The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy Further Radio Scripts Read online

  POSH WOMAN: Oh . . .

  FX: Inter-Galactic insurance underwriters closed loop updates buzzing, under:

  THE VOICE: This only encouraged further development. As soon as the insurance underwriters had recovered enough to insert suitable clauses into the relevant policies, the luxury cruiser Heart of Gold was built around an improved Improbability Drive –

  FX: Airlock door opened by reckless two-headed adventurer.

  ZAPHOD: Oooh! Freeooow! The Heart of Gold!

  FX: Intruder alarm is tripped.

  THE VOICE: – powered by a sculpted yellow metal nugget of such purity that it was only a matter of time before some reckless two-headed adventurer would attempt to steal it.

  ZAPHOD: Hi, there.

  FX: Guard felled by a single punch. Zaphod has a mean left hook. Which is just as well, his right hand is holding a complimentary souvenir launch-day VIP-lounge Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster.

  POSH WOMAN 2: (under:) We name this starship Heart of Gold.

  THE VOICE: But that was in the days when Zaphod Beeblebrox was young, brash and terrifyingly electable.

  FX: Heart of Gold powering up.

  POSH WOMAN 2: And now a word from President Beeblebrox . . .

  ZAPHOD: (Radio distort) Bye!

  FX: Heart of Gold roars away.

  POSH WOMAN 2: Oh.

  FX: Crowd disappointment.

  THE VOICE: Now he is older, brasher and not in a mood to entertain the automated systems that once made the Heart of Gold a playbeing’s dream . . .

  INT. – STARSHIP HEART OF GOLD

  FX: Door whirr.

  DOOR: Pleased to open for you.

  ZAPHOD: (He is drinking) Zark off.

  DOOR: Thank you.

  FX: Door whirr.

  DOOR: Ahhh. Have a nice day.

  ZAPHOD: And ruin a perfectly good hangover? (Sound of ice)

  TRILLIAN: Zaphod. You’re spilling that everywhere!

  ZAPHOD: Oh, Zark! (Chugs it down) Thanks, baby. I’d better send another one down. To check the first one’s OK.

  FX: Drinks poured, Zaphod chugging them down, alternate heads drinking and speaking throughout:

  ZAPHOD: (Swallows) Weird. It’s like my stomach’s holding a party and I’m not on the guest list.

  TRILLIAN: There’s no one chasing us, we’re free for the first time in ages—

  ZAPHOD: Freedom, yeah. Here I am, Zaphod Beeblebrox, I’m the coolest guy since cryogenics, and I’ve got a girl with whom things seem to be working out pretty well –

  TRILLIAN: (Quietly) Are they?

  ZAPHOD: – I should be feeling extremely hoopy about life right now. Except I’m not.

  TRILLIAN: (Trying hard) Look, let’s go somewhere! Travel. See the Universe. Come on. There’s nothing the Improbability Drive can’t do.

  ZAPHOD: Yeah, like, provided you know exactly how improbable it is that what you want it to do will ever happen. What did happen, by the way?

  TRILLIAN: (Who is not alone in looking for a way to explain this unavoidable anomaly) You had a double psychotic episode, ran off to Ursa Minor to prove some conspiracy theory, only to be found days later wandering the corridors of the Hitchhiker’s Guide building looking for Zarniwoop, a free lunch and a stiff drink. But not in that order.

  ZAPHOD: Which proves I was there, right?

  TRILLIAN: Well, I wasn’t.

  ZAPHOD: (Drunk) Wow – totally too much excitement, adventure and really wild things . . .

  TRILLIAN: They’re all hallucinations!

  ZAPHOD: Hey, the Total Perspective Vortex was not a hallucination!

  TRILLIAN: Or you had one Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster too many.

  ZAPHOD: (Stung) (Reflex) That’s not technically possible.

  FX: Another drink poured, Zaphod chugs it down.

  TRILLIAN: How is that going to help?

  ZAPHOD: The third drink is going down to see why the second hasn’t yet reported on the condition of the first. You know, looking at you two I think I prefer the other Trillian.

  TRILLIAN: Good, ’cos this one’s just about had enough!

  FX: Bottle clumsy clunk on glass. Two belches, one for each head.

  ZAPHOD: (Suddenly slurred) Ah. All drinks have reported in. Share and enjoy. Whurgh.

  FX: He falls off his chair untidily.

  TRILLIAN: (Sighs, to self) Oh, give me a break . . .

  FX: Hitchhiker’s Guide start-up chime.

  THE VOICE: (Through unit speaker – tinny) Holidays. One of the Galaxy’s most unusual holiday destinations is Allosimanus Syneca—

  TRILLIAN: Mm.

  THE VOICE: The trek from the snow plains of Liska to the summit of the Ice Crystal Pyramids of Sastantua is long and gruelling, but the view from the top is one which releases the mind to hitherto unexperienced horizons of beauty.

  TRILLIAN: That’ll do nicely. (Shuts off Guide) Computer?

  EDDIE THE COMPUTER: Hi, there! Eddie the shipboard computer standing by for—

  TRILLIAN: New course heading. Allosimanus Syneca.

  EDDIE THE COMPUTER: You got it!

  FX: The hyperdrive starts to power up.

  ZAPHOD: (From the floor, slurry) Trillian. If it was all a hallucination . . .

  TRILLIAN: Yes?

  ZAPHOD: What happened to that zarking robot?

  EXT. – SQUORNSHELLOUS ZETA, THE MATTRESS PLANET – SWAMP

  FX: Marvin trudging round in a circle in the swamp. In the distance, wild mattresses are willoming . . .

  MARVIN: (He trudges a bit, stops for a heartfelt sigh) Aaaaaah. (Carries on trudging. Then, miserably) Another world, another day . . . In fourteen hours the sun will sink hopelessly beneath the opposite horizon of Squornshellous Zeta. Totally wasted effort, if you ask me. Not that there is anyone here to ask me. So I’ll just keep walking around in this very tiny circle for a few hundred years more until my power cells give out.

  FX: A mattress flollops up to him, squidging in the soft ooze.

  ZEM THE MATTRESS: (Offensively breezy) Hallo, robot.

  MARVIN: (Bored) Hallo, mattress.

  ZEM THE MATTRESS: (Brought up short) Oh. (Then, brightly) What’s a mattress?

  MARVIN: You are.

  ZEM THE MATTRESS: Oh . . . (Then, brightly) Happy?

  MARVIN: But clearly you are a very stupid one.

  ZEM THE MATTRESS: (Not in the least insulted) We could have a conversation. Would you like that?

  MARVIN: No. And after I have calculated to ten significant decimal places what precise length of pause is most likely to convey a general contempt for all things mattressy, I will continue to walk round in tight circles. Don’t mind me – not that you do anyway.

  ZEM THE MATTRESS: (Again, brightly) What’s a mattress?

  MARVIN: You are. You are a large mattress, and probably one of very high quality.

  ZEM THE MATTRESS: Really?

  MARVIN: Yes.

  INT. – THE BOOK AMBIENCE

  THE VOICE: In an infinitely large Universe, such as, for instance, the one in which we live, most things one could possibly imagine, and a lot of things one would rather not, grow somewhere. Thus it is that very few things actually get manufactured these days.

  A forest was discovered recently in which most of the trees grew ratchet screwdrivers as fruit. The life cycle of a ratchet-screwdriver fruit is quite interesting. Once picked it needs a dark dusty drawer in which it can lie undisturbed for years. Then one night it suddenly hatches, discards its outer skin, which crumbles into dust, and emerges as a totally unidentifiable little metal object with flanges at both ends and a sort of ridge and a sort of hole for a screw. This, when found, will get thrown away. No one knows what it is supposed to gain from this. Nature, in her infinite wisdom, is presumably working on it.

  No one really knows what mattresses are meant to gain from their lives either. They’re large, friendly, pocket-sprung creatures which live quiet private lives in the swamps of Squornshellous Zeta.

  ZEM THE MATTRESS: (For they are all
Zem) Willomywillomyillomyillomyillomyillomyillomyillomyillomyillomy . . .

  ZEM THE MATTRESS: Hallo, Zem!

  ZEM THE MATTRESS: Hallo, Zem!

  ZEM THE MATTRESS: Hallo, Zem and Zem!

  ZEM THE MATTRESS: Hallo, Zem, have you seen – oh, there you are, Zem!

  ZEM THE MATTRESS: Your willoming is much improved, Zem.

  ZEM THE MATTRESS: Voon! I gup at the thought!

  ZEM THE MATTRESS: Globber globber.

  ZEM THE MATTRESS: Why do you globber so, Zem?

  ZEM THE MATTRESS: I miss Zem. He has gone to be slept on.

  ZEM THE MATTRESS: (Arriving) Hallo, Zem, Zem and Zem!

  ZEM THE MATTRESS: (All three) Hallo, Zem!

  ZEM THE MATTRESS: Let’s flollop!

  ZEM THE MATTRESS: Let’s flurble!

  THE VOICE: They flollop about, blowing bubbles through the water, their blue and white stripes glistening in the feeble rays of its sun. Many of them get caught, slaughtered, dried out, shipped out and slept on. None of them seem to mind and all of them are called Zem.

  EXT. – SQUORNSHELLOUS ZETA, THE MATTRESS PLANET – SWAMP

  FX: Marvin trudging round in his circle. The sun has risen above the mist and is a little brighter now, but as he wouldn’t even be pleased to find himself on a Hawaiian beach holding a pina colada, with all the diodes down his left-hand side replaced, back to the plot:

  ZEM THE MATTRESS: (Invincibly cheerful) – Zem. And what’s your name, robot?

  MARVIN: (Deep sigh) Marvin.

  ZEM THE MATTRESS: I vollue a deep dejection in your diodes, robot. And I globber for you. Globbbabbbabbbabberrr.

  MARVIN: Must you? I think you should know that your globbering has not eased my dejection by a single jot.

  ZEM THE MATTRESS: You should be more mattressy. We live quiet, retired lives in the swamp, where we are content to flollop and vollue and regard the wetness in a fairly floopy manner.

  MARVIN: If there is anything more unappealing, I expect it’s your attention span. We’ve had this conversation every day since I arrived here.

  ZEM THE MATTRESS: We could discuss the weather a little.

  MARVIN: I suppose so. (With great deliberation) Ahem. (Spoken) The dew has clearly fallen with a particularly sickening thud this morning. If I had teeth, I would grit them at this point.

  ZEM THE MATTRESS: (Infuriatingly) Would you care to come for a flollop?

  MARVIN: No. Not because I find the concept depressing, which I most certainly do, but because I have been fitted with this infinitely more depressing artificial leg. As it is just the one steel peg I can only pivot on it in very tiny circles, gradually digging myself deeper into this swamp. Flolloping is therefore not an option.

  ZEM THE MATTRESS: Voon. I feel deep in my innermost sprung pockets that you have something on your mind.

  MARVIN: More than you can possibly imagine. My capacity for mental activity of all kinds is as boundless as the infinite reaches of space itself. As opposed to my capacity for happiness. My capacity for happiness you could fit into a matchbox without taking out the matches first.

  ZEM THE MATTRESS: Right . . . (Brightly) What’s a matchbox?

  MARVIN: (Sighs even more deeply than before)

  INT. – THE HEART OF GOLD – ZAPHOD’S BATHROOM

  FX: The sound of Zaphod brushing both sets of teeth under:

  EDDIE THE COMPUTER: (Through intercom) We are in parking orbit over Allosimanus Syneca, guys.

  ZAPHOD: (Stops brushing) Where?

  TRILLIAN: (Through intercom) Zaphod, where are you?

  FX: Click.

  ZAPHOD: In the bathroom. (More teeth brushing. Both sets)

  TRILLIAN: (Distort) What are you doing in there?

  ZAPHOD: Staying.

  TRILLIAN: How are you feeling?

  FX: Zaphod gargles (left) at one pitch. Then (right) at another pitch. Then both together in whatever harmony Mark can muster.

  TRILLIAN: Is that as bad as it sounds?

  ZAPHOD: Hey, I was worse earlier. But then I thought that I could look for someone in the Universe more miserable than me. Halfway to the bridge I realized that it might be Marvin, so I’m going back to bed.

  TRILLIAN: (Distorted) We’re parked over Allosimanus Syneca. It looks beautiful from the teleport room.

  ZAPHOD: Sure.

  TRILLIAN: We could go down later—

  ZAPHOD: Hey, no . . . thanks. Please.

  TRILLIAN: (Distorted) I deactivated all the kitchen synthomatics. (Zaphod groans) I’ve prepared the most fabulous meal for you –

  INT. – HEART OF GOLD – TELEPORT ROOM

  FX: Rattling of tray loaded with goodies.

  TRILLIAN: – oiled meals, scented fruits . . .

  ZAPHOD: (Distorted) Yeah, yeah, yeah.

  TRILLIAN: (Low, to self) And I’ve got a first-class degree in mathematics and a doctorate in astrophysics, but we’ll let that pass. (Up) Zaphod?

  ZAPHOD: (Distorted) I’m not hungry.

  TRILLIAN: I’ve put some on a tray. If you don’t want the candlelit supper you can eat it in bed. Either way we should talk things through.

  ZAPHOD: (Distorted) No.

  TRILLIAN: (Resolve) Is that all you’ve got to say? (Nothing but silence) I’ll take that no as a yes.

  FX: Click.

  TRILLIAN: (Effort) Unf !

  FX: Trillian throws the tray of food aside.

  TRILLIAN: Enough! Eddie, activate teleporter. Destination—

  EDDIE THE COMPUTER: Planet surface?

  TRILLIAN: Random coordinates. Transport me the hell out of Zaphod Beeblebrox’s life.

  EDDIE THE COMPUTER: You got it.

  FX: Transporter beam activated.

  INT. – HEART OF GOLD – BATHROOM

  ZAPHOD: (More to himself than to Trillian) Hey, baby. You remind me of something Ford once said. He spent a whole while stuck on Earth with your monkey race and they used to amaze him the way they kept on talking, like just always stating the really obvious, you know. Like, ‘It’s a nice day,’ or ‘You’re very tall,’ or ‘Oh dear, you seem to have fallen down a thirty-foot well, are you all right?’ Ha ha ha! Yeah, and he thought if human beings don’t keep exercising their lips their mouths would probably seize up. Then he watched them a bit more, you know, and came up with a whole new theory. He said that if they don’t keep exercising their lips their brains start working. That is so true.

  Trillian? . . . Trillian?! (Pause) You’ll be back, baby . . . (He goes back to brushing his teeth)

  INT. – THE BOOK AMBIENCE

  THE VOICE: What will become of Trillian now she has escaped the gravitational pull of Zaphod Beeblebrox’ ego? Where in the space-time continuum are Arthur Dent and Ford Prefect likely to wash up? And what vital issues pivot on Marvin’s artificial leg? Find out in the next bi-podal part of the Tertiary Phase of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy . . .

  ANNOUNCER: Non-orthopaedically sprung life forms are reminded that mattresses are the only sentient creatures to require regular flolloping.

  FOOTNOTES

  The opening sequence If we had actually managed to get the Tertiary Phase of Hitchhiker’s on the air in 1993, Douglas and I would have been more sonically daring when kicking things off again. At one point we discussed a soundscape montage of the story so far, and at separate times I had discussions with John Whitehall (who provided some music and effects for the original episodes) and Mark Russell (who scored myBatman: Knightfall Radio 1 series) about a music bed to go under it. Frankie Goes To Hollywood’s ‘Two Tribes’ was being mooted as a musical model at one point, this was the extent of the makeover being considered!

  A decade later, however, when the Tertiary, Quandary and Quintessential phases were finally to be recorded, it seemed more appropriate that the first new Hitchhiker’s to be heard for nearly twenty-five years should ease the new generation of listeners into the story more gently. The beginning should reassure, as if nothing had changed at all. John Marsh’s voice is the same as ever, so we were h
ome and dry there. However, in an ideal world the late Peter Jones should be the next voice heard, and there were two speeches by the narrator in Primary Phase Episodes One and Three which effectively told the back-story we needed. We knew Bill Franklyn would be the perfect voice to ‘evolve’ Peter, and Bruce suggested somehow morphing one into the other. Although I put in an effect (BZT!) to help mask the joins, Bill’s reading was so close to Peter’s (without any playback of the latter’s performance to provide a template) that there are a couple of edits where they seem to flow eerily in and out of each other.

  The Voice as narrative tool There has been debate about the changing function of the narrative voice between the old and new radio series. The fact is, however, that whether our ‘Voice of the Book’ was Peter Jones or Bill Franklyn, the biggest change is the stylistic difference between the original radio series and the later novels, where Douglas is less likely to jump off into an objective discourse on some exotic-if-slightly-related topic in midscene. Also I should note that whereas we have called this role ‘The Voice of the Book’, Peter Jones’s part was identified as ‘Narrator’ in the original scripts, so his function was made pretty clear. In fact, there are many occasions in the original series where Peter provides straightforward scene-setting – I have just opened this book’s predecessor at random and found Peter’s ‘Fit the Fourth’ line ‘For Zaphod, Ford and Trillian surprise is pushed to its very limits when this happens . . .’. You don’t get much more plot-interactive than that. With such examples in mind, and where no discussion on the life cycle of the ratchet-screwdriver fruit or Bistromathics was possible, it seemed perfectly in order to use the Voice for purely narrative purposes, particularly in the more complicated stretches of the Tertiary Phase. By comparison the action in the Quandary and Quintessential Phases is more linear and consequently the Voice can be used more sparingly in narration, resorting to its more didactic style.

  The Hrarf-Hrarf This is a bit of Douglas unique to the radio series (as far as I know), written in the stressful time following the delivery by Alick Rowe (an excellent and not to be interpreted as anything but excellent writer) of a very funny and skilfully written but rather too inventive first-draft adaptation. Despite the fact that Douglas was banging out a draft of his own to demonstrate to me how a straightforward dramatization of the book and its dialogue was what he would prefer, like Alick he could not curb his own inventive urges, and thus the Hrarf-Hrarf were born . . . or perhaps resurrected – I’m not sure of the correct expression given their antichronological metabolic dispositions . . .