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Bigger than Hitler – Better than Christ
Rik Mayall
In this electrifying autobiography, Rik stands naked in front of his vast legions of fans and disciples and invites them to take communion with the blood he has spilled for them during his thirty year war on show business.He invented alternative comedy with The Young Ones, he brought down the Thatcher administration with The New Statesman and he changed the face of global culture with his masterpiece Bottom. Not only was his number one single Living Doll the saviour of rock 'n' roll but he also rescued the British film industry with the vast revenues created by his legendary movie Drop Dead Fred. In 1998, he survived an assassination attempt and spent five days in a coma before he literally came back from the dead. Having completed countless phenomenal feature films, TV series, live extravaganzas and radio voice-overs since then, Rik Mayall is now poised on the brink of a whole new epoch-shattering revolution.For the first time ever, Rik reveals in print the deep inner truth behind his gargantuan ascent to the pinnacle of international light entertainment – the mental hospitals he has broken out of, the television executives he has assaulted, the drugs he has definitely not taken, the charities he has bankrupted, the countless pregnancies he has engendered, and so much more.
Bigger than Hitler—Better than Christ
Rik Mayall
Copyright (#ulink_ce827a87-cb95-548c-b6db-a0b341246bc1)
The Publisher wishes to point out that due to ‘contractual obligations’, the author has exerted his right to insist that the text of Bigger Than Hitler Better Than Christ be reproduced ‘exactly like what has come off my typewriter, right?’
In addition, the Publisher has been prohibited from proof-reading or otherwise editing the author’s text, and as such all mistakes and infelicities are entirely those of The Rik Mayall.
HarperNon-Fiction
A division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://harpercollins.co.uk/)
Published by HarperCollinsEntertainment 2006
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsEntertainment 2005
Copyright © Rik Mayall 2005
Rik Mayall asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins ebooks
HarperCollinsPublishers has made every reasonable effor to ensure that any picture content or written content has been included or removed in accordance with the contractual and technological constraints in operation at the time of publication
Source ISBN: 9780007207282
Ebook Edition © JUNE 2010 ISBN: 9780007375431
Version: 2016-09-15
The Rik Mayall Books (est. 2005)
Give me your hand small ordinary person, and walk with me—for I shall be your guide. You don’t have to worry with me for I shall not give you a quick feel-up or anything like that. For I am nice. And a lot nicer than those other cunts who write books and stuff.
Table of Contents
Cover Page (#ua79cce88-f7f4-56f8-9740-2e131d19c847)
Title Page (#uac474e56-e122-5082-9dff-6aa09423ca66)
Copyright (#ud3633abe-b9d7-5232-90ff-d462f4f8b715)
Excerpt (#u950af56e-5e73-5809-a354-95fe5d370841)
FOREWORD (#uc4d32901-9e2c-5568-a86d-e5aad3b21a56)
INTRODUCTION (#u96a67343-18e5-52e8-8e39-39b81fe5ca7f)
MY GREAT LIFE (#u89707896-3ba5-5ed3-bc2e-4635367f7db8)
SHOWBUSINESS GOLD (#u095cc6ad-160c-59ab-ab09-6a1e5ec67de6)
MANCHESTER (#ue0014889-205e-5db5-bab8-07502e21bc1a)
CONQUERING AMERICA (#ud9cc2047-6f46-5925-96ce-e53430ab245b)
CRACKING THE SMOKE (#uc0329222-cb94-5352-9531-20c99683b4bc)
WHY I WAS NEVER IMPRISONED FOR BEATING ESTHER RANTZEN TO DEATH (#u72508e00-87d9-5116-9935-fe1f16238e6a)
THE YOUNG ONES (#udb7e8234-dd52-5bc9-a6d3-8b37decd35dd)
THE YOUNG ONES (#u87c5df34-c98d-5a69-b43b-7e3c55d6e0c0)
APRIL 16TH 2005: 2.55AM (#uf2fca909-736f-51ee-a79f-0ea7ff6c9e62)
COMEDY MOSH PIT (#ub853adee-5a04-5a57-8921-648286b42af4)
[AMUSING CHAPTER TITLE HERE] (#uad8a796d-9ad5-528c-b37e-51616ce75214)
HOW TO CREATE EDGE CUTTING TELEVISION PROGRAMMES (#uaadcfd1d-8886-50fb-8c9e-6de36b4ef1e9)
ANOTHER BIT OF MY PART IN THE DESTINY OF THE NATION (BRITAIN/BRINGING DOWN THATCH (#ud112b66e-3751-580d-9bb7-4100d8bd961f)
SEX (#u5e0c2cb0-e85c-53ab-b366-64dd42bb3f2f)
DROP DEAD FRED (#u4f466672-8fc9-52ef-b3cf-9623581f5fc0)
MORE GREAT STUFF (#ue66a9ee5-e050-5cbf-a299-2ac2ba082e7c)
HOW I DESTROYED BRITISH TELEVISION (#u39d97f9b-9a52-57c1-a1ff-ea91ffea0b76)
PRE-AWARD-WINNING GUEST CHAPTER WRITTEN BY KEVIN TURVEY (#u132cfbbf-d4d2-55b2-85b6-a0d7b1151c32)
SECRETS I WILL NEVER DIVULGE FROM THE BLOOD-SPATTERED TRENCHES OF THE SHOWBUSINESS FRONT LINE (#u03efaf57-bfc0-583b-a777-09d989abf750)
THE GREAT COVENT GARDEN BLOODBATH (#u0d4f0fbc-b822-508f-9aa9-549c66dd0ee2)
MAVIS WENT TO MOSCOW (#u754c723a-165b-5bcf-98fe-ea5f9963c88c)
GOING DOWN ON THE BILL (#u82baaad1-bc25-5830-9ab7-d12da2d13f70)
ALL MY GREAT SHOWBUSINESS FRIENDS (#uc463e854-2871-5519-8bf2-f6e8aeab7509)
A NATION CLENCHES ITS BUTTOCKS (#u87534f59-7b3d-5acb-938e-4fbb487c4a8c)
BIGGER THAN ADOLF BETTER THAN JESUS (#u5acc7535-2443-5ae2-bdad-3ad10e458cd1)
WHAT DOES A MAN WITH A TWO FOOT COCK HAVE FOR BREAKFAST? WELL, THIS MORNING I HAD A BOILED EGG (#uec91daba-12ab-51c1-aed4-972ba1e70f38)
RIK’S HOT BROTH (#u66a863a0-f117-5592-9fac-9ed90c99f454)
GUEST HOUSE PARADISO (#ua379839f-0a0a-5886-8143-5f4cd3417f6f)
PERU (#u3835dd8b-5b9a-5a50-8473-363fb086f742)
ONLY SURVIVING PAGES FROM THE SECOND GREATEST BOOK EVER WRITTEN (#u9e003397-6272-5968-bc9b-47b378affb61)
THE PINNACLE OF LIGHT ENTERTAINMENT (#ubf6cb31c-dee5-52d3-90b8-a90a1cbbafec)
D-DAY THE MUSICAL (#u4b00953a-9277-5579-b319-f988218cddc0)
MAXIMUM ENTERTAINMENT EXPERIENCE (#u2604263d-b9af-53b8-a133-f996c4cc8551)
QUICK MAYALL (#u2f5f6420-ae54-52e3-9001-ab69c0a4a0eb)
NO SLEEP TILL LLANDUDNO (#u47586645-09d9-5164-8f7c-c68833c081e1)
A-RAQ (#ub8411e69-4853-582e-a849-c569533e2fd4)
EVERYTHING GOOD COMES IN THREES (#ua2c57ff4-305a-589f-8a3e-3122e899f3c3)
By the Same Author (#u3455e4e0-4da0-5961-81c1-cb34df4488ad)
About the Publisher (#u6b713ae0-e226-51a5-a4f7-7f7327f3ca85)
FOREWORD (#ulink_4b95ed26-efe3-5cf8-8771-b984426f69dc)
Good afternoon. You know how like when you’re writing a book, loads of great ideas come to you. Well that’s what’s happening to me. And you know how you’re at the beginning of this book reading this now, well so am I, so it’s like we’re locked together, you and me, you know what I mean. Not like that, obviously, not dirty front bottom style, although we could be if you wanted, especially if you’re a jugged-up kind of bird who’s up for it. In fact, thinking about it, only really if you are a jugged-up bird who’s up for it
. Anyway, the thing is, here we are together, you and me. Except no, we’re not really, are we? Because I’m writing this bit now and it’ll be a different time when you’ll be reading it, won’t it? I mean, you know, think about it, it could be millions of years from now that you’re reading it. I mean my now, not your now. Your now would be right now, wouldn’t it? See, I was right. About both nows. You might even be someone from another planet. Or someone else from that planet. Or someone from a completely different planet. Or both of them. Or something. Or, oh forget all that. (Unless you are someone from another planet, in which case. Hello. Good afternoon to you too.)
So, basically, no one knows when or where you are reading this. So that’s kind of cool isn’t it. You know. Mysterious. I mean, this might be written on a cave wall some time after the next apoca-lyps. I just thought of that. Or somewhere else. Or not even there. But the thing is that none of this really matters so don’t worry about it because it’s not important because what I’m saying is, loads of people have written loads of books but the thing to remember about this book is that it’s better. A lot of books are just a load of old wank so they can fuck off. And if you don’t believe me, you can fuck off too. In fact, if you want a fight, I’m there. I’m pretty good at fighting so you’d better watch out. Better-watch-out-he’s-pretty-good-at-fighting is my middle name. Always has been. No it hasn’t. That’s bollocks. This isn’t working. Let’s start again.
Good afternoon. You know how—oh just forget this fucking page. It’s shit.
INTRODUCTION (#ulink_82ddb8f3-ebbc-5175-9d13-b0804651db28)
In the beginning was the word, and the word was Rik Mayall. Do you see what I did there? That’s the kind of guy I am. Unconventionable. And don’t say that I’m not because I am. And my career as a showbusiness legend spans decades and all of them (the decades that is) are choc full of successful movies, theatre events in the West End (and other places), cutting edge comedy television formats, number one hit records, funny and challenging chat show nonappearances and, most importantly, a string of highly inventive and genre-bursting (make that exploding and with some serious megatonnage as well) commercial television and radio product endorsements. People do not, and I repeat not, shout “fat unfunny has-been” at me in the streets. That has never happened—read my lips—ever. A lot.
Now, you know me, I’m a nice guy. You can ask anyone. So that’s proof. Anyway, I want to tell you what happened to me the other day. Things happen to me all the time. That’s what it’s like if you’re big famous. And I’ve always been down with my ordinaries
. Did you see that footnote? I wrote that. Anyway, when I say “down” with my ordinaries, I’m not saying, down with them as in “down with Thatcher”
, I mean down as in that expression “down with the kids” meaning happening and cool and groovy not, you know, like, you know, anything else. So, I like to think that I’m down with the kids [maybe change this]. What I’m trying to say is that I like children. Oh fuck, look just erase all this, forget about it. What I’m really trying to say is that I like you a lot and I’m down with you—actually, I need to stop saying “down with”. I’m “in with” you—oh God that sounds as though I want to get your stuff all over my fingers. Look, just go to the next paragraph. I didn’t mean it and it’s all shit.
What I’m really definitely trying to say here and now is that I AM THE RIK MAYALL. Good. That’s sorted. Moving on. We’re really getting somewhere now.
Picture the scene. Maybe it’s a Tuesday afternoon—fuck it, it is—this is my book. This happened, right. It’s last Tuesday. I’m in a crowded pub, having the third of three halves—I’m quite a big drinker
—when bang! It hit me straight between the eyes! I say it, it was more of a he—a big hard bloke with tattoos—you know the type. What had happened was that I had accidentally stumbled penis first against the arse cheeks of his girlfriend as I hurried to the Gents toilets to not take drugs. At first, I thought it might be one of those sudden unscheduled violence workshops that my great showbusiness mates
often spring on me which look to all the world like they’re beating the shit out of me but which are, in fact, all part of the acters’ craft. Anyway, it wasn’t. So forget about that. So, back to last Tuesday, and the next thing I know is I’m carrying out an emergency landing on the pavement outside the pub which is when a small pale man in a red overcoat came up to me.
“You’re Rik Mayall, aren’t you?” he said to me.
“I am he,” said I
.
“Rik Mayall! No, no, I can’t believe it! You are The Rik Mayall! You must be some kind of God, The Rik! The son of God or something! You have changed my life! When I saw first saw you in “Boom! Boom! Out Go The Lights” on the television in the early eighties, I laughed so much I coughed up half a lung and had to be taken to hospital. And after I watched you on Top of Pops with Cliff Richard, I was pissing blood for a week. To this day, my girlfriend and I like to tape the Andrex commercials and do sex to the sound of your voice as you bring the Andrex puppy to life with your challenging portrayal. It’s the only thing that’s kept our relationship together. Are you a God, Rik Mayall? You must be. You are like a shining beacon in the darkness of British light entertainment. And now I see you as just a mass of blood and teeth. You must be having another one of your many Rik Mayall show-business accidents.”
That. Was the moment. Suddenly there was a thundercrack. I looked up and the clouds parted. I found myself in a blinding shaft of golden light. I’m not joking. This happened. There I was standing in the lesser known alleyways of London’s Soho as if chosen, locked in a vast sunbeam of divine glory. It suddenly became clear to me. I was in the middle of having an epiphany. It was a sign from above. It was my divine destiny calling to me. It was everyone’s divine destiny. For I realised that what the people of this great land needed—this good ship Albion as I like to call it (although it’s not strictly a ship, it’s more of an island really) was a book. By me. It would provide a sauce of happiness and solace to my ordinaries (who I love) as they have to face up to living with all the shit they put on the television nowadays. (Have you seen it? It’s complete bollocks isn’t it.
) It would be like a gift to all my fans. Well not strictly a gift as they’d have to pay for it but you get the general idea. What’s a few quid when there’s people starving in the world? You haven’t got an answer for that, have you?
“I’m going to write a book,” I said out loud.
“Wha-wha-wha-wha-what?” (He was stammering, that’s not a typo. It’s actually rather good writing. I don’t know why he was stammering. Perhaps he was masturbating while looking at me. It happens.) Wha-wha-wha-wha-what?” He repeated. “The Good Book?”
“No, The Great Book.”
On hearing my plan, the man in the red overcoat—you know, the one I was talking to a minute ago outside the pub—his bowels spontaneously evacuated and he dropped to his knees, trembling.
“Oh God in heaven help me,” he intoned [or something that means speak only kind of grander].
“Yes, you heard right Roger [check name]. Pretty soon there are going to be only two types of people in this world: those who have read my book and those who haven’t. The line is drawn in the sand and you’ve got to decide which side you’re on.”
“Crikey Rik Mayall, you’re so right there like you always are and I respect you for it.”
“I know, thanks.”
So, as you stand there with this book in your hands (maybe you’re at home in your “front room” or whatever ordinary people call their living areas—or maybe you’re in that Godawful shit hole for the friendless, with the coffee and the easy chairs—what’s it called? – Waterstones, that’s it) you can think to yourself that you are part of this call to destiny and you can see that this is a whole new front that I’ve opened up here on my war on showbusiness. And I bet you anything you like that this will be every bit as successful as all the other great stuff that I’ve done over the years. And if you don’t believe me then I’ve got just one word to say to you: fuck off. (I did it again then, did you get that? What you’ve got to realise here is that you’re stuck slap bang in the middle of a firestorm of red hot literary cluster missiles of explosive word play and punctuation.
Hold on…) There you go.
As my old Gran used to say—actually I don’t want to get into that now, it’s too sordid. Just forget it.
