The Armstrong & Miller Show (I) | Season 3
© 1999 Channel Four
Back in 1997, the Paramount Comedy Channel unleashed Armstrong & Miller on UK TV screens. In 1999, it became The Armstrong and Miller Show, the rights having been acquired by Channel 4. Then, in 2007, the BBC bought the rights and made four more seasons. These clips are from the 1999 Channel Four version (Seasons 3 and 4). And they're frankly brilliant.
ADDED: | CLIPS: 17
WARNING: ADULT CONTENT!
PLAY ALL 17 CLIPS IN THE RANDOMISER™
Being dubbed "The Gay Serial Killer" has to be tough. Especially before you've even been convicted. And for John, there's a distinction to be made.
One word please, over here.
Excuse me, are you... are you the gay serial killer?
- actually, I will answer this one. No. I'm the serial killer who happens to be gay.
[The journalists continue to shout questions as JOHN is led away by his solicitor]
Teachers can be inspiring. They can ignite young minds, opening them to theories and possibilities they'd never even considered. But when the lesson ends...
You see, maths isn't about what's in your text books. Maths is... maths is all around us. Rob, when you take a free kick, you know... the speed, the swerve, the trajectory of the ball. That's all pure maths.
Is it, Sir?
Yeah and next Saturday, Rob, try and score a few goals! And Julie, that track I was playing.
Maths, pure and simple. Beats per minute, chord progressions, rhythm, tempo... it's all maths. You see, maths is everywhere. It's in the... the sequence of a flower's petals, you know, it's in the hexagonal honeycomb of the bee, it's in the -
[The bell rings to denote the end of the lesson]
- right, fu*k off!
But Sir, we want to hear more about maths.
It's my time now. Fu*k off.
The problem with VHS was that old recordings remained unless dubbed over. Which was fine, so long as you didn't accidentally send your family a Christmas message on the same tape you'd previously recorded a home-made porno on!
[Two young children and their parents are watching a VHS tape sent to them by relatives abroad wishing them a merry Christmas]
So we all hope you have a lovely Christmas back there in England. We'll be having our turkey on the beach.
Don't be silly, Darl, we'll be having it here in the garden.
Yeah, that's right. Come on, kids... merry Christmas everybody!
Merry Christmas! Come on...
Come on, Darling.
Merry Christmas, everybody!
[With a hiss of static, the image switches to a home-made porno, the woman being taken doggy-style by the man who's wearing a pig mask]
Give it to me, you big pig. Ugh! Oink! Oink! Oink! Oink!
[The man is grunting like a boar as the sex continues]
[The video ends]
Perhaps we should try to go over next year.
It's that inspirational teacher again. This time he targets one troubled student, trying to divert his energy away from misbehaving and inspiring him to concentrate his mind on a pursuit of knowledge.
So, Nick. Detention's nearly over and, so far, you've done nothing.
So nothing. You don't want to do anything, don't do anything. Hey, in fact... let's rip up your books.
[The TEACHER begins to rip up NICK'S exercise books]
What's the matter? Come on, Nick. Worried you're going to get into trouble? You don't care about that. You're a rebel.
You see? That's your problem, Nick. You're so half-assed. If you're going to be a rebel, be a proper rebel but you've got to put your heart and soul into it, whatever you do. Look...
[The TEACHER pulls up a chair close to NICK]
... I know you, Nick. You've got the potential to be whatever you want to be if you could just channel this fantastic energy you've got into one thing. You'd be unstoppable.
What do you mean, Sir?
What I'm trying to say is -
[The bell rings to denote the end of detention]
- right. Fu*k off.
But you were saying, Sir.
Hmm? No. Detention's over. I'm going home.
[The TEACHER leaves, pausing at a window through which he can see NICK still sitting there, bemused]
Are you deaf?!
Cancer research. It's a race to the finish line and, spearheading this effort are people like Doctor Simmons. He's brilliant. But, unlike many of his colleagues, he's also a complete a**hole.
I earned two hundred and fifty thousand pounds last year. How did I make this money? Through proper, well thought-through cancer research. What have you fu*ks come up with lately? NOTHING!
Er, but, er... Doc... Doctor Simmons, what about my discovery of secondary cancer transmission via the lymphatic system?
THAT WAS TEN YEARS AGO, YOU FU*K!
How dare you talking to Professor Patterson like that.
Look at this watch. This cost more than your car, you fu*k! My tie cost more than your fu*king suit. I've got people in labs all over London doing important humanitarian research for... for big money. These guys drive BMWs and Mercs. What do you drive, you fu*k?
A Ford Fiesta.
A Ford Fiesta.
You little piece of sh*t. Okay, here's the deal. The first one of you fu*ks to work out how to factor in the AZT level into a combination treatment for AIDS gets two weeks in the Canaries. Whoever makes a break-through on Hodgkin's Disease and ties it to incidences of localised cellular damage gets...
[DOCTOR SIMMONS opens a briefcase to reveal a set of steak knives]
... steak knives. And the third prize is... YOU'RE OUT! SACKED! YOU CAN PACK UP YOUR TEST TUBES AND FU*K OFF! IN CANCER RESEARCH AND THE RELATED AREA OF IMMUNE DEFICIENCY, WE'RE NOT INTERESTED IN FU*KING LOSERS!
Could I ask a question?
NO, YOU CAN'T, YOU FU*K! Until you've earned fifty-grand advising the Australian government on skin cancer treatments, YOU DON'T TALK TO ME... I TALK TO YOU! NOW DO SOME CANCER RESEARCH, YOU FU*KS!
[DOCTOR SIMMONS storms out of the laboratory and slams the door behind him]
Craig Children and Martin Bain-Jones. There are no words. They're typical of the kind of right-on presenters favoured by Channel Four in the mid to late 1990s. Wa*kers, the pair of them.
Hello, my name's Craig Children of the Independent on Sunday. I'm joined by Martin Bain-Jones of the Telegraph. We're here to be your... your native guides, if you will, through the densely packed market or "souk" that is Channel Four. Look over to your left. The colourful sights and sounds of graphic homosexual sex.
[He sniffs the air]
What's that? Oh, the air is now thick with the... with the heady smell of... of a tightly scripted fly-on-the-wall documentary with actors. And... and look! Just up ahead, by the Foaming Dog, we can just glimpse through the beaded curtains at European soft porn wearing the fez of ironic journalism. What treats await? What lies in store?
But first, let us drag you to our uncle's carpet shop where we flog you very good, very good sketches. I give you good price. I give you good price. Is she your daughter? Beautiful hair.
Summer fêtes. Quintessentially British. Typically held in a field, full of stalls, there is always an announcer, constantly telling visitors about upcoming events via loudspeakers.
And, erm... just casting an eye at some of the, uh... other events coming up throughout the afternoon. Five-thirty we're very lucky to have a police marksman from Bishops Haston Constabulary. He's gonna be positioning himself on top of the gymnasium, picking people off throughout the afternoon, so do stand in an open space to show your support for that.
We're still at the Summer Fête and the announcer is still doing his best to inform visitors of all the forthcoming events and attractions. Including Guess the Weight of the Homosexual.
And coming up in twenty minutes, uh... on the all-weather pitch, Guess the Weight of the Homosexual. Mr. Dervish from Mastic Farland very... kindly volunteered once more, um... for that event this year. Do, uh... go along and show your support for Guess the Weight of the Homosexual.
I've never been to a fête where there is a prostitute operating in the top field, let alone one where this fact is announced over the PA system along with her tariff.
Right, um... coming up on the top field, at three-thirty, we've got Gypsy Rosalie, taking on all-comers. 50p for oral, 75p full works, that's anal, front access etcetera... that's, uh... very reasonable, I'm sure you'll agree so, uh... do show your support for that. Erm, Mr. Cackleworth has just reminded me it's 40p for in the gob as well.
Phillip Harris. What can we say about Phillip Harris? Well, he's a TV presenter. He likes to record charity appeals. But's he's fu*king terrible at it. Absolutely, painfully... fu*king terrible at it.
Hello. My name's Phillip Harris and I'd like to take time out for a minute or two to talk about this beautiful place behind me, Culmhardy House. Established in 1956, Culmhardy House has been a women's refuge for nearly half a century. In these enlightened times, it may seem distressing to think that women need a refuge of this kind, but you only have to spend a moment here to see that the service provided is indispensable. Only here can these women be safe from the distress they've suffered in the outside world and learn once again to trust society. But, of course, a specialist institution like this can't survive without your help and Culmhardy House is reliant on your donations so please, dig deep. I'm joined by Sarah Nickson. Sarah is a counsellor here. Sarah, just what is it about these women that's so fu*king annoying? Sorry. No, we can't say that, can we? No.
When you employ a babysitter, it's nice to lay on some food and drink for them. But alcohol? Drugs? Prostitutes? No. Those things aren't necessary. Or appropriate in my humble opinion.
Right, lovely. Um... now, he normally goes to bed about eight o'clock. Um, we normally let him stay up and watch The Bill on Thursday but, uh... any time after that. Don't let him muck you about.
Mmm, right, okay.
Now, there's plenty of food in the fridge so, if you get hungry, do help yourself. And beer, uh... Tony thought you might like some beer.
Thirsty work, babysitting ain't it?
Yes. So there's quite a lot. Um, I'll show you.
[The WOMAN takes the BABYSITTER to the kitchen and opens the fridge which is packed full of cans of lager]
Now, we couldn't get it all in the fridge, I'm afraid but, uh, once you've got half-way through, just pop down to the cellar and put another twenty or thirty bottles in to chill. A few bottles of quite nice wine down there as well, so do get stuck in. And obviously the vodka's in the freezer should you run out. Now, if you do get completely sh*t-faced, don't be afraid to chunder away pretty much where you stand. There's some smack in the bottom drawer of the cupboard. It's a bit old but, uh... if it's a bit stale, then there's plenty of coke in the tea caddy so you can snort away to your heart's content. Um... Tony, has the whore arrived?
She's in the spare room, Darling.
Lovely. Thought you might be feeling a bit randy later on so we've got a whore for you upstairs. Well, actually, we've got a couple because we weren't quite sure if you're gay or straight so we got one of each
Uh, I'm straight, actually.
Oh, well that's lovely, well just get the other one to do the washing-up or something. Okay. Now, what else? Uh... there's chocolate as I say, booze, drugs, whore... keys!
It's Phillip Harris again, fronting an appeal for Wheelon's House, a centre for children with special needs. And it's all going so well until he decides to do an offensive imitation of a client.
Hello. My name's Phillip Harris and I'd like to take a break for a second to just talk about a cause which I'm sure you'll agree is an extremely worthwhile one. Since it's establishment in 1972, Wheelon's House has become a leading centre for special needs kids. We boast the country's largest indoor riding complex for those with special needs and two years ago, we set up the internet's first online therapy and advice network, now accessed my millions worldwide. But, of course, these things can't happen without your help. And the Wheelon's Foundation is entirely dependent on your donations so please, lend whatever support you can and dig deep because these kids really need your help. Take the example of Martin. Martin's only four-years-old and already shows real signs of becoming extremely -
[PHILLIP HARRIS pushes his tongue into his bottom lip, lets his hands fall limp at the wrists and makes an offensive noise which, back in the 1970s would have been a slightly more acceptable (but no less offensive) way of denoting mental disability]
Sorry. Sorry, what is the word we now use?!
Porn films. They're not known for their realism or authenticity. And that's not usually a problem. But what if the performers were perfectionists who were sticklers for detail?
[BEN and ALEXANDER are dressed as Sheriffs in this mock-up of a German porn film. They enter a café and sit down at a table, speaking in a language which sounds vaguely Germanic]
Mittun ze bitte?
Sorry. Sorry, I've just go a... sorry, something about this just doesn't ring true. You see, what... what's worrying us is, you see, I've got the one stripe, he's got three stripes.
Three stripes. I must be senior...
Surely that means he's senior to me, so he would initiate the sex?
Yeah, I mean what I could do is I could, um... stand up, maybe after sort of... Ja. Take these off... no, I'll keep those on. Then I can start off with a bit of...
[He starts miming sex acts whilst uttering guttural Germanic words]
Maybe there? Is that okay with you?
Yeah, that's fine with me. I thought that's what we were doing anyway, but...
No, worth getting it right. Worth getting it right.