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Pistol (miniseries)

biographical drama miniseries

Pistol is an FX biopic miniseries that was broadcasted in 2022 chronicling the rise and fall of the seminal punk rock music act; The Sex Pistols as assembled and promoted by manager Malcolm McLaren in 1970's London, England.

Season 1

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The Cloak of Invisibility [1.01]

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Paul: [Police lights go on while they are speeding in a sportscar] Shit! Pull over! Steve, pull over now! I'm gonna lose my apprenticeship!
Steve: They'll definitely kick the shit out of us for having a better motor than them!
Paul: I shouldn't have let you talk me into this!
Police officer: [Walking to vehicle] Won the pools, have we, lads?
Steve: Hello, Officer.
Police officer: Step out of the vehicle, sir.
Steve: All right. [Accelerates away]
Paul: You're a fucking lunatic!
Steve: Do you want to keep your apprenticeship or not? Right, round this corner, we're gonna jump out, throw on the old cloak of invisibility, and scarper!
Paul: You and your bloody cloak of invisibility! It doesn't work, does it?
Steve: Oh, it's only cos they can see you, you pillock! [They climb up wall and look down from above at officers investigating idling vehicle] Don't forget, rehearsals tomorrow.
...
Wally: You mean... we can rehearse here as long as we want?
Wally's father: Yep! We're rewiring the entire building. It'll take years.
Wally: Thanks, Dad!
Wally's father: Just make sure I get a ride in your Rolls when you're famous. [Walks away]
Steve: Yeah, all right.
Wally: Cheers!
Band members: Yah!
Glen: All right, good news! I've come up with a new name.
Paul: What's wrong with the old name?
Glen: Yeah, I like "The Strand".
Steve: Nah, it's boring. Like Glen's hair.
Glen: Piss off.
Steve: Ladies and gentlemen, I give you "The Swankers".
Paul: "The Swankers"? Sounds like "Wankers".
Steve: Nah, it's edgy.
Wally: Why do you get to choose the name?
Steve: It's my band.
Wally: You can barely sing.
Glen: I can sing better than you can play. I'm the best musician.
Steve: You're also a jumped-up little ponce who likes The Beatles and minor diminished 4ths. Oh, yeah. Plus, I nicked all the gear.
Paul: Yeah. Yeah, you did.
Steve: Phantom of the Odeon. And, uh... I've written an original.
Wally: You?
Steve: Yeah.
Glen: Give us a look.
Steve: Oh, it's... It's not actually written down.
Glen: Oh! So, when you say you've "written" a song, you mean...
Paul: Don't be a prick, Glen.
Steve: Look, Wally, do you remember that riff we was mucking around with the other day? It was like... we was mucking around with the other day? It was like... da-na-na-na-na-da-na-na-na-na...
Wally: Nah, sorry.
Steve: Jesus! They don't call you "Wally" for nothing, do they? Glen... Do you remember the chords?
Glen: Try A.
Steve: Like this: Da-na-na-na-na... Yeah, that's right. Yeah, that's right. Glen?
Glen: D.
Steve: Glen?
Glen: D.
Steve: All right, play D. Yeah, Glen?
Glen: E, maybe?
Steve: Yeah. That's it. Right, repeat it.
Paul: Give us some noise. [Plays a song] What happens next?
Steve: Uh, I don't know. I gotta come up with more lyrics.
Glen: It's a bloody good start.
Steve: Well, it's not quite The Beatles, but...
Glen: It's better! It's ours.
Steve: Oh, shut up, you ponce.
Steve: Right, one, two... with the music, Now we've got to think image.
Glen: Yeah, how about tight suits with white shirts and skinny ties?
Wally: What, like The Beatles?
Steve: Bloody hell!
Glen: No! No, like The Small Faces. We cover their songs.
Wally: Yeah, it's a good idea.
Steve: No, it ain't. It's no good copying other bands. We gotta be like us.
Steve: What, four broke, working class gits who can't play for shit?
Wally: The Fucked Four.
Steve: Yeah.
Glen: What?
Steve: All them dinosaur bands with their "oh, look at me" 15-minute guitar solos, they don't mean nothing to us, cos we're just... we're pissed off, we're bored, we're trying to scrape together enough for another pint. We're invisible. No one gives a shit about us. You know? So, we don't give a shit about no one else. Maybe that should be our image. That! You know? Not giving a shit!
Wally: So, no suits?
Steve: No! No fucking suits.
Chrissie: You think I can't see you.
Steve: You mean, you can? Maybe the old cloak of invisibility is wearing a bit thin.
Chrissie: Put 'em back. Or I'll beat your brains out.
Steve: [Chrissie appears with a cricket bat] I didn't think you Yanks played cricket.
Chrissie: I'm not playing. Put them back.
Steve: You must be new. I'm Steve.
Chrissie: Put them back!
Steve: They're for me band! They're for me band! Viv... Viv said I could take whatever I wanted.
Viv: [Appears from a curtain] Did I?
Steve: Oh... Right, I... I thought that's what you said. Do you remember?
Viv: You're that mouthy kid that's always trying to steal things.
Chrissie: Seems like that cloak of invisibility is a bit shit.
Malcolm: Here at Sex, we don't call the police. We have our own methods of dealing with felons. [Chrissie locks door]
Viv: [Puts out hand] What did you steal?
Steve: See, I thought that you said it'd be okay if I borrowed some things to wear on stage. Cos our band's gonna be really famous.
Malcolm: Where do you play?
Steve: Look, we're in the rehearsal phase right now, Look, we're in the rehearsal phase right now, but... we'll be playing soon. but... we'll be playing soon.
Chrissie: Who are your influences?
Steve: Roxy Music, Mott The Hoople, Bowie... Bowie's a big one. You heard about that fella what got on stage, nicked a load of gear after the "Ziggy" show nicked a load of gear after the "Ziggy" show at the Hammersmith Odeon? That was me. One of the mics still had Bowie's lipstick on it. In my book, thievery's the highest form of flattery.
Malcolm: Oh, we should be flattered, Viv!
Viv: Why'd you steal these?
Steve: Cos they're cool.
Viv: Why are they cool?
Steve: Cos they're trousers, which is really normal, right? But they're bondage... like a straightjacket for a mental patient, which isn't normal, you know? So, it's sort of like the world.
Viv: Put them on
Steve: See, everyone's pretending everything's normal. You know, like "Rule Britannia" and all that shit, but really... .everything's falling apart. And all of us poor fuckers who've got nothing, we're supposed to just stand there and shut up and sing "God Save the Queen", and that's sort of mental.
Viv: Well, you certainly know your size.
Steve: That's very important when you're always nicking... I mean, borrowing stuff.
Malcolm: What's your band called?
Steve: The Swankers.
Chrissie: Wankers?
Steve: The Swankers. It's edgy.
Viv: Are you queer?
Steve: No.
Viv: Oh...
Steve: Though I did pay a guy 50p to suck me off on a train once. I was coming back from juvenile detention.
Flashback Steve: [Someone opens train compartment door] Oh, fuck off!
Steve: I think I was just a bit depressed to be going home.
Malcolm: What'sYou're a product of state oppression. Aren't you?
Steve: What?
Malcolm: Juvenile detention...
Viv: Where do you live?
Steve: Just here and there. With friends, mainly.
Malcolm: Ruffians like you excite me.
Steve: Look, it was just the one time on a train.
Malcolm: I don't want to fuck you.
Steve: Oh.
Malcolm: I want you to fuck the world.
Steve: What?
Malcolm: Viv and I want to create a revolution inspired by the raw authenticity of forgotten kids like you.
Viv: What Malcolm in his uniquely pretentious way is trying to say is that you are welcome around here... anytime. If you want to wear something, you ask. [Leans into Steve's ear] Because if I ever catch you stealing from me again, I will chop your bollocks off, you got me?
Steve: Yeah. Got you.
Steve: She said we could borrow clothes for the band. I won't even have to nick 'em.
Paul: You're kidding!
Steve: Yeah. Malcolm's gonna manage us.
Glen: Did he actually say that?
Steve: Well, no, but he wants me to... you know, inspire him.
Glen: "Inspire him"?
Steve: Yeah, for his revolution.
Glen: "His revolution"?
Steve: Yeah.
Wally: So... So... he's not managing us.
Steve: Not yet, but he will. I'm gonna convince him.

Rotten [1.02]

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[Pamela has gotten on train in a transparent plastic shirt]
Man: Hello, darling!
Woman: [To son] Cover your eyes! Cover your eyes!
Train conductor: [To Pamela] Would you like an upgrade, young lady? I've an empty First Class carriage.
Pamela: And why would you be so kind?
Train conductor: Well... You're making these people uncomfortable.
Pamela: Why would they be uncomfortable? I'm perfectly comfortable.
Woman: Why would you dress like that? There are children present. [To son] What are you grinning at? You're just like your father.
Train conductor: First Class has tea and toast. Nice bit of strawberry jam.
Pamela: Provocateuring does make one quite hungry.
Chrissie: Oh, he's back.
Pamela: At least he waited outside this time.
Chrissie: Hey! Hey, you alive?
Steve: [Groans] I don't think so.
Pamela: We were taking bets on how long before they found you floating in the Thames.
Chrissie: Okay, move! We gotta open.
Steve: I'll give you a hand.
Pamela: "Singer walking off stage before he's sung" is a novel approach.
Steve: Yeah.
Pamela: It was cool.
Steve: Was it?
Pamela: We didn't know what was happening. Your band just kept playing, and the music was really hard. You could feel their anger. But then they stopped, which was shit, cos I'd spent two hours getting ready.
Steve: Where do you get changed for work?
Pamela: I come like this from home.
Steve: On the train?
Pamela: Being seen is a political act. Shoving it in their stuck-up faces, bunch of hypocrites. Supposed to be a free country.
Steve: Where do you get the balls?
Pamela: As you can see... I don't have any. This is a vulva-powered revolution.
Steve: Why take the train if you've got a Volvo?
Pamela: [Laughs] You're funny... Kutie Jones. Tea? [Walks away]
Steve: I can't understand her half the time... but she has got guts.
Viv: Yeah. As opposed to some. Why didn't you sing?
Steve: Umm... I guess the new improved cloak of invisibility didn't live up to expectations.
Viv: Being seen is generally part of being on stage, Steve.
Steve: Do you think Viv and Malcolm would give me another chance?
Viv: Better hurry. They've been looking for a new singer.
Viv: We've been looking for you.
Steve: Give me another shot, I promise I won't fuck it up. Sorry... to swear in front of the kids.
Viv: I don't care.
Viv's son: I do. I'm always getting into trouble for swearing at school. Can't fucking help it now.
Viv: Don't you worry about them smelly old fascists, darling.
Malcolm: What's 'other man's child' doing here?
Viv: Don't be a prick, Malcolm. He hasn't stayed in months.
Steve: Malcolm, I was just saying how I...
Malcolm: [To Steve] Stop. Stop. [Points past Steve] Turn around. Face the wall.
Steve: What?
Malcolm: [Shoves Steve] Face the wall! There. Stay. [To son] 'Real son', could you go get Daddy's sword? [Lecturing] One must die so that another may rise. When I managed The New York Dolls, I devised a provocative Situationist ploy. I thought very long and very hard about what would piss America off the most. And in a stroke of genius, I dressed them up as Chinese Communists. They looked devastating. And it was testament to the brilliance of my idea that one month later the Dolls had broken up.
Malcolm's son: Your sword, Sire.
Malcolm: Thank you very much. But on parting, Sylvain Sylvain entrusted something sacred into my safekeeping. Like Merlin giving Arthur Excalibur.
Viv: Actually, it was The Lady of the Lake gave Arthur Excalibur.
Malcolm: Please, do you mind, I'm trying to create a situation here.
Steve: Please stop. What's going on?
Malcolm: You're very damaged, which is a very good thing. It's just you're too damaged to be up front. And so you must plough that damage into the music. From now on, you shall be guitar.
Steve: Wh... What about Wally?
Malcolm: Well, it's absolutely forbidden for any rock star to wear spectacles.
Steve: That's a bit harsh.
Malcolm: Well, don't blame me! I don't make the rules. You must sack him. I assume you can play?
Steve: Um...
Malcolm: Good! Well, it can't be that hard! Everyone does these days. Mm! And I think we've found our new singer.
Steve: That was quick.
Viv: Well, I spotted him in the shop. His name's John.
Malcolm: Yes, and when he came back looking for a pair of brothel creepers in white suede, I said that I might consider giving them to him if he auditioned for us.
Viv: He wears his clothes in a very interesting way.
Steve: Got very interesting teeth, too.
Viv: I didn't notice his teeth.
John: Ooh, naughty, naughty. This will do very nicely for me and the missus. But what'll the kiddies wear?
Malcolm: Microphone.
John: I only sing out of tune.
Steve: Fucking hell! Pillock!
Malcolm: Ladies! Pretend you're on stage, and just sing along. Otherwise Steve Jones here's gonna beat the bloody daylights out of you.
John: I don't think so.
Steve: We'll see. [Malcolm starts playing Alice Cooper's I'm Eighteen]
John: Oh, Alice. My mum loves him. [Sings along out of tune and then falls down when song's over] What is it? Bunch of morons or what? No future for John, is it? Uh, God save Johnny, Humpty Dumpty Johnny. We all fall down left and right. Blue suede, white suede... [Blows raspberry] brothel creeping bastards! I'm a boy. No, I'm a man. I'm eighteen, and I hate it! I hate it! Eighteen! Eighteen! Eighteen! Nothing but a lowlife! I hate it! Fuck it! Hate it! Suck it! Eighteen! Eighteen! Eighteen! Eighteen, and I hate it! Where's me shoes?!
Malcolm: Well, let's set up a rehearsal first, and then we can talk about your shoes.
John: Fuck that! [Throws mic on ground and walks away]
Steve: He's right. I don't think this is gonna work.
Paul: I thought it was interesting.
Steve: Maybe for a Christmas panto.
John: Why are you wasting my time?!
...
John: [Standing outside the Sex store] Open the door, please.
Malcolm: Do any of you imbeciles realise what's happening here? He is one of the greatest guitarists in all of England. And you are an untutored genius that, with the right guidance, could change the world.
John: [Laughs maniacally] You're a tosser.
Malcolm: Yes, I am. And I'm going to toss this boring, grey country with its corrupt Establishment right on to its inbred, self-important arse.
John: Now, who wants to toss with me? One rehearsal.
Paul: I'm game.
John: It will be a chance to hear England's greatest guitarist.
Steve: May as well join the tossers.
Malcolm: Excellent. I'll set it up.
Paul: And get me those shoes.
Glen: I don't think it's right just not turning up.
Steve: Ten to one he doesn't turn up himself.
Glen: But he might, and that would be really rude.
Steve: Oh, fuck off, Florence Nightingale. You haven't even met him. He was just taking the piss.
Glen: All right. I thought he had potential.
Steve: Then why didn't you go to the bleedin' rehearsal?
Paul: No point going on me own.
Glen: We should've told Malcolm.
Steve: Malcolm doesn't care. He's probably found a dozen others by now.
Malcolm: What the fuck!
Steve: Hello, Malcolm.
Glen: Hello.
Malcolm: Why didn't you go to rehearsal?
Steve: What rehearsal?
Malcolm: John and his mates came to my shop wanting to kick my bloody head in.
Steve: I must've forgot.
Malcolm: You forgot?! You're going to apologise to John tomorrow. And, if you can't get him to come to a rehearsal, I will reconsider my managerial position. [Walks away]
Glen: You've been told, son.
Steve: Shut up!
[Steve knocks on John's door and then promptly walks away when unanswered then John opens door to see Steve's head over fence]
John: My, my! It's Kutie Jones. What you want?
Steve: About the rehearsals. Sorry, it was a... bit of a misunderstanding. We forgot.
John: Oh, yeah?
Steve: Malcolm's organising another, and we'll be there.
John: I won't. The place was a shithole. The rats were so noisy, we wouldn't have been able to hear each other.
Steve: I'll tell Malcolm.
John: I already have.
Steve: Good.
John: Not really.
Steve: What?
John: I don't think I can be in a band called "Kutie Jones And His Sex Pistols". The name's disgusting. I might come to a rehearsal of a band called "Sex Pistols".
Steve: I told Malcolm that, too. Great.
John: Bye-bye, Kutie.
Chrissie: Nice guitar. Where'd you steal it?
Steve: Malcolm gave it to me. It was Sylvain Sylvain's.
Chrissie: Of the New York Dolls?
Steve: Yeah.
Chrissie: Why'd he give it to you?
Steve: I'm gonna be our new guitarist.
Chrissie: What happened to Wally?
Steve: Uh...
Flashback Wally: You fucking prick!
Flashback Steve: Well, don't blame me, I don't make the rules.
Chrissie: You sacked Wally?! Seriously?! Malcolm has been promising for months to put me in a band. And I can sing and play, but, no, he gives you, a meathead, druggie, felon...
Steve: Feel free. Everyone's piling it on today.
Chrissie: ...this incredible instrument and a place in a band that you are completely unqualified for, because... because, Jonesy, one thing that British and American music share is huge, steaming piles of sexism.
Malcolm: Sexism has nothing to do with it, Chrissie. I am well aware of your talent, but my vision for the Sex Pistols is one of dirt, danger and desire. A band of sexy, young assassins whose instruments could just as easily be pickaxes, or shovels, or machine-guns. You're far too... accomplished for them. However, I do want you to meet with a man by the name of Mick Jones.
Chrissie: Any relation?
Malcolm: Now, Mick Jones is a very interesting young guitarist who is looking for a collaborator.
Chrissie: Okay. Thanks.
Malcolm: What about John?
Steve: Sorted. But with Wally gone we've got nowhere to rehearse.
...
Malcolm: Come with me to Denmark... Street. London's answer to Tin Pan Alley. It's the epicentre of the music scene.
Archival footage man: Our Tin Pan Alley was really encompassed by the length of a street, which is still there, of course, Denmark Street. Today it's a sad place because, uh... the action has gone from there pretty well, and it's not the same kind of business. In those days, there were characters, there was tremendous colour.
Malcolm: I've taken out a twelve-month lease. Places like this, they don't come cheap, you know. But I said, I told them, "I don't care how much it costs, because this... is the perfect hideout for my sexy, young assassins."
Steve: Thanks, Malcolm. It's brilliant.
Malcolm: John comes by on Friday for rehearsals. How are you and Excalibur getting along?
Steve: Good.
Malcolm: Great. Ready to do battle. Mm, good. Don't let me down.
Steve: I won't.
Malcolm: Good boy.
[Steve has produced lyrics scrawled out on ripped out notebook pages]
John: "Give the dog a bone"? What does that mean?
Steve: When you're seventeen, all you want to do is shag.
John: Do ya?
Steve: Yeah. Just sing it.
John: I'm not singing that. It sounds like it's written by a moron.
Steve: Just sing it.
John: How old's Malcolm?
Steve: Don't know.
Glen: Twenty-nine.
John: You're only twenty-nine... Got a lot to learn... You're only twenty-nine... Give the git a... Make my stomach... Nah! You're only twenty-nine... Got a lot to learn... But when your mummy dies, she will not return! That's more like it!
Glen: It's a little bit weird.
John: You're welcome.
Steve: We like noise, it's our choice...
John: It's good. We're keeping that. Easy and simple.
Steve: Good. And "I don't work, I just speed, that's all I need".
John: Yeah, some of it's all right, Steve, if I could read it. Honestly, did you even go to school?
Steve: [Scoffs] No, not really. Don't worry, I'll work it out.
John: I need the bog.
Steve: John. I know what we should call ya. Rotten. On account of your teeth.
John: Johnny fucking Rotten. That's brilliant! I love it. [Goes out door]
Steve: Who's he think he is?
Paul: He is a bit of a prick.
Glen: He's just... weird.
John: [Watching outside] Little fucker.
[John and Simon/Sid are walking to John's flat]
John: If you are going to be in the band, you can't carry on being called John, because that's my name. Malcolm won't let me in the band. Steve's hopeless and Glen's a ponce. One of 'em has to go. Besides, I need a mate. They're really mean most of the time.
Sid: My mum calls me Sime.
John: Slime is good.
Sid: "Sime", not "Slime". It's short for "Simon". John Simon Ritchie.
John: You can't be called Simon either, it's a shit name. Hence why I prefer John.
Sid: I don't see why we can't both be called John. Confusion is good.
John: I've only just noticed your teeth. You look like my fucking hamster.
Sid: [Noticing John's hamster] Hello, Sid.
John: We'll call you Sid. After the hamster.
Sid: What's his second name?
John: Hamsters don't have surnames.
Sid: Well, I'm gonna need a second name. For legal purposes.
John: Sid Ritchie sounds okay.
Sid: [Hamster bites Sid's finger] Argh! Sid's really vicious.
[Malcolm and the band are watching Rick Wakeman]
Malcolm: Rick Wakeman. This is what rock 'n' roll music has become. A mind-numbing sedative for the masses and another means of control. But I... have managed to secure you your very first gig, supporting Bazooka Joe at the Saint Martin Art College.
Glen: Actually, I got us the gig. I am a student there.
Malcolm: Details, Glen. The point is... is that this is it, boys. This is your big break. Tomorrow night, we launch our mission of destruction.

Bodies [1.03]

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Nurse: [To mental institution patients in a confidence building exercise] Everybody, this is the number one record this week. We're going to just let it gently rock us into our exercise half hour. Feel the way it sways. Just let it take you from side to side. Come through, Gary. Why not join us? Plenty of room. Uh, make a space for Gary in our wake-up circle. That's it. That's it. That's lovely. Now, everybody hold hands.
[The band is performing in a club before metalheads and new wave fans]
Steve: We're the Sеx Pistols, and our singer don't like hearing himself sing. [Audience cheers] It's understandable, really.
John: I don't like hearing none of youse!
Audience: You can't fսcking play! So what? Yeah, so what?
Pamela: Get a haircut, you dirty hippy!
Steve: Fսck off! Sing, John.
Audience: Yeah, encore!
Steve: Who the fսck are you?!
Audience: [Repeatedly] Encore!
John: Fսck you! Shut the fսck up!
Audience: [John walks over to get a chair] What's he fսcking doing? Piss off! Fսcking idiot!
John: [Sits in chair and announces] I always wanted to see this band. But I regret to inform you, ladies and gentlemen... [throws chair across room] that they are shit! [Band plays song that ends with punk fans getting into spitting match with metalheads]
Steve: You can't pick two fսcking words to put together.
John: Pick someone else, then.
Steve: Chuck it on a page...
John: Boring!
Steve: ...that'd be fսcking amazing!
John: Why don't you pick a decent band, then?
Steve: At least I picked the band and not a fսcking word, mate.
John: Oi, out the way! [Bumps into fan and falls down]
Fan: Fսcking given up or something? Silly cսոt!
Steve: Can't say I love all of that spitting, but we're getting better, ain't we?
Chrissie: A little. You need originals.
Steve: I... Tell that to our rotten-toothed genius. The only time that little fսckеr runs out of words is when we're trying to write songs. Speaking of songs, do you wanna come back to mine?
Chrissie: Why would I wanna do that?
Steve: Well, we, um... We didn't finish "Starman".
Chrissie: I think we did.
Steve: We didn't, we didn't do the bridge.
Chrissie: There's no bridge in "Starman".
Steve: There is when I do it.
Chrissie: I'm meeting Nick.
Steve: Why? He's not even in a band.
Sid: Chrissie!
Chrissie: True, but he has got impeccable timing. Good night, Jonesy. Where are we going? Where are we going now?
John: Those monitors...
Malcolm: Nobody likes hearing themselves for the first time.
John: Do I always sound like that?
Malcolm: No!
John: Thank Christ.
Malcolm: No, normally you're much more out of tune than that. Oh, stay there, stay there. [Jumps onto garbage pile with Helen]
Steve: You were having fun tonight. I could see you up the front. Jumping up and down. He's amazing. Look, singers are all ponces. It's the guitarist what does all the grunt work, if you know what I mean.
Pauline: I think he's dead clever. All those sad, angry stories.
Steve: They're all covers, he didn't write them.
Pauline: But he sang 'em like he did.
Steve: I played 'em like I did an' all. I like to play. I've been told me fingering is quite magnificent.
Pauline: You want to see what's in my bag, don't you?
Steve: Nah, not really.
Pauline: Good, cos I'm not gonna show ya.
Steve: Right, Rotten is more your type. You have a nice night, love, all right.
Pauline: You too, bab. Take care.
Groupie: It's fսcking cold out here.
Neil: John.
John: Yeah?
Neil: Er, Neil Spencer, NME.
John: Oh, the "enemy". You can say that again.
Malcolm: Tell your readers that it was unhygienic but glorious. Ah, our guitarist, Steve Jones.
Neil: Right, so, uh, what do you wanna say with your music?
Steve: Oh, no, actually, we're not into music. We're into chaos.
Neil: Yeah, that's good.
John: Say I said it.
Steve: He don't read the NME. Too many long words. Oh, one other thing to mention is that our only original is written by me.
John: Half-witten in reference to his half. Our Wordsmith is 'all handle, no hammer'.
Neil: Can I quote that?
Steve: Certainly.
John: No, you fսcking can't! The problem is that the other morons can't write music worthy of my lyrics.
Neil: Right, and how long's the band been together?
John: Six...
Steve: Four months.
John: Seems more.
Neil: Right, well I predict you'll have a very long and, uh... happy future. Night-night.
Malcolm: Thank you. Thanks so much for coming.
John: ...fսcking having a go about me like that in front of other people.
Malcolm: Do you have a press pass or anything for that?
Film student: Er, no, I'm... I'm a student. I... I just filmed it cos I liked it.
Malcolm: Well, I'm not happy. I should confiscate that.
Film student: No, no. It belongs to the film school. Look... I'm not trying to make money or anything, it's just... I've never seen anything like this before. You know, the sеx Pistols, man, they're like... the only thing happening in London right now, and... I wanna capture it.
Malcolm: Look, wait! fսck! There goes my ride.
Chrissie: Bored yet? Uh... You said, as soon as you have sеx, you get bored.
Steve: I said, as soon as feelings are involved, I get bored.
Chrissie: Mm. I'm not bored. As long as we keep it about the music.
Steve: Good. Cos I'm gonna go. All right, then.
Piano teacher: Let's try again.
John: I don't wanna sing like that.
Malcolm: We don't want him sounding like Mario Lanza.
Piano teacher: What do you want to sound like?
Malcolm: Well, I mean, I was thinking of a kind of Bowie-ish... Elvis Presley sort of sound, with maybe a dash of Alice Cooper.
John: Shut up, Malcolm!
Piano teacher: Perhaps it might be best if you waited outside.
Malcolm: No, John needs...
John: Wait outside or I'll shove Beethoven's head up your arse!
Malcolm: Okay. Now, I'll just be outs...
John: Out!
Piano teacher: When I was young, I wanted to sing like Maria Callas. She's an opera singer.
John: I know who Callas is. Greek. One of the greatest. Bit of a diva.
Piano teacher: I'm impressed.
John: Why? Because I look like a shabby little moron who don't know a treble clef from a cleft palate?
Piano teacher: Not at all. I don't, by the way. No need to.
John: You're going to tell me that after wasting your youth trying to be UK Callas, you finally realised that the only person you could be was... you, and that realization brought you true happiness, et cetera, et cetera.
Piano teacher: Bugger! You've guessed my best trick.
John: Thank you. But that sentiment is of no use to me. Last night I was myself. But hearing myself was a bloody nightmare. If you don't want to sing, then don't.
Piano teacher: Performing's not for everyone. Perhaps it's not for you.
Pamela: I'm thinking I need to start being more confrontational with the customers. Yeah, all right, pet. Lovely. If we're not careful, this place could become a shop. and then really, what's the point? Mm. Who are those for?
Reginald: They're for me, my dear.
Pamela: How and where are they to be worn?
Reginald: Well, that's rather private.
Pamela: I don't think so. This is not a fetish shop. These knickers are the spark plugs of a revolution.
Reginald: How thrilling.
Pamela: The proprietors of this establishment are very influenced by William Reich's theories about mass psychology and fascism.
Reginald: Ah, that explains a lot.
Pamela: Reich says that fascism is caused by sеxual repression.
Reginald: I honestly could not agree more.
Pamela: If we don't start talking about sеx more, and don't stop being so repressed, we're going to end up with a dictator. Isn't that right, Vivienne? We live to proclaim, not to shame.
Reginald: Sadly, I'm not in a position to proclaim.
Pamela: Then I can't sell them to you. Can I, Vivienne? Well, I mean, we can always make an exception. Are we going to be on the news?
Reginald: In a fashion, yes.
Pamela: The news? What? Oh! That's who you are! That's who he is! You are him, aren't you?!
Reginald: If I'm wearing these under my suit tonight, I'll give you a wink. Like this. Just for you. That be all right?
Pamela: Oh, that's lovely. Isn't that lovely? There's no returns on the underwear, OK?
Reginald: Perish the thought. But not the rubber.
Pamela: Isn't he lovely? Is there a review?
Viv: Hmm?
Pamela: What's it say, then?
Viv: Oh, I'm just reading the small ads. Do you know it's still possible to buy loon pants?
Pamela: Who is doing that? We should get ourselves a pack of hounds and hunt them down. Look at this one. Got a big bag. Definitely a dipper. I'll cover the door.
Pauline: I hear that Sеx the Shop is where one can find sеx the Pistols. Johnny. The Marquee. I saw him singing and spitting. It was wonderful. I was wondering if you had his address?
Viv: I'm sorry, we don't give out that kind of information. Please open your bag.
Pauline: But I don't wanna do that.
Pamela: I'm afraid you have no choice.
Pauline: No choice?
Jordan: No.
Pauline: Oh... That's right.
Pamela: Please open your bag.
Pauline: No! Get away from me! [Cries]
Viv: Are you all right? I'm sorry. I'm... I'm sorry. It's all right. Let's get you into this chair. Water. I'm sorry. It's fine. You're all right. :Viv: This is my shop. May I be of some assistance, madam?
Pauline: That's lovely, thank you. So kind.
Viv: What kind of assistance would you like?
Pauline: Oh... Where do I start? I need so much assistance. Every kind, really.
Viv: I will need to look in your bag, though.
Pauline: You're nice. So I don't mind.
Viv: No! Get out!
Pauline: But I don't wanna get out because I do really like it here.
Viv: Get out! Get out! Get out!
Pauline: OK. I... I can see you're really busy.
Viv: The bag! Get the bag out of here now!
Pauline: Go! Next time, eh, bab?
Viv: Throw her out!
Steve: [To Glen reading newspaper] What's it say?
Glen: Typical NME nonsense.
Paul: Yeah, so stuck-up.
Steve: Mm. Read it out.
Glen: Why?
Steve: It's our first review. Be nice for us all to hear it out loud together.
Glen: I'm not your nursery school teacher.
Steve: Sorry, I thought you were, seeing as you dress exactly like her.
Glen: [Laughs and throws newspaper across table] Read it yourself.
Steve: [Clears throat and reads] Yeah... Typical NME.
Glen: Mm.
Paul: Not worth reading, to be honest.
Glen: Nah. Except for that last bit.
Paul: Yeah, Malcolm's gonna love that.
Glen: Yeah.
Steve: Which bit? Which bit again?
Glen: The last bit. [John comes in] Oh, finally! Now we can rehearse! Have you read it?!
John: Not interested.
Glen: Oh, I bet he's read it. I bet he's bought up every copy in Finsbury Park and wallpapered his room with it.
John: What do you want to be, Glen?
Glen: You what?
Steve: I know what I wanna be. I wanna be in a band where the geezer what writes the words writes some. "Lazy Sod" might be a bit simple, but it's better than fսck all, which is all you've come up with.
John: How am I supposed to be inspired, when my collaborators are a mummy's boy, a pleaser, and a moron?
Steve: How about I fix your teeth with my guitar? Maybe that'll inspire you.
Paul: Yeah, where's all this come from?
Glen: The NME's gone to his head.
John: I have not read it!
Steve: Liar!
John: [He kicks table] Ow!
Steve: [Laughs at John who throws a mug at the wall shattering it then storms out] What the fսck?! My favourite mug!
Glen: We should get another singer.
Paul: [Walking out] Steve, can I have a word? I'm leaving.
Steve: Well, I doubt we'll get much done today anyway.
Paul: No. I'm leaving the band. For good.
Steve: Oh... don't be daft. You can barely play. I'm getting better.
Paul: Like John. The guy's a madman. Malcolm is Malcolm. Waste of time.
Steve: Yeah, we're gonna be good.
Paul: We don't have any songs, Steve. We're a covers band. This is so fսcking boring. I've got an apprenticeship, got a chance. Oh, yeah, your nine-to-five, eight-to-four, or whatever the fսck it is, wage slave.
Steve: Fսck off! Is that what you want? Married. Four screaming kids, and before you can blink twice, you're just another boring, defeated old cսոt. Sipping pints at the pub with that look in his eye, "Oh, I wonder where my life went?"
Paul: My mum and dad are good people, got good lives, you know that. I'm not saying they're not.
Steve: Oh, I know you haven't had none of that.
Paul: I'm sorry. I gotta do what's right for me. I'm done.
Joe: I'll get it. Oh, well done.
Joe: Mum. I need to see Malcolm. There was a girl in the shop looking for you.
John: I don't care. You will. Tell Malcolm that I'm seriously considering leaving the band.
Viv: Good.
John: You don't even care, do ya?
Viv: You think I should?
John: I wouldn't expect it. That's exactly like you people. Why are you printing swastikas with your children?
Viv: Ben knows, don't you?
Ben: Mum and Malcolm want to not only reject the values of the older generation but also their, um...
Viv: Taboos.
Ben: Yeah, taboos. Everything's "anti". That means opposite. Thank you. Jesus is upside down, and I chose pink for this swastika because the Nazis hated homosexuals... and they made them wear pink triangles. Nazis would hate their swastika being pink.
John: Many millions of Jews might hate a shirt with a swastika on it.
Viv: Possibly. But Malcolm's Jewish, and it was his idea. Do you know why nothing ever changes? It's because people's minds are too imprisoned by lies, fear... and a misguided respect for the very institutions that have exploited them for centuries. I want to destroy all that, so that out of the chaos... the future can emerge. We don't hate Jews, or gays, or Christians. We don't hate anyone, do we?
Ben: No.
Viv: Except for Nazis. And racists and fascists in general. And people who are too boring or scared to stand up and say what they mean. Goodbye, John.
Glen: How's that for a melody?
Steve: Was that last chord a 'B' suspended 7th of an augmented 'E'?
Glen: [Laughs] Don't be ridiculous. Just an 'E' on the bass over...
Steve: Oh, Jesus! Glen! We're not in a Paul fսcking McCartney fսcking tribute band!
Glen: It's a great melody!
Steve: If you're a pensioner! What are the chords?
Glen: 'C' suspended 2nd.
Steve: 'C'! [Plays amplified riff] Right? But played like a punch in the face. Next.
Glen: 'F' major 7th suspended 2nd.
Steve: 'F'.
Glen: Yes, that's it.
Steve: 'F'.
Steve: [Plays amplified riff] Right? Played like a kick in the guts.
Glen: 'E' on the bass over an open 'C'.
Steve: 'E'! Played like a fսcking sеx Pistol! [Plays amplified riff repeatedly]
John: [Comes in and repositions mic stand] Give me a tune. Give me a tune, and I'll give you words.
Paul's mother: Paul's leaving the sеx Pistols.
Paul's father: Eh? Mm. Oh. Does this mean we get the kit back in the bedroom?
Paul: No, I'll just sell it.
Paul's mother: Okay. Okay.
Paul: I thought you'd be happy.
Paul's father: I am. Whatever makes you happy.

Pretty Vaaaycunt [1.04]

edit
Granada announcer: Man: One of the most reviewed and most reviled rock phenomena of recent weeks, we got a few votes: sеx Pistols. You can hear them warming up in the background even now.
Jeannie: [Watching band perform on TV and on phone] Francie, are you watching?
Francie: Oh, Lord, yes, I am watching. [Jeannie lies down on floor up close to watch totally mesmerized]
...
Malcolm: "Anarchy in the UK" is a call to arms for all the kids who feel that rock 'n' roll has been taken away from them.
Francie: [At bus stop reading newspaper] "Meet Malcolm McLaren. He runs a shop called 'sеx'. He manages a group called 'The sеx Pistols'. His rockabilly leathers deconstructed by the effete white scarf that shrouds his whey face." What's a "whey face"?
Jeannie: I don't know. [Points to band headshots] There's a picture. That face must be "whey".
...
Malcolm: Fundamentally, rock is a young people's music.
...
Jeannie: "McLaren declares himself the commissar of a youth revolution."
Francie: The bus! Come on, I want to get to the back.
...
Malcolm: We have created a brand new...
Jeannie: "...generation gap," says McLaren. "16-year-olds..."
Malcolm: ...are telling 18-year-olds that they're too old.
Older girl: Move along, foetus.
...
Malcolm: All kids are anarchists, until they get dragged into the system. All the other bands that have risen out of the wake of the Pistols are great. It's like having an army behind you. We are to Bay City Rollers what the Stones were to the Beatles.
...
Joyriding hooligan: What are you slags wearing?! Show us your tіts! Show us your arse!
Francie: Get, you know... Get lost!
Joyriding hooligan: [Laughs and drives away]
Francie: Ooh! That wasn't very Punk.
Francie: Okay. I'm just getting used to it!
Glen: What do you think?
Dave: That has got "hit" written all over it.
Glen: Cheers.
Dave: When you get your new recording contract, I'd definitely suggest this is your first single.
John: Thank you, Dave! Next time I need advice from a stoned-out hippy, I'll know precisely where to turn. In the meantime, please stick to your assigned role as a third-rate sound engineer.
Glen: He's just jealous cos I wrote the tune and most of the lyrics, apart from that rewrite you did on the 2nd verse which admittedly is an improvement.
John: The only thing that makes it not an ABBA song, is that I sing "pretty va-cunt", whereas you wanted "pretty vacant".
Glen: Dave's right. When we present to potential record companies...
John: Shut up, Glen!
Steve: Ugh! Are we fighting again?
Johnn: "Pretty Vacant" does not represent us as a band.
Glen: Oh, no, not like "Anarchy". "I'm an anarchist. I'm an Antichrist." Do you know what a hard time my mum gets at work over those lyrics?
Steve: Because "anarchist" and "Antichrist" don't rhyme?
John: I'm the one who people notice. And I'm the one who bears the consequences, so pardon me, Glen, if I don't give A FUCK, what your mum thinks!
Viv: [Reading newspaper] What is this?
Malcolm: That is a call to arms.
Viv: That is a stream of unpunctuated hot air from a broken hair dryer.
Malcolm: Oh, please don't allow me to interrupt your very important potato prints.
Viv: Not important enough for you to mention in your interview.
Malcolm: Ah! Bruised ego, is it?
Viv: I like the "anarchy" bit.
Malcolm: What about the "Bay City Rollers" bit?
Viv: The bit about the shop and the band sharing a name?
Malcolm: Well, it's just always good to throw some facts in with the bullshit.
Viv: I'm changing the name of the shop.
Malcolm: Well, we can't change the name of the band now.
Viv: The shop is not there to service the band. The shop is not there to reinforce your brand.
Malcolm: Well, what is it there for, then?
Viv: To expose hypocrisy and provoke revolution.
Malcolm: What, with sticky back plastic and squeezy bottles?
Viv: [Grabs the back of Malcolm's and he grunts] Do you know the difference between you and me, Malcolm?
Malcolm: How do I differ from thee? Let me count the ways...
Viv: Your idea of ambition is to be the new George Epstein.
Malcolm: Brian Epstein. It's "Brian".
Viv: And my idea of ambition is to be the new Boudica. I want to ride a chariot down Oxford Street and burn this city to the ground.
Malcolm: Oh! So, what does Boudica want to call her new boutique, then?
Viv: "Seditionaries".
Chrissie: [Plays "St. James Infirmary Blues" on acoustic guitar with Steve] There you go.
Steve: You're a fսcking great guitarist. You know that?
Chrissie: I'm not. You're just really shit.
Steve: Mouthy Yank!
Chrissie: Play with me. You might learn something.
Steve: We do make great music together.
Chrissie: You talking about the lying-down kind, or the sitting-up kind?
Steve: Both. Well, actually there's more than two cos you can do the lying-down music... standing up and sitting down. And you can do the sitting-down music standing up and lying down.
Chrissie: [Laughs] It's confusing speaking in metaphors all the time, isn't it?
Steve: Ugh, it's a right nause! [Chrissie scats on guitar] What is a metaphor?
Chrissie: It's a thing that's like a thing.
Steve: Right. Those northern towns are gonna hate you.
Steve: Might not make it back alive.
Chrissie: Might not.
Steve: We'd better make music one last time... before I leave.
Chrissie: See, now that... is a metaphor.
Steve: [Band is pushing the van] Fսcking hell! Go on, Cookie, push!
Glen: Are you doing anything?!
Steve: My foot's all the way down! Get in! Wait!
Glen: I'm up front. I'm the navigator.
John: I'm up front. I'm the star.
Glen: No, you're not.
Man 1: You're not special!
Man 2: Get here, you fսcking cսոt!
Glen: [To bartender] There's gonna be a riot! Come on!
John: Oh, look, the northern oafs are snogging. I didn't know Barnsley was this brutal.
Bartender: To be honest with you, son, it's like this most Saturday nights.
Glen: It's Wednesday.
Viv: [Walking through remodeled Sex the Shop with contractor] The ceiling. We're going for a bombed-out look.
Malcolm: Yeah, just smash some holes into it.
Contractor: It's full of asbestos. If you unsettle it, it'll kill you. I can't ask my lads to touch it.
Malcolm: [Sending contractors out] Okay, thank you very much for coming out! [To himself] Victory! [Grabs broom and stands on stool punching holes in ceiling]
John: [Van pulls into gas station] You fool! I'm starving. It's obscene.
Steve: Well, I've only been provided with money for petrol and accommodation.
John: We can't work if we're starving.
...
Glen: [John reaches for his shoplifted candy bar stash that the band is digging into] Hey! No, no, no! You're the star. You stay in the front. Yeah, go on! [John displays a vulgar gesture]
John: [Band has arrived at an upscale hotel] What's Malcolm playing at, sending us on this tour of England's biggest twat-holes?
Glen: Isn't exactly our target audience, is it?
Joe: We're on.
Steve: What? Look at the legs on that one.
Glen: Yeah, I've seen 'em.
Steve: In the middle.
Glen: Yeah, I know.
...
Senior woman: [Steve belches] Disgusting!
John: [Band has taken places at stage] Hello, Whitby or Shitby or wherever we are. Do you want to hear something real?
...
Bernadette: Could you turn it down a bit, please? The sound. Turn it down! The sound! We've got Bingo on in the Lesser Ballroom. They can't hear the numbers.
Steve: Bingo?
Bernadette: Bingo, yeah. Next door. [Bernadette runs to the washroom to glam herself up and rejoins the performance with her boyfriend in kissing embrace on deserted audience floor]
Steve: Hey, it's Bernadette. It's Bingo!
John: Turn it up!
Steve: This one goes out to Bingo and her boyfriends!
Steve: [Looking around perplexed] Oi... oi! What's that noise?
Joe: The sea. That's the sea.
Glen: Get out! You never once got taken to the seaside?!
Steve: My childhood wasn't quite the lap of luxury yours was, Glen.
John: Even us impoverished Irish immigrants had the occasional seaside holiday. Poor, underprivileged Jonesy.
Steve: Fսck off!

Nancy and Sid [1.05]

edit
John: The main thing to remember is that Malcolm is a dishonest bastard.
Sid: To be fair, he did put me in the band.
John: To be fair, I got you in the band by playing Malcolm at his own devious game. And now we must ally against him, lest we get shafted like Glen, may he rest in peace.
Sid: Look, I hold it up, it just flops down. He offered to give me lessons.
John: Who?
Sid: Glen, R.I.P. I told him to fuck off. [Laughs]
John: You do realise you will need to learn to play.
Sid: Not really. How come yours sticks up like that?
John: What do you mean, "Not really"? Use lacquer.
Sid: No one cares what you sound like, it's what you look like that matters. Is it effective, then, lacquer?
John: Course it's effective! Remember my mum's beehive? It was like St. Paul's Cathedral. She kept actual bees in it. You can't be a Sex Pistol if you can't play. You can't sing.
Sid: Why should I play? Can I have some of your mum's lacquer, then, please? I can sing! Somewhat. And I don't use lacquer. It's too sticky.
John: Can we stop talking about your hair and talk about Malcolm?! He wants to change the title of my song "No Future" to "God Save The Queen".
Sid: If it's not lacquer, what is it?
John: Can you stop talking about your hair?
Sid: Can you stop talking about Malcolm and song names and the bass guitar? You're making me nervous.
John: What are you nervous about?
Sid: I'm supposed to be a Sex Pistol, but I can't play anything. And now my fucking hair won't even stand up.
Boy: [Voicing over a montage of archival footage of traditional England scenes] The fucking view is fucking vile. For fucking miles and fucking miles. The fucking babies fucking cry. The fucking flowers fucking die. The fucking food is fucking muck. The fucking drains are fucking fucked. The colour scheme is fucking brown. Everywhere in chicken town. The fucking pies are fucking old. The fucking chips are fucking cold. The fucking beer is fucking flat. The fucking flats have fucking rats. The fucking clocks are fucking wrong. The fucking days are fucking long. It fucking gets you fucking down. Evidently chicken town.
Malcolm: This is the most famous photograph of the Queen.
Joe: It's on the stamps!
Ben: That's right, darling. [Chuckles] You put a safety pin in her nose.
Joe: Is it for a new stamp?
Ben: No, stupid. We're taking the piss.
Joe: Oh...
Viv: Oh, pet.
Malcolm: It's brilliant.
Viv: Happy Jubilee, Your Madge!
Sid: [Repeatedly] Pling...
Steve: Like that? Something reminds me of being ill.
Sid: Concentrate on the lesson, Jonesy.
John: Yes, Jonesy. Concentrate.
Steve: Vicks VapoRub. You're wearing Vicks VapoRub. You put it on your chest if you've got a cold.
Sid: Want some?
Steve: I haven't got a cold.
Sid: I haven't got it on my chest. I've got it in my hair. It's just sticky enough to make it stand up. It's his beauty secret.
John: Not a secret anymore.
Sid: You should try it, Jonesy. Your hair's shit.
John: Oh, joy!
Sid: Now that Glen's R.I.P., Steve can be butt of the hair jokes.
Steve: Fuck off! [Sid and John laughs]
Steve: Pay attention!
Sid: I paid attention. It goes; [Repeatedly] plinky... like that.
John: No! It's [Repeatedly] plinky...!
Steve: No! It's... Look, there's no [Repeatedly] "plinky...". It's [Repeatedly punching fist in hand in synchrony] bam...! Don't tickle it, punch it! [Sid punches Steve in the face] Oi, shit! [Sid is trying to attack Steve with the guitar] What the fuck?! That's my guitar! [Steve pushes off Sid who falls to floor] It's your skull you should be worried about, not your banjo! [Steve jumps on top of Sid punching him in the gut]
John: Ladies, please!
Sid: That was great!
Steve: What is wrong with you?!
Sid: I like it when people fight back instead of ignoring you.
Steve: Ugh!
Sid: [Sid picks at guitar strings] Is that right?
Steve: Not really. But it might actually be better. [Hands him a guitar pick] Do it again. Give us 'A'. Keep playing.
Viv: We've made a terrible mistake!
Malcolm: What?! No, look, they love him!
Viv: This isn't love! This is appetite! They'll eat him!
John: Our wonderful manager wanted us to write a song about bondage and discipline to publicise his funny little shop. So, we wrote a song about submission. A sub-marine mission. He didn't get the joke.
Malcolm: I did get the joke.
Sid: [Nancy enters] Sorry, this is the boys' toilets.
Nancy: [Chuckles and holds out a handshake] Nancy. It's really good to meet you. Um, could you guys maybe give me a ride?
...
Nancy: [Riding in in van] So, Richard and I... Richard Hell I mean, of The Voidoids, previously of The Heartbreakers. Do you know The Heartbreakers, like, with Johnny Thunders? Used to be in The New York Dolls. Yeah. Anyway, he decided The Heartbreakers sucked, so hence therefore The Voidoids. He practically invented punk rock as you know, especially the whole spiky hair thing.
John: Oh, please!
Nancy: Anyway, the main point being, Richard and I are very close, very, very close.
John: Now, Boogie, we're going to Denmark Street.
Sid: We're going here. You can go to Denmark Street.
Nancy: But I haven't finished telling the guys about Richard.
Steve: You can tell me later.
Sid: Driver, could you just wait?
Steve: No! Boogie's got to boogie. Don't you, Boogie?
Joe: Yeah.
Steve: Yeah? I've got to boogie.
Sid: Okay! You don't need to shout at me.
Nancy: [Chuckles] Sid... Have you ever done this before?
Sid: Done what before? We haven't done anything yet.
Nancy: Oh, my God! You are a virgin. This is kind of exciting for me.
Sid: And for me.
Nancy: [Chuckles] Hey, do you want to, um... like, shoot up before we... [Both chuckles]
Sid: I have done that before.
Nancy: Really?
Sid: Yeah.
Nancy: I thought London was all, like, blow and speed.
Sid: No, my Mum gave me a hit for my 14th birthday.
Nancy: Are you OK?
Sid: Mm, whoa.
Malcolm: The Jubilee celebrates 25 years of good old Queen Elizabeth looking down on us.
John: If we take the piss out of the Jubilee, we become the story instead of her. And after the Jubilee, the song's forgotten.
Malcolm: No, our "God Save The Queen" will be a national anthem for a brand new country, a country founded on fury.
Nancy: Speaking as an American, I find the whole royalty thing very, very enchanting.
John: Shut up!
Nancy: I was just saying.
John: This is a band meeting. If you are not in the band, you are banned. Understand?
Nancy: You have a wonderful way with words. Has anyone ever told you that?
John: I will now leave. The song is called "No Future". [Opens delivery box of records and examines record cover] Fuck! Lying fuck! He's only gone and called it; "God Save The Fucking Queen".
Steve: My Nancy's a fucking queen.
Paul: "God Save The Queen" will get us noticed.
John: Cheap publicity!
Steve: No one will buy the record if they don't know about it.
John: I don't care.
Sid: I do. I agree with Jonesy for once. We gotta be notorious.
John: But the song's not about the Queen. It's about how our generation has no future.
Steve: We made this. We made it. Look at it. It's fucking beautiful.
Sid: To be fair, Glen R.I.P. made it. But I look loads better playing.
Steve: No one can argue with that, Sid. [To John] Before I was in this band, I never listened to the words of songs. You made me listen. John. I really... hate to say this, but, uh... you are a fucking genius.
John: Would you like to meet my mum?
...
Sid's mother: Do you have a cold, John? You smell of Vicks.
Steve: Oh, it's... it's his hair.
John: Everyone just shush! Please! [Plays "God Save The Queen]
Sid's father: [Laughs] You're gonna be strung up for treason.
John's mother: Oh, so, it's not that "God Save The Queen". It's your own version.
John: I wanted to call it "No Future".
Sid's mother: No, "God Save The Queen". It's more... noticeable. Well, I'll put the kettle on.
John: [Points] Hmm? Hmm? Look, it's got my name on it.
...
[Band is walking outside flat estate car park]
Steve: [To Sid] Your mum and dad are nice.
John: Let's go round yours.
Steve: Nah.
John: Are you ashamed of us?
Steve: No, they won't be home.
John: Then we'll just leave 'em a record. I wanna go to the Jonesy gaff.
Sid: [In sing-song] Let's all go to Jonesy's! Da-da... [Gets in car]
Paul: Look, it's just a quick in and out. Leave it for 'em. It's no big deal.
Sid: Are we going or what?
Steve: Yeah, fuck it!
Sid: Fucking hurry up!
Steve: [Calling out from door of adoptive parents flat] Hello? I'll leave it...
John: [Bursts in] Might as well look around.
Steve: Hold on!
John: Let's have a butcher's. ['Opens door of Steve's bedroom] What's in here?
Steve: That's my bedroom.
John: Is this your bedroom? [Referring to double wardrobes] Narnia... Double Narnia! Blimey! You kept this quiet, Jonesy! Look at all this treasure. Your mum and dad must've really liked you.
Sid: Nah, he nicked it all.
John: Our very own Artful Dodger!
Steve: We gotta go.
John: Let me have some of this, Jonesy. No, no, we're just getting started. Steve, take something.
Steve: I'll nick it back from you.
Steve's father: What's going on?
John: Mr. Jones, I presume? We brought you a present. [Hands him a vinyl copy of "God Save The Queen"]
Steve's father: Who do you think you are?
John: We brought you a present.
Steve's father: What's this, then? Christmas Number One? Well, shut the door on your way out. [Sids walks past him patting his shoulders] Where... Where'd you think you're going? [Sid walks to balcony swatting hanging laundry and John opens a can of biscuits] Oi! What are you doing? What do you think you're doing in my house?
John: In answer to your question, we are... taking the biscuit. [Sid laughs and takes one with Paul taking one, then John pours out crumbs on couch] Hmm! Oh, crumbs! Well, thank you for your hospitality. We hope you enjoy our musical offering. [Sid jumps on couch] Whoo! Cheerio! [Steve stares at father with passive contempt then leaves with band]
John: [Walking outside] I hope your dear old dad didn't find us too obnoxious.
Steve: He's not my fucking dad! [Kicks over a child's rocking horse]
John: That's the spirit! Who needs a dad when you're a Sex Pistol?
Steve: [At a nightclub] Dom Perignon! We need Dom Perignon over here!
Sid: Chrissie, have you ever had an orgasm?
Chrissie: Uh... yes, I have. Thanks for asking, Sid.
Sid: No, I mean, like, a real, like... Like a gushing volcano type thing.
Chrissie: Again, yes. I think so.
Sid: To be honest, if you had, you'd remember.
Waiter: Everything cool?
Sid: Well, anyway, Chrissie, if you want one of those things, I can sort that out for you.
Reginald: [Walking into club with Bob] Nancy says she's happy to lend me out.
Bob: Ah! Hi, Nick.
Nick: Bob, hi.
Bob: Great show last night.
Sid: Um, is that...
Nick: I'm here with the Sex Pistols. Single's doing very well. Working on an article about the whole punk/new wave scene.
Bob: Ah! Very good. Good luck with that.
Nick: Uh... Bob Harris, the most influential music presenter...
Sid: Yeah, I know who you are. It's whispering Bob. The Old Grey Sniffle Test.
Bob: If you'll excuse me...
Sid: No, hang on. Why won't you have us on, Bob? Not good enough for the BBC, are we?
Bob: Excuse me.
Sid: Don't ignore me.
Bob: It's merely a difference of taste.
Sid: "Taste"?! Taste this, you cunt! [Lunges at Bob with drinking glass and accidentally smashed it into Reginald's neck setting off a bar fight]
Steve: [Pulls aside Sid] Sidney! [A man punches Sid in the chest]
John: [Pulls aside Sid] Sidney! [Repeatedly] Sid!
Nancy: [Pulls aside Sid] Si! Sidney, listen to me!
Steve: [Hiding under table with Chrissie] You all right?
Chrissie: Yeah. It was Sid.
Steve: Surprise, surprise. Welcome to the Sex Pistols.
Chrissie: [Punches Steve in chest] You selfish piece of shit!
Steve: All right, stop! Stop, stop!
Chrissie: I wasn't even an option to you. It's not like I want to be part of the Sex Pistols, but you knew how bad I wanted to be in a band, and it didn't even cross your mind!
Steve: What? Of course it didn't - you're too good for the Pistols.
Chrissie: Oh, fuck off!
Steve: Our singer is half-insane, our manager is fully insane - he's trying to bring down the government - our bass player can't play, starts fights for laughs, and as you've rightly pointed out, I'm just an illiterate thief who can barely fucking play. You're better than that! You're so much better than that.
Nancy: [In alleyway] Sidney! You are marvellous!
Sid: I feel great!
Nancy: Come on, then.
John: Where are you going? Sidney! You started this!
Sid: I'm taking Nancy to my mum's.
John: Do you think I'm stupid? I know what you're doing. That shit'll kill you.
Sid: We all went to your mum's, why can't I go to mine?
Sid: [Nancy is pounding on front door window of Sid's parents flat] Harder! Go on, harder! [Laughs]
Woman: Oi! Keep the noise down!
Sid: Shut the fuck up! You're making more noise than me. Cunt! [Gestures to her]
Woman: Fucking rude bastard!
Nancy: I don't think she's home.
Sid: She' never home. It's all right. [Gets an emergency key through mail slot] My magic key.
Nancy: [Sid grabs a stuffed bear chuckles] What's that?
Sid: It's a pyjama case. Mum gave it to me for my birthday.
Nancy: Mm. It looks a bit young. [Sid produces a bag of heroin]
Steve: Keep going. It's beautiful.
Chrissie: I'm not sure what happens next.
Steve: Any lyrics?
Chrissie: Not really. Not yet.
Steve: Seriously, I could listen to you all night. I know it's gonna happen for you.
Chrissie: I would rather die than crawl back to Ohio with my tail between my legs.
Bosanquet: And finally, anti-monarchist punk rockers the Sex Pistols have been dropped by their record label after a member of the band is alleged to have assaulted one of the best-loved men in British Broadcasting.'
Helen: [While doing a painting saying to Steve] You've done "singer that can't sing", "guitarist that can't play", and now you're doing "band that can't tour... "...or record". Bravo! It's an oeuvre. [Hears door buzzes] It'll be Malcolm. [Nancy enters] Not Malcolm. She said she had to see you.
Nancy: I won't stay.
Helen: [Nancy picks up can of beer] Uh! Help yourself to a beer.
Nancy: I have. Thank you. Hmm! So... I need a connection for heroin. And you seem like a man about town, Steve. Surely, you have a connection?
Steve: Not for you, I don't. Do you think I want that shit going up Sid's arm?
Nancy: It's purely for personal use.
Steve: Why don't you fuck off back to wherever you came from?
Nancy: Because this is a free country, and I'm very fond of Sid.
Steve: You're gonna break up this band. Why would I do that? You're another Yoko Ono.
Nancy: Mm. Her and John Lennon - such a touching love story.
Steve: She broke up the Beatles.
Nancy: I don't like the Beatles.
Steve: Yeah, that's not the fucking point.
Nancy: Why don't we take the temperature down a few degrees? My love, I need to share some personal things about Sid. May we have some privacy?
Helen: I'm going to sleep. Let yourselves out. Don't steal anything.
Nancy: Why do you think Sid attacked beardy Bob last night?
Steve: His name's "Vicious". He thinks he has to live up to it.
Nancy: No, silly. He knew everyone in that room loved beardy Bob and would turn on him for it. Sid's happiest when he's getting the shit kicked out of him.
Steve: You do that for him, do you?
Nancy: I was choked at birth by my umbilical cord and diagnosed schizophrenic at 15. I've been kicking the shit out of people all my life. [Starts sexually moving on Steve and chuckles] It's okay, baby. I know you want to.
Steve: You're fucking disgusting.
Nancy: Yeah. That's why you want to... [Gasps] That was nice. I don't usually give it away for free, except with Sidney.
Steve: I gotta go.
Nancy: Sidney's special.
Steve: Shh!
Nancy: But I did think a Sex Pistol would be paid more. How about a few bucks?
Sid: I don't think it's fair that Nancy can't come to meetings. She's a part of me now. So, technically, she's part of the band.
John: Don't be revolting, Sidney!
Sid: You're just jealous cos none of you have ever been in love.
John: Jonesy, I bet you've never been in love.
Paul: Course he has! Falls in love with all his mates' girlfriends for about 30 seconds, which is all the time it takes to fuck 'em.
Steve: Piss off!
Paul: Hey, Sid, you'd better keep an eye on Nancy, eh?
Malcolm: Sexy young assassins! What was that? That was the sound of a door closing. But hold on... What's this? [Opens larger encompassing door] That is the sound of another door opening.
Steve: What are you talking about?
Malcolm: One word... Pickle!
Richard: Branson. Richard. Richard Branson.
Sid: [Shaking his hand] Like the pickle.
Richard: No. The pickle is "Branston". A lot of people make that mistake.
Paul: Hang on, Malcolm said there'd be pickle.
Richard: Huh! No, I don't make pickle. Nice to meet you. How are you doing? All right? Take a seat. Cheese?
Sid: Uh, no.
Richard: Tomato?
Sid: Uh, no.
Richard: Gherkin?
Sid: No.
Richard: Nuts?
Sid: No.
Richard: Drink?
Sid: No.
Steve: Oi, what's this one for?
Richard: Uh, it's Mike Oldfield, "Tubular Bells".
Steve: Oh, dear.
Richard: Virgin's very first release. Top ten for almost the entirety of 1974.
John: I hate "Tubular Bells".
Richard: Huh! Of course you do. Three years is an eternity in the music industry, and Virgin have released nothing of great significance since. Instead of the groovy young thing...
John: Let's have a nosey!
Richard: Virgin's beginning to feel like the, uh...
Sid: An old age pensioner?
Malcolm: Sid!
Richard: Exactly! That's why I want to sign the most controversial band in the land, the one all the old pensioner labels are too terrified to touch. The only issue is, uh... timeline.
Malcolm: What timeline?
Richard: There's no point releasing "God Save the Queen" if we miss... [Steve hands him a drink] thank you. [To Malcolm] ...the Jubilee. I need it by June.
Steve: No problem. We can re-master the single by June.
Malcolm: Yes.
Richard: But I need an album. "God Save the Queen" would be the single from the album. Is that... Is that doable?
Steve: Yeah, course it is!
TV newscaster: Over the last 12 months, punk rock has become almost a battle cry in British society. For many people, it's a bigger threat to our way of life than Russian communism or hyperinflation.
Woman: 'Never mind about Christianity, I think it's degrading and disgusting for our children to hear and see such things. This idea that the punk rock scene is born of social protest may or may not be true. Until they actually learn how to speak and enunciate the Queen's English, I shall be quite unable to judge the validity of what they are alleged to think. We have had punk rock in Birmingham, unfortunately, but I can assure you, and I speak as a licensing magistrate, that we're not gonna have this sort of punk rock again.'

Who Killed Bambi? [1.06]

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Malcolm: [At a Guy Fawkes bonfire] I'm going to blow up the Pistols.
Viv: This is about John, isn't it?
Malcolm: It's about art. I have to destroy them.
Viv: So that out of the chaos something new and more powerful may emerge.
Malcolm: It's always been my philosophy.
Viv: Actually, it's mine. You appropriated it.
Malcolm: Don't be ridiculous.
Viv: It's all right. It's a habit of yours. I'm used to it. What about Steve?
Malcolm: He may rise... or he may fall. Chaos shall decide.
Newscaster 1: An English rock band which has somehow developed a following by spitting into the audience has come to this country saying it is here to rip some dollars off the Yanks.
Newscaster 2: The Sex Pistols are Britain's most successful punk rock group, and they go out of their way to shock and outrage people. At Heathrow Airport in London today, they spat at news photographers and cursed them. Our government refused to let the four musicians into our country at first because...
Malcolm: [Mimicking an old woman's voice on phone] They're all criminals. You can check the records if you don't believe me.
Newscaster 2: They refused to talk and went directly to their connecting plane to Atlanta where they have a concert tomorrow night.
Sid: Is this where we're staying?
Steve: Oh, the glamour!
E.K.: Okay, okay, okay... Hey! Hey! You're on my turf now.
Steve: And what boring turf it is! Why aren't we downtown? Atlanta's kind of edgy.
John: In London, we get stabbed daily. I think we can handle little old Atlanta.
E.K.: In America, people have guns. There have been death threats.
John: Ooh!
Steve: What's new?
E.K.: Hey, this is no joke. From now on, you don't go anywhere without E.K. or Allison.
Sid: Why has he got a girl's name? [Laughs] Do you fight like a girl, too, Allison?
Allison: Maybe you'll get to find out.
John: [Laughs] Oh-ho-ho-ho!
Sid: Well, I hope so.
John: Hey, where is Malcolm?
E.K.: Still in England for all I know.
John: That would be typical.
Sid: Right. Where's the drugstore, cowboy? I need a fix.
E.K.: No! No hard drugs on my tour.
Sid: Huh! Right. Fuck that.
E.K.: Hey, Warner's have put up a $300,000 bond which they will lose if you commit a felony.
Sid: "Lose"?
E.K.: No felonies. My job to not let that happen.
Sid: And it's my job to tell you that I'm Sid Vicious, and I do whatever the fuck I want.
Steve: He's right, that is his actual job.
E.K.: Okay, so we both just do our job.
Sid: Fucking jobs!
E.K.: [To Allison] Stick with him. Don't let him score.
Sid: I'm warning you, mate, stay out of my face. What are you looking at?
Allison: Oh, well... I'm looking at you. [Sid attacks Allison]
Steve: Oh, here we go. Shit! Keep going, Sidney! [Allison slams Sid's head into wall] Oh! Keep going, Sid! Oh!
Paul: Easy, easy, easy!
Steve: Fucking hell!
Allison: How do you think I fight now?
Steve: Don't kill him. Fucking hell!
Allison: Good, good! You fight good. You kidding me?
Sid: Allison...
Allison: Okay.
Sid: [Sid punches Allison in face and band cheers] Never let your guard down. [Allison grabs Sid and slams onto table]
John: Jesus!
Sid: [Takes his seat] Good! Cheers, man. You're all right. Good! This is gonna be great. Do you mind? Any ketchup?
Evangelist: There's a Johnny Rotten inside us all. And he doesn't need to be saved, he needs to be crucified!
...
Sid: [To E.K.] I need heroin! Is that so hard to get through your thick fucking skull?
John: Sidney!
Sid: Shut up, John! Please! Please, Mr American Man.
E.K.: All right. Here. Take some of my Valium. [Hands prescription bottle] It should help. No more than two at a time!
Sid: Okay. Can you open it?
...
Steve: It's not a bad job, is it? Come on, man! The Sex Pistols...
John: We got a bus! They do like us in America.
Steve: You sit there.
Sid: [Referring to sex doll] Right, then, who's gonna fuck her first?
John: Go on, Jonesy!
Sid: One at a time!
...
Sid: Anyone got any bog roll?
Steve: Oh, shut that door!
Sid: We ran out in Memphis.
Steve: Smells like something died up your arse.
Sid: There's no bog roll left.
Steve: Oh, that's worse! Get away!
[A montage of band concert performances with voiceovers of fans]
Man 1: I was going like this, "Come on, buddy." He kept going like this. And I would've been glad to take him on or his buddy Johnny, but he came out and hit us over the head with a bass.
Man 2: Faggots!
Man 3: It was great. That's what, you know, music's meant to be. You know, I think that's where rock is going and where it's gonna stay.
Man 4: They were great. If I could only make out the words, they'd be greater.
Man 5: It was worth all the money we paid and all the trouble we went through to get out here.
Man 6: Fuck, no! They're garbage, man! They're garbage!
Woman 1: I like it for me, but I don't think I'd recommend it to anybody.
Woman 2: Well, I thought when I saw Johnny Rotten's face, I thought I'd vomit, he's so beautiful.
Man 7: It's about time we got some street-fighting men here in America. It's about time we got someone to rile people up.
Woman 3: The Pistols are just out of sight!
Man 8: I think I heard one time that they urinate on the audience, one time. Why, I don't know. It just sounds goofy.
...
Sid: Hey, Nancy. I miss you, baby.
Nancy: I miss you, too.
Sid: Yeah, they won't give me...
Nancy: What's going on?
Sid: They won't give me heroin.
Nancy: But you're the star!
Sid: You need to find me a connection. Please!
E.K.: What did we agree, Sidney?
Sid: I didn't agree to nothing!
E.K.: Right! Fine!
Sid: Fuck off, you stupid cunt!
John: Personally, I'd like to see the music press blown up in the morning cos they don't actually comment on me records anymore, it's more about me clothes. Right? The colour of me poxy hair. And that's cos no one really understands rock and roll. Right? Except I'm big-headed enough to say I do. And that's why we're the most honest band to have ever existed. I mean, I don't know about those idiots, but I'm gonna make a lot of money.
...
Steve: [Watching The Texas Chain Saw Massacre with the villain starting up a chainsaw] Oh, shit! [Has a dream of Sid attacking him with a chainsaw]
Sid: Yeah, here we go now! [Steve screams in dream and promptly wakes up]
...
Sid: You weren't giving it much up there tonight, Jonesy! Are you fucking joking?! This is punk! You gotta give it! Every single night! Did you fucking see me up there?!
Steve: Sorry, I was too busy trying to play your bass part as well as my leads to get the chance to cut meself with a broken bottle. I'll try harder next time.
Sid: Yeah, do! Soft cock! [To E.K.] Out of the fucking toilet, mate! I've been banging on that door!
John: Warner's 300 grand is looking a bit shaky. Where'd he get heroin from?
E.K.: The guy walks around with "Give me a fix" carved into his chest. Some fan probably slipped it to him.
Steve: Genius idea... putting him in the band.
John: I'll take care of it.
Steve: Like you took care of Glen?
John: I don't recall asking the backing band for comment.
Paul: [Tutting] Oh... backing band?
Steve: I thought you could do better than that. Nothing? You can put that away as well. I ain't impressed by your fake fucking stare. How can two weeks in Texas feel like two years in hell?
Paul: I suppose we're all just having a "Rotten" old time.
...
Steve: [On phone with Malcolm] Right, I'm not going to San Francisco on that fucking bus... with John.
Malcolm: Of course not, my boy! I can't comprehend how you can stand him. You know he goes round telling journalists that you and Cookie are no more than the backing band.
Steve: Well, I guessed as much!
Malcolm: Well, how about the backing band fly out to San Francisco?'
Steve: What about John and Sid?
Malcolm: Oh, up to them. Whatever they want.
...
Sid: [John hands him a blunt] That's... That's the stuff!
Malcolm: Steve!
Steve: Hello!
John: Oh! This... is far too fucking fast. Malcolm!
Malcolm: Well, all hail, my slinky southern six-shooters!
Steve: [Chuckles] Nice of you to finally turn up.
Sid: Not nice, actually.
Malcolm: Apologies, my Texan "Terribles", but I have been very busy attending to some important Sex Pistol business down in Los Angeles.
John: Well, oh, fearless fuck-up, I've been attending to some very important near-death business involving thousands of redneck cowboys baying for my blood.
Steve: We were all attending to that, all of us. Stop saying "me".
John: But I cop it the most because I'm the star. You hear that, Cookie? Me and you may as well piss off and finally go have some fun.
Paul: Oh, yeah, sounds good. When are we leaving?
John: Go! Won't be hardfinding another backing band.
Sid: [Chuckles] "Backing band". It's only me and John anyone actually looks at.
Steve: Thank fucking Christ they're not listening to you.
Sid: Doesn't matter what you sound like, it's what you look like what counts.
Steve: Yeah, fuck off, you little junkie.
Sid: Who you telling to fuck off?
Steve: You!
Malcolm: Brilliant! [Laughs] Exactly as I planned! You were turning into a rock band, and how can any poor, disenfranchised kid relate to a rock band? Inaccessible. Famous. John was acting like Rod Stewart!
Steve: To be fair, he's got the hair for it now.
John: Fuck off!
Malcolm: I needed to bring you back down to street-level where you belong, to throw you into the furnace and see what remains of you.
John: You are completely insane!
Malcolm: That is why I insisted that we only play the southern states. It is a shame about this place, though.
Steve: Why? This is the first proper venue we've had.
Malcolm: Warner wanted you to play all the big cities, but I told them, "They're not a rock band."
Steve: Then what the fuck are we?
Malcolm: Well... You are very soon to be... sexy Latin assassins.
Woman assistant: Dom Perignon.
Malcolm: You what? I have been in L.A. gathering funding for our new movie. "The Great Rock 'n' Roll Swindle". I've already recorded a track for it, and after this, we're gonna fly down to Rio. The Great Train Robber, Ronnie Biggs, is gonna be a guest vocalist on a Pistols track.
John: The fuck he is!
Malcolm: Ugh! It'll be fun. Come on, that whole outlaw spirit! And plus, girls don't wear many clothes down Rio way.
Steve: Sounds good.
Paul: Yeah, I'm game.
John: You fucking cunt! [Lunges at Malcolm]
Steve: Oi! [Repeatedly] Ah...! Hey! You calm down, Shirley Temple. [Chuckles]
John: [Spits on floor and walks away] Come on, Sidney. Sid!
Malcolm: Don't go running off with that miserable ponce! Come on, let's have some fun, eh?
Sid: I fucking hate you for what you did to Nancy. Never forget that.
Steve: Oi, what... What about soundcheck?
Sid: Oh, just fuck off! Who wants a drink?
John: If he thinks I'm getting on a plane to Brazil, he can think the fuck again! [Opens door to Steve]
Steve: Hang on. Look, just... Things have gotten out of hand, but we're just... We're just... We're worn out. I mean, it was just... It was three weeks ago in Huddersfield, you was putting your face in a cream pie for a bunch of kids. You were brilliant. We were brilliant. I mean, we've got the...
John: I'll call you back.
Steve: We've got the number one album in the UK. Who would've thought that? Who would've thought a bunch a working class yobs would ever fucking pull that off?
John: Exactly! But Malcolm's insane! It's one thing after another. And now he wants us to go to Rio?
Steve: Yeah, it'll be fun. Why can't we just have a bit of fucking fun... every now and then?
John: Ronnie Biggs based a train driver, a decent, working man, and left him brain-damaged for life. There's nothing fun about it! Malcolm's gonna make us into fools. And where's the money? If Warner's are putting up 300 grand in the vain hope that one of us won't commit a crime, we must be worth a lot of money to someone. We don't even have bank accounts, Steve. And Christ only knows what was in those contracts we signed. Look at this rancid hotel.
Steve: Malcolm's put me in while you and Cookie are in five-star luxury. There was no rooms left at the Miyako 'cause you and Sid chose to stay on the bus!
John: "Chose to stay on the bus"? We didn't have a choice. That's another Malcolm swindle. Can't you see? He's trying to turn us against each other.
Steve: Why would he do that?
John: Control! Divide and conquer. The Pistols have so much more to do, Steve. But it has to be without Malcolm. You need to choose. He goes... or I go.
Steve: I need to think about it.
John: Think fast. If Malcolm's not gone by tomorrow, tonight will be our last show. Ever.
John: Another tuneless racket. If you can put up with that, you can put up with anything.
Sid: What a lovely fucking group of people.
Fan: Where's fucking Beverley?
John: You'll get one number and one number only because I'm a lazy bastard. This is "No Fun".
Malcolm: Helen! I don't believe it! It's fantastic. That's so wonderful.
John: Ah-haha! Ever get the feeling you've been cheated? Good night. [Crowd boos]
...
Sid: I played shit tonight. Even worse than usual. But it doesn't matter. You know why?
Steve: Cos you're high.
Sid: No, Steve. That's not it. Think about it.
Steve: Was it cos the sound guy turned your amp off?
Sid: Did he?
Steve: Yeah.
Sid: Why?
Steve: Well, cos Warner's was filming the show, and they didn't want you mucking it up. And you didn't. You know? You looked amazing.
Sid: Yeah.
Steve: And that's what counts.
Sid: Yeah, that's what really counts.
Steve: Mate, I was wondering if I...
Sid: You didn't guess.
Steve: What's that?
Sid: Why it doesn't matter.
Steve: Oh. Why?
Sid: Nancy. I'm gonna be seeing Nancy again soon.
Steve: Oh, really? Great.
Sid: You should get to know her better.
Steve: I really want to, Sid. I do.
Sid: She taught me everything I know about sex. She could teach you a few things. I wouldn't mind.
Steve: You know I already fucked her. She was nothing special.
Sid: What?
Steve: Said she's a lucky bird. You're something special.
Sid: Thanks. Didn't think you liked me.
Steve: Most of the time you're just too stressful... to be around. [Sid chuckles] Make me nervous.
Sid: Sorry, Steve, it's my job.
Steve: I know. I've gotta hand it to you, you know, you got balls.
Sid: Yeah, I have.
Steve: You are.. You're... unique.
Sid: Yeah. [Chuckles] I am.
Steve: So, listen, can I cop... can I cop... some of that dope?
Sid: I thought you didn't like heroin?
Steve: Well, you like it. It's great. And I just thought, you know, if Sid likes it, then... I should give it a go. Oh, and Steve...
Sid: What?
Steve: I stole Jolene's spike. I fucking hate needles. I'll snort it.
Sid: It's not as good. Soft cock!
Steve: We need to talk about Malcolm. [On phone] Hello? We're doing it. At the Miyako, in an hour.
John: Sid's not here.'
Steve: It's all right, he's with me.
John: Do you want to start, Steve?
Steve: W... Well... I couldn't have...
John: Wh... What do you want to say, Steve?
Steve: I know... I know that...
Paul: Steve, just...
Steve: Malcolm...
Malcolm: It's all right. I understand, my boy. It's okay.
John: I'm glad there's no hard feelings.
Malcolm: No, not at all. Steve told me about your concerns, and I completely understand. I think you've made the right decision. Leaving will be the best thing for all of us.
John: "Leaving"? Who's leaving?
Malcolm: You are. You gave Steve an ultimatum, and he wisely chose to keep the present management structure in place.
John: Oh, Steve!
Malcolm: The Sex Pistols will continue. Without you.
John: You fucking coward! My deepest sympathies! Come on, Sidney.
Sid: I'm staying.
John: What?
Sid: You don't like Nancy.
John: Steve kidnapped her.
Sid: Only 'cause Malcolm told him to.
John: So, why are you staying with Malcolm?
Sid: He's gonna put us all in a movie. And I'm gonna be the lead singer. I'm the star now, John. Just like Nancy says.
John: You disgusting man!
Malcolm: Please! You know, you really have turned into Rod Stewart. Why don't you go downtown and find some cocaine?
John: [Visiting Sid in Bellevue Hospital] Look at you! Couldn't even make it back to London without OD-ing.
Sid: You don't tell me what to do, Johnny.
John: No. Only one person does that, doesn't she? You pussy-whipped fool!
Sid: You're just jealous. Jealous because no one can write even one thing they love about you.
John: Goodbye, Sidney.

Cast

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