Int. Burnage. Terrace front-room set recycled from Shameless. LIAM sits on a sunken sofa eating lasagne, pausing occasionally to sprinkle cocaine on top.
LIAM: (sings to Digsy’s Dinner) Oh, what a life it would be / If someone could write all my songs for me / And I could make millions from being surly / And trying to laaaaaamp yaaaaaaa …
NOEL enters, hiding records by David Bowie, Stevie Wonder, the New Seekers, the Bonzo Doo-Dah Dog Band and Gary Glitter behind his back.
NOEL: Right then, Aaar Kid, I’ve just foun … um, written some fookin’ great tunes and I’m stealing your band to play them.
LIAM: Aren’t you busy with that bird of yours, Sally?
NOEL: She can wait.
LIAM: Ok. What are the lyrics like?
NOEL: Fookin’ goo-goo-ga-joob, pal. (Aside, desperate.) What the fook rhymes with Elsa?
LIAM and NOEL fight (in style of slo-mo Marx Brothers).
LIAM: (sings to Supersonic) Don’t make me laugh / Who’d want your autograph?
NOEL: (sings) You’ll be walking with a cane / Once I’ve got full control of Rain / Watch decades of resentment grow / Because you pissed on my stereo …
ALAN MCGEE peers through the window.
ALAN MCGEE: I just happen to be passing this random Manchester window, on no advice of Sony Records at all, and saw you fighting to music. You’re gonna be the biggest fighters who also play music in the world! Here’s a record deal written in blood. (Looks at the deal, rubs it on his sleeve) Sorry, covered in blood.
Lights up on a CHORUS OF JOURNALISTS at the back of the stage.
CHORUS OF JOURNALISTS: (sings to Cigarettes and Alcohol) Is it ooooour imagination, or have we finally found something worth frothing for? / We were looking for demonisation, and now we’ve found some sweary gits, on drugs n’all.
Ext. Glastonbury 1994. OASIS are on stage.
LIAM: (sings to Rock’n’roll Star) I’ll sprinkle drugs on my cornflakes / And fight a full ferry bar / The mafia ain’t no match for me …
In the wings, DAMON ALBARN looks on in a Fred Perry top hat and cape, twiddling his fingers villainously.
DAMON: Bah! Years of turning the working-class aesthetic into an ironic postmodern semi-mockery disguised as fondly exaggerated suburban portraiture, and these northern oiks, with their (spits) authenticity, think they can challenge ME? Well, there’s no other way. I shall have to humiliate them in the pillories of the national charts, and in doing so buy myself a big house. A very big house. In the country. Mwah-ha-ha-haaa!
The CHORUS OF JOURNALISTS leap and bound across the stage, spinning newspaper front pages reading “Poshos Versus Proles!” and “Are You a Blurite or a Massive Oasist?”
TREVOR MCDONALD: (voiceover) And the winner is … BLUR!
The CHORUS OF JOURNALISTS raise DAMON shoulder high and carry him off stage, surrounded by paparazzi. LIAM and NOEL cry-fight, eventually collapsing against each other in a slow dance.
Liam: (sings to Wonderwall) Got beat, the word is on the street / That we’re ruined by them chirpy mods / Oh shite, thought Roll With It was alright / Might as well chuck out this half-arsed plod …
A lone PAPARAZZO wanders on to the stage, sees a crowd of maudlin Mancs with their parkas zipped into face-tubes beginning to gather around LIAM and NOEL, and snaps a solitary photo. Gradually, he’s joined by a larger crowd and more PAPARAZZI, until there’s a blizzard of flashbulbs. As the song reaches its crescendo, money showers from the sky and ALAN MCGEE drives on in a brown Rolls Royce, beckoning them into the back seat.
Int. Farce segment. As the backdrop revolves between Heathrow, a stage, a dressing room and various US landmarks, LIAM and NOEL angrily quit the band through a series of doors in a slapstick manner, chased by PAPARAZZI throughout. LIAM might open a door to quit only to be met by a fist-waving policeman, PATSY KENSIT throwing a prop baby at him, or ROBBIE WILLIAMS trying to give him a hug. When NOEL tries to quit, he gets shepherd-hooked back on stage by a grinning TONY BLAIR. Eventually, LIAM and NOEL manage to quit at the same time, only to slope shamefully back on stage after a suitably comic pause. Song: She’s Electric performed in oom-pah style.
Int. Knebworth dressing room. BONO waits patiently in a corner.
LIAM: (off stage, sings to Champagne Supernova) Slowly walking down the hall / Faster than a cannon ball / Where were you when you were supposed to be teaching Noel the fundamentals of O-level physics?
OASIS finish the gig and enter. BONO hands NOEL a towel, bows and exits.
NOEL: Well, that was a legendary gig, we’re officially the biggest band in the world, nothing could stop us now.
LIAM opens a drinks cupboard and out tumble all of Noel’s records. He sticks on Mott the Hoople’s All the Young Dudes.
LIAM: Oi, Aar Kid, what the fook is this?
Stunned silence. The stage darkens. An ominous version of La Marseillaise plays, accompanied by the sounds of guitars being smashed and a plum hitting a wall. BONEHEAD and GUIGSY shuffle towards the door.
BONEHEAD: Just sacking myself. Good luck, guys!
GUIGSY: Yeah, um, me too. The bloke from Heavy Stereo is free. Bye!
At this point, BONEHEAD, GUIGSY and whoever THE DRUMMER is scarper, leaving LIAM and NOEL alone. They face off in silence. Just as they go to fight, LIAM turns aside and furiously eats soup with a fork, while NOEL turns the other way, angrily snapping a pair of scissors. BONEHEAD re-emerges at the side of the stage holding a sign that reads “2019”. Song: a plaintive, downbeat Don’t Look Back in Anger.
LIAM: (sings to a plaintive, downbeat Don’t Look Back in Anger) So the reunion must wait / While I spew my hate / On Twitter, alone …
NOEL: (sings) I’ll go psych, my way / And just look back in anger / ’Til my dying day.
Dream sequence. MICHAEL EAVIS pirouettes on stage dressed as a gigantic cheque covered in zeroes. The song swells into an orchestral finale. LIAM and NOEL embrace. Curtain.