The McManigans Defuse A Bomb

Posted: September 6, 2011 in DVD Bonus Features


Time. Like God. We ignore it, until we’re desperate for it.


And time is running out.


There is an eerie silence as a shaded man with covered face leaps over and abseils down a wall. He has just made a phone call. A deadly phone call. A deadly phone call that’s been intercepted. Intercepted by The McManigans.


Who’re on their way.


Their car, an old, yellow MG BGT, pulls up across two of the many available spaces and the doors hoof open. “This is no time for handles” says Wall, the slightly younger of the two. Heath shoots out of the driver’s seat with great force. Wall doesn’t see him catch his foot on the seatbelt. They know they don’t have long, and that to save the lives of every single and in-relationship soul in Stourbridge, they need to move fast. Heath stands on Wall’s right. Shoulder-to-shoulder.


And then they move.




An old man with a baby returns to his car on the second floor. He is knocked to the floor by a sudden gust of wind emanating from the path of a tiny tornado that’s just thundered through like ten thousand pterodactyls on a pure passion pilgrimage. Only it wasn’t a tornado. It was The McManigans. And the baby has mysteriously aged three years.


It was The McManigan Run.


Wall and Heath appear on the top level within seconds and don’t even need a moment to regain their breath, for they are masters in the art of treading air as they run together, reaching supersonic speeds if given just a couple of minutes worth of good air. If the air isn’t good, they simply remain mortal men. Men with a secret: They alone know that atop this car park is a bomb. Who planted it? And why? How did they get past security? All valid questions, but right now, there’s no time for questions.


“How long left on the timer, Wall?”


Wall looks at his watch. It’s new, and he hasn’t quite worked out how to use it yet. It was a gift from an anonymous person in an envelope carrying a dragon-like insignia. It’s timekeeping is spot on though, and the box said that it’s used to keep Big Ben on time. Wall’s put the countdown to the explosion on the alarm.


“Eight minutes. No. Hang on. Forty seconds!”




“I know how you feel, Heath. This is it. If we don’t move fast, it’ll be the end of Yummy’s, The Well, and Cash Converters! Not to mention the 55,000 people living in this terrific town!”


“You mean…?”


“Yep. Stourbridge will become deadbridge.”


“What does the GPS say?”


Wall pulls the GPS out from the usual place and scans it with a look of bewilderment.


“It’s not giving me a clear signal! This is bad, Heath! I can feel it in my bones!”




“No time for a religious debate Heath! You look over there; I’ll check the other side. We’ve only got… forty-eight seconds until the town becomes a disgustingly-accented mausoleum!”


The car park’s empty. There isn’t much to check. The bomb’s well hidden.


It’s unlikely to ever be found.


“Wall! I’ve found it!”


Wall runs over to Heath to see the explosive hanging on the back of a lamp-post.


“Good work Heath! Hand me the bomb disposal kit!”


Heath checks his pockets, and pauses for a moment to think.


“Oh no!”


“What is it Heath?”


“I’ve dropped a clanger, Wall.”


“You berk!”


“Come on Wall! You know The McManigan Creed! A good friend is a forgiving friend!”


Wall stands in stunned silence for a second. His eye catching the glare of the sun as he turns to face his older conjoined twin with epiphany in his eye. “Redemption…” He slaps Heath’s face. “…Redemption. I guess I’ll have to defuse this bomb myself!”


Wall and Heath are heroes. Wall is a man that can do anything, and Heath is a man who believes he can do anything. He rolls back his Armani t-shirt sleeves to reveal his bulky Ben Stiller-in-Tropic-Thunder arms. He used to call them guns, until they got too dangerous.


“You’ve got to do this Wall, and you’ve got to do it now!”


“Heath, remember what Mommy used to say? Slowly, slowly, catches the mon…”


“Monkey.” Interrupts Heath.


“No, Wall, I’ve never heard that before.”


“Oh. Some guy said it to me once.”


He stares Heath in the eye.


“He was very sneaky. Now, if I remember correctly from that Naked Cross gig, you have to cut the blue wire.”


Heath is aghast. His visage fails to fully facade the fear he feels.


“But Wall, there are no wires!”




“…But doable…”


Wall bends down and starts to work on the bomb. Heath is visibly terrified, and can only cower in the corner as Wall bravely risks his life for his local Rotary Club. Images flood through his mind. Thoughts of ice cream-faced children kicking pigeons in that bit outside the Ryemarket. He is spurred. A man. A man on a mission. Heath holds his head in his hands. Their time is running out. A seed of doubt starts to form in his mind. Is he really strong enough to lead his brethren? To be a protector of people? A bold knight sitting around a round Ikea table? A true gentleman? A less lazy Robert the Bruce?!


“If we make it out of this alive…” Heath begins to covenant with himself. “I will fight for justice until I die. Which may or may not be in about thirty-six seconds.”


He closes his eyes.


And that’s when he hears it.


The noise.


The noise that defines a generation. The future of Stourbridge.


The noise that ushers in a new era of mausoleum visits.


The noise that strikes fear into the hearts of men, even some of the wussier terrorists.


It is the voice of the harbinger.


The harbinger of life.


“Heath! I’ve done it!”


Wall’s watch beeps. It’s over!!!


“Amazing harbinging Wall.”


“Thanks Heath.”


And like all good partnerships – Ryan Giggs and Paul Ince, Asterix and Obelix, Woz and Dave, Red and Andy Dufresne – Wall and Heath have a signature celebration! They stand back to back and take a moment to appreciate the poignancy of their achievement. They are heroes. They are both the modern Arthur. They are Arthur Sturge. They hold their hands like a Charlie’s Angels tribute band and speak simultaneously their inimitable catchphrase.


“Nice job.”


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