The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert

I want more!

Oh, God.

Are you okay?

That was fucking charming, you gutless pack of dickheads.

- Fuck off, you talent-less dog! - What was that?

- Show us your pink bits. - No, I don't think I will.

Now, do you know why this microphone has such a long cord?

Why?

So it's easily retrieved after I've shoved it up your ass.

Christ Almighty!

What the fuck's going on out there tonight?

Are you hurt?

All right, which one of you bitches sat on my dress?

Tick, darling, it's for you.

- Hello. - Ding-dong.

Avon calling. Howdy, sunshine.

Long time no hear.

- Where? - Emergency Ward A.

Mr. Belrose?

Yes?

So how about it?

Yeah.

Bernadette? it's Tick. Sorry to call you so late, but...

Hey, are you okay?

- No, I'm not. - Well, what's the matter?

Trumpet just died.

"The Lord is my shepherd. I shall not want.

"He maketh me to lie down in green pastures.

"He leadeth me beside the still waters.

"He restoreth my soul.

"He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.

"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,

“l will fear no evil, for thou art with me.

"Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me.

"Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies.

"Thou anointest my head with oil.

"My cup runneth over.

"Surely, goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life,

"and l will dwell in the house of the Lord forever."

It's not fair.

I've spent half my life and all my savings

trying to snag a sympathetic husband.

Selfish little shit goes and dies on me.

Twenty-five years old, and he goes and slips over in a bathroom.

He didn't slip.

He was peroxiding his hair at home again and he asphyxiated on the fumes.

I've gotta get some space.

I've been asked to do a show out of town.

- That's nice. - Why don't you come with me?

I'll need some help, and I think we can both use the break.

You're not wrong. Where is it?

Alice Springs.

You've got to be fucking joking!

Wo-Man is a unique range of...

...specialty facial products designed for the more...

...heavy-duty woman in us all.

Now, this week...

Excuse me.

Hello.

How long is the run?

Four weeks. Equity minimum, two shows a night,

accommodation included.

I can't just sit around here crying all the time.

Jesus! My mascara keeps running. I look like a raccoon.

Good girl. That's the spirit.

Here's hoping the desert's big enough for the two of us.

Three of us.

- Why? - Why not?

Look, he's turned into a bloody good little performer.

That's right.

A bloody good little performer, 24 hours a day, seven days a week.

I thought we were getting away from all this shit.

Two's company, three's a party, Bernadette, my sweet.

We're unplugging our curling wands and going bush for this show.

Why would you possibly want to leave all this glamour

for a hike into the middle of nowhere?

- Do you really want to know? - Desperately.

Well, ever since I was a lad, I've had this dream,

a dream that I now finally have a chance to fulfill.

And that is?

To travel to the center of Australia, climb Kings Canyon as a queen

in a full-length Gaultier sequin, heels, and a tiara.

Great. That's just what this country needs,

a cock in a frock on a rock.

Get back in your kennels, both of you.

The first thing we have to work out

is how the hell we're gonna get there.

Ta-da!

What do you think?

When do we have to return it to the school?

We don't. We own it.

What?

Hi, darling, how are you?

I met some nice, Swedish tourists called Lars, Lars, and Lars,

and I coaxed it out of them for 10,000 bucks.

- We can't afford it. - That's right.

Mummy, maybe a trip to the Outback would help me get over

this little phase I'm going through.

And you never know. I might meet some lovely country girl.

I hereby christen this budget Barbie camper,

Priscilla, queen of the desert.

Seems to be the understatement of the century.

Mum.

Ladies and gentlemen,

we're here today to see off a very brave woman

who will attempt to cross a continent alone.

On behalf of all our sponsors...

Ladies, start your engines.

Oh, please! Oh, give me a break!

How long have we been on the road?

Four and a half hours.

I've got a splitting headache already.

Happy hour!

Mother's Ruin pour moi.

- Long Island Tea. - And a Stoli and tonic for me.

- Stupid cow! - Yeah, well, listen to this one.

After we did the ABBA show,

Kevin had one of those liposuction penis enlargements.

- He didn't? - Yep.

Do you know what they do?

They siphon all the fat out of your love handles

and actually inject it into your wing-wang.

Yucky!

I suppose it gives a whole new meaning to cracking a fat, though, doesn't it?

Oh, listen to yourselves.

You sound like two fat slags at a pie bake-off.

Your contribution to the conversation hasn't exactly made headlines, Bernice.

Gee, poor Kevin's dick.

There can't be much room down there

with his brain taking up so much space already.

No, I'll join this conversation on the proviso

that we stop bitching about people,

talking about wigs, dresses, bust sizes,

penises, drugs, nightclubs, and bloody ABBA.

Doesn't give us much to talk about then, does it?

Hey, can you confirm a rumor for me? Is it true that her real name's Ralph?

How do you like your little boys, girls?

You don't have to answer that if you don't want to.

Oh, my God.

What is this, Outback with Benny Hill?

Just leave mine outside the door at about 8:00 a.m.,

along with an orange juice and toast, please.

Oh, why, certainly, madam.

And would you like Vegemite or jam with that?

Knock, knock, room service.

Can't you read the sign? Do Not Disturb.

- Please come back in the morning. - Ha ha, girls! Open the door.

Good night, Bernice.

Good night, Mitzi.

Open the fucking door!

Okay, if you don't open the door, I'm gonna sing.

Fine. You asked for it.

Good night, John Boy.

I'm seriously falling asleep.

It's your shift, and you're gonna stick to it.

Serves you right for staying out all night, slut.

I'm not gonna make it.

Fuck off, Grandma.

You all right?

Me? Yeah, I'm fine. I'm just thinking.

Sorry. Shit!

What is it?

Perhaps we should've flown.

Wrong, but thanks for playing. Anyone else?

- No. - Witchetty grub. Your turn.

I spy with my little eye something beginning with “R“.

- Rectum. - No.

- Ring pirate? - No.

Road.

All right, that's it. What's the matter with you?

- Nothing, darling. - Don't "darling" me, darling.

Look at you. You got a face like a cat's ass.

Now, come on, 'fess up.

Just worried about the show, that's all.

We haven't done any rehearsals yet.

We got two weeks, for Christ's sake. There's plenty of time to rehearse.

- Now what is your problem? - it's not a problem.

I just want the show to be good, that's all.

Gotta be good.

How the fuck did you get this job, Mitzi, my darling?

I mean, who is the fish that runs

this bloody hotel in the middle of nowhere, anyway?

- Your mother? - No, my wife.

Don't tell me you've got an ex-boyfriend tucked away

- out here somewhere. - No, my wife.

I'm married.

And when the joint bank account ran dry after a couple of years,

I guess I preferred her wedding ring to mine, so no drama.

We swapped and called it a day.

This is getting too weird.

You and a woman.

I mean, what did she used to do for kicks?

Put a bucket on your head and swing off the handle?

There are two things I don't like about you, Felicia. Your face.

So how about shutting both of them?

At least this explains your abysmal batting average, Mitz.

I often wondered why your dance card was so empty.

I take it you never got a divorce, then?

Well, girls, what can I say? Here's to a secret very well-kept.

Shame it's not gonna stay that way, isn't it?