The Unbelievable Truth - 17x05 Donald Trump, Musicals, Weddings, Oxbridge

Episode Date: February 18, 2022

17x05 31 October 2016 John Finnemore, Jeremy Hardy, Lucy Porter, Frankie Boyle Donald Trump, Musicals, Weddings, Oxbridge

We present the unbelievable truth, the panel game built on truth and lies. In the chair, please welcome David Mitchell. on truth and lies. In the chair, please welcome David Mitchell. Hello and welcome to The Unbelievable Truth, the panel show about incredible truths and barely credible lies. I'm David Mitchell. This is a show where whopping lies masquerade as genuine facts. It's like a Donald Trump rally with a difference. The difference being that this audience is actually in on the joke. Please welcome Frankie Boyle, Lucy Porter, John Finnemore and Jeremy Hardy. The rules are as follows. Each panelist will present a short lecture that should be entirely false, save for five hidden truths which their opponent should try to identify. Points are scored by truths that go unnoticediced while other panellists can win points if they spot a truth or lose points

if they mistake a lie for a truth. First up is John Finnemore. John has written for That Mitchell and Webb Look, David Mitchell Soapbox, That Mitchell and Webb Sound and For David Mitchell on 10 O'Clock Live. Never heard of him. John, your subject is Donald Trump. American real estate billionaire and reality television personality. Off you go, John. Fingers on buzzers, the rest of you. Donald J. Trump is the Republican Party candidate to become the next president of the United States of America. And this is absolutely as it should be. Frankie? Appallingly, that is true.

If you're on a show called The Unbelievable Truth and you're given the topic of Donald Trump, I don't see how you cannot start with that one. Yes, that is, in fact, true. I thought I must have missed something when you said, oh, God, it must have all been a terrible dream. This is a show where you find weird, unlikely, nonsensical things that turn out to be true. Interesting. I was thinking Donald J. I mean, you know. That his middle initial is J. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah, J. I mean, you know. That his middle initial is J.

Yeah. Yeah. Crazy. That's true as well. Not only is it true, it is absolutely as it should be. No-one is better qualified for the job than Donald Trump. No-one is more passionately devoted to the welfare of the people. No-one more wonkishly fascinated by the intricacies of policy-making. And absolutely no-one has longer or more elegant fingers. Donald Jesus Trump was born in a humble log cabin in Manhattan, the son of a penniless

lumberjack and a noble American eagle. Not a bald eagle, though. Another type of eagle. He attended the All-American School of Hard Knocks in, let's say, Wisconsin, where he won prizes for roping steers, busting ass, whistling Dixie, and a special Spirit of the School award he was given when he punched his

music teacher in the face. From that, he went on to Harvard Business School for Business Children, where he was awarded the Golden Briefcase for Most Business Like Business Boy. Jeremy, he did go to Harvard Business School, I think.

He didn't, no. He could have done. He probably could have done, but he didn't. He graduated top of his year in winning and bottom of his year at losing. After that, he dabbled in several careers, instantly perfecting them all. He became an award-winning Hollywood movie star, an award-winning Hollywood baseball player, and twice won the America's Cup yacht race without even needing a yacht. But the business world beckoned, and so

without any help at all from his father, each business for Donald set up was more successful than the last, and also all of them were completely successful. Most famously, his chain of casinos, of course, which are so successful that only four of them have ever gone bankrupt. Lucy. This is so hard. It is like Kim Jong-un or something, isn't it? It's just all... He's just a great guy.

I'm just kidding. I think it's true that four of his casinos went bust. Yes, that's absolutely true. Yeah. Donald Trump has filed for corporate bankruptcy four times. In 1991 for the Trump Taj Mahal. In 1992 for the Trump Plaza Hotel and Casino. In 2004 for Trump Hotels and Casino

Resorts, and in 2009 for Trump Entertainment Resorts. Some of his other failed ventures include Trump Steaks, which delivered meat by post, a bottled water called Trump Ice, A bottled water called Trump Ice, Trump Vodka, Trump the Game, a travel search engine called Go Trump, a Long Island restaurant called Trump on the Ocean, Trump University, Trump Magazine, and Tour de Trump, a plan to bring the tour de France to the US. And all this while not knowing that Trump means fart

in this country. When Donald Trump said, I never lie, he wasn't lying. The man is a passionate truth teller. Every word that falls from his lips is a sparkling pearl of truth. The only flaws the man has are trivial and kind of endearing.

Admittedly, his constant self-deprecation is a bit wearing. Yes, sometimes he can get a little bogged down in the fine detail of his policies. And OK, sure, his wig is funny. We're among friends. We can admit it's a wig. Lucy? I mean, it seems... I think it's at least partially a wig. Well, I am reliably informed, and I thought it was a wig too, that it is not a wig. Oh, I fell for Finnemore's trap there. I mean, it really looks like a wig.

And I can't imagine it just grows like that. It's a comb-over, but where is it combed from? Yes, exactly. It looks like a lot of things. It looks a bit like a plug but where is it combed from? Yes, exactly. It looks like a lot of things. It looks a bit like a plug hole in an orangutan sanctuary. Ever the perfectionist, Donald insisted his wig be made not just from real human hair, but from the hair of another billionaire,

whom Trump personally wrestled to the ground, had tied to a chair and forcibly shaved. Any of you fortunate enough to be American citizens, I implore you to do all you can in November to make this wise, thick-skinned, competent visionary the most powerful man in the world. Donald Trump, making America great again. Thank you, John. her great again. Thank you, John. And at the end of that disturbing round, you have managed to smuggle three truths past the rest of the panel, which are that Donald Trump punched his music teacher in the face. In his 1987 book, The Art of the Deal, Trump wrote, in the second grade, I actually gave a teacher a black eye.

I punched my music teacher because I didn't think he knew anything about music, and I almost got expelled. The teacher in question, Charles Walker, died in 2015, but not before hearing that Trump was considering running for president. He told his family, who had gathered around his bed, When that kid was ten, even then he was a little shit. The second truth is that Trump is an award-winning Hollywood movie star. In 1991, Trump won a Worst Supporting Actor award

for his cameo appearances himself in the film Ghosts Can't Do It. At the Razzies or Golden Raspberries. The third truth that John managed to smuggle was that Trump wrestled another billionaire to the ground, tied him to a chair and forcibly shaved him. This was in 2007 when Donald Trump wrestled billionaire Vince McMahon, owner of World Wrestling Entertainment, in a pay-per-view match billed as the Battle of the Billionaires. And that means, John, you've scored three points. Next up is Jeremy Hardy.

Jeremy said in a recent interview that he dislikes cheeriness in his fellow comedians. So he should be all right sat next to Frankie. Jeremy, your subject is musicals. Films or theatrical productions typically of a sentimental or humorous nature whose storylines are interspersed with singing and dancing. Fingers on buzzers, everyone else. Off you go, Jeremy. The world's most successful musical ever was Roy Rogers and Oscar Wilde's Broadmoor Smash Seven Dwarves for Seven

Samurai. Today, Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber is undoubtedly the most talented, original, handsome and highly regarded composer of musical scores. His hits include Christ on a Bike, Joseph and His Amusing Acne Covered Drape Coat,

The Funding of the opera, and T.S. Eliot had a very weak moment when he decided to go down the pet route. In the film The Phantom of the Opera, Michael Crawford's voice was dubbed by a better singer. Who that singer was remains a mystery, and modesty prevents me from revealing my identity. Frankie?

Is it true that Michael Crawford's voice was dubbed? It is not. No. And to suggest such a thing, you'll have made many enemies, because Michael Crawford was voted... Remember that vote for the greatest Britons ever? He came 17th. Just under Churchill or something. Churchill was above him, but, I mean, 17th...

You know, Michael Crawford's a talented guy, but 17th ever British person. I like the fact that you've got that list stored in your head. All I can remember is that Michael Crawford came 17th. I thought, that's a pretty impressive showing from the Michael Crawford fan club. In Germany, references to the Nazis were removed from The Sound of Music, the reason given being that it would make the story more efficient.

Well, under chairman now... Under chairman. John? I think there was a thing about not having Nazis in entertainment productions of any sort, so maybe they did it for that reason. They did, yeah. In Germany, The Sound of music was heavily censored and virtually all the Nazi overtones excised.

Whilst the cut material was later restored, the film was never popular in Germany and is largely unknown there today. So the end of the film is just about a family who decide to go for an alpine hike. The more I hear about those Nazis, the less I like them. So what was

Where Eagles Dare about in Germany? Two psychos attacking people on holiday. Plucky birds of prey. Olanda Chairman Mao, the film was banned as capitalist pornography in the belief that the phrase, the hills are alive, was a reference to Maria's heaving breasts.

In modern China, the film's title in Mandarin translates as funny singing virgin seduces grumpy sailor. In Mexico, where Greece is called a vaselina and Saturday Night Fever's Spanish title translates as weekend party infection, the sound of music is called... Lucy. Weekend Party Infection.

No, no. Saturday Night Fever was not known as Weekend Party Infection in Spanish. The sound of music, also in Mexico still, is called the Rebel Novice Nun. In Austria, it's called, well, at least a couple of us didn't welcome the Nazis. Lucy? Come on, I'll have Rebel Novice Nun, then.

Rebel Novice Nun is true. Yes, you've broken even there on the Mexican versions of films. And in Hong Kong, the title of The Sound of Music translates as Fairy Music Blow Fragrant Place, Place Here. When they say it translates as that, I don't think that's a very good translation. It's catchy, though. The Mexican one sounds sexy, doesn't it?

Because it is one of the least sexy films ever made. Oh, you're joking. All nuns are a challenge. Come on. And maxis. Despite the fact that much of the film was shot at Pinewood and High Wycombe was used as a location because of its

architectural similarities to 1930's Salzburg, the film is by far the most popular thing in Austria, ranking above food, shelter and sex. John? Did they film it in High Wickham because it's dead ringer for Salzburg? Have you been to High Wickham?

I'm willing to bet you haven't been to both. No, they didn't. No, it was filmed in Salzburg. Of course. And in the 20th Century Fox studios in California. In Salzburg, a cable channel plays the film on a loop all day, every day. The most popular girl's name is Liesel, and convent websites are more popular than Tinder

when it comes to online dating. But perhaps the most surprising fact about the film is that Julie Andrews was fourth choice for the part of Maria after Natalie Wood, Jane Mansfield and Ernest Borgnine. Lucy? Fourth choice? I've got a feeling... Oh, no, I'm thinking of My Fair Lady, which she wasn't in. Yeah, she was certainly not first choice in that she wasn't in it.

But, no, she was first choice for The Sound of Music. She's bloody good in it, actually. You say it's not a sexy film, you know, gave me pause for thought in my youth. And that's the end of Jeremy's lecture. Thank you, Jeremy. And at the end of that round, Jeremy, you've also managed to smuggle three truths past the rest of the panel, which are that under Chairman Mao, the sound of music was banned as capitalist pornography. The second truth is that in Mexico, Greece is called Vaselina. And the third truth is

that in Salzburg, a cable channel plays the sound of music on a loop all day, every day. And that means that you've scored three points, Jeremy. Next up is Lucy Porter. Porter, of course, is a traditional drink. Like Lucy, it's dark, intense and contains a surprisingly high level of alcohol. Lucy, your subject is weddings, marriage ceremonies and their accompanying festivities. Off you go, Lucy. Well, you know us girls, we love weddings. We just can't get enough of them.

One day you're the blushing bride at the wedding of your dreams and three weeks later you're ready for another one. And most fellas feel the same way. Look at old King Henry VIII with all his wives, including Anne of Cloves, Catherine of Tarragon and Tony Basil. Such was Henry's speedy turnover of wives that Catherine Howard was mistakenly executed before her wedding. The ceremony went ahead, which meant she went as her own something blue.

Henry met his match in Jane Seymour, who turned out to be a right bridezilla, insisting that no other couple could marry in the same month that she did, spending the day her predecessor Anne Boleyn was executed picking out her own wedding dress and demanding that Henry call off the second siege of Boulogne so that her servants could go to France

and collect the wine for her wedding feast. Jeremy. I think that was true. She wouldn't let anybody else get married the same month? No. No. John? I think maybe she got him to call off the siege

to allow passage of wine. No, that's not true. What carnage? If you think Henry VIII loved a good wedding, Vlad the Impaler was even more nuts about nuptials. He took 12 wives in total, and just like for Henry VIII loved a good wedding, Vlad the Impaler was even more nuts about nuptials. He took 12 wives in total, and just like for Henry VIII, there's a poem for remembering what happened to them. It goes, Impaled, impaled, impaled.

Impaled, impaled, impaled. Alexander the Great spent his wedding night cowering in a corner at the sight of his wife's naked body, which he'd brought to bed with her. Frankie. Is it true that he cowered in fear corner at the sight of his wife's naked body, which he'd brought to bed with her. Frankie? Is it true that he cowered in fear, possibly being gay? He didn't cower in fear, as far as we know, and it's widely thought that he loved his wife, Roxana,

although he was certainly at the least bisexual. He had both straight and gay relationships, and he was tolerated in that early time in doing that for the reason that he was emperor of everywhere. Lucy. The mighty Attila the Hun got a nosebleed on his wedding night and died of it, which must have been truly horrific for his wife because stains like that do not come out at 30 degrees.

John. I'll have a go at that. The nosebleed. The nosebleed is correct. Yes, Attila the Hun's wedding night nosebleed. But if you pre-soak in cold water, it will come out at 30. Just advice for anybody. In the 19th century, it first became traditional for the bride to wear a veil on her wedding day.

This was because often her father would have paid to have her teeth removed as a wedding present. This was to save the future husband expensive dentist bills and not what you're thinking. Jeremy. It is true that fathers used to have brides' teeth removed as a wedding present. It is indeed, yes.

Tooth decay was very common, and by the age of 21, it was certainly quite common to have all one's teeth extracted to save on dental bills in later life. It was considered a generous wedding present and remained common practice until as late as the 1940s. Damn John Lewis for ruining everything.

The longest wedding dress train ever constructed was three miles long, but did include a buffet car in the middle serving a selection of snacks and hot and cold drinks. Jeremy. I'm just going to go for it and say that there was a three mile long wedding train. You're right. All right, well done. There is a picture of it and it looks like a right faff. Yes, in 2014, Chinese bride Jing Mei wore a three mile long train to walk down the aisle carried by 40 bridesmaids. She said, at least that's good news for my friends and relatives But of course it renders the gesture absolutely worthless. No wonder so many women go insane on their wedding day.

A French bride stabbed her new husband with the knife they'd just used to cut the wedding cake. When asked why, she said it was to save on the washing up. The husband did survive, but spent the rest of the night in tears. Frankie. There's no way that's not true. French pride will definitely have stabbed her husband. You're absolutely right, she did. And in 2011, a man from Connecticut

stabbed his wife on St Valentine's Day with their wedding cake knife before turning the knife on himself Well, it's a lovely way to go because it's romantic it's exciting and also baking is so fashionable Oh, everyone gather round, they're going to do the stabbing. Get the cameras out. Certainly, I always find the wedding cake cutting bit of a wedding extremely boring, but the added jeopardy that maybe it'll end in hell really spices it up. It's more exciting if they snap each other's necks in the first dance, though.

I think that's... Isn't that praying mantises? And that's the end't that praying mantises? And that's the end of Lucy's lecture. And at the end of that round, Lucy, you've managed to smuggle one truth past the rest of the panel, which is that Jane Seymour, the third wife of Henry VIII, picked out her wedding dress on the day her predecessor Anne Boleyn was executed. And that means, Lucy, you've scored one point.

In 1959, it was made legal to marry a dead person in France, provided you could prove the wedding was already planned. It was thanks to this loophole that Jerry Hall was able to marry Rupert Murdoch. thanks to this loophole that Jerry Hall was able to marry Rupert Murdoch. Next up is Frankie Boyle. Your subject, Frankie, is Oxbridge, a term referring to the universities of Oxford and Cambridge. Off you go, Frankie. Oxbridge is a compound term formed from the words obnoxious and privilege. The research on whether going to Oxbridge

gives people an unfair advantage in later life is inconclusive, even though it was conducted entirely by scientists who went to Oxbridge. John. Was there such a study that was conducted entirely by Oxbridge scientists? No, there wasn't. There have been many studies, not all by scientists, but most of the studies suggest that you do get a huge advantage in later life if you went to Oxbridge. To which I say, hooray.

Frankie. Women called Eleanor are 100 times more likely to get into Oxford University than women called Jade. times more likely to get into Oxford University than women called Jade. And the increase in the number of state school pupils in Oxbridge colleges has been put down to their high turnover of cleaning staff. Lucy. The Eleanor Jade thing is intriguing me. Intriguing you to the point where you're toying with the notion of its veracity? I'm prepared to wager that it's true.

Yes, it is true. There are more than three times as many Eleanors at Oxford than we might expect, given the frequency of the first name among girls in the general population. Conversely, there is less than a thirtieth of the expected number of Jades and an even smaller proportion of Pages and Shannons.

Frankie. So what is it that attracts so many female students to Oxbridge universities? Is it the lure of the relentless quest for educational excellence or is it the prospect of cycling on cobbles? Your guess is as good as mine. Oxford University was over 300 years old when the Aztec Empire was founded. Oxford's Bodleian Library got its first Chinese book in 1604, but it was more than 200 years before they found someone who could read it. Jeremy.

Is that true about 1604? Yes, it is true that Oxford's Bodleian got its first Chinese book in that year, and it was 200 years before anyone could read it, or anyone who was there could read it. The Chinese apparently could speak Chinese before anyone else in the world. Oxford's famous Ashmolean Museum was known before a fire in 1924 as the Woodmolean Museum.

Although Oxbridge colleges have educated one or two of Britain's top politicians, they have failed to educate many more. Statistics show that Oxbridge graduates live on average seven years longer. Not in my basement. That's true, they don't live longer in Frankie's basement I think the first bit Actually no, it's probably more than seven years

It isn't Is it seven years? No, it's 0.7 of a year So it's not, they don't live that much longer But they probably have a nicer time Not for longer Frankie Cambridge was founded in 1266 and within years was producing

almost all of 13th century England's sketch comedy. Lord Byron kept a pet bear at Cambridge University because dogs weren't allowed. John. I've heard that, but it's probably an urban myth, isn't it? But I've pressed my buzzer now, so I'm going to say it's true. It is true. Yeah, it's not an urban myth. In 1805, when Byron became a student at Trinity College, he was so annoyed by the college rules banning pet dogs that he brought a tame bear instead, arguing that since bears weren't specifically mentioned in the college statutes, the authorities had no legal grounds for complaint. Prince Charles spent three years at King's College, Cambridge, it being one of the few buildings in the country

with a powerful enough electric fence to keep out the teenage Nicholas Whitchell. Jeremy. I know he did go to Cambridge. But not King's College. He went to Trinity College. Yeah. Where he read anthropology, archaeology and history.

Blimey. Yeah, which is why he's qualified to endlessly moan about things. Because he was able to read three words, he got a degree. Yeah, and he knows what two of them mean. Those two are and and history. Prince Charles left Cambridge with a triple first, or as they insisted on calling it, a third. LAUGHTER

Princess Diana, however, went to Oxford. She'd been planning to get off at Reading, but got trapped in the train's toilet... LAUGHTER ..after being outwitted by the lock. The yearly race on the Thames between the two universities was originally a running competition, but after hundreds of drownings, the teams were allowed to use boats.

In the 1950s, to allow the babies of students at Trinity Hall, Cambridge, to enter the premises, they were redefined as cats. When it was pointed out that cats were not allowed in college, the student parents swapped their babies for bears. John? Did they redefine them as cats? They did redefine them as cats. Yeah.

Not to be outdone by Cambridge's Corpus Christi College, Oxford has a Porpoise Christi, whose coat of arms depicts a dolphin nailed to a cross, and beneath it a Latin motto that roughly translates as click your way out of that, you bottlenose bastard. Thank you, Frankie.

And at the end of that round, Frankie, you've managed to smuggle one truth past the rest of the panel, which is that Oxford University was over 300 years old when the Aztec Empire was founded. Teaching began at Oxford from 1096, whilst the Aztec Empire began in 1428. And that means, Frankie, you've scored one point. APPLAUSE Which brings us to the final scores. And that means, Frankie, you've scored one point.

Which brings us to the final scores. In fourth place, with minus one point, we have Jeremy Hardy. In third place, with no points, it's Lucy Porter. In second place, with two points, it's Frankie Porter. In second place with two points, it's Frankie Boyle. And in first place with an unassailable three points, it's this week's winner, John Finnemore. That's about it for this week.

Goodbye. The Unbelievable Truth was devised by John Naismith and Graham Garden, and featured David Mitchell in the chair with panellists John Finnamore, Lucy Porter, Jeremy Hardy and Frankie Boyle. The chairman's script was written by Dan Gaster and Colin Swash and the producer was John Naismith. It was a random production of BBC Radio 4.