[Police lights go on while they are speeding in a sportscar] Shit! Pull over! Steve, pull over now! I'm gonna lose my apprenticeship!
They'll definitely kick the shit out of us for having a better motor than them!
I shouldn't have let you talk me into this!
PPolice officer
[Walking to vehicle] Won the pools, have we, lads?
PPolice officer
Step out of the vehicle, sir.
All right. [Accelerates away]
You're a fucking lunatic!
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!
You and your bloody cloak of invisibility! It doesn't work, does it?
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.
...
You mean... we can rehearse here as long as we want?
WSWally's father
Yep! We're rewiring the entire building. It'll take years.
WSWally's father
Just make sure I get a ride in your Rolls when you're famous. [Walks away]
All right, good news! I've come up with a new name.
What's wrong with the old name?
Yeah, I like "The Strand".
Nah, it's boring. Like Glen's hair.
Ladies and gentlemen, I give you "The Swankers".
"The Swankers"? Sounds like "Wankers".
Why do you get to choose the name?
I can sing better than you can play. I'm the best musician.
You're also a jumped-up little ponce who likes The Beatles and minor diminished 4ths. Oh, yeah. Plus, I nicked all the gear.
Phantom of the Odeon. And, uh... I've written an original.
Oh, it's... It's not actually written down.
Oh! So, when you say you've "written" a song, you mean...
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...
Jesus! They don't call you "Wally" for nothing, do they? Glen... Do you remember the chords?
Like this: Da-na-na-na-na... Yeah, that's right. Yeah, that's right. Glen?
All right, play D. Yeah, Glen?
Yeah. That's it. Right, repeat it.
Give us some noise. [Plays a song] What happens next?
Uh, I don't know. I gotta come up with more lyrics.
It's a bloody good start.
Well, it's not quite The Beatles, but...
Right, one, two... with the music, Now we've got to think image.
Yeah, how about tight suits with white shirts and skinny ties?
No! No, like The Small Faces. We cover their songs.
No, it ain't. It's no good copying other bands. We gotta be like us.
What, four broke, working class gits who can't play for shit?
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!
She said we could borrow clothes for the band. I won't even have to nick 'em.
Yeah. Malcolm's gonna manage us.
Did he actually say that?
Well, no, but he wants me to... you know, inspire him.
Yeah, for his revolution.
So... So... he's not managing us.
Not yet, but he will. I'm gonna convince him.
[Pamela has gotten on train in a transparent plastic shirt]
WWoman
[To son] Cover your eyes! Cover your eyes!
TCTrain conductor
[To Pamela] Would you like an upgrade, young lady? I've an empty First Class carriage.
And why would you be so kind?
TCTrain conductor
Well... You're making these people uncomfortable.
Why would they be uncomfortable? I'm perfectly comfortable.
WWoman
Why would you dress like that? There are children present. [To son] What are you grinning at? You're just like your father.
TCTrain conductor
First Class has tea and toast. Nice bit of strawberry jam.
Provocateuring does make one quite hungry.
At least he waited outside this time.
[Groans] I don't think so.
We were taking bets on how long before they found you floating in the Thames.
Okay, move! We gotta open.
"Singer walking off stage before he's sung" is a novel approach.
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.
Where do you get changed for work?
I come like this from home.
Being seen is a political act. Shoving it in their stuck-up faces, bunch of hypocrites. Supposed to be a free country.
Where do you get the balls?
As you can see... I don't have any. This is a vulva-powered revolution.
Why take the train if you've got a Volvo?
[Laughs] You're funny... Kutie Jones. Tea? [Walks away]
I can't understand her half the time... but she has got guts.
Yeah. As opposed to some. Why didn't you sing?
Umm... I guess the new improved cloak of invisibility didn't live up to expectations.
Being seen is generally part of being on stage, Steve.
Do you think Viv and Malcolm would give me another chance?
Better hurry. They've been looking for a new singer.
We've been looking for you.
Give me another shot, I promise I won't fuck it up. Sorry... to swear in front of the kids.
VSViv's son
I do. I'm always getting into trouble for swearing at school. Can't fucking help it now.
Don't you worry about them smelly old fascists, darling.
What's 'other man's child' doing here?
Don't be a prick, Malcolm. He hasn't stayed in months.
Malcolm, I was just saying how I...
[To Steve] Stop. Stop. [Points past Steve] Turn around. Face the wall.
[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.
MSMalcolm's son
Your sword, Sire.
Thank you very much. But on parting, Sylvain Sylvain entrusted something sacred into my safekeeping. Like Merlin giving Arthur Excalibur.
Actually, it was The Lady of the Lake gave Arthur Excalibur.
Please, do you mind, I'm trying to create a situation here.
Please stop. What's going on?
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.
Well, it's absolutely forbidden for any rock star to wear spectacles.
Well, don't blame me! I don't make the rules. You must sack him. I assume you can play?
Good! Well, it can't be that hard! Everyone does these days. Mm! And I think we've found our new singer.
Well, I spotted him in the shop. His name's John.
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.
He wears his clothes in a very interesting way.
Got very interesting teeth, too.
I didn't notice his teeth.
Ooh, naughty, naughty. This will do very nicely for me and the missus. But what'll the kiddies wear?
Ladies! Pretend you're on stage, and just sing along. Otherwise Steve Jones here's gonna beat the bloody daylights out of you.
We'll see. [Malcolm starts playing Alice Cooper's I'm Eighteen]
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?!
Well, let's set up a rehearsal first, and then we can talk about your shoes.
Fuck that! [Throws mic on ground and walks away]
He's right. I don't think this is gonna work.
I thought it was interesting.
Maybe for a Christmas panto.
Why are you wasting my time?!
...
[Standing outside the Sex store] Open the door, please.
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.
[Laughs maniacally] You're a tosser.
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.
Now, who wants to toss with me? One rehearsal.
It will be a chance to hear England's greatest guitarist.
May as well join the tossers.
Excellent. I'll set it up.
I don't think it's right just not turning up.
Ten to one he doesn't turn up himself.
But he might, and that would be really rude.
Oh, fuck off, Florence Nightingale. You haven't even met him. He was just taking the piss.
All right. I thought he had potential.
Then why didn't you go to the bleedin' rehearsal?
No point going on me own.
We should've told Malcolm.
Malcolm doesn't care. He's probably found a dozen others by now.
Why didn't you go to rehearsal?
John and his mates came to my shop wanting to kick my bloody head in.
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]
[Steve knocks on John's door and then promptly walks away when unanswered then John opens door to see Steve's head over fence]
My, my! It's Kutie Jones. What you want?
About the rehearsals. Sorry, it was a... bit of a misunderstanding. We forgot.
Malcolm's organising another, and we'll be there.
I won't. The place was a shithole. The rats were so noisy, we wouldn't have been able to hear each other.
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".
I told Malcolm that, too. Great.
Nice guitar. Where'd you steal it?
Malcolm gave it to me. It was Sylvain Sylvain's.
I'm gonna be our new guitarist.
FWFlashback Wally
You fucking prick!
FSFlashback Steve
Well, don't blame me, I don't make the rules.
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...
Feel free. Everyone's piling it on today.
...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.
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.
Now, Mick Jones is a very interesting young guitarist who is looking for a collaborator.
Sorted. But with Wally gone we've got nowhere to rehearse.
...
Come with me to Denmark... Street. London's answer to Tin Pan Alley. It's the epicentre of the music scene.
AFArchival 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.
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."
Thanks, Malcolm. It's brilliant.
John comes by on Friday for rehearsals. How are you and Excalibur getting along?
Great. Ready to do battle. Mm, good. Don't let me down.
[Steve has produced lyrics scrawled out on ripped out notebook pages]
"Give the dog a bone"? What does that mean?
When you're seventeen, all you want to do is shag.
I'm not singing that. It sounds like it's written by a moron.
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!
We like noise, it's our choice...
It's good. We're keeping that. Easy and simple.
Good. And "I don't work, I just speed, that's all I need".
Yeah, some of it's all right, Steve, if I could read it. Honestly, did you even go to school?
[Scoffs] No, not really. Don't worry, I'll work it out.
John. I know what we should call ya. Rotten. On account of your teeth.
Johnny fucking Rotten. That's brilliant! I love it. [Goes out door]
[Watching outside] Little fucker.
[John and Simon/Sid are walking to John's flat]
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.
"Sime", not "Slime". It's short for "Simon". John Simon Ritchie.
You can't be called Simon either, it's a shit name. Hence why I prefer John.
I don't see why we can't both be called John. Confusion is good.
I've only just noticed your teeth. You look like my fucking hamster.
[Noticing John's hamster] Hello, Sid.
We'll call you Sid. After the hamster.
Hamsters don't have surnames.
Well, I'm gonna need a second name. For legal purposes.
[Hamster bites Sid's finger] Argh! Sid's really vicious.
[Malcolm and the band are watching Rick Wakeman]
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.
Actually, I got us the gig. I am a student there.
Details, Glen. The point is... is that this is it, boys. This is your big break. Tomorrow night, we launch our mission of destruction.
