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

  ARTHUR: Not with sweat. A photographer came round. I tried to argue, but – never mind, I spoke to California.

  FENCHURCH: You spoke to him.

  ARTHUR: I spoke to his wife, Mrs Watson, and asked to speak to him. She said he was too weird to come to the phone right now and could I call back. So I did, and she said that he was 3.2 light years from the phone and I should call again.

  FENCHURCH: Ah.

  STEWARD: (Passing) Seatbelt done up, miss?

  FENCHURCH: Yes, thanks.

  ARTHUR: I called again. She said the situation had improved. He was now a mere 2.6 light years from the phone but it was still a long way to shout.

  FENCHURCH: I didn’t realize it was that bad.

  ARTHUR: I phoned again. Her name, by the way, and you may wish to know this, is Arcane Jill.

  FENCHURCH: I see.

  ARTHUR: She explained that the phone is in a room that he never comes into. It’s in the Asylum. He does not like to enter the Asylum. She felt it might save me phoning. He will only meet people outside the Asylum. I asked her where the Asylum is, and she asked if I’d ever read the instructions on a packet of toothpicks.

  FENCHURCH: And did you?

  ARTHUR: I didn’t have a packet to hand. Then she hung up. I actually got the address from a guy on a science magazine.

  FENCHURCH: I’m not sure I understand.

  ARTHUR: Neither do many people. I have been told that Mr Watson claims to have regular meetings with angels who wear golden beards and green wings and orthopaedic sandals.

  FENCHURCH: But you think it’s worth it.

  ARTHUR: Well, the one thing that everyone agrees on, apart from the fact that he is barking mad, is that he does know more than any man living about dolphins.

  FENCHURCH: What’s his name again?

  ARTHUR: Wonko the Sane.

  (A pause)

  FENCHURCH: I know he will be able to help us. I know he will.

  MRS KAPELSEN: (From neighbouring seat) Excuse me, my dears . . . I get so bored on these long flights, it’s nice to talk to somebody. My name’s Enid Kapelsen, I’m from Boston. Tell me, do you fly a lot?

  EXT. – PLANE

  FX: 747 roars past into the night.

  INT. – ‘OUTSIDE THE ASYLUM’ – INTERIOR ACOUSTIC

  FX: Distant beach, waves. Cars pass on highway.

  WONKO THE SANE: Hello. I am John Watson.

  ARTHUR: Hallo.

  WONKO THE SANE: But you can call me Wonko the Sane.

  ARTHUR: Thank you . . .

  FENCHURCH: You have a very interesting house. It’s inside out.

  WONKO THE SANE: It gives me pleasure.

  ARTHUR: We’ve come to ask you about the dolphins.

  WONKO THE SANE: Oh yeah. Them.

  ARTHUR: Your wife mentioned toothpicks.

  WONKO THE SANE: (Laughs) Ah yes, that’s to do with the day I finally realized that the world had gone totally crazy. So I built the Asylum to put it in, poor thing, hoping it would get better.

  ARTHUR: I’m . . . horribly confused. Out there you’ve got carpet up to the kerb of the Pacific Coast Highway, your exterior walls are hung with bookshelves and pictures and the sign above the front door says, ‘Come Outside’, so here we are, inside, sitting by a garden path, surrounded by rough brick walls.

  WONKO THE SANE: Yes. Here we are Outside the Asylum. When you go back through the door there, to where you parked your ride, you go Inside the Asylum. I never go myself. If I am tempted, I simply look at the sign.

  FENCHURCH: That one?

  ARTHUR: (Reading) ‘Hold stick near centre of its length. Place pointed end in mouth. Insert in tooth space, blunt end next to gum. Use gentle in–out motion.’

  FENCHURCH: And those are the instructions—

  WONKO THE SANE: On a set of toothpicks. It seemed to me that any civilization that had so far lost its head as to need to include a set of instructions in a packet of toothpicks was no longer one in which I could live and stay sane.

  ARTHUR: But you are . . . ?

  WONKO THE SANE: Oh, I call myself Wonko the Sane, to reassure people. Wonko is what my mother called me when I was a clumsy kid, knocking things over, and sane is what I intend to remain. And the angels with golden beards and green wings and orthopaedic sandals agree with me.

  ARTHUR: Um – And they visit . . . when?

  WONKO THE SANE: Weekends, mostly, on little scooters. They are great machines.

  ARTHUR: (Doubtful) I see . . .

  FENCHURCH: Why not?

  ARTHUR: Pardon?

  FENCHURCH: (With unnatural emphasis) Why not scooters? Others might fly here, they’re on scooters. Think about it, Arthur.

  ARTHUR: (Realizing her point) Yes, yes of course, who’s to say what’s impossible . . .

  FENCHURCH: About the dolphins—

  WONKO THE SANE: I can show you the sandals.

  FENCHURCH: Oh, er . . .

  WONKO THE SANE: I’ll get them. (Gets up, rummages, off) The angels say that they suit the terrain they have to work in. They say they run a concession stand by the Message. When I say I don’t know what that means, they say, ‘No, you don’t,’ and laugh.

  ARTHUR: (Shiver) The Message . . .

  FENCHURCH: Arthur—?

  WONKO THE SANE: (Returning) Here. Perfectly ordinary wooden-soled sandals. I’m not trying to prove anything, by the way. I’m a scientist. I know what constitutes proof. I use my childhood name to remind myself that a scientist must also be like a child. If he sees a thing, he must say that he sees it, whether it’s what he was expecting to see or not. Otherwise he’ll only see what he’s expecting . . . I also thought you might like to see this.

  FX: He produces a glass bowl and pings it.

  FENCHURCH: /ARTHUR (Gasps)

  FENCHURCH: Where did you get that bowl?

  ARTHUR: (A take) Fenchurch? Have you seen one of these before?

  FENCHURCH: I’ve got one. Or at least I did have. Russell nicked it to put his golf balls in . . . Have you got one?

  ARTHUR: I found it by my bed.

  WONKO THE SANE: You both have one of these bowls? With the inscription?

  ARTHUR: So Long, and Thanks for All the Fish?

  WONKO THE SANE: Yes. Do you know what it is?

  FENCHURCH: No.

  WONKO THE SANE: It is a farewell gift from the dolphins. The dolphins whom I loved and studied, and swam with, and fed with fish, and even tried to learn their language, a task which they made impossibly difficult, considering they were perfectly capable of communicating in ours if they’d wanted to . . . What have you done with yours?

  ARTHUR: Erm – I keep a fish in it.

  WONKO THE SANE: You’ve done nothing else? No, if you had, you would know. My wife kept wheatgerm in ours, till last night.

  ARTHUR: What happened last night?

  WONKO THE SANE: We ran out of wheatgerm. She’s gone to get some more. Well, I washed the bowl, and dried it. Then I held it to my ear. You ever held one to your ear?

  ARTHUR:/FENCHURCH No . . .

  WONKO THE SANE: Perhaps you should.

  ARTHUR: May we—?

  WONKO THE SANE: Closer – that’s good. Now – with your fingernail – gently.

  FX: Ping of bowl . . .

  INT. – AMBIENCE – THE FISHBOWL

  FX: The deep roar of the ocean. The break of waves on further shores than thought can find. The silent thunders of the deep. And from among it, voices calling, humming trillings, half-articulated songs of thought. Waves of greetings, inarticulate words breaking together. A crash of sorrow on the shores of earth. Waves of joy on a world indescribably found, indescribably arrived at, indescribably wet, a song of water. A fugue of voices now, clamouring explanations, of a disaster unavertable, a world to be destroyed, a spasm of despair, and then the fling of hope, the finding of a shadow earth in the implications of enfolded time, submerged dimensions, the pull of parallels, the hurl and split of it, the flight. A new Earth pulled into replacement, the dolphins gone.
Then stunningly a single voice, quite clear.

  DOLPHIN VOICE: This bowl was brought to you by the Campaign to Save the Humans. We bid you farewell.

  INT. – THE BOOK AMBIENCE

  THE VOICE: What message will Arthur and Fenchurch discover next? Will Ford Prefect be on hand to utterly confuse and annoy everybody? And – if the rumours are true – is Marvin going to make his farewell appearance? The next episode of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy spells out the answers . . .

  ANNOUNCER: The BBC wishes to advise listeners that not all glass bowls contain messages from the dolphins when pinged. Certain ovenware will emit serving suggestions for summer pudding and any bowl stamped by a bathroom-fittings manufacturer is best left unpinged altogether.

  FOOTNOTES

  Opening speech Taken direct from the novel, more or less, barring the excision of the ‘f’ word, which although Douglas used perfectly accurately would mean more agony with the BBC and a tiresome repeat of the whole Rory Award scenario. Instead I asked Bill Franklyn to dwell slightly on the ‘f’ of ‘feel the need . . .’ to assure the cognoscenti that we knew what we had done (though not necessarily what we were about to be doing . . .).

  The Rich Tea Biscuit story Authorities on Douglas including his biographers Nick Webb and Mike Simpson have debated the provenance of the ‘Biscuit story’, which has now entered the annals of urban myth, but it is generally agreed that this did indeed happen to Douglas himself. Thus it is not such a leap for him to have transplanted it to Arthur Dent’s personal history. As Simon has said in the Foreword, Arthur may have been inspired by himself but gradually more and more of Douglas crept into the character, his encounters with baths and tea and calamity being the more obvious elements.

  Sadly due to pressure of time on the broadcast slot the Rich Tea Biscuit story appears only on the extended (CD, cassette and DVD-A) versions of this episode.

  The Vogon Court of Enquiry In amongst all this episode’s Moon-Eyed Romance (poignant and touching though it be) and Profound Apolcalyptic Visions, this scene is intended to be:

  a) A comedy-slot-friendly sketch which redrafts some Douglas passages in the novels about the Vogons which are funny in themselves. Toby Longworth as the older, slobbier Jeltz was on his usual form, in response to Mike Cule’s gun wielding, legal-precedent-quoting Vogon Clerk, ad-libbing a curt ‘Whatever’ into ‘Whatever – Girl friend’, and—

  b) A means of clearly indicating that the Vogons are determined to destroy Earth – whether or not Earth now needs to be destroyed – and, if not openly, by covert means. In addition it’s now a personal matter between the Vogons and anyone who crosses them, and Arthur, Ford and Zaphod Beeblebrox are on their hit list.

  The Fuorlornis Fire Dragons This could so easily have been cut out on grounds of non-essentiality to plot; but being one of the greatest pieces of Adamsian whimsy in existence, it wasn’t.

  The East River Creature A strange interlude for Ford in So Long, and Thanks for all the Fish. It develops the Guide entry on New York heard tinnily in the previous episode (‘Amphibious life forms from any of the worlds in the Swulling, Noxios or Nausalia systems will particularly enjoy the East River, which is said to be richer in those lovely life-giving nutrients than the most virulent laboratory slime yet achieved’), but was substantially rewritten when Bruce Hyman suggested Jackie Mason for the role of the Creature. Jackie delivered his performance from a New York studio near his apartment, and Geoff’s performance as Ford was duly added to complement it. Jackie was the personification of adaptability; he happily added a few of his own expressions to the final take, the best being the substitution of ‘testicle’ for ‘tentacle’. Unfortunately ‘You can’t see your testicle in front of your face’ collided a bit too much with the sensibility of the scene . . .

  Murray Bost Henson This wonderfully verbose character could only be done justice by Stephen Fry, who turned up at the Soundhouse, enthusiastic and charming as ever, and – Bill Franklyn being absent – very obligingly also gave his Voice of the Book in read-through. It was only later that he revealed he had just been awarded the part of the Voice in the Hitchhiker’s film. We were happy to help get him in training, of course . . .

  People have asked if the release of the film and the broadcast of the last two radio series so close together was a problem, but we were always creating different but complementary realities for Hitchhiker’s, and the simple fact is that Douglas wanted both these projects to happen. It’s dreadful that he isn’t here to enjoy the coincidence, but wherever he is on the Probability Curve, he will be happy about it. It is, in fact, a very Douglassy sort of coincidence.

  Given that audio is – in its unique way – as visual a medium as film, the great thing for those who love Hitchhiker’s is that the film retells the first two hours of the saga, and these two new radio series provide the final four, with the original cast (relatively ageless in sound), completing a twenty-six-part saga on a fraction of the average Hollywood publicity budget. People who love Douglas’s work will be the winners on both counts; the best possible result.

  Wonko the Sane This is a sensitive scene and Wonko is a figure of pathos and dignity. It makes for a low-key ending to this episode but to punch the dialogue up with gags would overbalance the scene. Christian Slater was just about to close in the West End revival of One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, and very kindly agreed to play the key part, which he did with great sincerity. His late afternoon arrival led to some fighting over the washroom mirror by certain female members of the cast. In the end discipline was imposed with the aid of a cricket bat and a bucket of water, and an orderly queue was formed. All the expenditure of effort and mascara was somewhat dampened by Christian turning up with his two children in tow.

  EPISODE FOUR

  SIGNATURE TUNE

  ANNOUNCER: The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, by Douglas Adams, Quandary Phase.

  Sig fades.

  INT. – THE BOOK AMBIENCE

  FX: Extended dolphin bowl ping with FX, under:

  THE VOICE: Far out in the uncharted backwaters of the unfashionable end of the Western Spiral arm of the Galaxy an utterly insignificant little blue-green planet once orbited a small unregarded yellow sun. The planet’s cetacean life forms were so amazingly advanced that they decided not to climb gasping onto the land, grow fur and evolve into apes, but instead returned to live in its ocean deeps, playing, eating, playing, sleeping, playing and singing songs. Playfully. There was no need for digital watches or mobile phones for the dolphins. However, apart from a girl in a cafe in Rickmansworth who was in no position to do anything about it, the dolphins alone knew that although the Earth was a perfect and wonderful thing, transcending its many petty abuses by men, mice and Magratheans, it could not survive the attentions of the Vogon Constructor Fleet. Not as it was, anyway. And not with a politician’s chance in a truth-telling contest of them surviving its demolition. So they engineered an escape plan. The dolphins to a distant world indescribably found, indescribably arrived at; the humans back on a New Earth, pulled in from shadowy dimensions to replace the old one. The continuity of life between Earths was virtually unbroken save for the departure of the dolphins, some duplication of human identities and a hairline fracture in time, sensed only by Arthur Dent – returned home at last – and Fenchurch, the girl from the cafe, with whom he has now fallen hopelessly in love. The scientist Wonko the Sane has explained to them that the mysterious gift of beautiful grey glass bowls each has received bearing the engraving ‘So Long, and Thanks for All the Fish’ was a goodbye present from the dolphins, replaying their last message when gently tapped . . .

  DOLPHIN VOICE: This bowl was brought to you by the Campaign to Save the Humans. We bid you farewell.

  THE VOICE: With this issue resolved, but other questions still requiring answers, Arthur and Fenchurch have decided it is time to move on. Hitching a ride home from Heathrow to collect Arthur’s bowl from his cottage in Somerset – or rather the useful Babel fish that it con
tains – all they need now is a staggering coincidence, such as the arrival of a flying saucer, or the exercise of some pretty nifty reverse-temporal engineering, such as the arrival of a flying saucer. As reverse-temporal engineering is not evidently being exercised at this point in the narrative, coincidence is their best bet . . .

  INT. – LORRY – DAY

  FX: Lorry interior. Windscreen wipers. Rain on glass.

  ROB McKENNA: (For it is he) Talk about coincidence, eh? Me picking you up again. And your girlfriend, of course.

  ARTHUR: In the rain, of course.

  ROB McKENNA: Well, now we know that’s not a coincidence, don’t we?

  ARTHUR: Didn’t think you’d still be driving a lorry, Rob – doesn’t being Rain God come with a car?

  ROB McKENNA: Bugger the Rain God. One paragraph in the Sun and I’m hijacked by a bunch of scientists. (Scorn) ‘An example of a Spontaneous Para-Causal Meteorological Phenomenon’.

  FENCHURCH: A what?

  ROB McKENNA: That’s what I said. See, if they find something they can’t understand they like to call it something normal people can’t understand. Or pronounce. If everybody just went around calling me a Rain God, that’d suggest everybody knows something the scientists don’t. Well, they couldn’t have that, so they call it something which says it’s theirs, not everybody else’s. Then they set about finding some way of proving it’s not what everybody else said it is, but something they say it is. They said.

  ARTHUR: (Bored) Are we there yet?

  ROB McKENNA: (Oblivious) And if it turns out that everybody else is right, everybody else’ll still be wrong, because the scientists will simply call me . . . er, ‘Supernormal . . .’ – not paranormal or supernatural, because everybody else thinks they know what those mean now, no, a ‘Supernormal Incremental Precipitation Inducer’, that’s it. Oh, and they said they’d probably want to shove a ‘Quasi’ in there somewhere to protect themselves. But Rain God or not, they said, either way you wouldn’t catch them going on holiday with me. So I told them to stuff it and came back to work.

  ARTHUR: (Diverts the conversation) Do you mind if we listen to the radio?