Not for the faint of heart or those that like their comedy polished and friendly, "Mr. Jolly Lives Next Door" is high energy drunken lunacy caught on film, a comedy that gets funnier every time you watch it. It also makes you want to take a shower after viewing, as Rik Mayall and Adrian Edmondson (as the "Dreamytime Escorts") leave a trail of slime a foot deep where ever they go. The slime, however, just greases the wheels of some of the funniest bits ever put on film and a surprisingly tightly plotted and well executed story. Wait, did I say Plot?
Yes, there's a plot, a mildly complicated affair of two idiots misinterpreting everything from what men want when they call an escort service, to an intercepted message meant for a mob assassin and the drunken chaos that follows when the boys follow the instructions in the only way they know how; drunk and stupid.
Tough to find on NTSC, but PAL tapes are available on the net. Some American viewers may have trouble with the accents (hard to understand at times as the dialogue descends into hilariously incoherent drunken ravings) and cultural icons (quick cheat sheet: Nicholas Parsons roughly equals Alex Trebek/Regis Philbin; off-license = liquor store; fairy liquid = dish washing soap; the Dorchester = The Four Seasons; fluffy toys = teddy bears; tonic water = well, tonic water). But not to worry if you are accent-challenged; the film is hysterical whether you can understand what is going on or not.
So cue up the Tom Jones records, sharpen your meat cleaver, and hide your fluffy toys and fairy liquid, because Mr. Jolly may be looking to add you to his client list.
Yes, there's a plot, a mildly complicated affair of two idiots misinterpreting everything from what men want when they call an escort service, to an intercepted message meant for a mob assassin and the drunken chaos that follows when the boys follow the instructions in the only way they know how; drunk and stupid.
Tough to find on NTSC, but PAL tapes are available on the net. Some American viewers may have trouble with the accents (hard to understand at times as the dialogue descends into hilariously incoherent drunken ravings) and cultural icons (quick cheat sheet: Nicholas Parsons roughly equals Alex Trebek/Regis Philbin; off-license = liquor store; fairy liquid = dish washing soap; the Dorchester = The Four Seasons; fluffy toys = teddy bears; tonic water = well, tonic water). But not to worry if you are accent-challenged; the film is hysterical whether you can understand what is going on or not.
So cue up the Tom Jones records, sharpen your meat cleaver, and hide your fluffy toys and fairy liquid, because Mr. Jolly may be looking to add you to his client list.