Paddy Kingsland returned from the BBC schools department, presumably having passed, and for the rest of the shows he helped provide both the Radiophonic effects and most of the music. This gave us the opportunity of being rather more detailed in fitting the speech to the music; for instance, when the Book refers to Oolon Colloophid’s flapping tendrils of guilt stretching and distorting the Universe, the musical notes behind are stretched and distorted as well. His return also saw a slight change in working method with more time being spent with just the two of us laying up and mixing scenes since, unlike the Paris, the Radiophonic workshop had a sixteen track machine.
This programme also saw the first use of ‘snappies’. These are little booklets with carbon paper in between the pages, which enabled Douglas to type some scenes on the day of the recording and hand them to the actors. Because this paper is very flimsy and Douglas used to emerge clutching a handful of it from a little room in the Paris next to the toilets this led to the belief amongst some members of the cast that he was now typing the script on lavatory paper. The character of Roosta emerged on these snappies half way through the morning of the recording, and consequently Alan Ford, who played him, was pulled out of a television show he was doing and dragged down to the Paris at only half an hour’s notice!
Geoffrey McGivern doubled up as the Frogstar robot, and David Tate quadrupled up (if there is such a word) as the Captain, the Receptionist, the Radio Commentator and the Lift. Bill Paterson was the Assistant Arcturan Pilot.
The background of pre-historic Earth was re-made after one or two people complained that at the end of the last series they had heard larks and didn’t think there were any larks on pre-historic Earth. Not having any original sound recordings of pterodactyls or dinosaurs we made the background entirely from synthesised sounds, with the effect of a primeval swamp being made by blowing a straw through a cup of water and slowing it down.
Douglas has made the following note on towels.
Towels
This is an idea that got completely out of hand. It started as a private joke which I was therefore slightly reluctant to waste script space on. I put it in anyway because I then couldn’t think of anything that wasn’t just as much a waste of space and was then astonished to find that everyone else seemed to find it funny as well.
The way it came about was this: a year or so earlier I had been on holiday in Greece, staying in a small villa with some friends. Every morning we would start out for the beach, or rather try to start out for the beach and then have to delay for upwards of half an hour while I would try and find my towel. I could never find it, ever.
Whilst I was tearing my hair out in frustration, searching the bathroom, the washing line, the bedroom, under the bed, even in the bed, everyone else in the party would sit waiting patiently, drumming their fingers on their own rolled up towels.
I realized that my difficulties with my towel were probably symptomatic of the profound disorganization of my whole life, and that it would therefore be fair to say that anybody who was a really together person would be someone who would really know where their towel was.
I discovered, after I had inserted this phrase into the script, that a lot of other people must have had the same trouble as I had. [DNA]
The word Frood has no connection with the furniture maker of the same name who kindly sent us his business card.
The magazine Playbeing was originally Galactistud and probably changed for the traditional no-good-reason.
The idea of the elevator with a mind of its own comes from Douglas’ time as a bodyguard in the Hilton. In the early hours of the morning the lifts would be put on a random setting, so sitting minding his own business in the corridor at three in the morning Douglas would suddenly see the lift stop at his floor, open its doors just to play a quick bit of muzak at him and then go off again.
The confrontation of Marvin and the Frogstar robot was originally dashed off as a quick and easy link between plot scenes, but has subsequently come to be the culmination of any live readings from the books. Therefore one or two lines cut from the original recording have been restored.
The sound of Frogstar robot class D was made from various bits of heavy clanking machinery and one listener wrote to ask if we were sadists since listening on headphones ‘The Scout robots could be felt traversing from one ear to the other via the cerebral hemispheres down the cerebellum and out via the lower quadrants of the paraplocullis’. Another thing about wearing headphones is that it does unfortunately enable you to hear the edits better.
FIT THE EIGHTH
Zaphod Beeblebrox and his mysterious friend Roosta are baing taken in a flying building to the evil Frogstar, whilst Ford Prefect and Arthur Dent are stranded on prehistoric Earth. Some of them are getting hungry.
FORD: I don’t believe it. It’s impossible.
ARTHUR: But it’s happening.
GRAMS: NARRATOR BACKGROUND
NARRATOR: Reason notwithstanding, the Universe continues unabated. Its history is terribly long and awfully difficult to understand, even in its simpler moments which are, roughly speaking, the beginning and the end.
The wave harmonic theory of historical perception, in its simplest form, states that history is an illusion caused by the passage of time, and that time is an illusion caused by the passage of history.
It also states that one’s perception of these illusions is conditioned by three important factors:
Who you are;
Where you are;
And when you last had lunch with Zaphod Beeblebrox.
Zaphod Beeblebrox’s last meal was taken at the Restaurant at the End of the Universe, since when he has been catapulted through time in a Haggunenon spaceship, eaten by a carbon-copy of the Ravenous Bugblatter Beast of Traal, received strange and unedifying instructions from himself in his sleep, and in consequence made his way to the office building of The Hitch-Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy which was then unaccountably attacked by a squadron of Frogstar fighters, hauled in its entirety off the surface of the planet, and is now carrying Zaphod and his mysterious new friend Roosta in the general direction of the even more mysterious Frogstar. He is, therefore, not unnaturally feeling a little peckish.
F/X: GENERAL BACKGROUND OF LARGE OFFICE BUILDING FLYING THROUGH SPACE IN THE GRIP OF SEVEN POWERFUL TRACTOR BEAMS
ZAPHOD: Hey, Roosta, is there anything to eat in this situation?
ROOSTA: Here Zaphod. Suck this.
(Pause)
ZAPHOD: You want me to suck your towel?
ROOSTA: The yellow stripes are high in protein, the green ones have vitamin B and C complexes, the little pink flowers contain wheatgerm extract.
ZAPHOD: What are the brown stains?
ROOSTA: Bar-B-Q sauce. For when I get sick of wheatgerm.
ZAPHOD: Hey, it tastes as bad as it looks.
ROOSTA: Yes. When I’ve had to suck that end a bit, I usually need to suck the other end too.
ZAPHOD: Why, what’s in that?
ROOSTA: Anti-depressants.
GRAMS: NARRATOR BACKGROUND
NARRATOR: Much has been written on the subject of towels, most of which stresses the many practical functions they can serve for the modern hitch-hiker.
Two seminal books are Werdle Sneng’s compendious tome ‘Bath Sheets in Space’ which is far too large to carry, but sits magnificently on fashionable coffee tables, and Frat Gad’s handbook, ‘Heavily Modified Face Flannels’ an altogether terser work for masochists.
However, only the Hitch-Hiker’s Guide explains that the towel has a far more important psychological value, in that anyone who can hitch the length and breadth of the Galaxy, rough it, slum it, struggle against mind-boggling odds, win through, and still know where his towel is, is clearly a man to be reckoned with. Hence a phrase which has passed into hitch-hiking slang, as in ‘Hey, you sass that Hoopy Ford Prefect? There’s a frood who really knows where his towel is!’
Sass means ‘know’, ‘be aware of’, ‘meet’, ‘have sex
with’. Hoopy means ‘really together guy’ and frood means ‘really amazing together guy’.
Meanwhile, important questions are beginning to frame themselves in Zaphod Beeblebrox’s mind.
ZAPHOD: Hey, where did you say this building was flying to?
ROOSTA: The Frogstar. The most totally evil place in the Galaxy.
ZAPHOD: Do they have food there?
ROOSTA: Food? Have you the faintest idea what’s going to happen to you at the Frogstar?
ZAPHOD: They’re going to feed me?
ROOSTA: They’re going to feed you all right.
ZAPHOD: Great.
ROOSTA: They’re going to feed you into the Total Perspective Vortex.
ZAPHOD: The Total Perspective Vortex? Hey what’s that, man?
ROOSTA: Only the most savage psychic torture a sentient being can undergo.
ZAPHOD: So, no food huh?
ROOSTA: Listen, you can kill a man, destroy his body, break his spirit, but only the Total Perspective Vortex can annihilate a man’s soul. The treatment lasts one second, but the effects last your lifetime.
ZAPHOD: You ever had a Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster?
ROOSTA: This is worse.
ZAPHOD: Phrreeow!
F/X: TELEPORT ZING
(A voice, quite a pleasant one, speaks to them suddenly. This is the Frogstar Prisoner Relations Officer).
FPRO: Ah hello there, you must be Zaphod Beeblebrox – yes?
ZAPHOD: Er yeah, hey who are you?
FPRO: Me? Oh, I’m the Frogstar Prisoner Relations Officer, and I’m just popping by to . . .
ZAPHOD: How did you get here?
FPRO: Oh the usual thing, worked my way up the ranks.
ZAPHOD: No, how did you get here? You just popped out of nowhere like a large drinks bill.
FPRO: I know, disconcerting isn’t it? Look, I just popped along to see how you were getting on. Enjoying the trip?
ZAPHOD: No. Not at all.
FPRO: Oh well, it’ll soon be over – we should be arriving at the Frogstar in an hour or so. It is as you may know, the most totally evil place in the Galaxy. Even I find it pretty horrifying, and I’m one of the most evil people on it.
ZAPHOD: (Puzzled) Yeah?
FPRO: Oh yes, quite staggeringly nasty. Anyway, enough of me, how about you? Is there anything in particular you want?
ROOSTA: Be careful . . .
ZAPHOD: What?
ROOSTA: This man is evil – he’s from the Frogstar!
ZAPHOD: Ease up man, he just asked me if there’s anything I wanted.
ROOSTA: But . . .
FPRO: Come on, Mr Beeblebrox . . . Zaphod . . . what would you like? What would you really like?
ZAPHOD: A steak, a big juicy steak.
FPRO: Beefsteak?
ZAPHOD: Yeah.
FPRO: Ah, delicious, and . . .
ZAPHOD: A crisp green salad, a hunk of cheese and . . .
FPRO: Some wine?
ZAPHOD: Algolian claret.
FPRO: The ninety one?
ZAPHOD: The ninety five.
FPRO: Excellent choice – anything else?
ZAPHOD: That’ll do me just fine.
FPRO: Right. Turn the firehoses on him.
ZAPHOD: Hey, what?
F/X: FIREHOSES
FPRO: Enjoy your trip. Bye now.
F/X: TELEPORT ZING
ROOSTA: Don’t say I didn’t warn you Beeblebrox.
ZAPHOD: (Spluttering with rage and water) What the hell was the point of all that?
ROOSTA: They’re just playing with you. Softening you up. I told you – they’re going to put you in the Total Perspective Vortex.
ZAPHOD: But what is this thing? What does it do?
ROOSTA: The principle is very simple . . .
GRAMS: NARRATOR BACKGROUND
NARRATOR: Though the principle on which the Total Perspective Vortex works is indeed very simple, it will not for the moment be revealed. The purpose of this deliberate withholding of vital information is to occasion sensations of suspense, fear and anxiety within the legal limits laid down by the Galactic Statute of Narrative Practice. These sensations can be emphasised further by reference to this recording of a man being put in the Vortex . . .
F/X: BLOODCURDLING SCREAM
NARRATOR: And this one . . .
F/X: ANOTHER BLOODCURDLING SCREAM
NARRATOR: And this one . . .
F/X: A THIRD PARTICULARLY BLOODCURDLING SCREAM
NARRATOR: . . . provided that equal emphasis is given to the fact that one man in the entire history of the cosmos did survive its effects unharmed. To establish the identity of this man and see how he achieved it it is now necessary to travel two million years backwards in time, to where Ford Prefect and Arthur Dent are stranded in the primeval past of the utterly insignificant planet Earth.
They are faced with a problem, in that a spaceship which has apparently travelled back in time to rescue them cannot materialize until they have worked out a way of sending a message forward in time to summon it. This is clearly a terribly convoluted temporal paradox of mind mangling complexity.
ARTHUR: Perhaps we could wave your towel at it.
FORD: You know what your trouble is Arthur, you’ve got as much grasp of multi-temporal causality as a concussed bee.
ARTHUR: You don’t think it would work then?
FORD: No. That ship hovering there is only a potential ship, the possibility of one.
ARTHUR: We could still wave at it.
FORD: Yeah, very friendly, but chronologically inept. Listen, we have to send a message forward in time . . .
ARTHUR: Yes.
FORD: To where that spaceship is going to be.
ARTHUR: We don’t know where.
FORD: No.
ARTHUR: We don’t know when.
FORD: No.
ARTHUR: And anyway we haven’t got a time machine.
FORD: No.
ARTHUR: So?
FORD: You’re right.
ARTHUR: What?
FORD: We might just as well wave a towel at it.
ARTHUR: Right.
(Pause)
BOTH: Helloooo! Hello spaceship! Cooeee! We’re down here!
F/X: THE SLIGHT HUM WHICH THE SPACESHIP HAS HITHERTO BEEN EMANATING BUT WHICH I FORGOT TO MENTION SUDDENLY PICKS UP IN INTENSITY. IT IS ACCOMPANIED BY A SHARP INCREASE IN WIND, FORD AND ARTHUR’S VOICES ARE BUFFETED AND MUFFLED BY THE NOISE
ARTHUR: Ford! It’s coming down! Look, it’s coming down to us!
FORD: I don’t believe it! It’s impossible!
ARTHUR: But it’s happening!
FORD: Hey, I don’t like the look of that . . .
ARTHUR: What?
FORD: It’s wobbling . . . I think it’s going to crash! Fire your retro rockets you idiot!
F/X: IT FIRES ITS RETRO ROCKETS. VERY LOUDLY
FORD: Too hard! Much too hard! Run Arthur! Run for your life! Make for the hill!
F/X: RUMBLING CRASH OF EARTHQUAKE. FULL SENSURROUND TREATMENT
ARTHUR: What hill?
FORD: There was a hill there a moment ago . . .
ARTHUR: What, the rather nice one with all the daffodils?
FORD: Damn the daffodils, the whole hill’s gone!
ARTHUR: The ground’s heaving beneath us!
FORD: That ship’s causing a bloody earthquake!
F/X: VOLCANO ERUPTING
ARTHUR: Look! The hill’s come back! It’s erupting! We must be on a volcanic fault.
F/X: LOTS MORE VOLCANO ERUPTION
FORD: (A real lungbuster) Watch out!!!
F/X: HUGE CRASH, AFTER WHICH THE CONTINUING SOUND OF THE EARTHQUAKE BECOMES RATHER MUFFLED. HOLD ON THAT SOUND FOR A MOMENT TO ESTABLISH
ARTHUR: (Quiet) Well. We did it.
FORD: Yeah.
ARTHUR: We flagged down a logically non-existent spaceship with a towel.
FORD: Yeah. Great.
ARTHUR: Marvellous.
FORD: Wonderful.
ARTHUR:
Terrific.
FORD: Tell me Arthur . . .
ARTHUR: Yes?
FORD: This boulder we’re stuck under, how big would you say it was? Roughly?
ARTHUR: Oh, about the size of Coventry Cathedral.
FORD: Do you think we could move it? (Arthur doesn’t reply) Just asking. Can you feel my rucksack anywhere.
ARTHUR: Here.
FORD: You see, in these sorts of situations, that it’s really good to have a guide to help you.
ARTHUR: What?
FORD: The Hitch-Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. It tells you what to do in any eventuality.
ARTHUR: What, even being stuck in a crack in the ground beneath a giant boulder which you can’t move, with no hope of rescue?
FORD: Yeah, it’ll have something. Watch.
F/X: BOOK LOGO
GRAMS: NARRATOR BACKGROUND MUSIC
NARRATOR: What to do if you find yourself stuck in a crack in the ground underneath a giant boulder you can’t move, with no hope of rescue. Consider how lucky you are that life has been good to you so far. Alternatively, if life hasn’t been good to you so far, which given your current circumstances seems more likely, consider how lucky you are that it won’t be troubling you much longer.
FORD: It’s time I did something about that book.
ARTHUR: Shame we lost the towel.
FORD: What happened to it?
ARTHUR: Blew away in the wind. Fell in the river and a stream of lava rolled over it.
FORD: It’ll give the archaeologists something to think about. ‘Prehistoric towel discovered in lava flow. Was God a Marks and Spencer’s sales assistant?’ What are you doing?
ARTHUR: Feeling the rock above my head. It seems to be humming.
FORD: Humming?
ARTHUR: Why should a rock hum?
The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy Original Radio Scripts Page 18