The Making of the Life and Death of Peter Sellers

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Action!

OK, folks, here they come.

Lots of applause.

The marvellous Harry Secombe,

the delightful Spike Milligan...

Oh, and Peter Sellers.

This is the BBC Home Service.

It's time for...

Another remarkable 1957 edition

of the wireless, talking type... Goon Show!

You sir, with the linen hair and oily suit.

What is it that you want,

you sick and twisted boy?

I must ask you to empty your pockets.

Ah, quit stalling, man. Empty your pockets.

Now listen to me, Neddie,

that is our entire worldly wealth.

What, what, what, what, what? Then what's

that ominous bulge in the seat of his trousers?

Oh, just some leather meringues.

Listen to me, my good man, we'd like

to hire your stained-glass battering ram.

- Ooh, what for?

- How about two shillings?

- I haven't got two shillings.

- We'll take it anyway.

No! You dirty, rotten swine!

You broke my little cardboard sword.

A stowaway, I sayl Come on outl

All right, I will come out.

Send in Mr Sellers.

- Good morning.

- Good morning, Mr Sellers.

- Now...

- Yul Brynner. Is that you with him?

Yes. Am I right in reading that

you're here for the part of Ned Brockway?

Yes, that's right.

You do realise the script calls

for a 60-year-old war veteran?

I've got his voice worked out.

I could do a bit for you.

Mr Sellers, I know you're quite big on radio...

I don't like to boast.

But film's a different medium.

It's one I'm quite, quite keen on.

- A visual medium, dear.

- Yes, of course.

A very unforgivingly visual medium.

But thank you ever so much for coming.

I am little Michael Bluebottle.

I am an ace private detective.

He's got his own scooter,

he's got his own make-up.

- He goes anywhere in fiction.

- And I am hotfoot after the criminals

what have stolen all the string!

I suspect the Moriarty man.

Ah, where is that Moriarty man?

- Thinks. Points finger.

- Pointy, pointy, pointy.

Oh, God, now we've done it.

- I'll get her, Anne.

- It's all right, I'll go.

No, it's my house, I'll help Peter.

You're tired. You stay and rest.

Have some fun.

Leave it to me and Peg.

All right, Dad, you can be

Major Dennis Bloodnok.

And you've just apprehended

England's biggest string criminal.

- All right.

- Peter?

You're under arrest.

It's all right, it's all right.

Dear, dear me.

That's the girl.

She's lovely. There we are.

Thanks, Mum. I'll... I'll do it.

Those film people won't have

anything to do with me, Mum.

It was my fifth audition this week.

- What did they say to you?

- Same as usual.

Not good-looking enough,

not magnetic enough.

"Stick to radio. That's what you're good at."

Keep being the ringmaster in a circus of twits.

Maybe I should just be content.

You simpering cow.

How can you be content changing nappies

in a flat like a woman?

You want to be a failure like your father,

mewl about contentment.

- That's not very fair.

- I didn't bring you up to be content.

I didn't slog round third-rate music halls

doing three shows a night

so you could powder your baby's bottom

and whine about how nobody

ever gives the radio man a chance.

Peter, no one's gonna hand it to you.

You want success,

you've gotta go out and take it!

Bite the hand that feeds you. There'll

always be another hand with more food.

And they'll be impressed

by the sharpness of your teeth!

Come here.

Yes. Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.

- I love you, Peter.

- I love you, Peg.

- I really love you, Peter.

- I love you, too, Peg.

- I really love you, Peter.

- No, I really love you, Peg.

Send in Mr Cobblers.

Good morning.

- Good morning.

- Oh, it is.

Would you like to sit down, Mr Cobblers?

I'd prefer to stand, if you don't mind.

You see, I caught

a bit of shrapnel... in the Ardennes.

I quite understand.

Now, I don't appear to have received your CV.

That would be

because I don't have one, madam.

I don't believe a man's worth

can be summed up on a piece of paper.

It wouldn't be fair to me. Or to you.

Or to any of those dear lads I left behind...

in no-man's-land.

But you have acted?

All over this fair land, madam.

Well, we'll have to have

a formal audition, of course.

But I must say, you're nearly perfect.

Well, we...

Well...

Yes, well... That's what I was thinking.

It's me. Peter.

You naughty boy.

Perhaps now we could talk

about my contract.

Our nominees for best performance

by a British actor are -

Richard Burton, Peter Finch,

Laurence Olivier

and Peter Sellers.

And the British Academy Award goes to...

Peter Sellers, for I'm All Right Jack.

Your Royal Highness, you naughty man.

Ladies and gentlemen, thank you very much

indeed for this award, which I shall treasure.

You know, I went to consult

an acknowledged expert about tonight,

someone who has published

several pamphlets on this subject -

my mother.

She told me to be short, to be sweet

and be circumscribed.

Which I am.

Don't we have any macaroons?

Oh, yes.

It would be nice to think

me son were happy then.

He might have been, at that, if he could

have been happy with "good enough".

Come here. But "good enough"

were never what his mother had in mind.

That boy needed a firmer hand.

I don't know.

Maybe if Peg had let us all settle down

in one place for long enough...

If Pete had had a regular routine, like,

I might have been able to teach him

something about life the way I saw it.

- The straightforwardness of it.

- Peter Sellers, I'm All Right Jack.

We had to keep t'show on road.

I remember once, we were all

in a caf in Brighton, having our tea.

Pete would have been five, probably six.

We got down to the last cake on the plate

and before I could ask who wanted to share it,

Pete snatched it up, licked it all over.

I took it off him, of course.

He threw himself on t'floor,

screaming his bloody head off.

Peg just laughed. She bought him sweets.

Those bloody rages.

Pete always got the last cake.

- Even if it were on someone else's plate.

- Background action.

...her sense of fashion and style.

- There we are.

- Here it comes.

Mr Sellers. What does it feel like

to be co-starring with Sophia Loren?

Soft, warm, a little like

being a young boy in a bakery

very early in the morning.

There she is.

- Sophia!

- Miss Loren!

- This way, Miss Loren.

- Miss Loren.

Excuse me, which one

of you gentlemen is Peter Sellers?

Peter!

Welcome to England, Miss Loren.

"We have never had it so good."

- If you go back so we can get...

- That's it.

- Lovely.

- Over here!

Please, Miss Loren, to be telling me

about your dreams.

Oh, Doctor, they started when I was a girl.

A girl. Goodness, gracious me.

This is a very good start.

What were you dreaming about, as a girl?

Boys.

So you have been crazy for the boys?

No. They were crazy for me.

That is not so crazy.

Such a funny boy.

- Excuse me. Miss Loren, it's your husband.

- Ah, thank you.

I can't see.

Open your eyes. Surprise!

Daddy, what's in there?

And here we have this year's Formula One

grand champion, Michael Sellers,

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