03x06 - Private View

[bunniefuu]

Well, well...

"Make yourself comfortable"?

Is that supposed to be funny?

Oh... Hello.

Are you all right?

Don't mind me, I'm
just being nosy.

What do you reckon, eh?

I'm, erm... I'm working tonight.

I'm a... I'm a chaperone.

I don't know good art from
a good fart, me! Ha-ha!

Yeah, in't it?

I'm Neil. I'm assisting one of
the guests when they arrive.

It's not you, is it?

Visually impaired, yeah,

and that's a good thing in here,
what do you reckon?

Have you seen the state of
this thing?

What's all that about, eh?

Argh!

I've spilt me Ritz...

Excuse me, is this
the private view

for Fragments by
Elliot Quinn?

I don't know.

If only there was a way
of finding out.

Oh, my God! It says it
right there, doesn't it?

What am I like?

Would you like
a glass of champagne, madam?

I'll just have the one,

cos I've got another opening
to go to after this.

I'm never usually
the first to arrive.

You're not. Someone else
already went through.

Oh, is it another celeb?
Cos I might know them.

Another celeb?
The implication being...

Yes, it is me.
Carrie from BB8.

Will there be any photographers
coming, do you know?

I don't mind.

Although, I once got papped
at a Narnia premiere

with a massive sweat patch
under my arm.

I thought, "OMG, that's going
straight into Heat magazine -".

"Circle Of Shame."

They never used it, though.

That is a shame.

Ooh...

Good evening.

Maurice Wickham.

You don't need to see my stiffie?

I certainly don't.

Well, I'll help myself to one of
these, then, shall I?

I've only got two hands.

Two of everything,
by the look of it.

Don't bother, Grandad.
I'm out of here in three hours.

Well, at least you're keen.

Are you an art lover?

Nope.

And yet you have...
Tits?

Tattoos.
Body art is still art, after all.

Yeah, and it's not for sale,

so you can keep your little
red dot away from me.

Thanks for the drink.

You're not... I am, yeah.

You're not...

Oh, that is classic.

Oh, good God, that is classic.

You'll never guess
what his name is.

Rumpelstiltskin?

No. No, no.
Go on, go on, go on, tell her.

Kenneth Williams.

Do you know, he has never seen
any of the Carry On films?

Really?

Yeah, I don't watch comedy -
got no interest in it -

and, from a health and safety
perspective, most of it's a joke.

We... We're not together, you
know, by the way. We just...

We just met in the lift
on the way down, didn't we?

Mm, yeah, erm, there's no signal
down here, is there?

No, because we're in a basement.

No, it's because the arsehole
contractors can't be bothered

putting a signal booster in
the Cat-5 webbing.

Pisses me off!

Well, he's a laugh a minute.

Oh, right, thanks. Cheers.

Is there, like, a
set amount of time

you're meant to
look at each thing

before you move on?

Not necessarily.

It depends on the piece
and what it says to you.

For example, what this piece is
saying to me is...

gas expl*si*n at Debenhams.

Right.

And do you know all this
cos you teach art in a collage?

No. No, no.

I teach art in a college,

but one of the disciplines in art
is collage -

the assemblage of
disparate elements

which together
create a new whole.

Oh, that is like me
with my chillies.

I chuck everything in.

I'm known for it.

On BB8 I put bananas in,

and on BB-BOTS they were all
like, "What is she like?!"

I'm sorry, you've lost me.
What's BB8?

Big Brother 8 -
I was one of the contestants.

It was the year when Trevor
and Viveca had the row about

the rice cakes and had sex in
the secret bunker.

Oh, well, I didn't see it,
I'm afraid.

Oh, you should. It's
a classic year.

I got down to the last six.

Hello!

Is someone there?

Can I have some
assistance, please?

I'm visually impaired.

Yes?

Are you all right?
Do you need a hand?

They said someone would be here
to meet me, is that you?

No, there's a man here -
I'll take you to him.

Oh, are you blind?

What?

I take your arm -
you do not take mine.

Jesus. At £8 an hour,
is it worth it?

I'd like a drink first,
if that's not too much trouble.

Course.

Hey, Kenneth.
I think I've seen it all now.

Look over there.

Unbelievable.

I don't want to be
funny, but what

is she going to
get out of it?

Perhaps she's going to feel
her way round.

No, galleries do that now,
you know - touch tours.

And don't get me
started on ramps.

Well, she'll have no trouble
smelling them -

they are crap.

Welcome, everybody.

Welcome to my exhibition.

I'm Elliot Quinn,
and three years ago, I d*ed.

Don't be alarmed.

I knew it was going to happen,

and it made me think about
my life and my work

and how I wanted
to be remembered,

so I set about creating
this installation.

"Fragments" is an immersive work
that seeks to answer those

big important questions -

"Who are we?",
"How did we come to be here?",

and, "If all the
world's a stage",

then where does the
audience sit?"

All of you have been hand-picked
to attend this evening.

It's a very exclusive
private view.

I hope, by the end, you know why.

Enjoy.

Hang on a minute.
So, Elliot Quim is dead?

Quinn.
That's what he said.

I wanted to meet him.

We've got space for a mural at
that pocket park in Goole Street,

and I wanted to get a freebie.

Sorry, I work for the council -
Kenneth Williams.

Oh, my God! I've heard of you.

Are you famous?

Ooh, Matron!

Yeah, yeah.
I've heard it all before.

"Frying tonight."
"Stop messing about."

No, I'm not that
Kenneth Williams.

I'm not famous.

I'm Mr Dull Boring Ordinary
Health-and-Safety Nobody.

Oh, but, I bet, underneath it
all, when people get to know you,

you're a really interesting
character.

No.

No, I'm not.

I'll just go and get a top-up.

Sorry, sir, you're not allowed to
smoke down here.

It's battery.

Under UK law, I'm permitted to
use it in any public space that

has not been fitted with
a vape alarm.

Oh, I had one of them, but it
kept on going off in Argos.

Excuse me,
I seem to have been parked here.

I was promised a drink
at some point -

I presumed they meant
the same evening.

Yeah, won't be a sec.

Here, you can have mine.
I'm not really enjoying it.

It just creases me up, champagne.
It really burns.

Thank you.

Why have we all been
"hand-picked", do you think?

We none of us know each other.

It appears we have very
little in common...

Well, I'd never
heard of this

Elliot Quinn till
I got the invite.

I don't know anything about art.

Well, my neighbour does have
a Citroen Picasso.

The name rings a bell.
Has he ever brought out a book?

My neighbour?

Elliot Quinn. I'm in publishing,
perhaps that's the connection.

Judging by the first few pieces,

perhaps it's some form of
endurance test.

See you at the other end.

Why don't you and I chum up?

You see, I had a great aunt,
and she was blind,

so I know what I'm doing.

I'm not blind -
I'm visually impaired.

Oh, she's gone.

Right, well, I'm just going to
have a look round -

see if I can spot
any fire hazards.

Sounds like fun.

There's nothing funny about
being trapped in a fire, Miss.

I know there isn't.

Right, well,
I'm just going to and, erm...

Carry on?

Yeah.

Creepy!

Oh, my God!

You made me jump.

A bit derivative of Ron Mueck,

but I like the idea of
a blood mirror.

A little like Wilson's oil
at the Saatchi.

It's horrible. What's it called?

He's got a thing
round his neck...

No, I wouldn't touch the exhibit
if I were you.

Good God!

He's been stabbed!

All right...

This could be part of
the installation.

Come on, old chap! Get up!

You've got to reset for
the next lot coming in.

Stop kicking him, he's dead!
He's a big, fat, dead man!

Jesus Christ! What's
going on here?

Oh, he was just sitting there.
I thought he was a dummy.

I can't be here. I
cannot be here!

I'm meant to be at
Edwina Currie's

perfume launch
at 9 o'clock.

I think they'll want to
interview you.

I know, for Grazia.

I meant the police.

I haven't done anything!

Here's a good one, now, Pat.

Look there, because they're
all gathered round.

It's Patricia! Right.

And why do I smell blood?

There's been an incident, Miss.

Does anyone know where I can
find some cones?

I need to ring-fence off
this entire area.

Why? What's happened?

Oh, well, we're not sure,
but it does look like foul play.

Someone's been stabbed
in the back -

nothing new in the art world,
of course.

Who's been stabbed?

Neil Francis. He's a...
male nurse.

Oh, we have a dinner lady
at school who's a man.

Right, well,
there's no signal down here,

not even for a triple-nine.

I'm going to have to go upstairs.

Miss, do you want
to come with me?

No, I'll wait here,
and see no-one touches anything.

Good call.

You see, that's the trouble
with these Andersons -

if they get called by multiple
users, the pull system freezes.

Oh, right.

Whatever.

Could someone come
and give me a hand, please?!

I'm going to have to
force this door!

Yeah, I'm coming.

I'm going to let go of
your arm now, Patricia,

but you'll be all right,
because you'll be with, erm...

What's your name again, love?
Carrie.

Carrie, like in the film.

Yes, I'm not deaf!

She is impartially sighted, but
she doesn't have a blue badge.

I won't be a sec.

Carrie...

Didn't your boob pop out
in the Jacuzzi?

Sorry?

Big Brother 8.

Yes...

That's it, now. That's it!

It was just after my op.

I had 20-20 vision for a year
before it failed again.

Well, it's just so lucky that my
boob managed to fall into that...

little chink.

Yes.

See if you can get your
fingers in the cr*ck.

Oh, Kenneth!

That's a proper Carry On line!

This is serious! I'm trying to
get us out of here, OK?

I'm sorry. You know, I...
I think I must be in shock.

It makes me go a bit daft.

Here, use my phone -
see if you can get it in for me.

"Infamy! Infamy! They've all
got it in..." I'm sorry!

So, how many books have you
actually written?

I've done one a year
for the past 15 years.

God, so that's, like, 12 books.

Hmm... Something like that, yes.

The first few were
pretty soft-core -

swooning nurses,
"the hardness in his breeches",

that sort of thing -

but, after that 50 Shades
nonsense, I had to up my game.

The scenarios became more
and more outrageous -

people having sex in the most
extraordinary places.

Like up the bum?

I was thinking more of locations,

but, yes, I have lowered myself
once or twice.

Yeah, that is the best way
to do it -

it doesn't hurt as much.

That's it!

Yeah, I can feel it coming...

And pull!

Jesus.

What's happening?

Oh, my God. Not another one...

What is it? What's happening?

Well, it's just this
lovely young waitress -

she's just dead in the lift.

This is too much
of a coincidence.

Who was the last
person to see her?

I was...

but I left her tidying up.

Oh, come on, come on, come on.
Why isn't it working?!

I'm a celebrity, get
me out of here!

There's got to be a... a fire
escape somewhere. Let me think.

How did she die?

Well, I'm not m*rder She Wrote,

but I would say she's been
strangulated, wouldn't you?

Right, I've got it.
Erm, there should be a fire door

that leads out onto Duke Street.

I'll come with you, love,

because I want to see
the other rooms anyway.

You know,
I haven't been around it all yet.

Keep an eye on her.

I will.

It's handy, you knowing your way
around these buildings, isn't it?

I can barely find my way
around Asda.

Yeah, well, it's my job.

I am a dinner lady
at St Michael's.

"Chips or mash?" That's me.

I love the kids, though.

I don't want kids -
too many hazards.

I know, that is the worry.
I could

barely keep mine
in one piece.

No, I meant the kids
are the hazards -

look at Charlie And The
Chocolate Factory.

Oh. Jesus.

There you are.
Police on their way?

No, we couldn't get out.

The lift was blocked.
Oh, for goodness' sake!

Well, couldn't that waitress girl
call the manager or something?

She's dead.

This is all a bit
Agatha Christie, isn't it?

None of us know each other,

we've all been invited by
somebody we've never met,

and now it seems we're being
picked off one by one.

Oh, don't...

It's just like Big Brother
all over again.

I hope I don't get booed
when I leave.

If you leave.

At least this time
I've made it to the final five.

I once tried to write
a m*rder mystery,

but it's much harder
than it seems.

It's so easy to get oneself
knee-deep in cliches.

The trouble with
the genre nowadays -

too much m*rder, not
enough mystery.

Chained from the outside.

Illegal. I shall
be reporting this!

But how are we going
to get out now?

Surely we're like
fish in a basket.

Barrel.

Sorry. I... I was
thinking of scampi.

Is anyone else hungry?

We've got other things on our
plate at the moment.

Well, I don't have a plate,
and that's what I'm saying -

I thought there'd be nibbles.

But, look, we are in
an art installation

surrounded by wire and metal -

there has to be a
pair of pliers or

bolt-cutters around
here somewhere!

You know, I was in Homebase
only this morning.

Yes?

No. I... I was in
for a paint match.

I just can't make up my mind
between Elephant's Breath

and Clown's Pocket.

Clown's Pocket?!

Right, can I just
suggest we split

up? It'll be
quicker that way.

Fine, well, let's meet back here
in 15 minutes.

No, no, no... It
was Deep Cavern.

And then, of course,
they all split up,

which is something you would
never do in that situation,

and, before you know it,
there's another one gone.

Are you still there, darling?

I've not bored you
to death, have I?

Carrie?

Hello?

Carrie?

Carrie... Oh!

Oh...

Oh, dear God!

Help!

Someone, please!

We need help!

Is someone there?

Oh...

Oh, oh...

Oh...

I'm sorry, that stinks.

Let me check that.

Here's what I found
on the web for

"how to use a stiletto
as a w*apon".

Is that you, Pat?

Jesus Christ, not another one.

It's worse than
a public information film.

What is it? What's happened?

It's in there.

It's horrible.

Well, flush it away!

It's Pat. She's dead.

Good God...

What's happened to her eyes?

What's going on?

You don't want to know.

It's Pat.

Let's get out of here.
I found these, look!

Whatever happens,
stay close to me.

Right, this should do it.

I found these, by the way.

They've got your name on.

Oh, thank you.
It's my... my heart medication.

Heart medication?

Tacrolimus, yes,
it's an anti-rejection drug -

I've had a heart transplant.

When was this?

Ah, three years ago now.

I'm doing fine, touch wood.

I had a lung transplant
three years ago -

it saved my life.

And Patricia had her eyes done -
two new Cornettos.

That waitress, she had some
kind of skin graft...

Yes, well, let's
get out of here

first, and we can
ponder that later.

I've nearly got it!

Oh, my God!
He's got a heart condition!

Those pills -
I found them in Carrie's hand.

She's dead as well.

Oh, my goodness.

We're all dropping like flies.

That must be the link -

we've all had some kind of
transplant -

but why would he want to k*ll us?

What have we done wrong?

Well, you shouldn't be smoking,
Kenneth,

for a start...

And it made me think about
my life and my work,

and how I wanted
to be remembered,

so I set about creating this
installation.

"Fragments" is an immersive work
that seeks to answer those

big important questions -

"Who are we?",
"How did we come to be here?",

and, "If all the
world's a stage",

then where does the
audience sit?"

All of you have been hand-picked
to attend this evening.

It's a very exclusive
private view.

I hope, by the end, you know why.

Enjoy.

That was my son.

He d*ed three years ago
of a brain tumour.

Nothing else wrong with him
apart from that,

so he decided to donate himself -

every organ -

and he told me to keep tabs
on all the people he helped,

and to, erm, gather
them together.

You were to be the art -

a living exhibition -

a celebration of him,

and how his life gave others
a wonderful opportunity.

But it didn't work out like that,
did it?

I don't know what you mean.

You squandered him!

He was wasted on all of you!

Like this fat pig, Neil Francis -

a new kidney, and
still he gave

himself diabetes by
eating too much.

And that waitress, she burnt
her skin off in a fire

she started herself
in some pathetic

attempt at
attention-seeking.

She had a piece of my son,
and still she sullied his flesh

with self-pitying tattoos.

I don't understand...

And then there's that
talentless nonentity,

just drinking like a fish
in some television reality show,

despite having my son's liver.

And then there's Patricia,

spending her days squinting
at her p*rn writings

through the corneas
of my son's eyes.

And there's Kenneth Williams -

still smoking,

despite having the gift of
Elliot's right lung inside him.

It was an e-cigarette.

Still...

And then there's you, Maurice.

You were lucky enough
to get my son's heart.

Yes. Yes, and I've
looked after it.

I exercise, I watch what I eat...

It still hasn't
stopped you becoming

a heartless critic,
though, has it?

Oh, that's a bit of a stretch.

I'm a lecturer, not a critic!

Doesn't matter.

You're undeserving,

just like the others.

Yeah, you've looked after
Elliot's heart well enough...

but I'd like it
back now, please.

It's time to complete
Elliot's masterpiece.

Well, it's been
described by some

as "ghoulish" and
"in poor taste",

but the installation behind me
last night scooped

the £40,000 Turner Prize,

and has broken all
box-office records

here at the Nine Gallery
in east London.

Well, the artist behind this
extraordinary sculpture,

who's seemingly come from nowhere
to take the art world by storm,

joins me now.

Maurice Wickham, congratulations.

Thank you.

Now, talk us through
this exhibition,

because you've obviously
put your heart into it.

Well, not quite.