Original subtitles

Grant, we pray you, that your servant may rest at peace in this grave until

day when you, the resurrection and the life, enrich her with life made new.

May she, in the light of your countenance, behold eternal light in

heaven.

Poor old Aunty Silver.

Whenever I smell cabbage boiling, I'll think of her.

What a way to go on. Run over.

Twice.

Two consecutive buses.

Typical, isn't it?

You hang about for ages, then two come at last.

Excuse me.

Tracy? Sharon?

Yeah? I'm an old friend of your Aunty Sylvie's.

She often spoke about the two of you. I recognised you from her pictures.

Oh.

I just wanted to say how sorry I am.

Sylvie was a good friend to me over the years.

So very much.

Anyway, nice to have met you.

You know, I swear she knew her days were numbered.

Oh, yeah?

A few days ago, she made me promise that if anything happened to her, I was to

get in touch with you both.

Aunt Sylvie had the gift.

She could see the future coming.

Yeah? She only didn't work on them bathies.

She asked me to give you this.

It's a key.

Well done, Sherlock.

It's a key to a safety deposit box.

Victoria Station.

What's Sylvie doing with a safety deposit box?

Perhaps she wanted to stash away the family heirlooms.

Here, Trace, we could have an inheritance.

Don't daft.

It's possible, isn't it?

Here, mate, did she say... Where's he gone?

There he is.

Oi! Oi, hold up! Sharon!

This is Walthamstow Cemetery, not Petticoat Lane Market.

It doesn't matter, does it?

Oh, please God, let it be diamonds.

I don't like ratness crap either.

So much for our inheritance.

The old bat's left us her gas bill.

There's a note and all.

Dear girls, by the time you read this, I will have shuffled off this mortal

coil. If, on the other hand, I'm still alive and you are a couple of tea

then get your stinking hands off my property, you toe rags.

She always had lovely waving words.

For many years, I've carried with me a secret about the two of you and your

natural parents.

The truth is I knew who they were.

When your mum, God rest her soul, adopted you both, she made me swear to

shtum. But now I'm gone, it's up to you to decide for yourselves.

Everything you need to know is in the envelope.

Love, Sylvie.

I say we open it, and I say we burn it.

Don't be a lemon. Our parents' name's in there.

Mum and Dad were our parents.

They're gone, Trace. We ain't got no one now.

Nah? What about Daryl and Chris?

In case you've forgotten, butch casserole and a sundial are doing a

stretch at one of Her Majesty's holiday camps.

I don't care.

I still don't want to know. All right.

Have I called it a bad time?

Oh, good. I love to see working -class women bicker. It's so Albert Square.

Listen here, yo -yo knickers.

I am not in the mood to be patronised by you, all right?

Very good, Sharon.

A three -syllable word and used in the correct context.

You should apply to join Mencap.

I think you mean men, sir.

I know what I mean.

Now, girls, I have an important announcement.

Very soon, Marcus and I are to celebrate our silver wedding anniversary. And to

mark the occasion... The Queen's going to present him with the Victoria Cross

for Brady.

We are going to throw the party of the year.

And I will be the bell of the ball.

Even Big Ben ain't got a bell that old.

You're a hypocrite, Dorian.

What do you mean?

Well, if your guest list was to include half the blokes you've had since we've

known you, you'd have to hold the party at Wembley Stadium.

Well, I may have succumbed to the odd dalliance. Odd dalliance? You've spent

more time staring up at ceilings than Michelangelo.

Gracie, you exaggerate.

Well, maybe not. Anyway, I want this party to be the highlight of the

social calendar.

That shouldn't be too difficult.

Your only competition is the annual rugby club disco, otherwise known as the

Pukason.

Well, not so, Sharon.

As luck would have it, our anniversary falls on the 18th, the very day that low

-rent bitch, my very best friend Melanie Fishman, celebrates her birthday.

What, and she's also having a party?

Exactly.

Oh, so all this is about keeping up with the Fishmans.

Keeping up?

Oh, no.

I fully intend to trounce that white trash into oblivion.

Well, I think it's an insult to the sanctity of marriage.

Then you won't mind not being invited, will you?

Nice one, Trace.

You've just talked yourself out of a buckshee booze -up.

Oh, don't get smug, Sharon. You're hardly A -list material yourself.

I'll be coming, will I?

Sharon. If I was that eager to embarrass myself, I'd become a contestant on

Stars in Their Eyes.

I take it that's a no.

Nothing gets past you, does it?

Well, we don't want to go to your poxy party anyway.

No, it's nothing personal, Tracy.

I mean, should I ever host a good old cockney knees -up with whelks and pies

scruffy old flatulent men singing jitters about the Second World War,

the first to know.

Well, now you've given us your uninvite, you can sling your hook. We've got

things to discuss.

Private things.

Hold up, Trace. It might help to get the opinion of an outsider.

Even if she's a prat.

This sounds juicy. What's going on?

In that envelope are the names of our real parents.

I want to open it. And I don't. Because you're saying that, it means we don't. I

don't want to open it.

I don't want to open it. Because you're the oldest, you always have to open it.

Torn apart by the path they cannot escape. This could be wonderful material

my next novel.

Why?

What do you think, Dor?

Open it. Go on.

I feel disloyal. Oh, that soon wears off, trust me.

Oh, Christ.

Mum and Dad wouldn't mind us finding out who our real parents are after they're

dead, would they?

Strange as it seems, I think I actually... actually know what she's

about. See?

Come on, Trace, please.

All right.

I can't wait.

You won't have to. You ain't invited.

Nothing personal.

Shut the door, please, darling.

And make sure you're on the other side of it.

Here we go.

I'm in faith.

It's our real birth certificates.

Do you want the good news or the bad news?

The good news.

The good news is our mum's name is Mavis Bullock.

And she comes from Chiswick.

What's the bad news?

The bad news is she's dead, Trace.

Over ten years ago.

Here's an obituary cutting from the local paper.

What about our dad?

Oh, my goodness.

What is it?

Mum and Dad weren't married, Trace. Oh, lovely.

First were a pair of bullocks, now a couple of...

You're never going to believe who our old man is.

Who?

It's... It's... Yeah?

George Hamilton.

Who?

You know, the actor.

The one with the sun tannels in a law magazine.

Yes, I know who the George Hamilton is, Sharon.

stupid is American.

So what?

Americans can have babies, Trey.

Think yourself.

Father's name, George Hamilton.

Yeah, on both of them.

Look what it's got down for his occupation.

Actor.

I always knew there was something different about us.

Something special.

Get a grip, Sharon.

It's a common name, isn't it?

No. It all fits into place.

George flitting round London doing a spot of acting.

Yeah. He must have had a thing going with her mum.

Sharon, the chances of the George Hamilton being our father have got to be

in a million.

Maybe so.

But it's worth doing a spot of detective work to find out, isn't it?

Yes, Mrs Hamilton.

I know your husband's dead, but did he ever know a Magus Bullock?

Hello?

Hello?

And another one bites the dust.

Literally, in this case.

God bless Fat Stan, eh?

His son done us a right good turn hacking into the electoral registers for

Yeah, thanks.

Yeah, three of them.

Yeah, I owe you one, mate.

No, not one of them, you dirty lech.

Morning, Vicar!

What's happened?

Trace, I've got brilliant news.

That Stan's had all his tickets out, mates, checking out all the George

Ambersons that weren't in the phone book. The ones we couldn't get hold of.

And? And the final results are... Fourteen have kicked the bucket.

Twelve are waiting for their voices to break.

Ten have never heard of Mavis Bullock.

Six have never heard of Chiswick.

Three are impotent. Two are black.

And one's living in Northampton with a choreographer named Gordon.

Well, you see what this means, don't you?

That's it.

We've eliminated them all.

We can't have.

We have. Here's the proof.

George is our dad.

Sharon, any one of them could have been lying.

Skeletons in the closet and all that. It don't disprove he's our dad, does it?

No. Right, now, what we've got to do is confront him with the facts.

Hang about.

I'll just put my coat on.

There's got to be some way of getting in touch with a bloke. How?

He lives in America.

Shame them Uber tickets never turned up.

My God, look at the state of you both.

You look like you should be sitting in a doorway selling copies of The Big

Issue.

Oh, for your information... Excuse me, I'm wanted on the mobile.

Hello? Oh, Monsieur Raymond.

It's Monsieur Raymond, ethics foremost function coordinator.

That's concise for caterer.

You got my message.

Kill the cock -o -bam. We'll have salmon on crout instead.

The caviar?

Oh, well, we'll have it too.

Loads of the stuff. Spread it on with the trowel, Raymond.

The cost?

How much can little fish eggs cost these days?

How much?

Yes, I'll get back to you, Raymond.

Ciao.

Damn, damn, damn.

Why can't a woman be more like a man?

Do I take it that keeping up with the fishmans isn't going as swimmingly as

at home?

I order no -air chandon. Melanie orders krug. I order canapes. She orders

truffles. That woman is definitely starting to rain on my parade.

Sounds to me like she's peeing on it from a break.

She's even got celebrity guests.

Lionel Blair and half the Arsenal team have promised to attend. Do you have

any... the idea of the sort of money it takes to book a star of the calibre of

Lionel Blair?

No. Give us a clue.

Serves you right for not inviting us to your party.

Yeah. And us having a famous bed and all.

What?

You heard?

Me and Tracy are celebrity children.

Really?

I didn't know King Kong had been allowed to meet.

You'll be laughing the other side of your mush when you find out who it is.

Are you serious?

Who?

Should we tell her, Trace?

Nah.

You can come to my party.

We'll think about it. Good. Now spill the beans. Who is it?

George Hamilton.

Sorry.

George Hamilton.

What's so funny?

George Hamilton is your father.

Slim, suntan, gorgeous George Hamilton.

Yeah, that's right.

Oh, my God, they'll have to rewrite the laws of genetics.

There must have been 147 of them, actually. And we've checked every one of

out.

But it's not possible.

George Hamilton has been out with some of the world's most beautiful women.

Joan Collins.

Elizabeth Taylor.

Mavis Bullock.

I don't believe it.

I have adored him ever since I was a teenager. The man is a bona fide sex

Are you?

Don't talk dirty about our date.

It isn't possible.

It is.

And there's the proof.

Look, Cheryl, we don't know for sure.

No. But you must find out, because if this is true, it could change your life.

Our lives don't want changing.

Speak for yourself.

You have to get in touch.

Now, George always spends the summer in Bel -Air. That's Hollywood.

Hollywood? We can't afford the fare to Cricklewood.

I might be able to help.

I have been secretly hoarding Marcus's air miles from his business trips.

They're Marcus's.

Only legally.

I might have enough stashed away to get you to the States.

Are you saying that you'd pay for us to go to America?

Of course.

Think of it as a token of friendship.

No, better still, look on it as charity.

What's the catch?

There isn't one.

No, I could do with a break myself.

There's the catch.

Well, that's settled then.

Hollywood?

that need was so ugly.

Doreen, you didn't.

Virgin of all airlines.

I know, it's ironic.

Most people get their nuts in little packets.

Not her, though.

I've always wanted to join the Mile High Club.

Hopefully that should earn me honorary life membership.

I dare it, you daft tart.

We ain't taken off yet.

We're still on the flipping runway.

There we are.

Anyway, see you both later.

Where are you going now?

Well, I'm off to the upper class section.

You really didn't expect me to stay here amidst social groups D .E. and Florida

Riot.

I'm off to find a nice wealthy tycoon.

Ciao.

Have a good time.

to make your acquaintance.

I'm Dorian.

Dorian Green.

And you are? My name's Richard.

Mind if I call you Dick?

Now, have you flown before, Dick?

I do it all the time.

They're flying, that is.

America. I can't believe we're here.

So big.

So much to see.

to the Hotel California.

Oh, well.

Cheap and cheerful.

Come on, Zorba, get moving.

Me? No, this is your accommodation.

I'm staying at the Mondrian.

The top people's hotel.

You... We'll rendezvous in the bar at nine o 'clock. And Sharon,

try to dress a little more cosmopolitan.

Dry...

Now, I've been working on a plan to get to George. And I picked up this from the

hotel lobby.

Guided tours of Hollywood? I don't think so, Tracy.

Why? What's wrong with them?

Tours are for tourists.

Tourists come from Basildon, wear cheap knitwear and watch GMTV.

So I am more of a global citizen. I blend easily into foreign cultures.

You are a foreign culture.

The tour includes the homes at the start.

South, I said. Donna, Barbara Streisand, George Hampton.

Trace, you're a genius.

We'll get tickets.

Tomorrow, one o 'clock.

Your left is the luxurious home of Bruce Willis and his lovely wife, Demi Moore.

No prizes for guessing which one chose that ghastly colour.

Look at that, Trace.

Makes your gas look like a flea bit.

Not very much.

Belt up, you little germinal. Sew your lips together.

Next up is the lavishly decorated mansion house of Hollywood's most famous

suntan, movie star and playboy, Mr. George Hamilton.

Right, let's say stop.

Time for plane B into action.

What is happening here?

It's my sister. She's having a turn. You're going to have to let us off.

No one leaves this bus, ma 'am. Company policy.

But you don't understand.

She could get violent.

I can't be responsible for her behavior.

What exactly is the matter with her?

What's the matter with her?

It's rare.

It's very rare.

Yes. And tragic.

It happened when she was a child.

What did? The incident.

She was bitten.

By a dingo.

Was it wild?

Absolutely furious.

Well, perhaps in this case I can make an exception.

A

bitten

by a dingo.

In Elfield. I was improvising.

You were bullshitting.

the size of those gates.

How are we going to get in?

Tracy, do you have a crowbar?

What? They're breaking in.

No, but I'll never get those cranks off without one.

Sandy!

Come on, we're getting over here.

All right, you go first, all right? It's before beauty.

Lucy, I need a fun cup.

crazy women living at the bottom of your garden?

I didn't think so. We better get some security up here quickly.

I'll stay here and guard the valuables.

Thank you, you little ones.

Your leader has returned.

designer shorts ruined.

Do you have any idea how many strange men must have seen my bottom?

I don't know. What year are we going from?

This is an omen. We shouldn't be doing this.

Shut up, you wimp.

We're not going back to that house again.

They could shoot us next time. Oh, don't worry.

We could always take cover behind Sharon.

Some it'll turn up, Trace. We'll get in touch with him somehow.

A fair chance.

We'll need a flipping miracle.

Attention all you ladies. Tomorrow, Universal Studios Hollywood's very own

George Hamilton will begin work on a new multi -million dollar TV miniseries.

Oh,

that's it.

That's it.

I've died and gone to heaven.

Well, you haven't. I've got bigger boobs than you.

I don't.

You've got these massive feet. Where have all the muscles gone?

You've got a bit of safety.

These muscles are as human as a shell.

I can't eat them, can I?

No, but I could.

Oh, just look at those bodies.

Boy! We're supposed to be working our asses into the studios.

It's not a line up of talent.

Sidney, your receptionist. How may I help you?

Hi. I'm Tracy Beckham -Stubbs. We're here to interview George Hamilton for

Hello! magazine.

Hello!

Oh, Lucy, what are you?

Dorianne Green, stylist to the stars.

Sharon Theodopolopoulos.

They call me the snapper.

Well, I'm afraid I have no record of any interviews scheduled.

Well, there must be some mistake. I jetted in from Paris especially.

Didn't even have time to kiss David and Iman goodbye.

If you'd like to take a seat, I can phone her and check.

Oh, that won't be necessary. We'll just pop over there ourselves. That won't be

possible. They're in rehearsal.

Hi. Stage 14. This is Sydney on reception.

Do you know anything about an interview with George Hamilton?

Excuse me, Sid.

Could you tell me where the car is, please?

The toilet.

The bathroom's over there.

I want a slash, not a shower.

Attention, attention.

We have three intruders on the compound.

Female, Caucasian, heading for stage 14.

And it was... Ruth!

You sure you know how to drive this thing?

Blimey, what's all this?

I thought them were maces.

All right, Daryl.

Fancy a lardy? Yeah, I might as well do.

Where'd all this lot come from, then? Well, let's just say I've got friends.

Good friends.

Oh, smoked salmon or durbaris?

Look,

Chris, the only bloke who can get hold of this stuff in here is Elfie Conroy.

And he ain't the sort of bloke you want to go get him mixed up with.

He's a diamond, is he?

Sweeter than that. Yeah?

That's what his mum used to say just before he dropped the heater in her

bathtub.

How must this lot set you back? Well, I don't know.

Got it all on tick.

Oh, dear.

You really are as stupid as you look, aren't you?

In fact, you look to do you a disservice.

You're actually a complete moron.

You're never going to be able to pay for all this.

Relax, devil!

Look, let's just say I've got a bit of business going down, right? And I stand

to make myself a nice few quid. Oh, yeah? What kind of business?

Well, I can't say, sir.

Confidential.

Of course.

I ain't got no secrets from you. Well, hold on. Hang about.

Here.

I'm selling Sharon's story, ain't I?

For the papers.

I was a superstar's love child.

Well, they paid big bucks for that kind of thing.

Smart move, eh?

Yes. Slimy, rotten lowlife.

Stitching up your own wife for a couple of quid? Not to mention my Tracy.

Calm down, devil.

I won't mention nothing about Tracy.

Honest. Look, have another cigar.

Chocolate? Take the lot.

Who was that?

Roger the barman.

So was it not what you've been doing?

For your information, I have been out with Roger for your sake.

I'll tell very much. I really appreciate it. Roger tends bar at lots of

celebrity functions. Now, tomorrow night, he will be working at an

company bash at the Beau Rivage, L .A.'s chicest restaurant.

Tune in same time tomorrow for another thrilling edition of...

Life with Roger.

George Hamilton is going to be there.

What? Yes.

And so are we.

Roger has promised to arrange it as a special favour.

And what does Roger the Dodger expect in return for this special favour?

Don't worry, he's been paid in advance.

The things I do for you girls.

Exclusive bash, eh?

I'll have to give the velour tracksuit of going over with the old right girl.

I don't think so, Sharon. We will be mixing with the creme de la creme of

Hollywood society.

Right, but I think dressy women.

Right, then we will dedicate tomorrow to my second favourite activity in the

entire world.

Girls, we are going to shop till we drop.

Welcome to Giorgio Armani.

Have a look around.

Oh, hi, sir.

Someone's left their phone number on this one.

Lovely phone.

This is quite beautiful.

I think this is a bit young for you.

Something like arriving in Star, was there?

Oh, if only Melanie Fishman could see me now.

Look, even that Sharon Stone over there.

Hi.

Well, can I get you ladies anything?

Aroused would be nice.

I'll tell you a story.

You can be Roger the Rabbit, like.

The main man of Cure Royale, darling.

I'll have a bottle of lemonade.

A pint of Heineken for me, please.

I'm going out.

You're not.

Look at that pain.

He must come to sleep for some bit strapped to his gut.

I think it is time to introduce you to your father.

May I help you?

No, thanks. We're just leaving. We'd like a table, please. You are aware that

our dining area is reserved for a VIP list?

Of course.

I am a VIP.

Yeah, very impulsive pervert.

Your name is?

My name.

Yes, madam.

They're very fashionable here in L .A. Simply everybody has one.

Who are you? This is Jack and Lauren.

Roger never mentioned there was a VIP enclosure.

Who does that mean?

Roger and Art.

I can't believe it.

I was that close to him, I could have spat on him.

I hardly think gobbing's an appropriate form of greeting, darling Sharon.

We're not going to get nowhere near the bloke, let alone speak to him.

She might as well go home. Tracy, remember what they say in the movies.

The show ain't over till the fat lady sings.

Exactly, how did you get that nasty little head?

Nothing.

Really?

Not what I heard.

Look, 80 % of all accidents occur in the barber shop. That makes me just a

meaningless statistic.

If you say so.

Only I heard it, though.

Came from a little run -in with some female admirers.

George, I have no female admirers, and that includes my immediate family.

I

was just

parking, so I thought I'd drop in.

Excuse me, I'm with these people.

Stop, don't talk to me, you stupid, fat American.

Call me.

We'll do lunch.

Is that John Connors?

Thank God you got here.

Get me out of this hellhole.

I can't. I couldn't raise the $10 ,000 bail.

How much have you got?

Nothing.

Cracking. Whatever.

We could always ring Marcus.

Ask him for the dosh.

I told her we shouldn't have come. I knew it'd end in tears. I've said it all

along. Oh, whine, whine, whine. It's all you've done since we left London.

Don't ever go at her. She's upset.

Well, what's she got to be upset about?

I'm the one in prison.

I'm the one that's gone over the limit on Marcus's credit card.

And I'm the one that hasn't got a special celebrity guest at my very own

anniversary party.

Gorgeous George by my side. I would have wiped the floor with Melanie Fishman's

pathetic little birthday bash.

He'd have escorted me onto the floor.

As he's done with all the other great beauties of our time.

Joan Collins.

Elizabeth Taylor.

And me.

Dorian Green.

He would have knocked Lionel Blair's tap dance into a cocked bloody hat.

Are you saying...

The only reason you helped us find our dad was so that he'd go to your party.

Well, don't look so hurt.

The name's Dorian Green, not Cilla Black.

No. Go, go.

You were always my main concern.

About my bail.

Stop it.

Dorian Green?

Yes. Yes, that's me.

Sign here. You're free to go.

Really? Yep. You're out of here. Well, thank you. Thank you. Hey, don't thank

me. Thank Mr. Wendell.

Who's he?

The commissioner?

No, the guy you've been stalking.

Me, a stalker?

The town knows about you. Hey, you're famous.

This is libelous.

I shall sue.

I shall sue the entire book of second country.

She's a stalker. Then how come she let me go?

We had a call from Mr. Wendt's agent. Now he is happy as a clam about the

publicity. In this town, you are nobody until you've had your own stalker.

I bet Melanie Fisher has never thought about that.

Are

you

ready? Aggie is downstairs.

Almost.

Come in.

Please.

Look, I just want to say I'm sorry.

Yeah, we know.

Sorry that George Hamilton won't be coming to your party.

No.

Sorry you didn't get the chance to find out if he was your... And I'm sorry for

everything I've done.

I know I can be a selfish bitch.

Come on. Give your hand to your luggage.

Flipping egg door. What have you got in here?

Supposedly the south, not the bathtub.

Only the poor travel light, Tracy.

Oh, leave them for the bellboy.

Thank you, Mr.

Hamilton. Please call me George.

Cheers, George.

Is your friend okay?

I think she's a bit overcome.

She's been carrying a bit of a torch for you ever since she was a young girl.

Well, no wonder she's exhausted.

So you really thought I was your father?

Yeah.

I suppose you think we're really stupid.

Not at all. I'm very flattered. You have been to London, have you?

Sure, many times. It's a beautiful city.

Someday I may go back and buy it.

While you were there, you never, uh... You know.

Absolutely not.

Well, not with anyone by the name of Mavis Bullock, anyway.

Well, thanks for listening to us, George.

We won't take up any more of your time. No, not so fast, now.

You come all the way from England to see me, the least I can do for you is to

invite you back to my mansion for a little, uh...

Champagne by the pool and some sunbathing?

Huh? What do you say?

You're kidding.

I never kid where sunbathing is concerned.

What are we waiting for?

What about your friend?

We can't just leave her here.

Oh, are we?

We'll tell the bellboy to leave her with the rest of the old baggage till we get

back.

Thank you, Charles.

Sharon. Yes, George. Make sure you get right in those toes here.

Good girl.

And, uh, Tracy.

Coming, George.

You missed a spot.

Up a bit.

Higher. Right there.

That's it.

Isn't this fun?

They got back safe then?

Right.

So did you meet him?

Really?

So is he a...

Oh, how's not?

Oh, I'm sorry, Trace.

You all right?

Oh, good.

Yeah, I'm disappointed for you, love.

Yeah?

Oh, yeah, of course I'll tell Chris.

Yeah, I'm sure he'll be disappointed as well.

In fact, I know I'll be very cut up.

I'm sorry to bother you.

I'm looking for number 58, the fisherman's birthday party.

Mr Blair.

Yes. So glad you made it. Oh, yes, but I... Come in.

You know you may be, love you, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. Darling, George

Hamilton and I were like that.

We were in his mansion, sipping the finest champagne.

The man was obviously besotted with me.

Couldn't keep the chance off me, so what's that then?