Men Make Terrible Company – Neil LaBute interview

Mark Simpson interviews Neil LaBute about his film ‘In the Company of Men’ – twenty years before ‘toxic masculinity’ went ‘hegemonic’

(Originally appeared in Attitude, 1998)

Women are made of sugar and spice. While men are made from slugs and snails and puppy dogs’ tails. This would appear to be the conclusion of American playwright Neil LaBute’s first movie, In the Company of Men. Based on his stage play of the same name, it’s a merciless exposure of male sadism, power-jockeying, moral bankruptcy and nasty neckties. It isn’t exactly what you might call a feelgood movie.

On its release in the States, its relentlessly negative portrayal of male culture in Corporate America caused something of a storm at a time when the Promise Keepers were marching on Washington in their hundreds of thousands to sing hymns, pray, hold hands and pledge themselves to a vision of an altruistic, virtuous masculinity which Walt Disney would have applauded.

In the film two junior male execs, Chad a Nazi-frat-house-jock type with an exceptionally large chin, and Howard a nerdy-sick-note-from-mom type with virtually no chin at all, vow to take revenge on the whole female sex by simultaneously wooing a lonely deaf girl, waiting for her to fall for them, before revealing that they had only dated her as a joke.

An electrifying performance by Aaron Eckhart as Chad, the extremely unsympathetic and of course extremely attractive instigator of this plan, holds together an otherwise thinly plotted film which is almost as much in love with itself as Chad. Nevertheless, it anatomises very well a masculine culture where everyone is manoeuvring to be the fucker not the fuckee.

‘You got the balls for this job?’ Chad asks a young black colleague below him in the pecking order, before literally forcing him to get his knackers out. ‘Because you need balls. Business is all about whose got the biggest sacs of venom and who’s prepared to use them.’ Chad has the biggest and boy, does he use them.

‘It seems to be a polarising movie,’ says LaBute on the line from LA. ‘And not just along gender lines – people seem to be split between those who say that no good can come from showing bad and those who think that this is the only way to learn. Either way I prefer this kind of response to: “Oh, that was good. Now, where do we eat?” The most damning words to me are, “That was different” or “That was interesting.” I’d much rather they have a visceral reaction than like it.’

That’s particularly clear in the ending, where there’s no comeuppance for the bad guy, no justice, no resolution – you just leave it with the audience, which is, if I may say so, rather cheeky….

‘Yeah, we looked for every way we could to thwart catharsis. Chad gets away with it. If you spend 90min doing something creative and then throw it all away in the last ten minutes that’s crazy. Besides, Chad is already living in his own kind of hell already. Okay, so he doesn’t get slapped on the wrist, his girlfriend doesn’t find out etc. But he doesn’t look very happy to me. Yes, the last shot we get of him is him lying there being given a blow job by his girlfriend, but he doesn’t seem to be there. And before this he’s sitting watching bad TV, smoking, with his hand down the front of his pants….’

And you even undermine our certainty that Chad’s the bad guy

‘Yeah, Howard has a shred of conscience, but in his own way he’s more despicable than Chad. He doesn’t really act on that conscience. He doesn’t learn anything in the film and by the end it looks like he’s doing worse than he did before. In thirty seconds, he goes from trying to make a good gesture to screaming impotently into the camera.’

In fact, Chad’s almost admirable, isn’t he?

‘Absolutely. I based the structure of the film a bit on Restoration Comedy – which I’m a big fan of – and Chad’s the consummate cuckolder and trickster. There’s a moment in the movie when the audience is watching Howard and thinking, “What a poor fuck he is” and then they realise that they are the poor fucks – that Chad has been screwing them as well. He hasn’t provided enough information to anyone.’

There’s also something of Dangerous Liaisons about this film.

‘Yes, very much. I think there’s a bit of a cruel spirit to the French, even today. We showed the film at Cannes and the darker the movie got the more the audience laughed….’

Yes, that would be the French. Are you a fan of David Mamet?

‘Yes, very much. There’s an essay by David Mamet called ‘In the Company of Men.’ And also a play by Edward Bond, who I’m a great fan of, by the same name.’

Your affinity with Mamet is evident in the bleakness and intensity of the dialogue, and the wordiness of the film. The dialogue is very believable, but also very unreal. People don’t really talk that way; maybe this is more the way they function…

‘That’s the wonderful thing about screen and stage language is that it sounds the way people talk and then you listen again and realise that this isn’t the way people talk at all.’

Your dialogue struck me as kind of Mamet-meets-Tarantino.

‘An ugly love child.’

I’m not sure that love has much to do with it. Do you know any Chads?

‘Oh, yes absolutely. There’s a little bit of Chad in me. I’ve known people who don’t even have the amount of charm that Chad has. You can get away with a lot if you’re good looking and charming. The film I’m making at the moment, Friends And Neighbours, Jason Patric plays a character who makes Chad look schoolboyish. But it’s amazing to watch someone who is so pretty coming out with such sewage

But strangely entrancing. Do you have any corporate experience?

‘No, not really. But I used to live in New York and I’d see them on the subway every morning, gearing up for their day of combat on Wall Street. A sea of white shirts – it was only the tie which changed each day, a splash of individuality amidst all that conformity.’

It seems to me that your film looks at masculinity from the self-conscious, maybe even slightly jealous aspect of an outsider.

‘I always felt a bit of an outsider. I grew up working on a farm. My father was a truck driver and my brother was in the military, so even as was mucking out a barn I was thinking about moving away. I was a terrible voyeur and watcher, always thinking in terms of good material. There’s a line in a play of mine where two guys are talking at a bar and another guy walks past and one guy says to the other, “God, I’m so fucking glad I’m a guy.” “Why’s that?” says the other guy. “Because I don’t’ have to date them.” I think that was one of the truest things I wrote.’

Aren’t you just a tad hard on men? Are women as innocent and men as corrupt as you portray them in the movie? The woman is a flopsy bunny happily nibbling grass who is devoured by men who are slavering he-wolves.

‘I think that guys by themselves are great. Put them with other guys and they do turn into wolves – everything is suspect, everything is open to ridicule. And yeah, I do think women are in many ways better than men.’

I suspect that your film won’t be quite as controversial here as it was in the US. Not because we don’t have those kind of men – but because British culture isn’t quite so prudish. Also, the fuck-you culture is more developed in the US. Many straight American men I’ve met seem to talk about nothing else other than who they fucked, literally or metaphorically. There’s such a constant stress on being the fucker not the fuckee…

‘That’s absolutely right.’

Another reason why they’re glad they’re not women.

‘Yeah, and I think that it’s precisely the self-recognition that’s the problem. As with the audience for a Restoration Comedy the audience wants to go, oh yeah, I recognise that person, not oh God, that person’s me! The only people who have said to me, God, that would never happen are the ones I suspect of being most like Chad.’

The rage of Caliban in the mirror.

‘Exactly. There were a number of incidents like that in the States when we were trying to sell the film. Usually, it would be female executives pushing the film and then it would reach the invariably male boss guy at the top, who’d go, “That’s not funny. That’s not real. These things don’t happen. I’m not releasing that.” I think that part of the reason why the French enjoyed the movie so much was because they thought it was a reinforcement of the idea of the ugly American and so not a French problem at all.

The scene between Chad and the black employee where he makes him get his balls out is rather strange. It seems to hint at a motivation for Chad – that he’s a repressed homosexual, or that repressed homoeroticism is the dynamic behind all these guys’ actions – but then takes it away.

‘It’s all in Aaron’s face. He just did it on the day and you couldn’t tell what Chad was thinking. Is he fucking this guy up? Is he fucking him? Is he interested in him sexually? There’s all these things going on and you can’t say which one is true or whether they’re all true or all false.

He certainly stares very intently at the lad’s balls for a beat or two too long….

‘Yeah! He certainly does that.’

Whatever the film’s merits as an intervention in the sex war, it certainly has its moments as a black comedy. Some of the executive scenes are piss-yourself funny. In one Chad leafs through the company gazette – you never see the men working; the women however type furiously while the men wander around looking important – picking out all the people he hates.

‘He’s a total fucking fuck, that guy!’ he points. ‘And this one here, Jeez, you know him? He represents a whole new type of fuck!’

When the man he’s been talking to leaves the room, another colleague asks him, ‘Do you like that guy?’

Snorts Chad, ‘What, that fuck?’

Further reading:

Mark Mothersbaugh’s Mutation

Mark Simpson meets Mr Devo turned Mutato

(Details magazine, 1998)

Before the First World War, a bunch of Italian avant-gardistes called the Futurists, who didn’t get out much and got turned on by steam trains, thought technology offered the possibility of a revolution in human consciousness and believed that artists should produce propaganda which encouraged people to break with the past, abandon traditional forms and syntax and wear silly hats. 

Before the Third World War, a bunch of Ohion avant-gardistes called Devo, who didn’t get out much and who got turned on by pocket calculators, thought that technology offered the possibility of a de-evolution in human consciousness and believed artists should produce propaganda which encouraged people to break with the past and abandon traditional forms and syntax and wear silly hats. 

Apart from proving that history repeats itself, the first time as tragedy the second time as pastiche, especially if you attend art history classes at Kent State University, the nerdy, cynical ’70s New Wave band Devo’s greatest achievement was to, quite simply, change the world. We are all Devo now. The ‘kooky’ blend of performance art, film, choreography, and music they pioneered mutated into MTV: nerds have come out of their bedrooms and knocked IBM into a cocked hat. Techno is everywhere, cynicism is a way of life and New Wave is back in vogue – verily the geeks have inherited the world. 

However, Devo proved to be the embodiment of their own belief in the second law of thermodynamics – that everything is unravelling and cooling down. After the debut singles, the sublime ‘Mongoloid’ (1978) and the robotoid, sexless, ‘Satisfaction’ (1976), possibly the smartest, funniest, most blasphemous cover version in rock history – a kind of Mick Jagger for lab assistants – and two great albums, Q: Are We Not Men A: We Are Devo! (1978) and Freedom of Choice (1980), which attracted the attentions of Brian Eno and David Bowie, Devo petered out. Hastened by the huge and terrifying world-wide success of ‘Whip It!’ (1980). However, they went on to record another thirteen albums and toured up until the end of the eighties.

As so often happens when you change the world, the world turns out not to be so grateful or interested. Having accepted their fate back in 1990, Mark and Bob Mothersbaugh and Bob Casale, the core members of Devo, are now Mutato Muzika, a factory producing music for TV shows, films and adverts, housed in an electric green flying saucer shaped building on Sunset Blvd where I am today, that used to be, appropriately enough, a plastic surgery hospital. Credits include Pee Wee’s Playhouse, Beakman’s World, Liquid Television and ads for Coke, Nike, Microsoft and scores for films such as Johnny Mnemonic

Nice work if you can get it, I’m sure, but isn’t this all a bit of a come-down for pop stars – let alone avant-garde ones?

‘Not at all,’ counters Mark Mothersbaugh, his face, which was always strangely middle-aged, now actually middle-aged, but contradicted by his stainless steel thick-rimmed glasses, sneakers, jeans and slightly intense, slightly shy, slightly adolescent demeanour. ‘We’re very lucky. What’s a better gig than being paid to write music and do artwork every day?’

In a way you’ve mutated yourselves into… ‘…what we always wanted to be,’ interrupts fast-talking Mark, who has a habit of finishing sentences for you, in an impatient but friendly way. ‘And we influence more people than we ever did before. People don’t hear the name Devo or Mark Mothersbaugh, but you know that our music is being heard by millions and millions of people every day – of all ages. There’s a whole generation of people who know Bob and I as the composers of Rugrats and Adventures in Wonderland. Sometimes they say, “My dad used to listen to you twenty years ago when he was at college”.’

But after being regarded as the wave of the future, isn’t it all a bit disappointing? ‘No,’ reasserts Mark, politely. ‘I mean we called ourselves Spuds, we knew we weren’t Royalty. You know, we came from working class households and none of us went to clairvoyants and found out that we were Egyptian kings in some other lifetime.’

But, frankly, some people will look at Mutato Musika and just think: oh, has-been pop stars looking for something to do. ‘Yeah,’ agrees Mark with disarming honesty. ‘Everybody does! And it could be bar-tending. But somehow I was lucky enough that people liked my stuff enough for me to become a composer.’

The problem of growing old disgracefully as an ex pop-star, or for any of us nowadays really, is how to grow up but not ‘grow up’ – how to mature but not become your dad. Devo, like a whole post-sixties generation, appear to have achieved this by immersing themselves in juvenile pop culture – TV, film, ads, jingles – the pop culture that their music, in fact, de-evolved out of. Maybe this is why the offices of Mutato Musika, with their curved walls, Day-Glo colours, strange sounds, and proliferation of TV and computer monitors resemble a cross between a Dutch crèche and an American teenager’s bedroom. The de-evolution that Devo represented was ironically partly the traditional rock message of not growing up into what you were supposed to be – a refusal of manhood: ‘Are we not men? We are Devo!’ 

‘It was about choosing your mutation consciously – mutate don’t stagnate,’ explains Mark, still animated by his ideas after all these years. ‘Rather than letting things be thrown on you that culture and the world wants you to buy into, wants you to become a part of, wants you to get skin cancer and die – but which kills you long before that spiritually.’

‘This was what ‘Mongoloid’, our first single was about – kind of “breeders v. readers” 

The difference between the people that just kind of bought into the rap and were able to sleep their way through life – the wad. Versus those that would consciously make a choice to go somewhere different. You’re probably too young to remember but in the early seventies your choice of music was disco, a beautiful woman with no brain, or hard rock, a big pompous over-inflated, you know, thing that went out and wobbled around on a stage. 

‘And we were watching things fall apart all around the world. We were seeing things devolve. We were saying: wait a minute, things are not getting better, things are getting crazier! But we ended up being promoted by Warner Bros and Virgin as you know, like wacky, kooky clowns because instead of figuring out what we were about it was easier to market clown versions of what was going on.’

While Mark acknowledges the influence of the Futurists, he traces the inspiration for the title and motto of the band from a 1930s movie called Island of Lost Souls with Charles Laughton and Bela Lugosi he caught on late night TV. 

‘Laughton is this scientist on a tropical island and he’s trying to turn these animals into humans in a laboratory called the House of Pain, but they never quite become humans, so they become subhumans, kind of zombie-like, running around the jungle and generally unhappy and depraved. But when they began to get restless Laughton would stand on this rock and he would crack his whip and they’d all cower in fear. And he’d go “What is the law?” and crack his whip again, and they’d recite “Not to walk on all fours. Are we not men?” 

And I’m watching this in 1972 on a little crappy 13 inch black and white TV in my bedsit and go oh my God! I know all those people! They all live in this town! All these hunched over subhuman characters looked like they were just falling out of the rubber factory after a hard day of work.’

Growing up in a town like Akron Ohio in the seventies can make you very weird. In its ‘heyday’ the Rubber Capital of the World, by then Akron was just a corporate, post-industrial, depressed, overcast dump full of overweight people who spent their spare time reproducing, listening to Foreigner and bouncing up and down on the heads of artistic people with ideas above their station – i.e. any ideas at all – like Mark Mothersbaugh. In other words, Akron Ohio was much like any other place in the seventies. Devo was Mothersbaugh’s revenge on ‘breeders’ everywhere. ‘We didn’t drive a van, we didn’t like hard rock and we couldn’t afford drugs so we had to form a band.’

Not surprisingly nobody wanted to hear their music in Akron. ‘We’d only get to play shows by lying and telling people we were a top forty band, but by the second or third song they’d know something was up, because we’d have like these janitor outfits on and there’d be all these hippies out in the audience. Then we’d say, OK, here’s another song by Aerosmith and we’d play “Mongoloid” and then the police would have to be called.’

Mothersbaugh’s mischievousness and anti-Akron sentiment lives on in Mutato Musika. Mark confesses that they are putting subliminal messages in their TV commercial sound-tracks. 

‘The first was in an ad for Coke – I think it was “Biology, Destiny”. Then there was that candy commercial for kids and we put in the message “Question Authority”. The funny things is, we’d be a bit scared but then we’d go to meetings with ad agency people and they’d be sitting there snapping their fingers and bobbing their heads to the music going “Yeah, Yeah” and then I’d come in and say “Be like your ancestors or be different, so shall your species survive.” And I’d blush and Bob Casale would break out in a sweat and they wouldn’t hear it. Not once has anyone told us “take that out”.

Mark’s ambition is that Mutato Musika will become a world-wide franchise. But then the band of self-described ‘suburban robots here to entertain corporate life-forms’ will become a corporate life-form themselves. Which may have a bearing on a dream Mark tells me he had recently. 

‘I was octopus-fishing on a boat out on Santa Monica Bay with about seven other people and we pulled in the net, but there were too many octopi, and too big – they chased us around. I woke up just as this one old guy that kind of looked like Popeye had an octopus wrapped around him which pulled his false teeth right out of his mouth.’

Maybe Mutato Musika is the octopus? ‘Maybe,’ shrugs Mark. ‘That would, I guess, make me the old guy having his false teeth sucked out.’

Mutato Muzika HQ, Los Angeles

Scrape Me With a Strigil! The Grooming Guru interviews Mark Simpson

The Grooming Guru, alias Lee Kynaston, interviews Simpson about how Top Gun made a generation of young men ‘gay’ and why the Romans knew a thing or two about exfoliation. A snippet:

GG: Many commentators complain that men are ‘becoming more like women’ with their grooming/beauty regimes. What would you say to this?

MS: I think it’s more a case of men no longer tying one hand behind their backs when it comes to the increasingly important business – both in private and public life – of looking good. Happily married Lord Sugar, for example, sometimes seems to display a weakness for an attractive, nicely turned-out male candidate. And of course, more and more bosses are female.

Instead of men becoming ‘more like women’ what we’re seeing is men being less inhibited in their behaviour by worries about what’s ‘masculine’ and ‘feminine’, ‘gay’ and ‘straight’. In much the same way that women have been since the feminist revolution of the 1970s. Likewise, ‘male beauty’ is no longer a completely verboten conjugation that has to always be euphemised with ‘male grooming’.

Read Kynaston’s interview in full here.

Ban the folk mass! Interview with Rufus Wainwright


Rufus Wainwright confesses his priestly urges to Mark Simpson  

(Pride magazine, 2005)

The man who has been described as the ‘Joni Mitchell of his generation’, lionised for his genius by such as the Scissor Sisters, Elton John, Neil Tennant and Michael Stipe, is changing onstage from jeans and shirt into a blue glitter thong, red pumps — and a hairy chest.

He’s singing a song from his new album Want Two called ‘Old Whore’s Diet’ — “Gets me goin’ in the mornin‘” — as the finale to his show in Reading, England, the first of his UK dates. Rufus Wainwright, the rockstocracy son of folk legends Loudon Wainwright III and Kate McGarrigle, keeps turning round and showing us his thirty-one-year-old decidedly, commendably non-circuit-party ass. A little later he turns into the Wicked Witch of the West from The Wizard of Oz, before ‘melting’.

Rufus may or may not be referencing British Music Hall, but he’s definitely channelling Monty Python and Judy Garland. He may or may not now be teetering on the edge of global domination after years of critical praise and modest sales, but he’s clearly teetering on some kind of edge. Bless ‘im.

Before tonight’s spellbinding show got underway, he took the time to answer some probing questions in his dressing room.

M: Want One had you dressed as a knight in armour, apparently dead. Your new album Want Two has you dragged up as a kooky, drowned Ophelia figure. This is horribly Freudian, but it occurs to me that you have now enacted the deaths of both your parents — your distant, armoured father, and your ethereal, spiritual mother.

R: [laughs] I haven’t heard THAT before! But I’m willing to go there. I’m going to see Bella Freud tomorrow, so I’ll ask her! I’ve had a real yin and yang existence: my mother’s very bohemian and Irish Catholic; my father is quite rigid and a disciplinarian and logical. Both of those forces have been necessary for my survival. I’ve had to learn to accept my parents for who they are, taking what you need, and not blaming them for it.

And, besides, you have your own gay daddy now, don’t you?

R: Yeah, I’ve got several actually, Elton John, Neil Tennant, Michael Stipe..

M: It could be argued that you’ve found another kind of daddy now in the ‘higher power’ of AA, now that you’ve kicked alcohol and crystal meth.

R: I don’t like to talk about whether I’m in that or not. Once I went to rehab, that was where it ended. My drug using and alcohol became a very private issue. Just because if I say, ‘Oh, I don’t drink’, then people see you drinking. What I will say is that I was spiritually bankrupt. And I needed God, really, in some form.

M: Were you looking for discipline?

R: It was just like surrender really. The thing about show business is that you spend so much time being in such control you think you can really rule the world. And that’s maddening – because you can’t! I wish you could. At some point you have to admit that there is something greater than myself.

M: I understand that Quentin was your fairy godmother.

R: I was thirteen when I was introduced to Quentin. Was that specific summer when I came out to myself about my sexuality. I had a lot of sex that summer but I definitely do believe there’s something called statutory rape. I was just too young to be in that world, but I wanted to go there so I went there! And both of my parents, understandably, just really kinda freaked out and didn’t know what to do, so my father called up Penny Arcade. She was a friend of the family and had been involved with the Warhol Factory and all those drag queens and was now Quentin’s babysitter so she had a lot
of experience of handling gays! My mother and father aren’t particularly homophobic, but my mother was not happy and my father just didn’t do anything really. He didn’t want to talk about it at all.

M: Would you perhaps have preferred a passionately negative response to one of apparent indifference?

R: I got what I got – and that’s what I have to work with. [laughs]. I think he handled it in the only way he knew how to. Sending me to hang out with Penny and Quentin was a pretty good option. I think I fared pretty well.

M: Did Quentin offer you any advice?

R: Gee, I don’t think he every really acknowledged me, to tell you the truth! I was in the same room with him many times. I noticed that the way he operated was that there was the audience and there were the servants. And I chose to be an audience member. But then, he deserved servants!

M: Your work seems to own that melancholy that contemporary gays have disowned. I have a theory that your music is what’s playing in the heads of circuit party boys when they’re coming down. But they don’t want anyone to know.

R: [laughs] Right, right! I would say, that it’s definitely not the sound in their heads when they’re going out! I have had a difficult time with the gay press in the US. It seems to be coming around now. I don’t think that they have a choice but to acknowledge me. They’ve tried their damnedest not to in the past.

M: Well, you’re a movie star now, you did that rather wonderful cameo as the strung-out lounge singer in The Aviator.

R: Yeah! They’ve got to notice me now! I think it’s due to this limited aspect of gay life that is worshipped and publicised — one of FUN!, y’know, style, SEX!, nice physiques, and all that, which you know I’m prone to as well, I’m prone to the same fucking disease, the obsession with the middle of the body, and so forth, but I have always tried to illustrate the other side of the rainbow and be the Sunday morning music, the alone time. It’s very difficult to get that across to certain gay people. I remember a long time ago doing my first show in London. It was a real cross section of fans, young women, middle aged women, my father’s fans, gay people — gay people were the first ones to leave. Most people stayed to the end, but the gay people had somewhere better to go, something way better to do.

M: Today’s gay culture seems to be in denial about the ‘alcoholic homosexuals’ you sing about in ‘Hometown Waltz’ on the new album — The Judy Garland factor. Someone whom I understand was a friend of the family…

R: It’s true! She made my grandfather’s school sandwiches! Look, given the amount of kind of treachery tragedy that the gay male community has gone through for the last 2000 years, not to mention that the worst of it has been in the last 25yrs with AIDS, there is no kind of bouncing back fast from this. Homosexuality right now is really enemy No.1 whether it’s Islam, or Catholicism, or even Judaism in my opinion, look at the Kabala. I don’t think you should live your life under constant awareness of oppression, but I think that you have to accept a certain amount of sorrow, and realise that
in a certain way it’s how we’ve survived.

M: You’ve suggested before that gay men take drugs because they’re oppressed. Is that really true? Don’t they just take them because they like them?

R: Let’s not underestimate the power of chemistry. It’s a very potent combination: gays and drugs! I strongly believe in that romantic idea that in primordial time gay people were shamans. I think we’re spiritually destined to have to dig a little deeper. And that is a role, a tougher role. Some people just don’t’ want to go there. Which is understandable.

M: You dedicated your performance of ‘Gay Messiah’ tonight to the Pope. I take it you didn’t go to see him lying in State?

R: Oh, no. I’m here, protesting in Reading.

M: Is there any religious background to your family? Your music is very Catholic.

R: My mother is kind of a latent Catholic, she doesn’t really go to church, but she has Catholic ways. So, yeah, I was brought up in a very Catholic environment. But I’m actually not baptised. In an odd way she tried to send me to church, but I could never take the sacraments or do confession. That was an interesting road to take.

M: If you’d been born in an earlier age would you have been a priest?

R: I think I would have been a priest. For sure. I’ve often thought that. And I mean a priest who has sex.

M: There are quite a few of those.

R: [laughs] Yeah, but with men. With other priests.

M: Not with the altar boys.

R: Well, maybe with the altar teenagers!

M: If you were made Pope what would your first Papal decree be?

R: I’d ban the folk mass and bring back everything in Latin so we don’t know what the hell we’re talking about.