Tuesday, July 25, 2017

Revisiting Roy "Chubby" Brown's U.F.O. The Movie, Fart 2

I carried on regardless of interest or taste. In these dark times when a pretend, shapeshifting alien in a children's programme is allowed to be played by a woman of all things, we can take heed of U.F.O. The Movie's dire feminazi dystopian message and learn from the examples of its foul-mouthed, buffoonish hero. I hate you.




Chubby's in a phone box, the wreck of the van giving off smoke in the background. His mate looks desperate for a piss.

CHUBBY: (Down the phone) Margaret? Hello?

A high-pitched voice that's probably Chubby pretending to sound feminine mumbles an incoherent reply.

CHUBBY: What do you mean 'hello George?' Who's fucking George?

Mumbles.

CHUBBY: The day I believe a cock and bull story like that is the day I'll kiss the Pope's bollocks.




Cut to a traditional religious setting with a choir singing. We pan down from an actor playing His Holiness to see Chubby looking up his dress.

CHUBBY: He hasn't got any.

Back in reality, Chubby continues his desperate phone call.

CHUBBY: Never mind that now. Can you come and pick us up?

We hear the trickling of liquid and see that Chubby's mate is pissing through the broken phone box onto his feet.




CHUBBY: Ohhhh, you fucking daft twat!

The "female" phone voice sounds angry.

CHUBBY: No, not you! No, not you, Margaret. No, I love you. I love you. I fuck you, don't I?

He then spots the gang hitching a lift from the Pussy Galore wagon, which has returned.

CHUBBY: Wait! Hang on! Wait, wait!

He drops the phone and runs after them.

CHUBBY: Lads, lads, wait! Wait! Wait, lads!

They drive away, waving and making obscene gestures.




WOMAN: Bye, Chubby! Bye!

CHUBBY: Thanks a lot. Why don't you throw me some rope and I'll hang me fuckin' self?




On cue, a noose drops into frame. Tragically, Chubby isn't a man of his word.




VFX: We get our first look at the intergalatic battle cruiser, Starship Eve. It's like a spinning satellite dish with hoops. It's alright.




Zoe strides across the bridge, giving us a better look at the crew uniforms, which mainly consist of full-body tights over black leather/plastic bikinis with kinky gloves and cycle helmets. If this is the anti-male future, what are you lads complaining about?

ZOE: What's happening?

AVA: He's on the move again. North.

We see the same graphic as before, with the flashing dot in a slightly different location.

ZOE: Any idea of destination?




The scanner switches to a woefully undetailed black and white map that looks like it was drawn on Deluxe Paint on an Amiga. I'd recognise the Topaz font anywhere.

AVA: A seaside resort called 'Blackpool.'

Cue what might be the worst observational comedy routine in the film, though it's up against some tough competition.

ZOE: 'Black Pool?' What an odd name. I wonder why they called it that.

AVA: Well, sensors do indicate that offshore sewage levels are very high in that area.

SOLO: In that case, shouldn't it be 'Brown Pool?' Or 'Bognor' or something?

AVA: Don't be silly, Solo. Who in their right mind would go to a seaside resort called 'Bog-nor?'

ZOE: Mind you, who in their right mind would go to a seaside resort called 'Blackpool?'

This is making me yearn for the shit innuendos of the first scene.




EXT: Blackpool seafront, backed by the jaunty music again. They've established a structure and they're sticking to it. Chubby was evidently picked up by his long-suffering wife Margaret (actress uncredited, that's nice), who's taking him the rest of the way to his gig.




Their car has one of those his and hers windscreen banners, identifying 'Chubby' on the passenger side and 'Split-Arse' (Chubby's favoured term for females) in the driver's seat, as opposed to her actual name.

CHUBBY: You know, I love this place... who's this fucking George, then?

No reply. This is one of the key mysteries of the film that will be resolved later.

CHUBBY: I'll find out, you know. Process of elimination. It can't be the milkman.

MARGARET: Why d'you say that?

CHUBBY: 'Cause he's got the fucking clap.

She looks worried, then reacts by driving through a red light to the ire of other motorists. Bloody women.

CHUBBY: What have you got in this thing? Rocket fuel or something?

MARGARET: No, unleaded. Like your dick!

Chubby is uncharacteristically speechless. Clearly, this remark probed into a sensitive area. Perhaps he was unable to provide her with the children she craved, that's why she treats him so badly (when she's not providing emergency transport services) and why he dresses up like a massive baby even when he's not on stage.




They crash into the entrance of the South Pier, where Chubby's apparently about to go on stage in a few minutes, even though it's daytime and the show starts at night. He gets out and warms up for his performance by doing some stand-up to the camera.

CHUBBY: Fucking typical. I take her to badminton, she can't hit the shuttlecock. I take her to darts, she can't hit the board. I put her in the car, it's every fucking thing. How she passed her test, I don't know. She must have threatened the examiner with a blowjob. Do you know what she said when he asked what the most common road sign was? 'Pick your own fucking strawberries.'




He lets out an exaggerated, eye-crossing sigh like he's in a 1970s sitcom and ducks down to address Split-Arse, who's busy applying make-up.

CHUBBY: Thank you, my little piranha fish.

MARGARET: Piss off.

CHUBBY: (Back up to us) She has such a way with words. (Back down to Split-Arse) I'm on in five minutes, I think you'd better go and park the car.

MARGARET: Where?

Chubby's reply is incomprehensible, even to a fellow northener. Whatever he says seems to irk Margaret. But then, what wouldn't?

MARGARET: I've had it up to here with you. (Waves hand in front of face)

CHUBBY: You're thinking of fucking George again.




Chubby walks and talks, sharing his pain via more choice stand-up cuts.

CHUBBY: Is this a happy face? I'd have cut my throat years ago, if it wasn't for the fact that she's made my razor blunt by shaving her armpits, her legs and her fucking moustache.




He confidently walks into a turnstile that refuses to budge.

CHUBBY: Oomph! Fuck!

GUARD: That'll be fifty pence, please.

CHUBBY: Fifty pence for a whack in the bollocks? How much do you charge for a kick up the arse?

GUARD: Oh, comedian are we?

CHUBBY: Well I'm trying.




He arrogantly gestures to his big, beaming face above them, accompanied by a musical sting that suggests "of course!" In the most satisfying line of the film, the guard is having none of it.

GUARD: I don't give a shit. It's still 50p to come in my entrance.

Chubby obviously can't pass up the opportunity of an unrealistic feedline.

CHUBBY: I wouldn't 'come in your entrance' if I had a hard-on the size of Blackpool Tower.

The guard doesn't have anything to say to that, but it's alright, because Margaret's back, noisily parking the car because women can't drive.




CHUBBY: (Waddles over like a child needing the toilet) Lend us 50p.

MARGARET: (Reluctantly but dutifully obliges) Why've you never got any money on you? You're spending it on another woman, aren't you?

CHUBBY: Show me a woman I can fuck for fifty pence and you can have a divorce tomorrow.

He walks back to the gate. She also has no comeback for this. Maybe everyone's just helping to boost his confidence before the big show.

CHUBBY: She's tighter than a mermaid's arse, that woman.

GUARD: That your missus then, is it?

CHUBBY: You don't think I'd be knocking around with something on the side that ugly?

GUARD: She's in a spot of bother.

MARGARET (V/O): Help! Chubby! Help!




We see that a giant dog has taken to her.

MARGARET: Help me, you useless fat bastard!

Chubby decides to offer words of wisdom instead.

CHUBBY: Do what you always do.

MARGARET: What's that?

CHUBBY: Fake a fucking orgasm.

He looks so pleased with himself. Fortunately this is deflated again as he walks into the barrier a second time, so we can enjoy his hilarious groin busting reaction again.

GUARD: How many more times? Fifty pence!

Chubby has the money from his long-suffering, currently-suffering wife, but his pride means he still doesn't intend to use it, making all of that a waste of time. But at least it's a chance to basically repeat the same joke from a couple of minutes back, so they don't have to end this scene properly.

CHUBBY: The day I pay 50p to get into my own show is that day I'll show my arse in Woolies' window.




Any guesses on what's going to happen next? We cut to a high street, where a contented-looking older couple are walking arm in arm, admiring the window displays. Suddenly, the woman looks taken aback. I'll spare you the image this time.




Back on board the intergalactic battle cruiser, Zoe is sitting in a chair in what's presumably supposed to be a high-tech room of some kind, so we can get a scene of boring exposition that doesn't even attempt a laugh.

ZOE: Computer, access the 23rd century. Prepare to submit on security channel 7. Starship Eve calling Intergalactic Command.




The Supreme Commander appears on a bank of nine cathode ray tube TV sets, like you'd see in a shop window when it isn't occupied by Chubby's dirty arse.

SUPREME COMMANDER: Yes, captain?

ZOE: We have arrived. We are back in the 20th century.

SUPREME COMMANDER: Very good, captain. Have you located the heretic?

ZOE: Yes, Supreme Commander, my plan... (Realises she's slipped up, covers it up with excellent acting) I mean, your plan, is underway. Roy "Chubby" Brown is about to meet his destiny.

Quality scene.




Back down in Blackpool, Chubby's walking hastily along the pier to get to his show. He passes a man pushing a woman in a wheelchair, who tries to get his attention.

MAN: Mister Brown? Mister Brown?

CHUBBY: Sorry, I'm on in a minute.

MAN: Would you sign your autograph on me wife's leg? She's your number one fan.

Chubby reluctantly walks over and accepts the marker pen.

CHUBBY: Alright. Just to you, is it?




They didn't mention her name, so god knows how he's writing it. He notices that he has a chance to look up this vulnerable woman's skirt, so he doesn't pass it up.

CHUBBY: Um... I'd better mention your husband as well. (Under his breath) Lucky bastard.

He strolls off.

MAN: I don't know why he has such a reputation. He's a perfect gentleman.

Chubby comes back.

CHUBBY: Sorry, I forgot the full stop.

He stabs her in a private place.

CHUBBY: By the way, you have a nasty crack at the top of that plaster.

He walks off again. The couple are less impressed, but aren't going to do anything about the sexual assault. These were more care-free times.

MAN: The dirty fat bastard!




Chubby's adoring fans refuse to leave him alone as this ego-massaging sequence continues. A woman runs over carrying a cassette recorder.

WOMAN: Chubs! Can you record a personal message for my baby brother?

CHUBBY: I'm on in a minute.

WOMAN: But he's in a coma.

Chubby accepts the machine and hits record.

CHUBBY: Wake up, you dozy cunt.

Fair play, that still makes me laugh. He hands the recorder back to the woman, who doesn't look impressed.




A gaggle of journalists flock in, jabbering inane questions and taking photos of the icon. Chubby refuses to give them the time of day, instead giving us more of his stand-up set.

CHUBBY: You've got to be careful with these journalists. It's like oral sex: one slip of the tongue, you're in the shit. You've got to be intelligent, witty, sharp, diplomatic, all at the same time.

He turns around to address them.

CHUBBY: Fuck off!




Back on board the starship, Zoe and Ava are preparing to beam down.

ZOE: I must warn you, Ava, the 20th century is a brutish time. Men have no respect for women whatsoever, and there is every chance that you could be taken in the coarsest, crudest manner imaginable. Up against a wall, over a table, filthy obscenities muttered in your ears as they thrust against you, pounding and grinding. So, please make sure you have your cyanide tablet.

AVA: Yes, I have it here.

She displays the lethal tablet.

ZOE: (Patronisingly) Good girl.

When her superior isn't looking, Ava tosses it over her shoulder. She's looking forward to the away mission, the dirty slag.




Night has promptly fallen on Blackpool. Two red beams descend and the futuristic feminazis survey their surroundings. They spot the pier entrance and head inside. Presumably they each have a ticket and 50p for the guy.

We're now in one of the oddest bits of the film (one of them), which shoves a run-of-the-mill live performance in-between the plot. The two officers move along the queue as we listen to a succession of Chubby's own great songs.




Ava reacts badly to the security pat-down.

AVA: Stop it, you animal!

ZOE: He's searching you.

After Zoe's turn, Ava appears in line again, clearly gagging for it.

AVA: You missed a bit.




They take their seats. Surprisingly, Margaret has bothered to attend her husband's show, which she later visibly enjoys even as he talks shit about her. She may be having it off with the milkman (spoiler), but she's not so bad. She starts nattering away to the strangers.

MARGARET: Almost didn't make it. Take you a long time getting here?

ZOE: About fourteen and a half light years.

MARGARET: Oh, I know what you mean. That M62's terrible, isn't it?

This joke would be bad enough if a light year was even a unit of time.




The lights go up, the audience applauds, and for the next three minutes we get straight-up Roy "Chubby" Brown stand-up, which I'm not going to bother typing out. Some of it's pretty funny, some of it's inane, but the audience doesn't discriminate.




The edgier sexist punchlines are followed by shots of Zoe looking disapproving, which tacitly absolves the film of any culpability. They set out to make a film for Roy "Chubby" Brown fans, but they don't want to look like they agree with him.

Eventually, we shift uncomfortably back to the script as Chubby addresses the grumpy audience member in the futuristic hoodie.

CHUBBY: We've got a right misery over here.

ZOE: (Into communicator) Now, Dotty, now.

CHUBBY: What's the matter, love? The greengrocers ran out of cucumbers?




This is too much for the space captain from the future, who makes an ineffectual protest like she's at a Milo Yiannopoulos sermon.

ZOE: How dare you! How dare you!

Chubby and his audience are amused.

CHUBBY: If her cunt's as big as her mouth, she'll be going home on her own.

As the audience delights in this put-down, the theatre starts to shake and Chubby looks worried.




EXT: A red beam descends over the pier, swallowing the entire theatre.




INT: Chubby stands patiently still as a significantly slimmer beam descends over him. The audience isn't laughing any more.

CHUBBY: Fuckin ell. Jesus Christ...

He fades away.




MARGARET: How the hell did he do that?

She looks to her left, but the strange women have vanished too...


To be continued, I suppose

No comments:

Post a Comment