[♪ LESLEY GORE: "You Don't Own Me"]
♪ You don't own me
♪ I'm not just one of your many toys
♪ You don't own me
♪ Don't say I can't go with other boys... ♪
[Man] Hello, darling!
- Whoa! - ♪ And don't tell me what to do
♪ Don't tell me what to say... ♪
[Woman] Cover your eyes! Cover your eyes!
♪ Please when I go out with you
♪ Don't put me on display... ♪
Would you like an upgrade, young lady?
I've an empty First Class carriage.
And why would you be so kind?
Well...
You're making these people uncomfortable.
Why would they be uncomfortable?
I'm perfectly comfortable.
Why would you dress like that?
There are children present.
What are you grinning at?
You're just like your father.
First Class has tea and toast.
Nice bit of strawberry jam.
Provocateuring does make one quite hungry.
♪ That's all I ask of you
♪ I'm young, and I love to be young
♪ I'm free, and I... ♪
[Train horn blares]
♪ ...live my life the way I want
♪ To say and do whatever I please ♪
[Gunshot]
[Crackling]
[Chrissie] Oh, he's back.
[Jordan] At least he waited outside this time.
Hey!
- Hey, you alive? - [Groans] I don't think so.
We were taking bets
on how long before they found you floating in the Thames.
- OK, move! We gotta open. - I'll give you a hand.
"Singer walking off stage before he's sung" is a novel approach.
- [Steve] Yeah. - [Jordan] It was cool.
Was it?
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?
I come like this from home.
- On the train? - 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?
I can't understand her half the time...
- ...but she has got guts. - Yeah.
As opposed to some.
Why didn't you sing?
Uhm...
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.
Oh, uh... S...
Uh...
Mum!
[Viv] 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.
- I don't care. - 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...
Stop. Stop.
Turn around. Face the wall.
- What? - Face the wall!
There. Stay.
'Real son',
could you go get Daddy's sword?
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.
- 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.
Wh... What about Wally?
Well, it's absolutely forbidden
for any rock star to wear spectacles.
- That's a bit harsh. - Well, don't blame me!
I don't make the rules.
You must sack him.
I assume you can play?
- Um... - Good!
Well, it can't be that hard! Everyone does these days.
Mm!
And I think we've found our new singer.
That was quick.
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.
[John] Ooh, naughty, naughty.
This will do very nicely for me and the missus.
But what'll the kiddies wear?
Microphone.
I only sing out of tune.
Fucking hell!
Pillock!
Ladies! Pretend you're on stage,
and just sing along.
Otherwise Steve Jones here's
gonna beat the bloody daylights out of you.
I don't think so.
We'll see.
[♪ ALICE COOPER: "I'm Eighteen"]
Oh, Alice.
My mum loves him.
♪ Lines form on my face and hands
♪ Lines form from the ups and downs
♪ I'm in the middle without any plans
- ♪ I'm a boy and I'm a man... ♪ - Are you gonna sing?
[Out of tune] ♪ I'm eighteen
♪ Have sex in the grass
♪ Eighteen
♪ What a farce
♪ Get sex, we never stop
♪ Weird sex
♪ Now it's a shop ♪
- [Blows raspberry] - [Cooper] ♪ I'll go runnin'
♪ In outer space, oh yeah... ♪
♪ I got a baby's brain
♪ And an old geezer's heart... ♪
- [Blows nose] - [Cooper] ♪ Took eighteen years
♪ To get this far... ♪
[John] ♪ All I wanted was a pair of dirty shoes
♪ Now you're gettin' me all confused
♪ Eighteen
♪ I've got vile breath
♪ Eighteen
♪ Are you fuckin' deaf?
♪ Eighteen
♪ Shop till you drop ♪
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!
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?
[Rattling]
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]
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.
I'm game.
It will be a chance to hear England's greatest guitarist.
May as well join the tossers.
Excellent. I'll set it up.
And get me those shoes.
[Train rumbling] [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.
Oh, fuck off, Florence Nightingale.
You haven't even met him. He was just taking the piss.
- All right. - I thought he had potential.
[Steve] Then why didn't you go to the bleedin' rehearsal?
[Cookie] 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.
What the fuck!
- Hello, Malcolm. - Hello.
Why didn't you go to rehearsal?
- What rehearsal? - John and his mates
came to my shop wanting to kick my bloody head in.
- 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.
- You've been told, son. - Shut up!
[Knocking]
[Door opens]
[John] My, my!
It's Kutie Jones.
What you want?
About the rehearsals.
Sorry, it was a... bit of a misunderstanding.
- We forgot. - Oh, yeah?
Malcolm's organising another, and we'll be there.
I won't.
The place was a shithole.
[Rats squeaking]
The rats were so noisy,
we wouldn't have been able to hear each other.
- I'll tell Malcolm. - I already have.
Good.
- Not really. - What?
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.
[♪ T. REX: "Jeepster"]
Great.
Bye-bye, Kutie.
♪ You're so sweet
♪ You're so fine
♪ I want you all and everything just to be mine
- ♪ Cos you're my baby... ♪ - [Chrissie] Nice guitar.
Where'd you steal it?
Malcolm gave it to me.
It was Sylvain Sylvain's.
- Of the New York Dolls? - Yeah.
Why'd he give it to you?
I'm gonna be our new guitarist.
- What happened to Wally? - Uh...
You fucking prick!
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.
Any relation?
Now, Mick Jones is a very interesting young guitarist
who is looking for a collaborator.
OK.
- Thanks. - What about John?
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.
[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?
Good.
Great.
Ready to do battle.
Mm, good.
Don't let me down.
I won't.
Good boy.
[♪ ELVIS PRESLEY: "An American Trilogy"]
♪ Little baby
♪ Don't you cry
♪ You know your daddy's...
♪ ...bound to die
♪ But all my trials, Lord...
♪ ...soon be over
[♪ Music over dialogue]
♪ Glory, glory
♪ Hallelujah
♪ His truth is marching on
♪ His truth is marching... ♪
[Plucks strings]
[Grunts] Ugh!
Fuck!
[Grunts]
[♪ THE KINKS: "All Day And All Of The Night"]
♪ I'm not content to be with you
♪ In the daytime... ♪
Ah-hah! This is the one I was telling you about.
"Singer who walks off stage before he's sung."
No, that... That was last week.
Currently, I'm doing "guitarist who can't play".
- Oh, I love that. - Mm.
- Can anyone do it? - Mm-hmm.
Sioux, we're all doing it.
I'm currently doing "painter who can't paint".
Last week, I was doing "actress who cannot act".
And tonight I'm doing
"drag queen who can't drag her arse around Soho
"in these hideous high heels".
Hey, do you... you got any speed, love?
[Woman] Oh, God, it's freezing.
[Man] Cheeky!
Black Beauty diet pills.
If I take too many of these,
I'm up all night scrubbing the floor with a toothbrush.
- Oh, that'll do. - Come and club with us.
Uh, no, I... I can't.
I got something on.
- [Woman] Jordan. - Bye, love.
[Woman, laughing] Oi!
Phoebe... got a light?
[O Fun"]
♪ No fun
♪ My babe
♪ No fun
♪ No fun to hang around
♪ Freaked out
♪ For another day
♪ Well, maybe go out
♪ Or maybe stay home
♪ Or maybe I call Mum on the telephone
♪ Well, come on... ♪
[♪ Music stops]
- What you doing here? - We've come for the rehearsal.
- What rehearsal? - With John.
- That's not till Friday. - It's Friday.
Yeah, that's what I said, it's Friday.
- We know that. - Then what are you doing here?
Well, today's Friday.
- Can't be. - What are you on?
Black Beauties.
Well, if Mum had given me these when I was a kid,
I might've learned something at school.
Oh, fuck it, where'd they all go?
How long have you been up?
Since Monday.
- [Glen] Jesus! - [Cookie] Why?
Learning guitar. Pretty much got it down.
[Chuckles] No, you don't learn guitar in four days!
It's five, isn't it?
Right. So, first we had "the singer who can't sing",
and now we have "the guitarist who's a drug addict".
I'm a real musician, yeah?
Plenty of other bands wanna play with me, actually.
I'm gone. Goodbye.
[♪ Steve plays "No Fun" riff on guitar]
Woo-hoo!
Fuck!
Did you just play that?
Yeah.
Well, show me what else you got.
Sure.
Let me just take a kip first, though, so...
[Cookie] It's all right. Happens a lot.
He'll be fine.
Right, let's set up.
[Glen] He's not coming.
Nah, give it another hour. I bet he turns up.
But why would he wanna join the Fucked Four?
My legendary musicianship.
A Stooges riff does not make you Keith Richards.
John's got cigarette stubs for teeth, right?
He can't sing.
He's cracked in the head.
He hasn't exactly got a lot going for him either.
- Hey. - [Glen] I really am leaving.
We've gotta audition him for Malcolm.
He'll be shit, and then we'll give him the boot, right?
- He is funny, though. - Who's funny?
- We was just talking about ya. - That's not very polite, is it?
There's nothing else to do seeing as you're 4 hours late.
- Better late than never. - I don't think that it is.
John.
John, this is Glen.
- Hi. I'm Glen. - I know that.
I play bass.
Nice place.
Yeah, Malcolm's paying a fortune for it.
The lead singer from Badfinger hung his-self here a week ago.
He probably got it for tuppence.
- Really? - Poor bastard.
It's still... nice.
- Well, we should rehearse. - I can't sing.
- We can't play. - Actually, I'm pretty good.
- Huh. Are ya? - Yeah.
Who are your influences?
Um...
The Beatles.
- Ooh... - No.
- Yeah. - Well, yeah.
Actually, they are really good, but loads of others.
Just tell me a song you like. I can pretty much play anything.
- "Maggie Mae" by Rod Stewart. - Great, I know that.
[Laughing] Pathetic!
If you don't like what you see,
John, you're welcome to fuck off.
I probably should do that.
Between The Beatles and Rod Stewart,
- it is a bit disappointing. - [Steve] I'll tell Malcolm.
How are my sexy young assassins?
John was just leaving.
"Leaving"? No, come on, show me what you've done.
Nothing! All's they know is Beatles and Rod Stewart.
- Could do a Small Faces song. - Do you have any idea
how much I've already personally invested in you?
The lead singer of Badfinger hung himself here.
Yes, I know that. That's why I got it half price.
You see, that's what a good manager does. Gets a good deal.
But the lease did cost me a thousand pounds.
And not to mention the fact you have been living here rent free.
- How did you know? - I visited two days ago.
- Did you? - Yeah.
Here's some more Black Beauties.
I don't even get bus fare and he gets amphetamines and free rent?
Shut the fuck up, John!
- That's it, go on, go at him! - I'll go at you.
Tear into each other
like the seditionary sewer rats that you are.
- What? - Oh, bloody hell!
For fuck's sake!
I want to hear the fury of the forgotten generation.
- Play the riff. - What? What riff?
The only one you know, you berk! Go on.
A generation with no future.
A generation with no other aim but to destroy.
[♪ Plays riff]
Yes, that's it, my boy.
England's greatest guitarist.
Just the two chords, is it?
More like England's greatest moron.
Sing, John.
Show me that rancid brilliance that you have.
- He can't fucking sing. - I don't know the words, Steve.
- Just make them up. - I'm not a wind-up doll!
Who looks like a moron now, John?
Eh?
[♪ Plays riff]
Bye-bye, Johnny.
Bye-bye.
Ooh, Jimi Hendrix knows a Stooges riff.
Stooges!
You do know the song. You just can't sing.
♪ No fun
♪ No fun... ♪
- That's it, my boy. Sing! - Shut the fuck up!
♪ No fun
♪ My babe
♪ No fun
♪ Fun to be alone
♪ Something up your arse
♪ Fun to be alone
♪ Something...
♪ Something, whatever the fuck
♪ I may be going out
♪ And I may be staying at home
♪ Maybe... ♪
Fuck! What's... What happened there?
England's greatest guitarist.
You were completely out of tune.
- What's your chord? - It goes to 'E' there.
[♪ Plays chord]
Right. From the top.
One, two, three...
Here, go, go, go, go, go, go, go.
In, in, in, in, in, this is us, this is us, this is us.
♪ Road Runner, Road Runner
♪ At a thousand miles an hour... ♪
Jordan, make sure they let us in.
Keep going, keep going. Just down here...
♪ ...Runner, Road Runner
♪ At a thousand miles an hour
♪ I fell in love with the modern world... ♪
We heard there was a party.
No, no party.
Well, then we better make one.
- Get lively, boys. - Jordan.
[♪ Reggae music playing]
I never let the shop dictate my style, it's about how I feel.
If anything, I've seen Vivienne take inspiration
from the things that I wear from home.
Loads of people are on the game. Prostitution isn't that bad.
I mean, I've had a few offers, I've thought about it.
Do it if I were you. It's a couple of quid.
Music is fundamentally young people's music, right?
Ganja, Rasta, reggae,
they're all part of the same social movement.
It's a pretty good movement.
Mm.
I thought you was doing "painter who couldn't paint"?
It's actually pretty good.
Malcolm.
Please don't tell.
I didn't catch your name.
Helen of Troy.
The face that launched a thousand hips.
Oh, I like you.
Mm.
Stand in line, pet.
[Exhales] Don't worry, I will.
[Laughs]
Oi, give us one of those, would ya?
Jordan? Have you seen Chrissie lately?
She's not around much. Maybe she's got a fella on the side.
Oi! Bromley is so boring, I feel like blowing it up
just to see if anyone notices it's gone.
[Cheering]
You finding your way around the fretboard OK?
Would be if I knew what a fretboard was.
How are you getting on with the other Jones?
Oh, he's charming, talented, funny.
Nothing like you.
Sounds like your boyfriend should be worried.
No, my relationship with Mick Jones is completely platonic.
I'm glad it's platonic with that Jones.
[Chrissie] Me, too.
[Steve] Listen, I'm not taking the piss. Can we go upstairs?
Welcome to me palace.
Here dwelleth the Prince of Denmark Street.
With his noble sword, Excalibur.
You're right... Makes no sense
that Malcolm would give me this amazing guitar.
Probably just thought it'd look good on stage.
The thing is...
I never learnt nothing at school,
I couldn't concentrate.
They call you a moron...
and it just gets worse.
But I always understood music.
And now I got this chance, and I don't wanna fuck it up.
And I know that you get it.
I really need the help.
So, I was wondering, would you teach me how to play properly?
I have no interest in being your guitar teacher, Jonesy.
I got too many problems of my own.
Suppose a fuck's out of the question?
Yes, it pretty much is.
"Pretty much"?
Very much.
Scale of one to a hundred,
where one is "I just need to brush me teeth",
and a hundred is
"not if you was the last man on earth", where's it sitting?
Ninety-eight.
"Ninety-eight"? Not bad.
Good night, Jonesy.
Ninety-eight.
[Crowd] ♪ Hey!
♪ Hey!
♪ We sang shang-a-lang and we ran with the gang
♪ Doin' doo-op-dooby-doo-i
♪ We were all in the news With our blue suede shoes
♪ And our dancin' the night away
♪ Yeah, we sang shang-a-lang and we ran with the gang
♪ Doin' doo-op-dooby-doo-i
♪ With the jukebox playin' and everybody sayin'
♪ That music like ours couldn't die... ♪
Let me hear you!
Whoo-hoo!
Tonight a new movement is born.
To a Bay City Rollers soundtrack?
Never underestimate the power of Tartan, my boy.
♪ Hey, hey, rockin' to the music
♪ Hey, hey, rockin' to the music... ♪
You fucking wanker!
♪ Hey, hey
♪ We sang shang-a-lang and we ran with the gang
♪ Doin' doo-op-dooby-doo-i ♪
Destroy.
[♪ BO DIDDLEY: "Pills"]♪ As I was lying in a hospital bed
♪ A rock 'n' roll nurse going to my head... ♪
- Oh, hello, John. - What's going on, Viv?
You said I could be in the band.
- You are in the band. - Am I?
No, you're not. Who are you?
This is the John I was telling you about, with the cheekbones.
I've already got the John with the cheekbones.
No, you got John with the teeth. He's my mate.
- You got the wrong John? - I wanna be in the band.
- Well, we don't need you. - Malcolm!
How could you be so daft?
How was I supposed to know there were two Johns
with impeccable cheekbones and a penchant for safety pins?
Look at him. He's perfect.
There's a lot more to a great rock and roll group
than just looks.
You said it had nothing to do with the music.
It doesn't. It has everything to do with chemistry,
and I've got that perfect.
- Have you, Malc? - They hate each other already.
What if it all gets too much for Steve?
What if he crumbles again?
Well, if he does, we now have a replacement.
- Put that back. - Huh?
- Put that back. - Put what back?
Give it to me.
Get out.
[Malcolm] "Give the dog a bone"?
What does that mean?
When you're seventeen, all you want to do is shag.
- Do ya? - Yeah.
- Just sing it. - I'm not singing that.
It sounds like it's written by a moron.
Just sing it.
How old's Malcolm?
- Don't know. - Twenty-nine.
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!
- It's a little bit weird. - You're welcome.
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.
I need the bog.
John.
I know what we should call ya.
Rotten. On account of your teeth.
Johnny fucking Rotten.
That's brilliant!
I love it.
Who's he think he is?
- He is a bit of a prick. - He's just... weird.
Little fucker.
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.
My mum calls me Sime.
- Slime is good. - "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.
Hello, Sid.
We'll call you Sid. After the hamster.
- What's his second name? - Hamsters don't have surnames.
Well, I'm gonna need a second name.
For legal purposes.
Sid Ritchie sounds OK.
Argh!
Sid's really vicious.
[♪ Music playing]
[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.
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.
[Dog barking]
- Oh, you're awake. - What are you doing?
We like noise, it's our choice.
We gotta be loud tomorrow.
Yeah, I know.
We don't have a proper amp.
Just use Bazooka Joe's.
The main bands always turn the support down
so they don't sound as good as 'em.
It's the oldest trick in the book.
Come on, I know where to get one.
- No, I'm working tomorrow. - Tomorrow's the gig.
Yeah, I've gotta work first, you pillock.
Not everyone gets to live the life of Riley.
Oh, pardon me for being so fortunate.
Is everything all right...? Oh, hello, Steve.
- Hello, Mrs C. - Sorry, Mum.
Steve was just leaving.
You can use the front door, Steve.
Oh, no, it's no trouble. This is just as easy.
Sorry to wake you, Mrs C.
- Night, love. - Night, Mum.
[Thunder rumbling]
It's important!
Can't say your old mate Jonesy don't show you a good time.
Yeah, or nearly get me arrested on a weekly basis.
Let's fire it up.
I gotta be at work in two hours.
Oh, fuck!
That apprenticeship,
it's getting in the way of your real job.
- Yeah, my real job don't pay. - It will.
The Pistols are gonna be bigger than The Stones.
Do you know how many shit bands there are in London right now
- saying that? - We ain't shit.
Or we won't be soon.
Get some sleep.
[♪ Loud chords on guitar]
- Oi, John! - John, John, wait. It's just up there.
[Indistinct chattering]
Fucking hell!
Through those doors there.
Look at all these stupid hippies.
- Gonna hate us. - I hope so.
No wonder you're a student here, Glen, you fit right in.
You should be playing medieval mandolin with Rick Fakeman.
Yeah? Piss off!
[Man] Excuse me, mate. Could you tell me
where the abstract expressionism lecture is this evening?
What?
It's on that notice-board. I can't read it from here.
I'm running late.
- Oh, fuck off, you dumb hippie. - That's the boy!
Fuck abstract expressionism.
Steve plays guitar, very badly, and he doesn't like to read.
- Come see us play, we're awful. - Guys, come on, one more time,
one more time... two, three.
♪ Went to the dance...
[♪ Song continues indistinctly]
Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa.
You're not using that.
Actually, mate, we are.
Feeling a bit inadequate, are we?
I've already sorted this with your manager.
We don't give a shit!
It's our amp or you don't play.
I bet it's fucking stolen anyway.
Steve?
It's all right.
Leave it.
Right. Two, three, four.
[♪ Song resumes]
Yeah, OK, Mick.
An all-guy line-up?
Yeah, but I mean, I... I could just come along and jam.
[Phone beeping, coin drops]
Shit! Sorry, can you hear me?
Hello?
[Crackling]
[Whirring]
- Are you all right? - Never better.
Problem solved.
I'm now Sid. Sid Vicious.
That is an excellent name.
John christened me... after his hamster.
John is a clever boy.
Careful, loves. Hippie alert.
Not always, Vivienne.
See, he's perfect.
Whoever votes to sack Glen, raise their hand.
Piss off, John.
Cookie, your government needs you.
We've nearly got the numbers for a simple majority.
Steve, being the culpable moron he is, will probably abstain.
- Oh, no, where are you going? - For a piss, all right?
[Retching]
It's not time for another runner, Jonesy.
I'm just some moron with a white guitar...
who can barely play.
I came to London because I thought America was over.
It turns out England is asleep.
It needs a good kick up its tight little limey ass.
You and Rotten might just be the ones to do it.
Suppose a fuck's still out of the question?
Go fuck the music.
What are you doing?
We like noise.
You touch that plug...
we will destroy you.
We're the Fucked Four.
We're gonna kick this country awake if it kills us.
Yes, that's more like it.
We are going to the toppermost of the poppermost.
- What? - [Glen] What?
That's what The Beatles used to say
when they were in shitty dressing-rooms like this.
- You know, thinking they'd... - Beatles!
Oh, you've bloody jinxed us.
We're gonna need our own saying.
- How about... - No more Beatles shit!
I've got it. "Get pissed..."
"Destroy!"
Bloody brilliant.
Yeah. Oh.
♪ You're only twenty-nine
♪ Got a lot to learn
♪ Cos when your mummy dies
♪ She will not return
♪ We like noise
♪ It's our choice
♪ It's what we wanna do
♪ We don't care about long hair
♪ I don't wear flares
♪ See my face, not a trace
♪ No reality
♪ I don't work, I just speed
♪ That's all I need... ♪
[Viv] This is it!
♪ I'm a lazy sod
♪ I'm so lazy... ♪
- They're terrible. - Yeah.
Fucking great.
♪ I'm a lazy sod
♪ I'm so lazy... ♪
How are we gonna follow this?
♪ Unbelievably... ♪
[♪ Music stops]
Sid!
[♪ YES: "Starship Trooper"]
[Gunshot]
[♪ "Shang-A-Lang" (Instrumental Version)]