Golden Sunsets Redux - 60 Years of Memories - Part 25 - 1991

 This time two comedy legends create the funniest sitcom ever made...

1991:

The trivia:

• When robbers broke into the Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam with the inside help of a security guard, it should have been the perfect art heist. They’d selected twenty paintings with care - works worth an eye‑watering fortune - and slipped out into the night with the kind of precision that usually only exists in films starring George Clooney. Unfortunately, their meticulous planning didn’t extend to basic car maintenance. Their main getaway vehicle had a flat tyre, forcing them to flee on foot, leaving all twenty paintings neatly inside. The police recovered everything just thirty‑five minutes after the initial theft, making it one of the shortest‑lived “masterplans” in criminal history.

• The record for the most people ever carried on a single aircraft was set in 1991, when an El Al Boeing 747 took part in 'Operation Solomon' - an airlift that evacuated Ethiopian Jews from Addis Ababa to Israel. Designed to hold a few hundred passengers at most, the aircraft somehow packed in an astonishing 1,086 people, with every inch of space used. That number became 1,088 by the time it landed, thanks to two babies being born mid‑flight. 

• When “Kentucky Fried Chicken” officially shortened its name to “KFC” , it should have been the most mundane corporate rebrand imaginable. Instead, it somehow sparked one of the strangest conspiracy theories of the decade. According to the rumour mill, the company had dropped the word “chicken” because they weren’t selling actual chickens at all, but cloned, headless, lab‑grown 'bird‑blobs' that couldn’t legally be called poultry. It was the kind of story that spread effortlessly in the pre‑internet era - half urban legend, half schoolyard whisper, and entirely ridiculous. In reality, the name change was simply about modernising the brand and avoiding the word “fried” at a time when fast food was under nutritional scrutiny. But the rumour persisted for years, proving once again that people will believe almost anything - especially if it involves secret laboratories and mutant livestock.

The memory:

Bottom

So at last we come to my favourite comedy TV show of all time - the one that stands head and shoulders above all others. It's the culmination of all the work that Rik Mayall and Ade Edmondson had done in years past. The manic stunts of  "The Dangerous Brothers". The punk energy of "The Young Ones". The showbiz sleaze of  "Filthy, Rich & Catflap". All the chaos, all the anarchy, all the gleeful slapstick - it all funnels into "Bottom". It's bleak, violent, chaotic and incredibly silly. It's their masterpiece and I just bloody well love it.

Richard "Richie" Richard (Mayall) and Edward Elisabeth "Eddie" Hitler (Edmondson) are two crude, layabout, perverted nutters who live in a grim little flat in Hammersmith. Eddie mostly thinks about drinking. Richie mostly thinks about sex, despite having absolutely no idea what to do with a woman if he ever got the chance. They hate each other but seem to be stuck together, two hopeless men doomed to dream of better things and never get anywhere near them. As many have observed, it's Samuel Beckett's "Waiting For Godot" with added extreme "Tom and Jerry" style violence  Usually a frying pan in the face.

Each week would see the pair of losers make some pathetic attempt to improve their lot or fill the void of their meaningless lives - and fail spectacularly. Trying to attract "birds" down the "Lamb & Flag" with a pheromone sex spray. Stealing the gas supply from next door just as the gasman arrives to read the meter. Playing chess using some frozen prawns, a potted cactus, a bottle of ketchup and a large Spider-Man figurine. Richie deciding that he is the reincarnation of the Virgin Mary due to some dodgy Christmas gifts. It was gloriously stupid and side-splittingly funny.

It was all carefully crafted chaos though. Rik and Ade worked on the scripts themselves, writing each others lines and trying to make the other laugh. You can feel that energy in every episode. The pair did most of the physical stuff too - the falls, the slaps, the chair‑smashing - and you can see them really getting into it. There's not a line or a look to camera wasted. The joy is in the delivery, the timing, the way Rik’s face crumples up  into that wounded‑puppy expression, or the way Ade would make a single raised eyebrow funnier than most sitcom punchlines. Ade has said more than once that Rik would go “full kamikaze” if he thought it would get a bigger reaction.

There were also some memorable guest stars. Brian Glover was suitably menacing (yet oddly tender) as next-door neighbour Mr. Rottweiler. Helen Lederer swanned in as rich aristocrat Lady Natasha Letitia Sarah Jane Wellesley Obstromsky Ponsonsky Smythe Smythe Smythe Smythe Smythe Oblomov Boblomov Dob, third Viscountess of Moldavia. And of course Stephen O'Donnell and Chris Ryan popped up repeatedly as Eddie's best mates Spudgun and Dave Hedgehog. But many of the best episodes were just Rik and Ade for the full half hour doing what they do best - insulting each other, and committing the most appalling acts of violence.

As the series went on, watching "Bottom" became something I looked forward to all week. The theme tune would kick in, the camera would pan across that filthy flat, and I’d settle in, knowing full well I was about to see something utterly crazy and utterly brilliant. There was a rhythm to it - the bickering, the delusions, the petty one‑upmanship, the inevitable explosion of violence - and I loved every second. 

I was also lucky enough to see three of the live stage shows. I recall the first tour being an unbelievably hot evening in the theatre, with Rik and Ade constantly wiping themselves down (ooo-err). Between the ruder‑than‑TV script, the ad‑libs, the mucking about and the attempts to make each other corpse, I think I nearly passed out from laughing. The live shows were like a parallel universe where Richie and Eddie somehow had even fewer boundaries. The first two are the best in my opinion, but honestly, any chance to see the pair of them live was worth grabbing.

After the third of the live shows, development started on a feature film spin-off', but was stalled when Rik had his near-fatal quad bike accident. Filmed while he was still recovering, "Guest House Paradiso" was eventually released in 1999 and featured Mayall as Richard Twat (pronounced "Thwaite" apparently) and Edmonson as Eddie Elizabeth Ndingobamba, with the latter serving as director. The film sees the pair operating a grotty remote guesthouse next to a nuclear power plant and feeding their guests radioactive fish, causing violence, mayhem and massive amounts of vomiting. Despite the characters and humour being in the same vein as "Bottom", it's really not in the same league. An interesting diversion perhaps. 

After two more live tours, Edmondson felt that it was time to stop the mindless violence, even though his co-star was still keen. There was an idea for a sitcom set 30 years later in an old people's home, but it didn't come to anything. Then in 2012, the BBC announced that it had commissioned a series based on the "Hooligan's Island" stage show, where Eddie and Richie cause havoc on a deserted tropical island. Edmondson later revealed that Mayall (possibly due to his quad bike injuries) struggled to accept that he wanted to move on and pursue other projects - and that he only wrote the initial scripts in the hope that the BBC would reject them, putting Mayall's aspirations to rest - but it got greenlit!. Two months later Edmondson put his foot down and the idea was scrapped. Of course Mayall then tragically died on 9th June 2014, putting an end to any plans.

As much as I miss Rik Mayall - and I think about him a lot - in a strange way, I’m glad "Bottom" didn’t limp on forever. The show remains this perfect, self‑contained burst of anarchic energy.

On a happier note, the really important thing about the series is what it meant to me at home. If  the mutual enjoyment of "Mr Jolly Lives Next Door" had brought my younger sister and I closer together, then "Bottom" was the thing that really cemented how much we had exactly the the same sense of humour. Our parents didn't get it and our brother could take it or leave it., so this was *our* show and we were utterly fanatical about it. I bought all the VHS videos and the "Bottom Fluffs" out take compilations. Episodes such as "Smells", "Gas", "Apocalypse", "Digger" and "Terror" were watched over and over again and the lines quoted endlessly between us.

Even now, birthday or Christmas cards between us always end with "Love from all the lads on the Ark Royal". A compliment sometimes gets an added "..and may I just say what a smashing blouse you have on?". Sometimes we just shout "Gasman!!" at each other. We spent one memorable New Years Eve texting each other trying to see who could recall the most quotes (it was a draw). I even have a mug which proclaims I am a "Sad old git". Our shared love of a daft TV programme has endured.

This show isn't just something I enjoyed watching. It hasn't just seeped into my consciousness. It's welded itself inextricably to my DNA.

And I wouldn't have it any other way.

Honourary mentions:

• G.B.H. - Alan Bleasdale's savage and satirical drama about the rise and fall of a militant left Labour city councillor arrived like a political hand‑grenade. It managed to balance pitch‑black humour, farcical behaviour and genuine rage at an elitist, class‑ridden society - while still giving every character enough depth that you felt for them, even at their worst. Robert Lindsay is a revelation as the angry, womanising Michael Murray, waging a war against an unlikely nemesis in Michael Palin's special needs teacher - each of them on the verge of a nervous breakdown. As revelations about his childhood are constantly on the verge of being revealed, Murray descends into an accumulation of  tics, jerks and involuntary Hitler-like salutes at the oddest moments. The political edge may feel blunted somewhat to modern audiences, but at the time it was electrifying. I remember being gripped by all seven episodes, week after week, as the story veered from farce to tragedy. And then, just when you thought you had the measure of it, Bleasdale would throw in something completely unexpected - like part of an episode set at a Doctor Who convention, complete with fans in costume milling around while the plot spiralled into paranoia. It was that mix of  the mundane and the surreal that made "G.B.H." so unforgettable - a drama that dared to be angry, absurd and compassionate all at once.

• The death of Freddie Mercury - The sad demise of the "Queen" front man was the first celebrity passing that genuinely affected me - the only other one that hit as hard was Rik Mayall, as I mentioned above. I didn’t know Freddie, of course, but his voice had been part of the soundtrack of my life for so long that losing him felt strangely personal, as if a light had gone out in a room I’d always taken for granted. Even now, decades later, I still think about the music we never got to hear, the songs that remained unwritten because... time simply ran out. When the announcement came that Freddie had died, the TV channels immediately began showing the stark black‑and‑white video for "These Are The Days Of Our Lives". I remember sitting there with tears streaming down my face. The vibrant, theatrical frontman I’d grown up with looked so frail, so diminished, and yet so determined to give one last performance. He must have known it would be one of his final appearances, and that knowledge hangs over every frame. There’s a moment at the end - just a small look to camera as he quietly says, “I still love you.” It’s simple, unadorned, and devastating. In that brief glance he seemed to acknowledge everything - the illness, the secrecy, the fans, the legacy, and the sheer joy he’d poured into his music. It gets me every single time. Freddie Mercury didn’t just sing songs; he inhabited them. And when he left, it felt like the world lost not just a performer, but a kind of electricity. The fact that his music still fills stadiums, still lifts people up, still matters - that’s the closest thing we have to proof that he never really went anywhere at all.

• Imajica by Clive Barker - The fantasy / horror maestro's largest book, and in my opinion his best. A vast, intoxicating blend of fantasy, horror, theology and metaphysics. The premise alone is staggering - the Earth is one of five Dominions, collectively known as the 'Imajica', overseen by the Unbeheld  god Hapexamendios.  However our sphere has been cut off from the other four for thousands of years by the 'In Ovo'  - a void that only the most powerful practitioners of magic, the Maestros, have ever attempted to cross. The last reconciliation attempt, two centuries earlier, ended in catastrophe, killing everyone involved and prompting the creation of the Tabula Rasa, a secret society dedicated to stamping out magic altogether. Into this already enormous cosmology Barker drops a seemingly ordinary man, his ex‑wife, her poet lover, and a mysterious assassin - and that’s just the surface layer of an iceberg so huge it feels like it has its own gravitational pull. Calling the novel “epic” doesn’t come close. Barker uses every one of its thousand‑plus pages (later split into two volumes because it simply wouldn’t fit between normal covers) to explore a story that moves between worlds, identities, genders, gods, lovers, betrayals and revelations that feel genuinely mind‑warping. He writes with such conviction that even the wildest concepts feel grounded, emotional, and strangely intimate. It’s a novel that doesn’t just tell a story - it builds a universe, tears it apart, and then invites you to step through the cracks. Truly brilliant.

• Defending Your Life - Albert Brooks plays Daniel Miller, an advertising executive who dies in a car accident and finds himself in the serene, modern surroundings of  'Judgement City' - a kind of cosmic waiting room where the recently departed must stand trial to see if they have matured enough to pass to the next phase of existence, or whether they need to return to Earth for another try. During his hearings Daniel meets and falls in love with Julia, played with charismatic warmth by Meryl Streep. She has led a life of generosity and courage, while Daniel's actions have always been ruled by his own insecurities. Their romance is gentle, funny and unexpectedly touching - two souls trying to connect while the universe itself is judging them. The whole film is full of wonderful understated performances , including great support from veteran Rip Torn as Miller's defence lawyer. You wouldn't think that a young man in his twenties would like an American romantic comedy built around musings on fear, regret and the nature of existence - but something in this whimsical fantasy drama touched me.  Maybe it was the idea that our lives are shaped far more by what we’re afraid to do than by what we actually accomplish - or maybe it makes the afterlife feel less like a threat and more like a second chance. I know that at that point in my life I had a terrible fear of death. Whatever the reason, it’s remained a pleasant, oddly comforting movie ever since I first saw it.

• Hudson Hawk - I don't care that almost no-one else seems to like this film. I love it. It's surreal, crazy, over-the-top, inventive, outlandish - and frequently makes no sense whatsoever. And that's all part of its charm. The problem was never the film - it was the marketing. People went in expecting another "Die Hard", when what they actually got was a 1990s crime‑caper cum spy‑spoof in the spirit of the 1960s "Our Man Flint" movies. It even has James Coburn in a supporting role, complete with that unmistakable telephone ringtone, as if the film is winking at you from across the room. Richard E. Grant meanwhile is chewing the scenery with such unrestrained joy that you can practically see the teeth‑marks. By all accounts the production was hellish, but the pain was worth it, because the finished film has a kind of unhinged, anything‑goes energy that you simply don’t get from carefully managed studio projects. Instead of the tough‑as‑nails John McClane persona everyone expected, Bruce Willis is far closer to the charming, wisecracking detective from "Moonlighting" - loose, playful, and clearly having the time of his life. For me, that’s all the better. The film’s musical timing‑based heists, its cartoonish villains, its sheer refusal to behave like a normal action movie. It all adds up to something delightful.

• Toxic! - Conceived by Pat Mills, Kevin O’Neill, Mike McMahon, John Wagner and Alan Grant, the whole point of this new British weekly was to give creators ownership and control of their work - a direct contrast to the rights‑stripping model of the comics establishment at the time. From the very first issue, Mills set the tone - louder, bloodier, ruder and more anarchic than anything else on the stands. "Marshal Law" was the flagship strip with O’Neill’s jagged, lurid artwork. Alongside it came "Accident Man", "Muto‑Maniac", and a rotating cast of strips that felt like they’d been smuggled out of someone’s nightmares. The second issue introduced Wagner and Grant’s "The Bogie Man", while the notorious strip "The Driver" caused such offence that the police actually visited the offices after a reader complaint. The comic’s ambition was enormous, but so were its problems. "Marshal Law" began missing issues, and behind the scenes the publisher struggled to pay creators. Sales dropped, deadlines slipped, and by issue 31 the whole enterprise collapsed. Many creators were never paid, and some never worked in comics again. And yet… "Toxic!" mattered. It forced 2000 AD to up its game. It gave early breaks to new creators, and several of its strips lived on. "Toxic!" didn’t just push boundaries - it gleefully trampled them, set them on fire, and then cracked a joke about the ashes. Short‑lived? Absolutely. A failure? Maybe on paper. But for a brief, brilliant moment, it made me feel like 1977 all over again...