Home Page >>

Peter Cook plays Brian : very smooth and well-spoken. He remains calm throughout.
Dudley Moore plays Brian's father : quasi-Cockney, tends to fly off the handle.

 

 

Dudley:

Is that you, Brian?

Peter:

Yes, father.

Dudley:

What time o' night d'you call this, then?

Peter:

Four o'clock in the morning, father.

Dudley:

I'll four-o'clock-in-the-morning you, my boy! I've been sitting here since half-past eleven, wondering what's happened to you... I've been sitting here, eating my heart out... I have to get up in two hours' time.

Peter:

I know, father.

Dudley:

I have to get up at half-past six... where have you been?

Peter:

Father, I'm twenty-eight years old - surely I'm old enough to go where I like, with whom I like, at what time I like. I was out with friends.

Dudley:

Friends! Friends? I call 'em fi-ends! They're nothing but a pack o' whoo-ers!

Peter:

The word is "whore", father, and they're ...

Dudley:

Yer ... you've become a regular little rolling stone ever since you opened that stupid little shop of yours.

Peter:

There's nothing stupid about the boutique, father. We cater for modern trends, which you may be a little out of touch with, that's all.

Dudley:

Well I thank The Lord I've lost contact with ... with painted ties, kinky boots and PVC underwear! What sort of a bloody job is that then, eh? Cor ... (aside) wash my mouth out with soap and water ... What I'd like to know is, what's wrong with the drains then, eh? I've been down the drains all my life. My father before me's been down the drains, and my grandfather before him's been down the drains - the whole family's been down the drains for centuries.

Peter:

Father ...

Dudley:

I s'pose you're too big to go down the drains, aren't you!

Peter:

Father, the mere fact that our entire family tree grew in the drains is no reason why I should spend my life in a sewer.

Dudley:

If your mother was alive today she'd have something to say about it. Oh, Rosie, Rosie... why did you leave me, my darling, to cope with such an ungrateful son?

Peter:

Don't drag mother into it, please.

Dudley:

I can scarcely drag your poor mother into it when she's five foot underground, can I? How did we spawn this ... this fop? You're all lah-de-dah, ain't you? You're too clever-clever for your old father now, ain't you. Yes, yes - you're too good for the drains... I forgot; you're a bloody marquis, aren't you! (aside) Oh... wash my mouth out with soap and water... Look here, my boy, I tell you... the drains are too good for you. That's what it is. I've seen better things than you floating down the drains.

Peter:

Father, I don't know why you go on about the drains - you know perfectly well you retired at thirty-one, and you haven't been down there since.

Dudley:

I'll I haven't-been-down-there-since you, my boy!

Peter:

Don't tap me with paper, father.

Dudley:

Now then. Rosie - Rosie, my darling - do you see what a popinjay we have for a son? What a strutting peacock? Did I fight in the war to hear you abuse me in such a way? Eh? Did I?

Peter:

I've no idea, father - if indeed you did fight in the war.

Dudley:

If indeed I did fight? I'll if-indeed-I-did-fight you, my boy! What's this then, eh? Tell me what this is. Tell me what that is, then. Go on.

Peter:

That's your navel, father.

Dudley:

Really? That's funny ... I though I contracted that on Dunkirk, on the beach, crawling on my hands and knees to preserve you, eh?

Peter:

Father, if that's a war wound, I think you'll find I've got a similar one under my shirt...

Dudley:

I don't want to see under your shirt - I don't want to see under your shirt. You disgust me - (venomous) You dis-gust me! I've been server for St. Thomas's presbytery for forty-five years, and I've never seen you in that place. I've never seen you within two yards of its portals.

Peter:

Father, I can't help being an agnostic - I wish I had faith like you.

Dudley:

I'll I-wish-I had-faith-like-you you, my boy! Now then! Now then! You come in here - you come in here all hours of the morning, smelling of honey and flowers, and reading your poncy magazines, and mixing your Bloody Marys - (oh, soap-and-water...) I've got a good mind to give you a good hiding. I've got a good mind to take my belt off to you!

Peter:

I wouldn't do that, father, your trousers would fall down.

Dudley:

Very funny - very amusing. Very witty. Oh yeah - wouldn't have had that sort of cheek from you when you were a little boy. You were such a lovely little boy. My golden-haired beauty, you were. Your mother and I, we used to go along the cliff, at Westcliff, and she used to be on one side and I used to be on the other, holding your warm, wet hand, and you used to see a ship on the horizon, and you used to say "Daddy, what's that?" And I used to say, "It's a ship". You never ask me that any more, do you? You don't have to ask me anything, do you, eh, Fancy-pants? All you do is go strutting down the King's Road every Saturday afternoon, showing off to your fi-ends. Every word you say is a stab in the back. Every gesture, every look you make is a thorn in my side.

Peter:

Father, there's no need for you to come down the King's Road - I can do perfectly well without you.

Dudley:

I'll perfectly-well-without-you you my boy! Rosie, did we in our moment of joy spawn this were-wolf, this Beelzebub?

Peter:

I don't know why you keep looking upward when you mention mother - you know perfectly well she's living in Frinton with a sailor.

Dudley:

That's a terrible thing to say! (hoarse with venom)That's a bloody terrible thing to say! (Soap-and-water.) Do you think my wife would have left me? Do you think your mother would have left me? - she loved me as I loved her. Good Lord... Do you think your mother would have gone off to live with some dirty matelot in Frinton?!! She worshipped the ground I walked on.

Peter:

She liked the ground, but she didn't care for you, father.

Dudley:

I'll she-didn't-care-for-you you, my boy! Now then! She's gone up there, to the great sewer in the sky, the biggest drain of them all. All you can do is make this place into a sin-cellar. Yeah - you're nothing but a whoo-er! You're a whoo-er! Get out of my house. Get-out-of-my-house!

Peter:

Father, it's not your house, it's my house.

Dudley:

Oh, pardon me for living. Pardon me for having two strong sturdy legs to stand on! Well, get out of your house, then! Never darken your doorstep again! Get out!

Peter:

I'm going to bed, father - why don't you have a Cydrax?

Dudley:

Oh Rosie... Rosie, my darling, my sweetheart... where did we go wrong? Where did we go wrong?