I also have to mention Dirk’s scripts. I think he did a remarkable job, and what shines through both in the writing and the recording is that he is a fan, which makes a huge difference. Often in script meetings Dirk would say, ‘I think this is what Douglas would have done,’ or ‘I’m not sure this is Douglas-like enough,’ and then (after I’d questioned whether there was actually such a word as ‘Douglas-like’) we’d go back to the books, or back to Douglas’s notes, and try to get it right. The other voice at the writing table belonged to John Langdon – a brilliant script editor, an intuitive comedy writer, he would often just add a word here or remove another there and his feather-duster touch would add that extra gleam.
What you have in this book is something I hope – in fact, I’m sure – Douglas would have approved of. We missed him so much while we were making this, and all the more because one thing I’m certain of is that he’d have loved doing it, the whole thing, from the scripting to the recording to the digital editing (all three stages of which, incidentally, were done on Apple Macs, the computers about which he was so evangelical from the day they first appeared).
We owe him a great deal, and this is by way of a small thank-you.
Introduction by Dirk Maggs
In the summer of 1978, as a trainee BBC studio manager at what is now the Langham Hilton Hotel, I was determined that my career in radio would last just long enough to secure me a transfer to television, and that would open the door to the film industry. Only about two months before, the first series of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy had finished its first repeat run on BBC Radio 4. I’d missed it, but caught some clips on review programmes; Hitchhiker’s sounded to me like a Pythonesque Doctor Who, and my Ford Prefect lifestyle of drinking a lot and dancing with girls precluded further investigation.
In short, I had a lot to learn.
It was during ensuing secondments to BBC TV Centre that I realized how limited a medium television is, compared to radio. Then, on a working holiday, ‘gofering’ on a feature film in Toronto, I found out how cumbersome the business of film-making was. And much later, during quiet periods on long night shifts in the World Service newsroom, I listened spellbound to what Douglas Adams and Geoffrey Perkins achieved with Hitchhiker’s. Having inherited my dear departed father’s love for radio comedy, I knew that not since Spike Milligan had anyone combined words, sound effects and music to create such visual results. With No Pictures At All.
Ten years later I finally achieved what had seemed an impossible goal and became a producer in BBC Radio Light Entertainment. As well as comedy programmes our output included ‘Light Drama’, and whilst making action serials featuring the DC Comics characters Superman and Batman I was able to develop a radio-production style which layered lots of sound effects and music onto a tightly written, cinematic script. It was, and is, an incredibly labour-intensive way to work, and at times I wondered what rod I had made for my own back. But these early efforts had caught the attention of Douglas Adams, who was in talks with the BBC about further radio series of Hitchhiker’s. One spring morning in 1993 he called my boss Jonathan James Moore and asked if I would be interested in taking on the job of producing them. I was floored. Apart from marriage and children, nothing before or since has so wonderfully and unexpectedly trumped my expectations of life.
That proposed first series ground to a halt due to script problems and contractual difficulties. The talks I had with Douglas and Robbie Stamp in 1997 to restart the process through their company Digital Village were scuppered by the long-awaited Movie Deal coming through. When we last met, in the reception at Broadcasting House in 2000, we were still making hopeful noises about finishing the saga on radio. And then, overwhelming any such petty concerns, Douglas died. Against all odds it was a chance meeting at his memorial service with Bruce Hyman which revived the idea, and this time it actually happened.
This book is a companion volume to The Original Radio Scripts, published by Pan in 1985. In this second volume you will find the radio scripts we worked from in 2004 and 2005, more or less as performed, with the omission of some unscripted ad-libs and the presence of material which may yet be pruned for reasons of timing, timing or good taste. Or timing. After every episode there’s a ‘footnotes’ section where I attempt to describe the reasons for various changes between the novels and these adaptations, as well as descriptions of the techniques we used in the studio to achieve our results. Oh, and the odd anecdote about teeth.
You will find a lot of ‘thank-yous’ as well, in the notes, in the acknowledgements and here in this introduction. This is not to irritate the casual reader, but proves how collaborative this enterprise has been from the start. Thus, in addition to the thanks elsewhere, my personal thanks are extended to Jane Belson, Ed Victor and Gráinne Fox, for making it all possible; Bruce Hyman, for his enthusiasm and staying power in the face of significant odds; Helen Chattwell, for her kindness and tenacity under pressure; John Langdon, for always letting Douglas have the last word; Wix Wickens, for allowing a pub drummer to mess around with his magnificent music; Sue Adams, James, Jane, Bronnie and Ella Thrift, for their moral and physical support; Robbie Stamp, Geoffrey Perkins and Kevin J. Davies, for advice on the more arcane points of Adamsian lore; Roger Philbrick, Anna Cassar, Chris Berthoud and John Partington, for ensuring the BBC Website represented our efforts accurately; and Nicky Hursell at Pan, for expertly shepherding the whole thing onto these pages.
One of the few good things to come out of the collapse of the Tertiary Phase project in 1993 was my working relationship with Paul Deeley and all at the Soundhouse. Paul and Phil Horne run a terrific studio, and Julie, Freddie, Ros and Hayley managed to patiently feed and water a building full of noisy actors without resorting to violence. For that forbearance, thank you all. Paul is also my ‘ears’ in the cubicle while I work in the studio with the actors, and a dear friend. He has endured the fallout from the setbacks which have blighted this project over the years, as have my family. My heartfelt thanks to him and to Lesley, Tom, Theo and Tolly for putting up with it.
Given the unavoidable omission of Douglas’s inspirational presence, Simon Jones filled the vacant slot. In fact Simon was largely responsible for the prevailing positive atmosphere during recordings. He is warm, sympathetic, a terrific actor, a good friend and a colonel in the Kentucky Volunteers. Luckily they didn’t declare war on the Tennessee Militia when we needed him.
I did not know Douglas as a friend, but on the occasions we met I liked him enormously, whether he was enthused, taciturn, distracted or utterly pissed off. I can only thank him for having faith in me, and recall a moment when perhaps I helped maintain his faith in himself. After the Tertiary Phase collapsed in 1993 I was ‘poached’ to produce Ned Sherrin’s Radio 4 chat show Loose Ends. Mostly Harmless had just been published in paperback and I booked Douglas as a guest, as well as Sir Ranulph Fiennes, who had just man-hauled a sled across Antarctica, losing several fingers and toes to frostbite. As the great explorer told an epic tale of suffering and endurance, Douglas’s face fell.
Afterwards, in the pub, I asked if something had upset him.
‘Oh, not really,’ said Douglas. ‘It’s just that talking about being locked in a hotel room to write an overdue novel seems pretty tame stuff compared to trekking across a thousand miles of icy crevasses.’
‘Well, you need to put things in perspective,’ I replied. ‘First of all, your struggle was on a more human scale, and the result is a unique achievement no one can match. Secondly, just before we went on air, Ran Fiennes got lost in the basement of Broadcasting House looking for the toilet.’
Douglas smiled and picked up his glass. ‘That makes me feel much better.’
Notes from the Cast
Susan Sheridan (Trillian)
Recording Mostly Harmless, January 2005: after twenty-six years as Trillian, it’s been odd this time. I had to face up to meeting my alter ego – Tricia Macmillan in the form of the TV Trillian, Sandra Dickinson.
Meanwhile, my Trillian has a daughter, Random, whom she rather callously dumps on the unsuspecting father – Arthur Dent – while she goes off to pursue her career as an intergalactic reporter (a suitable career for an astrophysicist?). She comes up trumps at the end, however, in her usual brilliant fashion.
Mostly Harmless is quite different from the earlier books. It’s dark in places, and Trillian’s behaviour rather shocked me; leaving Random was a difficult scene to play. However, Dirk Maggs has brilliantly adapted the book for radio, adding memorable moments like Zaphod and Trillian’s first meeting at the party in Islington, the Trillian who didn’t go back for her bag! But their relationship was always a tricky one – having finally left Zaphod (who always had twice as much to drink as anyone else!) in the last series, this series ends with Trillian making a beeline for the dashing Dane God Thor.
So now it’s all over, no more recordings. Ever.
Is there life after Life, the Universe and Everything? Well, there’s always young Random . . .
William Franklyn (The Voice of the Book)
I was a new boy to the whole Hitchhiker’s environment, when it happily descended on me from a moon nugget – whatever that means.
My initial reaction was to the fascinating words I would have to play with, ten-line paragraphs without any punctuation, and phrases with a unique use of the English language that gave me a chance to bat like Denis Compton and bowl like Keith Miller. Sorry, but the cricket analogy is my space machine.
The imaginative lyrics were in freefall, appropriate to the subject matter. There was also an added significance, which was that Peter Jones had been the original Voice – my role. Peter Jones was a uniquely warm and humorous friend, and I had worked with him in the past. His imprint on Hitchhiker was indelible, and I was able to take inspiration from this and continue with my own vocal variations.
Our director and adaptor Dirk Maggs encouraged all the dive-bombing with his script and production of exciting eclipses. Going over the top is usually a First World War trench image, but it can occur when the pen replaces the bayonet. Douglas Adams’s example encourages even us verbal midgets.
Philip Pope (Krikkit Civilian Two, Krikkit Commander, Krikkit Singer, Grebulon Underling, the King, Captain. Composer of the Krikkit song)
I was looking forward to the sessions at the Soundhouse again as it brought back wonderful memories of recording Starship Titanic with Douglas (I contributed Lift Bot, Maître d’ Bot and Row Bot). This time he was not there in person but probably in spirit and definitely in voice, playing Agrajag. It was great in the studio but almost as entertaining outside in the green room with such an array of talents and such a rich feast of anecdotes.
Of all the wonderful stories, I racked my brains for something printable. I’m not sure whether Helen Chattwell being asked by Sayeed Jaffrey if she wanted a tongue sandwich and seeing her perplexed expression until he revealed his lunchbox – I mean bag of sandwiches – is acceptable. Actually it was such a kind gesture from the great actor that when he made the same offer to me I accepted saying I would put it aside for later. Much later that evening, on my way home from playing five-a-side football, I put my hand in my pocket and came across an unfamiliar clammy object. Now it was my turn to be perplexed, but only momentarily. I tucked in gratefully and, casting my mind back to earlier in the day, felt a little ashamed of my inner schoolboy sniggering.
Perhaps the closest memory I have of Douglas is born out of our shared love of music and Apple Macs (Douglas introduced me to the Mac) and our fascination with music technology. We often spoke about the Beatles and DNA was understandably excited when he told me that he had met Paul McCartney and was inviting him and Linda to dinner. Imagine my reaction when shortly afterwards Douglas called and, apologizing for the short notice, asked if Rosie and I would like to go round the following evening for dinner. I gratefully accepted, put the phone down and turning to Rosie mused with childish coyness about whether Paul McCartney might be there. She laughed and said, ‘No – and that’s probably why we’ve been invited!’ The penny dropped and I felt suitably foolish. As it turned out we were both pleasantly surprised and spent a most enjoyable evening with Douglas and Jane and the Joneses (Terry not Simon).
THE TERTIARY PHASE
In 1993, with plans to dramatize Life, the Universe and Everything, BBC Enterprises (as it was then known) wanted to reissue the first and second Hitchhiker’s radio series on CD. Douglas came up with the idea of renaming them the Primary and Secondary Phases. The projected new series would then be the Tertiary Phase, the next two presumably named something like Quaternary and Quintennial, but given the ensuing gap, which included his unexpected departure from this point in the Probability Arc, it seemed wiser to call them Quandary and Quintessential, both of which sounded less daunting, more memorable and are a bit easier to spell.
EPISODE ONE
SIGNATURE TUNE
ANNOUNCER: The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, by Douglas Adams, Tertiary Phase.
Sig fades, then:
ARTHUR: (Distant echoey scream) Aaaaaaarrrrghhhhhhhhh!
INT. – THE BOOK AMBIENCE
A steady and untroubling musical drone unfolds, layered with the sounds of the book’s animations.
THE VOICE: (Peter J/William F) [PETER] This is the story of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, [WILLIAM] – BZT! – perhaps the most remarkable, certainly the [PETER] most successful book – BZT! – [WILLIAM] ever to come out of the great publishing corporations of [PETER] – BZT! – Ursa Minor. [WILLIAM] – BZT! – Now in its seven to the power of sixteenth edition, it has been continuously revised and upgraded, including being fitted with a highly experimental jo-jo-jog-proof, splash-resistant heat-shield, – BZT! (Raspy voice) and a sophisticated new voice circuit – not always with complete – BZT! – success.
FX: Voice wows down in vaguely analogue fashion. A pause. Has something broken? A swift kick, and it starts up again, wowing in:
The earliest origins of the Guide are now, along with most of its financial records, lost in the mists of time, and the document shredders of Megadodo Publications, but it is worth mentioning – among other things – that every world on which the Guide has ever set up an accounting department has shortly afterwards perished in warfare, or other natural disaster.
So it is interesting – but not very interesting – to note that two or three days prior to the destruction of Earth to make way for a new hyperspace bypass there was a dramatic upsurge in the number of UFO sightings, not only over Lord’s Cricket Ground in London, but also above Glastonbury in Somerset, the very site selected for the new Hitchhiker’s Guide financial records office, just hours before the Vogon demolition fleet arrived.
FX: Panic in the streets, under:
PROSTETNIC: (PA slap) People of Earth. This is Prostetnic Vogon Jeltz of the Galactic
VOGON VOICE: Hyperspace Planning Council. Your planet is scheduled for demolition.
FX: Vogon destruction of the Earth. In Dolby Digital.
THE VOICE: [WILLIAM] So, that would seem to have been that, as far as the Earth was concerned.
Except that there were three survivors.
Arthur – BZT! – [PETER] Dent had basically assumed that he was the only native – BZT! – [WILLIAM] ape-descended Earthman to escape from the Earth, – BZT! – [PETER] because his only – BZT! – [WILLIAM] companion, disconcertingly called Ford – BZT! – [PETER] Prefect, – BZT! – [WILLIAM] had revealed himself to be a Hitchhiker’s Guide researcher from somewhere near Betelgeuse, – BZT! – [PETER] and not from Guildfor
d after all. So when, against all conceivable – BZT! – [WILLIAM] probability, they were rescued by a ship piloted by the infamous (Dolby effect) Zaphod Beeblebrox and were astonished to find him accompanied by a certain Trillian, once – BZT! – [PETER] Tricia McMillan, a rather nicely descended ape-person that Arthur once met at a party in Islington, – BZT! – [WILLIAM] it could only be because their ship was powered by the – BZT! – [PETER] Infinite Improbability Drive. (Beat) (Dolby effect) Which of course it was.
EXT. – PREHISTORIC ISLINGTON – DAY
FX: Arthur snoring (not comically, just naturally) and then making wakingup noises, then gasping, pausing and . . .
THE VOICE: The regular early morning yell of horror –
ARTHUR: (Distant echoey scream – this does not interrupt the rhythm of the narrator) Aaaaaaarrrrghhhhhhhhh!
THE VOICE: (cont’d) – was the sound of Arthur Dent waking up and suddenly remembering where he was.
ARTHUR: (Groaning) Bwwurrlbbllurgh.
THE VOICE: Islington has that effect on people. Even two million years ago.
ARTHUR: (Post-yell whimper)
THE VOICE: (cont’d) Arthur has been living in the prehistory of the insignificant little blue-green planet where he was born some two million years later, which is a terribly lonely position for any being other than a member of the species Hrarf-Hrarf to find itself in.
The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy Further Radio Scripts Page 2