We Are Lady Parts (2021) s01e01 Episode Script

1
Hi.
So, yeah, that is me,
Amina Hussein, 26, Capricorn,
finishing a Ph.D.
in microbiology.
That is Mum, Dad,
parental unit, standard.
They didn't always come with
me to meet potential spouses.
This guy insisted.
So do you have any hobbies,
aside from worship?
Worship is not a hobby.
Yes. No, of course. Duh.
Are you sure
you wouldn't like some tea?
Mm.
Sure, he had dementor vibes,
but his eyes were actually
kind ofdreamy.
With the shoulders
of a Mesopotamian warlord.
Our eyes meet
across the sand dunes.
Ahh!
Do you always dress
like this?
Bright colours and everything?
Oh, no, no, she's─ mmm
she's usually
much more modest.
And her─And her skin
is usually a lot clearer,
but she's, you know,
pre-menstrual.
Well, she sweats a lot.
I mean, but she's
very fastidious.
Please stop.
- Have you been on hajj?
- Not yet.
- Soon.
- Inshallah.
Amina, why don't you play
everyone a song?
- What?
- What?
Well, she's playing
at the Syrian
children's fundraiser
- No.
- At the town hall.
Please stop.
- Music is haram.
- Totes, innit?
Yeah,
I'm not actually playing.
My kids are playing.
- You have children?
- No!
I teach guitar
to underprivileged youth─
charity.
The kids are playing
at the fundraiser, not me.
I─I don't perform.
No, you don't have to worry.
She hates playing in public.
Huh?
Her nervy disposition
induces diarrhoea and vomiting.
What was that song
you used to play?
Okay, so my husband quest
was going fairly disastrously.
Little did I know, things were
about to change, big time.
One, two, three, four!
I'm gonna kill my sister ♪
Gonna ♪
This ain't about you ♪
It's between her and me ♪
She stole my eyeliner ♪
What a bitch ♪
And she's been stretching
my jeans out with her ♪
Fucking big back ♪
It's an honour killing,
it's an honour killing ♪
It's an honour killing,
it's an honour killing ♪
I'm gonna kill my sister ♪
Die! Die! Die! ♪
Want to kill her mister ♪
She's mine, motherfucker ♪
Lady Parts.
That was the band name.
Concocting a confused mix
of hash anthems
and sour girl power.
One part boredom,
two parts identity crisis.
No. No. No. Stop. Stop.
- Why are we stopping?
- We sound wank.
- Profoundly wank.
- Harsh assessment.
No, you know what?
We sound worse than wank.
- What's worse than wank?
- Haemorrhoids.
You know what,
I think we sound great.
- Boris Johnson?
- No.
We sound shit.
On a cosmic level.
Athlete's foot. Puberty.
Camel toe.
The Plague.
Black lung. Vegan cheese.
- Shut up, Taz.
- We can't audition
for Sound Smash
sounding like this.
You said that last year.
Maybe the universe is ready
for our vibes, man.
- No. No.
- Why do you have to be
such an epic bonerkill
all the time?
We are not ready.
Can't you hear
our sound is thin?
We need something more.
We need a lead guitarist.
Saira.
I beg you, man,
don't start this again.
Start what again?
Sisters, huh?
With mutual love
and admiration,
we lift each other up, yeah?
Feminism, innit? Hmm?
Dickless. Le Tigre.
Babes in Toyland.
Great three-piece bands.
Blink-182.
- Blink? Blink?
- Yeah, Blink?
- Seriously, Blink?
- Okay fine, not Blink.
You know, I think
getting a lead guitarist
could be a good shot.
Historically, four-piece bands
do have a higher success rate.
Like Metallica, Rolling Stones,
Beatles.
We're in a punk band.
We don't need a wanky,
self-indulgent guitar soloist
just jizzing
all over our songs.
Eh. Ugh.
We're getting a lead
guitarist; it's decided.
Who would have thought
that our orbits
were soon to collide,
like a freight train careening
towards a cute,
unsuspecting lamb
who innocently trotted
onto the tracks in search of,
I don't know, snacks?
I'm the lamb, by the way.
What you have to understand
is I never met girls
like this before.
Saira, lead vocals and guitar.
She works at a butcher's
as her day job.
She likes her job.
Apparently, sawing carcasses
gets the creative juices
flowing.
The band is her life.
Her raison d'être.
Just morning shift
this Saturday, huh?
- Come on.
- Mo, I told you I can't.
Band practice.
Get Mustafa do it.
Mustafa no good. Terrible.
He's your son.
Why you still trying
to be famous pop star, huh?
Like Michael Jackson,
Mick Jagger?
Famous pop star?
We don't seek fame.
We simply seek to speak
our truth before we're mangled
by other people's
bullshit ideas of us.
Our music is about
representation.
It's about being heard.
Well, you should wash your
hair if you want to be heard.
No.
You can't have audition here.
- Please, Mo. Come on.
- No. No. No.
This is not a nightclub.
This is not a den of sin, okay?
Forget it. Forget it!
I'll work Saturday.
Okay. Deal.
Ayesha, drummer.
She likes to vent
her displeasure with humanity
on her drum kit.
She drives an Uber for money.
Her whip is a VW Golf
named Hans.
- She wasn't even fit.
- She was fit, mate.
You see the tits on her?
And her backend.
You can't fucking say that
with one of them.
- Do you know what I mean?
- Hey. Hey.
You know, you don't see
a lot of girl Uber drivers,
do you?
Especially none like you,
anyway.
Yeah. Is your dad
making you work or something?
Yeah, he said
if I don't drive
simple, dickless pissheads
around,
he's gonna send me to Iraq
to marry my cousin.
Oh, no, that's awful.
Is that meant to funny?
Are you starting?
Is she starting?
I'm gonna give you
a shit rating, mate.
- One star.
- Give a fuck.
Just put on some
fucking music, would you?
We're your customers.
We do have to be treated with
a bit of dignity and respect.
Momtaz is the band manager.
Some say she did time inside
for arson.
Others said she divorced
some sheikh.
No one really knows.
a purveyor of cheap
ladies' undergarments
sold at a significant markup.
Excuse me.
What do you have in 36-D?
Depends.
What sort of bra
are you looking for?
We got recreational,
tittilational, factual,
respectful,
shag me kindly, shag me hard.
Sports?
Shag me kindly?
Excellent choice.
Here's Bisma, bassist.
Earth mother, actual mother.
A cartoonist by trade.
a celebration of femininity.
It's called "The Killing
Period bracket Apocalypse Vag."
All biro and Sharpie on paper.
It's set in an alternate
dystopian present,
about a group of young women
who all become
homicidal maniacs
when they're on their period.
Think "Handmaid's Tale"
meets "Rugrats," mm?
Two pounds for a single issue,
ten pounds
for the first volume.
This is actually disgusting.
Eww, man.
Sisters, don't hate
your bodies.
Your blood is your friend.
Your blood is your friend!
Sorry.
Yeah.
So this is Lady Parts.
When I wake up ♪
You get the picture.
Well, I know
I'm gonna be ♪
I'm gonna be the man ♪
Who wakes up next to you ♪
When I go out,
yeah I know I'm gonna be ♪
I'm gonna be the man
who goes along with you ♪
And I would walk 500 miles,
and I would walk 500 more ♪
Just to be the man
who walks 1,000 miles ♪
To fall down at your door ♪
Da-da da da, da-da da da,
da-da da da, da-da da da ♪
Da-da dum diddy dum
diddy dum diddy da da─♪
"Band seeks lead guitarist
to elevate sound."
An unstoppable force
soon to meet
an unlovable object
Me.
Yeah. Yeah. Me.
Perfect.
Okay, so the last guy
wasn't the one.
There's plenty more fish
in the sea.
Keep looking.
Noor, my best friend.
She was helping me
reel in a prized catch.
Ooh. Nasir.
Looking for devoted
wife/mother.
Eww. Freaky.
So he wants someone to be his
wife and mum at the same time.
Is that, like, a fetish thing?
No, you numpty.
He wants a woman who will
be a devoted wife to him
and mother to his children.
- A lot of p-nouns missing.
- Tricky.
Here, let me see
your profile.
Wow.
Why are you mentioning
you teach guitar?
It's my charity work.
I thought it'd look good
if I say
I teach underprivileged kids
guitar.
No. It doesn't.
It was good
for getting into university,
but not for getting a husband.
You can have your little
music obsession in private,
but on here,
keep it halal, yeah?
Come on.
It's not an obsession.
"Obsession."
Do you think
any self-respecting,
God-fearing, Muslim man
would want to marry you
if he knew you had this
old white man on your wall?
That is not a white man.
That is Don McLean.
Really, Amina? Really?
Okay, I'm sorry.
It's just
I really want this
to happen for you,
'cause, like
You know you've
been my best friend
since we were bubs, right?
And I wanted to tell you this
before anyone.
What?
I'm engaged.
Imran proposed.
Oh my God! That's amazing!
So there you have it.
All my friends
were either married, engaged,
or in the final throes
of courtship.
And I a withering shell
of a woman.
I had to find a husband.
By Jove, I had to.
Is that his real bulge,
or do we think he stuffs?
You're not seriously
considering him.
So when's band practice?
Always wanted to have
an all-girl backing band.
- Backing band?
- Excuse me?
- Die, bitch.
- What?
Yeah, thanks for your time.
We'll─we'll be in touch.
So the only person
who showed up for auditions
was a massive tit.
Excellent.
Ah!
Ah!
Unloved. Unwanted.
Rejected by all as far
as the app could reach.
All I had was this aching
heart, three chords,
and the truth.
I am a girl
of constant sorrow ♪
I've seen trouble
all my days ♪
I am alone,
only know Whitechapel ♪
The place
where I was born and raised ♪
The place where
she was born and raised ♪
For 26 years,
I've been single ♪
No husband here on Earth
I've found ♪
Lord, in this world,
I'm bound to ramble ♪
I have no man
to love me now ♪
She has no man ♪
To love her now ♪
Hmm.
- Ma, ow.
- Well─
And you think it's my fault
things didn't work out
with your date?
Look at your facial hair.
You've got handlebars.
I used to have handlebars.
'70s chic.
I don't see why you're
in such a rush.
Your father was a fucking
nitwit beef goof
when I married him; no offence.
- None taken.
- Just leave it, Ma.
You should go into railing.
You know how I feel
about rail transport.
I threw away my youth on
a good-for-nothing man-child.
- No offence.
- None taken.
- Is that what you want?
- No, Ma, I want
a loving, meaningful connection
with a witty,
kind-hearted man,
with whom I can build a life.
Is that okay with you?
Let her build a life.
- Where are you going?
- Out.
Get some vegetable oil.
Boo-boo, you want something?
Fanta.
Perhaps a life of solitude
awaited me.
I'd die alone.
My cats would feast
on my eyeballs.
Oh, shit.
Ahsan Alcoff.
He goes to my uni.
Why was he looking towards me?
What a specimen.
Lustrous facial hair,
indicating royalty,
while maintaining
boy-next-door adorableness,
with eyebrows
you could hang onto.
Was it fate
bringing us together?
Destiny? Kismet?
There was no denying
this was a sign.
Where'd he go?
Hi.
Um, I'm looking
for a boy─a man.
He gave me this.
Medium-built, radiant,
sad eyes you can swim in.
Could you kindly direct me
to his whereabouts?
You got your brother
to hand out the flyers?
Thought he might reel in
a thirsty bitch
with a shred of talent.
Wait, so you here
to audition or what?
No. No.
You.
You went to St. Abigail's
Primary School.
You played guitar
in the talent show.
- What?
- You were good.
- No.
- Yeah.
- Mm-mm.
- Yeah.
- No.
- You were really good.
Until you puked
all over the years sixes
in the front row.
Not my finest hour.
I remember you.
You're Saira.
You got expelled
for selling school furniture.
Verily, it is I.
Oh, so hang on,
you are a guitarist.
She's a guitarist.
Fuck off, she's a guitarist.
- Play something.
- Play something.
Play something.
I don't play.
I just teach.
You've got to play to teach.
I don't perform.
My nervy disposition induced
diarrhoea and vomiting.
- Eww.
- Mm-hmm.
I just teach, okay?
I just teach!
I just teach!
An unsettling encounter,
no doubt.
But my attention
was needed elsewhere.
The local mosques, schools,
and community centre
had come together
to raise funds
for the Syrian infants.
Everyone in the community
was sure to be there.
And I was doing my bit.
My students
were going to perform.
Okay, team.
Well done for getting this far.
When you get out there,
just remember, stay in time.
Breathe, nice and slow. Yeah?
You've trained for this moment.
Enjoy it. Yay.
Yay!
You need to chill, miss.
We've got this.
I certainly hope so, Donnie.
Today, my students
were my number one priority.
Ahsan? Again?
I'll be right back.
Take five, team.
Was the universe
trying to tell me something?
Perhaps. Perhaps. Perhaps.
- Can I help you?
- I'm fine. Thanks.
Just admiring your bath bombs.
Ooh.
What a gent.
They don't make them
like him anymore.
I hope it not too bold,
- but I wanted to inquire
- Yes?
- Are you spoken for?
- Spoken for?
No, I don't believe I am.
See, you're the most
exquisite creature
I think I've ever laid eyes on.
Sir, you mustn't
speak this way.
Please, don't go.
When can I see you again?
I must see you.
Oh, I couldn't possibly.
Miss Hussein.
Miss Hussein.
It's Donnie. Come quick.
I didn't expect them
to track me down.
They must have done
some serious sleuthing.
According to a tweet,
she's here.
There's no way
she's right for our band.
This is dumb.
Shh. We've got to find her.
Let's split up.
I'll take the backstage.
No. We have to say hi first.
Come on.
Fine.
Start looking.
- Bro, it has been how long?
- Six months.
Six months
of seeing each other.
Now you got to give Saira
an ultimatum, bruv, yeah?
Look, tell her, "Be my girl.
- Or, you know, bounce."
- Bye-bye.
She's gonna tell me
to fudge off.
Well, then she's
not right for you,
is she, Uncle Abdullah?
Tiny child with the wisdom.
Up top.
Cool, here she comes.
Here, look, tell her,
your terms, yeah?
No more of this─
- Casual dating. No.
- Casual dating BS.
You want labels. Labels.
- Yeah. Hi.
- Ma, stop.
My progeny.
How's my vegan
marble cake selling?
- Badly. It tastes like feet.
- Oh.
Hey, knob face.
You look buff.
You all right, dickhead?
You good?
Yeah, I'm good, Abdullah.
Are you?
Yeah. Yeah. I'm good.
I'm good. You?
I mean, yeah. Yeah.
- Why are you weird?
- I'm not weird.
I'm not weird.
- Cool. Catch you later.
- Yeah.
Come on, Bisma.
We got to find her.
Nice.
There he is, little broski,
all grown up, selling soap.
We knew you'd come far,
but this, mashallah.
- Funny.
- Fig and celeriac balm.
Super food and rhubarb
face scrub.
- Are you for real?
- Come on, man.
Celeriac?
Is that a fruit?
Nah, it's ambiguous.
Muslims don't need
this kind of uncertainty
in these dark times, man.
Where's your sandalwood?
Your oud? Oud?
I don't know.
It's Salman's stuff.
I'm just helping out.
Why are you here?
Donnie, just breathe.
I'm sorry, Miss Hussein.
I can't.
I can't. I can't do it.
Donnie, we can't do this
without you.
- You're our soloist.
- I'm sorry.
Well, if he's not doing it,
I'm not.
If you're not going
out there, I'm not.
Cynthia, you're gonna have
to take the solo.
The solo?
Miss, you know I can't.
Can't you just play with us,
Miss Hussein?
No. No. I don't play.
I just teach. I teach.
What about the Syrian
children?
Don't you care?
Please welcome
Smiling Hearts
After-School Guitar Class.
And so the moment
had arrived.
The fuck is Smiling Hearts?
The onus fell on me,
the teacher,
to lead the troops to victory.
From the sidelines.
What is happening?
Where is she?
Wait.
No. No. Not again.
It was coming.
I could feel it coming.
Yep, that's me, Amina Hussein,
emptying my guts
into a collection bucket.
Scorched by the sizzling glare
of public scrutiny,
I vowed to myself
there and then
I would never perform again.
But Lady Parts
had other plans.
It's her.
She's our guitarist.
You sure?
She's the one.
All the small things ♪
True care, truth brings ♪
I'll take one lift ♪
Your ride, best trip ♪
Always I know ♪
You'll be at my show ♪
Watching, waiting ♪
Commiserating ♪
Say it ain't so ♪