Rigsby? He’ll be setting the dogs on the Salvation Army
THE SKETCH FOR THE MAN WHO HAS EVERYTHING
ERIC CHAPPELL created hugely successful sitcoms for ITV including Duty Free, Only When I Laugh and The Bounder. But his greatest hit began with a stage play in the early Seventies called The Banana Box, starring Leonard Rossiter as a cantankerous landlord called Rooksby. After a real Mr Rooksby complained, that was changed to Rigsby for the TV spin-off, Rising Damp. It co-starred Richard Beckinsale as Alan, at the time regarded as Britain’s brightest comedy hope. Sadly, he died in 1979, a year after Rising Damp ended.
It’s Boxing Day at Rigsby’s boarding house and Alan and his girlfriend Brenda enter carrying suitcases. ALAN: (Forced cheerfulness)
Well, here we are, Brenda. Alone at last. BRENDA: What about Rigsby? ALAN: He’s spending Christmas at his brother’s. (Laughs) Can you imagine those two together? Heating up pennies for the carol singers, setting the dogs on the Salvation Army, helping some poor needy traveller to a bunch of fives. What a Christmas! BRENDA: Well, what about our Christmas? That wasn’t so hot. ALAN: What do you mean, Brenda? BRENDA: I spent most of it rolling balls of wool. Your mother doesn’t like me, does she? ALAN: Of course she does. She’s just got to get used to you, that’s all. BRENDA: Get used to me! You make me sound like greasy food. ALAN: I didn’t mean it like that. I mean she’s a bit old-fashioned. She’s not used to see-through blouses and eyeshadow. BRENDA: So that’s it. I’m not good enough. I wondered why she sat me behind that pillar at the carol service. She’s ashamed of me ALAN: No, she’s not. BRENDA: I’m just as good as she is — even if I don’t bottle my own fruit. ALAN: Of course you are. But you know what mothers are like. BRENDA: I know what your mother’s like. She spoils you. ALAN: I wouldn’t say that, Brenda.
BRENDA: Then why does she blow on your potatoes? ALAN: She doesn’t — well, only when they’re hot. BRENDA: You’re going to get a shock when you get married. ALAN: That’s different. I wouldn’t expect you to blow on my potatoes, Brenda. The trouble is she’s a little bit jealous. BRENDA: Yes — I suppose that’s why she looped all that wool
around my hands — in case I made a lightning attack on you. ALAN: Well, there’s no one to disturb us now, Brenda. We’re on our own. Why don’t you slip into something comfortable? BRENDA: You must be joking. It’s freezing in here. I think I’ll go and have a bath and get warm. ALAN: That’s a good idea. Do you want me to bring my loofah?
BRENDA: No thanks. ALAN: All right, I’ll tell you what. You have a bath — I’ll go and borrow Rigsby’s electric fire — warm the room up a bit.
BRENDA: Will it be all right? ALAN: Of course, I’ve told you — he’s at his brother’s. I wouldn’t have brought you back if he’d been here. He puts up this mistletoe at Christmas and sits around it like a praying mantis. No one’s safe.
BRENDA: Well, I’ll get my bath.
Brenda exits. ALAN: (Picks up bath salts etc,
sniffs) Devon violets. I’ll bring your bath salts in a minute. I can see we’re all set for an undisturbed night of bliss.
Alan exits and we see him cheerfully entering Rigsby’s rooms. Rigsby enters from bedroom. ALAN: ( shocked) Rigsby! RIGSBY: Who did you expect — the ghost of Christmas past?
ALAN: I thought you were at your brother’s?
RIGSBY: Well, I’mIm not. ALAN: You meanan you’re all on your own?
RIGSBY: That’ss right. ALAN: At Christmas?stmas?
RIGSBY: What’shat’s that got to do with it? It’s thehe same as anyy other time — except everyone’s on the scrounge. I’ve just had the milkman — then it’ll be the newspaper boy. Mind you,, he’s in for a shock. Do you know what he’ss written writont on that front gate? ‘Martin Bormannann lives here.’ He won’t get anything from me.
Alan glances anxiously upwards. ALAN: Well, if you go on like this, Rigsby, they will think Martin Bormann lives here. You’re becoming a recluse. Why don’t you go out and get some fresh air? Go and watch United. I hear they’re playing four-two-four this afternoon. RIGSBY: Four- two- four! You must be joking. This is Boxing Day. They’ve probably been supping since dinner time. They won’t be playing four-two-four — there’ll be ten of them running around under a cloud of brandy fumes. The only one in position’ll be the goalie and he’ll be clingin clinging to the upright.
ALAN: Well, you ough to to be doing something. somet
RRIGSBY: IGSB Just be cc au a use it’s Chri Christmas? I keekeep telling youyou, it’s one big fiddle. I dodon’t believe in it.
ALAN: AL Well, if yoyou don’ t belbelieve in it, why have you got the mistlemistletoe? RIGSBY: RIGSBY Well, it’s tradition, isn’ti it? Old habits die hardhard.
ALAN: ALAN You’re telling me. (Discovers cracker) You’ve even got a cracker. RIGSBY: Yes, well, I happened to find it lying around, that’s all. ALAN: Hey, should we pull it, Rigsby?
RIGSBY: (shrugs) If you want to — I don’t mind.
Alan and Rigsby pull at the cracker. they both turn heads away apprehensively.
Alan: I hate it when they go bang. RIGSBY: Beginning to tense up,
aye? I can see you’ve never been under fire. (Loud crack. Rigsby staggers back) Oh my God! ALAN: What about you then, Rigsby? RIGSBY: That’s different — that was battle fatigue. (Enviously) I see you’ve got the big end, then? ALAN: Yes. RIGSBY: What have you got — the usual Hong Kong rubbish? ALAN: It’s a compass. RIGSBY: Well, you won’t need that. You know your way around here. (Pockets compass.) ALAN: (Protests) Hey! RIGSBY: Well, it’s my cracker. You can have the paper hat. ALAN: I don’t want the paper hat. RIGSBY: Oh dear — what’s the matter? ALAN: Nothing.
RIGSBY: Nothing! Your lower lip’s dropping. All right — you can have the plastic ink blot and this — you have to get these little balls into these holes. ALAN: No — it doesn’t matter.
RIGSBY: My God! Christmas and he’s got the sulks!
ALAN: No, I haven’t. I might have known, Rigsby. You don’t change — even at Christmas.
RIGSBY: Then why did you come down? (Frowns) That’s a point — why did you come down? You thought I was away. ALAN: Well, I just came in to . . . RIGSBY: To what? ALAN: To leave you your present. RIGSBY: Present. ( stares) You’ve bought me a present? ALAN: Yes. RIGSBY: Well, where is it?
Alan feels in his pockets.
ALAN: Here it is, Rigsby. RIGSBY: (stares) Bath salts?
ALAN: Yes.
RIGSBY: Talcum powder? ALAN: Devon violets.
RIGSBY: (threateningly) Are you trying to be funny?
ALAN: No. I know it’s not much, but it’s the thought that counts.
RIGSBY: It’s the thought that worries me. Are you suggesting that I’m lacking in personal freshness?
ALAN: Certainly not. You have a bath every Friday night — I know that.
RIGSBY: Yes, every Friday night — whether I want one or not.
ALAN: Well, I didn’t know you were going to take that attitude — I can see I shouldn’t have bothered.
RIGSBY: (Hesitates) No, I’m sorry, it’s me. It’s been a long time since anybody . . . took me by surprise, that’s all. Have a mince pie. ALAN: Thanks.
RIGSBY: Have a drink. You know, you’re right — it’s no fun spending Christmas on your own. I realised that yesterday when I finished my dinner. (Picks up wishbone) There was no one to pull the wishbone with. I had to pull it by myself.
ALAN: Well, at least you got the wish, Rigsby.
RIGSBY: But it didn’t come true though, did it. Unless you’ve seen a nubile young woman in a flimsy negligee floating around, aye?
Rigsby laughs. Brenda enters in negligee.
BRENDA: How long are you — Oh! — Sorry! Brenda dashes out. Rigsby stares from her to the wishbone.