Barry, but he'd make a pig's dinner of it.

No, I need someone I can count on, someone who's got their head screwed on.

Right. Well, thank you.

Brilliant!

Why me?

Why me?

Of all the people in the world...

...he has to go and pick on me!

It is so bloody unfair!

- Well, tell him you want to pull out then. - I can't!

- I've said yes now. It'd be letting him down. - It'd be worse to do it reluctantly.

You're right, you know. I should nip this thing in the bud.

Well, go on, phone him then. - Yeah, right, I will. Right now.

- He must be out. - Colin!

Just give me a second to think, will you?

I mean, what's more, I should be flattered, you know.

He's paid me a compliment. Besides, as best man, I get a chance to influence things, maybe.

Make things a bit different.

Why should the stag night be the usual debauch in a vomitarium?

Cos they always are.

Does the reception have to be stuffy and formal? Yes.

Why? It's inevitable. No, it isn't! Yes, it is.

No, it isn't!

I'm going to go in tomorrow morning and grab this thing by the horns.

This is going to have the Watkins' stamp on it.

...Table three - good but not close friends.

Table four - people from work.

Table five - overspill from table two to four.

Table six - distant relatives, casual acquaintances, people on the reserve list

and a couple of people from Heather's work she can't stand the sight of.

Trevor, it's all a bit... it's all a bit regimented, isn't it?

Look, what about putting a huge buffet all the way down the side, right,

bunging all the tables in the middle and let people mingle.

No, Col. It's got to be like that - the caterer said so.

Oh!

Right, er, this list...

people who can come to the reception, the disco but not the ceremony.

This lot, they can't come to the ceremony or the reception but they can come to the disco.

And this lot, they're coming to the stag night and the hen night

but we don't want them there on the actual day.

- Er, how flexible is this? - What do you mean?

Well, you know how things are - wires get crossed, don't they?

What if some people turn up to the ceremony who haven't been invited?

- That's your job, Col. You kick 'em out. - Oh, I see.

Now, erm...

- This is a bit of a tricky one. - Yes?

Graham's not invited.

What? You must be joking? I thought you were mates.

We are, but... Well, it's a long story. Heather doesn't like him.

Oh!

- So you'll sort it out then, Col? - Who, me?

- Oh, please, Col! - Trevor, I can't do that!

- Couldn't we just keep the whole thing quiet? - I've already told him.

Why did you tell him if you don't want him to come?

I'm getting married! I can't not tell Graham, can I?

Look, Col, I can't stop. I've got to go and book the video man.

Brilliant!

Ah, there you are, Col. How's it going then? I hear you're Trev's best man.

- Yes. - Got your speech worked out then?

No, no. Er, Graham...

Listen, any time you want a few stories about me and Trev...

- Right, yeah! Look... - How many people we got coming then, Col?

Yeah, yeah, well, that's the whole point actually.

See, they're trying to keep the cost down, you know.

So it's going to be very, very, very small indeed, .

There's hardly going to be anyone there at all. Loads of people haven't been asked.

I only just scraped in myself and I'm the best man.

It is staggering the number of people who aren't coming, honestly.

Friends, relations, aunts, uncles, you, cousins, nephews...

- Anyway... - Hang on, Col!

- Yes, yes? - What was that you just said?

- Just going to grab a coffee. Fancy one? - No, no, something about me not coming.

Are you trying to tell me I can't come to Trevor's wedding?

Look, it's ridiculous. It's nothing to do with me!

- You bastard! - I'll have a word with Trevor, OK?

- You bastard! You bloody bastard! - Look, hang on, Graham!

- Do you know what you are? - What?

A bastard. I don't believe this. This I do not believe!

Yes?!

I wouldn't come now even if you begged me!

'Col? Col, it's Trev. I've been thinking it over. Go ahead and invite Graham.

It's just going to be a load of aggro otherwise.

And another thing - the presents list. I hope you don't mind,

but I've given out your home phone number to everyone. OK. Brilliant.'

Er, no, the orange squeezer's already gone, I'm afraid.

'Oh, sod it! He'll just have to have two orange squeezers then.

I'm not running around like a blue-arsed fly all week.'

Er... What about the toaster?

'The toaster? How much is that? '

Er, that's about a fiver more.

'Oh, sorry �10 is me limit. If he was a close cousin, I might have gone to 15.

Bad enough trying to wangle the 29th off from work,

never mind forking out for half his kitchen.'

Yeah, hang on a minute - this is supposed to be a wedding.

It's supposed to be a happy occasion for two people.

I'm sure if we all entered into the right spirit, it'd all be a lot easier.

Hello?

'Yeah, I'm thinking. What a day?

Three trains cancelled and when I got home, the dog had thrown up in me tool box.

- All right - the toaster.' - Right, the toaster.

OK, if I carry on now?

A speech, a speech!

My kingdom for a witty, incisive, inventive, mould-breaking speech.

Tell 'em about the time me and Mandy got stuck in the boiler room.

Tell 'em about the day trip to Calais, Col, when Trevor did a moony in the hypermarket.

All you have to do is say a few thank-yous and tell a couple of jokes.

I can't. I can't just get up there and churn out the old clich�s.

I won't. I refuse. There has got to be an original way of doing this.

Right! Ladies and gentlemen - Trevor Blacklock...

What can one say about Trevor Blacklock?

Ruler of the Holy Roman Empire, ten years a crocodile farmer in northern Australia,

and lifelong homosexual companion of the now-deceased

Russian avant-garde composer Igor Stravinsky.

Sorry, wrong number.

Come on, Watkins, there must be something you can say about Trevor Blacklock.

What do they say, "Stick with the truth. Stick with what you know."

Right! Ladies and gentlemen -

Trevor Blacklock...

human being...

...breather of oxygen...

...batter of eyelids...

...possessor of a nose...

doer of things.

La... Ladies and gentlemen...

Ladies and gentlemen... Ladies and gentlemen, Trevor... What? Come on.

- Yes? - 'Is that 624-3939? '

Er, yeah. But you can just call me 624, if you like.

'Jesus! At last! It's like trying to get through to British Rail.

- Put us down for the toaster, will you? ' - Er, ah!

- The toaster's just gone. - 'What? '

- Yes, just gone. - 'Put us down for the orange squeezer then.'

Yeah, OK, the orange squeezer.

Please, God, give me something to say about Trevor Blacklock.

A-ha!

Ladies and gentlemen - Trevor Blacklock.

I'm not going to say anything about him. I'll let these letters do the talking.

Letters exchanged between him and Heather I found hidden in his in-tray late one night.

Letters which tell us the whole truth about their intense, passionate courtship,

and which reveal to us all the kind of man Trevor really is.

"Dearest Heather, the flame of my love now burns with such an ardour

that nothing can extinguish it.

Either grant my love a lasting incandescence or douse now the gentle light

and release me from my mortal longings."

"July 10th. Dear Trev, OK, see you outside the Bird's Nest, Friday 7:30."

"August 29th. Heather, my dearest, dearest love, I search in vain for a token of our love

that neither time can erode nor man destroy; unique and ineffable it must be,

that our joint desires may at last fuse in a symbol of eternal embrace."

"September 3rd. Dear Trev, try the Argos catalogue, page 44."

This is obviously bringing the house down, isn't it?

- Carry on. You're doing fine. - Two jokes in, you haven't laughed yet!

You haven't got to the end yet.

If you're not going to laugh at Bird's Nest or Argos, you're not going to laugh at anything.

That's the whole point of the thing, you see.

He gets more and more romantic, while Heather gets more prosaic.

He ends up chucking himself off Beachy Head while she's looking for a barbecue set

- in Sainsbury's Homebase. - Well, it's great idea!

I mean, you know me, I sort of laugh inwardly.

Great! What do I look for then? Twitching of the eyebrows?

A little flicker of the nostrils? Or do you confirm it in writing two weeks later? Jesus!

- It's a very original idea. - Which means it's abysmally unfunny.

Thank you.

Colin, if you don't do this speech,

I'm going to put you in a wheelchair for the rest of your life.

Look, Col, don't worry about us throwing up all over your flat.

We get industrial cleaners in. That's what happened last year at Dave's.

Why are we forking out for a stripper to do all these things to Trevor if he's unconscious?

- We tell him about it afterwards. - Oh, God!

Look, Col, let's not beat about the bush, mate -

the plan is we get him rat-arsed by 6:30,

stuff a vindaloo down him, take him back to your place,

get some slag to strip him naked, tie him up, spray him with a can of WD-40,

ram his head into a traffic cone and then bung him into a dustbin in Piccadilly Circus.

- Well, that's not very fair to Trevor, is it? - Cos it is!

- How can it be? - Cos that's what he told us he wants!

Just like his brother, Barry, last year - only Trev wants to go head first in the dustbin.

Look, Graham, I'm sorry, but Trevor has asked me to be his best man.

- I really think we should break with tradition. - What d'you mean?

Let's get away from this booze and stripper stuff. Let's do something different.

Well, like what?

Well, there's this Szechuan restaurant that's just opened. It's had rave reviews.

- Szechu... what? - Szechuan. Szechuan.

It's a type of Chinese food.

Anyway, apparently all the Chinese people in Soho are eating there at the moment.

The food's orgasmic. The atmosphere's electric. It will be the experience of a lifetime.

I don't know, Col.

We'll have the mother and father of a banquet, then we'll pop off home to bed

- so we're fresh for the day itself. - Bed?!

I'm booking a table there and that's an end of it.

- Look, I'm not sure about this, Col. - Yes, you are! Just try it my way for once.

- Well, the lads won't go for it. - Graham, trust me.

Good evening, sir.

I had a table booked for 20. There's only 11 of us now, actually. Name of Watkins.

Sit anywhere.

You do... get a bit busier later on, do you?

- Some nights. - Have you got any bookings?

- Let's see, er... Table six for 8:30. - How many?

Two.

Any more?

Yes, table four for 8:45. Maybe three people, maybe two.

All right.

I just had a chat with the waiter. Lucky we arrived when we did, actually.

This place gets chocka later on. Absolutely full to the brim.

I mean, we might have lost the table.

- Right, we're all going. - Eh?

- Why? - Everybody out!

- What's going on? - It's the kitchen. I had a quick peek.

Cockroaches all over the place. It's disgusting. Appalling.

Place is alive with them, you know.

Oi! Oi!

Excuse me! Where are you all going?

- We're leaving. - Why?

- I'm not staying if there's cockroaches. - There aren't any cockroaches.

- You just said there were. - No, I didn't.

- You did! - I certainly did not!

- You heard him. - Yeah!

I said nothing about cockroaches. Sit down and stop dithering.

- Barry, what are you doing? - I've never seen a cockroach.

Sit down!

Table four just cancelled, by the way.

So, Graham, did you go on that day trip to Calais the other week?

Yeah.

- Cos, Barry, you went as well, didn't you? - That's right, February.

February? February, eh?

It's a funny old word, isn't it, "February"?

It's not exactly the most sayable word around, is it?

Most people tend to say "Feb-u-ary". Tend to leave out the "R".

I mean, honestly, how many of us can be fagged to say "Feb-ru-ary"?

I know I couldn't.

"Burglary" is another one.

And "jewellery".

Right, fair enough - just sit there then, stew.

I give up! I'm not plugging all the gaps in the conversation.

We can all sit here for the next three hours in monastic silence for all I care.

So, Barry, you sold the old bike then?

No!

All right, have it your own way. Graham, give us the number of that stripper.

Barry, go and get three crates of Special Brew.

Bernie, order three minicabs. Everyone back to my place.

Well, as I said, if you'd booked in advance, you would have saved yourself 30 quid.

Oh, Col, we've put Gary in the bathroom. Your duvet's a write-off, I'm afraid.

I think you'll find it's all there.

I didn't charge you for showing my pubic hair. Usually, that's an extra �20 plus VAT.

Oi, Col, Kevin just played his kebab on your compact disc!

- I'll see myself out. - Yeah, yeah.

Oi, Col, running a bit low on booze out there, mate.

Running a bit low on booze, are we, Graham?

If you look up there, you'll find my last bottle of Savigny-les-Beaune '83.

Just next to it there's a vintage bottle of Pouilly Fuisse

I lugged 500 miles back from Burgundy about ten years ago.

Ta, Col!

Here you are, lads!

One! Two! Three!

Are you all right?

Brilliant!

One hour's sleep should be ample.

Right, we're all set.

Got the suit.

Got the speech.

Got the ring.

My God! What on earth?

It's OK.

I've found it.

Ah... Ladies and gentlemen, Trevor Blacklock, I'm not going to say anything about him.

"July 1st, my dearest Heather, douse now the gentle light

and release me from my mortal longings."

"July 10th. Dear Trev, OK, see you outside the Bird's Nest, Friday, 7:30 then."

Oh, God! Look at 'em!

Why did I agree to do this? Why?

Why can't I be down there with the rest of them?

What I'd give not to be me.

Why can't I be him?

Or her?

Or that bit of chicken bone?

Anything that doesn't have to get up and do this bloody speech.

More wine, sir?

- You haven't got anything drier, have you? - Yeah, the Leibfraumilk.

I haven't finished that yet.

I mean, will they understand it or not?

Maybe it's too literary, all this reference to Wuthering Heights.

Will they find the whole thing funny?

I mean, look at him - will he go for it?

Hang on, Watkins, maybe we can test the water?

- Just having a look at the old speech. - Oh, yeah?

Yeah. Yeah, I've been trying to steer it away from the usual best man's speech.

Well, as long as it's funny. I like a good laugh.

I was in Scarborough last summer. Saw this act, er, Stan and Ken Warby they were called.

Bloke spent the entire act with a soda siphon down his trousers.

Isn't it pathetic what some people will stoop to to get a cheap laugh?

Now that's what I call funny!

Excuse me, sir, if you could start thinking about cutting the cake fairly shortly.

Only, we've got another wedding party booked in at five.

- We've only been sat down for an hour. - You were late, sir.

- You were booked in for half past two. - Look, this is a wedding, not a squash court.

I'm afraid there's nothing I can do about it.

It's cheese and biscuits or gateau - you can't have both.

Ladies and gentlemen,

I'd just like to say on behalf of my wife and I...

...thank you all for being here and thanks for all the presents and that, er...

Don't know where we're going to put it all,

but I'll find somewhere to put it tonight, I'm sure.

No, No! Seriously, thanks for coming.

It's all right, we'll clear up later, Trev!

And thanks to Ken and Barbara for giving me the most wonderful girl in the world.

But I'll have to make do with Heather!

Erm, just a... a quick story before I go.

A honeymoon couple from China

locked their keys in their Morris Minor.

The wife said, "Don't fret! I've got a spare set,

stuffed inside my...

...jam jar on the mantelpiece!

Right, er, over to the bloke who's going to do the real business - Colin.

Ladies and gentlemen - Trevor Blacklock.

I won't say anything about him. I'll let these letters do the talking.

Letters exchanged between him and Heather,

which I found hidden in his in-tray late one night...

Letters... letters which tell us the true story of their passionate courtship

and which reveal the kind of man Trevor really is.

"July 1st. My dearest Heather, the flame of my love now burns

with such an ardour that nothing can extinguish it.

Either grant my love a lasting incandescence

or douse now the gentle light and release me from my mortal longings."

"July 10th. Dear Trev, OK, see you outside the Bird's Nest, Friday, 7.30, then."

"August 29th. Heather, my dearest, dearest love,

I search in vain for a token of our love that neither time can erode nor man destroy;

unique and ineffable it must be,

that our joint desires may at last fuse in a symbol of eternal embrace."

"September 30th. Try the Argos catalogue, page 44."

"October the 7th. My sweet, sweet, Heather, oh, dearest love.

Would that the winged bird of desire..."

I'm sorry. That's it. I've had it. Look there, there! They're all yours. Take 'em!

You can stuff 'em in the chicken fricassee, for all I care!

I've only spent 14 sleepless nights overdosing on caffeine

trying to come up with something original, but it obviously wasn't good enough, was it?

Mea culpa! Forgive me! Next time I'll bare me arse and do a couple of rugby jokes!

I'm afraid we have to rush along this unique and special occasion

because there are four more unique and special occasions outside in the holding stack.

So if you can gulp down your Tia Marias,

we can finish the Black Forest gateau in the car park!

Oh, we haven't got time to cut the cake but the caretaker can to do it tomorrow morning

after he's finished varnishing the floors.

Well, that about wraps it up!

I obviously haven't pulled my finger out, have I? In fact, I'm a boring wanker!

Don't worry, there's no way I'm getting away with this!

I don't know about you but I want blood. I want MY BLOOD!

But heaven forbid that I should leave you to clear up the mess!

So what I'm going to do is, I'm going to maim myself fatally, jump into a bin bag

and then hop out to the incinerator.

Well, that's about all I've got to say.

Erm, hope you enjoy the rest of the day.

Hope Trevor and what's-her-name enjoy the rest of their lives.

Thank you and good night!

Bin bag...

Incinerator. Hop, hop, hop.

Enjoy the rest of your lives.

Yeah, that's all I've got to say.

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you and good night. Thank you.

Oh!

Oh, thank God! It was just a nightmare.

No, it wasn't.

Ripped By mstoll