Primal Screen Why Marty’s moustache coulda been a contender
Marty Whelan’s moustache, Bryan Dobson’s braces, Donald Trump’s mane: where do the defining accessories of today’s stars go when their owners hit the hay? We take a very wild guess
Location: The Broken Hoof
Time: Some time before the Lockdown present
It was late, even for the after-hours dive known as The Broken Hoof. Only a few diehards still clung to the bar, like rats on driftwood. Marty’s Moustache was among them. “I coulda had class,” he muttered to no one in particular. “I coulda been a contender. I coulda been somebody, instead of a moustache, which is what I am, let’s face it. It was you, Marty.” But his ruminations were lost on his fellow imbibers, washing over them like yesterday’s news – apart from a sharp, dressed pair of braces at the end of the counter. This was Dobbo’s Braces, a sartorial statement that needed no introduction. Right now, he wasn’t looking for one, closely eyeing his mark as he mumbled into his drink. DB twirled his g & t, a classical tune wallpapered the air. “Beethoven’s Symphony Number 5 in C minor, Opus 67” said Dobbo’s Braces conversationally as he slid onto the stool beside Marty’s Moustache. He knew his man had a penchant for the lyrical. And like a ravenous trout he swallowed the bait and let his sorry story loose.
Marty’s Moustache was tired of being typecast, his plastic replica peddled throughout the land like some cheap calling card. Not that he hadn’t striven to carve out his own independent career. But to date, his only role of any significance was understudy to the star in the jaded biopic, I was Marty’s Moustache. In the audition he was told that he wasn’t believable, a moustache that didn’t match the face. He would have laughed but was missing the requisite physical attributes. Instead, he just drooped.
“I should have been a pair of ragged claws,” began Marty’s Moustache. “Enough with the shoulda, coulda, claws stuff,” countered DB. “It’s belts and braces and er, moustaches time. And I believe I have just the Mane who could set us up for a life in the limelight.” As if triggered by some alchemical cue, a golden glow materialised out of the stygian surround. “Hey Irish,” said the Mane with the Yankee accent aka Magnificent Golden Mane (MGM). “With your moustache, these here braces and my magnificent mane which I must say is the most magnificent in the world, we can make magic happen.” And with that, the Mane flicked a forelock and the moustache and braces disappeared, to be replaced by something that looked very like Steve Carell.
Epilogue
Marty’s Moustache still scuttles about on lyric fm. Dobbo’s braces cannot be seen but are occasionally heard on Morning Ireland. Space Force, which is currently streaming on Netflix, was reportedly inspired by the Magnificent Golden Mane.