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1999 to 2002 There's going to be a lot of head clattering (in Guest
House Paradiso). Can't wait. Ade has been shockingly careful to make sure I'm all right on
this film (Guest House Paradiso) - and I am. We've always prided
ourselves on not using stuntmen, unless it is something they do better like
jumping off a cliff or falling downstairs. There has been quite a lot of
head-battering over the years but I can honestly say Ade has never hurt me.
Alexei Sayle knocked me out with a shotgun once and I think it was Nigel
(Planer) who hit me with a real brick rather than a plastic one, but overall
I've been lucky. Alan (B'Stard from The New Statesman) is away
licking his wounds, or someone else's wounds. I think we carried on with him
longer than we should but we couldn't leave him alone. It was a mistake really
and it would be a shame to go back to him now. Before the accident people used to say: "Do something crazy,
Rik." Now it's genuine affection. It's not "Hello, darling, how are you?" but
more straightforward. "You all right, Rik?" "You better now, mate?" That's
great. We've (Ade and Rik) always been attracted to TV because of the
way that the special effects department can realise anything. If we want Eddie
to pick up a piano and hit Ritchie over the head with it and he goes through
the floor and then his trousers catch fire and then he changes sex and then
they go to heaven - it can happen. But in a feature-length film you cannot
sustain the comedy for longer than roughly 15 minutes to an hour. We've always been with those two characters, and they're always
called Ritchie and Eddie. Ritchie and Eddie and Mr Jolly Lives Next
Door, for example. So it's (Guest House Paradiso) not the
Bottom movie, no, but I'm Ritchie Twat in this, as I've been
Richard Ritchie before, and Eddie has been Eddie Hitler before. Ade knows me better than anyone, apart from Barbara my wife. And
he can tell me how to do something. He knows I'm not as clever as him and if he
wants to explain he'll say "Look I'll show you." I chose him in '75 and he
chose me in '75, we've been together ever since because we just suit each
other. Things he can't do I can do, and things I certainly can't do he can do.
And I've also never worked on such an egalitarian set sounds too nice for Ade).
He's violently egalitarian. You get no aristocracy that you do on some film
sets. It's just straight, it's just a bunch of equal experts working well
together and that all comes from Ade's way of leading. Unfortunately, when you bang your head, you're open to epilepsy
and I have suffered a couple of times. I was doing a voice-over in February and
I just couldn't get it together. I was hearing stuff the crew couldn't hear and
I was frightened. Eventually I said, "I don't feel well so I'm going to go
home, which way is my house?" We were only a few streets away and I thought,
"Fuck, I don't know my way home, this is getting frightening." So they took me
home. I got halfway up my stairs. That's all I remember. Barbie came home and
she came up the stairs and heard a noise from my daughter Rosie's room. She
looked in and I was lying on the bed like this (lies back and starts
shuddering). So she thought, "What the fuck am I going to do, he's on his
daughter's bed and he's wanking." Then she came back in and said, "Oh thank
fuck, it's epilepsy!" Haha! And it was all because I'd been a bit slack taking
my pills. So that taught me a good lesson. We're not aware or concerned about Hollywood. I know it sounds
as if I'm feigning disdain but that's a genuine feeling. We didn't decide to do
a film (GHP), we just had a great idea for something whose best stage would be
a film. Me and Ade have got a life sentence and as times moves on we move from
cell to cell. We started 25 years ago and it's still the same gag, we just keep
disguising it. The greatest joy of my life, apart from my family, is my work
and I'm not going to fuck up my career. They (his children) have their own lives to lead. But, yes, they
are very quick. Subtle. When I'm halfway through a joke they will pull a
disdainful face and say, "Oh pul-ease Daddy." One of their great hobbies is not
finding Daddy funny. When I get to a big finish there will be a pause and Sid
will say, "Sorry, what was that, Dad?" Without me even doing anything Rosie
will say, "Oh Daddy, please don't." I love the fight in the kitchen,' (in Guest House
Paradiso). When I hit Ade with that jug, he took the punch so well. The
editor cut it perfectly. There's something about his pace and timing. But I
shouldn't try to intellectualise about why I think the comedy works. One of the
reasons Ade is attracted to me is that I am a twat and I do try to
intellectualise about these things, and then he is able to turn round to me and
say, "Oh, shut up, you twat." He can puncture me so easily. I do think the nearer you are to frightening your audience —
the rush of energy you get from witnessing violence, especially if it is more
filmic than theatrical - the more unsettling it is. The release comes out in
laughter. The best characters I've played are the ones that are nearest to
me, because I can play them more realistically. And very often I'm using it as
a way of expunging something I'm frightened of. I remember my first day in the refectory at King's, Worcester:
600 boys and a huge statue of Jesus at the back. Thirty foot high with huge
holes in it because when Cromwell won the battle of Worcester he brought a
cannon in to shoot it. There were all these older boys, monitors, with stubble
and long hair and I thought "Fuck. I want to be you so much". (On meeting Ade) It was our first lecture and the professor
swept in with his flowing hair and gown and I stood up because that's what I'd
been taught at school. No one else did. And this one bloke — with long hair
and John Lennon glasses and a fag in his hand and his fucking feet on the table
— just laughed at me and said, "Tosser!" That was Ade. Maybe I always wanted
to be as cool as him. Maybe that's why I took great satisfaction in him going
bald. He was always so strong and quick and self-assured. I wanted him to be my
friend I got a 2:2 in the end, which Ade won't fucking shut up about because he
got a 2:1. We (Rik and Ade) are like yin and yang. We click. It (Waiting for Godot in 1992) was more
intellectually stimulating than the normal things we do. Because it was so
enigmatic. My daddy put me in the play — as The Boy — when I was an
eight-year-old. It's so beautiful and the words are so clever. "Makes a noise
like leaves, like dust." And there are some great gags in it, too. We were
criticised at the time for making it funny. We didn't even put any extra jokes
in and we actually took out the hat routine — sorry Sam — because it wasn't
going to work. I would love to make a film of it. Love to. Me as Vladimir, Ade
as Estragon. My daddy, now 74, recognised in my performance (in Cell
Mates)the masculine side of my grandfather. There was a lonely bravado
to my character. I'm a quarter Irish and so was Burke. And I had my hair cut
short and Brylcreemed and my daddy came to the first night and afterwards
everyone was drinking champagne and saying, "Marvelous, marvelous," except
for my daddy who was sitting quietly. I asked him what he thought and he said I
was just like his daddy who had died when my daddy was 11 or 12. It was kind
of..." My parents were another generation. Very liberal, being drama
teachers, but not permissive. They weren't as extrovert as me. There was lots
of banter and laughs and singing and stupidness at home. But I was the naughty
boy. I made them laugh. One of my preoccupations is playing with myself. Like playing a
piano. You know, I think I'll try to be this today. I'll go into a newsagent's
I've never been into before and pretend to be a foreigner who is lost. For the first three days they didn't think I'd make it. (after
his accident) On the fourth day they found the first sign of improvement and
the next day I woke up. I didn't know where the hell I was. I saw Barbara and
my parents and Ade was there. They were all crying. I once walked to school in my underpants and a soggy shoe
because my shoe flew off into the river when I tried kicking a ball. My brother
retrieved it, but then demanded my trousers, because his were
soaked. I'm a tyrant, a real "wake up, get up!" sort of person. I can't
bear to waste the day, so when I wake up early I think "Brilliant, it's only
six in the morning, a whole day to go!" (Rik's wife) Barbara is very strong, she looks at everything
positively which is how we have managed to dance through life. She is very
wise. If there has ever been a time when it all became too much for her, she
has never let me see it. One of the reasons I'm in love with Barbara is that
she is wiser than I am. She thinks more clearly than me. Gratitude? I don't know what I should feel (about recovering
from his accident). What have I done to deserve this? What am I needed for? If
I was a more religious man... Perhaps I'm getting nearer that way. But I don't
know how to be religious. I often ask myself what am I being kept for? Is it
for a particular deed that needs doing? I don't know what that is, yet, but I
shall know when the time comes. I had to fight very hard to keep the funniest line (in "Guest
House Paradiso") in because it is so rude. There's a scene in the movie (Guest House Paradiso)
where I'm trying to decide between two identical cardigans, and that's me —
tortured by these kind of decisions! With a severe head injury it takes a couple of years before you
can be sure that there is no threat of epilepsy and then you can stop taking
these pills. But because my recovery was so remarkable, at least I believed it
was remarkable, in the new year I thought I'd stop taking them. And I had a bit
of an epilepsy attack. Actually, it was quite funny... Things that he (Ade) can't do, I can do and things that I can't
do, he can do. We spark something off in each other. We fit together. It's less nerve-racking (when Ade is directing). I can sense
from the way he says 'cut' whether it's good or not. And sometimes he's like,
"Rik... that was shit..." And I'll shout back, "How shit was it? Will clever
people like me notice or just arseholes like you ...?" We've had a loyal bunch of fans. I think people have followed us
through the years but we also seem to have gathered a lot of new kids as
well... they seem to have discovered "Bottom" and even "The Young Ones". The Beeb is different now. It's just an office. It's got no
special effects, no make up. Every department was fantastic except for one —
the suits. And while everyone was busy being creative, the suits sacked them
all. I remember him (Ade) shedding a few tears when I came round
(from the coma). He looked away so I wouldn't see him. But I did. He'd never
say: "I love you, mate." And I wouldn't say it to him. But men aren't good at
telling friends how much they appreciate them. Occasionally, when you're very
drunk, you might say it, then pretend you didn't the next day. I knew I was in hospital and at the back of my mind I knew that
something had happened to me. But I couldn't work things out,' he recalls. It
was like: "Right, something is going on here and they're too clever for me. But
I can get out of it." I had no pain and perhaps that's where the confusion came
from. For a long time, I didn't believe I had a head injury and I had
absolutely no memory of the accident. When I got up I felt dizzy, but I thought
that was the drugs. I love working with Ade. We know each other so well, we know if
we've done something right almost without saying it. We're a team and I can't
imagine a time when we wouldn't be one. I love being with Barbara and the kids. Sid and Rosie love
The Young Ones. Rosie says things like: "Dad, look at you then.
You were so sweet." And I say: "No, that's the wrong idea — I wasn't meant to
be sweet." But they're great and I realise how lucky I am. I was in a recording studio doing a voice-over for something
— I forget what that was as well — and had a seizure, a minor
epileptic fit. Nothing too serious, but it was enough to serve as a reminder
of what I'd been through, and to make me more sensible in the future. I bit
through my tongue, and this was just a month before we started filming
Guest House Paradiso. But I guess I was lucky again in that I
didn't swallow my tongue and choke to death. My memory was very badly affected by the accident and I couldn't
recall things that had happened earlier in the day, or what I'd been doing,
which does make you panic a bit. Acting is all about memory and if you lose
that, your career's gone. But slowly it's all returned. After the coma, I was drifting in and out of consciousness and I
got chatty with the person in the next bed. Then I passed out again. When I
came to, he was gone and there was another patient in it. The next time I came
to, that person had gone as well. They'd both died. Adrian was terribly concerned about the head-banging (in GHP),
but I wasn't really nervous. Remember, I've been doing this sort of stuff for
24 years and Ade has never hit me. But I did check everything. There was a
little block wedged inside the fridge to stop it closing. I knew it was going
to be all right because I knew the door couldn't close on my head. We went shopping the first day (of the Hooligan's
Island tour). Then it was a case of what shall we do now? No we can't
get drunk, we are not going to do that. So we started this game in which you
had to order the most obscure thing on the hotel room service... like do you
have any lizards or can you get any? We hadn't decided what we would do if the
lizards turned up! The game didn't last long because one of us said wouldn't it
be fun if we ordered two pints of lager and Eddie — the character Ade
plays in Bottom — turned up with them, and of course the glasses would be
empty. From that we started talking about what might happen if Richie — my
character — was the hotel manager. And on we went. That was the beginning
of the script. It became our hobby when we were on the road. We spent our
afternoons laughing and thinking up different ideas. There was never a plan to
make a film, we were just having fun. Then we realised that our fun had turned
into something good and we were suddenly making a film. I was really worried (after the accident). So I didn't start
acting again until last September and even then I dipped my toe in really
quietly. That was because if I was going to discover that I couldn't act any
more then I didn't want anyone else to find out. So I did a lot of things like
voiceovers for cartoons and a guest part in Jonathan Creek. I
found out that yes I can still act. I can read, I can put in emotion and
remember stuff, which is vital. It was a real joy to discover that I could
still do it. But Guest House Paradiso is my real return. And I'm
doing this with Ade, my partner, my best friend for 25 years. His (Ade's) organisational skills were very impressive, he's a
very canny man. We had to work fast and he held it all together. He should have
been a Nazi general. I hadn't seen that side of him. There's no feeling of the director (Ade during GHP)
saying, "It's absolutely marvellous what you're doing," then taking you aside
with, "Would you like to come and have a little chat about how fucking awful
you are?" There's none of that with Ade and me because we've got a friendship
anyway, so he'll shout from the end of the corridor, "Rik, when you come out of
the room, don't be doing up your trousers 'cos you look like a tosser. I want
you to look like a wanker, not a tosser — use the other
hand!" I didn't have to charge around in chain-mail, sweating buckets,
like everyone else (on the set of Merlin)— I was in a little blue
frock, hanging out with the maidens. One of the things I'm really proud of is that fight in the
kitchen (in GHP). T'was fantastique. It was done with such care
and such precision. Three days, a total fight and a big one as well. Ade was
directing and he was very careful and everything was great, never touched each
other, didn't even hurt once. Then he goes "okay we've got it, fantastic that's
a wrap". I said "fantastic", turned around and walked into the camera and
knocked myself out. It's true! But he (Ade) did run a very tight ship. He brought it in on
time, and brought it in slightly under budget as I remember it. The nearest to
angry my director ever got — 'cause we were under the gun a bit and we had to
get it shot in only a week — was when I ran down, running away from the huge
ball, turned left to get down the stairs, slipped over and got a load of puke
up my arse. It was all in my costume. So he was a bit grumpy because I had to
change my costume, which cost valuable time. I had to wash my hair and then dry
it. There is a terrific pride in our work. I mean there is. We are
constantly exploring new ways of doing some gag that we have not done before.
Sure, there's always the punch in the face, but that's the
baseline. We've got the beatings down to an art form. It's a kind of dance
and to get the timing right is a delicate thing. But that's one of the great
things about what we do we have the freedom to expunge all this frustration,
onstage or on screen, in a way not many other humans do, except maybe a
wrestler or a boxer. Ade's written a script about my accident, but it's mainly "ha ha
ha, Rik's dead, hooray hooray". And then he dances off with all my
birds. It (University) was four blokes without any money and lots of
masturbation. And definitely no birds. Which is exactly the same as how we live
now, except we have wives and they have all our cash. We are each other's other half. He's (Ade's) everything I need,
and I'm everything he needs. |
I miss Catflap, and so do many fans in England. It
got so hammered, because it wasn't The Young Ones — which was
so hypercritical... The Young Ones got hammered when it came out
as well. So we were well and truly used to critics shit by the time we were on
our next project after The Young Ones. (Guesthouse Paradiso) was originally supposed to
have only a two week run, it came out just before last Christmas. Before we
knew what was happening, it had a two week run, then three, four and five!
Which is great! Especially at Christmas time; because we were up against really
grown up, American films. It did a bit of a run in Europe, after England... but
Oz is really the only place of significance Guesthouse has come
out in since. I have always thought, and still do, that we share a sense of
humour. I'm not suggesting that the Brits and Aussies are all 'common', but we
all share an 'ordinary' sense of humour. Its what Ade and I have always had,
and it has always gone down well in our two (pointing to me) countries. Ade
said something good this morning, he said 'Australia is just like Britain, but
without all the bollocks!'. And I don't think I'm saying that in a purely
business sense because I've been here, and toured here with The Comic
Strip back in '86... and its been since then, I've always loved
here! When we work, Ade sits at the computer and types, and I pace up
and down and smoke, and churn out ideas. He sits and types and churns out
ideas. I'll suggest something, and he'll top it... but we end up spending so
much time laughing. We had the idea for Guesthouse Paradiso when
we were in a hotel room on our last tour. Things grow, as much as The
Dangerous Brothers grew into The Young Ones, which grew
into Filthy, Rich & Catflap, which grew into
Bottom; and Bottom grew into the live show, which
grew into the film. Anyway, when you're on tour, there's a lot of waiting in
the hotel; because you can't drink before you go on. You just can't! Because
you can't remember your words and act properly. So you're lust sitting around,
and we thought wouldn't it be funny if our characters in Bottom
were running this hotel. If Richie was manager, and Eddie came to the door with
your drinks, and they were empty, because he'd like drunk them on the way. And
it all just kind of grew from there... And it just seemed obvious that it had
to be film, instead of stage or telly, because you want the camera in there.
There are things you can do on stage that you can't do on telly, there are
things you can do on telly that you can't do on film, and there are things you
can do on film that you can't do on stage! Like, you can run over Eddie's head
with a truck, for example! It's the performances in the Carry On films that I
really like — Kenneth Williams, Hattie Jacques, Kenneth Connor, Sid James. I
don't know what's so funny about it — possibly because it's so crap. "How
would you like a large one'" meaning a drink. It's so pathetic! Not that there will be a Guest House 2 and 3, but
there will be other films of ours with Richie and Eddie. Just like Laurel and
Hardy, they set them in prisons, or the foreign legion...different stories, but
the link will be Richie and Eddie." I've always played thoroughly unpleasant people and I like that.
It's probably something to do with expunging all the things you disapprove of
about yourself. I tried to be a nice, normal bloke... but when you've got this
mass of things you've suppressed in yourself - vanity, violence, selfishness,
lust - you've got a garage full of high-octane emotions. When I'm in character,
I get rid of all the things I disapprove of about myself. I love that because it makes me sound even
more interesting (the accident). What's even more interesting was that I fell
off the bike on the Thursday before Good Friday. My daughter Rosie now calls it
Crap Thursday. I was going to die on the Thursday, Friday and Saturday, and
then on the Sunday the doctor said, "I think he's going to pull through". Guess
what day it was when it was announced I was going to live. That's right —
Easter Monday. Did you know you can get vomit in seven different flavours and
colours? The special effects people (on GHP) offered us lots of
samples to look at before we decided on something in a sickening shade of
green. We passed on the one that looked like tandoori chicken. The vomiting was very cleverly filmed as there were little pipes
around the place. The stuff that spewed out was like pudding mixture. We
laughed for days. We (Rik and Ade) only have two characters we can play and have
been playing since the 70s. It was a delicate situation though (his love scene in The
Knock). I didn't want to tell everyone to go away. I wanted to be more
relaxed about it, like other actors. But the thing is, I'm 41 not 21, and,
while Julie Ann (White) was still looking as beautiful as ever, here was I, Mr
Pot Belly! I'd been running and doing my press-ups because I knew I was
going to get my kit off (in The Knock). I've never had a sex scene
before. Not a proper one anyway. He (Simon Reid in The Knock) was going to be shot.
But I liked Simon so much because he's seriously clever and so naughty. That's
why I took the part because they'll be saying: "Isn't Rik Mayall good at
shagging!" You know, I'm trying to resist turning into a soft old celeb,
but I could easily. I'm just lucky. I was pleasantly surprised by how many
people love me. Loved me!!! People in the street telling me off, in a nice way,
for shocking them. Saying, "What did you want to do that for you twit. I was
worried for six months you were going to die". I could have laid back and said
I still feel ill. But that wasn't of interest to me. I wanted to be up and
acting and grooving about. I didn't want to be lying in bed feeling sorry for
myself. No fun in that. I put them (his daughter and niece) on the fuel tank in front
of me. But as I turned left, I felt two or three drops of rain on my arm and
thought: "Whoa Rik, this is stupid". So I took them off, went round the corner
and fell off the bike, that's all I remember. You know, they wouldn't have
lived. They would have been dead and I would not, stupid thing to say, be
happy. That would be irretrievable. That's stringing-yourself-up time. It was a school carol concert (at age 5) and I was told not to
sing by the teacher because my voice wasn't very nice. I was told to mime
along. I did it in my own style and got a few laughs from the audience. The
headmaster then took me into a corner, so I started making faces at the
audience from there and got more laughs. I thought, "Hey, I like this," and
I've been hooked ever since." Ade and I always looked forward to getting old. Richie and
Eddie will always be together. We'll stay the same but the gags will be about
not being very well, or our eyesight going. Well be two nasty, angry, violent,
horny, unpleasant men. At home if I haven't been performing I get a bit un
Rik. I get
bored. I can't retire. It would be horrible. It was really brain-shredding (going back to work after his 1998
accident). I didn't know whether I'd be able to read and be in character. And I
did a little voiceover for some kids' stuff and I had to play two frogs —
which, at the time, felt demanding — because one of them talked like this
(deep voice) and one talked like this (squeaky voice) and it was quite, you
know, technical . So, that was making me nervous. But I went in and did it and
I've never been so fucking happy in my life! That was September 1998 and I
thought I can fucking do it! My life was back. I'm afraid it's not very rock'n'roll. I'd like to say to relax I
steal cars and get out of my face on crack and rob banks, but I don't — I
doodle, I draw. I like expressing myself. I'm just very very interested in me,
I'm afraid. Pathetic, isn't it? When you're an experienced celeb — which I
am — you sometimes just need a bit of space, when you're not "on". I'm
always on! I'm walking down the high street and someone might come up and say,
"Hello, Rik!" And do I want to say, "Fuck off"? No. There's also something — whether it was my parents, or my
school, or my friends — that has taught me, or bred me, to be optimistic.
And combative. So that when something shitty happens, the very fact of dealing
with it is good for you. I'm constantly talking about this — yayayaya. That's my
next job — to give up cowardice. Because I should be nicer to myself than
that. I mean, stop apologising. I'm frightened of being interviewed, can't you
see I've always tried not to be complacent. Because I think good
lefties are not complacent or, if they were, they would try to get rid of it.
Not that I am a red exactly, but... I am deeply honoured and proud of the fact
that Benjy (Ben Elton) and Harry (Enfield) got asked to No 10 Downing Street,
and they didn't ask me. Yeah! Yeah! I'm still too fucking dangerous! The only
reason they didn't ask me is because I might be baaaaaad! If I had set out purely to be attractive, desired, then I would
have gone out of fashion by now. I would have been, oh, the face of 1984 —
and now what I am going to do? All I really want is — fucking hell this is
going to look so wanky! — but it's true. Like Henri, in this play,
(A Family Affair) is a lonely, selfish, resentful, unhappy man and
— forgive me — but it's emotional exercise, it's like going for a
run, taking your emotions for a workout. Or finding things out about yourself.
Stage acting especially — the beauty of stage acting is that you don't
have a commander. There's no one getting you up at four in the morning and
saying, "What I want you to do, Rik, is stand on that mark, then look to the
right, a little wistfully. OK?" And that's your fucking work for the day! But
with the audience, it's: "I think I'll get everyone to think I'm great." I like
doing what I do, and I don't like being told what to do. But circumstances have
forced me to. No! They haven't! I'm very fierce about my
independence. It's so sensual (acting in front of a live audience). You can
feel what might make them sad, or excited, or scared — you sense them, you
find out what they're like. It's intercourse! Because I give them what they
want and they give it back to me. I did my lines as Peeves to Daniel Radcliffe, who plays Harry
(Potter), plus about 30 others kids and they all started laughing. They just
wouldn't stop and in the end I had to stand round the corner and do it. That's
the shot they are going to use, so now the only bit you can see me in is a
computer animated scene. Fortunately my kids are still chuffed that I'm in it
at all. Doing comedy stuff is great fun and I do get off on the
laughter. A few years ago I came home and my daughter Rosie said, "Have you
been at work daddy?" I said, "Yes, and what do you think I do at work?". And
she replied, "You make people laugh". That sums it up. I like standing in front
of people being funny. It's where I get my kicks. I'm paranoid about being poncey and starry. I come from a
generation who thought being starry was crap. It's a slightly socialist
tradition of the Seventies. We used to have such a laugh. The university had a left wing
student union with people selling the Morning Star on the steps. I
remember me and Paul Bradley of EastEnders fame, going up the
steps and them calling 'Morning Star,' and we'd shout 'Morning
darling!' I was happy before (the accident), I'm happy now and I like
working more than ever. When something like that happens, you don't worry about
being perfect any more. Maybe it's made me less worried about getting old as
I'd rather get old than not. It's made me conscious of how lucky I am. Oh God,
pitiful showbiz cliche, 'How lucky I am....' I know, 'how great I am', that's
much better! How much I deserve it. I didn't die which is proof that the great
Lord needs me to live longer. The good Mother Earth needs me no, humanity needs
me. So the powers that be kept me alive to increase the pleasure of human life
for many... so come and see Bottom 2001. I went on set (Murder Rooms) yesterday with just my
shirt on and pretended I'd forgotten my costume and stood there with my willy
hanging out. Jenny, the first assistant, had the balls to say 'Will you just
stop showing off Rik!' That's what I do, you see; it's all I ever wanted to
do. I like that feeling of wrong-footing the audience slightly.
Rather than play someone they know, or they've seen before, its good to be able
to surprise them. My work is my greatest love, apart from my family. That's what I
do. It's all I ever wanted to do ever since I was little. Ade (Edmondson) and I are going on the road with Bottom
2001, which is a joke in itself because there have been so many episodes
of Bottom, this probably really is the 2001st! It's actually
called Bottom 2001: An Arse Oddity. We've decided to do it because
we haven't done a live show in a while. We tend to do a big operation every two
years, which this is. I've always — and this is true for once — tended not
to speak about my family because I don't think it's fair to them. But I will
tell you that they're fine and happy. I always take the summer off to spend
with the kids, who are brilliant. You have to surrender to Bottom in order to enjoy
it. You have to completely let go and swim in it. If you don't, it just looks
like a collection of fart jokes — like jazz might look like a collection of
notes. But if you immerse yourself in it and just go with the flow, it's there
for your pleasure. Journalists ask me why we keep telling the same old fart joke
which is utter bollocks because we wrote a new one fifteen years
ago. I've never thought about not having met Ade. It's quite a
chilling thought, actually. I've never had to do anything on my own. I suppose
I would have tried to be an actor, but I would have been a failure. I wouldn't
have had anyone to share everything I think and feel. Without him I would have
been a frustrated sad comedian and drunk myself to death. Or become an
accountant. I don't have a good memory of what I was like before (the
accident). The greatest tragedy of my life is that I've been to the edge and
looked over and I cant remember what I saw. In fact I'd advise people to fall off a quad bike because you
suddenly discover that very ordinary things are great. Even getting on a bus is
great compared to lying in a pit unable to move. Bottom is just a stupid, stupid cartoon full of
stupid jokes told with tremendous panache. It's absolute bollocks told in
perfect rhythm. People have trouble with it because comedy's been
intellectualised about an awful lot during the last 15 years, but when you get
down to it, all you're watching is a couple of guys being stupid and hitting
each other. The French love us, of course. Its attraction is complete escapism.
It's like 'forget about the day's work and just laugh your tits off'. We adore the slapstick (in Bottom). It's everything
everyone has ever wanted to do to other people. Richie and Eddie are acting out
the way we'd all like to behave if only we were allowed to. It offers a
fantastic escape from reality. Ade's my partner. I may go off and have other adventures, but my
greatest pleasure, my raison d'etre, has always been my double act with
him. I was on with Dad's students in Brecht plays when I was about
four. So yeah, I've always been in it and always loved
it. I phoned up Alexei Sayle and said, "Are you going up for that
telly thing next week?" And he said, "Rik! It's fucking tomorrow!" I hadn't
written a fucking bean, I hadn't written anything, so I was shitting myself,
and I thought, well what am I going to do? I know, I'll do it Brummy, and I'll
call him Kevin, and I know, I won't write any material, I'll just talk like
he's the most boring man in the world. He's a canny cunt, Edmondson... I want you to hear this students.
Edmondson is a talentless fuckwipe, and just like a leech he attaches himself to
geniuses like myself and Jennifer (Saunders, Ade's wife). He has a very easy
life - when he's not on stage he's just drinking. It's going great (Bottom Live 2001), the best
yet... except for the heckling. Heckling is a very crap, unproductive thing to
do, because some of the really crap members of the audience have started
shouting really old fashioned heckles like "have a wank", which I think is
about 3 shows old. This one drunk wouldn't shut up about it, so I invited him
up on stage. I thought I'd put him on stage and then we'd both fuck off and
leave him until the audience bottled him. So he comes up, this sad drunk, and
he couldn't get on stage...he couldn't climb up, and the whole show had stopped
and we were just watching this fat drunk man trying to get on stage. The
audience were very complimentary on that after the show, asking who the actor
that played him was, but he was just a real bloke. What I'm trying to say is...
don't heckle; it's not even funny, it's embarrassing to
hear. In essence, the argument we in the No camp wish to get across
is that it is possible to be a European but against the euro — and able to
use national stereotypes to laugh at Europeans. It's satire. Look,
I'm saying what I say because if Hitler tells people to support the euro
then surely they won't — that's the point of it. I'm
not a
joiner. So that means no to joining the euro. So on the euro it's really
that I'm an independent sort of person. If we join the euro the people in
Brussels will take even more decisions on our behalf. I don't trust the
financiers of Europe. Britain resisted the Armada and, yes, Hitler too. I like
this distance we in Britain have. A little island between mainland Europe and
America. I'm not really English. In fact, I've got bits of
Irish and Scottish blood in me. When I was in Edinburgh last year I went into a
kilt shop and told them my name was originally Meall, not Mayall. The shop
assistant looked up Meall and told me my family had come from Angus. He found
the right kilt. (on Believe Nothing) It's fantastic! And it's
playing to my strengths, which are vanity, cowardice, avarice, lust,
snootiness, haughtiness, disregard, and a sense of Britishness! Work gives me pleasure. Hey, I was all but dead for five days
and the doctors gave me a bit of extra time, so I'm very happy. And I may as
well admit it, I was born to be on stage. That is the simple truth. (On Adonis C'nut) He's intelligent, charming and arrogant. I
found myself growing more and more like him. It was so funny after the accident, when friends would say,
'Gosh you were in a coma for five days and you nearly died, how awful!' Then I
told them I wasn't allowed to drink and they went: 'Ohmigod! You can't drink?
Rik, how can you live?' I'm just happy to be alive. |