(Animation: a vicious rampaging bun)
Voice Over: Well that's all for Attila the Bun, and now - idiots!
(A village idiot in smock and straw hat, red cheeks, straw in mouth,
sitting on a wall, mah'ng funny noises and rolling his eyes.)
1st Voice Over: Arthur Figgis is an idiot. A village idiot. Tonight we
look at the idiot in society.
(Cut to close-up of Figgis talking to camera. Very big close-up losing the
top and bottom of his head.)
Figgis: (educated voice) Well I feel very keenly that the idiot is a
pan of the old village system, and as such has a vital role to play in
a modern rural society, because you see ... (suddenly switches to
rural accent) ooh ar ooh ar before the crops go gey are in the
medley crun and the birds slides nightly on the oor ar ... (vicar
passes and gives him sixpence) Ooh ar thankee, Vicar ... (educated
voice) There is this very real need in society for someone whom
almost anyone can look down on and ridicule. And this is the role
that ... ooh ar naggy gamly rangle tandie oogly noogle Goblie oog
... (passing lady gives .him sixpence) Thank you, Mrs Thompson...
this is the role that I and members of my family have fulfilled in
this village for the past four hundred years... Good morning, Mr
Jenkins, ICI have increased their half-yearly dividend, I see.
(We see Mr Jenkins pass, he is also an idiot, identically dressed.)
Mr Jenkins: Yes, splendid.
Figgis: That's Mr Jenkins - he's another idiot. And so you see the idiot
does provide a vital psycho-social service for this community. Oh,
excuse me, a coach party has just arrived. I shall have to fall off the
wall, I'm afraid.
(He falls backwards off the wall. Cut to Figgins in idiot's costume coming
out of a suburban home. He walks on to the lawn on which are several
pieces of gym equipment. He rum head-on into horse (speeded up) and
falls over, cocussed.)
2nd Voice Over: Arthur takes idiotting seriously. He is up at six o'clock
every morning working on special training equipment designed to
keep him silly. And of course he takes great pride in his
appearance.
(Figgis, dressed in nice clean smock, jumps into a pond He immediately
scrambles up, pulls out a mirror and pats mud an his face critically, as if
making-up.)
2nd Voice Over: Like the doctor, the blacksmith, the carpenter, Mr Figgis is
an important figure in this village and - like them - he uses the
local bank.
(Village square. A bank. Figgis is walking towards it. People giggling and
pointing. He goes into a silly routine. Figgis enters the bank. Cut to bank
manager standing outside bank. Caption on screen: 'M. BRANDO - BANK MANAGER')
Bank Manager: Yes, we have quite a number of idiots banking here.
3rd Voice Over: What kind of money is there in idiotting?
Manager: Well nowadays a really blithering idiot can make anything up to
ten thousand pounds a year - if he's the head of some big
industrial combine. But of course, the more old-fashioned idiot still
refuses to take money.
(We see Figgis handing over a cheque to cashier; cashier pushes across a
pile of moss, pebbles, bits of wood and acorns.)
Manager: (voice over) He takes bits of string, wood, dead budgerigars,
sparrows, anything, but it does make the cashier's iob very difficult;
but of course they're fools to themselves because the rate of
interest over ten years on a piece of moss or a dead vole is almost
negligible.
(A clerk appears at door of bank.)
Clerk: Mr Brando.
Manager: Yes?
Clerk: Hollywood on the phone.
Manager: I'll take it in the office.
(Cut to a woodland glade.)
3rd Voice Over: But Mr Figgis is no ordinary idiot. He is a lecturer in
idiocy at the University of East Anglia. Here he is taking a class of
third-year students.
(Half a dozen loonies led by Figgis come dancing through the glade singing
tunelessly. They are wearing long University scarves.)
3rd Voice Over: After three years of study these apprentice idiots receive a
diploma of idiocy, a handful of mud and a kick on the head.
(A vice-chancellor stands in a University setting with some young idiots in
front of him. They wear idiot gear with BA hoods. One walks forward to
him, he gets a diploma, a fateful of mud and stoops to receive his kick on
the head. Cut to happy parents smiling proudly.)
3rd Voice Over: But some of the older idiots resent the graduate idiot.
Old Idiot: I'm a completely self-taught idiot. I mean, ooh arh, nob
arhh, nob arhh .... nobody does that anymore. Anybody who did
that round here would be laughed off the street. No, nowadays
people want something wittier.
(Wife empties breakfast over him. Cut to idiot falling repeatedly off a wall.)
3rd Voice Over: Kevin O'Nassis works largely with walls.
Kevin: (voice over) You've got to know what you're doing. I mean,
some people think I'm mad. The villagers say I'm mad, the tourists
say I'm mad, well I am mad, but I'm naturally mad. I don't use any
chemicals.
3rd Voice Over: But what of the idiot's private life? How about his
relationship with women?
(Idiot in bed. Pull back to reveal he shares it with two very young, thin,
nude girls.)
Idiot: Well I may be an idiot but I'm no fool.
Voice Over: But the village idiot's dirty smock and wall-falling are a far
cry from the modern world of the urban idiot. (stock film of city gents
in their own clothes pouring out of trains) What kinds of backgrounds
do these city idiots come from?
(Vox pops film of city gents. Subtitles explain their exaggerated accents.)
First City Idiot: Eton, Sandhurst and the Guards, ha, ha, ha, ha.
Second City Idiot: I can't remember but I've got it written down some where.
Third City Idiot: Daddy's a banker. He needed a wastepaper basket.
Fourth City Idiot: Father was Home Secretary and mother won the Derby.
(Cut to a commentator with mike in close-up. Pull back in his speech, to
discover he is standing in front of the main gate at Lords cricket ground.)
Interviewer: The headquarters of these urban idiots is here in
St John's Wood. Inside they can enjoy the company of other idiots
and watch special performances of ritual idiotting.
(Cut to quick wide-shot of cricket match being played at Lords. Cut to five
terribly old idiots watching.)
First Idiot: Well left.
Second Idiot: Well played.
Third Idiot: Well well.
Fourth Idiot: Well bred.
Fifth Idiot: (dies) Ah!
(Another very quick wide-shot of Lords. There is nothing at all happening
and we can 't distinguish anyone.)
Series 2 Scripts